Part 15 (1/2)

Student Servant Seller I took the fourth piece from the envelope.

Seeker Mr. Spiro's dollar was complete. I was glad the word started with an S like I knew it would.

I found my cellophane tape in another drawer and taped the dollar bill to make it whole. The four pieces of the dollar bill fit together perfectly. I put it in under a flap in my billfold that was supposed to be a secret compartment. Most billfolds had them so it wasn't much of a secret anymore.

The last thing in the envelope was the piece of paper I had typed my poem on. Mr. Spiro had written something on the other side.

Dear Brave Traveler, I am disappointed we missed our business transaction last night. When I return after the autumnal equinox, we will explore more in depth what I have found in my studies. Until then, Messenger, continue to raise your unique voice and write your poetry as you seek to understand the quartering of the soul.

Constantine Spiro P.S. Please have Arthur hold my newspaper until my return.

I read the letter three times. I knew Mr. Spiro was trying to give me a clue to the four words on the dollar bill. Mr. Spiro's leaving felt better because he had left me something to work on and because he told me when he would be coming back. I also liked that he talked about the Soul because I was going to spend a lot of time thinking about that.

The back door buzzer sounded and soon Rat came clomping up the back stairs.

He was tan without any sun lines on his neck or arms. Going without a s.h.i.+rt was another treat on the farm except at hay baling time and then you better have your s.h.i.+rt on or you would have to take a dip in the pond with the cows to stop the itching.

Rat told me about the dirt-clod fights with his cousins and trying to catch baby rabbits while his grandfather cut hay with the tractor. I listened and tried to think about what he was saying even though I was having a hard time keeping my mind on his stories.

How'd the route go?

Good-good.

Why don't you throw the route with me today? We can each take a bag and I'll walk instead of ride.

I didn't want to disappoint Rat on his first day back home. Rat would be telling stories about the farm and I would try to be excited with him even though I had an idea that stories about dirt-clod fights and catching rabbits wouldn't be that interesting anymore.

When we reached the paper drop the bundles were already on the ground and carriers were loading their bags. Rat pulled out his double-bladed Barlow to cut a bundle cord.

Where's your knife?

s-s-s-s-Lost it ... somewhere.

Maybe you'll get another for your birthday.

He tried to wink like he wanted me to know that he might be planning on giving me a new knife from his father's hardware store. But he wasn't very good at winking with one eye.

We each put a newspaper bag across a shoulder. I gave Rat the route money for the last week and we went over his collection book as we walked. I wanted to make sure he knew where everybody stood on their newspaper bill. When we got to Mr. Spiro's house I told Rat that he was paid up and that Mr. Spiro didn't want a newspaper delivered again until the autumnal equinox.

When the h.e.l.l is that?

Rat always cussed a lot when he got back from being with his farm cousins but he would stop right quick the first time his father heard him.

September twenty-second.

He scrunched his nose at me.

s-s-s-s-Looked it up.

When we reached Mrs. Worthington's house I told Rat that the address was paid up but that she wanted the paper stopped.

Why?

s-s-s-s-Don't s-s-s-s-know s-s-s-s-but I got a tip.

Good. I never got anything from those cheapos.

s-s-s-s-Lucky me.

I looked back at 1396 Harbert with the overgrown privet around the porch and wondered if I would ever be able to tell Rat about Mrs. Worthington. I don't know what I would tell him. I didn't understand it myself except I thought Mrs. Worthington was the prettiest woman I had ever seen. And the saddest.

When we finished the route Rat asked if I wanted to throw ball but I told him that my mother always expected me to take a bath before they got home from a trip.

I wanted to tell Rat all that had happened to me and how his paper route had changed me but the parts of the story I could tell didn't make sense without the parts I couldn't tell.

When my parents came home later that afternoon I was on my bed reading the Press-Scimitar about the Yankees beating the White Sox 3 to 1 with Ryne Duren getting the save. A picture in the paper showed my favorite pitcher lighting a cigar for Casey Stengel the manager who was having a party on his sixty-ninth birthday. Ryne Duren was having a good summer on the mound.

My mother came upstairs first. She handed me a small box with see-through plastic on top.

I brought you your favorite. Pralines with pecans.

She always made a big deal about buying me pralines even though I didn't like them. I guess she thought if she liked them then I must like them too.

She asked how my last week on the route had gone and I told her the heat had been pretty bad. She said the heat in New Orleans had been Unrepenting. I guessed she meant Unrelenting.

She went on about how their hotel in New Orleans was air-conditioned and said that she and my father had been talking about having someone build us a new house way out in East Memphis with air-conditioning. She said it would be near a private school that I would like and that the house might have a swimming pool.

I told her the attic fan suited me just fine so she said we'd talk about it later. That was the code for We Won't Talk About It Later.

I had made up my mind to crumble up the pralines and throw them on the roof for the pigeons to eat but when she was about to leave I handed her the box.

s-s-s-s-Thanks ... but ... don't like s-s-s-s-pralines.

But I always thought ...

s-s-s-s-Never have liked s-s-s-s-pralines.

She gave me a strange look. I was expecting her to say Everybody Likes Pralines and I was going to say I'm Not Everybody. But she took the box and left the room.

My father came up the stairs carrying his heavy suitcases with Mam behind him carrying my mother's. My father never let Mam tote his suitcases even though she probably could have lifted more than he could. My mother told Mam to come in the bathroom and help her sort dirty clothes. Mam would be was.h.i.+ng and ironing for the next two days. I walked down the hall a ways.

What's gotten into that boy of mine, Nellie?

What you mean?

He seemed upset that I brought him pralines. I thought he liked them.