The Planet of Junior Brown (7 page)

Buddy let go one hand from the window frame to grab the ladder. Leaning back out of the window so he wouldn't fall forward before he was ready, he took a strong grip on the ladder with his hands and feet and swung himself out into darkness. Buddy climbed down the ladder with his eyes tight shut. He had the eerie sensation that he was suspended forever in space, that there was no beginning to the ladder and no end. Again he told himself as he had before that there was no need for him to keep his eyes open and chance dirt and mortar falling into them.

That's not why I keep them closed, he thought. Actually he didn't want to be reminded of his blindness in the dark.

I'm not afraid.

It was true, his heart beat steadily and he was not even breathing hard.

To be afraid of the dark is to be afraid of Buddy Clark.

Finally Buddy's feet touched the solid basement floor. He eased himself into a standing position, grunting with relief. His hands were sore from the hemp of the ladder but otherwise he was fine. He held onto the ladder with one hand in case he would need suddenly to swing back up again. The ladder was as invisible as he was in the blackness.

Buddy didn't move. He listened, relaxing one arm and hand at his side. Sounds from outside were muffled here. He could tune them out of his mind from long practice, so that he was aware of only sound from the basement. He heard breathing. Buddy listened to it for a long time and located it to the front of the mountain of ceiling mortar and floorboards. Next he listened to hear if the breathing was strained at all. There was tension in the sound; it told Buddy that whoever breathed so hard was frightened.

Buddy smiled to himself and waited for whatever kid it was to control his fear. Alone in the city, courage was an important bit of schooling, for the kid without it couldn't survive long.

There was a scramble of feet around the mountain of debris to a place on the other side from Buddy. Figuring out the sound of movement, Buddy knew there were two kids hiding. He was disappointed in them. He let go of the ladder. Bending, lifting one foot and then the other, Buddy removed his shoes and socks. Barefooted, he walked soundlessly over the icy floor. The rope ladder hung to the right of the mountain of debris. Some eight to ten feet in front of the ladder and the debris was the basement wall. The kids would expect him to come forward from the ladder to the open space in front of the debris. Buddy guessed that they would be crouched on the other side facing front, in the hope of hearing him coming, getting around him and reaching the ladder before he could find them.

They don't know it's me, either. They are going to break for it because they're sure it isn't me.

Buddy made his way around the back of the mountain. When he had taken four steps on the other side, he was directly behind the kids without their having heard him. Inside himself Buddy felt the contentment of his own confidence. In the dark he had taught himself to see with his mind. His senses heard and smelled and registered in him the smallest detail about the boys. And then Buddy crouched and sprung on them, catching their necks in the crook of his powerful arms.

Soundlessly the boys struggled to breathe. As Buddy applied more pressure to their throats, they grew stiff, stunned by the knowledge that they were at someone's mercy.

With a gruff laugh Buddy loosened his hold, flinging the boys away like stuffed toys and then rushing them again to grab each one tightly by the shoulder.

“Tomorrow Billy!” One of them said, “Jeesus, it's you!”

“Is it really him?” the other one said. This boy was younger than the other. Gripping his thin shoulder, Buddy could feel him shaking.

“It's me,” Buddy said. He loosened his hold on the younger boy but kept his hand on him. As the boy moved closer to him, Buddy gently held him by the scruff of his neck.

“Okay now,” Buddy told them. He kept his grip on the older boy. “Before we move, tell me what's happened.”

“Nothing's happened,” the older boy said.

“Nobody's come in to sleep or anything, on the upper floors?”

“Nothing,” the boy said.

“Please, Tomorrow Billy …” It was the younger boy talking against Buddy's chest. “… turn on a light … please.”

“Not yet,” Buddy said quietly. “The first thing you must remember is not to hurry with anything. And next, you got to stop being afraid. I know,” Buddy said, “it's hard to be cool in the deep dark. But if you remember not to hurry, you'll have time to beat the fear. Now,” he said, “just listen.”

They listened. The older boy was able to separate the outdoor sounds from their own breathing. His pulse still beat too loudly in his ears so that he could hear little else. Also, he was tired, having had to coax the smaller boy down that rope ladder for half an hour.

The younger, smaller boy could hear only his own ragged breath. He could smell the damp and musty black of the basement but he was not even aware of sound outside.

Buddy heard everything. He captured the sounds of outside and held them in his memory. If they changed at all, if footsteps were added, if any part of the traffic flow at the corner slowed or turned into the street, he knew it.

Buddy could distinguish sound. But he had not known sound at all when he was the size of the younger boy whom he held onto now. When he was that age, about nine, he had stumbled upon a vacant building all boarded up. And climbing to the top floor of the building to escape the people from the Children's Shelter, Buddy had come upon that unbelievable world of homeless children. There had been six or seven young boys and one bigger boy in that boarded-up tenement. When Buddy came upon them, none of them had moved. The bigger boy had been sitting on his haunches, his every muscle ready for battle if a fight were needed.

They all had looked at Buddy. It had been the bigger boy who motioned him to come forward, who had given him a bowl of soup to eat.

“This is the planet of Tomorrow Billy,” the bigger boy had told Buddy. “If you want to live on it, you can.”

Buddy remembered he had feared the bigger boy at first, even when he had decided to stay. He had been afraid they were crazy addicts, or that the big boy forced the others to steal for him.

The bigger boy had told Buddy, “If you stay with us, you'll do as I say to do. There're no parents here. We are together only to survive. Each one of us must live, not for the other,” the boy had said. “The highest law is to learn to live for yourself. I'm the one to teach you how to do that and I'll take care of you just as long as you need me to. I'm Tomorrow Billy.”

In the dark of the basement, remembering that time, Buddy smiled to himself. He scooted along the floor, moving the two boys with him until he reached the wall in front of the mountain of debris. There Buddy released them. They moved quietly until they were sitting with their backs against the basement wall.

There was a low table next to the two boys. Buddy found the one patio candle on it and lit it. The weak light seemed suddenly bright to the boys' unaccustomed eyes. Buddy sat on his knees with his palms flat on the table top, staring into the candlelight.

How many Tomorrow Billys had there been, and for how long? It had taken Buddy three years to learn all that the bigger boy on his planet could teach him. Each night, the boy came to where the group lived high up in the tenement. When he had taught them and fed them and furnished them what clothing they needed, he would prepare to leave them again. Always they'd ask him, “Tomorrow, Billy? Will we see you again tomorrow night?” The boy had always answered yes. But one time, after about three years, they'd somehow forgot to ask the question. Tomorrow Billy had never returned. The group had broken up then. Long after each had gone his separate way, Buddy realized why the boy had not returned. It was not that they had forgotten to ask the question, “Tomorrow, Billy?” It was that they no longer needed to.

Turning from the candlelight, Buddy surveyed the two boys against the wall. Their eyes hadn't left his face. He recognized the older of the two to be one of the few kids he had passed along to be part of a group down on Gansevoort Street in the West Village.

Under Buddy's steady gaze, the boy thought to tell Buddy his name. “I'm Franklin Moore,” he said. “You may remember me as Russell. That was my real name, the one I had when I first came here.”

Buddy laughed inwardly. It was a strange dude who would change his name from Russell to Franklin. But it was a rule that a boy moving from one planet to another would have to change his name.

“I don't want to know your real name,” Buddy told him. “Keep it to yourself, if you need to. But try to forget it, if you're really Franklin Moore.”

The boy said nothing. He was quick to learn and his mind clicked in time with what Buddy had just revealed to him about himself.

“Were you told to come up here?” Buddy asked him.

“Tomorrow Billy down there say to come up and bring this kid here because they are full up and you suppose to be just through with one group.”

Buddy listened closely to Franklin Moore. The boy could be a thief, stumbling on the group the way Buddy himself had years ago. No. Once you start suspecting them, you'll end by giving them passwords to get in. You'll have to put them in uniforms so you'll know who belongs. You'll next distrust anyone who might forget the password or has his uniform stolen.

“What's your name?” Buddy asked the younger boy. The boy was small and yellow-skinned. His hair was freshly cut and washed and he wore clean clothes.

It took the boy some minutes to come up with a name. He had been taught for however long he had some parent to teach him that his name was who he was.

“Look,” Buddy told him. “If you want to use the name you were born with, okay, because I'll never know the difference. See, I can't get inside your head so maybe you make up the name and maybe you don't, it's all right. But dig, it's better you give up the name you were born with. See, because just having a last name the same as the mama or aunt or daddy you once knew reminds you of them. And remembering is going to make you feel pretty bad sometimes when maybe Franklin here or anybody else, either, isn't around to make you feel better.”

The boy still hadn't said anything. Every now and then he peeked shyly at Buddy. Clearly he was in awe of his Tomorrow Billy.

“I think maybe he might be hungry,” Franklin told Buddy. “We had to do some hurrying. I found him out on the street begging. Some drunk had got hold on him and was making him work for him.”

“You have to stone the drunk to get the kid away?” Buddy asked.

“Nothing like that!” Franklin said. He looked shocked but then he understood that Buddy had been testing him.

“I gave him enough money to satisfy the drunk,” Franklin said. “When the drunk had his wine, I just disappeared with the kid.”

“Good,” Buddy said.

“Time we get over to the house on Gansevoort, it's getting late,” Franklin continued, “and I know I've got to get him stashed before night. So they get him cleaned up there and cut his hair—but he didn't eat because we had to get up here while I can still see the ladder good enough to get him down it.”

Franklin sighed, glancing at the child next to him. He had already grown somewhat protective of the boy. It was always a pleasant surprise for Buddy to see how quickly an older boy became attached to a younger one. Always the younger one would grow up better able to take care of himself than the older one had been.

“I guess maybe you are hungry too, just the same as the kid,” Buddy said to Franklin.

Franklin stared down at his hands, fearing his hunger would appear selfish.

“Nothing wrong with needing to eat, man,” Buddy told him.

Buddy moved to the edge of the candlelight. In the shadows there stood a double-door file cabinet. Buddy unlocked it and opened it; there were stacks of clothing on the upper shelf and a supply of towels and soap. Canned goods, staples, plates and cooking and eating utensils were kept on the two lower shelves. On top of the cabinet were quarts of bottled water and a Sterno set.

Buddy lifted down the Sterno and water and set them on the table. He took from the cabinet a can of soup, a loaf of dark bread, powdered milk, two bananas and a can of tuna fish.

The boys watched eagerly as Buddy spread the food out on the table. “Yea!” he said happily. The boys scooted forward to help.

Opening the bottled water was like a ritual. The younger boy was allowed to do it. When he had used the opener properly in order to get the bottle top off, he leaned back, satisfied.

From a drawer in the table, Buddy produced three small paper cups. “Now,” he said to the younger boy. “You'll pour a half a cup of water in each of the cups. You can drink it that way or you can mix it with milk. If you mix it with milk, you can have more if you want. But if you have only water,” Buddy said, “you can have just a half a cup. We buy the water, so it's precious in the wintertime with all the water fountains turned off.”

The younger boy would have his water mixed in with milk so he could have a second cup. He poured out the water, clutching the large bottle tightly in both hands. When the task was done, he forced the top back on the bottle. He passed the bottle to Franklin, who, when he was finished, passed it on to Buddy. Buddy returned the bottle to its place on top of the file cabinet.

They ate tuna fish sandwiches. They had hot soup followed by banana slices. All of the food tasted wonderfully good.

Softly the younger boy spoke. “I got a name for myself,” he said.

Buddy was chewing, so he didn't say anything. The boy stared up at him with wide, happy eyes.

“So what is it, what's your name?” Franklin asked.

“Nightman,” the boy said.

There was a dead silence, after which Franklin said, “Naw! That's not a name!”

“How come it's not?” Buddy asked him, for the younger boy had looked crestfallen. “Take a name like Malcolm, Malcolm X. Now that's an opinion when you think about it. But a cat's got a right to his opinion.”