Part 11 (1/2)
It was like baseball, he supposed. There were the home-run hitters and there were the guys who threw out the opponents' runner at the plate, who stole bases quietly and without a big fuss, who executed double plays as if they could do it in their sleep. Charlie Arnott was that kind of hero, Ganny thought. And that was not such a bad kind of hero to be.
He climbed the stairs to his room thinking these things and stopped unaccountably on the threshold, reluctant to enter. He was reluctant, he realized, because of what he feared he might find on his dresser.
He scoffed at himself. What-did he think that just because the Waitkus Baseball was back on his dresser, the c.o.c.kroach would come back to the ball?
”What's the matter, kid? Fall asleep on your feet?” Nikolai shoved past him into the room, flicking on the light as he went in.
Ignoring his brother's use of the humiliating word, Ganny made himself step across the threshold-made himself walk to the dresser and look.
The Baseball sat there, next to his box of marbles. Empty. Not a c.o.c.kroach in sight.
He relaxed, laughing at himself and wondering if he'd inherited his imagination from Baba Irina or if she'd merely fed it up with her stories.
oOo Summer began and the days settled into a pattern of ch.o.r.es and movies and clarinet practice and ballgames usually attended by Ganady, Nikolai, and Yevgeny, occasionally by Mr. Ouspensky and less frequently by their Da. Since Vitaly Puzdrovsky had a.s.sumed a manager's role at the machine shop, he seemed to have less time these Sat.u.r.days to spend on such things as baseball games.
If his attendance at ma.s.s was any standard, Nikolai would soon be eligible for sainthood, or at least beatification. He had gotten on well enough with Mrs. Guercino, but Mr. Guercino never spoke a word to him except to grunt when he said h.e.l.lo. Stefano continued to hate his guts.
Nothing much came of this hatred for some time, for Nikolai was careful in his attentions to Annie, timing them to her brother's absences. But, inevitably, there came another evening upon which Nick hadn't arrived home by the time his younger brother was abed, and the household was filled with a tense but hopeful dread.
When Ganady awoke in the morning to see the familiar and comforting lump in his brother's bed, he was relieved. But relief quickly turned to curiosity and curiosity to frustration. While Nikolai snored beneath his covers, Ganady burned to know where he'd been so late and if anything had been said when he arrived home.
As he debated whether to wake his brother, their mother called up the stairs that breakfast would be on the table in a matter of minutes.
The lump that was Nikolai stirred and mumbled.
”Nikki!” Ganady called.
”Yeah?” came m.u.f.fled from beneath the covers.
”What time did you get home?”
”Late.”
”How late?”
”I don't know...around midnight.”
”Why? Where were you?”
”At the movies.”
”Until midnight?”
”I took Annie home.”
”Until midnight?” Ganady's voice squeaked.
”On the way home, I had a long talk with her brother.”
Ganny sat up. ”A talk? What did he say?”
”That he hates my guts and doesn't want me around his sister.”
”You already knew that.”
”And how,” said Nikolai.
”Did Da yell?”
”You hear yelling?”
”Well, no.”
”Then I guess not.”
”Mama didn't cry?”
”Mama wasn't up still. Only Da.”
”But he didn't yell?”
”No yelling.”
”Nick? Ganny?” Their mother was at the bottom of the stairs. ”Breakfast, you lazy boys!”
Ganady hopped out of bed. ”Better hurry,” he said. ”Mama will want us to beat the rugs today before we go to the game.”
Nick was silent. He hadn't moved. ”I don't think I'm going to the game today.”
”Not go to the game?” Ganny repeated through the fabric of a half-pulled-on tee s.h.i.+rt. ”Why not? You sick?”
Another, more disturbing thought occurred to him. He pulled the tee s.h.i.+rt full on and circled Nick's bed to stand where he could see his brother's dark thatch of hair poking out of the covers.
”Are you in trouble with Mama and Da?”
”No, but I think Steve Guercino is.” Nick shook off the covers and sat up, leaving his younger brother speechless.
oOo ”He looked like one of those monsters from the Sat.u.r.day matinee last week.”
”The zombies or the frogmen?” Yevgeny wanted to know.
”The zombies.”
It was the middle of the second inning. The two boys sat along the first base line, watching the Phillies trot onto the field.
”He had a fat lip and two black eyes and his jaw was swollen so bad he had to eat oatmeal for breakfast. His hands were swollen, too,” he added as an afterthought.
”You mean, he hit back?” asked Yevgeny incredulously.
”Here we go, boys. Peanuts.”