I rested my head against the window post and began to listen intently. The woof of wind produced by cars approaching in the opposite direction caused some blanks in the conversation, but I heard enough.
… tranquilizer and laxative …
How did you …
…sent biscuits.… doggie treats… for the star dog.
…laxative and tranquilizers and those jour little legs will buckle, and those little bowels won’t hold … There followed some laughter and some mumbling.
Nadia had told The Souls about Ginger’s bad reaction to tranquilizers during her trip to Florida last August. She could very well have told this to everyone including Froelich. Froelich could have told Knapp, or Knapp could have heard it himself, for Nadia enjoyed talking about Ginger.
Tranquilizers and laxatives … Pass out like a mop. Instant coma. What’s the point? She’ll pass out backstage.
… point is that star dog Ginger is out and buddy dog Arnold is in.
It was clear Ham meant harm to Ginger.
No problem … Mother keeps a supply …
Why would his mother keep a supply of animal tranquilizers at home?
… easy … gave them to Nadia … gift from my mother …
Of course! Knapp’s mother was a veterinarian, the owner and operator of Vet in a Van. On several occasions I had seen the van bring Ham to school. The van was painted with the Vet in a Van logo and beneath it was written: Pat Knapp, DVM. I had assumed that Dr. Pat Knapp was a man and that his mother had borrowed the car. It had not occurred to me that his mother was the vet in the van.
It took no great leap of intelligence to realize that Hamilton Knapp had laced Ginger’s dog treats with tranquilizers and laxatives so that she would do one, possibly two, embarrassing things on stage. He gave Nadia the drugged treats and told her that they were a gift from Dr. Knapp, who was Ginger’s veterinarian. I could easily picture Hamilton Knapp telling Nadia that Dr. Knapp wanted Ginger to have these special treats for her performance. Nadia was so crazy about Ginger that she would believe that anyone who met her wanted to give her gifts.
As soon as the bus stopped, I made my way forward and slipped a Year-of-the-Souls penny into Noah’s hand. In the crush at the bus door, I had time to whisper, “Backstage emergency. Cover for me.” For reasons we had not spoken of, yet each of us understood, none of us was ready to reveal our association. I watched Noah make his way toward Ethan and pass a Soul penny to him. He had understood. I knew he would.
Just inside the auditorium, Noah bent down to tie his shoe, and Ethan tripped over him. They caused enough confusion for me to slip back outside and run around toward the back of the building and enter the auditorium through the stage door.
I was backstage.
I stayed in the shadow of the wings for a minute until I could get my bearings. The cast was jabbering, tugging at their clothes, too excited about themselves to pay attention to anyone else.
The first time Ginger appears onstage, she is running in front of the dog catcher. She is supposed to be a stray, and her fur must look matted and dirty. Nadia accomplished this by wetting portions of Gingers fur and tamping them down. From the audience, the wet spots look dark and dirty. For Ginger’s second appearance, she wears a rope leash, and for her final appearance, a scene in which Ginger and Annie have taken up residence at the mansion of the wealthy Daddy Warbucks, Ginger-as-Sandy appears clean and brushed and wears a rhinestone collar and red ribbon around her neck. Between acts Nadia has time to dry Ginger’s fur and brush her until her coat glistens.
Backstage between the wings stood the prop table where Nadia kept the big red bow and rhinestone collar, the hair dryer, the rope, and the treats that Stage-Annie uses to entice Ginger. I saw the table and worked my way invisibly through the backstage crowd, a technique I had learned from Gopal when I helped him with his act on board the cruise ship.
The treats were already laid out on the props table. I saw the rope. I also saw a fancy collar, but it was wider than Ginger’s, and the red bow was different. I examined the treats. They, too, were different. They were shaped like strips of bacon. Ginger’s usual treats were shaped like small bones. I was sure that these were drugged. I edged my way over to the table to pick up the dog biscuits and throw them away. I would destroy these treats, and then, if time and opportunity allowed, I would find Nadias supply and substitute good ones for the drugged ones.
If time and opportunity did not allow, then Ginger would have to go into her act without a bribe. I would count on Ginger’s genius.
Before I had a chance to scoop up the bacon-shaped treats from the table, I saw Froelich and Arnold coming out of the boys’ dressing room. Arnold was wet down and not wearing his collar or dog tags. Mrs. Reynolds was waiting outside the boys’ dressing room. She smiled and said something to Froelich and then called, “Places, everyone.”
As the backstage crowd started breaking up, I saw Nadia. She was holding Ginger’s leash and carrying the shopping bag where she kept her props. Ginger was still wearing her regular collar and dog tags.
Had something already happened to Ginger?
It was only minutes to curtain. I changed directions and slipped back into the shadow of the wings. I waited until Nadia came within a few feet of where I stood. I came forward, slipped a Year-of-the-Souls penny into her hand, and immediately returned to the shadows. Nadia gave no indication that she had the penny, but she was at my side in less than a minute.
“Is Ginger all right?” I asked.
“She is fine,” she said, shortening her leash and laying the shopping bag down on the floor. She reached down to pet Ginger. “Ginger is having a day off. It was Mrs. Reynolds’s idea. Mike Froelich has been so good about coming to rehearsals, and Arnold has become so well trained that Mrs. Reynolds decided to let him play Sandy at this performance.”
“Oh,” I said, “when did you find out?”
“Just this morning. Do not worry. Arnold is only a substitute. Ginger will appear at all of the evening performances.”
“So the treats on the props table are Arnold’s, not Ginger’s?”
“In a manner of speaking. Our vet sent them over for Ginger, but since Arnold is performing today, I gave him some. We both use the same vet.”
The treats awaiting Arnold were drugged. Neither Michael nor Nadia knew it. And Hamilton Knapp did not know that Arnold, not Ginger, was about to consume them.
I could save Arnold from the poisoned treats, let him go on, and let Knapp think that his dirty trick had worked. One for the price of two. Or I could let Arnold eat the drugged treats, embarrass Froelich, and let Ginger go on. Two for the price of one.
There they were, waiting on the prop table. There they were, waiting for my decision.
“Why are you here, Julian?” Nadia asked.
“To wish you ‘Break a leg,’” I said. “‘Break a leg’ is what you say to theater people instead of good luck.”
“And what do you say to theater dogs?” she asked.
“You double it. You say, ‘Break two legs.’”
Nadia laughed. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” I replied.
Nadia laid her shopping bag down at my feet and tugged at Ginger’s leash. “Come along, Ginger,” she said, “let us go wish some people to break some legs.”
I watched them walk away.
I made my decision.
I waited in the dark of the wing until the orchestra was well into playing the overture, for then I knew that the house lights would be lowered, and I could make my way to my seat unnoticed. Noah and Ethan had propped their jackets and backpacks on an aisle seat so that the shadow cast in the darkened auditorium could easily be mistaken for a person. I slipped into the seat, nodded to both Noah and Ethan, and waited for Sandy’s first appearance on stage.
The first time Sandy appeared, running across the stage being chased by the dog catcher, the audience broke into spontaneous applause. They were already in love. The second tim
e, the policeman asked, “Is that your dog, little girl?” and Sandy walked across the stage and sat at Stage-Annie’s feet, and once again the audience broke into applause. This time, however, when the applause was about to die down, Knapp and Lord exchanged a triumphant look and began barking, “Arf! Arf! Arf!” and clapping in rhythm. Soon all the other kids picked up on that, and the play could not continue.
Senior monitors started fanning down the aisles to locate the source of the trouble, but before the monitor was even with their row, Knapp’s hands were folded in his lap; his lips, sealed.
When the play was finished and after all the players had taken a bow, Arnold-as-Sandy walked in front of all the actors and sat down, center stage. The red bow had slipped from the back of his neck to the side. He sat downstage, center, for only a second before glancing over his shoulder, getting up, and walking a few steps upstage to line up with the other players. Stage-Annie and Daddy Warbucks took a step to the right and to the left respectively to make room for him. Arnold looked out over the audience, sitting in a circle of light, and the audience went wild.
They stood, began clapping in rhythm to their chant, SAN-dy SAN-dy SAN-dy. Knapp and Lord picked up the beat and started an undertone of Arf!Afr!Ar!, and soon the audience became a two-part chorus with half the auditorium chanting SAN-dy, and the other half responding with ARF, ARF in a manner more suited to an athletic contest than musical theater. The curtain was dropped, the house lights came on, and the chanting softened, faded, and died. Knapp and Lord exchanged a satisfied look.
Mrs. Reynolds walked onstage and stood in front of the curtain. She held a microphone in her hand and hissed into it, “Sit-t-t-t down!”
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-MP-MP-MP—the sound of hundreds of bottoms hitting hundreds of seats followed.
Mrs. Reynolds waited until an embarrassed silence fell over the auditorium. “Part of the theater experience is learning to be a good audience. You have not been a good audience. You have been a very bad one. I am sorry that you have not learned at home how to act in public. I am ashamed for you because I know you are not ashamed for yourselves. I would like you to leave. Now. You can start correcting your behavior by leaving this auditorium in a quiet and orderly fashion.”
Suddenly senior monitors appeared at the end of every third row, and we quietly and slowly made our way toward the exit. The auditorium was almost empty by the time we reached the exit. Mrs. Olinski was sitting in her chair between the doors. She called my name. “Julian. Julian Singh,” she called, “I would like to see you a minute.”
Had she seen me slip backstage? Or did she think that I started that ruckus in the auditorium? My school days are over, I thought. I will be expelled, I thought. How will I break the news to Papa?
Mrs. Olinski said, “I understand you have guests at Sillington House.”
“Yes, ma’am, we do. Mr. and Mrs. Diamondstein were due to arrive from Florida this afternoon.”
“Mrs. Diamondstein is an old friend of mine. She asked me to stop by and meet her new husband. How would you like to ride home with me?” she asked.
I was so relieved that I could not speak. I answered by nodding my head like one of those nodding animals that Americans put on the rear ledge of their automobiles.
Ethan, who was just behind me, said, “May I come, too? Mrs. Diamondstein is my grandma Draper.”
“Yes, so she is. I had almost forgotten. Of course, you may come.”
“Let me go backstage and get Nadia,” Ethan suggested. “Mr. Diamondstein is her grandfather.”
Mrs. Olinski laughed. “It seems all of our sixth grade is one happy family. Go ahead,” she said. “Go backstage and tell Nadia to meet us at my van.”
A voice that was midway out the door called, “Can I come, too?”
“You, Noah? What reason do you have?” Mrs. Olinski asked.
“Me?” Noah asked. “You want to know what reason I have for coming along?”
Mrs. Olinski smiled patiently.
“Well, Mrs. Olinski, my reason is the best of all. Fact: I was best man at their wedding.”
Mrs. Olinski laughed. “Were you really?”
“Yes, I was. I’ll tell you about it. I’ll spare no detail.”
Mrs. Olinski laughed. “Then, by all means, Noah, you must come along.”
Noah grinned. “I have always wanted to ride in a handicapped van. All my life, I have wanted to see how a disabled person like yourself applies the brakes and steps on the gas.”
Mrs. Olinski said, “I don’t exactly step on the gas.”
“There you go!” Noah said. “This is precisely what I would like to see. I would precisely like to see exactly how you apply the gas.”
Mrs. Olinski said, “That is either the most honest or the most dishonest answer I have ever heard. I must notify the bus driver that I’ll be driving you four souls home.”
Why did she say that? She was smiling. Did she know that we were The Souls? Did she know? Noah caught my eye and quickly changed the subject. “You’ll have to take Ginger home, too, Mrs. Olinski. If you don’t mind, of course. You don’t have to have any special fittings in the van to transport animals. It’s a good thing, too. Now, if Ginger were a seeing-eye dog …”
Mrs. Olinski interrupted. “Noah,” she said, “run down to the bus and tell Mrs. Korshak that I will be along in a minute. I have a message for her.”
“I’d be happy to give her that message, Mrs. Olinski.”
“I’m sure you would, but the message involves permissions that I, not you, have the authority to give.” Noah started down the row of yellow buses, and Mrs. Olinski followed.
There had been a moment backstage when I had been tempted to allow Arnold to eat the drugged treats. That had been the same moment that I thought it would be satisfying to get even with Froelich and Knapp. But then I was able mentally to separate Froelich from Knapp and Arnold from both of them, so I slipped over to the props table, scooped up all the poisoned treats, and put them in my right pocket. At the same time I substituted Ginger’s wholesome treats—treats I had taken from Nadia’s shopping bag—from my left pocket.
The drugged treats were still in my pocket.
Ethan, Nadia, and Ginger had not yet come out of the auditorium. Noah and Mrs. Olinski had gone to speak to Mrs. Korshak. I stood alone. There was something I wanted to do. When Knapp had started that ruckus, I had momentarily regretted my decision to save Arnold. I was still so angry that I was about to violate one of the cardinal rules that Gopal had taught me.
I walked out onto the street so that no one on the sidewalk would notice as I made my way down the line of buses waiting—headlight to taillight—by the curb. Beyond them was the line of cars waiting for pickups. Traffic could go only one way, and no one was allowed to make a U-turn, so even those cars that had already picked up their riders were stuck, waiting for the buses to load.
Gopal had taught me that magicians never reveal the secrets of their trade to laymen. Gopal always said that magicians who were interested in letting people know how clever they were were not really magicians. “Don’t ever destroy the wonder,” Gopal had said. “Let your magic show you off, not you show off your magic.”
I knew that Hamilton Knapp would find out soon enough that Arnold, not Ginger, had been chosen for the afternoon’s performance. He would find out soon enough that his trick had not worked. I knew that I should never reveal to Hamilton Knapp that I had saved Arnold from the fate he had meant for Ginger. I knew all of that. Yet I moved toward the Vet in a Van. Dr. Knapp was behind the wheel, waiting for her turn to pull out. I walked around the back of the van onto the sidewalk on the passenger’s side. I tapped on the window and motioned for Ham to roll it down. I reached into the open window. He pulled away from me but said nothing.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked.
“Your son has something growing out of his head,” I said as I pulled two bacon-shaped doggie treats from his ears. “I think these belong to you,” I s
aid as one by one I dropped the rest of the drugged biscuits on his lap. I turned and walked away.
I was glad that I had chops. Gopal would forgive me.
5
The deadline for choosing an academic team was the Tuesday following the winter holiday. The other homeroom teachers were ready by Thanksgiving. They had held mini contests in their classrooms and had selected the winners of those. They had ready answers for anyone who asked how they had chosen their teams. In the teachers’ lounge, Mrs. Sharkey, who taught sixth grade math, accused Mrs. Olinski of being dictatorial, and Ms. Masolino, who taught music and who did not have a home-room at all, hinted that she was lazy. Mrs. Olinski did not take kindly to these remarks. Her voice quavering, she answered her critics. “I have my reasons,” she said, even though she knew she didn’t. Something stronger than reason was having its way with her, and she didn’t know what that was either.
Mrs. Laurencin, Epiphany Middle School principal, called Mrs. Olinski into the office one afternoon and quietly warned her that she better have a good answer for the parents of any high honor roll student who didn’t make her team. Mrs. Olinski said, “By the time they get to sixth grade, honor roll students won’t risk making a mistake, and sometimes to be successful, you have to risk making mistakes.” Mrs. Laurencin agreed with her but warned her that that would not be a very popular reason. “Furthermore,” Mrs. Olinski added, “sometimes we even have to risk making fools of ourselves.” Mrs. Laurencin never approved of that answer either.
Even though Mrs. Olinski could not tell why, she could tell when she decided not to hold try-outs. It was on a Saturday in late October, some time after four o’clock. She had been correcting social studies papers and had just finished reading Noah Gershom’s essay on the First Amendment when the thought flew into her head. She would appoint her team, the way the president appointed his cabinet. She made her decision. Just. Like. That.
She chose Noah right away, and almost immediately after, she thought of Nadia and Ethan. They looked like strong candidates. She would watch them and see.
The View From Saturday Page 10