Unhooking the Moon

by Gregory Hughes

‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m putting the price up after this shipment because I’m the one who’s putting up the dough and taking the risk. Then I’m off to Atlantic City. It’s not to gamble, it’s to see family. Well, they’re sort of family. You see this guy and his wife took me in after my mom died. They’re retired now and so I like to go up there every now and again and give them something. You know, to show my appreciation.’

  ‘Our parents died too,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, when?’

  ‘Mom a long time ago, Dad died the other day.’

  Joey slumped back. ‘Oh kids, I’m sorry! I didn’t know! So that’s why you’re looking for your uncle?’

  ‘We don’t want to go in a home,’ said the Rat.

  ‘Of course not! Your uncle will have to take you in! Where does he live?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ I told him.

  ‘You don’t know. But you must have an address or a street.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘A borough? The Bronx? Brooklyn? Manhattan?’

  ‘New York City is all we know.’

  Joey looked amazed. ‘Do you know how big New York is? Kids, you’ll never find him.’

  ‘We will,’ said the Rat. ‘I know we will.’

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t wanna go wandering around New York City by yourselves. There are a lot of strange people there.’

  ‘Paedophiles, right? Goddamn paedophiles are all over the place!’

  Joey froze. He went to say something but he burst out laughing. ‘You kill me, kid. You really do … OK, look. As soon as I get back from Atlantic City I’m gonna help you find your uncle. I don’t care how long it takes. I got help when my mom died and I’m gonna help you. No one’s gonna put you in a home. You have my word on that.’

  The Rat smiled. ‘We’re glad we met you, Joey. Aren’t we, Bob?’

  ‘Sure we are.’

  He looked kind of bashful, but I was glad we’d met him. He might have been a big kid, but he was a nice big kid. And when he said he’d help us I knew he meant it. We’d made our first New York friend and we’d only just arrived. Things couldn’t have gone any better.

  Chapter Nine

  I dreamt strange dreams all night.

  They began with Mary White Cloud rocking in her rocking chair whispering the name of Jerome DeBillier. Then the Old Man made an appearance and, strange as it seemed, I was lying in his grave looking up at him. ‘You’re not going to sing, are you, Dad?’ I asked. ‘I’m afraid I am, son,’ he replied. But when he sang it was silent. And then the chief came alongside him and they sang silently together. Next, Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez was calling to me, ‘I’ll be your mother if you want me to be.’ When she spoke I could feel her breath against my cheek. She opened her arms wide and I went to hug her. Suddenly she was way in the distance. I paddled towards her as fast as I could. Why I was paddling, I don’t know. She was standing in the middle of a prairie and I was on dry land. I got out the boat and ran towards her. ‘I’m coming!’ I shouted. But I bumped into Father Henri and fell to the ground. He raised his Bible and looked down at me. Then he started screaming and shouting and when he did, fire and brimstone fell from the sky. I ran through the prairie as fast as I could while dodging the missiles that erupted around me. Suddenly I was standing at the crossroads in clear skies. A man was walking towards me. His eyes were as black as his hair and a long black coat flowed around him. ‘Are you the Devil?’ I asked. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I used to have a demon inside me.’ I was terrified. I tried to run but I ran in slow motion. Then once again I fell.

  ‘Get up, Bob. We’re here!’

  I saw Joey and the Rat. They were upside-down. But that wasn’t a dream. They stood with the back door open looking down at me. I don’t know what was more frightening: the nightmare or the reality. I climbed out the car and stood up in a garbage-filled street lined with rundown buildings. Surely this can’t be it, I thought.

  ‘Welcome to New York, Bobby boy!’

  The midmorning breeze blew yesterday’s newspapers around my feet and I shivered with fear and fatigue. Joey lifted the bikes and rucksacks out of the trunk, and then he looked at me and laughed. ‘Disappointed, hey. Take a right at them lights and go over the Brooklyn Bridge. See how disappointed you are then.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to meet my Coney Island contact and get to Atlantic City. Look, why don’t you kids come with me? These people are really nice and we’ll only be gone a few days.’

  ‘We’ll stay,’ said the Rat.

  ‘We want to start looking for him right away,’ I said.

  ‘I have a trailer by the river, but you couldn’t stay there by yourselves. I know. This is what you do. You go to the Central Park Youth Hostel. It’s on 103rd Street between Central Park West and Manhattan Avenue. Can you remember that?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘There’s a girl who works there called Sexy Sandra. She’s an old girlfriend of mine. You tell her Joey sent you. Tell her I’ll come by in a few days to pick you up. She’ll take care of you.’ He cringed. ‘But for now, kids, I have to go.’ He took a wad of cash from his pocket and, peeling some off, he gave it to the Rat.

  ‘You don’t have to, Joey. You’re our friend.’

  ‘That’s why I’m doing it, Marie Claire. Besides, Sexy Sandra’s not stupid. She’ll want to be paid up front.’ He gave the Rat and me a hug and got in his car. ‘You kids have my cell – call me if you need me.’

  As soon as the car drove away, I wished we had gone with him. It would only have been for a few days, like he said, and now we were in New York by ourselves.

  ‘Joey’s our friend,’ said the Rat. ‘We have to look after him.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  But nothing always meant something with the Rat.

  ‘Come on, Bob. Let’s go find New York!’

  And so that’s what we did. We took a right at the lights, like Joey said, and rode down toward the Brooklyn Bridge. There was traffic roaring over the bridge and there was a boardwalk running through its centre. There were people walking and cycling on the boardwalk and there were people coming up through a gap at its beginning.

  ‘There must be a staircase under the bridge,’ I said. ‘Follow me.’

  We made our way around the side of the bridge, with the angry drivers blaring their horns at us, and headed into the gloom of the underpass. In the centre we found a set of stone steps and clambered upwards with our bikes. Once on the boardwalk we rode up towards the bridge’s brown church-like arches. There were hundreds of steel cables flowing from the arches and there was traffic flowing underneath. You could see it through the gaps in the boardwalk. And below the bridge was a green river, twice as wide as our Red River, where ferries and barges plodded back and forth.

  The further up the bridge we went, the more we saw of New York’s famous skyline. I’d seen it on television a thousand times, but it’s much more impressive in real life. There were so many skyscrapers you couldn’t count them. There were hundreds by the bridge and looking further up Manhattan, there were hundreds more. It was an island of skyscrapers.

  ‘There’s the Statue of Liberty!’ said the Rat.

  It must have been nice for the old immigrants to see her, especially after such a long journey. Winnipeg should have had a Statue of Liberty for our immigrants because they had a long journey too, longer. But the French never saw fit to make us one.

  ‘Come on, Bob.’

  We rode up to the top of the bridge and stopped to take in the view. Above us a beautiful American flag fluttered in the breeze. It looked magical. But everything looked magical. What’s more the city seemed to buzz. It wasn’t a sound you could hear, it was more of a vibration. Maybe it was the millions of conversations, or the cars on the streets, or the electricity that ran through the cables. Or maybe it was a force that came from the city itself. When I looked at the Rat she was smiling. ‘It’s the Emerald City!’ she said.
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  Suddenly I was scared. I felt like we were on the verge of something. And I knew that once we rolled down the boardwalk we’d have no control over it. ‘What shall we do?’ I asked. I said it more to myself but the Rat’s pointy ears picked it up.

  ‘First I have to go to Ground Zero to say a prayer,’ she said, pushing her bike to the edge of the slope. ‘And then we can start our search.’

  I felt like I was on a high diving board and she was hurrying me to jump. But it was too late to turn back now. And when the Rat got religious there was no stopping her. So we rolled down the boardwalk and into Manhattan singing ‘New York, New York’ as we went.

  We cycled into the city, weaving in and out of the double-parked delivery vans, the slowing yellow taxis, and the cops who slapped citations on stagnant windscreens. The streets were loud with pounding jackhammers, screaming whistles, and orange-vested construction workers who shouted to each other in thick New York accents. As did the drivers who hurled insults at the cars that held them up. New York was so noisy it made me nervous. And it was as smelly as an old garage.

  As we rode we sneaked glances at the high-rises and the helicopters that hovered above them. Some of the buildings were huge masses of steel and glass while others looked so old and sophisticated they might have had gargoyles at the top.

  The Rat stopped her bike and, oblivious to the traffic, she frowned up at them. Then she came back down to earth and asked a guy the way to Ground Zero. He never stopped walking, but shouted street names and pointed as he went. We didn’t understand his directions, but we headed off in the direction he had pointed in.

  When we found it the Rat gave me her bike and, walking towards a security fence, she looked down into what was more of a construction site than a hole. Then she clasped her hands together and, bowing her head, she prayed. A couple of construction workers stopped their hammering and looked on. It was a bit embarrassing to tell you the truth. But the Rat didn’t care, and neither did the passing New Yorkers. I was soon to learn that you could act as crazy as you like in New York and nobody would care. So in that sense, the Rat was in the right place.

  When she came back she looked sad. But it was sad. I remember the Old Man crying the day it happened, and the day after. And I remember the Rat, who was really little at the time, putting her arms around him to comfort him.

  Suddenly she stopped and turned her head to one side. It was as though she was listening to something. ‘There have been angels here,’ she said, ‘hundreds of them. They must have helped the people into heaven.’ Then she looked around her, scanning the area.

  I looked around as well to see what she was looking at. ‘Are you looking for angels?’ I asked.

  ‘No, stupid. I’m looking for a coffee shop! I’m upset, Bob. I need a mocha!’

  ‘OK! OK!’ I said. She’s such a little mood swinger.

  We wandered around until we found a place with a lot of business types inside. The Rat’s mood changed when she got her mocha. She went from being sad to sarcastic in a second. ‘Not as sophisticated as Winnipeg people,’ she said, analysing her fellow coffee drinkers.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘No. Not really. And that guy can’t take his eyes off that woman’s legs! Every time she looks away he’s staring at them!’

  I looked over to see a big brunette in a short dress and she did have legs worth looking at. But I said nothing. The Rat could be a real prude at times. Most of the time, if you asked me.

  ‘Look! Now he’s touching them! In public as well!’

  ‘Why don’t you drink your mocha?’

  ‘I have a plan, Bob!’ she said sitting up. ‘We’ll start off in the Bronx. I’ve heard there are a lot of drug dealers there. One of them is bound to know Uncle Jerome. I have a very good feeling about the Bronx. A great feeling in fact!’

  ‘Are you kidding! Do you know how dangerous the Bronx is? We could get killed.’

  ‘Call yourself a man.’

  ‘I never did. And this is your first time in New York. You don’t even know where the Bronx is.’

  ‘I know what I know, Bob. And the Bronx is the place to start.’

  ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘Ah beep you, Bob. I’ll tell you what, you lead the way if you’re so damn smart. See how far we get. Go on. Where do you wanna start our search?’

  She folded her arms and glared at me. I didn’t have a clue where to start our search and she knew it. Then she sipped her mocha smugly like she held all the cards. Some days I felt like punching her in the head. I really did.

  ‘The last time I had a feeling as good as this was when Taija got hit by lightning.’

  The Rat once had a rival back in Winnipeg and her name was Terrible Taija: a kid as scary as a serial killer. Even Little Joe didn’t like her and he likes everyone.

  She stole the fundraising money that was meant for St Boniface and said she had found it in the Rat’s coat pocket. No one believed her, not the Luxton teachers, not the other kids, and certainly not Father Henri. I mean, there’s no doubt the Rat was a closet shoplifter and I’m sure she’ll be convicted of something someday. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. But she would never steal money collected for a good cause. Never.

  Anyway, she told me one morning she had a very good feeling that this was the day Terrible Taija would get her comeuppance. And sure enough Taija was struck by lightning. She never died or anything, but she stuttered for a month and she wobbled when she walked. After that, her mother moved her to Churchill, the shame of failing to frame the Rat still hanging over her. The Rat’s convinced she’ll be eaten by a polar bear one day, and is no doubt looking forward to hearing the news. As for the lightning, I think it was just a coincidence. But the Rat’s premonitions could be pretty accurate.

  ‘OK. We’ll start off in the Bronx.’

  ‘And we should check the internet. Uncle Jerome might have a website.’

  She was still a little kid really. I smiled with satisfaction as I told her that New York drug dealers don’t have internet sites. But I did check the phonebook. I didn’t think a drug dealer would have his name in the phonebook either, but in New York you never know. I even called information, but there wasn’t a single DeBillier listed.

  ‘We could be the last of the DeBilliers,’ said the Rat. ‘Just like the Mohicans.’

  We found a bank to change our Canadian dollars into American dollars, and then we walked around a maze of ropes and posts until we arrived at a teller.

  ‘This is a lot of money for you kids to be carrying around,’ said the teller, who looked like a stern schoolteacher. ‘There’re a lot of crooks in this city.’

  ‘She’s right, Bob. Make sure you count the money.’

  ‘Little girl, I wasn’t talking about me. I’m not a crook!’

  ‘You wouldn’t tell us if you were,’ said the Rat.

  The Rat was just winding her up. She did that some days. She took a dislike to someone and decided to wind them up. She could be a bit of a bully. Very sternly and slowly the woman counted out our money. The Rat was making us enemies and we’d only just arrived.

  We found a subway and, bumping our bikes down a set of steps, we saw a guy in a glass box.

  ‘We want to go to the Bronx,’ said the Rat to the guy in the glass box. ‘Can we have two tickets and can you tell us how we get there?’

  The guy passed her the tickets and spoke into a microphone. ‘Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Uptown Blur! Blur! Blur! The Bronx.’

  ‘Can you repeat that please?’ asked the Rat.

  The guy looked offended. ‘Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Uptown Blur! Blur! Blur! The Bronx!’ Then he pushed the mike away to indicate that no further help would be given.

  ‘I think we’ve upset him,’ said the Rat. ‘Maybe it’s not his job to give out information.’

  ‘Here, kids.’ A tall redheaded policeman held open a black gate and we went through with our bikes.

  ‘Thank you, offic
er,’ said the Rat.

  ‘Go down them stairs over there and take the C train to 42nd Street. There’s an underground walkway you can take to Times Square and from there you can take a train to the Bronx.’ Then he looked at us, puzzled. ‘Why you kids wanna go the Bronx?’

  Just then someone called him on his radio and we slipped down the stairs hoping he wouldn’t follow.

  The New York subway was depressing. It was dirty and dismal and the floor was sticky with gum. You’d think a city as rich as New York could get the gum off the floor, or at least get the drunk off the bench so we could sit down. And the people were different from Winnipeg people. Some of them spoke different languages. But that wasn’t it … they were just different.

  We waited for the train to come while breathing in the stale air and watching out for muggers. There are always muggers in New York movies, especially on the subway. It’s a movie mugger’s paradise. And there were a few crooked-looking characters standing about. In fact the whole platform looked like a line-up for America’s most wanted. I couldn’t wait for the train to come.

  It wasn’t long before one came. It roared into the station, fanning us with a warm gust of wind, and then screeched to a screaming halt. But we couldn’t get on, it was jammed with people. Even if we never had our bikes we couldn’t have got on. The people inside watched us while waiting for the doors to close. And not one of them looked happy. When it left we made our way to the end of the platform, hoping the compartments would be less full on the next train.

  ‘There’s a rat!’ said the Rat. ‘Look at the size of it. There’s another!’

  ‘They’re your New York cousins.’

  She laughed and I laughed with her. ‘Here’s a train,’ shouted the Rat to the rats. And as though they understood her they scurried away.

  When the train stopped we squeezed inside with our rucksacks and bikes while bumping into people. We apologized as best we could, but they didn’t look impressed. And so we stood there feeling uncomfortable until the doors closed. Then we rocked and swayed with the other passengers until we saw a station that said 42nd Street.