Under a huge spreading tree Momma was pushing Cindy in her baby-swing. Sissy girls had to be strapped in to keep from falling out. "Bart," she called, "where have you been?"
"Nowhere!" I snapped.
"Bart, I don't like smart answers."
I stopped and decided I'd do like Malcolm and wither her small with my mean glare--instead I saw to my amazement she wore a skimpy blue halter-top that didn't meet the top of her white shorts, showing her bellybutton. She was showing bare skins Sin was connected to bare skin. In the Bible the Lord had commanded Adam and Eve to put on clothes and cover their wicked flesh. Was my momma just as sinful as that wicked Corrine who had run off with her "paramour"?
"Bart, don't stare like you don't know who I am."
Into my mind popped one of the lines from the Bible John Amos was always quoting. Bit by bit I was learning what God expected from the people he created. "Be warned, Momma, the Lord will see when I do not, and He will punish."
Momma almost jumped. Then she swallowed and in a dry voice asked, "Why did you say that?"
Look at her tremble, I thought. I turned my head to glare at all the naked statues in this evil garden of sin. Wicked naked people made Malcolm rest uneasy in his grave.
But I loved her; she was my mother; sometimes she came and kissed me goodnight and stayed to hear my prayers. Before Cindy came she was better and spent more time with me. And she didn't appear to be in love with a "paramour."
Didn't know what to do. "Sleepy, Momma," I said and then drifted away, feeling at odds with myself and the rest of the world. What if what Malcolm wrote, and John Amos quoted, was true? Was she evil and sinful, luring men to be like animals? Was it bad to be like animals? Apple wasn't bad, or sinful. Not even Clover was, and he didn't like me.
Inside Jory's room I paused before his thirtygallon aquarium. The air made a steady stream of tiny bubbles that burbled to the surface like the champagne Momma had let me sip once.
Pretty fish wouldn't live in my tank. Fish in Jory's tank never died. My empty tank held nothing but water, and a toy pirate ship spilled out fake jewels on the fake ocean floor. Jory's tank grew seaweed that snaked in and out of a small castle. His fish darted in and out of coral reefs.
Jory did everything better than me. I didn't like being Bart anymore. Bart had to stay home and forget about Disneyland now that he had responsibilities.
A pet could be a heavy, heavy burden.
I fell on my bed and stared up at the ceiling Malcolm didn't need his power and strength anymore, or his clever brain that was smart too. He was dead and his talents were wasted. Nobody ever made Malcolm do anything he didn't want to after he grew up. Didn't want to be a boy anymore. Wanted to be a man, like Malcolm the powerful, the financial wizard.
Was gonna make people jump when I spoke. Tremble when I looked. Cower when I moved. The day was coming. Felt it.
Shadows
.
"Jory," said Mom as we picked up our totes and headed for her car, "I can't understand what's happening to Bart this summer. He's not the same child. What do you think he does outside alone all the time?"
I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to protect Bart and let him have the old lady next door for his friend, and I couldn't tell Mom that woman was saying she was Bart's grandmother. "Don't you worry about Bart, Mom," I assured her. "You just keep on having fun with Cindy. She's sure a cute kid, like you must have been."
She smiled and kissed my cheek. "If my eyes aren't deceiving me, there's another cute kid you admire too."
I felt a blush heat up my cheeks. I couldn't help but look at Melodie Richarme. She was so darn pretty, with hair that was a deeper shade of blonde than Mom's, but blue eyes that were just as soft and shining. I thought I'd never love any girl who didn't have blue eyes. Just then Melodic showed up, running to her father's car, making me stare at the way she was turning into a woman Gosh, it was miraculous the way flat-chested little girls showed up one day with bosoms, tiny waists and swelling hips, and suddenly they were ten times more interesting.
The minute we hit home Mom had me hunting up Bart. "If he's over in that other yard, you tell me. I don't want you children bothering an old recluse, though I wish to heaven she'd stop climbing that ladder and staring at me over the wall."
Climbing, jumping, calling, I searched until I found Bart in the old barn that had once been what was called in olden times "a carriage house." Now it had empty stalls where horses used to live, and Bart was in one, using a rake to pull out the dirty hay. I stared, disbelieving my eyes. With him was a St. Bernard puppy. The dog was almost as big
as he was. It was easy enough to tell it was only a puppy, for it had kiddish ways, frolicking and making puppy noises.
Bart threw down his rake and scolded the dog. "You stop jumping around like that, Apple! Ponies don't jump anything but hurdles--now you eat that hay or I won't give you clean hay tomorrow."
"Bart . . . "I called softly, leaning against the barn wall and smiling to see him jump. "Dogs don't eat hay."
His face flamed. "You go 'way! You get out of here! You don't belong!"
"Neither do you."
"You get out of here," he sobbed, hurling down his rake and pulling the huge puppy into his arms. "This is my dog; he was supposed to have been a pony--so I'm making him both a puppy and a pony. Don't you laugh and think I'm crazy."