They Cage the Animals at Night

by Jennings Michael Burch

  She closed her eyes. The room was silent. I didn’t know if she fell asleep or what. I started to back away.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I stepped forward. “I’m still here.”

  “Please be a good boy. Don’t drink like George or run away from me like Larry did.” She started to cry.

  “I won’t,” I said.

  Walter tugged at my shoulder. He pointed toward the door. He wanted me to leave. I went back into the bedroom and sat down. Walter came in right after me.

  “I didn’t mean to make her cry.”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “She gets that way sometimes. She just starts crying.”

  I lay back on the cot and closed my eyes. I was awakened by Walter.

  “Do you want some soup?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I said. I sat up and stretched.

  Walter had the soup already in the bowl when I got to the kitchen. I no sooner sat down than I heard the front door slam.

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  “George or Larry, I guess.”

  It was both of them. Larry zipped past the kitchen door and went right on down the hall. George stuck his head in the door.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. How are you?” I replied.

  “Fine. Fine.” He was a little glassy-eyed.

  “Where’s Larry going?” I asked.

  “He’s a little under the weather,” he said. “Well, I’ll see you later. I’m gonna watch a little of Uncle Milty.”

  “Who?”

  “Milton Berle, The Texaco Star Theater. Come and watch with me.” He left the doorway.

  “Well, what do you think of Larry now?” Walter asked.

  “How can I think anything? I didn’t see him.”

  “Well, he’s drunk.”

  “Is that what ‘under the weather’ means?”

  He nodded his head. We finished the soup in silence, except for the tinkling of the spoons against the bowls. I was sorry to see Larry under the weather. I was looking forward to seeing him again.

  I finished eating and joined George in the living room.

  “The ventriloquist is Jimmy Nelson,” George said, “and his dummy is Danny O’Day.” He was explaining who I was watching.

  “Oh. I thought you were watching something about an uncle.”

  “I am. Uncle Milty. That’s Milton Berle’s nickname. This is his show.”

  “Oh, I get it now.”

  During the commercial George went into the kitchen for a beer.

  “You want anything, Mike?” he called from the kitchen.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  George was the only one who called me Mike. Everyone knew I had changed my name at St. Michael’s, but nobody called me anything other than Jennings.

  George returned with his beer and lit a cigarette. “It’s not my fault,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That Mom fell down the stairs and got hurt,” he said. “It’s not my fault.”

  “I didn’t think it was your fault,” I said. “I was mad when it first happened, but I got over that.”

  “Were you mad at me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why? I didn’t push her down the stairs.”

  “No. But she asked you to fix the antenna. What difference does it make now?” I said. “I’m not mad no more.”

  “It makes a big difference,” he said. “I want you to know it wasn’t my fault.”

  “I know it wasn’t. It was just an accident, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” he said. “How was the home? Rough?”

  “Yeah, pretty rough.”

  “I want you to know I tried to get you almost as soon as you got there.”

  “Did you?”

  “They wouldn’t let me take care of you. They said seventeen wasn’t old enough. I had to be twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one! Egads. Nobody’s twenty-one, ‘cept Mom and…Nobody’s twenty-one.”

  “Well, let’s just hope there’s no more homes,” he said.

  I nodded my head in agreement. “How’s Larry? When did he get home?”

  “He’s all right. He just drank a little too much, that’s all. As far as when he got home? Let me think…I’d say about a month or so ago.”

  “Walter’s real upset that he’s drinking.”

  “What’s a few beers? That’s not drinking. Walter’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Walter thinks he’s gonna end up like…” Uh-oh, I said to myself. Now I did it.

  “Like who? Me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Son of a bitch! I break my ass to hold things together, and what do I get for it?” He shook his head and dashed out his cigarette. “Doesn’t anybody see anything but my drinking? Maybe I should be like Larry and run out when things get tough. Or like Walter, just take and keep on taking. Make a place for myself and screw everyone else. It ain’t fair,” he said. “I’m tired of it.” He got up and left the room.

  I sat by myself for a few minutes. I turned off the television and went into the bedroom. George was sitting on his bed. Larry was lying across his bed, fully clothed, and snoring. Walter was reading at the desk. I sat on George’s bed.

  “I see other things,” I said. “You once brought me Doggie when I needed him. You tried to get me out of this home, and you’re the only one who calls me Mike.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and scratched the top of my head. “I’m just blowing off steam. Don’t pay no attention to me.”

  I went over to my cot and lay down. I hugged Doggie and fell asleep. Sometime during my dreams I felt someone taking my clothes off. I was much too sleepy to help them. They covered me up and replaced Doggie in my arms.

  “Good night, Mike,” George whispered.

  Walter woke me up in the morning. I dressed and watched him feed Mom.

  Part of the morning, for about half an hour, I rode up and down the elevator. It was fun. I stopped on all the floors. I returned to the lobby for about the fifth time, when Larry got on.

  “Jennings! What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” I said.

  “I know that,” he laughed. “I meant when did you get home?” He got into the elevator and pressed the button.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “You got home yesterday? I didn’t see you.”

  “I saw you. You were drunk.”

  He laughed. “I had a couple. I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Larry. What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

  “I don’t know. I just remember you complaining about George’s drinking, that’s all.”

  “Well, I changed my mind.”

  “You changed more than that,” I mumbled.

  The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and we got off.

  “You haven’t seen me in a year, and all you got to talk about is how much I drank last night. Don’t ask me how I am or where I’ve been.”

  “I was gettin’ to that.”

  “Well, don’t bother,” he snapped. He pushed open the apartment door, then slammed it in my face.

  Larry wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I should’ve asked him how and where he was, and then asked about his drinking. This way, I would’ve known how and where he was before he stopped talkin’ to me.

  I fed Mom some soup and some tea. To feed her, I just put whatever she was eating in a glass and then held it up to her cheek. She did the rest by sipping it down through a funny-looking crooked straw. I asked her if I could use one of her straws to drink chocolate milk or something, but she said no. She was afraid I might break it. After she finished eating, I started to read a comic book to her and Doggie. I didn’t get to the end of the first story before she fell asleep. I kissed her hand as lightly as I could before I closed the door. I made sure not to turn her light off.

  After supper Doggie and I watched Captain Video and The
Name’s the Same. Larry had gone out, so we were alone. Doggie said he was tired.

  “I am too,” I said, and staggered down the hall toward the bedroom and fell onto my cot, carefully, so it wouldn’t collapse.

  The next morning, I went down the hall to the kitchen. As I turned at the doorway, there was Sal, sitting at the table reading the paper.

  “Sal!” I cried. I flew into his arms. I knocked his paper to the floor.

  “Hey! Take it easy. Take it easy.” He laughed.

  He kissed the top of my head as I hugged him.

  Suddenly I jumped back from him.

  “Why didn’t you come for me? Didn’t you get my note?”

  “I got your note, but I couldn’t come for you.”

  “Aren’t you over twenty-one?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Sure I am. But there’s more to it than that.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t ready to make a commitment to you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I wasn’t ready to take care of you on a full-time basis.”

  “Don’t you care about me?” I asked.

  “Sure I care about you. But, there are other ways to show someone you care.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like not lying to them, for one thing. I couldn’t come for you and say I’ll take care of you and then just leave you someplace, could I?”

  I pouted a little before answering him. “I just missed you. I’ve been gone seven months,” I said. “I missed you a lot.”

  “I missed you too, son.” He hugged me. He held me in his huge arms.

  “Son, isn’t it better to know I won’t lie to you? Isn’t it better to know when I come for you, it’ll be for keeps?”

  I had to think about that for a moment. “I guess so,” I mumbled. “But sometimes lying’s better. It makes me feel good.”

  “But only for a little while. When the lie has to stand up as the truth and doesn’t, it hurts twice as much.” He raised his eyebrows as if to ask me: What do you think?

  “I guess so,” I mumbled.

  Sal tickled me to make me laugh, then held me.

  “How was it, son?”

  I told him. I told him about Mark. He was pleased I had remembered what he had told me about Midnight. I didn’t tell him I felt bad about not telling Mark I loved him, because I loved Sal too. I figured nobody went around saying those things.

  I told Sal I thought a lot about Jerome. “Do you think we might arrange to visit him again?”

  He laughed. “I think I can manage that,” he said. “But it’ll have to wait until I get back.”

  “Get back? Back from where?”

  “I have to go on the road tonight.”

  “Oh, gosh. For how long?”

  “A few weeks. I’ll try to arrange it when I get back. All right?”

  “All right.” I gave Sal a hug and he left.

  I fed Mom some soup.

  “Want me to read to you?” I asked.

  “That would be nice, dear.”

  I got my baseball cards and read the backs of them to her. When I got to Yogi Berra’s card, I said, “Oops!”

  “What is it, dear?”

  I told her about the deal Jerome and I made about Yogi winning the MVP. Then I had to explain to her what MVP meant.

  “You have to get out more, Mom,” I said.

  She laughed. “Don’t make me laugh, dear. It hurts.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I think I want to sleep now,” she said.

  In the weeks that followed, one day ran into the next. I fed and took care of Mom. I talked to her when I could, but it was hard. She would either cry or fall asleep.

  No one was ever around, so I was very lonely. Gene had made some friends in the building, so I only saw him at suppertime. We would fight over television, but then he would fall asleep. Then I’d watch what I wanted.

  One afternoon I found Larry packing a suitcase.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Away?”

  “Away where?”

  “Just anywhere,” he said. He picked up his comic books and then threw them on the floor. “You can have them if you want them.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just sat on my bed and watched. I thought about the first time he had run away and how I felt. It’s different now. He was different. The Larry who ran away a long time ago never came back.

  “You ought to run too,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? Why?”

  “You’re just the damn slave around here,” he said. “I’d be a slave too, but I’m too smart for them. You’re stupid.”

  “Why am I stupid? Because I take care of Mom, I’m stupid?”

  “That’s right!”

  “Well, if I don’t do it, who will? You?”

  “Not me, buddy.”

  “I’m not your buddy.”

  “Look! Don’t give me any of your crap. If you don’t wanna run, don’t!”

  “I don’t.”

  “But don’t give me any of your crap. I ain’t nothin’ around here. So I’m going. I’m going to where I can be somebody.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m talking about. George’s the breadwinner. Walter’s the brains. You’re the goody-two-shoes, until they don’t need you no more, then you’re out! And Gene’s the baby. Where does that leave me?”

  “I don’t know. Where?”

  “Nowhere! I don’t belong here.” He slammed down the suitcase lid and stormed out of the room.

  I sat by the window and looked down on Elmhurst Avenue. I saw Larry come out of the building lugging his suitcase. I hope he finds what he’s looking for. I wished he could’ve found it here. I wished he never would’ve started drinking. I laid my head across my arms and cried. I was mixed up. I wanted to be angry with Larry because he had changed so much, but I wasn’t. I was sad for him. Under all his growling and complaining, he was as lonesome as I was. He was looking for someplace to belong. I could understand that.

  “Good-bye, Larry,” I whispered.

  I didn’t tell Mom Larry had gone. She asked for him a couple of times, but I said he was out looking for work. I didn’t tell Walter until maybe a week or so later. “So what?” was all he had to say.

  My eleventh birthday came and went without notice. I didn’t tell Mom it was my birthday because she would just start crying. I didn’t want that.

  Sal finally returned. I told him about Larry.

  “That’s too bad,” he said. “He’s getting used to running away, and that’s no good.”

  “What do you mean, he’s getting used to running away?”

  “When someone runs from something once,” he said, “that’s one thing. But when they continue to run, it becomes a habit. They learn to run all the time instead of facing things. That’s bad.”

  I told him not to tell Mom about Larry. He understood.

  He talked to Mom. He told her he was looking for a new job.

  “I’d like to be around here more,” he said.

  “I’d like that too,” she said.

  “I think Jennings and Gene need someone around. Besides,” he said, “I’m getting tired of this job. I’d like to get something with less hours on the road. Maybe then I could stay in the living room.”

  “That would be nice,” she said.

  “I’ll have to ask the boys,” he said.

  “I don’t mind,” I said, smiling.

  “I know you don’t mind. It’s George and Walter I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, them,” I mumbled.

  “Yes, them.” He laughed. “I’ll ask them when it gets a little closer.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the late fall.”

  “The fall! That’s years away,” I said.

  “No, it’s not. It only seems that way.”

  Sal went back on the road the following day. I missed him. Fall was years
away, and I knew it. I also knew George wouldn’t like Sal staying in the living room. Walter might think it was all right as long as he could drive the car. But George. Uh-uh.

  I was home one afternoon sitting by the bedroom window. Mom was asleep and I was alone. I saw what I thought was Sal’s car pull up. I watched. Sal got out.

  “Oh, Doggie, look! It’s Sal!”

  He was excited.

  I held him up to see better. We watched Sal go around his car and open the other door. Jerome got out.

  “Jerome!” I cried. I ran from the window and out of the room. I ran down the hallway and out of the apartment. I pressed and pressed for the elevator to come, but it wouldn’t. I ran down the stairs. I almost fell over my own feet. I was just coming out of the stairwell when Jerome came down the hall.

  “Jerome!” I yelled.

  We threw our arms around each other.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “They let me come home.”

  “For how long?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. For keeps, maybe.”

  Jerome was put to bed immediately. The apartment was like a little hospital, Mom in one room and Jerome in the other. But at least now I had someone to talk to. I was glad to be with Jerome again. I’d missed him. We talked about all sorts of things: stamps, models, baseball, and chess.

  “You’re really getting good,” he said.

  “I had a good teacher. Mark.”

  “Mark? Who’s Mark?”

  “He was a boy I knew at the home,” I said quietly.

  “You talk as if he were dead.”

  “He is.”

  “Oh. Well, we all have to go sometime.”

  He spoke so matter-of-factly, I was startled.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked.

  “What? Death?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. When you’ve lived your whole life in one hospital or another, you get used to things like that.”

  “Oh, wow,” I said.

  “Are you afraid of death?” he asked.

  “Uh…I never thought about it, really, not until Mark died. Now I think about it sometimes.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “For people like me, it’s only the end of sickness and pain, that’s all.”

  “And for people like me?”

  He laughed. “People like you are better off not thinking about it at all. You get along better that way.” He pushed his glasses back on his nose.

  Jerome reminded me so much of Mark. If they had met, I thought, I’m sure they would have liked each other.