Our car is twenty feet ahead, now, in the center lane, and there’s no way
Pop can turn off. The cars are picking up speed. I holler to Mom as loud
as I can, “I’ll go back and stay with Kate! Don’t worry!”
I hear Pop shout about something, but I can’t hear what. Pretty soon the
car is out of sight. I look down at Cat and say, “There goes our
vacation.” I wonder if I’ll be able to catch a bus out to Connecticut
later. Meanwhile, there’s the little problem of getting back into the
city. I’m standing alongside the parkway, with railroad tracks and the
Pelham golf course on the other side of me, and a good long walk to the
subway.
A cat isn’t handy to walk with. He keeps trying to get down. If you
squeeze him to hang on, he just tries harder. You have to keep juggling
him, like, gently. I sweat along back, with the sun in my eyes, and people
in cars on the parkway pointing me out to their children as a local
curiosity.
One place the bulrushes and marsh grass beside the road grow up higher
than your head. What a place for a kids’ hideout, I think. Almost the next
step, I hear kids’ voices, whispering and shushing each other.
Their voices follow along beside me, but inside the curtain of rushes,
where I can’t see them. I hear one say, “Lookit the sissy with the pussy!”
Another answers, “Let’s dump ’em in the river!”
I try to walk faster, but I figure if I run they’ll chase me for sure. I
walk along, juggling Cat, trying to pretend I don’t notice them. I see a
drawbridge up ahead, and I sure hope there’s a cop or watchman on it.
The kids break out of the rushes behind me, and there’s no use pretending
anymore. I flash a look over my shoulder. They all yell, “Ya-n-h-h-h!”
like a bunch of wild Indians, but they’re about fifty feet back.
I grab Cat hard about the only place you can grab a cat, around one upper
forearm, and I really run. The kids let out another war whoop. It’s uphill
to the bridge. Cat gets his free forepaw into action, raking my chest and
arm, with his claws out. Then he hisses and bites, and I nearly drop him.
I’m panting so hard I can’t hardly breathe anyway.
A cop saunters out on my approach to the bridge, his billy dangling from
his wrist. Whew—am I glad! I flop on the grass and ease up on Cat and
start soothing him down. The kids fade off into the tall grass as soon as
they see the cop. A stone arches up toward me, but it falls short. That’s
the last I see of them.
As I cross the bridge, the cop squints at me. “What you doing, kid? Not
supposed to be walking here.”
“I’ll be right off. I’m going home,” I tell him, and he saunters away,
twirling his stick.
It’s dark by the time I get to the subway, and most of another hour before
I’m back in Manhattan and reach Kate’s. I can hear the television going,
which is unusual, and I walk in. No one is watching television. Mom and
Pop are sitting at the table with Kate.
Mom lets loose the tears she has apparently been holding onto for two
hours, and Pop starts bellowing: “You fool! You might have got killed
jumping out on that parkway!”
Cat drops to the floor with a thud. I kiss Mom and go to the sink for a
long glass of water and drink it all and wipe my mouth. Over my shoulder,
I answer Pop: “Yeah, but if Cat gets killed on the parkway, that’s just a
big joke, isn’t it? You laugh your head off!”
Pop takes off his glasses and scratches his head with them, like he always
does when he’s thinking. He looks me in the eye and says, “I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have laughed.”
Then, of all things, he picks up Cat himself. “Come on. You’re one of the
family. Let’s get on this vacation.”
At last we’re off.
11
[Illustration: Dave picking out fish while Ben and garbage-sweeper watch.]