When Max was dressed, I began to cry again. I couldn’t help it. He looked awful, like a clown. His wounded body was covered in a T-shirt that reached to his knees, and beneath that his fat legs were squeezed into my purple leggings.
Together in Clinton.
So I wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, I grabbed the bowl and the stinking bucket and muttered, “I’m going to take these outside. I’ll be right back.” Once I’d locked the door from the outside and taken a few steps into the field, I poured out the bucket and watched the yellow liquid soak into the stalks of barley. It was less disgusting than the day before, but I certainly could think of nicer things to do on the first afternoon of August.
I washed out the bucket with the bathwater. As I went back toward the house with the bowl and washcloth in one hand and the bucket in the other, I stumbled. It was just a small stumble, over my own feet, nothing. But all at once, I was overcome with rage.
A rage that was bigger than the barley field.
Bigger than the cornfield beside it.
Bigger than anything.
I slammed the bucket against the side of the blue house, and then the bowl, which amazingly didn’t even crack. The bucket was almost okay, except for a tiny dent. Then I kicked the door, four, five, six times. I only stopped when the pain in my foot was too much.
“Dammit,” I screamed, with tears running from my eyes, and since I couldn’t think of a better word, I shouted it again.
“Dammit!”
And then I went back into the house. Julia was just spreading my grandparents’ white bedsheet over the mattress, which was back in its old place on the floor, though it couldn’t have been dry. Then she turned to me with the same look of fury she’d had the day before. This time there was also fear.
“You’ll be sorry,” she whispered, and I could hear her voice tremble. “You’ll be sorry if you tell anyone what you saw.”
25
My face turned red. I didn’t really feel like responding to that, but Julia, who was sitting on the mattress with Max again, looked at me furiously, waiting. I had to say something.
“Julia. The way he looks. Someone has to do something.”
“No they don’t. Everything is fine. When Daddy whips us, he has a reason. Mascha, promise me! Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“Why should I promise you that? I’ve seen Max. I’ve seen what happens at your house.”
“There’s nothing wrong. When we bother Daddy, he whips us. That’s it. Max is the one who bothers him the most, because he’s still little. Little kids bother people more. Just yesterday, Max—”
“Julia?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me something—”
“What?”
“Do you cry?”
I could see Julia didn’t like this question, but it was too late. I had asked it. Looking hurt, Julia pulled my music player out of her pants pocket, put the earbuds in her ears and turned Leonard Cohen up so loud that Max, who was sitting beside her, stopped chewing his fingernails to jam his fingers in his ears. She sat like that for an entire song, staring straight ahead like she was somewhere far away, and then she ripped out the earbuds, looked at me and said gruffly, “I never cry. I’m used to it.”
“How can you get used to it? I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s easy. Because, Mascha, most of the time, I’m not even there.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like this. I’m not there. When Daddy hits me, I find a spot on the wall, and I look at it the whole time. I imagine that I’m somewhere else, and it works. When Daddy has one of his fits, I’m always somewhere else. I don’t notice anything, because I’m just not there.”
“And when he beats Max? You do the same thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Couldn’t you help him?”
“This way, it’s over faster. Whenever I say anything, it just makes Daddy madder. I used to try to stop him, but not anymore. Only Mama tries to do that sometimes. She tries to distract him, so he hits her and not us. That’s the only time I do something. I try to distract him myself, so he doesn’t hit Mama.”
“But Julia, hasn’t anyone ever seen this happening? Don’t you ever go to the doctor?”
“Hardly ever, and when we do, it’s always to a new doctor. One time one of them said something, and Daddy got really mad and threatened to take him to court.”
“Julia?”
“Stop it.”
“Julia. Why can’t I tell anyone?”
Julia jumped up from the mattress and stood directly in front of me, hyperventilating. Max was sitting on the mattress and chewing one of the dry rolls, but he looked panicked, too. Then something amazing happened. While Julia sat there boiling, Max began to speak.
Not with Pablo.
Not with Julia.
He spoke to me.
“We would have to leave,” he announced. “We would have to go to a home. Daddy would send us to a home if you told, and Mama would be dead. Mama will be completely dead if you tell.”
26
Completely dead. That was how he put it. Completely dead. It was as if Julia had given Max a voice to say what she couldn’t. I listened to Max speak and understood everything. Or maybe I didn’t understand at all. After a while, Julia remembered how to talk. She looked wounded.
“Mascha, you can’t. You can’t tell. Don’t you get it? We don’t want to go to a home. We don’t want Mama to die.”
“Your father told you that? Maybe that’s not what he meant.”
“Yes it is. Believe me, everything would be awful. One time, someone tried to help us—Mrs. Levine from next door. It was horrible. Daddy thought we had told. Mascha, everything will be horrible if you tell.”
“It can’t get much worse than it is.”
“Yes it can. If Mama wasn’t there, that would be worse.”
Max had now discovered my bag and was rummaging around in it. He put the paper and pencils on the mattress, threw the books down and took out the package with the cold cuts. He wrapped a slice of cheese around the remainder of a roll and said quietly, “Mama.”
Julia’s voice was louder. “Can’t you just tell us what happened to Mama?”
I thought about the people I had seen in front of the Brandners’ house last night, and the people who had probably come there today.
“There’s no one at your house,” I told her. “Your parents aren’t back from the hospital. Your father will call me as soon as he gets back home.”
“I don’t get it. Why do we have to stay here? Why can’t we go out?”
“That’s the way your dad wanted it.”
“But I don’t get it. And why hasn’t he called you to tell us what’s going on with Mama? We’re afraid that she . . . um . . . we’re afraid that she’s dead.”
“She is not dead, Julia. Believe me, I know. Your mother is not dead. Only mine is.”
“You have a dead mother? The whole time you’ve played with us at the playground, you’ve had a dead mother?”
“The whole time. I have a father who’s still alive, but I don’t hear from him much.”
I was ashamed of myself for using my dead mother to win them over. Julia and Max had much bigger problems than I did. Much. It gave me a strange feeling, but I did it: I told them my story. It just seemed to shoot out of me. I talked and talked and talked. The words fell from my mouth. I told Julia and Max about the scrambled eggs I made for my father and me so that we had something hot to eat at least once a week. I told them how he was only happy when he talked on the phone with his documentary-film colleagues, and how he didn’t have any happiness left over for me. Julia and Max listened to it all: how the people from the neighborhood had stood there at my grandparents’ garden fence, watching, as my mother was carried away, and how weirdly they treate
d me after, like I was an alien or something. I told them how my father didn’t make it out of bed some days, and how I had to shake him and pull on him when I knew that he had some important appointment. I explained how alone I felt. All this would normally have been pretty embarrassing for me, but Julia took my hand.
She said to Max, “Come here.” And when he came, she laid her right hand on top of both of ours and whispered, “We promise, Mascha. We promise we will never tell anyone in the entire world what you’ve told us. Max and I promise you.”
“It’s all right, you can tell anyone you like. No one would care. Especially not Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Mascha, we promise! And you have to make a promise to us. Never tell anyone what you’ve seen. Or what we told you. Do you understand? Come on, Mascha, say it!”
“Yeah, but—”
“Please, Mascha!”
“All right. Okay. I promise.”
I left the house with the wet things and passed by the Brandners’ on my way to have lunch at my grandparents’. I realized that my promise had created a new problem for me. If I couldn’t tell anyone else about Mr. Brandner’s beatings, it meant that I was the only person in the world who could help Julia and Max. It made everything harder. Would the two of them have to stay in the blue house forever? Would something terrible happen to them if they left because no one in the neighborhood would even notice what was going on? If I didn’t think of something, and soon, how could I let them leave the blue house?
27
Blue.
Red.
Blue.
The light on the police car that was parked in front of the Brandners’ was spinning so fast it made me dizzy. I counted three cars with flashing lights, but I couldn’t count the people crowded around the Brandner house. There were too many. My heart was pounding in my ears again. I had wrapped Max’s wet clothes in the bedsheet and jammed the whole bundle into my bag, so I didn’t look suspicious.
As casually as I could, I joined all the bystanders. Everyone was talking to one another. At first I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then I concentrated on the conversation that was going on directly to my right, between two old women I knew by sight. They both reeked of the same perfume Grandma used.
I tried to make it seem like there was something I wanted to look at so they wouldn’t notice I was eavesdropping on them, and it worked. I heard everything I wanted to and more—I heard what I didn’t want to hear.
Everyone still believed that Julia and Max had run away, but since they couldn’t be certain if they were nearby or far away, they had called the police to help search for the children. Apparently, Mr. Brandner didn’t want to involve them, but Mrs. Brandner insisted.
When I heard that, my heart beat so hard it almost fell right out of me. They were searching for them. Oh God. They would find Julia and Max in less than an hour.
The blue house was more or less just around the corner, right under the noses of all these people. A person would have to be blind and deaf not to realize it was a good place for runaway kids. Even for kids who just wanted to play runaway, and didn’t actually want to stay in the blue house at all. One of the women was saying that the police were going to look in the old mill at the edge of town first, and then in the woods on the west side of town, and that they had already begun to search the surrounding towns. I breathed again. Surrounding towns sounded good to me. Anything to do with surrounding sounded especially good just then.
I looked at all the people and had no idea why they were there. Their eyes shined. It was like they were happy something had finally happened here.
Next to me, one man whispered, “No one wants my opinion, but if you ask me, something like this was just waiting to happen.” Someone else hissed, “Shhh!” Up front, another voice said quietly, “That poor woman. Can you imagine what she’s going through?” Someone else said, “The staff from the car dealership are all out looking for them, too.”
Suddenly, I’d had enough. I wanted to get out of there. Besides, I really had to get back home. My grandmother tolerated no nonsense when it came to her food getting cold. I’d been late for dinner the night before, and eventually a woman like my grandmother was going to run out of patience.
I was late, but I didn’t hurry. My pulse raced anyhow. It was clear things couldn’t go on the way they were. If I didn’t do something, the police would soon discover Max and Julia and who knows what would happen then. I figured they might be all right where they were until morning, but I needed a new hiding place for them and quickly. In my mind, I searched the entire neighborhood for a few square yards that no one would find. I stared at the asphalt as I walked, and it was only when I arrived home that I saw the police car parked in front of my grandparents’ house.
28
Edgar, it’s nothing!” I heard Grandma say as I stood in the hall, my knees weak. She was using the exaggerated happy voice that she usually only put on for the July birthday parties. “We don’t always eat at exactly the same time. Really, Edgar, we’re not like that. Perhaps a little glass of something?”
I went quickly to my room and stuffed the wet things into the laundry basket. When I went into the kitchen, there were three pairs of eyes directed at me, but surprisingly, none of them seemed angry. Even my grandmother kept her fake cheer and called out, “Mascha, dear! It’s good you’re home!”
“Grandma. I was just at the playground. I lost track of time.”
“Oh, don’t worry. This is Edgar. He’s with the police. He would like to ask you a few questions about Julia and Max. I already told him you hadn’t heard anything, that you didn’t know a thing. That’s what I told him.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I don’t know anything. Except that they’re gone. That’s what everyone’s saying.”
“Edgar—I mean Officer Price—would like to know if you’ve noticed anything, even if you haven’t seen much of them lately.”
The police officer named Edgar cleared his throat. Grandpa sat beside him, drumming his fingers quietly on the kitchen table with absolutely no birthday airs about him.
“Now then, young lady,” said the policeman very slowly, “think carefully. Did the children ever mention any particular place to you? Anyplace at all. Anything you can remember will be helpful.”
“Grandma asked me that already. But really, I never heard them mention anyplace. They didn’t talk much to start with.”
“But perhaps they made some sort of offhand remark. We’re almost certain they’ve run away. You might be able to help us find them more quickly.”
“But I don’t know anything. I said that already.”
“Young lady, just imagine: the parents waiting up all night for some sign. They’re sick with worry. You may understand it better later, when you have your own children.”
“But what can I do about it?”
“Julia and Max have run away a few times before. Most of the time, they’ve come back home late at night, but once they showed up at their aunt’s house the following morning.”
“So then they’ll be home soon. If that’s what they always do.”
“Perhaps. But it would be better if they came back right away. So think. Try to remember! Please try to think of anything that might be important.”
While he talked, I stared at the kitchen cabinets, avoiding the threat in his gray eyes. But as soon as I realized what I was doing, I looked straight at him. I didn’t want him wondering about my weird fascination with the cabinets. My grandfather continued to drum his fingers anxiously on the table and looked at me with a surprised sort of horror that I couldn’t quite explain. It was almost as if with his strange look he wanted to ask me something like, What about what you told us before? But even if he had said it, I would have had to answer, What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I had promised Julia and Max not to tell anyone about the bruises I’d seen, not anyone, and I
held myself to that. I was going to hold myself to that promise forever.
Before, it had been different—before this summer I hadn’t taken promises very seriously. But now, now my word mattered.
It mattered that no one died.
It mattered that no one had to go to a home.
It mattered that no one got suspicious.
I had to get away from the question in my grandfather’s eyes, so I looked back at the policeman named Edgar, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore—or not at my face. He was looking down, directly at my feet, and when I happened to look there too I saw why. There, stuck to my right sneaker, were two perfectly formed heads of barley.
“You know what?” I said, bringing the policeman’s gaze back up. “I remember something now. Julia mentioned Madison one time. It just popped back into my head.”
29
After lunch, Grandpa stood up silently and disappeared, which I don’t think had anything to do with the oily grilled cheese sandwiches or the oversalted soup. Grandma sat anxiously looking at the clock. I threw away the leftover food and put the dishes in the dishwasher. The silence and the heat had been unbearable all through lunch. No one had said a single word, though I had very much wanted to ask where the policeman got the idea to come and talk to me. Had Mrs. Johnson said something? But she had no idea what was going on. What if someone had seen me leaving the playground with Julia and Max? What if the policeman already knew everything and was crouching in wait, like a lion, to pounce on me and then calmly devour me?
The doorbell rang. For a few seconds I imagined that the policeman had lost his taste for the hunt and simply come back for me, but then I heard Trudy’s voice and breathed a sigh of relief. My grandmother seemed slightly more relaxed, too, as she led Trudy into the kitchen. I could tell the two of them wanted to be alone, so I left and went to the guest room. I needed some quiet time to think things over myself.
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