When the Stars Begin to Fall

by James Lincoln Collier

  We crunched over the bluestone and stopped behind the house. A man came out of the kitchen door and started walking toward the truck. He was wearing blue jeans with a crease in them and a bright red flannel shirt and shiny loafers.

  “That’s Herbst,” Dad said in a low voice. “He’s one of the biggies at the carpet factory. House cost a half million dollars to do over. They practically had to rebuild it. You don’t get that kind of money running a chain saw. You squeeze it out of the working people.”

  Mr. Herbst came up to the truck, and Dad and I got out. Dad spit on the bluestone. It was his way of showing Mr. Herbst that he was as good as Mr. Herbst was, and wasn’t going to take anything from him.

  Mr. Herbst looked at the wood. “Is it good and dry?”

  I knew it wasn’t, but Dad didn’t lie about it. “Mixed,” he said. “Some dry and some green. You want a mix. Green burns hotter and slower.” He spit again.

  Mr. Herbst didn’t say anything but turned and started to walk back to the house. “I want it in the basement,” he said. “I’ll show you where.”

  We followed him into the house through the kitchen door. I’d never seen such a kitchen in my life. It was gleaming and bright and spotless, and it had everything you could want—a fancy stove, a wall oven, a dishwasher, a garbage compactor, a microwave oven, and other stuff I couldn’t figure out. It was some kitchen.

  The cellar door was across the kitchen from the back door. They’d laid newspapers on the floor tiles so we wouldn’t mess the floor when we carried the wood in. “This your boy, Frank?” Herbst said.

  “He’s my boy,” Dad said.

  Mr. Herbst looked at me. “You go to school, son?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m in ninth grade.” It felt pretty funny to me to be talking to one of the biggies from the carpet factory, knowing that pretty soon I was going to go out there and catch them polluting the river. It didn’t scare me exactly; it just felt funny.

  He stared at me. “The police picked up a kid with a pair of binoculars out at the plant a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

  I was shocked that he knew about it, and I flashed hot. There wasn’t any use in lying about it, though. “I was looking for birds,” I said.

  “What’s this?” Dad said. “You didn’t tell me you got picked up by the cops.”

  He didn’t really care if I got picked up by the cops. He was just acting that way so he would look like a good father.

  “It wasn’t anything,” I said. “I was looking for a pileated woodpecker that somebody said was in there, and the cops wanted to know what I was doing. They thought I stole the binoculars.” The minute I said that I wished I hadn’t.

  “Who said you stole them?” Dad said. “Nobody’s going to make accusations like that to me. I’m not going to put up with it.”

  “It wasn’t anything, Dad,” I said. “They checked and found out they weren’t stolen.”

  Dad’s jaw was jutting out. “They better have,” he said.

  Mr. Herbst didn’t say anything; he just stood there listening, and I was embarrassed to have this conversation in front of him. Finally he said, “You’ll see where the wood is stacked. There’s beer in the refrigerator when you’re finished.” Then he went out of the kitchen through a swinging door.

  EIGHT

  That night I sat on the back steps, watched the stars come out—and I thought about it. It seemed strange to me that Mr. Herbst had known about me getting picked up by the cops out by the carpet factory. He was one of the biggies there: why would they have bothered him about finding some kid in the woods looking for birds? They wouldn’t have, unless they believed there was more to it—unless they were suspicious and had guessed that I wasn’t really looking for birds. That worried me a good deal because it gave me the idea that they didn’t really believe my story. What were they thinking? Who actually knew about the pollution pipe?

  I didn’t think that most of the people who worked at the carpet factory would know about it. If they did, somebody would have been bound to report it to the police, or tell the editors of the Journal. But a few of them had to know about it. Whoever it was who turned the valve had to know about it, and probably several people were in on that. Then the security guards had to know about it. I didn’t know how many security guards they had, but if they only had one on duty at a time, each guard working an eight-hour shift, that made three; and it seemed likely to me that there would be more than one on duty during the daytime, when they had to have somebody on the gate. And, of course, at least some of the biggies knew about it. When you added it up, it seemed like at least a dozen people must have known about that pollution pipe. So it wasn’t any big secret, and why would they worry about me finding out?

  But maybe I was wrong about it. Maybe the security guard was the one who turned the valve to let the chemicals run into the river. Maybe the only people who knew about it were the guard himself and one of the biggies like Mr. Herbst. He knew about it, that was plain, because the security guard had told him about me being out there with binoculars, and they wouldn’t have told him if they hadn’t been worried about me spotting that pipe.

  The only thing that was clear about it was, they didn’t want anybody spotting that pipe. It was chancy for them, I figured, because they could never tell when a hunter might be out there; or somebody looking for birds; or some people just having a walk in the woods after Sunday dinner. Anybody could spot that pipe by chance, and they had to be worried about that. And I guessed that was why the security guard told Mr. Herbst that he had caught me out there. Even if it had been true that I was only a kid looking for birds, they had to be worried that I had seen that pipe and might report it.

  Did they believe my story? I figured they probably did: why would they suspect some ninth-grade kid of going out there to look for that pipe? But if they caught me out there again, especially at night with a camera, I could lie until I was blue in the face, and they wouldn’t believe me. Then what would they do? They would want to keep me quiet, that was sure, and how would they go about that? They’d be sure to press some kind of charges against me so as to get me sent away to a place for juvenile offenders.

  I was beginning to feel like maybe I ought to forget about the whole thing. If something went wrong, I was going to be in an awful lot of trouble. Once I’d been convicted of a crime, I’d never get into the air force. There wouldn’t be a chance of that. There wouldn’t be any chance of getting respected around Timber Falls after that either. Having Helen run off hadn’t helped improve our reputation. It didn’t matter that she had good reason to run off, and it didn’t matter where she was, and what she was doing. They all believed that she had run off to do something bad, and was doing something bad.

  So there were a lot of good reasons for giving the whole thing up. But I didn’t want to do it. There was something stubborn in me that wouldn’t let me quit. I wanted to do it, and I was going to take the chance.

  The real danger would be in shooting off the flash camera. I’d be safe enough going out there at night. There was never much traffic on that beat-up blacktop road. Anyway, I could spot the headlights of a car coming along, long before they would see me, and I could duck into the woods until it went past. So I’d be safe enough getting out there; and once I got into the woods, I’d be safe enough there.

  But the minute I shot off the flashgun they’d know it. Well, there would always be the hope that the security guard would be around the other side of the factory when I shot the camera off, and wouldn’t see the flash, but I couldn’t take a chance on that. The minute I shot the flash off I would have to run for it. It would take ten minutes for the security guard or the cops or anybody to get out there, and in ten minutes I could run a mile on up the road and hide in the woods. There wasn’t any way you could find somebody in the woods, especially at night, unless you tracked them with dogs, and I didn’t think the Timber Falls cops had dogs. There was another bridge across the river two or th
ree miles farther upstream. I could make my way up there, and be home in half an hour. If worst came to worst, I could swim across the river and go home cross-country through the woods. It wouldn’t be much fun hiking home through the woods wet, but it would be safe. There were an awful lot of woods around there for them to search through.

  So that was the plan. I waited a couple of days to give myself time to see if there were any flaws in it. I couldn’t find any, so on Wednesday, after supper, I sneaked the camera and the binoculars out into the yard and hid them under a bush. Then I swiped Dad’s flashlight out of the truck. It was a big one, the kind that takes four batteries, and had a powerful beam. I wondered if he had stolen it. Suppose they found out that the binoculars were stolen after all, and the flashlight, too—they’d put me down for a thief in a minute, and send me away. It was the chance I’d have to take.

  I hid the flashlight under the bush, with the camera and binoculars. The stars were bright; it was going to be another clear night. I went into the house and watched TV with Mom and Dad to stay awake. They went to bed after the ten o’clock news. I went upstairs, too, got under the blankets with my clothes on and my shoes off, and waited until I figured they were asleep. Then I picked up my shoes, slipped down the stairs in my stocking feet and out the kitchen door. I sat down on the back step, put my shoes on, and then collected the stuff I’d hidden under the bush. I stuck the flashlight through my belt, slung the binoculars around my neck, and buttoned them and the camera under my jacket. Then I took off, jogging for a hundred yards, then walking for a while, and then jogging again. The moon was just beginning to come up through the trees.

  There weren’t many cars out. I didn’t need to hide yet, so when I saw one coming, I would stop jogging and just walk casually along like some kid on the way home. Finally I got to town. I went through as quickly as I could without looking suspicious. If a cop who knew who I was spotted me, he was bound to ask me where I was going, and I’d have to lie and go home.

  But nobody bothered me, and in a couple of minutes I was out of the town and across the steel bridge.

  I went along the beat-up blacktop road that led out to where the pollution pipe was. Now I would have to be more careful; but no cars came along, and in a little while I turned off the road, into the woods.

  The moon was up, and it was about as bright a night as it could be. In the open you could easily see a person fifty yards away. If anybody was watching, they’d have seen me slip into the woods, for sure. In the woods it was darker, and I couldn’t see the brush underfoot very well. But the tree trunks were clear enough, and I was able to move along at a pretty good pace. It would have helped to use the flashlight, but of course I didn’t dare. You could spot a light moving through the woods a long way off.

  In a bit I began to hear the river rustling along through its banks. I slowed down and went forward easy and quiet as I could, and soon I could see the long white shine of moonlight glinting on the water. I dropped flat, crawled forward until I was right at the edge of the riverbank, and lay there staring out across the river.

  The carpet factory was about fifty yards farther upstream from where I was. I didn’t have any trouble seeing it: spotlights on the corners of the building were shining down into the parking lot, and there were more lights on posts at various places in the parking lot. Only a couple of cars were in the lot, and some trucks had been pulled up to the loading docks. I didn’t see any people—no security guard or anyone else.

  I pulled back into the woods and made my way upstream past the factory building, until I was opposite the point where I figured the pipe stuck out of the riverbank. I dropped down, crawled forward to the edge of the bank, and lay there looking out. The moon on the river was almost as bright as day, and I could see it flash and shine as the water rippled along. But the opposite bank was a different story. The moonlight fell on the bank at an angle, and it was hard to make out anything on it. It looked like patches and scraps of light and dark. I could hardly make out the shape of anything.

  I saw right away the mistake in my plan. Unless I managed to spot the pipe, I would have to use my flashlight, and that would give me away. I wished I’d had sense enough to make some kind of mark on a tree or something, to show where the pipe was. Or maybe memorized something on the opposite bank just above the pipe, like a tree with a crooked branch or a fork. But it was too late for that.

  I lay there staring across, tipping my head this way and that way, hoping to catch a glimpse of that straight black edge that would tell me where the pipe was. But I didn’t see anything.

  Maybe I was in the wrong place. Maybe the pipe was a little farther upstream or farther down. I slid back from the riverbank, went along a little bit, and took another look. I moved my eyes carefully along the bank, turning my head slowly. Still nothing. So I moved back down in the other direction, hoping that if I got a different angle on it I’d spot it. But I didn’t.

  Now what? I pulled the flashlight out of my belt and held it in my hand. It was a powerful light, so I was sure I’d be able to find the pipe pretty easily if I used it. But it would be pointing directly at the carpet factory, and there was no way that the security guard could miss it. Suppose it took a little while to find the pipe. Every minute it took would cut into my escape time.

  I thought for a minute. One thing I could do would be to go home, come back again in the daylight, and mark the spot where the pipe was. Then I’d have to come back again another night to take the picture. The whole idea of that made me feel sick, for it meant coming out here twice more, and the risk of getting caught was a lot more. No, I’d better get the whole thing done now.

  Then another idea came to me. I was bound to hear the noise when the pollution came splashing out. At least it seemed to me that I would, even over the rustling of the river. That would tell me where the pipe was, and I could take a couple of quick shots with the camera and make a run for it. It would be better that way because it would give me positive proof that they were dumping chemicals into the river.

  So I sat there near the riverbank, listening to the noises of the night—the river sound and the peepers, and once a car going along the road. After a while I realized that I had dozed off. I rubbed my eyes and yawned, and shook my head to get the sleepiness out of it, and for a moment I felt wide awake. Then I started to doze again. I shook myself awake once more, but I knew that sooner or later I would fall asleep.

  That was no good because I might be sound asleep when the stuff poured out into the river. Now what? Either I had to forget about the whole thing and go home, or I had to take a chance. If I found the pipe right away, I’d be all right. I sat there thinking, and trying to get my nerve up. Finally I got up on my knees, set the flash on the camera, and laid it on the ground right in front of me where I’d be able to grab it in a hurry. Then I raised up the flashlight to point it out to about where I thought the pipe might be, took a deep breath, and turned it on.

  The beam hit the opposite bank. No pipe. I moved it quickly left and right. Still no pipe. I swung it farther upstream, darting it back and forth along the bank, but now it was at a sharp angle and making a lot of shadows dance and leap around as I moved it. I’d never see the pipe among those shadows even if it was there. I stood up, and just then I heard the sound of a car starting by the carpet factory, and in ten seconds a Jeep came racing across the empty parking lot toward the riverbank. I grabbed up the camera and began to work my way through the trees as fast as I could move, tripping on the underbrush and bumping into things. When I’d made fifty feet, I snapped the flashlight on again and beamed it across the river. Still no pipe. I snapped the flashlight off, and then a spotlight from the Jeep hit the trees over my head. I was making a mess of the whole thing, and I knew I ought to forget about the pipe and make a run for it. There was bound to be a radio in the Jeep, and for sure the security guard had already called the police.

  I ducked back into the woods. “Hey you,” a voice shouted. I looked across. The security
guard was standing beside the Jeep, working the spotlight through the woods a little upstream from me. His other hand was on the butt of the pistol in his holster. As the light came around to point directly at me, everything disappeared into a great shining haze. I put my head down to get the light out of my eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t see me.

  Now what? Should I run for it? Where was that pipe? Was it back down the river in the other direction? What should I do? Across the river the man was shouting again. “Come on out of there, you. Come on out onto the bank where I can see you.”

  Cold sweat was dripping down my face. Keeping low, I began to work my way through the woods back downstream, until I was below the place where I had first turned on the flashlight. I wondered if the security guard would take a shot at me when I turned on the flashlight. I snapped on the light, and the beam hit the opposite bank. There was the pipe, and flowing out of it was a steady stream of liquid that shone green in the light. I hadn’t been able to hear it after all. The guard shouted again, and the spotlight from the Jeep began to swing along toward me. I dropped flat, to be low in case he took a shot at me. Then I raised up the flash camera, sighted at where I’d seen the pipe, and fired it. The spotlight fell on me, and if the guard wanted to shoot me, he had a pretty good target. I shone the flashlight across the river again to make sure the pipe was there, rewound the camera, and fired it again. Then I grabbed up the flashlight and ran through the woods as fast as I could, banging into things, stumbling, and falling. In a minute I burst out onto the road, and here came the police cars, two of them, their spotlights shining into the woods as they came.

  NINE

  They told me to get in, and they took me down to the police station. The police station wasn’t much. It was just a couple of rooms in the back of the old redbrick town hall. There were two cells behind the rooms. I knew because our class had gone there once when we’d had a tour of the town for social studies. I wondered if they were going to lock me in one of the cells.