Authors: Me,My Little Brain
"Not me," I said. "Checkers
are small enough to go through the holes in my catcher's mask."
"Then play tiddlywinks with him,"
Mamma said. "I'm sure those little chips can't hurt you. And I don't want
one more word out of you about it."
I knew if I opened my mouth I'd lose a
week's allowance. I did get some satisfaction when Mamma tried to pat Frankie
on the head. He grabbed her hand and bit it. Then just to show he didn't hate
Aunt Bertha, he walked over and took her hand and kissed it.
Frankie must have learned how to play
tiddlywinks with his brother because he knew how to play. He did throw the
leather cup at me a couple of times. He gave up when he saw it bounce
harmlessly off my catcher's mask. Then he stopped playing the game. He reached
over and pinched me on the leg. He sure had a lot of strength for a four year
old. He pinched me hard enough to make my leg turn black and blue. I decided I
needed more protection. I went up to my room and put on my football suit. It
had padded pants and padded shoulders. I really needed a suit of armor but the
football suit would have to do.
I don't believe Frankie had ever seen a
football suit. When I came back into the parlor he was standing in the middle
of the room. I walked over beside him and turned my head away. He grabbed my
leg and pinched it but the padding protected me. I laughed at him. This made
him try to bite me on the leg, but again the padding protected me. I figured I
had
him
completely buffaloed when he walked over by
the fireplace and stood there glaring at me, his fists clenched by his sides.
I sat down with my back toward him and
began putting the tiddlywinks into the leather cup. Suddenly I saw stars. I got
to my feet. Frankie had taken a big stick of wood from the fireplace
woodbox
and belted me on the head with it. I let out a yell
that brought Mamma and Aunt Bertha into the parlor.
"He tried to kill me!" I shouted.
I pointed at Frankie, who still held the stick of wood in his hand.
Aunt Bertha held out her hand. Frankie gave
her the stick of wood without any protest.
Mamma shook her
head sadly. "So much hatred and all misdirected," she said. "You
will just have to watch him the best you can, John D. Bertha and I have baking
to do."
"Not until I
get my football helmet," I said.
When I returned wearing my football helmet,
Mamma and Aunt Bertha left me alone with Frankie. I figured if he'd never seen
a football suit that he had never seen a football helmet. I picked up a stick
of wood from the
woodbox
and handed it to him. Then I
got down on my knees and bent my head over.
"Go ahead and sock me, you little
monster," I challenged him.
He belted me a couple of times on the
football helmet. I laughed at him to let him know he wasn't hurting me a bit.
This made him so angry that he threw down the stick and walked over and climbed
up on the couch. He folded his arms on his chest and stared at me as if wishing
he had a cage of hungry lions to throw me into.
This suited me fine. I sat down in Papa's
rocking chair and stared right back at him. We were sitting like that when Papa
came home early for lunch. Frankie greeted Papa by running over and kicking him
on the shins. Papa just shook his head sadly and moved far enough away so
Frankie couldn't kick him again.
"What are
you all dressed up for?" he asked.
"This is the only way I can protect
myself from Frankie," I answered.
"I am beginning to see what you mean,
J.D.," Papa said. "I came home early for lunch because I want to talk
to your mother. Ask Bertha to take Frankie into the kitchen."
CHAPTER FOUR
Curing Frankie's Mental Block
PAPA SAT DOWN IN HIS rocking chair after
Aunt Bertha had taken Frankie into the kitchen. Mamma and I remained standing.
"Mark left this morning with Reverend
Holcomb to hold a funeral service at the slide," Papa said. "Mr.
Harmon and some other people in town who did business with Mr. Pennyworth went
along. The Parker family and other friends of the Pennyworths living on the
plateau will meet them at the slide.
After the service Mark
will go to the Pennyworth farm and see if he can find any letters or anything
that will help him locate relatives who would take Frankie.
However, Mr.
Parker told Mark he had never heard the Pennyworths mention having any close
living relatives."
"I am more interested in what Dr.
LeRoy
had to say," Mamma said. "The hatred in
that little boy for the three of us is unbelievable."
"He agrees
with my theory," Papa said.
"Then we must place the boy in another
home until Mark locates some relatives," Mamma said.
"I suggested that to Dr.
LeRoy
," Papa said. "He doesn't think it would
make any difference. The boy would just transfer his hatred to the new family.
Dr.
LeRoy
also believes that the boy will not recover
until he lets all that grief and
terror bottled up inside him
come
out. Frankie can't do that until he can cry and talk. And he can't
cry and talk until he remembers the accident and what really happened to his
parents and brother."
"Did the doctor give you any indication
of just how long that might be?" Mamma asked.
"No," Papa answered. "He
said it could happen in a day or a week, or Frankie might not get over it for a
long time, unless he had expert medical help."
I sure didn't want to live in the same
house with the little monster for months. "Boy, oh, boy," I said,
"I sure hope Uncle Mark finds some relatives quick before Frankie drives
us all crazy or murders us in our sleep."
"Stop
talking nonsense," Papa reprimanded me.
Mamma apparently didn't think it vas
nonsense. "Let us assume that Mark is unable to locate any
relatives," she said.
Papa looked at her for a moment before
answering. "You mean, what will we do if no relatives ire located who will
take the boy and if he doesn't recover his memory in a week or so?"
"Yes,"
Mamma answered.
"I asked myself and the doctor that
very same question," Papa said. "Dr.
LeRoy
hasn't the medical education to treat a mental patient. However, he knows of a
doctor in Salt Lake City named Lieberman who has a private sanitarium and
specializes in treating mental patients. I will take Frankie there." Papa
inhaled and exhaled deeply as he shook his head. "If the boy would only
cry and let out what is bottled up inside him, it would solve everything."
I took off my football helmet and rubbed
the bump on my head. "I'll gladly take on the job of making him cry,"
I said.
That sure made Papa angry. "I'm giving
you an order right now, J.D. Don't you dare lay a hand on that boy no matter
what he does to you. And you'd better start right this minute thinking of him
as a helpless little boy who needs all the love and understanding you can give
him."
I knew Papa and Mamma were determined to
think of Frankie as a helpless little boy until he cut all our throats. If they
had taken the abuse I'd taken, they would know the accident had turned him into
a homicidal maniac. They could think what they wanted, but I was going to be on
my guard day and night. I'd not only lock my bedroom door at night but also
push the dresser up against it.
I had to take off my catcher's mask to eat
lunch but I made sure I sat far enough away from Frankie that he couldn't stab
me with a knife or fork. The meal was peaceful enough, with Aunt Bertha serving
Frankie all of his food, until Mamma forgot and tried to give the boy a second
piece of cake. He rapped her across the knuckles so hard with his fork it made
her drop the cake. He ate a second piece that Aunt Bertha served him. I'd been
doing some thinking during lunch. If I was going to take a chance of being
crippled or killed, I figured I should be paid for it. I wasn't trying to
imitate Tom. I was just being me and using my common sense. I walked to the
front porch with Papa after lunch.
"Mamma has given me orders to play with
Frankie," I said. "I'm taking my life in my hands but I'll do it. And
it means I won't get to play with the other kids and have any fun at all."
"I think I know what you are leading
up to," Papa said. "If your Uncle Mark doesn't locate any relatives,
we will keep Frankie with us for one week. As a boy maybe you can get closer to
Frankie than the rest of us. You do everything you can to make him well during
that week and if you succeed I'll give you a dollar. The rest of us will give
you all the help we possibly can."
"Boy,
oh, boy!"
I shouted
joyfully.
"Not so fast," Papa said.
"If I have to take Frankie to Dr. Lieberman in Salt Lake City at the end
of that week, you get nothing."
"But that
isn't fair," I protested.
"I think it is, for the following
reason," Papa said. "It will make you try twice as hard to win
Frankie's confidence and friendship and help him get well."
I started earning that dollar right away.
Mamma told me that I'd have to mind Frankie because she and Aunt Bertha had
work to do. I thought if I took Frankie outside it would make it easier. I had
on my football suit and my catcher's mask and football helmet just in case. I
figured even a kid with a mental block must like dogs.
I whistled for my
dogs as Frankie and I came down the steps of our back porch. Both of them came
running from the rear of the yard. Then a horrible thought hit me. I wasn't
afraid of my dogs biting Frankie, but what if the little monster tried to bite
them? I patted Brownie and Prince on their heads. Then the pup ran over to
Frankie, wagging his tail and barking.
Frankie looked down at Prince for a moment.
Then he dropped to his knees and began petting and hugging him. I wasn't taking
any chances. I watched closely to make sure Frankie didn't try to strangle the
pup. But he played with Prince just like a normal kid.
I had taught both my dogs to fetch a stick
or a ball. I picked up a stick and threw it. Brownie ran and got it and brought
it back to me. Frankie watched me do this a couple of times. Then he picked up
a stick and threw it. Prince ran and got it and brought it back to Frankie. I
figured Frankie would go on playing with Prince, and got careless. I sat down
with my back toward Frankie and began scratching Brownie behind the ears. I
could hear Prince barking and assumed he was still fetching sticks for Frankie.
A few minutes later there was a thumping sound on my football helmet. I turned
around.
Frankie had gathered up a pile of rocks and
was throwing them at me. I guess I felt safe with my catcher's mask on because
I just sat there. It was a stupid thing to do. Frankie threw a sharp pointed
rock that was small enough to go through the holes in my catcher's mask. I
could feel blood running down my cheek as I got up and went into the kitchen.
Mamma was greasing a bread pan with a piece
of bacon rind. "Your cheek!" she cried.
"Frankie hit
me with a rock that went through my mask," I said. I sure didn't want to
tell her I'd been dumb enough to just sit there and let him do it.
"Come into the bathroom and let me fix
it," Mamma said, wiping her hands on her apron.
I took off my football helmet and catcher's
mask and followed her into the bathroom. She bathed the cut on my cheek with
peroxide and then put a bandage on it. I was surprised to see tears come into
her eyes. It really didn't hurt me enough to make her cry over it.
"I love you very much, John D.,"
Mamma said. "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you
because of Frankie. I didn't tell you but he tried to steal a paring knife
after lunch while you were talking to your father on the front porch. And
although you exaggerated about how dangerous he was, there is a great deal of
truth in what you said. I am going to insist that your father take him to
Doctor Lieberman in Salt Lake City."
I thought about the dollar Papa had
promised me. I could kiss it goodbye unless I thought fast.
"Please don't, Mamma," I pleaded.
"Please wait at least for a week."
She looked surprised. "There is
something going on I don't know about," she said. "Fess up, John D.
What is it?"