Little Klein Part 5

"How about push-ups?" suggested Mark. "Push-ups would help him do pull-ups."

"That's thinking," said Stanley Klein.

All three boys and Stanley lay on the ground under the laundry line, then one by one demonstrated the proper form for Little Klein. When it was his turn, Little Klein's belly would not leave the gra.s.s. LeRoy lay down on all four paws and barked.

"Sit-ups would make his stomach stronger for lifting himself in push-ups," suggested Luke.

"Good idea," agreed their dad.

Again, demonstrations followed. This time it was Little Klein's back that would not give up its resting place.

"Maybe if he didn't sit in the tree all the time," Matthew said. "Maybe if he walked around more, his whole body would get stronger and he could do all of these things."

Little Klein stood and went to his tree. He climbed up halfway.

"This takes strength," he said. "None of the other guys can do this."

"That's because we're too big," Matthew answered. "Dad, he hardly has to walk anywhere. He gets to catch a ride on the bike or go piggyback all the time. Mother doesn't think he should get worn down."

Stanley stood up and brushed off his pants.

"Let me think," he said. Truthfully, with no results to inspire him, he was already losing interest in this project.

"You're absolutely right, Matthew. Little Klein," he called up to the tree, "I'm going in to talk to your mother. You're going to start with basic conditioning, and by that I mean getting around on your own two flippers, duckling. Got it?"

Little Klein nodded and climbed higher than he ever had before, so high he could see clear over his own roof and three streets beyond to the station, where a train would take his father away again the next morning.

Harold was recognized as part of the Klein Boys when he was with his brothers, but on his own he was anonymous. His chin did not clear the counter at Gamble's Hardware, and he often lost his place in the line at Candy's Candies when people overlooked him.

Since the Minister incident, Mother Klein worried about Little Klein being pulled into the river by a hooked fish and drowning. While she had not exactly forbidden him to go angling with his brothers, she had managed every time to find some reason he had to stay behind. The garden needed weeding and watering. The floors needed dusting and he was the only one who could get all the way under the davenport.

One day with two quarters in his pocket to buy stamps, Little Klein and LeRoy took the long way to the Lena post office, past the Skelly gas station. On a bench outside the station door, Mr. Holt and Mr. Cutter were muttering over their checkers game. When Mr. Cutter won, as always, Little Klein took LeRoy inside to inquire after any current money-making ventures. Sam was busy with a customer, so he pulled a stool up to the counter and studied the customer's son, who was fiddling with a deck of cards.

"Pick a card," the boy said to Little Klein. Little Klein pulled a two of spades.

"Two of spades," said the boy.

"Lucky guess," said Little Klein. "Let me try again."

"King of diamonds."

"Did you shuffle?"

"Sure, watch. Now pull another one."

Little Klein consulted LeRoy. "Sniff this, boy. Whaddya think?"

"Hey, humans only!" the boy protested.

Little Klein held his hand over the deck, studying the boy's eyes as he drew a card.

"Ace of hearts," p.r.o.nounced the magician.

"How do you do that?"

"Magic," said the boy as he walked out the door with his father.

"Did you see that?" Little Klein asked Sam.

"It's just a trick. Anyone can learn tricks," said Sam. "Don't have ch.o.r.es for you today, buddy. The shelves are all dusted and no deliveries till later in the week. Sorry." He reached under the counter, then tossed a dog biscuit to LeRoy.

"That's okay," said Little Klein glumly. As he walked, he imagined himself pulling the card trick on his brothers.

"How'd you do that?" they'd ask in amazement.

"Magic," he'd say with a modest shrug. His brothers would bring him along to perform for their friends.

"How'd he do that?" they'd ask in hushed voices.

"Magic," the Bigs would say as Little Klein pulled a quarter from behind Lucy McCrea's ear.

When school started back in the fall, the kids would gather around him at recess while he showed off a new trick. Instead of Twig, they'd call him Whiz or Shark or Sly. The Bigs would be known as Sly's brothers.

Gamble's Hardware was next to the post office. Little Klein told LeRoy to stay and wrestled with the temptation to open the door. He was supposed to go to the post office, buy fifteen stamps with the quarters, and then go straight home with a nickel change. Having already detoured past the filling station, he knew he should move on.

"Excuse me," said a teenager, reaching over his head. Little Klein was swept into the store in front of her floating dress, and once inside, there was nothing to do but walk past the toy shelves. There were model airplanes and Slinkies and the small statue of a bird he'd long admired. There was a Betsy Wetsy doll he'd often puzzled over and wished to see demonstrated. There were decks of cards, but he was sure not just any ordinary deck of cards could release his inner magician.

Then, next to a discounted copy of The Poky Little Puppy, he saw it. A Magician's Bag of Tricks was a fetching drawstring bag with a tiny book tied to the string. Little Klein took it reverently off the shelf and sat down on the floor to study it. Forty-nine cents. He would never come up with forty-nine cents all at once. He felt the b.u.mpy sack, wondering at its contents. In his concentration he did not hear the voices at the counter.

"Come on, Mildred. It's dead in here. Lock up for a bit and let's go have lunch. Clara shops in your dad's store. You should support her lunch counter." Thus persuaded, Mildred turned over the OPEN sign in the door and added a note next to CLOSED that read FOR JUST A BIT.

Back in the toy department, Little Klein was desperately trying to rethread the drawstring through its little tunnel after it'd snapped when he'd given the knot a tug. His face burned and his stomach churned. Mildred Gamble had forbidden the Big Kleins from entering the store after a misguided elbow had cleared a shelf of imitation crystal whatnots she'd ordered especially for Valentine's Day. She'd hoped Sam would notice the swan and, knowing how much she adored swans, would slip in and buy it on her day off. Then, with just one day until Valentine's, it was a pile of shards on the floor. The ensuing commotion had roused her father from the nails and screws section and instead of supporting her banishment of those brutish Kleins, he'd admonished her a" her! a" for having ordered such nonsense in the first place.

"People can go down to Wanda's if they want dust-magnet trinkets," he'd lectured as she swept.

Little Klein had ducked out unnoticed that day, but he was sure that even if Mildred didn't recognize him, damaging her stock would end his browsing privileges permanently. Mildred Gamble had an eagle eye for mischief.

The need to relieve himself was suddenly urgent. He tiptoed to the back of the store. Maybe if he left the magic kit behind the wastebasket in the restroom, she wouldn't notice it for a few days. The basket was nearly empty now so it could even be a week before it got taken out. His problem solved, Little Klein stepped confidently back into the store and walked up the side aisle, planning to slip nonchalantly out the front door.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he neared the door and without looking at the counter pulled hard. It didn't budge. Panicking now, he pulled again, and again it stuck. He glanced over his shoulder, but Mildred was not at the counter. He turned around slowly.

"h.e.l.lo?" he called in a thin voice. "h.e.l.lo?"

Only the clock answered with its monotone tick. He looked out the window at LeRoy sniffing hopefully around customers coming out of the bakery and replayed the scene in his mind. He'd walked into the store. The door was open then. Mildred had been at the counter. He'd walked to the toy section. He'd heard Mildred talking to the girl who'd pushed him in the door. He'd found the magic bag. He'd heard Mildred laughing. After that he couldn't remember hearing her again. He'd shaken the bag, squished its mysterious contents, then pulled at the drawstring until it snapped. He'd been chanting abracadabra to himself just for practice.

That was it.

Little Klein had made Mildred and her friend disappear.

He ran back to the bathroom and grabbed the magic kit. There was no turning back now. He spread the contents out on the floor: a deck of cards, three stacking cups, a silky red scarf, a fake mustache. He tore the book from the string. If he didn't get Mildred back, he'd never see another allowance as long as he lived.

Little Klein opened the Magician's Bag of Tricks manual, hoping for a quick solution. He turned pages looking for pictures, but the small drawings showed him nothing to solve his problem. He went back to the first page and started reading. As he reached the top of page three, "Tools of the Trade," the front door jangled open.

"Watch the counter while I go do my lipstick," came Mildred's voice, followed by the clicking of her heels. Little Klein scrambled to his feet, and when the bathroom door swung open, Mildred screamed to find a boy inside. Little Klein stepped backward and heard a crunch. They both looked down. Splinters of three stacking cups surrounded Little Klein's foot. Mildred put her hands on her hips and snapped her gum.

"You break it, you buy it," she ordered.

Little Klein just stared at her.

"You reappeared," he whispered.

"Yeah. Magic," she said. "What's your name? Were you hiding in here while I was gone? Did you take anything else? You better pay for that or I'll have to call my dad in and he'll either call your mother or the cops. Depends what kind of mood he's in." She stooped to pick up the empty red bag. "Forty-nine cents. Cough it up."

Mildred's friend had run back when she heard the scream. She watched as the small, pale boy dug in his pocket and pulled out two quarters.

"Now get out of here," Mildred directed, pointing toward the front door. Little Klein did not need an invitation. He shoved the magic bag in his pocket, whistled for LeRoy, and ran. They were a block from home before he remembered about the stamps. If only he'd gotten to read far enough to find out about pulling coins from the backs of ears.

LeRoy cried at the moon. He'd found his family. He'd taken care of them. He'd herded his boys to the river and back and kept them out of trouble. When the back door swung open every morning, LeRoy popped out of his house and stood at attention to see what would happen next and what would be expected of him, but nothing was expected of him and that was the trouble. He'd protected his family from racc.o.o.ns, cats, postal delivery, milk delivery, and every other manner of intrusion, but they went on as if cats and racc.o.o.ns didn't exist and approaching people were friends.

All summer he'd found shelter in the little guardhouse his boys had built for him. While sleeping between walls and under the same roof every night was new and not so pleasing to LeRoy, he didn't want to insult his boys. He had to be careful on entering and turning around in his house as there were nails poking through the walls. One summer day melted into the next and boredom overtook LeRoy. He lost interest in chasing and grew heavy with lazy napping.

Then in August the Bigs left town to work on the Filmore Farm. One day Little Klein was left home alone, and he invited LeRoy to come inside the big house. The treasures stored in the castle were beyond LeRoy's imagination.

"Here, boy," Little Klein said. "This is the kitchen. This is where humans eat." He set a plate on the table. "We put our dishes on a table. See? And we sit in chairs."

LeRoy panted. He followed his snout around the kitchen. The bouquet! And the feast on the floor! Treats in all the corners a" oatmeal clumps, bread crumbs, cheese. Little Klein put a sandwich on his plate and sat at the table. He took a bite and looked at LeRoy, who stood guard at his side.

"Want some, boy?"

LeRoy barked.

Little Klein tore off a piece of bread and dropped it for LeRoy.

"Woof!" He looked up at the boy, hoping to play the game again.

"You should try eating like us," said Little Klein. "Think you can do it?" He got another plate and put it at the place next to his and pulled out the chair.

"Here, boy. Sit here."

LeRoy leaped up onto the chair, his front paws sprawling onto the table, sending Little Klein's plate skittering, but not before he s.n.a.t.c.hed the sandwich off of it.

"No, boy! No! You aren't supposed to take anyone else's food. This is your plate. See? LeRoy's plate. Let's try again."

LeRoy ate bread and cheese until even the trash can didn't smell appetizing. Then Little Klein gave him a tour of the rest of the house.

Each room had its own scent. In the living room was a davenport softer than any bed of needles, and LeRoy settled in for a nap.

"No, boy! Get off! You're leaving hairs everywhere!" Little Klein shooed LeRoy off the couch and swiped his arm across the spot where he'd been lying.

The bathroom offered a bowl of fragrant water a" an indoor pond! Little Klein pressed a lever, and the water drained, then reappeared. LeRoy barked.

A dry powdery smell filled Mother Klein's room, which LeRoy toured quietly. Then he galloped up the stairs after Little Klein to the best room of all. Here lived dirty clothes, wet towels, a cookie. And on the bed, pillowcases ripe with the individual scent of each of his boys' hair and drool. LeRoy yelped for joy.

Just when he had forgotten that the outside world existed, Little Klein called him.

"That's it, boy. You've gotta get back outside before Mother gets home."

LeRoy hung his head and followed Little Klein to the yard.

After that day, LeRoy's doghouse felt unbearably small and cramped and devoid of aroma. He took up whining at the door whenever his family was inside. Perhaps they didn't really need him after all.

"What has gotten into that dog?" Mother Klein mused.

Alone now in the big upstairs, Little Klein's nightmares were unleashed. Wolves chased his trembling behind; boulders crushed his house while he slept; a big wind blew him away, and he couldn't grab hold of pa.s.sing trees. While the Bigs were gone, Little Klein's nightmares played like horror marathon week at the Riverview Theater. He resisted bedtime because he didn't want to go to sleep, yet he didn't want to be the only one awake in the house, either. The room without the Bigs was a cavern.

Mother tried all her sleep remedies. She told him stories, sang him the spider song, fed him warm milk and b.u.t.tered bread. She let him sleep in one of his father's nightshirts because he liked the softness of it. But every night it was the same routine, Little Klein pestering her to stay awake so he could fall asleep.

"Why can't LeRoy sleep with me?" he pleaded, but the answer never changed.

"What if something happens to Matthew?" he worried. "Or Mark? Or Luke? Or all of them? Who will protect me then? What if they don't come home?"

Mother Klein dismissed his worries. "I don't worry about your brothers," she said, and sang through the hymnal by heart until he fell asleep. But the next night was the same. And the following.

"Would you read to me about cake?" called Little Klein from the bedroom one night. Mother Klein shrugged. "What do you mean?" she called back.

"I mean, will you read to me about cake? You know, crack an egg, one cup of flour, like that."

Mother pondered.

Though he was small for his age, Little Klein had the appet.i.te of one of the Bigs. He was transfixed by the magic with which water and heat turned crisp dry oats into warm mush for breakfast and the way an unappetizing lump of raw eggs and flour and cocoa could turn into a cake with the texture of a spring meadow. Even the power of b.u.t.ter to fuse two pieces of bread together delighted Little Klein.

"Well, excitement is in the mind of the beholder," said Mother Klein. She pulled her worn cookbook off the shelf and opened it. "It's worth a try."

"What kind of cake?" she asked.

"Chocolate," said Little Klein, snuggling down into his blanket.

"Here goes. *Best Chocolate Cake. Heat oven to three hundred and fifty degrees.'"

"No," said Little Klein, "start with the ingredients."

"What was I thinking? The ingredients: *Two cups all-purpose flour or cake flour, two cups sugar, one teaspoon soda a"'"

"What's soda?" Little Klein interrupted.

Mother Klein explained the ingredients as they went through the list. By the time she got to the happily ever after of "pour evenly into pan(s)," Little Klein was asleep, a peaceful smile on his face, a drop of drool edging out the side of his mouth.

Recipes worked for a few nights, first chocolate cake, then gingerbread, then anything with lots of ingredients and several steps. Soon, though, Little Klein's antic.i.p.ation of nightmares was worse than the nightmares themselves, and his bedtime demands got more complicated. Dessert was no longer enough. He needed a main dish first, then a salad course, and a song after dessert. When he asked Mother Klein one night to read him a breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she snapped shut her Joy of Cooking and stood up.