He stopped talking and it seemed as though he might be waiting for daddy to say something, but when he didn’t, the policeman said, “I don’t want to take the kid in — not today. I suggest you get hold of a good psychiatrist and have him check the kid. Get a lawyer too. No one is going to do anything to her. They won’t do anything to hurt her — you know that — just put her some place where she’ll get the help she needs.”
I heard the policeman leave and right after that I heard daddy drive away in his car. I went upstairs and outside. Midget had a frog in her mouth. I took it away from her and put it in my pocket. When I went back in the kitchen, Martha was standing there stirring something in a big pot. I took the frog out of my pocket and dropped it in the pot. Martha slammed down her spoon. “You nasty hateful little girl. I ain’t gonna stay here no more with you. You’re crazy. For all I know you’ll push me down the stairs like you did your mama, though I’d like to see you try.”
She was yelling real loud and her face got red she was so mad. She stomped out and came back with her hat and coat. “I’m goin’ to my sister’s. Your daddy can send my pay. He’s gonna come get you and they’ll take you away and put you where you belong.”
I giggled because Martha looked so funny and because I had finally got rid of her. She flounced out and I watched her walk in the rain. She always looks so funny when she tries to walk fast. She shakes all over. Then I went in daddy’s study and looked in his microscope and at some books. I’m never supposed to go in there but there wasn’t anyone to tell and it was a good chance.
I was looking at a real interesting picture of a man’s insides when I heard a car crunch on gravel. I put the book back on the shelf and peeked out the window. I heard a car door slam, but it was raining so hard I could hardly see the man who came toward the door. I decided to hide and I grabbed up Midget and ran to the hall closet, the one under the stairs when I heard the key in the lock, and he called, “Jenny. Jenny.”
I held Midget real close to me so she wouldn’t bark and scratched her behind her ear. Far away I heard the rain beating against the window, but mostly I just heard my own heart pounding. I held my breath because I couldn't quite hear where he was. Then I let it out real slow.
I knew I wouldn’t hear him if he came down the hall because of the carpet. Then I heard him go up the stairs. I counted eight and that meant he was on the landing. Then I heard him call me again and I knew that he opened the door to my room.
I tried real hard to hear but it thundered so loud that I lost track of where he was. I wondered if he had started back down the stairs, and then I heard another step. He was still upstairs. If he came down again, he was sure to see the hall closet and think of looking in it. The closet was empty and he would see me if he opened the door.
Quietly, quietly, I opened the door. My hand was wet and the knob was sort of slippery. Midget was getting heavy and I wished that I could put her down. I closed the closet door and held my breath. I wished I couldn’t hear the blood pounding so hard in my head.
I tiptoed across the kitchen and opened the cellar door and slipped down the steps. I had taken off my shoes and left them on the first step, and the concrete through my socks was real cold. I was kind of scared but I didn’t want to turn on the light. I held real tight to Midget.
I knew he was coming back for me — I was sure of it. I knew that I could get out the coal chute, but I wanted to rest a minute. I sat down with my back to Mama’s trunk and listened.
Then I heard him come down the hall, and just like I knew he would, he opened the hall closet. I heard his footsteps in the kitchen. and I hurried over to the coal chute. The cellar door opened and the light from the kitchen came down and he called, “Jenny. Jenny. I know you’re here. I found your shoes.”
I had to leave Midget in the cellar because she was afraid to go through the coal chute. Just as I got outside and decided to run into the house and hide where he had already looked, he called again. “I found Midget, Jenny.”
I opened the kitchen door real quiet, but he was on his way back up, and I had to jump behind the door in the shadow. I saw his head and then his shoulders. He was carrying Midget. “Good dog. Find Jenny.”
When he put her on the floor, Midget stood there wagging her tail back and forth and wiggling from side to side. She’d think it was a game, but I knew she would find me in a minute…
Far away the door chimes rang. I jumped over the open trap door and ran. It was the policeman and daddy. I was awful glad to see them, but I started to cry. Daddy put his arm around me and said, “What is it, Jenny? What’s the matter?”
Before I could answer, Midget began to bark, and the policeman looked and saw her at the top of the cellar door. He ran, and daddy ran too.
I heard them go down the steps, but I sat at the top. I didn’t want to go down in the cellar any more.
Then the policeman asked daddy. “Do you know him?”
Daddy said a bad word like he was real surprised. “That’s — why, his name is Allen — Allen Mayberry. Haven’t seen him in years — he was a dancer in Catherine’s company. But it never occurred to me — well, I had no idea—”
“This must be Jenny’s Uncle Allen.” The policeman said it like maybe he wasn’t real sure.
Grownups sure are funny. I knew all the time it was Uncle Allen.
Rita Studd
The Goat On The Terrace
Number 22 in our new series of “first stories”… The story of a post-War German black-marketeer who is anything but a "gentle grafter" — an especially fine character study for a "first story."
Mrs. Studd is married to a community organizer, and they have three daughters. Her background includes teaching and social work; she lived in Germany for three years after the second World War while her husband was serving on the staff of the Office of Military Government — and all those background influences are clearly evident in her story. She also spent half a year in a Pension in Switzerland where, Mrs. Studd tells us, she "met enough characters to last a lifetime” of writing. We sincerely hope that Mrs. Studd manages, between her leadership of a Girl Scout Troop and her suburban duties in a car pool, to put these real-life characters into words…
He said that he was an architect and it is true that he owned a drafting board. It stood there in the room he called his office, always with the same sketch thumb-tacked to the left-hand side. On the right were a T square and a case of drafting tools, ready for use.
The room itself was dark, too dark to work in. It was on the north side of the house, and although there were several large windows they only contributed to the darkness. Much of the glass had been broken by the concussion from bombings. The broken windows were covered with an opaque, oily material like a tarpaulin. Artificial lighting was, of course, out of the question in the years following the war. The Germans were allotted but a couple of hours of electricity a day. Perhaps he did his sketches on the big table in the kitchen where the light was stronger, but more likely, the architect’s fools were merely props to support a symbol of something he might have been, or the setting for a dream not yet surrendered.
This is not to imply that he was idle. He worked hard and long. His real place of business was his brief case. It was part of his costume, like a magician’s hat, and its contents were just as varied and unlikely. A Meissen figurine, a lace mantilla, a cameo brooch, some fresh mushrooms, a dachshund puppy were but a sampling of the items which constituted his wares. These things the Americans bought — at Herr Honig’s prices.