Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [39]
I walk along Depot Street, going pole to pole, touching them—for no other reason than that they’re there. They go all the way to New Orleans in one direction and New York in the other, and to farther places, to the whole rest of the world. The wires linking those poles carry telegraph messages. And those new things—telephone messages. Frank Raymond told me half a dozen people in town already have those gadgets.
The street is deserted. Every store has closed for the night. It’s peaceful. Wonderful. I run in a long lope. I’m not in any hurry, it just feels good. The sky is star-spangled from horizon to horizon. I turn up a side street.
“Damn goats!” Dr. Hodge has a broom in his hands, swiping at the rear of two goats.
I race to the next corner. But not fast enough. Bedda heads straight for me. And Bruttu, the billy, is right behind her. He must have come looking for her.
“Are those your goats?” shouts Dr. Hodge. “You one of those damned dagoes?”
He can’t possibly recognize me in the dark. But my heart bangs.
“Next time I’ll shoot them. I’ll shoot them dead. And you, too.”
I run as if the devil’s chasing.
fifteen
Sunday afternoon I’m walking home from Frank Raymond’s. I told him today that I’m going to Patricia’s school in autumn, so I wanted painting lessons instead of tutoring from now on. But he told me he’s leaving town at the end of the month anyway. He likes to wander—see the world. The thought of him disappearing makes me feel strange. I still can’t believe it.
At least there are four more Sundays left in this month, so we can paint till he goes. Today was a good lesson. I made a birthday present for Rocco—a picture of an owl. The paint is drying. I’ll go back for it before supper tomorrow. Rocco will like it. The owl’s eyes glitter.
I turn the corner. Three boys stand over a boy on his side. One of them is kicking him! The boy is curled around his middle, his hands over his cap, groaning. It’s Cirone!
“Stop!” I run up and grab the kicker by the elbow.
He stumbles aside in surprise, but in the same moment I’m shoved hard from behind. My chin smacks on the sidewalk and I hear a crack inside my head. I roll onto my back, cradling my chin.
“Watch where you going. You bumped me,” says one of the boys.
“Yeah, y’all blind or something? The both of you dagoes, blind as bats.”
“Stupid is more like it.”
“Are you stupid, boy?”
“All dagoes is stupid.”
Three pink faces glare down at me.
I look past their legs. Cirone’s still on his side, silent now, but he’s rocking his head, so I know he’s conscious.
My chin bleeds into my palm. I lean to the side and spit out half a tooth.
“Ha! How many teeth you planning on losing today? That’s only number one.”
None of this makes sense. I don’t recognize any of these boys. What was Cirone doing here? Did he do something to them?
I look around. A man turns up the sidewalk, sees us, and crosses to the other side. There’s no one else about. Maybe they all ducked inside when they saw what was up.
I keep one hand on my chin and pick up my cap with the other.
A boy kicks the cap out of my hand, giving my fingers a wicked blow.
I don’t move.
This must be how Joseph felt when he was still Uruna, when the boys buried him alive. He must have known where it was going.
Cirone must have known, too. Does he realize I’m here now? Please, Lord, tell him he’s not alone.
I keep looking at them.
“Playing dumb?”
“Y’all speak English. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Yeah, talk.”
“Who cares if you talk, anyhow? We saw you. And we told. Oh, yeah, we told on you good. The whole town’s talking now.”
“And y’all know what they’s talking about?”
Patricia. They must have seen me kiss Patricia last night. She said I didn’t know what they’d do if they saw. Cirone got beat up for something I did.
I pull my elbows in close, ready to punch. Giuseppe taught me how to fight when I arrived—said it would come in handy. I thought it was just Giuseppe being grumpy. I look over at Cirone.