Of course Mitzi wasn’t going to enter it; she wasn’t very good at spelling. But she was going to root for me. In fact, she was coaching me, too. On line in the schoolyard, and almost every afternoon after school, and even on some weekends, she helped me practice with Words That Stump the Experts. One day we were at my house working on Chapter 3, “Seven-Letter Words, Medium Hard,” when Mitzi suddenly threw the book right down on the floor.
“Why did you do that?” I shrieked. I picked up the book and began to examine it for damage.
“Oh, nothing happened to your precious old book!” Mitzi said.
Luckily, it was unharmed, but Mitzi didn’t even say she was sorry. In fact, she just jumped out of her chair and began to yell at me, as if I had done something to her! “I’m sick and tired of spelling, spelling, spelling! I’m sick and tired of that stupid spelling bee! We never do anything else any more. We never play Monopoly, we never play checkers, we never do anything!”
“You’re just jealous!” I shouted back at her. “You’re just plain mean and jealous!”
“Jealous? Jealous? I’m not jealous. I wouldn’t want to enter that stupid spelling contest if you paid me. I have better things to do with my time!”
“Sour grapes! That’s your trouble. You couldn’t enter it if you wanted to.”
“Oh, no?”
“No! It’s not going to have easy words like c-a-t.”
“I can spell another word that I wouldn’t want to say out loud,” Mitzi said.
“What? What?”
“I wouldn’t want to call anyone in this room that word that rhymes with c-a-t.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“I’m talking about r-a-t. With long whiskers and a mean little face.”
“Are you calling me a rat?”
“I never said...”
“Oh, sticks and stones may break my bones...”
“R-A-T!”
“D-O-P-E!”
“Well, I’m going home, Shirley Braverman, and I’m never coming back again as long as I live.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I said, folding my arms.
Mitzi put her coat on so fast that she buttoned it all wrong and one side was longer than the other. She ran to the door and opened it. “R-A-T!” she shouted once more and this time her voice echoed all over the hallway.
“Sticks and stones...” I began again, but she had slammed the door hard.
I was so angry I couldn’t even catch my breath. My eyes kept filling with tears and I wiped them away with my fists. I would never, ever talk to Mitzi Bloom again. To be jealous! To call your best friend a rat! She could pass a million notes to me in school. I would tear them all up. She could beg and plead. I was never going to talk to her again.
But if I was so angry, why was I crying? Old Mitzi Bloomers. Who needed her anyway? Who cared? She’d be sorry. She’d regret it when the mayor put that medal around my neck. Introducing Shirley Braverman, the best speller in the whole...
I began to sob and the tears spilled out faster than I could wipe them away. Finally I went into the bedroom and threw myself down on the bed so hard that the bed-boards rattled. I cried and cried, getting my pillow all sloppy and wet, until I fell asleep.
Later, if my family noticed my red eyes and my sad face, they didn’t mention it. Daddy had the radio on during supper. Even without trying to listen, I heard all the terrible words that had to do with war. Attack... bombing... killed... wounded... I wanted to tell them about my fight with Mitzi, but somehow I couldn’t. I started thinking about the war. If best friends couldn’t get along with one another, it was no wonder whole countries went to war. I sighed, hoping that somebody would ask me what was wrong, but nobody did.
Then Theodore spilled his milk and some of it ran off the table and down my leg. “You little baby!” I said to him. “Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?”
Theodore’s eyes opened wide. Then he began to cry.
Oh, everything got worse and worse. I didn’t mean to yell at him, but I wouldn’t say that I was sorry, either. He didn’t even know that I wasn’t angry with him.
“I’m surprised at you, Shirley-girl,” Daddy said, in a gentle voice.
I was surprised at myself, but I still didn’t apologize.
After supper the doorbell rang and Velma went to see who it was. I heard her calling to Mother and saying, “Come in, come in,” and then there was a jumble of voices in the hallway.
“What a nice surprise,” I heard Mother say, her voice rising above the others. “Shirley, come say hello. Mitzi is here.”
Mitzi! What was she doing in my house? She said she was never going to come back as long as she lived.
I walked slowly into the living room and Mitzi really was there, and so were her parents. Did they come over to talk to my parents about my fight with her?
Mitzi was sitting on the edge of the sofa, and she looked as if she was ready to start running if anyone said boo to her. Her eyes were pretty red and swollen and she wouldn’t look right at me.
“It’s very nice of you, Mr. Braverman,” Mr. Bloom said.
“Nice? Not at all. It’s a pleasure,” my father said. “And please let’s not be formal. Call me Morris.”
“Then you call me Sol,” Mr. Bloom said.
“Would you like some coffee?” my mother asked.
It certainly didn’t sound as if they came over to complain.
“Oh, thank you,” Mitzi’s mother said. “But we’re so anxious to hear...”
“Of course,” Mother answered. “Morris, warm up the machine. We’ll have coffee later.”
My father stood and walked to the phonograph. He pushed the switch and then he turned to Mr. Bloom. “It takes a few seconds to warm up,” he said.
I was just going to ask what was going on when Mother told me and Theodore, who was standing shyly in the doorway. Buddy Bloom had made a recording of his own voice, with the Red Cross, near his battalion in Germany. The Red Cross had sent the record to the Blooms, but they didn’t have a phonograph. Now we were all going to hear Buddy’s voice.
My father tapped the point of the needle with his finger and there were loud popping noises. “Ahh,” he said. “It’s ready. The record?”
Mr. Bloom handed him a small black disc and everyone else was very, very still. Mrs. Bloom sat forward in her seat and she held one hand against her breast. My father lowered the needle to the record.
“Hello, Ma? Dad? This is Buddy.”
There was a funny little noise from Mrs. Bloom, something like a laugh and a sob at the same time.
Buddy’s voice continued. “Hi, Mitzi. How’s my girl? Are you taking good care of Brooklyn for me? Say hello to your friend Peewee.”
Peewee! That was me! Buddy remembered me!
“I’m doing fine,” Buddy said, “so try not to worry about me.” His voice sounded far away, a little scratchy and weak. “I miss you all a lot. I can’t wait till this is all over and we can be together again. Ma, I keep thinking about your great cooking.”
This time Mrs. Bloom really began to cry and Mr. Bloom put his arm around her.
“Well, I guess that’s all the time I have now, folks,” Buddy said. “Take good care of yourselves. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
And then there was just the sound of the phonograph needle going around and around in the last groove of the record. None of us moved. Mother had to say, “Shut it off, Morris.”
I looked at Mitzi and she was looking back at me, and a little smile was growing at the corners of her mouth.
Our parents and Velma and Theodore went into the kitchen. Mrs. Bloom was still wiping her eyes and everyone was talking at once.
“Do you want to come to my room?” I asked Mitzi.
She nodded and my chest filled with happiness. My best friend. Nothing could really change that, could it? I shut the door, hoping that Theodore wouldn’t come in, too. “I’m sorry,” Mitzi said.
&nb
sp; “Me too,” I answered, surprised that it was so easy.
“Then are you g-l-a-d again?”
“Y-e-s,” I spelled.
“Oh, I’m so r-e-l-e-i-v-e-d,” Mitzi said.
I almost recited the spelling rule about i before e except after c, but I thought she might get angry again, so I didn’t.
Later, when everyone had gone home and Theodore and I were in our beds, I whispered to him, “Theodore? Are you sleeping?”
He didn’t answer, but I could hear his breathing and it sounded as if he was still awake.
“Listen,” I said. “You’re not a baby. You’re a good kid.”
He still didn’t answer but he moved around in his bed and he sighed, and I think he was listening.
Ten
Double Feature
“I HAVE ONE CHEESE and one tuna fish,” Mitzi said. “What do you have?”
I opened the bag that my mother had packed. There was a strong spicy smell. “Bologna,” I said, without even looking.
It was Saturday, and Mitzi and Theodore and I were going to the movies at the Loew’s theater. When we got there, the line was halfway down the block. Most of the other kids had their lunches with them too, because the show at the Loew’s was very long, and you were always hungry before it was over. Several of our friends were on the line and one tall person with henna-red hair and a coat with a fox collar stood near the front. It was Mrs. Golub, the only grownup waiting to see the Saturday-afternoon show. She waved and blew us a kiss.
“What’s playing?” Theodore asked for the millionth time that day.
“I told you,” I said, but a few minutes later he asked again. I read aloud to him from the movie marquee. “Ride ’em Cowboy and Lucky Saves the Day.” There was always a double feature on Saturday.
Mitzi sighed. “I wish they had Bride of Frankenstein and The Mummy’s Hand again,” she said. She was always disappointed when there wasn’t a horror movie. But if there’d been one, Theodore wouldn’t have gone with us, because horror movies gave him bad dreams. Once I took him to see one about a mad scientist who made zombies out of ordinary people like teachers and doctors and policemen. They all walked in their sleep with their arms out and their eyes wide open. Theodore sat on the floor under his seat for the whole show, but he still woke during the night yelling about monsters who were trying to get him.
Just when Theodore was starting to get restless, the theater doors opened and the line moved slowly ahead. Finally we were inside and we got good seats in the third row of the children’s section. The lights were still on and we waved and called to our friends.
I could see Mrs. Golub sitting on the other side of the theater in the very first row. Then the lights dimmed slowly and music came from the ceiling. I could hear paper bags rattling—some kids couldn’t wait to eat their lunch. The matron for the children’s section, a fat lady in a white uniform, flashed her flashlight and told kids to sit down and be quiet. Then the heavy curtain in front of the screen rose as if by magic, in lovely ripples, and we sat back in the dark against the red velvet seats.
The cowboy movie was first. Mitzi and I didn’t care very much for Westerns, so we whispered to each other during most of it, but Theodore sat forward with his hands gripping the seat in front of him, as if he were on a fast ride in an amusement park. The movie was about cattle rustlers and a handsome stranger. Everybody thought the handsome stranger had something to do with the rustling, except for the rancher’s pretty daughter, who had faith in him. There were a lot of campfires and people shouting and thundering hooves. Somebody kept saying, “After him, men!” The boys in the audience cheered when the ranchers formed a posse and chased the rustlers. But when the handsome stranger put his arm around the rancher’s daughter while they were sitting on a fence in the moonlight, some of the boys became restless. And when the stranger began to sing to her, they stood on their seats and hissed and yelled, “Don’t kiss her! You’ll be sorreee!” and other stuff like that. The matron ran up and down the aisles flashing her light and making them sit down again. Finally the first movie was over and everyone cheered and whistled and clapped.
By then Mitzi and I were hungry and we opened our lunch bags. I gave Theodore a sandwich too. “What’s next?” he asked.
“You know,” I said. “The cartoon.”
The cartoon was about a big mean cat chasing a little mouse. In the end the mouse got away and the cat had lost half his fur and had a lump on his head bigger than Theodore’s. Everyone yelled hooray again and then we watched the newsreel. First there was the war news and Mitzi held my hand when they showed some soldiers digging foxholes in Germany. We always looked carefully to see if Buddy was one of the soldiers in the newsreel, but we never saw him. There was a lot of gunfire and there were great flashes of light and I held Mitzi’s hand until they showed some movie stars selling bonds to help the war effort.
“What’s next?” Theodore asked again.
“The serial,” Mitzi told him. “Do you remember last week when the girl was stuck in that giant machine and the bad guy was going to start the motor and she would get all mashed up like a potato? Well, now we’re going to see what happens.”
That was all Theodore had to hear. He went right down under his seat. “Get up,” I whispered to him. “Nothing will happen to the girl. Flash Gordon will save her.” But Theodore wouldn’t come up until the serial was over. At the end the girl was left dangling over a pit filled with hungry alligators, TO BE CONTINUED appeared across the screen.
Finally the other movie began, the one about the boy and his dog. The boy lived in the country and the dog was always saving his life and helping other little kids and saving old ladies who were stuck in burning buildings. But there was a mean old farmer who wanted to get rid of the dog. When Theodore realized that something bad might happen to that wonderful dog, he began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
But he just sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Nothing is going to happen to the dog, silly,” I said. “You’ll see.”
Mitzi tried to give Theodore one of the oatmeal cookies from her lunch bag, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off the movie screen for a second. Sure enough, in the next scene the poor dog ate some poisoned meat that the mean farmer left out for him. Then the dog fell down under a tree and just lay there. “He’ll get up soon,” I promised Theodore, but I wasn’t so sure myself. He certainly looked dead. If he wasn’t, that dog was some terrific actor.
Then the little boy came whistling through the woods looking for his good old dog. He kept calling the dog’s name and whistling for him and there was some scary music in the background. “Uh-oh!” Mitzi said, as the boy came closer and closer to the tree where the dog was lying so still. “Don’t look,” she advised Theodore, who was trembling like a bowl of Jell-O. He put his hand up to his face and covered his eyes. But I guess he just couldn’t stand the suspense. His fingers opened like a fan and he peeked through the openings just in time to see the boy discover his dog under the tree.
“Lucky! Lucky!” the boy cried, and Theodore sobbed. Actually he was afraid of dogs in real life. He was always sure they were going to jump up and bite him. But the dog in that movie was more like a person.
I tried to comfort him. “He’s not dead,” I said. “He only fainted. You’ll see. He’ll get up any minute.”
But the dog just lay there while the boy called his name over and over again.
“It’s only a movie,” I told Theodore. “It’s not real.” But I didn’t feel so well myself. There was a hard lump in my throat. Could Lucky really be dead?
All over the theater, voices called out, “Lucky, Lucky, get up!”
Then the camera showed a close-up of Lucky and you could see the tiniest twitching of his tail. “Yay! Yay!” everyone shouted. It was so noisy we couldn’t hear what the boy was saying as he hugged Lucky.
Theodore stood up to get a better look. Lucky was alive!
“Do you
see?” I said, as if I had known it all along. “Didn’t I tell you he wasn’t dead?”
For the first time that day, Theodore smiled. Then we all went outside again, squinting in the bright blaze of sunlight, still thinking about the movie, a little surprised to find we were still in Brooklyn and in our real lives.
Eleven
Cure No. 2: The Power of the Mind
“YOO-HOO, SHIRLEY! LITTLE boy, yoo-hoo! Wait for me!” It was Mrs. Golub coming up the street behind us.
“Who’s that?” Mitzi asked.
“Mrs. Golub, the movie lady,” I said. “She lives in our building.”
“You mean she’s in the movies?” Mitzi asked.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Nothing like that. She’s just the biggest movie-star fan in America, that’s all.”
I didn’t say anything else because Mrs. Golub, running in little choppy steps like a chicken, had caught up with us. She was all out of breath. “Huh-huh,” she panted. “Wasn’t that movie—huh-huh—just grand?”
We all nodded and I introduced Mitzi to Mrs. Golub, who said she would probably photograph very well, with her blond hair and all. Then she asked if we’d like to come upstairs with her and see her collection of Hollywood souvenirs and pictures.
Mitzi and I looked at each other. “Well, maybe we could come up for a little while,” I said. “I don’t want my mother to be worried about us.”
When we got to our building, the three of us followed Mrs. Golub into apartment 3H. We had never seen another apartment like it. It looked something like the lobby of the Loew’s theater. There were photographs everywhere, even on the kitchen walls. Some of them were lit by colored light bulbs and they were all signed. Best wishes, Robert Taylor. Good luck! Greer Garson. Sincerely, Tyrone Power.
Theodore kept walking around with his mouth wide open. He looked at the great big Shirley Temple doll sitting on the living-room sofa, and at the painted pillow that had a picture of palm trees on it. Souvenir of Hollywood, California, Movie Capital of the World.
Introducing Shirley Braverman Page 4