He got moving again, turning left on Markey Avenue.
Once again he waited for the feeling of remembering forward to seize him, but it didn’t
come. This was just a hot, sunny street lined with sandstone-colored apartment buildings
that looked like prison cellblocks to Jake. A few young women were walking along,
pushing baby-carriages in pairs and talking desultorily, but the street was otherwise
deserted. It was unseasonably hot for May—too hot to stroll.
What am I looking for? What?
From behind him came a burst of raucous male laughter. It was followed by an outraged
female shriek: “You give that back\”
Jake jumped, thinking the owner of the voice must mean him.
“Give it back, Henry! I’m not kidding!”
Jake turned and saw two boys, one at least eighteen and the other a lot younger . . . twelve
or thirteen. At the sight of this second boy, Jake’s heart did something that felt like a
loop-the-loop in his chest. The lad was wearing green corduroys instead of madras shorts,
but the yellow T-shirt was the same, and he had a battered old basketball under one arm.
Although his back was to Jake, Jake knew he had found the boy from last night’s dream.
21
THE GIRL WAS THE gum-chewing cutie from the ticket-booth. The older of the two
boys—who looked almost old enough to be called a man— had her newspaper in his hands.
She grabbed for it. The newspaper-grabber—he was wearing denims and a black T-shirt
with the sleeves rolled up—held it over his head and grinned.
“Jump for it, Maryanne! Jump, girl, jump!”
She stared at him with angry eyes, her cheeks flushed. “Give it to me!” she said. “Quit fooling around and give it back! Bastard!”
“Oooo wisten to dat, Eddie!” the old kid said. “Bad wang-gwidge! Naughty, naughty!” He waved the newspaper just out of the blonde tick- et-seller’s grasp, grinning, and Jake
suddenly understood. These two were walking home from school together—although they
probably didn’t go to the same one, if he was right about the difference in their ages—and
the bigger boy had gone over to the box office, pretending he had something interesting to
tell the blonde. Then he had reached through the slot at the bottom and snatched her paper.
The big boy’s face was one that Jake had seen before; it was the face of a kid who would
think it the height of hilarity to douse a cat’s tail with lighter fluid or feed a bread-ball with a fishhook planted in the middle to a hungry dog. The sort of lad who sat in the back of the
room and snapped bra-straps and then said “Who me?” with a big, dumb look of surprise on his face when someone finally complained. There weren’t many lads like him at Piper, but
there were a few. Jake supposed there were a few in every school. They dressed better at
Piper, but the face was the same. He guessed that in the old days, people would have said it
was the face of a boy who was born to be hung.
Maryanne jumped for her newspaper, which the old boy in the black pants had rolled into
a tube. He pulled it out of her reach just before she could grab it, then whacked her on the
head with it, the way you might whack a dog for piddling on the carpet. She was beginning
to cry now—mostly from humiliation, Jake guessed. Her face was now so red it was almost
glowing. “Keep it, then!” she yelled at him. “I know you can’t read, but you can look at the pictures, at least!”
She began to turn away.
“Give it back, why don’t you?” the younger boy—Jake’s boy—said softly.
The old boy held out the newspaper tube. The girl snatched it from him, and even from his
place thirty feet farther down the street, Jake heard it rip. “You’re a turd, Henry Dean!” she cried. “A real turd!”
“Hey, what’s the big deal?” Henry sounded genuinely injured. “It was just a joke. Besides, it only ripped in one place—you can still read it, for Chrissake. Lighten up a little, why
don’tcha?”
And that was right, too, Jake thought. Guys like this Henry always pushed even the most
unfunny joke two steps too far … then looked wounded and misunderstood when someone
yelled at them. And it was always Wassa matter? and it was Can’tcha take a joke? and it
was Why don’tcha lighten up a little?
What are you doing with him, kid? Jake wondered. If you’re on my side, what are you
doing with a jerk like that?
But as the younger lad turned around and they started to walk down the street again, Jake
knew. The old boy’s features were heavier, and his complexion was badly pitted with acne,
but otherwise the resemblance was striking. The two boys were brothers.
22
JAKE TURNED AWAY AND began to idle up the sidewalk ahead of the two boys. He
reached into his breast pocket with a shaky hand, pulled out his father’s sunglasses, and
managed to fumble them onto his face.
Voices swelled behind him, as if someone was gradually turning up the volume on a radio.
“You shouldn’t have ranked on her that bad, Henry. It was mean.”
“She loves it, Eddie.” Henry’s voice was complacent, worldly-wise. “When you get a little older, you’ll understand.”
“She was cryin.”
“Prob’ly got the rag on,” Henry said in a philosophical tone.
They were very close now. Jake shrank against the side of the build- ing. His head was
down, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t know why it seemed so
vitally important that he not be noticed, but it did. Henry didn’t matter, one way or the other, but—
The younger one, isn’t supposed to remember me, he thought. I don’t know why, exactly,
but he’s not.
They passed him without so much as a glance, the one Henry had called Eddie walking on
the outside, dribbling the basketball along the gutter.
“You gotta admit she looked funny,” Henry was saying. “Ole Be-Bop Maryanne, jumpin for her newspaper. Woof! Woof!”
Eddie looked up at his brother with an expression that wanted to be reproachful . . . and
then he gave up and dissolved into laughter. Jake saw the unconditional love in that
upturned face and guessed that Eddie would forgive a lot in his big brother before giving it
up as a bad job.
“So are we going?” Eddie asked now. “You said we could. After school.”
“I said maybe. I dunno if I wanna walk all the way over there. Mom’ll be home, by now,
too. Maybe we just oughtta forget it. Go upstairs and watch some tube.”
They were now ten feet ahead of Jake and pulling away.
“Ah, come on! You said!”
Beyond the building the two boys were currently passing was a chainlink fence with an
open gate in it. Beyond it, Jake saw, was the playground of which he had dreamed last
night … a version of it, any- way. It wasn’t surrounded by trees, and there was no odd
subway kiosk with diagonal slashes of yellow and black across the front, but the cracked
concrete was the same. So were the faded yellow foul lines.
“Well . . . maybe. I dunno.” Jake realized Henry was teasing again. Eddie didn’t, though; he was too anxious about wherever it was he wanted to go. “Let’s shoot some hoops while I
think it over.”
He stole the ball from his younger brother, dribbled clumsily onto the playground, and
went for a lay-up that hit high on the backboard and bounced back without even touching
the rim of the hoop. Henry was good at stealing newspapers from teenage girls, Jake
thought, but on the basketball court he sucked the big one.
Eddie walked in through the gate, unbuttoned his corduroy pants, and slipped them down.
Beneath them were the faded madras shorts he had been wearing in Jake’s dream.
“Oh, is he wearing his shortie panties?” Henry said. “Ain’t they cuuute?” He waited until his brother balanced himself on one leg to pull off his cords, then flung the basketball at
him. Eddie managed to bat it away, probably saving himself a bloody nose, but he lost his
balance and fell clumsily to the concrete. He didn’t cut himself, but he could have done so,
Jake saw; a great deal of broken glass glittered in the sun along the chainlink.
“Come on, Henry, quit it,” he said, but with no real reproach. Jake guessed I Henry had been pulling shit like this on him so long that Eddie only noticed it when Henry pulled it on
someone else—someone like the blonde ticket-seller.
“Turn on, Henwy, twit it.”
Eddie got to his feet and trotted out onto the court. The ball had struck the chainlink fence
and bounced back to Henry. Henry now tried to dribble past his younger brother. Eddie’s