The Planet of Junior Brown Page 8

  “Then Daddy’s not coming at all,” Junior said. He knew all along.

  “Your breakfast is fixed so get your clothes on,” she told him.

  “What do I get to eat?” Junior said. He had a suspicion, like a bad taste.

  His mother tried to get out of the suspicion by being sweet to Junior.

  She said, “I’ve made you some coffee. You can have milk in it but no sugar. There’s cereal and milk, with peaches—fresh peaches—sliced on it. There’s toast. I cannot allow you to have butter on the toast.”

  “I want some eggs and bacon and hot rolls and pancakes.”

  “No.”

  “Mama, I’m so hungry.”

  “Get up,” she said to him.

  Junior sat up on the edge of the bed. His mother helped him into a clean shirt, manipulating his heavy arms as though they were lifeless hams, first one arm and then the other. She gave him one-word directions. “Lift. Move. Turn. Lift.”

  She had Junior dressed in a few minutes. Junior made his own way into the kitchen while his mother stayed behind to order his room. When she returned, she found Junior had prepared his own breakfast. He had six eggs on a plate in front of him. He had cooked a mound of bacon placed next to the eggs.

  Junella stared at the bread she had toasted for him. Junior had spread it with butter and a thick layer of jelly.

  Junior wolfed down the food, eggs first, in oozing gobbles. He consumed everything he had prepared, every bit of bacon and all of the toast his mother had made.

  Without seeming to notice, Junior saw every look, even the slightest movement of his mother watching him from the doorway. He loved his mother. He had this toy he had kept for a long time, he didn’t know why. You wound it up and it would do the same thing over and over until it wound down. You wound it again and always it would do just what it only could do. Like his mother. Junior always knew she would do the same things over and over. There was safety in knowing that.

  He loved his father. At fifteen and a half, his father had walked out of the Big Black River country of northern Mississippi. He had taken one last look at the rich and bloody river-bottom soil and had headed into sandy foothills of scrub piney woods. His daddy told him, by the time he had walked across a third of the state and into Tennessee he was no longer a boy. He had become a man who ever after carried with him the scent of Mississippi danger.

  Slowly Junior started eating the cereal his mother had wanted him to have. He ate it all while staring at her and willing her to sit down. She did come and sit down right next to him at the table. She gathered her skirt in around her. She crossed her legs under the table. She folded her hands in front of her and cast her eyes down to one side.

  “We can go to a museum,” his mother told him. “We can go to the park. It’s cold, but we can walk around. Junior? Try to believe I’m sorry. I thought he was coming home. Maybe he’ll come home by tonight. No. Don’t even think about it. No, just don’t get your heart set again.”

  Junior could hear movement, televisions, in other apartments, so still were he and his mother. He could hear the street; and beyond their street, other streets. The city out there was loud and bright. All of it revolved around Junior like a wheel, like a system in an immense spiral. Junior knew he was the center and the point of it all.

  He commanded the system to halt. A thunderous roar was the city stopped. With the crack-up of the last corner, Junior was left with the kitchen. His mother hadn’t moved or made notice of ended sound. She was caught there in time with him. She dangled in rhythm with him drinking his coffee. Junior knew the fire-chord which could make her spin and dance. He played one red tone at a time. Their street crackled, other streets kindled. The city flamed and lived.

  “Buddy Clark might be waiting for me to come on down and spend some time with him.”

  “The boy has gone and left you,” his mother said.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  She shook her head rapidly, as if to dislodge cobwebs. “You needed your rest,” she said.

  Junior’s hunger lay curled like a warm ache from his core. He burned from a great distance. He was a lonely star.

  5

  THIS MONDAY MORNING was no different for Buddy than any other Monday. He was by himself and ready for the day. He had slept all day Saturday and all day Sunday. Saturday night he had looked in on Nightman and Franklin and had taken care of them the way he knew how. The boys were getting along together. Nightman was developing a keen eye. He had found a fantastic spindle of green butcher’s string in an alley.

  “I make out how it must’ve fallen offen a truck,” he told Buddy. The spindle was cream colored, huge and heavy, and made from wood. The green string was wound on it half a foot thick.

  “Man,” Buddy told him, “I bet that spindle is some kind of antique. I bet some antique shop in the Village would pay good money for it.”

  Nightman had looked shocked, clutching the spindle tighter in his arms. He wouldn’t allow Franklin or Buddy to touch it. “I found it, so it’s mine, isn’t it?” he asked Buddy.

  “It’s yours,” Buddy told him, “if you can think of something to do with it. Otherwise it’s dead weight and useless. We’ll have to sell it for the money. The string ain’t worth a thing.”

  Nightman studied the string, touching it with his hands. Finding the string end, he unwound some of it, lacing it through his delicate fingers.

  “I know it’s good for something,” he said. “Now if I could just think what could be that something.”

  “Let’s set a time,” Buddy had told him. “Let’s say about Wednesday.”

  “A time for what?” Nightman had wanted to know.

  “When you have to think of something else or I will sell the spindle for the money.”

  “Let him have until Friday,” Franklin had said. “Give us some time to look around and see what we can do with it.”

  “We won’t do anything with it,” Nightman said, “because I got to do it all by myself.”

  “You can have Franklin help you, it’s all right,” Buddy told him.

  “I do it by myself, or you can have the whole thing right now,” Nightman said. Stubbornly he had clutched the spindle of string. Then he thrust it toward Buddy.

  “You keep it,” Buddy had said. He had pushed the spindle back into Nightman’s lap. “You keep it and you figure out what to do with it all by yourself.”

  Buddy had not seen Junior Brown for the whole weekend. This Monday morning he didn’t feel like going by Junior’s house, he told himself. So he went on to school alone. When he arrived in the basement room, he found Junior already there and Mr. Pool there, with the solar system full of juice and turning silently through the void.

  Not so silently. There was a piercing squeak somewhere, a high scraping sound like metal grating against metal. As the planets revolved, Mr. Pool tried to pinpoint the squeak. When he thought he had it, he turned off the solar system. He pulled a ladder over and set it up by the planets. Then he climbed up and cleaned all of the tracks from which the rods were suspended.

  “There. That ought to do it,” Mr. Pool said when he was finished. He shoved the ladder away into the void and turned on the solar system. The squeak remained.

  Buddy laughed. He came around the planets to where Junior was slumped in his folding chair. Buddy didn’t say anything; he just stood quietly behind Junior’s chair. This way he let Junior know they were together. And together they both watched the system.

  The planet of Junior Brown soon became a giant presence in the darkness. The solar system became all and mighty in the void. Except for the squeak.

  Mr. Pool’s bald head glowed yellowish in the light of the system’s dim reflection.

  “Damn it all to glory!” he muttered. “It’s got to be up in the tracks.”

  Buddy told him, “You ought to let the master of sound tell you where the squeak is. Meaning Junior,” he added. He leaned to one side, peering around Junior until he could see Junior’s f
ace. “Good morning to you,” Buddy said. “You have a nice weekend with your daddy? U-huh? You and your daddy eat in some big-time restaurant and see some two-dollar technicolor movie?”

  “Cool it off now,” Mr. Pool said to Buddy. He had heard the anger in Buddy’s voice. It had surprised him, but when he thought about it, he supposed Buddy’s anger was there in almost everything Buddy did.

  “So Junior’s father took him some place,” Mr. Pool said. “You don’t have a father to give you things—is that it?”

  Buddy let himself go loose. He collapsed on the floor, on his stomach, half in the light of the solar system. “No,” he said. He turned away from Junior and Mr. Pool to rest his head on his arms.

  He was tired. Why in the world did he have to say that to Junior! He only meant to let Junior know that he understood how Junior had to spend the weekend with his father. He was tired down to his bones. He had walked around a good part of the night again—that didn’t make this Monday any different from some other. But the night and this early morning was colder; he had to keep every muscle working to keep from freezing. Buddy knew he would have to steal a warmer jacket and he was tired of stealing.

  Way early this morning, old Doum Malach had given Buddy his pay. Thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents.

  Buddy grunted to himself. The grunt sounded like pain to Junior. Mr. Pool had heard it too. He came around the revolving planets to where Buddy lay half in darkness.

  Thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents, with some kids coming up to his planet next Friday from someplace down at the Brooklyn Bridge. He would have to find warm clothes for them to wear. He would have to get them cleaned up, and enough food, Jesus, all on thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents.

  Again Buddy grunted with the deep-down worry of it.

  “Are you all right, Buddy?” Mr. Pool stood over Buddy, wondering if the boy maybe was going to be sick.

  Suddenly Buddy felt strange, like he was coming down with something.

  All I need is to catch me a sneaking pneumonia.

  “You want to set yourself down?” Junior spoke. Since he had entered the room, Junior hadn’t said a word. He had wished for so long to be able to say things to his daddy, but he never had his daddy to talk to. It was only Buddy he could tell things to. Buddy had to be the one. “You want to sit down here?”

  Junior pulled his chair over closer to Buddy. Buddy looked around and then got to his feet.

  “Naw, man,” he said to Junior. “You sit on down like you were. I’m just getting myself warm.”

  “Well, how you feeling then?” Junior asked him.

  “I’m feeling fine. I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” Buddy told him. “I meant it serious though,” Buddy said, “when I ask you did you have a good time this weekend—did you?”

  Junior stood there with his hands folded in front of him. His legs were slightly bent, as though they weren’t quite strong enough to hold his bulk. He shook his head. “It wasn’t much of a time,” he said.

  Mr. Pool retreated to the far side of the solar system to let the boys talk. As the planets spun by him, he touched them with the very tips of his fingers and waited.

  “Why wasn’t it much of a time?” Buddy was asking Junior.

  “It just wasn’t,” Junior said. He sat down in the folding chair once again. Buddy moved closer to hear. “He never did come home,” Junior said.

  “Aw, man,” Buddy said, “I was up there too. When you didn’t come down, I thought sure … All that weekend by yourself!”

  Junior felt like he might cry all of a sudden. “You got to go with me on Friday,” he said. “Buddy? Right? You promised you’d go with me to my lesson on Friday.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t I always go with you?”

  “I mean, go in with me so you can see for yourself. Will you go in with me?”

  “I promised you, didn’t I?” Buddy said. He didn’t remember any such promise. “Look, man, don’t get yourself all upset. I’ll go with you. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Junior let his breath out in a ragged sigh. “This coming Wednesday I’ll take you over to my house,” Junior said. “I promised I would and I will.”

  Finally Buddy remembered the bus ride when he and Junior made their deal. “You sure your mother won’t get mad at you for bringing me home?”

  “You’ll come over,” Junior told him, “and my mother won’t be mad that you can see.”

  Waiting, overhearing, Mr. Pool smiled to himself. It had taken Junior Brown all this time to admit to himself that he needed Buddy Clark, that he could go no further with something he had to do without big Buddy helping him.

  Maybe that’s a beginning, Mr. Pool thought. He knew about Junior’s mother. She was a self-centered, sickly woman who was probably good at heart. It upset him to know she would condemn Junior’s friendship with Buddy simply because Buddy looked tough.

  She isn’t going to like one bit Junior bringing a poor boy home with him.

  The squeak of the solar system intruded on Mr. Pool’s thoughts.

  “Somebody help me find that squeak,” he said, touching the planets.

  “Maybe the squeak isn’t in the system at all,” came from the far side of the planets. Buddy Clark.

  “It is in the system,” Mr. Pool told him.

  “But maybe the system is just rubbing too hard against the dark,” Buddy said. He laughed loudly at his own nonsense.

  “Keep it down,” Mr. Pool said. “We’re going to get ourselves caught because of you.”

  On the far side, at the edge of the void, Buddy covered his mouth. He’d forgot for a moment that the solar system was not somehow up in space. He was feeling better. Here he was going over to Junior’s house on Wednesday, just like some regular cat, and then on Friday, he’d go over with Junior to see Junior’s music teacher. He’d straighten everything for Junior with the relative. Buddy was cool, whatever was wrong, he could fix it. Maybe soon he and Junior would be really tight, like brothers.

  Like somebody I can tell everything to, even tell about the planets.

  Buddy looked at big, bad Junior sitting so sad in his chair.

  Man, when you see what I am into—taking care of kids, working my job. Wait till you meet old Doum—man, blow your mind! You going to want to be free as me …

  Tuesday was no different and Wednesday Buddy lay on his back in Junior’s room. He tried to remember when he’d rested on anything as comfortable as Junior’s bed. Buddy had to keep blinking his eyes to keep from falling asleep. Junior’s room was so peaceful. The heat of the house poured into him, warming him to his soul.

  Junior played the piano across the room from Buddy. He hadn’t been practicing much, he told Buddy earlier, but today he had felt like playing. As the windows filled with winter shadows, Junior played on and on.

  Filling Junior’s mind was the swelling, bursting sound of Miss Peebs’ grand piano. With the strength of his imagination, he tried to fuse the music to the silence of his own Baldwin upright piano. As he pressed the soundless keys, he thought the responding tones. He never could quite imagine them as pure as the music of the concert grand.

  Buddy watched Junior with amazement. For Junior swayed like a dark, brooding bear to an unheard rhythm in the stillness.

  Since he’d come into the room, Buddy hadn’t believed what he was seeing. Several times he couldn’t help heaving himself up from the bed and tiptoeing over to the piano.

  The top of Junior’s piano had been taken off so that more sound could get out. But all of the wires meant to vibrate to make that sound had been removed. In place were the felt hammers made to hit the wires when the piano keys were pressed down. But the hammers struck against nothing. As Junior played on and on, the hammers rose and fell senselessly.

  Buddy turned over and pressed his face into the soft fabric of the bedspread.

  He felt empty of himself but outraged at the damage done to Junior.

  Taking away his sound from him, Buddy thought. How cou
ld she do that to her own son?

  From some far place, a deep place of his heart, Buddy slowly understood.

  All their lives, they have been this family, he thought. Up so close, and for so long, they can’t separate any of it. She has to have rest. Junior has to play his piano. I bet that’s the way it is.

  Buddy sat up on the edge of Junior’s bed. He watched hulking Junior swaying in time with silence.

  He plays a piano without sound and she has her peace and quiet. “God Almighty,” Buddy said out loud. He got up.

  I can’t stay here anymore.

  “Junior? Hey, man? You finish up so we can split someplace. You want to see a film?”

  A minute passed before Junior stopped. Smiling, he rubbed his hands together, as if he were washing them. He grinned at Buddy while his eyes remained sad. “A movie?” he said.

  “Anything,” Buddy said. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “I never do go out at night,” Junior said.

  Buddy stared at him. “You just went out the other night, a week ago. I saw you,” Buddy told him.

  “I never go out without my mother,” Junior said. The grin quivered.

  I’ll swim the river before I take his mother to a show, Buddy thought. “Man, you can go with me if you want,” he said. I might even show you my planet. How am I ever going to get you down the ladder to see it? Maybe if I just tell you about it, we both could figure a way to get you down there. “You got to want to go,” Buddy said. “Man, it’s up to you.”

  “I haven’t had my supper.” Softly Junior spoke and got up from the piano.

  “Nobody said it’s ready yet,” Buddy told him.

  “Nobody has to say,” Junior said. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, his head down, as though he were praying.

  Buddy didn’t realize at once that Junior was waiting. By the time he did, Junior’s mother had walked in on them. She came close to Junior. She held her hands folded in front of her the way Junior did.

  “Your supper is ready now, son,” she said. Mrs. Brown turned to Buddy. She stiffened, her thought bristling with contempt. Buddy Clark towered over her the way her own son would not. Hard with muscle, he was overbearing even when he was not moving or speaking. “You are staying for dinner, of course,” she said to Buddy.