“Wottsa madder, can’tcha talk?” The other stared at him.
Nodding vigorously, David pointed down to the roof at his feet.
The other grinned, face lighting up as though he understood. “C’mon,” he whispered throatily, head hooking the air. “It’s easy!”
— Better not.
There was something hazardous about climbing over the wall on a roof, especially with the deep pit of the air-shaft near at hand. The thought made one dizzy.
“Go over dat way,” the other urged.
(—Ain’t scared. Ain’t gonna be!) He tiptoed breathlessly across the crackling tin, climbed over the low wall onto the second roof. Another wall and the blue eyes gazed curiously down at him over the edge of the shed.
“Who ye scared o’?”
“Nott’n. I live on de top-fluh. I did’n’ wan’ my modder sh’d hea’ me.”
“Oh. Wouldn’ she letcha stay hea?”
“No. She’ll make me comm donn.”
“C’mon up hea’ den. Nobody c’n see ye.”
“So hoddy yuh go?”
“Hop up on ’at liddle winder. Den dese big bolts. See ’em?”
David essayed them. The other, one eye on his kite, lent a helping hand. “Sit onna noospaper,” he invited when David had climbed up; “Hol’ me kite will ye an’ I’ll git me cord onna spool.”
“Yea.”
“Don’ leggo of it.” He gave the string into David’s keeping. “It’s got some pull.”
“Gee!” The tug on his hand was almost alive. “It flies!”
The other laughed. “Sure it flies. Yuh c’n sit down wid it.” He squatted down himself, began undoing the snarl of string at his feet. “De lousy micks! Look wat dey made me do! G’wan sit down!”
“Don’ your modder care if yuh come op hea?”
“She? Naw! She woiks!”
“Oh! W’ea’s yuh foddeh?”
“I ain’t got none. Me old man usetuh woik on de railro’. But he wuz squeezed between two trains when I wuz liddle an’ we lived in Paterson. Wot’s yuh name?”
“Davy. Davy Schearl.”
“My name’s Leo Dugovka. I’m a Polish-American. You’re a Jew, ain’tcha?”
“Y-Yea.”
“Say, wuz yew wit’ dem kids w’at wuz runnin’ on de roof yestiddy?”
“No I wuzn’t,” vehemently.
“I’ll knock dere block off if I ketch ’em nex’ time. Dey nearly made de plaster fall down.”
“Yea,” David’s heart warmed to Leo’s. “Y’oughta gib’m. Gib’m good!”
“Jist waid’ll I gid ’em.” Leo worked rapidly at the spindle. “I’ll bust ’em one.”
“I never seen yuh in dis block. Yuh livin’ hea long?”
“Naa, we usen’t to live hea, but me ol’ lady got a job in ’at big bank on sixt’ and Avenee C — yuh know wit dem swell w’ite stones an ’gold ledders — Foist National.”
“Yea,” said David wonderingly. “Wit’ iron bars in id ’n’ dat big clock. Does she woik wid all dat money?”
“Yea, she cleans all de desks an’ awffices ’n’ ev’yt’ing.”
“Oh? So who gives yuh to eat?”
“I takes it myself.”
“Gee!” David breathed in the enormous freedom. “Yuh gonna comm up hea alluh time?”
“Naw! I hangs out on wes’ elevent’. Dat’s w’ea we lived ’fore we moved. It’s a mick block, only some of de Hogan’s alley kids is in de All Saints Camp.”
“Oh!” disappointedly. “Gee, dat’s far, wes’ elebn’t.”
“Yeah, but I got skates.”
“Skates, gee!” There was no end to Leo’s blessings — no father, almost no mother, skates.
“Git dere in a minute wit’ ’em. You got a pair?”
“No.”
“Wyntcha git a pair an’ hang out wit’ me.”
“I can’t.”
“Aintcher ol’ man livin’?”
“Yea, but he wouldn’ buy.”
“Wyntcha ast yer ol’ lady.”
“She can’t.”
“Chees! Jews never buys nutt’n fer deyr kids.”
David searched the horizon for something to fill in the awkward pause. “Dey ain’ dere now, doze — doze micks,” he ventured.
“Don’ worry! Dere jis layin’ low, you watch!” He squinted at the distant roofs. “But I ain’ gonna let it out dough.”
“No.” He was relieved that the topic had changed. “How much cost a kite?”
“Dat one’s on’y two cents. Butcha gotta git a lodda cord wid it, er ye can’t fly it.”
“Kentcha fly wit’ cotton?”
“Naw! It busts. I had a big kite oncet — twicet as big as dis one — an’ wot a pull on it — an’ it busted wid even red cord. Wuz way out over St. Jame’s Parochial on Twelft’ an’ Avenee C — yuh c’n see de cross — See it?”
“Yea.”
“Wuz full o’ messages an’ den it went an’ busted. Lost nearly all me cord too — got twissed on de roofs.”
“Why yuh god id?” David gazed out at the distant spire outlined against the hazy western blue. “Dat funny cross ev’y place?”
“Funny?” Leo’s voice was nettled. “Wot’s funny about it?”
“Not funny — I didn’t mean!” He was quick to mollify. “I mean w’y yuh god id?”
“Crosses is holy.” Leo instructed him severely, “All of ’em. Christ, our Savior, died on one o’ dem.”
“Oh! (Savior! What?) I didn’t know.”
“Sure, even if yuh wears ’em, dey bring yuh luck. When me ol’ lady had her appendixitis cut out, she had one o ’dem under her piller ev’y night, an’ dat’s w’y she got better.”
“Gee!”
“Yea an’ ev’y’ time I goes swimmin’ in de Hudson I always cross meself t’ree times — like dat. Den yuh kin Johnny-high-dive all yuh wants an’ yuh’ll never hit bottom — didn’tcha know dat?” And when David looked blank. “Yuh see dis?” As if to clinch his argument, he undid a button on his shirt, reached in and drew out what looked like a square piece of leather on a string. “Know what dat is?”
He scrutinized it, shook his head. Something had been stamped on it in gold — a picture perhaps — but too faded now to make out. “Maybe a man an’ a liddle lady,” he ventured. “I can’t see so good.”
“A man and a lady!” Leo turned his head aside to crow. “Oh boy, wot Jews don’ know! Dat’s a scapiller, see? An’ dat’s a pitcher o’ de holy Mudder an’ Chil’. Cheez! Doncha know de Woigin Mary w’en yuh sees ’er?”
“No,” guiltily.
“Cheez!” incredulously, and then lifting the bit of leather to examine it more closely, “It’s gittin’ rubbed off, I guess.” He slipped it back under his shirt. “Dat’s cawz I goes swimmin’ in it all de time in de river.”
“An’ yuh ain’ ascared o’ nottin’ w’en yuh god dat on?”
“Naw! I tol’ ye!”
“Chee!” David sighed and gazed at Leo’s chest half in awe, half in envy.
— Not afraid! Leo wasn’t afraid!
“Hey, look out for dat kite!” Leo relieved him hastily of the string. “Yuh don’ wanna led it dive like dat, it’ll smack a roof!”
— Not afraid!
VIII
THE hour that had passed had been one of the most blissful in David’s life. He had never wanted to be anyone’s friend until this moment, and now he would have given anything to be Leo’s. The longer he heard him speak, the longer he watched him, the more he became convinced that Leo belonged to a rarer, bolder, carefree world. There was a glamour about him. He did what he pleased and when he pleased. He was not only free of parents, but he also wore something about his neck that made him almost god-like. Sitting next to him, David’s one concern had been how to ingratiate himself, how to keep Leo amused, keep him from remembering that time was passing. Whenever Leo had laughed, David had felt his own bosom swell up with joy; even when Leo had jeered at him he felt grateful. It was right that Leo should jeer at him. Leo was a superior being; his laugh was just. When Leo had asked him whether Jews wore amulets on their persons, David had described the “Tzitzos” that some Jewish boys wore under their shirts, and the “Tfilin”, the little leather boxes, he had seen men strap around their arms and brows in the synagogue — had described them, hoping that Leo would laugh. He did. And even when Leo had said of the “Mezuzeh”, the little metal-covered scroll that all Jews tacked on the door-posts above their thresholds—“Oh! Izzat wotchuh call em? Miss oozer? Me ol’ lady tore one o’ dem off de door w’en we moved in, and I busted it, an’ cheez! It wuz all full o’ Chinee on liddle terlit paper — all aroun’ an’ aroun’.” David had not been hurt. He had felt a slight qualm of guilt, yes, guilt because he was betraying all the Jews in his house who had Mezuzehs above their doors; but if Leo thought it was funny, then it was funny and it didn’t matter. He had even added lamely that the only thing Jews wore around their necks were camphor balls against measles, merely to hear the intoxicating sound of Leo’s derisive laugh. But at last, Time would have his way. The sun had risen to the zenith and Leo began drawing in the kite-cord. Resentfully, David eyed the approaching kite.