Heart Is a Lonely Hunter Part 12

n.o.body knew where he was. It was dark outside. They called Bubber in the back yard and in the street. They sent Spareribs and some other boys out to hunt for him. It looked like Bubber had gone clear out of the neighborhood. Harry went around to a house where they thought he might be.

Her Dad walked up and down the front porch. 'I never have whipped any of my kids yet,' he kept saying. 'I never believed in it. But I'm sure going to lay it onto that kid as soon as I get my hands on him.'

Mick sat on the banisters and watched down the dark street. 'I can manage Bubber. Once he comes back I can take care of him all right.'

'You go out and hunt for him. You can find him better than anybody else.'

As soon as her Dad said that she suddenly knew where Bubber was. In the back yard there was a big oak and in the summer they had built a tree house. They had hauled a big box up in this oak, and Bubber used to love to sit up in the tree house by himself. Mick left the family and the boarders on the front porch and walked back through the alley of the dark yard.

She stood for a minute by the trunk of the tree. 'Bubber--,' she said quietly. 'It's Mick.'

He didn't answer, but she knew he was there. It was like she could smell him. She swung up on the lowest branch and climbed slowly. She was really mad with that kid and would have to teach him a lesson. When she reached the tree house she spoke to him again--and still there wasn't any answer. She climbed into the big box and felt around the edges. At last she touched him. He was scrounged up in a corner and his legs were trembling. He had been holding his breath, and when she touched him the sobs and the breath came out all at once.

'I-I didn't mean Baby to fall. She was just so little and cute--seemed to me like I just had to take a pop at her.'

Mick sat down on the floor of the tree house. 'Baby's dead,' she said. 'They got a lot of people hunting for you.'

Bubber quit crying. He was very quiet.

'You know what Dad's doing in the house?' It was like she could hear Bubber listening.

'You know Warden Lawes--you heard him over the radio.

And you know Sing Sing. Well, our Dad's writing a letter to Warden Lawes for him to be a little bit kind to you when they catch you and send you to Sing Sing.'

The words were so awful-sounding in the dark that a shiver came over her. She could feel Bubber trembling.

'They got little electric chairs there--just your size. And when they turn on the juice you just fry up like a piece of burnt bacon. Then you go to h.e.l.l.'

Bubber was squeezed up in the corner and there was not a sound from him. She climbed over the edge of the box to get down. 'You better stay up here because they got policemen guarding the yard. Maybe in a few days I can bring you something to eat' Mick leaned against the trunk of the oak tree. That would teach Bubber all right. She had always managed him and she knew more about that kid than anybody else. Once, about a year or two ago, he was always wanting to stop off behind bushes and pee and play with himself awhile. She had caught on to that pretty quick. She gave him a good slap every time it happened and in three days he was cured. Afterwards he never even peed normal like other kids--he held his hands behind him. She always had to nurse that Bubber and she could always manage him. In a little while she would go back up to the tree house and bring him in. After this he would never want to pick up a gun again in all his life.

There was still this dead feeling in the house. The boarders all sat on the front porch without talking or rocking in the chairs.

Her Dad and her Mama were in the front room. Her Dad drank beer out of a bottle and walked up and down the floor. Baby was going to get well all right, so this worry was not about her. And n.o.body seemed to be anxious about Bubber. It was something else.

'That Bubber!' said Etta.

'I'm shamed to go out of the house after this,' Hazel said.

Etta and Hazel went into the middle room and closed the door.

Bill was in his room at the back. She didn't want to talk with them. She stood around in the front hall and thought it over by herself.

Her Dad's footsteps stopped. 'It was deliberate,' he said. 'It's not like the kid was just fooling with the gun and it went off by accident. Everybody who saw it said he took deliberate aim.'

'I wonder when we'll hear from Mrs. Wilson,' her Mama said.

'We'll hear plenty, all right!'

'I reckon we will.'

Now that the sun was down the night was cold again like November. The people came in from the front porch and sat in the living-room--but n.o.body lighted a fire. Mick's sweater was hanging on the hat rack, so she put it on and stood with her shoulders bent over to keep warm. She thought about Bubber sitting out in the cold, dark tree house. He had really believed every word she said. But he sure deserved to worry some. He had nearly killed that Baby.

'Mick, can't you think of some place where Bubber might be?'her Dad asked.

'He's in the neighborhood, I reckon.'

Her Dad walked up and down with the empty beer bottle in his hand. He walked like a blind man and there was sweat on his face. 'The poor kid's scared to come home. If we could find him I'd feel better. I've never laid a hand on Bubber. He oughtn't be scared of me.'

She would wait until an hour and a half was gone. By that time he would be plenty sorry for what he did. She always could manage that Bubber and make him learn.

After a while there was a big excitement in the house. Her Dad telephoned again to the hospital to see how Baby was, and in a few minutes Mrs. Wilson called back. She said she wanted to have a talk with them and would come to the house.

Her Dad still walked up and down the front room like a blind man. He drank three more bottles of beer. 'The way it all happened she can sue my britches off. All she could get would be the house outside of the mortgage. But the way it happened we don't have any comeback at all.'

Suddenly Mick thought about something. Maybe they would really try Bubber in court and put him in a children's jail.

Maybe Mrs. Wilson would send him to reform school. Maybe they would really do something terrible to Bubber. She wanted to go out to the tree house right away and sit with him and tell him not to worry. Bubber was always so thin and little and smart. She would kill anybody that tried to send that kid out of the family. She wanted to kiss him and bite him because she loved him so much.

But she couldn't miss anything. Mrs. Wilson would be there in a few minutes and she had to know what was going on. Then she would run out and tell Bubber that all the things she said were lies. And he would really have learned the lesson he had coming to him.

A ten-cent taxicab drove up to the sidewalk. Everybody waited on the front porch, very quiet and scared. Mrs. Wilson got out of the taxi with Mister Brannon. She could hear her Dad grinding his teeth together in a nervous way as they came up the steps. They went into the front room and she followed along after them and stood in the doorway. Etta and Hazel and Bill and the boarders kept out of it.

'I've come to talk over all this with you,' Mrs. Wilson said.

The front room looked tacky and dirty and she saw Mister Brannon notice everything. The mashed celluloid doll and the beads and junk Ralph played with were scattered on the floor.

There was beer on her Dad's workbench, and the pillows on the bed where her Dad and Mama slept were right gray.

Mrs. Wilson kept pulling the wedding ring on and off her finger. By the side of her Mister Brannon was very calm. He sat with his legs crossed. His jaws were blue-black and he looked like a gangster in the movies. He had always had this grudge against her. He always spoke to her in this rough voice different from the way he talked to other people. Was it because he knew about the time she and Bubber swiped a pack of chewing gum off his counter? She hated him.

'It all boils down to this,' said Mrs. Wilson. 'Your kid shot my baby in the head on purpose.'

Mick stepped into the middle of the room. 'No, he didn't,' she said. 'I was right there. Bubber had been aiming that gun at me and Ralph and everything around there. He just happened to aim it at Baby and his finger slipped. I was right there.'

Mister Brannon rubbed his nose and looked at her in a sad way. She sure did hate him.

'I know how you all feel--so I want to come to the point right now.'

Mick's Mama rattled a bunch of keys and her Dad sat very still with his big hands hanging over his knees.

'Bubber didn't have it in his mind beforehand,' Mick said. 'He just--' Mrs. Wilson jabbed the ring on and oft her finger. Wait a minute. I know how everything is. I could bring it to court and sue for every cent you own.'

Her Dad didn't have any expression on his face. 'I tell you one thing,' he said. 'We don't have much to sue for. All we got is--'

'Just listen to me,' said Mrs. Wilson. 'I haven't come here with any lawyer to sue you. Bartholomew--Mister Brannon--and I talked it over when we came and we just about agree on the main points. In the first place, I want to do the fair, honest thing--and in the second place, I don't want Baby's name mixed up in no common lawsuit at her age.'

There was not a sound and everybody in the room sat stiff in their chairs. Only Mister Brannon halfway smiled at Mick, but she squinted her eyes back at him in a tough way.

Mrs. Wilson was very nervous and her hand shook when she lighted a cigarette. 'I don't want to have to sue you or anything like that. All I want is for you to be fair. I'm not asking you to pay for all the suffering and crying Baby went through with until they gave her something to sleep. There's not any pay that would make up for that. And I'm not asking you to pay for the damage this will do to her career and the plans we had made. She's going to have to wear a bandage for several months. She won't get to dance in the soiree--maybe there'll even be a little bald place on her head.'

Mrs. Wilson and her Dad looked at each other like they was hypnotized. Then Mrs. Wilson reached around to her pocketbook and took out a slip of paper. 'The things you got to pay are just the actual price of what it will cost us in money. There's Baby's private room in the hospital and a private nurse until she can come home. There's the operating room and the doctor's bill--and for once I intend the doctor to be paid right away. Also, they shaved all Baby's hair off and you got to pay me for the permanent wave I took her to Atlanta to get--so when her hair grows back natural she can have another one. And there's the price of her costume and other little extra bills like that. I'll write all the items down just as soon as I know what they'll be. I'm trying to be just as fair and honest as I can, and you'll have to pay the total when I bring it to you.'

Her Mama smoothed her dress over her knees and took a quick, short breath. 'Seems to me like the children's ward would be a lot better than a private room. When Mick had penumonia--'

'I said a private room.'

Mister Brannon held out his white, stumpy hands and balanced them like they was on scales. 'Maybe in a day or two Baby can move into a double room with some other kid.'

Mrs. Wilson spoke hard-boiled. 'You heard what I said. Long as your kid shot my Baby she certainly ought to have every advantage until she gets well.'

'You're in your rights,' her Dad said. 'G.o.d knows we don't have anything now--but maybe I can sc.r.a.pe it up. I realize you're not trying to take advantage of us and I appreciate it. We'll do what we can.'

She wanted to stay and hear everything that they said, but Bubber was on her mind. When she thought of him sitting up in the dark, cold tree house thinking about Sing Sing she felt uneasy. She went out of the room and down the hall toward the back door. The wind was blowing and the yard was very dark except for the yellow square that came from the light in the kitchen. When she looked back she saw Portia sitting at the table with her long, thin hands up on her face, very still.

The yard was lonesome and the wind made quick, scary shadows and a mourning kind of sound in the darkness.

She stood under the oak tree. Then just as she started to reach for the first limb a terrible notion came over her.

It came to her all of a sudden that Bubber was gone. She called him and he did not answer. She climbed quick and quiet as a cat.

'Say! Bubber!' Without feeling in the box she knew he wasn't there. To make sure she got into the box and felt in all the corners. The kid was gone. He must have started down the minute she left. He was running away for sure now, and with a smart kid like Bubber it was no telling where they'd catch him.

She scrambled down the tree and ran to the front porch. Mrs.

Wilson was leaving and they had all come out to the front steps with her.

'Dad!' she said. 'We got to do something about Bubber. He's run away. I'm sure he left our block. We all got to get out and hunt him.'

n.o.body knew where to go or how to begin. Her Dad walked up and down the street, looking in all the alleys. Mister Brannon telephoned for a ten-cent taxi for Mrs. Wilson and then stayed to help with the hunt. Mister Singer sat on the banisters of the porch and he was the only person who kept calm. They all waited for Mick to plan out the best places to look for Bubber. But the town was so big and the little kid so smart that she couldn't think what to do.

Maybe he had gone to Portia's house over in Sugar Hill. She went back into the kitchen where Portia was sitting at the table with her hands up to her face.

'I got this sudden notion he went down to your house. Help us hunt him.'

'How come I didn't think of that! I bet a nickel my little scared Bubber been staying in my home all the time.'

Mister Brannon had borrowed an automobile. He and Mister Singer and Mick's Dad got into the car with her and Portia.

n.o.body knew what Bubber was feeling except her. n.o.body knew he had really run away like he was escaping to save his life.

Portia's house was dark except for the checkered moonlight on the floor. As soon as they stepped inside they could tell there was n.o.body in the two rooms. Portia lighted the front lamp.

The rooms had a colored smell, and they were crowded with cut-out pictures on the walls and the lace table covers and lace pillows on the bed. Bubber was not there.

'He been here,' Portia suddenly said. 'I can tell somebody been in here.'

Mister Singer found the pencil and piece of paper on the kitchen table. He read it quickly and then they all looked at it The writing was round and scraggly and the smart little kid hadn't misspelled but one word. The note said: Dear Portia, I gone to Florada. Tell every body.

Yours truly, Bubber Kelly They stood around surprised and stumped. Her Dad looked out the doorway and picked his nose with his thumb in a worried way. They were all ready to pile in the car and ride toward the highway leading south.

'Wait a minute,' Mick said. 'Even if Bubber is seven years old he's got brains enough not to tell us where he's going if he wants to run away. That about Florida is just a trick.'

'A trick?' her Dad said.

'Yeah. There only two places Bubber knows very much about.

One is Florida and the other is Atlanta. Me and Bubber and Ralph have been on the Atlanta road many a time. He knows how to start there and that's where he's headed. He always talks about what he's going to do when he gets a chance to go to Atlanta.'

They went out to the automobile again. She was ready to climb into the back seat when Portia pinched her on the elbow. 'You know what Bubber done?' she said in a quiet voice. 'Don't you tell n.o.body else, but my Bubber done also taken my gold earrings off my dresser. I never thought my Bubber would have done such a thing to me.'

Mister Brannon started the automobile. They rode slow, looking up and down the streets for Bubber, headed toward the Atlanta road.

It was true that in Bubber there was a tough, mean streak. He was acting different today than he had ever acted before. Up until now he was always a quiet little kid who never really done anything mean. When anybody's feelings were hurt it always made him ashamed and nervous.

Then how come he could do all the things he had done today? They drove very slow out the Atlanta road. They pa.s.sed the last line of houses and came to the dark fields and woods. All along they had stopped to ask if anyone had seen Bubber. 'Has a little barefooted kid in corduroy knickers been by this way?'

But even after they had gone about ten miles n.o.body had seen or noticed him. The wind came in cold and strong from the open windows and it was late at night.

They rode a little farther and then went back toward town. Her Dad and Mister Brannon wanted to look up all the children in the second grade, but she made them turn around and go back on the Atlanta road again. All the while she remembered the words she had said to Bubber. About Baby being dead and Sing Sing and Warden Lawes. About the small electric chairs that were just his size, and h.e.l.l. In the dark the words had sounded terrible.

They rode very slow for about half a mile out of town, and then suddenly she saw Bubber. The lights of the car showed him up in front of them very plain. It was funny. He was walking along the edge of the road and he had his thumb out trying to get a ride. Portia's butcher knife was stuck in his belt, and on the wide, dark road he looked so small that it was like he was five years old instead of seven.

They stopped the automobile and he ran to get in. He couldn't see who they were, and his face had the squint-eyed look it always had when he took aim with a marble. Her Dad held him by the collar. He hit with his fists and kicked. Then he had the butcher knife in his hand. Their Dad yanked it away from him just in time. He fought like a little tiger in a trap, but finally they got him into the car. Their Dad held him in his lap on the way home and Bubber sat very stiff, not leaning against anything.

They had to drag him into the house, and all the neighbors and the boarders were out to see the commotion. They dragged him into the front room and when he was there he backed off into a corner, holding his fists very tight and with his squinted eyes looking from one person to the other Like he was ready to fight the whole crowd.

He hadn't said one word since they came into the house until he began to scream: 'Mick done it! I didn't do it Mick done it!' There were never any kind of yells like the ones Bubber made. The veins in his neck stood out and his fists were hard as little rocks.

'You can't get me! n.o.body can get me!' he kept yelling.

Mick shook him by the shoulder. She told him the things she had said were stories. He finally knew what she was saying but he wouldn't hush. It looked like nothing could stop that screaming.

'I hate everybody! I hate everybody!' They all just stood around. Mister Brannon rubbed his nose and looked down at the floor. Then finally he went out very quietly. Mister Singer was the only one who seemed to know what it was all about. Maybe this was because he didn't hear that awful noise. His face was still calm, and whenever Bubber looked at him he seemed to get quieter. Mister Singer was different from any other man, and at times like this it would be better if other people would let him manage. He had more sense and he knew things that ordinary people couldn't know. He just looked at Bubber, and after a while the kid quieted down enough so that their Dad could get him to bed.

In the bed he lay on his face and cried. He cried with long, big sobs that made him tremble all over. He cried for an hour and n.o.body in the three rooms could sleep. Bill moved to the living-room sofa and Mick got into bed with Bubber. He wouldn't let her touch him or snug up to him. Then after another hour of crying and hiccoughing he went to sleep.

She was awake a long time. In the dark she put her arms around him and held him very close. She touched him all over and kissed him everywhere. He was so soft and little and there was this salty, boy smell about him. The love she felt was so hard that she had to squeeze him to her until her arms were tired. In her mind she thought about Bubber and music together. It was like she could never do anything good enough for him. She would never hit him or even tease him again. She slept all night with her arms around his head. Then in the morning when she woke up he was gone. But after that night there was not much of a chance for her to tease him any more--her or anybody else. After he shot Baby the kid was not ever like little Bubber again. He always kept his mouth shut and he didn't fool around with anybody.

Most of the time he just sat in the back yard or in the coal house by himself. It got closer and closer toward Christmas time. She really wanted a piano, but naturally she didn't say anything about that. She told everybody she wanted a Micky Mouse watch. When they asked Bubber what he wanted from Santa Claus he said he didn't want anything. He hid his marbles and jack-knife and wouldn't let anyone touch his story books.

After that night n.o.body called him Bubber any more. The big kids in the neighborhood started calling him Baby-Killer Kelly. But he didn't speak much to any person and nothing seemed to bother him. The family called him by his real name--George. At first Mick couldn't stop calling him Bubber and she didn't want to stop. But it was funny how after about a week she just naturally called him George like the others did.

But he was a different kid--George--going around by himself always like a person much older and with n.o.body, not even her, knowing what was really in his mind.

She slept with him on Christmas Eve night. He lay in the dark without talking. 'Quit acting so peculiar,' she said to him. 'Less talk about the wise men and the way the children in Holland put out their wooden shoes instead of hanging up their stockings.'