Cat may be on Tom's side, but whether Pop is on Cat's side is somethingelse again. I worry about this all the time we're planning the vacation.Suppose the motel won't take cats? Or suppose he runs away in the country?If he messes up the vacation in any way, I know Pop'll say to get rid ofhim.
I practice putting Cat back in the wicker hamper to see if I can keep himin that sometimes, but he meows like crazy. That'd drive Pop nuts in thecar, and it certainly wouldn't hide him from any motel-keeper. So I justsit back and hope for the best, but I got a nasty feeling in the bottom ofmy stomach that something's going to go haywire.
Pop's pretty snappish anyway. He's working late nearly every night,getting stuff cleared up before vacation. He doesn't want any extraproblems, especially not Cat problems. Mom's been having asthma a gooddeal lately, and we're all pretty jumpy. It's always like this at the endof the summer.
Tuesday night when he gets home, I ask Pop what's happened about Tom.
"We'll work something out," he says, which isn't what you'd call a bigexplanation.
"You think he can get back into college?"
"I don't know. The Youth Board is going to work on it. They're arrangingfor him to make up the midyear exams he missed, so he can get credit forthat semester. Then he can probably start making up the second semester atnight school if he has a job.
"Apparently the Youth Board knew his father had skipped--they've beentrying to trace him. I don't think it'll do any good if they find him. Tomhad better just cross him off and figure his own life for himself."
You know, I see "bad guys" in television and stuff, but with the people Ireally know I always lump the parents on one team and the kids on theother. Now here's my pop calmly figuring a kid better chalk off his fatheras a bad lot and go it alone. If your father died, I suppose you couldface up to it eventually, but having him just fade out on you, not carewhat you did--that'd be worse.
While I'm doing all this hard thinking, Pop has gone back to reading thepaper. I notice the column of want ads on the back, and all of a sudden mymind clicks on Tom and jobs.
"Hey, Pop! You know the florist on the corner, Palumbo, where you alwaysget Mom the plant on Mother's Day? I went in there a couple of weeks ago,because he had a sign up, 'Helper Wanted.' I thought maybe it wasdeliveries and stuff that I could do after school. But he said he needed afull-time man. I'm pretty sure the sign's still up."
"Palumbo, huhn?" Pop takes off his glasses and scratches his head withthem. He looks at his watch and sighs. "They still open?"
They are, and Pop goes right down to see the guy. He knows him fairly wellanyway--there's Mother's Day, and Easter, and also the shop is the pollingplace for our district, so Pop's in there every Election Day. He alwaysbuys some little bunch of flowers Election Day because he figures the guyought to get some business having his shop all messed up for the day.
Dad comes back and goes over to the desk and scratches off a fast note. Hesays, "Here. Address it to Tom and go mail it right away. Palumbo sayshe'll try him out at least. Tom can come over Thursday night and I'll takehim in."
Tom comes home with Pop Thursday about nine o'clock. They both look prettygood. Mom has cold supper waiting, finishing off the icebox before we goaway, so we all sit down to eat.
"Tom's all set, at least for a start," Dad says. "He's going to startTuesday, right after Labor Day. Palumbo can use him on odd jobs anddeliveries, especially over the Jewish holidays, and then if he can learnthe business, he'll keep him on."
"Never thought I'd go in for flower-arranging." Tom grins. "But it mightbe fun. I'm pretty fair at any kind of handiwork."
Remembering how quick he unlocked the padlock to get Cat out in thecellar, I agree.
He starts for his room after supper, and we all say "good luck," "have agood time," and stuff. Things are really looking up.
I get up early the next morning and help Mom button up around the houseand get the car loaded before Pop gets home in the afternoon. He hoped toget off early, and I've been pacing around snapping my fingers for acouple of hours when he finally arrives about six o'clock. It's a hot dayagain.
I don't say anything about Cat. I just dive in the back seat and put himbehind a suitcase and hope he'll behave. Pop doesn't seem to notice him.Anyway he doesn't say anything.
It's mighty hot, and traffic is thick, with everyone pouring out of thecity. But at least we're moving along, until we get out on the HutchinsonRiver Parkway, where some dope has to run out of gas.
All three lanes of traffic are stopped. We sit in the sun. Pop looksaround, hunting for something to get sore about, and sees the back windowsare closed. He roars, "Crying out loud, can't we get some air, at least?Open those windows!"
I open them and try to keep my hand over Cat, but if you try to hold himreally, it makes him restless. For the moment he's sitting quiet, lookingdisgusted.
We sit for about ten minutes, and Pop turns off the motor. You canpractically hear us sweating in the silence. Engines turn on ahead of us,and there seems to be some sign of hope. I stick my head out the window tosee if things are moving. Something furry tickles my ear, and it takes mea second to register.
Then I grab, but too late. There is Cat, out on the parkway between thelanes of cars, trying to figure which way to run.
"Pop!" I yell. "Hold it! Cat's got out!"
You know what my pop does? He laughs.
"Hold it, my eyeball!" he says. "I've been holding it for half an hour.I'd get murdered if I tried to stop now. Besides, I don't want to chasethat cat every day of my vacation."
I don't even stop to think. I just open the car door and jump. The car'sonly barely moving. I can see Cat on the grass at the edge of the parkway.The cars in the next lane blast their horns, but I slip through and grabCat.
I hear Mom scream, "Davey!"
Our car is twenty feet ahead, now, in the center lane, and there's no wayPop can turn off. The cars are picking up speed. I holler to Mom as loudas 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 thecar is out of sight. I look down at Cat and say, "There goes ourvacation." I wonder if I'll be able to catch a bus out to Connecticutlater. Meanwhile, there's the little problem of getting back into thecity. I'm standing alongside the parkway, with railroad tracks and thePelham golf course on the other side of me, and a good long walk to thesubway.
A cat isn't handy to walk with. He keeps trying to get down. If yousqueeze him to hang on, he just tries harder. You have to keep jugglinghim, like, gently. I sweat along back, with the sun in my eyes, and peoplein cars on the parkway pointing me out to their children as a localcuriosity.
One place the bulrushes and marsh grass beside the road grow up higherthan your head. What a place for a kids' hideout, I think. Almost the nextstep, 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. Iwalk along, juggling Cat, trying to pretend I don't notice them. I see adrawbridge 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 pretendinganymore. 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 upperforearm, and I really run. The kids let out another war whoop. It's uphillto the bridge. Cat gets his free forepaw into action, raking my chest andarm, 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 fromhis wrist. Whew--am I glad! I flop on the grass and ease up on Cat andstart soothing him down. The kids fade off into the tall grass as soon
asthey see the cop. A stone arches up toward me, but it falls short. That'sthe last I see of them.
As I cross the bridge, the cop squints at me. "What you doing, kid? Notsupposed 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 beforeI'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 andPop are sitting at the table with Kate.
Mom lets loose the tears she has apparently been holding onto for twohours, and Pop starts bellowing: "You fool! You might have got killedjumping out on that parkway!"
Cat drops to the floor with a thud. I kiss Mom and go to the sink for along 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 abig joke, isn't it? You laugh your head off!"
Pop takes off his glasses and scratches his head with them, like he alwaysdoes when he's thinking. He looks me in the eye and says, "I'm sorry. Ishouldn't have laughed."
Then, of all things, he picks up Cat himself. "Come on. You're one of thefamily. Let's get on this vacation."
At last we're off.
11
Dave picking out fish while Ben and garbage-sweeper watch.]
ROSH HASHANAH AT THE FULTON FISH MARKET