“He’s here,” Miss Peebs said to Junior.
“I know,” Junior said, “I can feel him.”
He was shaking. His bulk seemed to sag at the knees. He was sweating all over his arms and back.
“Junior, I’ve got to get around you and to the piano,” Miss Peebs said.
Junior stepped aside. Miss Peebs slid by him and sat down at the piano. At once, she began playing an atonal music.
“He knows you’re here but you’ve got to see,” she said. She looked at Junior and then at Buddy.
Buddy saw terror in Miss Peebs’ eyes. Energy surrounded her like a magnetic field. Every molecule, every pore of her, was jiggling a hundred times too fast. He’d never seen anything like the power that came from her. And seeing her sheer strength, Buddy believed Miss Peebs could pick up that piano and throw it at him, if she’d wanted to.
What’s going on? he thought. What do they want?
Junior was creeping along the main path of the room, away from the piano and couch.
Buddy thought, He’s going to close the windows so the noise won’t be so loud.
With the music Miss Peebs played all around him, the noise from outside seemed even louder to Buddy. A moment more of so much sound and he knew he would have to cover his ears.
Junior stopped on the path directly in front of that patch of white, like a hospital bed with nothing at all in it but cleanliness.
The piano was still. “You will do it.” It was Miss Peebs.
Junior leaned over close to the patch and lifted the cover. The movement was like someone peeling back gauze to expose a wound.
Buddy couldn’t see what Junior was doing but he saw the coverlet move; he knew the moment Junior peered inside. Instantly Junior’s arms swept upward and out, like wings hit by sudden wind.
Buddy saw Junior leap back, as though something had hurled him away. Junior fell against a precarious hill of furniture at the side of the path. The furniture crashed to the floor. Off balance, Junior landed on top of some of it, with some of it thudding down on him.
Buddy jumped up and was pulling drawers and tables off Junior without even thinking. He flung the mess aside. A whole lot of rings rolled around on the floor. Buddy counted about six topless jars of Vicks salve where they had fallen.
Miss Peebs was behind Buddy. She reached for a Vicks jar. Unmindful that the salve was crusted with time and dust, she dug in for a finger full and swallowed the mess neatly in a single gulp. Again she dug her finger in and coated her neck with it. All this done in an absent-minded motion.
“Are you sick or something?” Buddy heard himself saying to her. Vicks vapor burned hot, then cold through his nostrils. He was so calm, he had not even paused in his urge to get Junior out from under the fallen furniture.
“You’re full of dust,” he said to Junior. He pulled Junior to his feet and then brushed Junior’s clothing off as best he could.
“What’s going on—this is crazy,” Buddy said. Junior was holding on to him. He had one arm tightly around Buddy’s neck. The other, he wrapped around Buddy’s arm in a grip like a vise.
“Man?” Buddy said. Buddy saw that Junior had the terror, the energy, too. “Man?” he repeated.
Junior couldn’t say anything. It was Miss Peebs who spoke from behind Buddy.
“It’s that Junior has seen him. We both have seen him,” she said.
Buddy pried Junior’s hand from his arm, one finger at a time. With both arms free, he worked at getting Junior’s arm from around his neck. He hadn’t noticed until now but the pressure on his throat was unbearable. Buddy knocked his fist into Junior’s armpit with most of his force. Only then did Junior relax his hold long enough for Buddy to break free.
“God Almighty!” Buddy said. Junior came toward him again. This time Buddy was ready for him. He shoved Junior back toward Miss Peebs before Junior could reach him.
Junior and Miss Peebs stood like they were frozen there on the path, with Miss Peebs leaning around Junior to see and Junior with his head thrown back, his hands poised in midair.
Buddy turned around toward the windows. He studied that square patch of white that had so terrified Junior. He stepped over some furniture—rugs wrapped around a wood screen of some kind—and was lifting and folding back the white coverlet in one motion.
Buddy stood absolutely still. He was a statue made from ebony, his head down below his shoulders, with his hands holding the coverlet up and away from where he was looking. Buddy moved his head just enough to look back toward Junior and Miss Peebs.
They stared at Buddy with awful pleading and fear in their eyes. Yet their faces burned at him with relief at having him know at last.
“I have kept this to myself for so long,” Miss Peebs said.
When Buddy spoke, his voice came from deep within his stillness. “I understand,” he said.
“I just wanted you to see him,” Junior said.
“It’ll be all right,” Buddy told him.
“Because I got to take him out of here right now,” Junior said. “So you go on out and wait for me while I get him out. I just want you to be there in case I need you.”
Miss Peebs: “Oh, Junior, would you do that for me? No, you can’t do it. He’s sick, he won’t go.”
“No, Junior,” Buddy said, but neither Junior nor Miss Peebs was listening to him.
“He’ll go,” Junior told Miss Peebs. “He’s been tooling with you, he ain’t that sick. I can take him.”
“No, Junior,” Buddy said. “Oh, man, don’t”
“You go on out and wait in the hall,” Junior told him. Junior was afraid but he was smiling. It had come to him quite suddenly what he could do to save Miss Peebs and the grand piano too.
“You just stand out there, look at the elevator,” Junior told Buddy. “You done seen him once so you just don’t look at him anymore when I bring him out.”
Buddy let his breath out in a ragged sigh. The stillness he had become fell to pieces and he began to tremble. He let the white coverlet drop over the patch and walked swiftly away, passing Junior and Miss Peebs, knocking over furniture as he went. Buddy moved boldly through the hallway of white, shrouded giants and out of the apartment.
Buddy stood knocking his head against the elevator door, making soft thuds which he didn’t feel. He pressed his hands hard against the stippled wall on either side of the door, scraping his nails, just as hard, along the texture. This was the only way he could wait for Junior and keep himself from thinking.
When Junior came out of the apartment about five minutes later, Buddy immediately pressed the elevator button. He felt his spine tingle as Junior came up close behind him. Buddy knew Junior had the thing right with him. And when the elevator came, he stepped to one side. He turned away, keeping his head down, so that Junior and the thing Junior had with him could go in first.
Buddy entered the elevator and turned quickly around, facing the closing door. All the way down he rode with his head knocking against the door and with his arms outstretched as far as they would go on each side. No one would get on the elevator with them, with big Buddy staring out, blocking the entrance, with the monstrous fat boy grinning from the rear.
Outside, Buddy stayed in front of Junior and the thing with him. The night was evening dark, cold and clear, with a moon rising but seeming to Buddy like it was taking a slow roll down the topmost height of the Natural History Museum.
Buddy paused at the corner of Amsterdam and 78th Street and looked both ways along the avenue. He was trembling now, from cold and from fear. He still wasn’t sure what Junior meant to do; he wasn’t thinking clearly at all.
“You aren’t going home,” Buddy said to Junior behind him.
“I can’t,” Junior said. He was closer to Buddy than Buddy had imagined. “Can’t take him home because Mama wouldn’t have him in her house, he’s so filthy. Can’t go home anyway—by now, she know I ain’t been to school.”
Buddy shook his head rapidly and blinked the winter
out of his eyes. Steam rose white and hissing from around a manhole cover in the street. A taxi rolled over the cover, making a large, echoing sound all of a sudden. Amsterdam was nearly empty in this after-supper night. Almost empty, it was time for the city of darkness to roll over the evening.
“With filthy socks,” Buddy said, speaking about the thing traveling with Junior.
“You right,” Junior said, up close to Buddy’s ear, “and with busted-up shoes.”
There was only one place left for them to go.
“I got the bus fare,” Buddy told him. They went to the bus stop. When the bus came, they rode uptown without speaking. Buddy sat in a seat in front of Junior. He turned himself sideways toward the window. He could see outside but he couldn’t see Junior. He could hear Junior talking to this thing with him. No longer afraid, Junior was telling the thing to stay quiet, that it would be over soon.
With Buddy sitting sideways, it appeared that Junior was talking to him. Buddy said nothing. As when helping someone hurt in the street, he felt nothing. But he wanted to cry, so he closed his eyes and hunched himself tightly in his seat.
They rode with Junior talking. When they were uptown, they walked off the bus and to the school with Junior still talking. Going ahead, Buddy unlocked the door of the basement, letting the door stand open as he walked a short way down the pitch-black hall. Buddy heard Junior coming with his terrible talking and then the door closing. When Buddy knew Junior was right behind him, he lit a match and led the way. They made the broom closet and the hidden room. They found Mr. Pool like he’d always been.
“Say now?” Mr. Pool said, in greeting. “You boys about to be hungry?”
The single, forty-watt bulb glowed in the room. Mr. Pool had set up a card table in the center where the solar system had been. On the table were paper plates and plastic forks. To the side of the plates were pint and quart cartons of still warm Chinese food.
Gone were the spherical tracks of the solar system once attached to the ceiling. Mr. Pool had forced them into perpendiculars so they would fit into his long box. Gone were the rods from which the planets had been suspended, having been fitted into the box, also. Only a few planets were left on the floor. Among them was the planet of Junior Brown. Mr. Pool meant to put Junior Brown away at the very last.
“It’s all gone,” Buddy said, staring at the ceiling. “Every bit and piece of it is all apart.” Buddy’s voice seemed to slide out of him, aching all the way. He began shaking violently. Mr. Pool came quickly and took him by the arm before he collapsed.
“You’d better sit down,” Mr. Pool said, leading Buddy toward the one folding chair.
Junior already occupied the chair. That is, when he came in and saw all the Chinese food, he had taken up a quart and pint and had gone over to the chair. He didn’t sit on the chair, but sat himself down on the floor in front of it, facing it. He ate and he talked very softly, rocking ever so smoothly back and forth. He seemed happy.
Seeing Junior like that and feeling the frightful tremors from Buddy’s arm run through his own hand, Mr. Pool knew something awful had taken place.
“Tell me quick what happened,” Mr. Pool said to Buddy.
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know,” Buddy said. “It’s all so crazy.”
“You better tell me,” Mr. Pool said. “Just take your time. Here, sit on the box. I’ll sit beside you. No, it might break. Here, sit down beside me on the floor.”
They sat to one side of the table, where they could see the back of Junior Brown and the chair at the same time.
Once Buddy started talking, he found he couldn’t stop himself. He went on and on about himself and Junior, about how they were always together and yet still far apart. He told Mr. Pool about the river and how Junior loved it. He told about Junior’s father and Junior’s house. He spoke about Junior’s piano and Junior’s mother and then he told about Miss Peebs and her relative.
“I seen how Junior’s been scared,” Buddy said, “since months ago. But he got more and more scared and he wouldn’t talk why until he was about to burst with something he couldn’t let himself say. I still don’t get what all of it was,” Buddy said. “Until the time Junior came on with Miss Peebs’ relative and how I had to help him help her.”
Buddy laughed, like a cry. His eyes welled and then the bright, wet tears flowed back inside him again. “He say this relative have a real bad disease,” Buddy said. “He say how the relative is sick and dirty and stinking with filthy socks. Only then he says it’s a lie, he never even seen the relative. I should of known right then. I should of figured it but I didn’t.”
“I think I understand now,” Mr. Pool said. “You don’t need to talk about it.”
“No,” Buddy said, “wait, let me tell you what went on.”
Across from them Junior picked up the light bulb on its cord. He held the light, talking, whispering, as if he were explaining about it. Next he put the light down between the chair and himself. Junior stretched out on his side with his hands one over the other under his cheek, just like a child. From where Buddy sat, he was a mountain. With the bulb burning in front of him, Junior was a mountain with the summer sun coming up red behind it.
“You know how some birds will steal from the other’s nest,” Buddy said, “and how the other, when he finds his eggs is stolen, will go out and pick up something, anything he can find to take the place of what’s been taken? One for one. One egg gone, the bird will pick up a button and put it in the nest. Two eggs gone, the bird will find a penny and put it in the nest. He’ll sit on that button and that penny just like he will his eggs. And if the eggs hatch and the babies fly off, he’ll still sit there on the button and the penny just forever if he has to. Forever.”
Buddy ran his hand through his hair. Mr. Pool patted him gently on the shoulder. “You take it easy,” Mr. Pool told him. “You don’t have to talk anymore.”
Buddy went on. “Her house was a nest,” Buddy said. “That Miss Peebs’ house with all those rooms was one big nest full of every stinking thing under the sun. I never knew a woman could hurt so bad. See, she just kept on piling in more and more stuff each time she lost. I never knew a woman could lose so many times.
“But she had this place in her living room,” Buddy said. “I can’t describe it. It was square and covered up; she and Junior were about to die over it. I mean, he had to go see what was in there; he had to. And when he did see, he just fell apart. It was the relative there, see, all covered up. This relative so dirty and filthy Miss Peebs had to get rid of him. Junior had to get rid of him, too, in order to get to play the piano.”
Buddy stopped. He clenched his hands tight together, pressing them against the floor.
“So I go and look into this covered place,” Buddy said. “There wasn’t a thing there. The place was empty of everything except maybe for dust. There never had been anyone under there. The dirty, filthy relative was just what Junior saw and I guess what Miss Peebs saw. So,” Buddy said.
“So,” Mr. Pool said, “you brought him here.”
“Not just Junior,” Buddy said.
“I know. I mean, you brought the relative here,” Mr. Pool said. “Junior brought him in order to help his teacher.”
“You know!” Buddy said.
Mr. Pool looked over to where Junior still rested contentedly on the floor.
“Yes, I know,” Mr. Pool said.
Buddy let his head drop heavily to his chest as a feeling of relief spread through him.
“We’ll have to get him to a hospital,” Mr. Pool said. “I guess we’ll have to call his mother. She’ll be worried, he should have been home by now.”
Mr. Pool seemed to be thinking out loud. Buddy stared at him.
“Something will have to be done for Miss Peebs,” Mr. Pool went on. “Maybe Junior’s mother can help her. And I’ll have to let the school know about Junior …”
“… You want to put him in a hospital?” Buddy broke in on Mr. Pool. He got to his feet, backing
away. “I been seeing people like Junior all the time,” Buddy said. “Nobody bothers about ’em. But you put Junior in a hospital and he won’t never come out. They’ll lose him in one of those wards!”
“Buddy,” Mr. Pool said, “son, listen!”
“No!” The tears Buddy had held back for so long filled his eyes. He felt betrayed and choking, he wouldn’t let Mr. Pool touch him. “They’ll hit on how fat he is,” Buddy cried, “they’ll say that’s it, we got to get him skinny.”
“Buddy, Buddy,” Mr. Pool said.
“They’ll see how black he is,” Buddy said, “and they’ll say that’s the problem, we got to get to the white inside. How could you do that to him! You ain’t going to take him to no hospital—I’ll fight you, man, I’m telling you!”
Mr. Pool grabbed Buddy by the shoulders, shaking him. For a moment the two of them scuffled, struggling against one another. Finally Mr. Pool was able to shove Buddy against the wall. The effort took all of his strength.
“You’re going to listen to me,” Mr. Pool told Buddy. “Now listen! I’m not trying to hurt Junior. I wouldn’t hurt him. All I mean is, he’s got to have professional help. You know he is. You’ve seen people talking to themselves, stopping in the street or standing in the subway.”
“And do they hurt anyone?” Buddy said. “No, man! They don’t hurt nobody.”
“They hurt themselves,” Mr. Pool told him. “Don’t you understand? Junior sees this person, this man, and that’s serious. No,” Mr. Pool said. “We have to get him some help but maybe first we can buy him some time.”
“Time?” Buddy said. He looked anxiously at Mr. Pool.
“He might still need a hospital,” Mr. Pool said, “but maybe not right away. Because putting him in there right away would be like telling him nobody cares about him. He has to have time to know there’s people who care. We care. We want to see he gets well.”
“Then what do we do?” Buddy said.
“Maybe we can find him a place for a while,” Mr. Pool said. “Some place close by so we can look out for him. He needs time and he needs us. I can put the school off and I think I can take care of his parents, too.”
The Planet of Junior Brown Page 13