Alice lifted the book out of his hand.
"Those are amazing," Weldon said. "Who . . . who drew all that?"
"I did of course." Alice gathered up the rest of the fallen books. "They my sketchbooks."
"Y-you draw?" Weldon felt like someone had taken an eraser to his insides. Somehow he'd thought he was the only one in the whole world who cared about filling up white space with images. His father brought out two more stacks of sketchbooks.
"Of course I draw, and paint. How else you think I gonna pay the bills?"
"You—" Weldon stared around the room. The odd rectangles took on the shape of paintings. Paintings hidden away beneath drab gray tarps—"pay the bills by painting?"
"Course. Why shouldn't I?" Alice put her hands on her hips and gave Weldon a challenging glare.
Weldon shuddered. "Mama said I'd end up a drunken bum. She took away my pencil and said I'd never pay the bills with useless pictures."
"Your mama said that?" A frown creased Alice's once peaceful face. "Robert, what this boy of yours talkin about?"
Weldon's father came into the room with the last load of books. "I can't help it, Alice," his father said, putting the books down. "It Rita. She thinks school more important than breathing. She want Weldon to be a doctor. But he keeps scribbling all over his homework."
"Scribbling?" Alice raised her eyebrows.
"I like to draw fairies and dragons," Weldon said. "I'm good at it."
"Fairies and dragons?" Alice said.
Weldon hadn't seen anything at all magical in the brief look he'd gotten of Alice's drawings.
"Dragons and fairies." Alice walked to a pile of boxes by the kitchen cabinet and picked a piece of cardboard up from the top of the stack. "Something like this?"
She turned it around so Weldon could see his own drawing on the back of the cereal box. It wasn't his best. It had been so hard to get the charcoal from the cigarette butts to make the lines like he wanted them. He blushed. "I can do better than that. I didn't have no pencil. I just—"
"No pencil? Charcoal then?"
Weldon shook his head.
"What?" Alice's voice was sharp.
Weldon rubbed his fingers together, remembering the feel of the cigarette butts crunching up in his hand. The smell of the burned end lingering in the air as he worked. He wondered how Alice had gotten the drawing out of the trash.
"Let me see that." His father took the flattened cereal box from Alice and sniffed it. "Cigarettes?"
Weldon shrugged. "Mama said I couldn't draw in the house. You know, like you not supposed to smoke in the house. They seemed to go together."
Alice laughed. "Robert. You can't keep an artist from drawing. It like keeping a fish from water." She took the drawing back from his father and propped it up against a cup on the counter.
"But how did you get that?" Weldon asked. "I put it in the garbage."
"It must have blown out when the garbage man dumped it. I found it under the shoe store window and wondered who made it." Alice emptied a can of tomato soup into a pan and added water.
Weldon swallowed hard. "Under the shoe store window. Right in the same place we found Tom?"
"Yes, come to think of it." Alice put the can on the stove and then leaned over to peer at the cardboard picture of the desperate Barthelme and his dragons flying through the crack into the Realm Above.
Tom had remained with his head resting on the table through this exchange. He looked like he felt terrible. Weldon hoped the doctors had given him some kind of pain medication.
At the mention of his name, Tom looked up.
Weldon coughed. "So Tom, welcome to 7th Street. I'm sorry you got beat up here. Actually most of the kids on the block are pretty nice. Must of been some guys from another street."
Tom managed a weak smile that looked more like a grimace on his swollen face. "Thanks."
"The doctors ain't going to make him go to school like that, are they?" Weldon asked.
"No. Not right away," Alice said. "The police still looking through them files of missing children. I'm sure they'll find his family soon. He won't be here long enough for school."
"Room done," Weldon's father said. "We better be going. Weldon still got homework." He moved toward the front door tugging Weldon along with him.
Weldon resisted. He felt bad leaving Tom, and besides, he wanted to get a look at some of Alice's paintings. "Can I come back tomorrow?" Weldon asked.
"You have to watch Phillis," his father said.
"She can come with Weldon," Alice said.
"You hate little children around your paints," his father countered.
Alice smiled. "I'll give her some watercolors and put her up to the table. Sounds to me like your children need a little bit of artistic education to go along with their academics."
"But Alice." Weldon's father rubbed his fuzzy beard.
"I insist. Now get. I have dinner to make." She got out a spoon to stir the soup.
"Rita gonna kill me," Weldon's father said. But he left the apartment without further argument.
Tom sipped the hot tomato soup. His face and ribs ached despite the pain medicine the doctor had given him. The pills made the whole world seem fuzzy to him, like a dream that would vanish as soon as he woke from his stupor. The doctor said he'd been lucky: No broken ribs, jaw, or nose. Just a ton of bruises and the lacerations on his wrist.
They'd wanted to cut the dragon band off his arm, but he'd fought hard to get them to leave it. The diamond dragon was the only clue he had to his past. In the end the doctor had relented, pushing it up higher on his arm while he cleaned and bandaged Tom's wrist. Tom had urged the doctor to wrap gauze over the band as well to hide it. He didn't want anyone else trying to steal it.
The kind woman who had taken him in propped open a couple of windows and started a ceiling fan. The apartment did smell awful, though she seemed to like the scent of her paints and thinners. When Tom had muttered about the smell making his head hurt worse, she'd responded with a smile and the fan.
"Don't worry bout all this mess," Alice said. "I decided it about time for an exhibit. I called the art studio from the hospital. The studio men a coming in the morning to get the paintings."
Tom tried not to look at the looming tarps that crowded the room. They made him feel closed in and anxious. Dust lingered on everything.
"I got to go shopping tomorrow and get you some clothes." Alice ate her soup while standing at the counter. There was only one chair at the tiny square table, and she'd put Tom in it. "It a long time since I has children staying here." She looked over at the wall where a photograph of a handsome older man hung. "Paul liked to care for foster children since we has none of our own. Only older fosters, of course. The little ones never would leave my paints alone."
Tom nodded, figuring Paul must be Alice's husband. Tom got up and shuffled over to the sink to wash his bowl and spoon.
"Let me do that," Alice said, taking the dishes from him. "You lie down and get some rest. But don't worry. I'm a give you plenty of chores when you feeling better." She waved him away from the sink, but Tom hesitated in front of the cardboard picture Weldon had drawn.
Smudges marred the scene so Tom couldn't make everything out. Weldon had said he'd put it in the garbage. It seemed to be a picture of a large group of people—people with wings—gathered around one poor boy. The people looked angry. They pointed and scowled at the dragons on the boy's shoulders. A third dragon was wrapped around the boy's wrist.
Tom's head pounded, and his vision swam. He pressed his hand against the diamond band around his own wrist and wondered if Weldon had made the picture before or after finding Tom.
"You better lie down," Alice said, wrapping a warm arm around his shoulders.
"But I don't know who I am. I can't remember anything." The more Tom struggled to remember how he'd gotten to this street, the fuzzier his mind became. The only clear thing he had was the dreadful feeling he'd done something horribly wrong before comin
g there.
"Give it some time," Alice said, leading him into the bedroom. "You had a rough day." She pulled back the covers of the bed and let him sit down. "No pajamas neither, and you'll be needing a toothbrush and comb." She tsked. "I'll go to the store first thing in the morning." She patted his shoulder and left, closing the door with a soft click behind her.
Tom lay down, overwhelmed by the throbbing of his head. His eyes wandered around the cramped room. Weldon and his father had cleaned out a good deal of stuff, but piles of cardboard boxes and dusty canvases still loomed against the wall. Tom felt an uncontrollable need to clean and keep cleaning until the whole apartment became open and fresh and airy. No more mysterious boxes, tarps, and eddies of dust.
He tried to get up, but his body refused. I'll do it in the morning, he decided.
Weldon waited at the bottom of the stairs for Phillis so they could walk to school together. His friends didn't seem to have to hang around with their little sisters day and night, but Weldon's mama worried too much and never wanted Phillis to be alone walking to or from school or even alone in the apartment while they waited for their parents to come home from work.
"Come on, Phillis. We'll be late," Weldon shouted up the stairwell. He could hear her slow steps still far above.
"Stop shouting." Mama came down, dressed for work. She'd catch the subway and be gone until dinner.
Weldon opened the door for her and let her out to the street. He was surprised to see Alice all dressed up, with her shiny black purse over her arm, waiting at the bottom of the stoop.
"Good morning, Rita," Alice said.
"Morning, Alice." Mama gave Alice a quick hug and started to walk away. "I've got to run. I'll be late."
Alice took up walking beside her. "Did Robert tell you bout the mugging yesterday."
"Mugging?" Mama stopped dead.
"Yes. A boy. Right outside my Paul's shoe shop. He got beat up pretty bad."
Mama's eyes went wide, and she pressed her hand to her mouth in alarm. "No. He didn't tell me."
Father had said he didn't want Mama to worry. Weldon wondered why Alice was telling her now.
"Don't worry none, dear," Alice said, patting Mama's arm. "I been thinking it over, and I'd like to invite Weldon and Phillis over to my place after school. That way I can keep an eye on them until the police catch whoever it was."
"Oh would you?" Mama sounded like Alice had just given her a big shiny gift on Christmas morning.
"Well . . . just for a little while." Alice's hand tightened on her purse as if she was suddenly nervous about her offer. "I sent the most valuable paintings off to an exhibit for a bit. And I think Phillis and Weldon will probably behave themselves."
"They will," Mama said, firmly. She shot Weldon a warning look. "Won't you Weldon?"
"Yes, Mama."
"And look after Phillis. Make sure she doesn't cause any trouble for Alice." Mama's watch beeped, and she jumped. "I've got to run."
"We'll be good. I promise," Weldon said.
Alice winked at him.
"Excellent," Mama said. "Thank you, Alice. I owe you one." She started off at a jog, anxious not to miss her train.
Phillis pushed open the door and came outside. "Hey, you supposed to hold the door for me," she said to Weldon.
Weldon stuck his tongue out at her and then looked guiltily at Alice. Alice pretended not to notice. "You two better get on to school. I'll see you after."
Weldon grinned. Excitement welled up inside him like a shaken soda can ready to burst. He'd been wondering how he would hide his visits to Alice's apartment. Father had given him permission, but Phillis would surely have tattled on him to Mama. Now Mama expected them to go over. Alice had to be the smartest person in the world.
Alice wrapped Tom's bandaged wrist in plastic and unwound the bandages protecting his bruised ribs so he could take a shower. He let the hot water cascade over him for a long time, until he couldn't stand the hard-water stains on the pink tile any longer. He got out and dressed in the clothes Alice had picked up from the Goodwill for him. They were a bit baggy, but a belt held the pants up, and he didn't mind the extra room in the t-shirt.
His head still ached, but his face felt somewhat better. It didn't look better though. He stared at his disfigured face in the mirror. "I look like a zombie." He poked at his swollen cheek and blinked his black eyes.
"It'll get better," Alice reassured him from outside the door.
Tom shuddered and stepped out of the bathroom. "I'd like to pay you back for letting me stay here. Can I clean the bathroom for you?"
"A boy, asking to clean the bathroom?" Alice squinted at him in disbelief.
Tom shrugged. He didn't want to offend Alice by admitting to the driving need he felt to clean the place up. "It just seems fair, you know. I want to help around here all I can. I'd feel so much better if you'd let me."
"All right. Fine," Alice said. "I have an illustration that needs finishing anyway." She opened the cupboard beneath the sink and showed him an array of cleaning supplies. "Vinegar works the best on hard water stains, but be very sure not to use the vinegar and bleach together. Mixing the two might just kill the both of us."
Alice sat down at a tilted desk in the corner and started work with colored pencils on a large rectangle of paper.
Tom went to work on the bathroom as if scrubbing away the grime would clear the confusion in his head and reveal everything he'd forgotten. Soon the pink shower tiles came clean. He followed that up with the sink and toilet. But when he'd finished with the bathroom, his head hurt worse than ever, and he still couldn't tumble enough thoughts together to come up with his own name. He felt certain it wasn't Tom, though.
The whole time, Alice worked with unbreakable focus on her artwork.
Tom got a clean washcloth and started in on his bedroom. He found that by restacking the boxes, which seemed to be full of knick-knacks and stray grocery receipts, he could fit them all in the small closet in the corner. He washed the window and scrubbed the walls and the floor.
The old blue curtains were covered with dust. He took them down and washed them in the sink and then hung them up in the shower to dry. Alice didn't seem to notice anything he did until his stomach let out the faintest rumble for food. Then she put down her pencils and jumped up.
"My goodness. It hours past lunch time. Why didn't you say something? I forget bout eating when I work." She peeked into the bathroom on her way to the kitchen. "Very impressive. I might have to keep you forever."
Tom stiffened.
"Joking, boy. Do peanut butter sandwiches sound okay to you?" She got out the bread, peanut butter, and jam without waiting for him to answer. "I guess I'd better call the police station and see if they found something useful," she said while she made up the sandwiches. "Your parents must of reported you missing by now."
"Maybe I've been gone a long time, or maybe they don't care," Tom said, slumping against the counter.
"Gimme your hands." Alice put down the butter knife and took his hands in her own, poking and rubbing, and holding them up close to her eyes. "You got soft hands. Never done no hard labor with them or played a musical instrument. Nothing to make no calluses."
She let go of his hands and stepped back to survey the rest of him. Tom shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. His hands tingled where she'd touched him.
"Them clothes you was wearing when we found you was in nice shape, except where those hoodlums had torn your shirt. Not designer clothes, but they wasn't worn out none neither. Your tennis shoes don't got no holes. Them jeans got no tears or fading. You ain't got no extra fat on you, but you ain't skin and bones neither. All that tells me you ain't been on the street long. If you done run away from home, it be just before you come here."
She closed up the jars and put the knife in the sink. "Your accent ain't from these parts. Maybe you is lost from a tour group. Got off the wrong stop of the subway or something. Your parents are probably worried sick. Eat up now." She handed
him a sandwich without a plate and took her own back to the desk.
"What about calling the police?" Tom said, just as she took a bite of her sandwich. She chewed slowly and then got up and went to the phone.
Tom sat at the table and ate his sandwich while she talked quietly into the phone. He couldn't make out the words. The sandwich tasted dry and bland. He had to get himself a glass of water to wash it down with.
The phone clicked as she set it down.
Tom looked up, hoping for some good news. Someone somewhere had to be looking for him.
Alice shook her head. "No one has turned in a missing person complaint that sounds like you since yesterday. The police done compared your picture to the national database of missing children. They ain't come up with no match yet, but sometimes it takes a little while."
She looked worried like she wanted to say something else to reassure him, but nothing came out.
Weldon knocked on Alice's old wooden door. Phillis fidgeted beside him. "I don't know why we got to come here. Ain't no muggers going to hurt us."
"Quiet, Phillis. Be polite, or Mama gonna make you sorry."
Alice opened the door and motioned for them to enter. "Come on in."
Weldon stepped inside and noticed at once that most of the biggest canvases were gone, leaving the room more spacious and open. Smaller canvases, boxes, and stacks of books still rested against the walls. To one side, a blank canvas as tall as Weldon and twice as wide stood held up by two easels. A chair and desk sat close to it with tubes of paint set out in a row next to a whole tub of brushes and a paint-stained palette.
"What you gonna paint there?" Weldon asked. He'd been hoping to see some of the larger paintings before they were taken away.
Alice lifted her chin and rubbed her hands together. "I'm a thinking you might teach me how to make them dragons."
An excited fizz ran through Weldon.
"Weldon's not allowed to draw dragons," Phillis said.
Alice turned on Phillis with a huff. "Your Mama make the rules at your house. I make the rules here, the first rule being you mind your manners, or I'll set you to work scrubbing my cupboards."
Real Dragons Page 4