City of Orphans

by Avi

  “Guess we got ’em,” says one of the newsies.

  “Yeah.”

  There ain’t much joy. It’s too big. People may have been killed. So everyone just stares at the smoldering ruins, scared by what happened. The thought that Plug Uglies—maybe Bruno—are in there makes it hard to think ’bout it. The fire was an accident, but still. . . .

  A bunch of the newsies come up to Willa and ask if she’s okay.

  “Fine,” she tells them. “Thanks. Thanks for coming.”

  “Sure. Glad we saved you. Don’t worry.”

  The firemen begin to roll their hoses. The ambulance goes. The people who came to watch drift. Newsies share stories ’bout what happened, telling one another what they did and saw. Keep their voices low. No laughter.

  They start heading downtown. Not celebrating. Just glad they did something to the Plug Uglies. Feel good, too, ’bout saving Willa.

  Maks says to her, “Let’s go home.”

  “Okay.”

  Side by side, they walk down Second Avenue, but not with the other newsies. Without saying it, they want to be alone.

  At first, worn out from thinking ’bout all that happened, they don’t talk. But Maks can’t keep Bruno out of his head, wondering if he was killed.

  He stops. “Hey, I lost my cap. And your stick.”

  Willa shrugs. “Maybe I don’t need it anymore. Maks, I keep thinking about Bruno. You think he was killed?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Willa looks down. “My dress is a mess.”

  “Mama will understand. She was really worried ’bout you. Everybody was. ’Specially Jacob.”

  She says, “When Jacob and I were on the street and the gang showed up, they were pretty awful. Jacob tried to help me. Is he okay?”

  “Fine.” Maks asks, “They hurt you any ’fore I got there?”

  “Nothing much. How did you know I was there?”

  “They told Jacob I was supposed to come get you.” Then Maks tells her how, that morning, he saw Bruno in the building. “I shouldn’t have looked,” he admits. “I had to run like nothing. Betcha anything that’s why he came after you.”

  “Did you go to the hotel?”

  To Maks, that seems like a long time ago. But glad to get away from Bruno talk, he tells Willa what he did there. Tells her, that is, till he suddenly remembers ’bout seeing the man—her father.

  He wants to tell her. He don’t want to. In the end he decides he has to hold it till they get home. Even so, he can’t help wondering what’s she gonna do when she finds out.

  All he knows, it’s gonna be awful.

  76

  Bruno wishes he knew the time. He supposes he has missed his regular meeting at the restaurant with Brunswick. But maybe it ain’t too late. He really wants to slam the mug when he sees him ’cause he’s the cause of all this mess. Gonna give him a sucker punch. Grab that pistol and picture. Take his money, too. People will treat him decent then.

  When Bruno reaches the entrance to the American Theatre, he finds the doors locked. He’s too late.

  His anger seething, frustration building, he leans ’gainst a wall. Nothing is right. It’s so hard to breathe, he feels he’s drowning. Then he remembers. He knows where Brunswick lives. That huge hotel. He can catch him there.

  Bruno heads back downtown, walking along Broadway. At Thirty-third Street he turns east and takes himself to the Waldorf. Once there, he stands ’cross the way from the hotel’s main entrance. As people go in and out of the building, Bruno watches.

  Hate ’em all, he tells himself.

  “Hey, buddy, yous can’t stay here.” Another policeman.

  Bruno says, “It’s a free country. Stand where I want.”

  The policeman raises his stick. “Not for mugs like you, it ain’t. Now move!”

  Bruno, muttering curses under his breath, shuffles away. He’ll come back tomorrow.

  He’s exhausted. Needs a place to sleep. As he walks, he searches his pockets. All he’s got from the money he ripped from Willa is seven cents. Barely enough to get a flophouse bed. If he spends that, won’t have enough for breakfast. And he’s hungry.

  Then he remembers a place where he can sleep on the floor for three cents. That’ll work.

  With one last angry backward glance at the Waldorf, he heads downtown. “Tomorrow,” he mutters again, “I’m gonna kill that mug. Get myself out of here. Do something. Be free.”

  Keeps walking till he comes to a place where digging has been going in the street, where cobblestones have been stacked to one side. In the hole old wooden pipes are exposed, a shovel left behind.

  Bruno looks into the hole, sees the shovel. He snatches it up, puts it over his shoulder and keeps heading downtown.

  “I’ll bury him,” he whispers to himself. “That’s what I’ll do. Get my picture back and bury him deep. Be done with him for good and all. Be free. ”

  77

  As Willa and Maks walk home, he tells her ’bout things at the Waldorf, how rich it is, the bathrooms, the elevator.

  Willa hardly listens. The first moment Maks pauses, she says. “But did you find anything to help Emma?”

  “Don’t know,” he says, and repeats what the hotel detective told him—that Packwood said Emma didn’t get a compliment, how he went to Donck’s place and told him.

  Willa says, “This morning, at the prison, I asked Emma what Donck told me to, then I went over and told him.”

  “Yeah, he said.”

  “Is he going to do anything?”

  “He might. Guess what?” says Maks. “He said I said something smart.”

  “What?”

  Maks shrugs. “Not sure.”

  Willa looks at him. “Her trial is Saturday.”

  “Know.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  Maks shakes his head.

  They keep walking but don’t say much more. That’s all right with Maks, ’cause he keeps trying to decide how he’s gonna tell Willa the news that all this time she been thinking her father is dead, he’s alive.

  78

  They get home long past midnight. Soon as they step into the flat, Agnes, in her sleeping dress, rushes from the back room. “Willa!” she cries, and gives the girl a huge hug.

  Papa and Mama come out in their sleep shirts too. So do the boys and Monsieur Zulot. Everybody makes a big fuss over Willa being back and safe.

  Maks thinks she likes it.

  Of course, they want to hear what happened. Maks does most of the talking.

  Everybody is shocked. The boys, nothing but big eyes, keep staring at Willa and Maks. Agnes, too. Papa shakes his head.

  “God have mercy,” Mama murmurs.

  “That mean the gang is gone?” Jacob asks.

  “Hope so,” Maks says, putting his hand on his brother’s neck and giving him a squeeze. “And if you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known where they took Willa.”

  Jacob, proud ’bout his part, grins at his brothers.

  Mama gives Willa and Maks soup and bread.

  Papa shakes Willa’s hand. “You’re a brave girl,” he says to her. To Maks, he says, “And you are a brave boy. These are hard times,” he announces, “but good things can still happen.”

  Maks feels good.

  But then it’s Mama who says, “Maks, did you ever go to Emma’s hotel?”

  “Yeah,” he says, surprised she knew.

  “Did you find something to help her?”

  “Don’t know.”

  The room gets very quiet.

  Mama whispers, “Her trial is so soon.”

  Nobody says nothing. The joy is gone. Everybody drifts back to their rooms to sleep. But not before both Mama and Agnes give Willa more hugs. So do the boys. Even Monsieur Zulot. But it’s not the same as before.

  Everyone’s thinking ’bout Emma.

  Except Maks.

  He helps set up sleeping for Willa. All the while, he’s glancing at the cigar box—with Willa’s family pic
ture—trying to find the right moment to tell her ’bout her father.

  By the time they lay out her blankets and Willa settles down on the floor, it’s almost two o’clock. She sits there, hugging her knees, holding her doll. Then she takes a deep breath, as if to suggest it’s finally all done.

  “Maks,” she says, “I was really scared. Thanks for coming after me.”

  Maks is sitting on a table chair. “Hey, you saved me. I saved you. Guess we’re even.”

  “Guess.” She smiles.

  For a moment they don’t speak.

  Willa lies down. Maks, knowing he’s got to tell her, takes his own deep breath and, with a pounding heart, says, “Something I need say.”

  “What?”

  “It’s big.”

  Willa, hearing caution in Maks’s voice, sits up. “What?” she says.

  Maks pulls the cigar box down, takes out her blue tin, and hands it to her.

  Looking a question at him, Willa holds it.

  Maks says, “Take out your family picture.”

  She stares at him but does what he says. “What is it?” she says again, almost as if she don’t want to know.

  “That picture—with your father,” says Maks. “That’s him, right?”

  Willa nods. “What ’bout him?”

  “Today at the Waldorf . . . I saw him.”

  79

  Willa stares at Maks for a long time. To Maks, it seems like forever.

  Then—her voice small—she says, “My father? You . . . saw him? Are you . . . sure?”

  He nods.

  “But—” She don’t finish.

  Maks waits.

  Willa says, “I thought . . . he died.” Her voice is broken, jagged. It’s as if her heart is right there, but it’s full of nothing but sadness and hurt. Her mouth is open, but it speaks no words. Her chest heaves, but there’s no breathing. Her eyes well up, so all the while she’s looking at Maks, she’s not really seeing him, only her own tears. Or someplace else. Or nowhere. Maybe she’s seeing only what she can see, but not wanting to see what’s there.

  She whispers, “What . . . what was he doing?”

  “He was in this room—for eating. Sitting there, reading the paper. The World.”

  “The paper?” Willa asks, as if that’s the most impossible thing of all.

  Maks nods.

  “But . . . why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Was he . . . there?”

  Maks shrugs. “Don’t know.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Who was he with?”

  “Joe Gorker.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Big-city crook. And . . .”

  “What?”

  “A lady.”

  “Who was she?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Willa is still holding the photo in her hands. She bends over it, stares at it, and for a long time she stays that way, as if the picture can explain everything. Or nothing. As if the way the picture is trembling in her hands is its way of talking.

  Maks waits.

  Willa looks up. “But why . . . why would he leave me?”

  It’s the saddest thing Maks has ever heard.

  “Don’t know,” he says, wishing there were something else he could say.

  “Does . . . does he live there? At the hotel?”

  “Could be. Maybe.” Maks shrugs helplessly.

  Willa leans over the photo again. Looks up. “Are you going back there?”

  “Supposed to.”

  “Will you take me?”

  “If you want.”

  “Maks . . .”

  “What?”

  “If I do see him . . . and if it is him . . . I won’t know what to do.”

  “I know.”

  Willa puts the photograph on the floor, lies facedown, head in her arms, doll forgotten. “Maks?”

  “What?”

  “I hope it isn’t him.”

  Maks takes a deep breath. After a while he hears her quiet weeping.

  He goes over to her. Sits by her side. Says, “Willa . . . you can stay here. Be part of this family. We all like you. You can be another sister.”

  When Willa don’t say no more, Maks goes back to his chair, just sits there in case she needs him.

  As he sits, he’s wondering: Which family is Willa gonna be part of?

  Then his mind goes back to Donck. What did I say that was smart? Is it gonna help Emma? All the things that happened today . . . it all seems worse. Emma’s gonna go to prison.

  Maks feels ready to explode.

  80

  For the Geless family, getting up Friday morning is pretty regular. Except it ain’t. It was a short night of long fears.

  There’s Maks, as always, making a privy stop, dumping ashes, pumping water, getting milk. He can think ’bout only two things: Willa and Emma. What’s gonna happen?

  A quiet, sad-faced Willa helps Mama make breakfast. Everybody supposes she’s just tired.

  Papa and Agnes go to work. Talk of visiting Emma. Mama says she’ll go to The Tombs after doing her laundry. Monsieur Zulot leaves for his work.

  The three boys stumble sleepily out of the front room. They get ready for school.

  Everything is slow. Everything ’cept time.

  Maks keeps stealing glances at Willa, asking himself, What’s she gonna do?

  For her part, Willa is wondering if it really is her father. And if it is him, what should she do? And again and again, why did he leave her? She’s having trouble just being.

  Maks is also nervous ’bout what’s gonna happen when they reach the Waldorf. He can get in. He’s supposed to be working there. But how’s Willa gonna get by the guard?

  Then Maks gets an idea. All he says to Willa, though, is, “Make sure Mama gives you a nice dress. Fixes your hair.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Willa and Maks bring the boys to school. They’re still jabbering excitedly ’bout what happened during the night.

  “Can we tell our friends?” asks Ryker.

  Maks looks to Willa. She shrugs. He says, “Tell ’em what you want.”

  Ryker grins. “Guess what day it is?” he says to Willa.

  It’s Jacob who says, “What?”

  “Friday the thirteenth.”

  “Shut up,” says Maks.

  The boys off to school, Willa and Maks start uptown.

  Willa says, “At the hotel are you still going to try to find evidence stuff for Emma?”

  “Don’t know what to look for anymore,” Maks says. “Besides, when we get there, we don’t know what’ll happen, do we?”

  After a moment Willa says, “No.”

  “Anyway, I don’t think it’s good for you to be selling papers on your own. Not today. I mean, those Plug Uglies might come back.”

  “Bruno?”

  “I’m thinking he’s dead. Or gone. But maybe he ain’t. Like I once told you—and I was right, wasn’t I—he’s all ’bout getting revenge.”

  Willa don’t reply.

  They keep walking uptown, only Maks decides it ain’t smart taking Second Avenue. Not past that burnt-up house. So they go up Third, then over to Fifth.

  Willa is sad, quiet, tense.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Maks finally says. “We both need to get inside the hotel, right? I’m okay. But I’m pretty sure they ain’t gonna let you in the front.”

  “Why?”

  “The way we look. But there’s a door off to the side for people working there. Maybe I can get you in that way. And inside, there’s this bench. For people asking for work. We’ll tell them you’re looking. Maybe that’ll work.”

  “Then what?”

  “Getting tired of saying, ‘don’t know,’ but . . . don’t know.”

  81

  Standing on Fifth Avenue, the kids look at the Waldorf from across the street.

  Willa shakes her head. “It’s so big.”

&
nbsp; Maks shrugs. “Bigger inside.”

  “Is it all rich people?”

  “ ‘Cept the help.”

  Willa keeps staring. “My father can’t be there,” she says.

  Maks don’t reply.

  She says, “Maks . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Understand.”

  After a while Willa says, “Okay.”

  They head for the side entry.

  Just like the day before, the guard in his green uniform is on duty, checking in workers. Maks and Willa get on the line, and when they reach the desk, the guard looks down at Maks and says, “You started yesterday.”

  “Right. For Mr. Packwood.”

  “Go on.” He waves him on, but then he sees Willa right behind Maks. “What do you want?”

  Maks is ready. He steps back, holds Willa’s arm. “She’s my sister. She wants to get work here too. Maybe take the place of that girl they arrested.”

  The guy looks Willa over. “You and the rest of New York. Okay, go in. Sit on the first bench. Make sure you stay there till you’re called. Just don’t think you’ll get the job. They want good-looking girls.” He pushes the button on the wall.

  They go through the door. Willa has her eyes cast down, as if afraid to see anything.

  Maks points out the bench. “Sit there. I’ll be as fast as I can.”

  “Where you going?” she asks nervously.

  “Have to get my uniform.”

  Willa sits, hands in lap. Maks runs off but knows his way well enough now so that he quickly gets to where he can change into his bellboy suit. Which he does fast. Races back to Willa’s bench. To his relief, she’s still there.

  Maks says, “Anyone ask you anything?”

  Willa shakes her head.

  “Good. Come on.”

  They get up, and Maks starts leading her though the hotel halls, Willa gawking at everything. Maks, meanwhile, keeping his own look about.

  Now and again people glance at Willa—she’s dressed odd for the place—but she’s with Maks and he’s in his bell-boy uniform, so it don’t look as if they ain’t supposed to be there. At least, that’s what Maks is hoping.