The Death and Life of Superman (34 page)

“Yeah, well, our house got totally trashed in the process. I’m still not sure what all happened—everything happened so fast. All I know for sure is that the Justice League got knocked out, and Superman took off to chase after Doomsday. Maybe he’d have caught him and stopped him right then and there, if it hadn’t been for me.”

Jimmy shifted forward on the vinyl-covered bench. “What do you mean, Mitch?”

“There . . . there was an explosion, see? Our house was on fire, and my mom and baby sister were trapped.” Mitch nervously played with his empty plate, and his voice grew faint. “All I could think of was how crummy I’d been to my mom, and now she was maybe gonna die right before my eyes. I started screaming for Superman to come back. I screamed and screamed, and he did—he came back. He came back and saved them, and Doomsday got away. That’s why it’s my fault.” He looked up at Jimmy and Bibbo. “If I hadn’t made Superman come back, he might’ve been able to beat Doomsday then and there. He might still be alive if not for me.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Superman wouldn’t have wanted your mother and sister to be hurt, Mitch. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, don’t go saying things like dat, kid.” Bibbo reached a huge hand across the table to pat Mitch’s shoulder. “Savin’ folks wuz Sooperman’s job. You couldn’ta done nothin’ to save him. There wuz nothin’ nobody coulda done. I know.”

“Maybe not. But I keep thinking of how he was there for us when we needed him. And after all I used to say . . .” Mitch slumped back in the booth. “See, I used to think Superman was some goody-goody—you know, a real dork. I was even joking about it with my friends earlier that day. I mean, it was like I jinxed him or something. Anyway, that’s why I came to Metropolis. I heard on the radio that one of Superman’s relatives was going to make a speech or something. I didn’t know it was part of some scam. I wish that woman
had
been his wife—I just wanted to apologize.”

“Mitch, as far as I know, Superman didn’t have any family. I know how you feel, but you don’t have anything to apologize for.” Jimmy searched for the right words.
How would Mr. Kent put it?
“Just because Superman died after you ragged on him doesn’t mean that you
caused
him to die. The world doesn’t work that way.”

“Wait a minute!” Bibbo squinted over the rim of his coffee cup at Jimmy and Mitch. “Somebody wuz claimin’ to be Sooperman’s wife? No way! My pal was a bachelor! No way wuz he ready to settle down.”

Mitch scowled. “That’s another thing. My own old man walked out on us months ago, like he didn’t care about us anymore. He said he never shoulda settled down—never shoulda married. But then a complete stranger came along and stood up for us!” Mitch hit the table with the side of his fist, hard enough to rattle the glasses. “Superman fought for us, saved us and most of the world, while my own father was nowhere to be seen!”

Jimmy put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s more complicated than that, Mitch.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that right.” Mitch stared out the window at the pelting rain. He’d never told this to any of his friends before, much less a couple of strangers. But now that it was coming out, he couldn’t stop it. “Ya know, I still love my dad. I love him so much that I used to blame my mom for everything. But she wasn’t the one who left us—he was. My mom . . . my mom’s surprised me lately.” Mitch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean, she’s still sweet enough to give you diabetes, but . . . I never realized how strong she is, ya know? Ever since our house got wrecked, Mom’s been more—more—I dunno, assertive? I can’t believe how she’s changed.” Mitch shrugged. “Maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she always was that way, and I just never noticed.”

“Mothers can fool you, Mitch.” Jimmy smiled, remembering how his own mother had kept their family going after his father had been declared missing in action. “Look, I can tell that you’re still upset over everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah,” Mitch nodded. “You guys have been great. But I guess what I really need to do is unload to Superman. And it’s too late for that now.”

“Maybe not. There is a place we can go, if you want to pay your respects.”

Bibbo nodded. “I know what yer thinkin’ about, Red, and it’s a good idear.”

Mildred brought the bill to the table, and Bibbo laid his hand down over it. “Dis is on me. You two go on about yer bizness.”

Jimmy smiled as they slid out of the booth. “Thanks, Bib, that’s another I owe you.”

“My pleasure. ’Ey, hold on a minute.” Bibbo pulled out a wad of cash and pressed several big bills into Mitch’s hand. “Yer maw’s prob’ly worried about ya, kid. Give her a call an’ tell her ya’ll be on yer way home soon.”

“Well, thanks, Bibbo, but I can’t take bus fare from you. I’ll just hitch a ride home.”

“Like hell you will, kid! That’s all yer maw needs to worry about! I gave ya enuff for
air fare,
an’ that’s what ya damn well better spend it on!”

“No, really, I can’t take—”

Bibbo waved off Mitch’s protest. “Lissen, if my buddy Sooperman was still around, he’d fly ya home hisself, so you just shut up an’ let me stand in fer him, y’hear?”

Mitch nodded mutely and shook Bibbo’s hand. A sheen of moisture clouded the tavern owner’s eyes as he watched the two young men head out of the diner and down the block to the subway. “Watch out fer ’im, Red.”

“Did you say something, Mr. Bibbowski?” Mildred looked up from behind the counter. “Is there anything more you want?”

“Uh, yeah, Miz Fillmore. Bring me anudder slab o’ that pie. Watchin’ that kid eat has given me an appetite.”

Lana finished pouring Martha a second cup of tea and slowly gazed around the apartment. One of Clark’s old high school football trophies sat in a place of honor on a shelf.
I can still remember the day he was awarded that. We were both so proud.
Lana choked back a tear and found her voice. “We have a big decision before us, don’t we? Sooner or later, we have to decide whether or not to tell the world that Clark and Superman were one and the same.”

Jonathan looked startled. “Why ever do we have to decide any such thing? Why can’t we just keep our mouths shut like we always have?”

“I wish it were that simple, but the question may become academic.” Lana bent down to refill Jonathan’s cup. “I’ve already seen magazine excerpts from a couple of those instant books that publishers cobble together from news reports. And it won’t stop there. Researchers will spend years digging into Superman’s life.”

“Oh, no!” Martha nearly upset her teacup. “Do you really think that someone might uncover the truth? Clark was always so careful! He changed his voice, his manner, his whole bearing when he was Superman! And it’s not as if he ever wore a mask, so why would anyone wonder if Superman was ever anyone else? They might wonder
where
he was whenever he wasn’t in public sight, but surely not
who
he was!” Martha looked from her husband to Lana to Lois, hoping for unequivocal agreement.

Lois nodded slowly. “Those are all good points, Martha. Clark
did
cover his tracks well, and—as you say—he took care never to get people wondering about a ‘secret identity’ in the first place. Not like, say, the Batman, who clearly has something to hide; . . . a famous face, or a terrible scar, or whatever.” She stared for a while into her tea. “Even so, Lana also has a point. Never underestimate a dogged researcher.”

Jonathan let out a snort. “Well, if anyone ever did get that lucky, it would be plain awful. I couldn’t stand to have a bunch of media vultures swarming over us, looking for personal angles to hot Superman stories.” He glanced at Lois. “No offense meant to our present journalist, dear.”

“None taken, Jonathan.” Lois smiled at him and squeezed his hand for extra reassurance. Then her smile faded. “Yes, I’m afraid that Lana might be right. We can all trust each other to be silent, but there might be some loose end that none of us knows about—some slip that Clark made without knowing. Someone might uncover the secret that way.”

Jonathan snorted once more. “Well, if that happens, so be it—but I see no reason to hurry it along! Clark always worked to keep a decent measure of privacy so he could have a normal life away from being Superman. We respected that throughout his career, and I say we go on respecting it now. Maybe the world thinks it deserves to know everything about Superman, but I say the world can just go fish! It’s up to us to keep some things quiet.”

“Amen to that.” Martha nodded, her voice a little quavery, and Jonathan put his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. He kissed her hair and laid his cheek against her head for a long moment, then looked up at the two young women. “Far as we’re concerned, you two are both like daughters to us. I hope you agree with what Martha and I plan to do. Or rather”—he grinned humorlessly—“what we plan
not
to do.”

Lois stepped close, putting one hand on Martha’s shoulder and the other on Jonathan’s. She began to tear up again, but her voice was firm. “Absolutely.”

Lana moved close on the other side of the Kents and laid her hands atop Lois’s, her voice just as firm. “One hundred percent.”

The rain had petered out to a light drizzle by the time Jimmy and Mitch reached Centennial Park. Despite the day’s weather, a long line stretched along the newly planted memorial garden leading to the wide plaza that was Superman’s final resting place. Ahead of them sat the tomb, a massive cube of stone, unadorned save for the pentagonal S-shield carved into one side. The tomb was topped by an eternal flame and the twenty-five-foot granite statue of Superman standing boldly with his left arm outstretched as a perch for a great, majestic stone eagle.

The line moved slowly, and Mitch stared reverently at the statue for most of the twenty minutes it took to approach the tomb. “You were right, Olsen. This is awesome.”

Jimmy nodded, his eyes on the rough-hewn statue. “You’re not alone in thinking that, Mitch. Folks have been coming from all over to visit Superman’s tomb.”

Around them, people were expressing similar feelings. A hushed murmuring filled the plaza. But for a moment, under it all, Jimmy thought that he could hear something else.
What is that noise? It sounds muffled . . . or far away . . . but it’s almost like—what?—a drill?
He shook his head.
Probably just a trick of acoustics. All this stone paving . . . maybe it was picking up vibrations from the rescue efforts in town.
There were, Jimmy knew, massive machines at work just a few blocks away, sifting through the rubble left by Doomsday. The noise seemed to fade, and he put it out of his mind.

As Mitch and Jimmy came up to the tomb, they saw flowers and little notes placed lovingly around its base. It reminded Mitch of what he had learned in school about the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, about how people left letters and other mementos there for their loved ones. He knelt beneath the granite S and looked above him at the statue that, up close, seemed to loom even taller.

“Superman?” Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh . . . hi. I feel kinda stupid talking to a statue—but, hey, who knows? My grandma says my grandpa—he died a couple years ago—she says he can hear us when we talk to him, so maybe you can, too. I owe you a lot, Superman, but first off, I owe you an apology. Y’see, I used to figure you for a real loser. Shows what a zero
I
was. I’m gonna try to do better—try not to judge people without, you know, really knowing ’em. I know a lot more now . . . about you, anyway. You laid it on the line for us. My old man had cut out, but not you.”

Mitch reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet-sized photo of his family. “This is my family from before my father split. You’d remember my mother and my sister Becky. They’re okay today, thanks to you. If you’d ignored us,
you
might be alive today. But you came back and saved them. That took guts.” He gently tucked the photo into a seam in the stones at the base of the tomb, between a small book of poetry and an old athletic medal someone had left.

“Thanks, Superman. That probably sounds really lame, just saying thanks, but I really mean it.” Mitch took a deep breath. “And when I get home, I’ll try to get along better with my mom. I guess it’s about the only thing I can do to pay you back. With Dad gone, Mom really needs the help.”

Mitch rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off the statue. “Thanks again, Superman. For everything.”

Jimmy stood just a few yards behind Mitch, marveling at how the boy had bared his soul.
I don’t know if I could have done that when I was his age. I think I’d have died of embarrassment.
Remembering that awkward, adolescent feeling, Jimmy was careful not to look directly at Mitch until the boy joined him and they turned to leave.

“Jimmy? I want to thank you for bringing me here. I don’t think I’d have had the guts to do it alone.”

“Don’t mention it. I hope you’re feeling a little better now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. A little.” Mitch stopped and looked back at the statue. “But the whole world still feels a lot more empty now, doesn’t it? I mean, what’s gonna happen to us without him around?”

Jimmy shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. We just have to have hope.”

Mitch blew a short raspberry, a glimmer of his old cynicism shining through. “Easy for you to say!” Then the boy’s expression softened. “I just wonder if Superman really did have a family somewhere. If he did, I sure hope they’re holding up okay. They’d have lost more than any of us.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy was impressed all over again with Mitch.
This kid has really been through some wars, but I think he’s going to be okay. I’d tell him so, but he’d just say I was being sappy.
“Come on, we’ll take a cab to the airport.”

They silently walked away from the plaza, lost in their thoughts. As they left the park, neither of them heard the distant whir of the drills.

Henry Johnson had been out of the hospital less than ten hours, and he did not like what he saw.

A week before, when a building had come falling down on top of him, he’d had no time to fear for himself. His only thought then was,
Superman needs help. I owe him my life . . . I can’t die now.
Henry still couldn’t remember much of the ordeal that had followed. He recalled voices—old half-forgotten memories he’d done his best to forget—and he remembered digging. He’d been out of his head, scraping his way out of the rubble, trying to get to Superman and help him stop Doomsday.