The Year We Sailed the Sun

by Theresa Nelson

  “Go home!” yelled the man helping the sobbing lady cross Eighth Street.

  “Go home!” yelled the Seventh Street cop.

  “Go home, for the love o’ God, child!” called the blue-lipped woman lugging the sack of coal down Sixth. “Does your mother know you’re out in this?”

  “She does,” I lied. “I’m on my way.”

  Go home, go home, go home, go home. . . .

  “I’m going home!” I told them all. Deeper and deeper into the Patch, closer and closer to the river . . . The white was thicker than ever here, once I got across Broadway—it had to be Broadway, didn’t it? It was wider than the other streets and ten times busier, most days, though all its regular street sounds were muffled now. You couldn’t hear a thing over here on the far side, only the wind howling like a madman, no train whistles or ferry whistles or steamboats blowing their horns today, just that god-awful wind that cut you to the bone, sliced you right in two, it did, and—ah, crikey, what was that, then? A horn, after all—a single car horn blaring at me; or maybe not me in particular, but close, so close I had to cover my ears to shut it out and I didn’t see anyone else it might be honking at. . . . I could just make it out now, a few feet ahead of me—another snow-fish, it looked like, another stranded automobile—this one might have been blue once, before the snow. . . . And now there was another man shouting, too, and the dogs beside me were barking their heads off at him, a huge mountain of a man bent over the half-blue wreck, who got even huger as he straightened up and pointed right at me. “And where do you think you’re goin’, miss? Is it freezin’ to death you’re after? Go home to your house, ye tomfool kid; don’t stand there gapin’!”

  Oh God, dear God . . .

  And my heart bumped harder than it was bumping in the first place because I knew him, sure I knew him, it was Eddie, wasn’t it? Fat Eddie Farrell, Eddie the Rat, dear God in heaven, well of course it was, of course it was; no one else in the world was as big as that—I have another car, his boss had bragged; this must be it but still—oh God, please God—it was all right, it would be all right; Eddie didn’t know me, did he? He wouldn’t remember that far back. October was a million years ago and I was nothing to him, was I? Just some kid, that was all I was, and besides, I was leaving already, I was past him, I was gone, with the dogs still yowling behind me—

  I’m going, I’m going. . . .

  Fourth Street, Third Street, Second, closer and closer, oh so close now—there was Doc’s just ahead on the corner—I could see the ticket booth jutting out, just the same as ever. The wind hadn’t blown it away then. I was wet right through by this time, my coat my plaid my socks my boots even my long johns, soaking wet and froze solid at the same time but I didn’t care, it didn’t matter, I was running again, I was almost there—almost there, Betty! Just let it be open, it has to be open, please don’t let the door be locked—

  But of course it was locked.

  Of course it was—

  “Open the door, Doc!” I hollered, pounding on it with my fists till the blood came. I could see it seeping out of my knuckles but I couldn’t feel it; I couldn’t feel anything anymore. “Let me in, let me in! I know you’re in there, Doc!” He lived over the shop, so where else would he be on a day like—

  “Go away!” came a wheezing old croak from the upstairs window. Doc had shoved it up and was poking his head out. “We’re closed, can’t you see? It’s a blizzard! Go home!”

  “I can’t go home! I won’t!” My mouth was so numb from the cold that it wouldn’t bend right around the words, but I kept shouting anyway. “You have my property in there—my friend’s, I mean—look here, Doc, I brought money!”

  And I guess it was the money that did the trick. The three lousy bucks—but of course Doc didn’t know it was only three lousy bucks—when I pulled it out of my pocket (still in a wad, so you couldn’t tell how much) and waved it at him. “Please, sir!”

  “Ah, for the love o’ Leo, will ye stop your infernal racket? I’m comin’, I’m comin’, fer God’s sake!”

  So I stopped knocking and waited because my knuckles were killing me now, after all—I guess I’d cracked through the ice in ’em—and then Doc was there finally; he was opening the door; he was standing there scowling at me, holding a large gray handkerchief to his bright red nose. “Well, come in if you’re comin’ in, Julia Delaney. I can’t stand here jabberin’ all day!”

  Chapter 28

  So I walked in the door past Doc, who was holding it—it was the odd sort that swung out, not in—and the wind came a-roarin’ and rattlin’, and slammed it shut behind me.

  I took a deep breath.

  The old place still smelled like peanuts, just exactly like it always had. The old clocks on the walls—hundreds of clocks—were still ticking away, so loud, even I could hear. It was all just the same, as far as I could tell. I couldn’t see too well at first, after the blinding white outside. But little by little the shapes around me turned familiar, even in the dim. I knew ’em all by heart, anyhow: the cardboard strong man who’d swing his fist for a penny and punch a hole in the cardboard wall; the porcupine with the quills that popped out when you put a nickel in its nose; the one-eyed lady fortune-teller who used to blink, when she worked, and creak open her metal mouth, and spit out papers that said Strike while the iron is hot! or Are you SURE? or So long, sucker! Even with no lights and no music and everything stopped dead cold, I could see ’em all staring at me—feel ’em all waiting—Madame Marvella and her camel, too, one row over in the peep boxes, all ready to go galloping off, with just a crank and a spin—

  “State your business then, girlie, if ye got any business to state!” Doc had swung around now and blocked my view with a worse one—his long, skinny self wrapped up in a dark blue polka-dot robe, and his long, stubbly chin poking out, and his bony finger pointing and his little red eyes squinting and his tall white head full of spiky bits, like they’d never known a comb. “What’s so all-fired important that you’d come roustin’ me out of me sickbed in the middle of a blizzard? Have ye lost what little wits ye never had? And don’t be castin’ your eyes at them picture boxes, Tinkerbell, because we ain’t open today, I told you already, and I ain’t fixin’ ye tea and biscuits, neither, so don’t be standing there chattering your teeth at me and dripping snowmelt on me floor when you ought to be home with the nuns—ah, sure, I know you, I know all about ye; I got a memory like a steel trap—and speaking of which, by the by, you owe me at least two dollars in ticket money, which you never paid, now did ye? All them times ye came sneakin’ in here, you and your car-thieving brother—don’t ye cut your eyes at me, missy; I’m only statin’ the facts, is all—so we’ll have to be taking that into account, now won’t we, regarding this so-called property—your friend’s, you were saying? Which you claim that I have, though I doubt that I do, or I’d know it meself, now wouldn’t I?”

  I gritted my teeth. Crabby old crook. What business did he have anyhow, calling my brother names? Still, I didn’t say it. I knew I couldn’t say it—or kick him in the shin, neither—then I’d never get Harriet back. And I had to get her back, I had to get her back. That was all that mattered now, so—

  “It’s a doll,” I muttered. My lips still weren’t bendable, but my tongue wasn’t quite as thick now.

  “A what?” Doc hollered. He grabbed his ear trumpet from behind the counter and held it up to his ear. “Speak up, ye little brat! Are you tryin’ to make a fool of me?”

  “A doll,” I said again as loud as I could, leaning around him and searching with my eyes. There were glass-front display cases everywhere you looked, once you started looking, in front of the counter and behind the counter and reaching to the ceiling, some of ’em, and every one stuffed with stuff, crammed to the brim with rings and watches and bracelets and boots and an elephant made of matchsticks and magnifying glasses and earmuffs and bright-beaded ladies’ handbags and silver-backed mirrors and teacups and shaving cups and shiny steel razors and footballs and
baseballs and leather gloves and penny whistles and crutches and false teeth and a wooden leg with the shoe still on it and oh—oh—just to the right there, behind the stuffed parrot in the golden cage, a whole shelf of doll cases, every one chock-full of dolls—big ones and little ones and babies and ladies, too, but none half as fine as Harriet; I still didn’t see Harriet—oh God, someone’s bought her; well of course they have, of course they have, she’s better than any of these old—

  “There she is!” I cried, when I spied her at last, all alone in a glass box of her very own, in the middle of all the others, front-and-center in her blue dress, with her hat and pearls and parasol and her little white teeth smiling at me—oh, thank God, thank the Lord—“That’s the one! That’s my doll! My friend’s doll, I mean—”

  “Oh, it is, is it?” Doc lifted a spiky eyebrow. “Your ‘friend’s’ doll, ye say? Would ye be meaning that little beggar with the crutch who brought her here? Brannigan, wasn’t it? Little thief in the makin’ himself, no doubt. And what would he be doing with a doll like that? Lucky for him I didn’t call the police. Lucky for both of ye, I can see now. Go on, get out of here. Go back to the nuns. That doll’s not for sale. I’m waiting for the rightful owner to claim it, and it ain’t you, me fine lady; you don’t fool me for a second. You couldn’t afford that doll if your life depended on it.”

  “But . . . but I am the rightful owner!” I sputtered. “I mean—my friend is—Betty, not Jimmy—he was only sellin’ it for me, that’s all, because—because I didn’t know it was hers, you see—and—and I can pay, see here? I brought you the money—three dollars—every bit of what you gave him—”

  An ugly smile cracked across Doc’s large yellow teeth. “Oh, is that what he told ye, the sly boots? Three dollars, was it? And you believed him? My, my. Three dollars for a doll like that? Why, I gave him ten, I did, and counted it a bargain. So I couldn’t think of partin’ with her now, now could I? Not for a penny less than twelve, at least. Eleven at the outside. But of course if you’d care to purchase one of our smaller—”

  “That’s a lie!” I shouted, grabbing hold of his polka-dot sleeve. “You gave Jimmy three dollars—three lousy bucks—you know you did; you know you did—”

  The voice came out of the shadows behind me: “Give the kid the dolly, Doc, if she wants it so much.”

  All the ice in my hair that was melting on my head started running down my neck, colder than ever. All the birds in the clocks started singing: Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

  “Why, hello, Mr. Egan! I didn’t see ye back there!” Doc squinted into the dark. “And Eddie, isn’t it? Well, of course it is. Come in, come in. What can I do for you two gentlemen? To what honor do I owe the pleasure, on a day such as this? I have the kettle on upstairs, on me hot plate, if you’d care for a drop of tea. We’re closed down here, due to the weather, of course, for the general hoi polloi—you were just leaving, weren’t ye, Julia? But of course it’s always a privilege—”

  “Just get the doll, Doc.” Egan stepped in closer.

  My own legs wouldn’t move at all.

  “Well, of course, Mr. Egan, if you say so. Right away, right away—” Good Lord, was the old man trembling? He fetched a stepladder from under the counter and pushed it over in front of the cabinet with Harriet in it. “But as I was just explaining to the young lady here . . .” He reached in his pocket and took out a gigantic ring of keys of every shape and size—there had to be forty or fifty, at least—clinkety-clanking all together as he searched through ’em with his knobby old hands. No question he had the shakes now. “Naturally a doll like this is worth a great deal more than some people might—oh, yes, here we are, sir, here’s the—ah, no, now what am I thinking? Not that key; that’s for the parrot! Oh dear, I know it’s one of these. . . .” The bully Doc was all gone; there was another Doc here now, with a wheedling, whining sound to him, like a dog fearing a kick.

  “Take your time,” said Tom Egan. He looked at me and smiled. “We don’t have any pressing engagements today, do we, Miss Delaney?”

  Oh dear God, what’s happening, what’s he talking about? Why would the Rat of all Rats be standing here smiling at me and why won’t my legs move, my fingers my toes my tongue oh God dear God, please, Betty’s waiting, I can’t just stand here. . . .

  “Here we are!” said Doc, mopping his damp brow with one hand and turning the key in the lock with the other, and handing down the doll not to me but to Egan—oh no, oh please, don’t touch her—who held her up high and looked her over.

  “Well now, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?”

  And then he put her in my arms, parasol and all.

  Thank God. Thank you, God. Do you see that, Betty? I’ve got her! I’ve got Harriet!

  Now if only I could move . . .

  But it was Egan who was moving again, reaching inside his overcoat and pulling a cigar out of his vest pocket and snapping his fingers at Fat Eddie, who came trotting right over, like a good boy, and lit a match from a box in his own pocket.

  “Well now,” Egan said again, puffing out a cloud of smoke—

  And no sooner do I smell the smell, than the October sun is shining inside my head and the flag is flapping on the flagpole and I’m back at the ballpark by the smashed automobile. . . . Now, ain’t this rich? Ah, Eddie, you big lug. We’ve been robbed by a gang of midgets?

  But then my head cleared and it was winter again, in the middle of a blizzard. We were still standing in Doc’s, and Egan was putting his arm around my stone-cold shoulders, saying, “Well now, Miss Delaney, isn’t this a bit of luck, running into each other like this, when you’re just the girl I’ve been meaning to talk to for the longest time? Wasn’t I just sayin’ that the other day, Eddie?”

  “You were,” said Eddie.

  “M-me?” I stuttered.

  “You,” said Egan. “None other. I’d have paid you a visit some time ago, in fact, but I’ve never had the measles, as it happens. And the good Sisters are a bit thorny about gentleman callers—as they should be, of course—and well, you know how time flies. And then there you were, coming to us, right out in the snow just now, when our car was giving us a spot of bother—”

  So that was it, then? He was in the stuck car?

  “And I said to Eddie here, ‘Now there’s a little girl who could use a hand, Eddie.’ Didn’t I say it, Eddie? Those very words?”

  “You did, Mr. Egan.”

  “So here we are, you see, to offer it—and not only to you, but to your brother, too, poor lad. Ah, such a shame! When you know as well as I do what a fine boy he is—well, of course he is, at heart—Father Dunne thinks the world of him. Not the reformatory type atall, atall. That was all a mistake, now wasn’t it? One that could be corrected, you see, with a bit of explaining, once the judge is made to see that Bill was tricked, that’s all. Led astray, poor boy, by his so-called friend . . . Mickey, I believe it is. Mickey What’s-His-Name—Doyle, isn’t it, Eddie? Oh yes, my yes, he’s the bad apple in that barrel, no question about it. I’ve offered a substantial reward for that one.” Egan took another puff of his cigar and blew a smoke ring around my head. “You wouldn’t have any idea where I could find him, would you, miss? Five hundred dollars, you know; that would buy you a lot of dollies. . . . Well, come along now, we can think about all that later. Let’s get you sorted out, shall we? We ain’t but a block or two from my place of business; how would you like something nice and hot to drink? And some dry clothes, too—ah, me, look how you’re shivering! Poor little kid, you’re wet through. . . .”

  And then he was pulling me along with him, and I wanted to pull away, but my legs weren’t working right; they were like a pair of dead sticks under me, and meanwhile Eddie had one elbow gripped tight and Egan had the other, but I still had Harriet, I still had Harriet; Doc was watching the whole time with his little kicked-dog’s eyes but he didn’t care if I took her now, did he? Egan had slapped down a bill on the counter—did that say twenty? Saint Chris on a crutch, I’d never even seen a
twenty-dollar bill—look there now, Betty! do you see what your doll’s worth?

  And I’m hanging on to her for dear life, but what good does it do me when Betty’s a million miles away and it’s snowing harder than ever when they drag me out the door. . . . It wouldn’t matter if I could yell, but I can’t yell, I can’t make a peep, and I have these stick legs and oh God, we’re outside, and there’s only white, white everywhere and the sounds in my good ear are all confused. . . . There’s a bell ringing somewhere; is it the Angelus again? Or the ferry, maybe—but there’ll be no ferry today; it couldn’t get through the ice, could it? The river’s froze up stiff, remember, and there’s no one out here anyhow; they’re all home where they belong where it’s warm and it’s dry and there’s no snow stinging their eyes their faces the lungs in their chests and I want to be home, too, I want to go home—well, not home, but the House—I’ve got the doll, Betty needs the doll, and if I tell the Rat where Mickey is he’ll give me five hundred dollars and we can get on the train and have the chickens and the ice cream but then he’d shoot Mickey, wouldn’t he? Oh dear God, I’d be a murderer and Bill would never forgive me, ah, hell, I guess I can’t let him shoot Mickey after all but where’s he taking me, anyhow? He said a hot drink, I’d like a hot drink but you know what the Rats do, they put the powder in it, Bill told me all about it, and then you’re asleep and when you wake up they’ve already robbed you blind and what if they take the doll, Betty needs the doll, remember? Please God, make my legs work, I can’t have the hot drink, I can’t go in the Rat’s hole, I can’t I won’t I will not no no no no NO. . . .