Chapter 7 Part One-7

She rumpled the sawdust out of Bubbers hair and straightened Ralphs cap. This cap was the finest thing Ralph had. It was made out of lace and all embroidered. The ribbon under bis chin was blue on one side and white on the other, and over each ear there were big rosettes. His head had got too big for the cap and the embroidery scratched, but she always put it on him when she took him out. Ralph didnt have any real baby carriage like most folks babies did, or any summer bootees. He had to be dragged around in a tacky old wagon she had got for Christmas three years before. But the fine cap gave him

face. There was nobody on the street, for it was late Sunday morning and very hot. The wagon screeched and rattled. Bubber was barefooted and the sidewalk was so hot it burned his feet. The green oak trees made cool-looking black shadows on the ground, but that was not shade enough. Get up in the wagon, she told Bubber. And let Ralph sit in your lap.' I can walk all right.' The long summer-time always gave Bubber the colic. He didnt have on a shirt and his ribs were sharp and white. The sun made him pale instead of brown, and his little titties were like blue raises on his chest.

I dont mind pulling you, Mick said. Get on in.' *OK' Mick dragged the wagon slowly because she was not in any hurry to get home. She began talking to the kids. But it was really more like saying things to herself than words said to them. This is a funny thing—the dreams Ive been having lately. Its like Im swimming. But instead of water Im pushing out my arms and swimming through great big crowds of people. The crowd is a hundred times bigger than in Kresses store on Saturday afternoon . The biggest crowd in the world. And sometimes Im yelling and swimming through people, knocking them all down wherever I go— and other times Fm on the ground and people are trompling all over me and my insides are oozing out on the sidewalk. guess its more like a nightmare than a plain On Sundays the house was always full of folks because the boarders had visitors. Newspapers rustled and there was cigar smoke, and footsteps always on the stairs.

Some things you just naurally want to keep private. Not because they are bad, but because you just want them secret. There are two or three things I wouldn't want even you to know about' Bubber got out when they came to the corner and helped her lift the wagon down the curb and get it up on the next sidewalk. But theres one thing I would give anything for. And thats a piano. If we had a piano Id practice every single night and learn every piece in the world. Thats the thing I, want more than anything else.' They had come to their own home block now. Their house was only a few doors away. It was one of the biggest houses on the whole north side of town—three storiesi* high. But then there were fourteen people in the family. werent that many in the real, blood Kelly family— but they ate there and slept there at five dollars a head and you plight as well count them on in. Mr. Singer wasn't counted in that because he only rented a room and kept it straightened up himself.

The house was narrow and had not been painted for many years. It did hot seem to be built strong enough for its three stories of height. It sagged on one side. Mick untied Ralph and lifted him from the wagon. She darted quickly through the hall, and from the corner of her eye she saw that the living-room was full of boarders. Her Dad was there, too. Her Mama would be in the kitchen . They were all hanging around waiting for dinner-time. She went into the first of the three rooms that the family kept for themselves. She put Ralph down on the bed where her Dad and Mama slept and gave him a string of beads to play with.

From behind the closed door of the next room she could hear the sound of voices, and she decided to go inside. Hazel and Etta stopped talking when they saw her. Etta was sitting in the chair by the window, painting her toe-nails with the red polish. Her hah- was done up in steel rollers and there was a white dab of face cream on a little place under her chin where a pimple had come out. Hazel was flopped out lazy on the bed as usual. What were you all jawing about? Its none of your nosy business, Etta said. Just you hush up and leave us alone.' Its my room just as much as it is either one of yours. I have as good a right hi here as you do. Mick strutted from one corner to the other until she had covered all the floor space. But then I dont care anything about picking any fight. All I want are my own rights.'

Mick brushed back her shaggy bangs with the palm of her hand. She had done this so often that there was a little row of cowlicks above her forehead. She quivered her nose and made faces at herself in the mirror. room again. Hazel and Etta were OK as far as sisters went. But Etta was like she was full of worms. All she thought about was movie stars and getting in the movies. Once she had written to Jeanette MacDonald and had got a typewritten letter back saying that if ever she came out to Hollywood she could come by and swim in her swimming pool. And ever since that swimming pool had been preying on Ettas mind. All she thought about was going to Hollywood when she could scrape up the bus fare and getting a job as a secretary and being buddies with Jeanette MacDonald and getting in the movies herself.

She primped all the day long. And that was the bad part. Etta wasn't naturally pretty like Hazel. The main thing was she didnt have any chin. She would pull at her jaw and go through a lot of chin exercises she had read in ft movie book. She was always looking at her side profile in the mirror and trying to keep her mouth set in a certain way. But it didnt do any good. Sometimes Etta would hold her face with her hands and cry hi the night about it. Hazel was plain lazy. She was good-looking but thick in the head. She was eighteen years old, and next to Bill she was the oldest of all the kids in the family. Maybe that was the trouble.

She got the first and biggest share of everything—the first whack at the new clothes and the biggest part of any special treat. Hazel never had to grab for anything and she was soft. Are you just going to tramp around the room all day? It makes me sick to see you hi those silly boys clothes. Somebody ought to clamp down on you, Mick Kelly, and make you behave, Etta said. Shut up, said Mick. I wear shorts because I dont want to wear your old hand-me-downs. I dont want to be like either of you and I dont want to look like either of you. Thats why I wear shorts. Id rather be a boy any day, and I wish I could move in with Bill.'

Mick scrambled under the bed and brought out a large hatbox. As she carried it to the door both of them called after her, Good riddance!' Bill had the nicest room of anybody in the family. Like a den—and he had it all to himself—except for Bubber. Bill had pictures cut out from magazines tacked on the walls, mostly faces of beautiful ladies, and in another corner were some pictures Mick had painted last year herself at the free art class. There was only a bed and a desk in the room. JO Bill was sitting hunched over the desk, reading Popular Mechanics. She went up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders. Hey, you old son-of-a-gun. '

He did not begin tussling with her like he used to do. ?Hey, he said, and shook his shoulders a little. Will it bother you if I stay in here a little while?' Sure—I don't mind if you want to stay.' Mick knelt on the floor and untied the string on the big hatbox. Her hands hovered over the edge of the lid, but for some reason she could not make up her mind to open itI been thinking about what Ive done on this already, she said . And it may work and it may not.' Bill went on reading. She still knelt over the box, but did not open it. Her eyes wandered over to Bill as he sat with his back to her. One of his big feet kept stepping on the other as he read. scuffed. Once their Dad had said that all Bills dinners went to his feet and his breakfast to one ear and bis supper to the other ear, that was a sort of mean thing to say and Bill had been sour over it for a month, but it was funny. His ears flared out and were very red, and though he was just out of high school he wore a size thirteen shoe. He tried to hide his feet by scraping one foot behind the other when he stood up, but that only made it worse. Mick opened the box a few inches and then shut it again. She felt too excited to look into it now. She got up and walked around the room until she could calm down a little. After a few minutes she stopped before the picture she had painted at the free government art class for school kids last winter. There was a picture of a storm on the ocean and a sea gull being dashed through the air by the wind. It was called Sea Gull with Back Broken in Storm. The teacher had described the ocean during the first two or three lessons, and that was what nearly everybody started with. Most of the kids were like her, though, and they had never really seen the ocean with their own eyes. That was the first picture she had done and Bill had tackled it on his wall. All the rest of her pictures were full of people. She had done some more ocean storms at first —one with an airplane crashing down and people jumping out to save themselves, and another with a trans-Atlan-tic liner going down and all the people trying to push and crowd into one little lifeboat. Mick went into the closet of Bills room and brought out some other pictures she had done in the class—some pencil drawings, some water-colors, and one canvas with oils. They were all full of people. She had imagined a big fire on Broad Street and painted how she thought it would be. The flames were bright green and orange and Mr. Bran-nons restaurant and the First National Bank were about the only buildings left. People were lying dead in the streets and others were running for their lives. One man was in his nightshirt and a lady was trying to carry a bunch of bananas with her. Another picture was called Boiler Busts in Factory, and men were jumping out of windows and running while a knot of kids in overalls stood scrouged together, holding the buckets of dinner they had brought to their Daddies. The oil painting was a picture of the whole town fighting on Broad Street. She never knew why she had painted this one and she couldnt think of the right name for it. There wasn't any fire or storm or reason you could see in the picture why all this battle was happening. But there were more people and more moving around than in any other picture. best one, and it was too bad that she couldnt think up the real name. In the back of her mind somewhere she knew what it was.