Daddy shrugged. “Not even a nibble. And I drove all the way to Austin.”
“Austin!” Mama shook her head as she slapped a pile of creamed potatoes on her plate. “Well, something’s got to turn up soon.”
I hated seeing Daddy look so low. “I bet President Kennedy is gonna do something real soon,” I said, hoping to cheer him up. Daddy had been so happy last November when President Kennedy got elected. Lots of people cheered. Even Mama had clapped her hands, saying prosperous times were on the horizon. But that was back then.
Daddy stabbed some green beans with his fork. “Janine, if there is one thing on this God-given earth you need to learn, it’s that you can’t rely on politicians to solve your problems. Heck, you can’t rely on anyone. You got to make it happen yourself.”
“Well, I sure hope you make it happen soon,” Mama said, “ ’cause we’re heading for the poorhouse fast.”
I sure wish President Kennedy would work faster. Those prosperous times took one look at us and sank down out of sight.
Mama and Ricky and I sat on the back steps around nightfall, hoping to catch a cool breeze. Daddy was out in the barn, milking our two cows.
Ricky sat doll-like, limp and lifeless. He’d been to the doctor that afternoon, and those visits always did something strange to him. Mama looked drained too. She said that for a sickly boy, Ricky had a lot of fight in him when that nurse came in with the shot needle. It plumb tuckered her out just holding him down.
The sky had turned a lovely shade of velvety purple, and the moon was only a sliver on the horizon. A few faded stars were just beginning to twinkle when we heard some commotion behind the chicken coop. Buddy ran back there without barking, so we figured whatever it was couldn’t be too threatening. But right then, a figure came loping around the chickens, heading our way.
A thin ghost of a man trudged his way up our backyard, wearing baggy gray pants and a yellowed white shirt. His hat was cocked back on his head. He was as skinny as Mama’s crochet hook and his shoes flopped when he walked. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn our scarecrow had come to life and was joining us for a sit.
Mama disappeared into the house, then hurried back out holding a shotgun. “What’re you doing in our corn patch?” she asked, resting the gun steady on her shoulder.
The man raised his wiry arms, just like the fugitives on TV, and a small crescent of a smile lined his face. “Is James here?”
Mama lowered the gun. “You know my husband?”
He removed his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ricky and I were huddled together against the house. I couldn’t help wondering if this weedy-looking old man wasn’t the one who’d been stirring in the corn for the past week.
Daddy walked up about then, holding the milk bucket. He set it down and slowly walked toward the stranger, his head tilted, studying the man’s face. He had a questioning look that made his eyebrows join together in the middle. “Mr. Lunas?”
The scarecrow man’s crescent smile grew bigger. “One and the same.”
Daddy clapped his hands together and whooped like an Indian. “Lunas! You old cuss! You haven’t changed a bit!”
Yuck! This man’s always looked like this?
Daddy went up and threw his arm around Mr. Lunas’s shoulder. I was afraid the old guy might crack and crumble to the ground like a broken potato chip. But his bones must have been stronger than they looked because he and Daddy walked up together, grinning like mice in a cheese factory.
“Mr. Lunas, this is my wife, Adele.”
Mr. Lunas nodded his head. “Ma’am.”
Daddy faced us. “And these are my kids, Janine and Ricky.”
“My, my,” Mr. Lunas said. “You two look so much alike, you must be twins.”
“Nuh-uh! I’m a whole year older than Ricky!” I always have to set people straight on that bullcorn.
“Almost to the day,” Daddy added. “Adele, I told you about Mr. Lunas. He saved my life during the war.”
Mama’s face lit up in recognition; then she slid the shotgun back behind her skirt.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lunas. Come on in for a glass of iced tea.”
We all followed.
As we sat at the kitchen table, Mama filled Mr. Lunas’s tea glass. He gulped the tea down like he’d just stepped out of the desert. Mama poured him another.
“So how did you find me?” Daddy asked, leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed.
“It wasn’t hard.” Mr. Lunas drained that glass of tea too.
“Kids, you should thank Mr. Lunas. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t even be here.”
Ricky and I looked at each other. “Thank you,” Ricky said, kinda quiet. I stayed silent. I wasn’t saying anything until I had the facts. But I swear, I’d never seen Daddy so excited about seeing someone. I thought he was going to jump up and start tap dancing any minute. “So what happened?” I finally asked.
Daddy got that look in his eyes—like he was going to reveal the secret to some magic trick, or the location of a buried treasure. “WW Two,” he started. “I took a couple of bullets from a German soldier.”
“Where’d you take them?” Ricky asked. I nudged Ricky to hush.
“In the gut,” Daddy said. “I lay there, face-down, my mouth gritty with dirt. I could hear gunfire all around, and grenades popping like firecrackers. Only it wasn’t the Fourth of July. It was Judgment Day for me. Or so I thought. Blood had pooled all around me, making a muddy mess stickier than a pigsty. My belly burned and ached. I couldn’t move.”
Ricky groaned and wiggled in his chair.
“I knew I was a goner. Then I looked up, and there was this puny soldier grinning down at me like the Man in the Moon. ‘What’re you grinning at, fool?’ I asked him. Just before I blacked out, I heard him say ‘It ain’t your time to go.’
“When I woke up I was in the medical ward, and there he was, sitting by my cot. He’d drug me through all that flying ammo and got me to some help. And I swear, if he hadn’t, the army would’ve been sending me home in a wooden box.”
An involuntary shudder shook me. I looked over at Mr. Lunas, who was staring at his empty tea glass and sporting that crescent grin. He looked like the story had embarrassed him some. On that skinny, pale face of his appeared a couple of cherry dots flaring at the cheeks. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how a man as scrawny as Mr. Lunas could drag anybody more than a couple of feet without giving out and falling over himself.
“Yep,” Daddy went on, “his encouragement is what kept me going.” Daddy looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “What unit were you with again?”
Mr. Lunas jerked his head up like he was caught off guard. “Uh—medical corps.”
“Oh yeah,” Daddy said, nodding.
“Well, we’re certainly grateful,” Mama said, filling Mr. Lunas’s glass for the third time. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“That’d be right kind of you,” Mr. Lunas said sweetly.
“That’s the least we can do!” Daddy blurted.
Mama got up and went to the pantry. She took out a jar of pickled pigs’ feet and grabbed some leftover biscuits off the counter. She set them on the table, and he dug in like a man starving to death. He didn’t even wait for a fork! Just grabbed them pigs’ feet right out of the jar, letting the vinegar drip all over Mama’s table. He chomped like Buddy, gnawing the pork and cramming the biscuits into his mouth. Then he washed them down with the tea, gulping it in giant swallows. As he set the glass down, ice chinked against the sides. I’m surprised he didn’t devour those ice cubes, too! Then he looked at Mama and nodded.
“I guess you were hungry,” Daddy said with a laugh.
“Guess I was,” Mr. Lunas echoed.
There was a minute of awkward silence; then Daddy asked, “You need a place to stay?”
Mr. Lunas shook his head like Daddy was offering to give him his car or something. “No, no. I wouldn’t want
to put you folks to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Daddy placed his hand on Mr. Lunas’s arm. “Stay as long as you like.”
Mama shot Daddy a look that would have sent Buddy running with his tail between his legs.
But Daddy never was one to be bullied, so he ignored it and said, “We got a nice cozy couch if you don’t mind an occasional spring poking your rear.”
Mr. Lunas chuckled. “I’m obliged.”
Mama went to the linen closet for an extra pillow and sheet. On her way back through the kitchen, she glanced at Ricky and me. “It’s past your bedtime.”
We learned a long time ago not to argue about that. We sailed off, shouting, “Good night, and glad to meet you!”
I woke up later that night, my body wet from sweat and my shorties sticking to me all over. I went into the kitchen for a drink of water. The house was still except for the creaking of the linoleum under my feet. I opened the icebox, letting the light pour out and the coolness wash over me. The water pitcher felt dewy and cold, and I drank right from it.
After closing the icebox door, I thought about Mr. Lunas, just on the other side of the wall, sleeping on the couch. I should have hurried on out of there, back to my bed, but I couldn’t help wanting another peek at that strange-looking fellow. As skinny as he was, I figured our couch just might swallow him up. Without making a sound . . . without taking a breath . . . without even blinking . . . I peeped around the kitchen door into the living room.
It was dark and still; not even a shadow was visible. But I could see the sheet folded up on the end of the couch, and the pillow still fluffed and untouched. Mr. Lunas wasn’t there.
I started having creepy notions that he was lurking right behind me, just like the Booger Man, but I glanced over my shoulder and that put my mind at ease. Now, where had that old skeleton gone?
I crossed to the living room window and looked out, thinking I might see him on the front porch, petting Buddy or something. I saw him all right, but it was the darnedest sight in the world. Mr. Lunas lay flat on his back on the ground, arms stretched out at his sides, legs sprawled open. Buddy lay next to him, breathing peacefully.
At first I thought Mr. Lunas must be dead, his eyes staring up at the sky, frozen and still. I was one clock-tick away from screaming my lungs out. Then I saw his hand move. He reached over and petted Buddy, and Buddy scootched in closer to him.
Those eyes. Those lifeless eyes were drinking in something from above. I squatted down to try to see what was up there that was so fascinating. All I saw was the moon, slim and trim as a toenail. I rushed out of there and got back to bed in a hurry. Sweat or no sweat, I covered up tight, my mind as tangled as a cobweb.
All sorts of notions ran through my brain. Why would a man stay up at night, looking plumb dead, yet happy at the same time? Mama says there’s no such thing as monsters, but I’m not so sure. I should have checked to see if he had fangs. Could Mr. Lunas be a vampire?
Phase Three—First Quarter
It turns out, Mr. Lunas wasn’t a vampire at all. I saw him walking around in the daylight, eating everything he could get his hands on. Mama said Daddy needed to find a job fast, just to support that old man’s appetite. He could really put it away!
I decided to avoid him. I still hadn’t gotten over him laying out on the ground at night, staring off into the sky like some lunatic. I took to propping a chair under my doorknob before bed, just in case he wasn’t in his right mind. I sure didn’t want him getting in.
It was easy to stay out of his way for the next few days. He spent the whole weekend following Daddy around. They drove off in the Chevy a lot, and late at night they sat behind the chicken coop, drinking beer. Of course they waited until Mama was asleep. She didn’t allow alcohol around the house, so Daddy had to sneak it whenever he could.
He’d put off looking for a job for nearly a week and couldn’t put it off anymore. He was gone when I went in for breakfast. Only Mama and Mr. Lunas sat at the kitchen table. Ricky was still in his room, snoozing.
“So what do you see in that teacup, Adele?” Mr. Lunas asked, his breakfast plate clean as a whistle.
Mama raised her eyebrows, but not her eyes. “James needs work. Ricky needs an operation. I need rest.” She didn’t say anything about me. So what else is new?
Mr. Lunas gave off one of his glowing grins. “Do you really need tea leaves to tell you that?”
“You asked me what I saw in the cup, not what it tells me.”
Mr. Lunas crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “What does it tell you?”
Mama’s face grew dark and somber. “That something big is going to happen. Something we can’t avoid. It tells me that my family will be turned upside down and cattiwhompus. It’s big, Mr. Lunas. Real big—like the seven plagues in the Bible.” Mama caught me staring and shushed up real fast.
Mr. Lunas chuckled and pointed down into the cup. “I wouldn’t put much stock in what those tea leaves say, Adele.” Then he pointed to his heart. “This is what you need to be listening to.” He scooted away from the table and went out the back door.
Mama shook her head. “What I didn’t tell him was that the first plague would probably be famine. If that old coot keeps eating like he does, the rest of us are going to starve to death.”
Ricky dragged into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and scratching himself. “Mr. Lunas is getting fat,” he said, looking toward the back door.
“I wonder why!” Mama said, throwing her hands in the air. “Sit down and I’ll see if he left anything for you to eat.” She took the last honey muffin from the baking tin and handed it to Ricky with a bottle of white syrup. “Grab a plate,” she said, nodding toward me.
I did. She put the muffin on it and handed it to Ricky. I sure hope Mr. Lunas is getting fat, I thought, looking down at my toothpick legs and knotty knees. ’Cause he should get something good out of eating my breakfast. Just then Mama pulled another tin of muffins out of the oven.
“I hid ’em,” she said, smiling at me.
Ricky mashed up his muffin with a fork and poured on a river of syrup. It looked like something that’d already been chewed and spit out. “Can I go outside today?”
Mama stopped for a minute, like she was considering it. “I think it’s just too hot out there. It ain’t ten o’clock yet and I bet you could already fry an egg on the sidewalk.”
“If we did, Mr. Lunas would just eat it,” I said.
Ricky laughed so hard muffin mush leaked out of his mouth.
“Stay inside today,” Mama said. “It’s too hot for both of you.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that. Unless, of course, Mr. Lunas decided to spend the day inside.
Ricky and I did stay in. We hid in our cave most of the day. It’s not a real cave. Just the narrow space under the piano. We played cards, and dinosaurs, and I Spy, and a bunch of other silly games that we made up ourselves—like sitting on the piano pedals to see if our butts could hold both of them down at once. After three tries, I almost did it, but I ended up with a sore heinie instead. We finally crawled out at three o’clock to watch afternoon cartoons.
We were sprawled on the living room floor when Mr. Lunas came in and sat on the couch. As he was getting fatter, his smile was getting fuller. “You kids been having a good day?”
I wanted to keep watching cartoons and not say anything. Pretend like we didn’t hear him. But Ricky rolled over and grinned. “Mr. Lunas! Are you going to watch cartoons with us?”
“Sure,” he said, crossing his legs.
I didn’t say a word. Instead I got up slowly, deciding I’d skip cartoons and sneak off to my room. As I passed by the couch, Mr. Lunas reached out and grabbed my arm. I froze on the spot, my guts turning upside down.
“You know, Janine,” he said, “you don’t have to be afraid. I won’t bite you.”
I sort of had the feeling that he really wouldn’t, but I still couldn’t get that vision out of my head: Him laying on the ground
with that crazy look in his eyes, staring up at the sky. But why? Could Mr. Lunas have been a hobo who just liked sleeping outside? Or maybe it was too durned hot for him to sleep inside. Mama and Daddy sleep on the porch, and that’s kinda like outside. He must’ve had some good reason.
It took a lot of doing, but I forced myself to smile at him. “I’m just going to go help Mama shell peas.”
Darn! Those words just shot out of my mouth without me thinking about them first. Now I was really mad at myself. But I kept my word and spent the afternoon shelling peas.
That night we sat under a half-moon, Daddy whistling and Mama fanning herself with a magazine. Ricky rolled a toy car around in the dirt, making zooming noises under his breath, while I got lost in a daydream about when I grow up to be a movie star. I could see myself on that big drive-in screen, while Cheryl and Debbie sat in a car watching me perform.
Mr. Lunas sat in the lawn chair with his head tilted back, Buddy at his feet. He told Mama he was working a kink out of his neck, but I knew better. His gaze was fixed on that velvet sky. The stars filled it like spilled diamonds, and although only half of the moon was showing, I could see the shadow of the other half, waiting its turn to shine.
“Can I have a go-cart?” Ricky asked, rolling his toy car over Daddy’s worn-out brown shoe.
Daddy held his sides and laughed like Milton Berle had just got pied in the face. “Son, as soon as I strike oil, I’ll get you that go-cart.”
Ricky flipped the toy over and rolled the wheels with his palm. “Can’t we use Green Stamps?”
“No!” Mama said sharply. “We need those Green Stamps for an emergency.”
Daddy winked. “Yeah, like an emergency bedspread or chicken fryer.”
Mama gave him a bitter look.
Mr. Lunas kept staring up, even as he spoke. “Ricky, a go-cart sounds like a fine vehicle.”
“Too fine,” Daddy said. “He might as well ask for a Cadillac.”
Ricky just slumped a little and murmured, “Zoom.” No oomph at all, just “zoom.” It’s a strange word to hear when there’s no meaning attached. Kind of like Ricky was saying it while falling down a well.
Man in the Moon Page 2