Pinky Pye (7 page)

And of course, besides the first swim, today had been Uncle Bennie's birthday. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," had been sung, the four candles blown, the wish made, and the cake eaten. So the day had been important and the night was going to be important too. Uncle Bennie was going to stop sucking his thumb on the stroke of midnight.

Now supper was over. The dishes were washed and the sun had set. It was growing dark, and one of the best things about this particular Fourth of July was soon to begin. That is, the fireworks across the bay. The Pyes were not going to cross the bay to watch; they were going to stroll down to the dock, sit on the edge, dangle their legs above the water, sip sodas, and watch.

Since it was eight o'clock, Papa suggested they get started for the bay now, buy their cones or sodas, whatever the plan was, and prepare to view the pyrotechnics, a long word meaning fireworks.

Papa liked words beginning with "py." Naturally, why not, with the name Pye to begin with? This may have been one reason why Papa was so fond of their new pet, Pinky. And it is a wonder he did not suggest spelling her name Pynky instead, for it is possible to use a "y" instead of an "i." But neither he nor anyone else had thought of doing that. Anyway, her name began with "P" and ended with "y." That's almost Pye. And think of the pygmy owl, that bird of the Bishes' out West that Papa had made the acquaintance of recently. You would think that pygmy owls would be Papa's favorite birds since they began with "py," and maybe they were, though Papa always said he loved all birds and no one kind in particular. The pygmy owl happened to be the favorite bird of that other ornithologist, Mr. Hiram Bish, whose name began with "Bi" and not "py."

These were the thoughts of Rachel as the Pyes strolled across the island. And she thought it was too bad that pineapple and pine are not spelled with "py" instead of "pi" because pineapple was Papa's favorite fruit and he loved the smell of pine—outdoors, not in the house, for he hated pine soap.

Pinky and Ginger accompanied the Pyes and were going to view the pyrotechnics too, but Gracie had to stay behind. She was such a well-adjusted cat she did not mind. The children stopped at the drugstore and bought pink soda and some ice-cream cones, and then they went out onto the wharf where the boats docked. Other people were there too, to watch the fireworks and to wait for the last boat. Which would be first, the Pyes wondered, the pyrotechnics or the boat? They sat down on the silver gray seawall and listened to the water below them lapping against the dark piles, and they waited for the daylight to wane entirely from the sky, for then the fireworks would begin.

On Fire Island itself there were to be no fireworks. But a few of the wagon boys began lighting sparklers they had probably brought from the mainland because nothing for the Fourth, not even punk, was sold here. Touhy Tomlinson gave Jerry one. There were more and more things about Fire Island that Mama liked. No fireworks was the best so far. She wished The Eyrie could be theirs, and then the family could come here every summer. Mrs. Pulie didn't want The Eyrie anymore. She was building a big and elegant cottage and had even planted great green plants called "elephant's ears," an unusual plant for Fire Island, in front of it.

Ginger went sniffing all over the wharf rapidly, and as though he were on the trail of something very important. Snort! He blew the sand out of his nose from time to time and sometimes he gave a firm sneeze. What delight when he found the tip end of an old ice-cream cone! Pinky was peeking at herself over the edge of the wharf.

"Be careful, Pinky," said Rachel. "You'll fall in." She picked Pinky up and held her in her lap.

It was a beautiful evening. There was a thin slice of moon in the west, and in a line below it were several planets. "A striking display especially for the Fourth!" observed Mama.

Then they spotted the lighted boat coming. Laughter echoed across the waves. It was not the little boat, the
Maid of the Bay,
which had brought the Pyes when they came, but the big one with several decks that was used when large crowds were expected and much luggage.

As the boat floated in, a gentle breeze brought a whiff of a fragrant cigar. A man's voice called out from above, "Hello, darling." "Hello, dear," answered a lady's loving voice, clear and bell-like.

The only thing missing,
thought Rachel blissfully,
is the smell of punk. If we had punk, we would have everything.
As if she had read her thoughts, her mother handed her a long thin packet of crinkling bright red paper. It had smudged gold letters on it, Chinese letters, and it could hold only one thing, slender sticks of Chinese punk.

"Now," said Papa, lighting a stick for each. "We are ready for the pyrotechnics." He put his piece of punk between his toes. Papa, their dignified Papa, was barefoot!

"Edgar!" Mama had said. "You can't go barefoot to the wharf!"

"Why not?" said Papa. "I have a blister on my heel."

It seemed to Rachel that Papa was very carefree down here on this island, and she put her punk between her toes, too, to be exactly like him.

Now the fireworks began. The first ones went up with a sudden splash of color directly across the bay—shimmering showers of blue and gold and purple and red, lovely and liquid in the velvety darkness. Soon, all the way up and down the Long Island shore, from as far away as they could see, there were clusters of fiery color.

"Those must be from Babylon," said Papa.

"Babylon!" exclaimed Uncle Bennie. "Zowie!" It sounded far and Biblical.

Then the show was over. First one little town and then another sank back into anonymous darkness. Only an occasional lone Roman candle or a skyrocket could be seen. Still, it was so pleasant sitting here watching the moving lights of a fishing boat home late, or of a pleasure launch, speculating as to which town certain far lights belonged, and hearing the waves gulping below, that none of the Pyes wanted to go home. Everyone else had left, but the Pyes could not tear themselves away. They felt as though they were afloat on a large and tranquil craft.

Then the peepers began their wild and lonesome singing, shrill and growing louder as they all took it up.

And then a group of rowdies came noisily out on the wharf, guffawing loudly, shattering the serenity of the night. And suddenly Rachel cried, "Pinky! Pinky! Where's Pinky?" She had been so engrossed with the sights and sounds of the evening she had lost track of Pinky. She couldn't even remember Pinky getting off her lap. "Where is she?" moaned Rachel.

Everybody leaped up. The noise of the rowdies became louder as they came farther out on the wharf. They were all pretending they were marching, and the one who was leading this march was holding something straight out in front of him, stiffly and roughly. As he came near, a dim light from the recently moored big boat showed the Pyes what he was carrying, and one little white paw gleaming in the darkness told them for certain that this roughneck had their Pinky!

He was headed right for the edge of the wharf. What was he going to do? Drop Pinky in the sea?

"Hold on! Wait!" shouted all the Pyes, emerging from the blackness.

"What're you doing with our cat?" demanded Papa.

"Don't bodder dat cat!" yelled Uncle Bennie, jumping up and down.

Rachel screamed with horror and Jerry rolled up his sleeves. Ginger barked at all of them, wondering if it would be all right to bite. The rowdies were taken by surprise, and the one holding Pinky sheep ishly handed her to Papa. Then the marchers turned and, laughing raucously again, they disappeared.

"Were they really going to drop Pinky in the water?" asked Rachel.

"She would have drowned. It's deep here," said Jerry.

"The wicked hooligans!" said Mama.

They were so relieved that Pinky was safe and sound they crowded around her, comforting her.

"Woe," said Pinky, the heroine, plaintively. "Woe."

Then Papa, who had a slow-rising anger—it was just as hard for him as for the children to think anyone could be so wicked as to drown a cat—suddenly became terribly angry. "Where'd they go?" he demanded. "Where'd they go? I'd like to punch them in the nose," he said, and he stalked, barefooted though he was and with a piece of burnt punk still between his two middle toes, after the rowdies.

All the others followed. "Edgar, dear," said Mama beseechingly. "Be careful," she said. "That sort of hooligan is capable of anything."

But the hooligans had disappeared in the darkness, leaving behind an echo of their noise and raucousness, continuing with their carousing and bent on more mischief, no doubt.

"I should have punched them on the nose right then and there," said Papa, striding on ahead.

It is doubtful if Papa, who was a gentle person, had ever punched anyone on the nose or chin in his life. He was not at all like people in moving pictures who are always punching somebody else. But now Papa's pale hair was bristling and so was his sandy beard, and he really looked as though he would have punched those men on the chin. In fact, he looked as though that was what he did most of the time, punch people on chins.

Everyone held his breath and was quiet out of respect to this new and unusual Papa. They were glad when he recovered his composure, gave up the pursuit, and rejoined them. "They have been imbibing too freely," he said.

"You mean yo ho ho and a bottle of rum? Pirates?" asked Uncle Bennie, coming closer to Mama's skirts.

"They were wicked robbers, weren't they, Mama?" said Rachel. "Oh, dear! Last year someone stole Ginger. Suppose this year someone should steal Pinky?"

"No," said Mama. "They won't bother her anymore. They don't want her. They just happened to see her and thought what fun it would be to drop a kitten in the water. Smart alecks!"

"Listen to her heart," crooned Rachel, her ear close to Pinky. "How it's pounding!"

Papa became angry all over again. "I should have punched them. I'm going after them. They should be locked up," he said, turning around suddenly. In doing so, a very unfortunate thing happened to Papa. His foot slipped off the edge of the boardwalk, and he twisted his ankle. He had to hobble home and, though he didn't say, "Ouch," everyone knew his ankle hurt or he would be walking on it. It was swelling up so much Mama put hot and cold compresses on it, hoping one or the other would work.

Feeling subdued, everyone got ready for bed right away. Uncle Bennie wondered if, in view of the accident, he might
not
give up sucking his thumb tonight, give it up tomorrow night instead when no robbers would be around and Papa's foot would be all right. Still, it was his birthday now, right now, and he was four years old.

"I'll pray," he said to himself. "Dear God, help me to stop sucking my thumb, now I'm four. I just can't help doing it." "I'll help you," he answered for God. And then he said for himself, "I'll give it up on the five of July if I can't make it tonight. Thank you for the help," he said to God. "And the answer."

Well, it was not midnight yet. He began to suck his thumb. "Wake me up at midnight, will you, Rachel?" he said.

But there was no answer, for Rachel was asleep with Pinky, no worse for her adventure, sleeping above Rachel's head on her pillow. In the eaves, however, Uncle Bennie's cricket gave a chirp.

"Says he will," thought Uncle Bennie, glad to have the problem solved.

In the morning Papa's foot still hurt him, and as it was very swollen, it was decided he'd better go over to Bay Shore and have it X-rayed.

"Does it hurt to have a foot exerated?" asked Rachel anxiously.

"Oh, no," said Mama. "We just want to make sure no bones are broken."

Of course all the children wanted to go with him. "We've been on this island forever," pleaded Rachel.

"We've been on a boat only once, the day we came," said Bennie.

"Phew! What a life!" said Mama.

But in the end the entire family went, with the exception of Mama, who said she would stay home with the cricket and the other pets.

They had to race for the boat, for it had already blown its first whistle. It was the big boat that they had seen come in last night, not the little
Maid of
the Bay,
and they had never been on it. "We could go to Europe in this," said Jerry.

"Please bring me some lentils, if you can, if you see a store," Mama yelled up to them as they stood waving to her from the sunny deck. "Would you believe it," she explained to the lady standing next to her, "they don't even have any lentils in the store here?"

So the family went and the foot got X-rayed and the family came back.