My parents won the trip to Ireland. My father said he'd rather go to Italy. My mother said she'd rather go to Hawaii. Aunt Speed pointed out that they hadn't won a free trip to Italy, and they hadn't won a free trip to Hawaii. They had won a free trip to Ireland. My father said he wanted to see the canals in Venice. My mother wanted to see a volcano.
It was spring. I remember that maple seeds were falling on the sidewalk. I like the way they spiral down. A chipmunk kept sitting in the middle of the sidewalk near our house. It would get so involved in eating a maple seed that you could walk right up to it before it ran away. I never saw a chipmunk that close before. Maybe it had something wrong with it.
When Callie called me to say that her computer had broken down again, my parents were still going around in circles about the problems of going to Ireland in June. They talked for hours at a time. They started to think of it as a second honeymoon. Where would the kids stay? Maybe Grandma would take care of Kate. (Aunt Speed is my father's aunt. Grandma is my mother's mother.)
It gave me the creeps to think of my parents having a second honeymoon. I guess I never thought before then that my parents really knew anything about sex. I thought that they might have had an interest in it when they were younger. But when they won the trip they were already in their thirties. Weird to think of people that old having any interest in sex.
I was watching roadrunner cartoons on television when Callie called me. "Can you come over?" she asked. "I've got a problem."
"What problem?"
"I was hooking up this new modem I got, so I can communicate with other computers over the telephone, and I dropped my computer. It's broken again."
"Is it doing the same things it did last time it broke?"
"Pretty much. But I tried tightening the screws in the back of the case. It still doesn't work."
"I think I know what's wrong. I'll be right over."
I had nothing better to do that Saturday morning. I rode over to Callie's on my bike. I was thinking that of course my parents had to know a little about sex, or they couldn't have any kids. I knew that much anyway. Unless we're adopted the way Timo says sometimes. But, as I already pointed out to Callie, Timo's a liar.
Callie's house looks just like ours on the outside, except that my father paints ours slate grey every few years. Timo and I get to paint the back of the garage as far up as we can reach. Our relatives all come over for the day and help us paint. Then when the time comes, we go over to paint their houses. I like the feeling of these gatherings. My uncles drink a lot of beer, and the kids get to drink as much lemonade and iced tea as they want. I get to see my cousins. The adults treat us almost like equals, since we're helping to do the work. My father hates heights. I volunteered to go up the high ladder to paint the peak of the roof. My father said, "Maybe next time."
Callie's house is the same kind of bungalow, except that it has yellow-orange aluminum siding. They never have to paint it. Inside, the rooms all fit together the same way the rooms in our house do. You come in the side door onto a landing. You can go downstairs to the basement or up a few steps to the kitchen. Beyond the kitchen in the front there's the living room and in the back two bedrooms. The bathroom's between the living room and the master bedroom. Upstairs most of these houses have an unfinished attic.
Callie has the bedroom that belongs to Kate in our house. Callie's an only child. It's funny how houses so much alike can feel so different inside. My parents never make real coffee-- they always use instant. But the Clemsons' house always smells like coffee. They make it all day long. And they even let Callie drink it. They have telephones in almost every room. Callie has a telephone in her bedroom!
And the furniture in Callie's house looks completely different. We have this real old furniture that my parents got from Grandma. She had been using it to turn her basement into a sort of second living room. So it wasn't even new when my parents got married. They taught themselves how to reupholster furniture, and every few years they put new fabric on it. But it always looks pretty much the same.
Callie's house has brand new furniture. Her mother keeps everything covered in plastic. Callie's room has some pieces of what they call their old furniture--an easy chair and a lamp table. But their old furniture also has plastic covers and also looks new to me. When you sit on Callie's bed, you hear a crackling sound. Her mother has a plastic mattress cover under the sheets.
As a result of these differences, I never feel quite comfortable in Callie's house. Her mother's always nice to me. She'll yell at Callie for walking in the house without taking her shoes off first, but if I forget to take my shoes off she won't say anything. Unless Callie reminds me, I tend to forget. You don't have to take your shoes off to walk in my house.
When I got to Callie's house, her mother was running the vacuum cleaner. It seems to me that she runs it every time I visit. I rang the bell but nobody heard it because of the noise. I looked around for Callie's cat. "Squirrel," I said. Callie named her cat Squirrel. I cupped my hands together tight and blew over the little hole made by the curves in the sides of my thumbs. Callie had taught me how to whistle this way. She had trained Squirrel from the time he was a kitten to come when she whistled. The sound that this technique produces is more like a coo than a whistle. It sounds like a mourning dove.
I gave a coo and Squirrel came galloping out of the garage. He lives there all the time. Callie's parents don't let him in the house at all. He gets quite shaggy in the winter. He has grey fur in three different shades. "Yow," he said, and rubbed up against my legs.
The vacuum cleaner stopped, and I rang the bell again. This time Callie came right away. "Come on in," she said. She gave Squirrel a little scratch behind the ears before she closed the door on him. "He's been catching mice and leaving them on the welcome mat. Once he caught a chipmunk."
"What does he do that for?"
"Catch them or leave them on the mat?"
"I'd expect him to catch them for food."
"He gets plenty to eat. I think he catches them for fun."
"So why does he leave them on the mat?"
"I don't know. Cats do that kind of thing. Presents, I guess. My parents don't like it."
We took off our shoes and left them on the landing, where my family leaves wet boots in winter. Callie's mother was standing in the kitchen scouring the stainless steel sink. "Hello, Brian. How are you today?"
"Hello, Mrs. Clemson. I'm fine. How are you?" It sounds pretty stupid written down, but that's the way people talk.
"Do you kids want anything to eat or drink?"
"No thanks," I said. Callie was obviously in a hurry. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"Well, have a good time."
"We will," I said.
As soon as we made it to her room, Callie shut the door. "You think you can fix it before my father gets home?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "If it's what I think it is, it shouldn't take long."
"He's sure to come in here when he gets home. He believes in spending time with me on Saturday afternoons."
"So?"
"So if he finds out the computer's broken, he'll send it back to the company. It has a warranty that runs out pretty soon."
"What makes you think he'll send it back? My father never sends anything back."
"My father does. Whenever he buys anything expensive, he looks for flaws. And if he finds any, he demands his money back. He doesn't want repairs. He doesn't want replacements. He wants his money back."
Squirrel was standing on his hind legs and scrabbling at Callie's window. "Squirrel," said Callie. "Go away. Go catch a mouse."
"Can't you let him in?"
"Are you kidding?"
"It's your room, isn't it? We have the door closed, don't we?" I'm a trouble-maker sometimes. I wanted to play with Squirrel. My father doesn't like cats. He says you can't train them to do what you say. Meeko never does what he says, but that's beside the point. My father says Meeko is a dumb dog. It all goes back to when my father was a kid. His family had a cat that never did anything but sleep behind the stove. He always wanted a dog. Meeko's a big disappointment to him. But I don't think it's Meeko's fault. My father thinks dogs should be able to understand long sentences from the first minute they arrive at your house.
From my experience with Meeko, I knew about dogs. But I didn't know anything about cats. They fascinated me. Dogs always seem to worry what you think about them, but cats don't care. I like to watch the way cats move. "When you come over to my house," I said, "you always want to play with Meeko."
"That's different, and you know it."
"How is it different?"
"In your house you have different rules. If you want to play with Squirrel, we can go outside."
"O.K., let's go."
"Later. Listen, Brian. If I can't get this computer fixed in half an hour or so, my father's going to find out and get mad and send it back. We can play with Squirrel later."
Squirrel was gone now. "I don't see why it's such a big deal to let a cat in your room."
"You don't know my father. He's always on the verge of saying that we have to get rid of Squirrel. My mother gets upset when she sees dead animals on the welcome mat. My father gets mad when Squirrel tears up the screen. That's why there's no screen on my window. Squirrel kept picking at it with his claws, climbing up it and hanging there and yelling at me."
"O.K., O.K.. Let's get to work." Callie had a screwdriver right there on her bed with the computer. I had a little trouble loosening the screws. "You weren't kidding when you said you tightened these screws, were you?"
"Here, let me try."
"I can do it." I got the back cover off and looked inside. It was exactly what I thought. The consumer magazine had warned about this problem, too. It was related to the problem of grounding the circuit. The case is so flimsy that if you drop it too hard or knock it against something, the mechanical contact between the circuit boards and the metallic spray on the inside of the plastic case gets broken. The whole thing was a little warped now. But since I had known what to expect, I had come prepared. I wedged a little piece of copper sheet metal in the right place, where the thing was warped. I screwed it back together. "Try it now," I said.
It worked.
"You're a genius," said Callie.
"You're the one who knows the computer stuff," I said. "I'm only a repair man." I wasn't just flattering her. It's amazing what Callie can do with a computer.
CHAPTER SIX
Callie still didn't want to go outside. She wanted to show me how her new modem worked.
"It's kind of stuffy in here," I said. "Can't we at least open the window?" Callie was so involved in hooking up the modem that she didn't seem to hear me. I opened the window and she didn't even notice.
"Now," she said. "All I have to do is dial a certain number and put the telephone receiver down in these holes. You can see that they're designed to fit a telephone."
I probably knew as much about the equipment as she did. I read magazines, including computer magazines. But I let her explain everything. She seemed to enjoy showing off her knowledge.
"My own computer isn't very powerful. But I can use it as a terminal and tap the power of the biggest computers in the country practically."
"You have to pay to use the big computers, don't you?"
"Sure," said Callie. "Unless you know how to get around it."
"What do you mean?"
"If you're good enough at programming, you can trick the computer into letting you use it for nothing."
"You're not doing that now, are you? That doesn't seem honest."
"I never said I would do it. I only said that it's possible to do it. I get an allowance. I can afford to pay." Callie was acting defensive. I think she would have said something different if I had acted impressed instead of suspicious. I had a feeling she did know how to steal time from the big computer.
Callie started to show me a list of the video games she could play now that she could communicate with the big computer. Most of the names didn't mean anything to me, but she kept insisting that I should take my pick. All of a sudden I saw Squirrel on the window sill. He was carrying a mouse in his teeth the way you would expect him to carry a kitten. He had it by the loose flesh at the back of its neck.
"Squirrel!" said Callie. "Who opened the window?"
The mouse wriggled.
Callie stood up. Squirrel jumped down into the room and released the mouse. He batted it to the left with his right paw and then to the right with his left paw. The mouse ran under Callie's bed.
I heard Callie's mother calling from the kitchen. "Callie! Your father's home."
"Oh no," said Callie.
"Callie?" said Mr. Clemson. "May I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer. He opened the door. The mouse ran out. Squirrel ran after it. "What the devil," said Mr. Clemson.
"It's my fault," I said. "I opened the window."
"Don't tell your mother," Mr. Clemson said to Callie. "She might get hysterical."
Callie's mother screamed. "She's afraid of mice," said Mr. Clemson. He was taking it pretty well.
We all went out to the kitchen.
"A mouse," said Mrs. Clemson.
"I know, dear."
"I'm not afraid of mice. It just startled me."
"Why don't you go for a little drive while the kids and I catch the mouse?"
"I'm not afraid of mice," said Mrs. Clemson. "But I did have to do some shopping."
"By the time you get back, we'll have it all taken care of."
"What kind of cereal do you want, Callie?" asked Mrs. Clemson.
"Oh, anything."
"Do you like that new kind with the dried bananas in it?"
"Sure."
"Anything else you can think of?" Mrs. Clemson was trying to prove that she wasn't hysterical.
"No," said Callie. "Don't forget to buy cat food."
"Don't buy too much," said Callie's father. "We don't know how long we'll be needing it."
"I'll be going then," said Callie's mother. "As long as you're sure you don't need my help."
"We can manage, dear."
"It isn't fair," said Callie. "I didn't let the cat in."
"We'll discuss it later," said Mr. Clemson.
"It isn't fair."
"Not in front of company," said Callie's mother.
Mrs. Clemson went out to the car. Mr. Clemson's voice took on that patient tone that adults use when they're not being fair but want to pretend that they are. "Now Callie," said Mr. Clemson. "I didn't say that we would get rid of the cat. But even you can see that we have to give the possibility serious consideration. When an animal starts destroying property--"
"Squirrel's not destroying anything."
"Squirrel was destroying the screens on your window. If Squirrel hadn't started climbing up the screens, I never would have taken them down. Then he never could have gotten in the house at all."
Callie started to cry.
"Callie," said Mr. Clemson. "You're almost an adult. It's about time you started acting like one. Now stop crying, or I'll give you something to cry about."
Callie made some snorkling noises in her nose and stopped crying.
"Remember," said Mr. Clemson, "I never said we had to get rid of the cat. I only said we had to discuss it."
All this time we were in the kitchen. Squirrel and the mouse were someplace else. We walked through the dining room and into the living room. Squirrel had the mouse cornered under the baseboard radiator.
"Hey," I said. "I just thought of something."
"What?" said Callie.
"This is what they mean by cat and mouse."
Callie gave me a disgusted look.
"You know the expression, playing cat and mouse? This must be what they mean by it."
"So?"
"So nothing. I never thought of it before." I guess a lot of expressions really mean something, but everybody uses them without stopping to think what they mean.
Callie's mother pulled out in front of the picture window, beeped the horn, and gave a cheerful salute. The whole situation reminded me of the time that Meeko brought a rat in the house. He thought he had killed it, but it was still twitching. My mother didn't get excited at all. "Good dog," she said. "If there are rats around, I want him to kill them." Terriers are good at killing rats. But it was pretty stupid of the rat to come inside the range of Meeko's rope. I just opened the door, and Meeko came in, still attached to his rope, with a rat in his mouth.
"Brian," said Mr. Clemson, waking me out of my daydream. "You circle to the left. Callie, you circle to the right. I'll go up the middle."
"What are we trying to do?" I asked.
"If Squirrel sees us closing in, I think he'll pick up the mouse. It'll be easier for him to catch it than for us."
But Squirrel had his own ideas. When he saw Callie, he forgot about the mouse and started rubbing his body up against her legs. "Bad cat!" said Callie. Cats understand even less English than dogs. Squirrel started purring.
"I guess we'll have to do it the hard way," said Mr. Clemson. "Put the cat outside."
Callie put Squirrel outside. "Now you kids try to scare the mouse out in the open, and I'll throw this blanket over it." He unfolded a blanket that they keep under the pillows on the sofa. Mrs. Clemson always gets the chills.
We tried to scare the mouse, but it stayed under the radiator. Squirrel came back into the living room. Callie had forgotten to shut the window in her room. Squirrel made a chuckling noise, and it looked to me as if he wanted to hunt. He crouched down and started skulking along. But Mr. Clemson said, "Callie, put the cat out. And this time, close the window."
The mouse was still there when my mother called and told me to come home. Callie told me later that her mother brought home mouse traps and poison from the supermarket.
The Clemsons let Callie keep her cat, but in their discussion it came out that I had fixed Callie's computer. Mr. Clemson said that Callie had to start accepting adult responsibilities. She had to repay me somehow. My parents wouldn't let me take any money. I didn't want any money from Callie. I had done it as a favor. She must have exaggerated the importance of what I had done so that she could blame me for opening the window without making me seem like a bad guy. It got to be a real problem, because Mr. Clemson kept after her, asking her if she had found some way to repay me yet. Callie would say, "If you could wish for anything, what would you wish for?"
"Nothing you can afford," I'd say. "I sometimes wish I had an autogyro." It was true. Months after Christmas, I still had that autogyro on my mind. Every time I went to the public library, I looked in the section where they had books about aircraft. They never had any new books on autogyros, but I looked anyway. And every once in a while, I would take out a copy of Popular Coptering and look for the ad. It was always the same ad. It had a little photograph of somebody flying the autogyro. I had the whole thing memorized by then. It always quoted the article that said a child of nine could put the kit together in a weekend.
Timo kept talking about the autogyro too. "Hey Brian," he would say. "Did your kit come in the mail yet?"
"What kit?" I would say. I knew perfectly well what he was talking about.
"The autogyro kit that Santa Claus got you for Christmas. You mean it didn't come yet? Maybe you'd better write to the company."
"Timo," I would sometimes say. "You know what?"
"What?"
"You're the number-one sausage-brain of the universe."
CHAPTER SEVEN
My parents went to Ireland. Kate stayed with Grandma. Timo won a scholarship to this special camp where they teach you nature photography. My mother said that I should have a chance to go to camp too, but I reminded her that I take over Patrick Moran's paper route when he goes on vacation in June. My father said I had to honor my commitment. I didn't want to go to camp anyway.
Aunt Speed came to stay in the house with me. It's funny how playing cards can get boring after a while. Usually the kids would get excited when they knew Aunt Speed was coming over, and I felt the same sort of excitement when I looked forward to having her to myself. We could play blackjack every night, or canasta, pinochle, rummy, tripoli, or poker. She did bring her bucket of pennies, and we did play all these games. But after a while I didn't enjoy it any more. Then I started playing to do her a favor. Before it always seemed the other way around.
Actually, I started getting bored the third night she was there. "How about some cards?" she said.
"O.K.."
"Don't you want to play?"
"Sure."
"I thought you liked playing cards." She could tell I was losing my enthusiasm. "We'll play for pennies to make it more interesting."
"You think I could ask my friend Callie to come over?"
"Why certainly. Three players makes a better game."
"Callie's parents don't let her play cards." The sun wouldn't go down for a few hours, and I knew that I would feel better outside.
When Callie came over, Aunt Speed said, "You look a bit like the girl I played blackjack with last Christmas. Or am I mistaken?"
"No ma'am," said Callie.
"But I understand your parents don't allow you to play cards."
"My father says that gambling's immoral."
"If that's all that's troubling you," said Aunt Speed, "you can set your mind at rest. It isn't gambling if you don't keep the money, surely."
"No ma'am," said Callie. "I guess not."
"Well then," said Aunt Speed. "What'll it be?"
"Can we play outside?" I asked.
"Certainly. How about rummy?"
Callie knew how to play rummy.
"That proves it, then. If you know how to play it must be all right."
"We never bet money at my house," said Callie.
"Well I amn't asking you to go against your conscience. We'll just leave the pennies in the bucket."
Aunt Speed and my father's other aunts all come from Ireland and they all say amn't. I don't know anybody else who says amn't. Callie knew what she meant by it though.
We went outside and started playing rummy on an old card table I set up. It's strange that I was getting bored so soon. I was looking forward to life without Timo. I thought that I would enjoy everything more with him out of the way. Now I was almost starting to miss him. I had two kinds of friends--school friends and neighborhood friends. Now that school was out, I didn't expect to see much of my school friends. I hadn't seen Callie for more than a week. The trouble was, though, that my best friends from the house behind us had just moved out of the neighborhood. And the other kids that used to play with us were girls, and they were starting to act peculiar. The girl next door spent most of her time either getting mad at the girl down the street or making up with her. The girl down the street had started wearing designer jeans and spike heels and ratting her hair in a style about a thousand years out of date. The girl next door was wearing a bra and flirting with older boys. Neither one of them wanted to play kickball or softball or anything.
The day I played rummy with Callie and Aunt Speed, I had realized I didn't have any neighborhood friends left. I had spent the afternoon throwing a tennis ball against the back of the garage and taking Meeko for a walk every few hours. Meeko was tied up outside while we were playing cards. His rope reached way beyond where we had the table and chairs set up, and he kept circling us and getting tangled up.
"Callie," I said. "How would you like to make some money?"
"Doing what?"
"Helping me with a paper route."
"Which paper?"
"The morning."
"It's your turn, Brian," said Aunt Speed. I picked a three of diamonds off the top of the pile and discarded it. "Rummy!" said Aunt Speed. She picked up the three and put it with her other threes. "You're not paying attention, Brian."
"I'm sleepy. I have to go to bed soon."
"What time do you get up?" asked Callie.
"Five o'clock," I said. "Patrick--it's his paper route, Patrick Moran. He made me promise to have all the papers delivered before six-thirty. He has some customers who get up early, and they like to read the paper right away."
"I don't know," said Callie. "That's pretty early."
"It's summer vacation," I said. "You can go back to sleep when you finish. That's what I do."
"I could certainly use the money. It costs more than I expected to buy time on a computer."
"I'm out," said Aunt Speed. "Count up your points."
"This is the last hand for me," I said.
"It's early yet," said Aunt Speed.
"I have to be getting home too," said Callie. "I enjoyed the game, though."
"Don't you want to find out the final score?" asked Aunt Speed.
"O.K.," said Callie. "I'll do it."
"Fifty-fifty?"
"Sounds fair to me."
"They drop the papers off at the corner across from the Church of the Nazarene. I'll meet you there at five-fifteen."
"What's the use of playing if you don't keep score?" Aunt Speed was adding up everybody's points.
"O.K.," said Callie. "I'll be there."
"Callie has one hundred and eight. Brian has seventy-seven. And I have three hundred and sixty-five."
"You win," I said.
"Goodbye, Meeko. Goodbye, Aunt Speed. Goodbye, Brian. See you tomorrow."
Meeko stood up and started barking, the way he always does when somebody leaves.
"Safe home," said Aunt Speed. That's another thing my Irish relatives say. "How about a few hands of poker before we turn in?"
I felt even lonelier after I went to bed. Timo and I would talk, even though I hadn't forgiven him for the lies he told on Christmas Eve. The night before he left for photography camp he was still going strong.
"Brian? You asleep?"
"Not yet."
"Guess what I found out?"
"Something about an autogyro, no doubt."
"Yeah. How'd you know? I told dad how you thought you were getting an autogyro kit for Christmas and how disappointed you were when you got a coat instead."
"Can't you think of anything new?"
"No! This time I really mean it. Cross my heart. You know how mom and dad are worried about being in Ireland on your birthday?"
They had made a big fuss over it. Birthdays are important in our family. I told them I wouldn't mind. It was certainly no reason to skip a free visit to Ireland.
"Well," Timo continued, "dad and mom decided to buy you that autogyro kit and time it so that it would come on your birthday."
"Come off it, Timo."
"No. I'm serious."
"Sure."
"I wouldn't kid you a second time. Not after I saw how hard you took it at Christmas."
"You're a real pill, you know that?" I don't usually call anyone a pill. I just happened to remember it from the time Thomas Zubov's mother came to get him out of our class.
"A what?"
"A pill."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're hard to take. The stuff you say's a little hard to swallow."
"Oh yeah?"
"Do I hear voices?" said my mother from the bottom of the stairs. "Better get to sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."
And now that I had no Timo to torment me, I was lying awake and remembering his smart remarks and coming up with some good answers which I didn't happen to think of at the time. Timo was keeping me awake long distance. Could it be that he had told the truth this time? Was my ultralight autogyro kit on its way? Fat chance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day the kit came.
Of course, I didn't know about it when I woke up. It seemed like an ordinary day, except that I remembered while I was brushing my teeth that I would have company on the paper route. I made it to the corner five minutes early. It was still dark out. It could have been the middle of the night. I waited in the shelter by the bus stop. I was feeling lonesome, but it was the opposite of the night before--good lonesome, not bad lonesome. I felt like singing one of those cowboy songs, O Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie or something. The cowboys sing those songs at night when they're all alone watching the cattle. I mean real cowboys, not the kind on television.
I didn't start singing, though, because I thought Callie would show up any minute and embarrass me. Sometimes it's O.K. to sing--in church or at camp--but not when you're all by yourself waiting for a bundle of papers to deliver.
Callie showed up on time. She wasn't much company early in the morning. Her eyes were gluey and she kept blinking. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. I could hardly understand what she was saying. Every once in a while, she took a few steps and tripped over her own feet. She didn't fall down. She just stumbled a little.
The newspaper van came, and the men in the back threw two bundles onto the sidewalk in front of us. I had brought a red metal wagon so we wouldn't have to carry the papers in shoulder bags. I hate the way the strap cuts into my muscles. I cut the wires away from the newspapers with the clippers in my Swiss Army Knife. As usual, the wires had cut into the papers on top and bottom. You'd think they'd find some way to tie them that wouldn't destroy the merchandise.
I pulled the wagon down the street. Callie took one side and I took the other. I had to tell her which houses to hit, three at a time. She hadn't memorized the route yet. I made sure she did everything the way Patrick wanted it done. A lot of paper boys and I guess paper girls throw the paper on the driveway or on the lawn. Some of them aim for the front porch. But Patrick made it a rule to place each paper carefully behind the screen door.
Callie was slow, but she did a good job. My hands got blacker as the sky got lighter. I hate the feel of newsprint. I never read the paper. I read the weekly news magazines in the public library.
It took longer to deliver the papers with Callie's help than when I did it myself. But I wasn't out to set any speed records. Callie wanted to go right home and back to bed. "You want to come over later?" I asked her.
"You come over my house," she said. "My mother gets nervous if I visit somebody too much."
"What do you mean? You hardly ever come over my house."
"Yeah, but I was just over last night."
"Can we play with Squirrel?"
"Sure," said Callie. "If we can find him. He's been spending a lot of time on the prowl."
"What time should I come?"
"How about after lunch? I have a feeling I'm going to sleep for a long time."
I went back to bed and slept until noon. Aunt Speed woke me up to make me eat lunch. When I got to Callie's house, she came outside and we both started hooting into our hands to make Squirrel come home. For a while it didn't seem to be working, but then Squirrel came trotting into the back yard holding a pigeon by the back of its neck. The bird looked almost as big as the cat, but I guess birds don't weigh very much.
"Squirrel!" said Callie. "If my mom sees this, I'm in trouble." She ran towards the cat, clapping her hands. He dropped the pigeon and it flew away. It really surprised me. I had assumed that it was dead, or at least maimed. "Bad cat," said Callie, and Squirrel ran away.
"How am I going to play with him if you chase him away?"
"Listen, if my mother sees Squirrel catching birds it's all over. She likes birds. And we have an agreement. I can keep Squirrel as long as he behaves."
"What does that mean? Behave."
"It means my mother better not see him catching any birds."
Just then Callie's mother called her. We went in the house. "I have a bone to pick with you," she said. "Hello Brian."
"Hello Mrs. Clemson." She didn't want to do the how-are-you I-am-fine business.
"Callie," she said. "Do you remember our agreement?"
"Yes ma'am."
"What did we agree?"
"If Squirrel does anything bad I have to get rid of him."
"Don't blame Squirrel," she said. "Cats do what cats do. That's why humans have to take responsibility." She was talking in a calm voice that made me more nervous than a mad voice would have. She didn't have any color in her lips. "What did you agree to do?"
"It's not fair," said Callie. "He's used to running around loose."
"Other creatures have rights too. I agree that Squirrel has rights. Maybe he has the right to live somewhere he can roam freely. But that wasn't our agreement. What did you agree to do?"
"To keep him in the garage when I'm not watching him."
"All right then."
"I just let him out for a little while. He came as soon as I called him."
"And where do you think he goes when you let him loose?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
"I have to be going," I said. But nobody heard me.
"It's not fair," said Callie. "Squirrel isn't used to being cooped up in the garage all the time."
"The garage has plenty of room in it. It even has an attic. It's big enough for a bear. Callie, are you listening to me?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Mrs. Malta just called. Every day after lunch she puts out bread for the pigeons. She always does it at the same time, so the birds come and wait for it." I knew what she was going to say next. "It seems your cat has been lurking in the bushes and jumping out at the birds when they come for their bread. I don't think she's caught any yet, but it's only a matter of time."
"I just remembered something," I said. "I'd better be going."
"Sorry for the unpleasantness, Brian. But it can't be helped."
"Wait up, Brian. I want to ask you something."
By this time I was down on the landing and had opened the inside door.
"Just a minute, young lady," said Callie's mother. "I'm not through with you."
"Don't go yet, Brian. I've got to talk to you."
I was standing outside now, holding the screen door open with my body. "I just remembered I have to cut the grass," I said.
Out of nowhere, Squirrel appeared, ran past me onto the landing, and took the three steps to the kitchen in a single leap. He had something in his mouth. He dropped it at Callie's feet, and I could see he must have gotten into some bird's nest. It was a baby bird.
"This is too much," said Callie's mother.
"It's not fair," said Callie.
I let the screen door close behind me. As I got on my bike, I heard Callie's mother saying, "Wait till your father gets home."
"Back so soon?" said Aunt Speed.
"I promised dad I'd cut the grass," I said.
"Your friend Callie called."
The phone rang. "I'll get it," I said. It was Callie.
"Brian," she said, "my mother already talked to my father on the phone. I know what's going to happen."
"What?"
"If I don't find someone to take the cat, they're going to call the vet and have him killed. I already asked my mom why can't we take him out in the country and drop him off. He can hunt. But my mother says that wouldn't be humane."
"Do you have any ideas?"
"Someone's got to take him. That's all."
"You mean me."
"Why not?"
"What about Meeko?"
"Don't worry. Squirrel can take care of himself. I saw him rip the belly of this big dog once." That didn't sound too good to me. "I don't mean he'd do that to Meeko. I'm sure he'd get along O.K. with Meeko."
"We'd have to keep them apart."
"And you could play with him all you want. And he doesn't eat much. And I could visit him sometimes."
"I have to ask my parents."
"But your parents aren't around. It has to be today. My mother's really foaming at the mouth."
"O.K.," I said. "I'll ask my Aunt Speed."
"I'll bring him right over," said Callie.
"Wait a minute. I didn't get permission yet."
"How will she know what to decide if she doesn't see the cat? I'll bring him over and then if your aunt says no I'll take him back."
"Wait till I ask her," I said.
But Callie said, "See you in a few minutes." She hung up.
"Aunt Speed?"
"Yes dear."
"Can Callie's cat stay with us for a while?"
"For how long?" Her needles made a clicking sound.
"Just until mom and dad get home. So I can ask them if I can keep him."
"Callie's giving you her cat?"
"She's not allowed to keep it any more."
"What would your mother say?"
"She wouldn't mind. She likes animals."
"What about your father?"
I didn't want to tell a lie. "He thinks cats are harmless," I said. "He used to have a cat when he was a kid."
"I remember it well," said Aunt Speed. "A lazy thing."
"It's O.K. then?"
"I'll think about it."
Meeko was barking. A big truck had stopped in front of the house. A man in a grey uniform came to the front door. "Does a Brian O'Brien live here?" he asked.
"That's my father," I said. "Brian William O'Brien. He's in Ireland now."
"Well is there anybody older in the house? Anybody can sign for it. But I have to get a signature."
"Aunt Speed," I called. She came over to the door. "What is it?" I asked.
"Ultralight Autogyro," he said. "Whatever that means."
I felt a sudden pain in my side. I couldn't breathe. I wondered if I was having a heart attack.
Next Section of Brian's Story.