park would be proud to have him.”
Chapter Ten
“Y OUR SHOW IS ON ,” his mother called to Alfie. “The one about international cartoons.” It was Alfie’s favorite program, but his mother’s voice had a flat, hopeless sound, as if she knew he would not come down.
He did not answer. He had not moved for hours. His face had a hard set look, like clay.
The only change at all in Alfie had come with his mother’s threat of the firemen. The more he thought of that, the more trapped he felt. The security of being in his own attic, locked away from the world, had been broken.
Firemen could stream in from all directions, he had thought as the minutes ticked slowly past. They could chop their way through the roof, the eaves, ax down the door. He imagined them swarming into the attic, hale and hearty as hornets in their yellow slickers. This would be the kind of assignment they would really enjoy, he thought. They could practice their techniques without any risk.
It was Alma who had saved him.
“Mom, you are not going to call the fire department,” she had said as they came into the living room after supper. Alfie could hear their voices much clearer up here than he had heard them below. Maybe sound rose like heat. “I mean what I’m saying, Mom,” Alma said sternly. “Alfie has got to come down by himself. It’s important.”
“What do you know about it? You’ve never locked yourself up in the attic. You and Bubba had too much sense for that.”
“No, I’ve never locked myself in the attic, but there have been other things that I’ve had to accept and work out for myself, and that’s what Alfie’s going to have to do.”
There had been a pause. Alfie sagged a little in his chair. He knew there was no way he could work this out, alone or with the firemen’s help. He could never come down the ladder into the harsh light of the living room, no matter what happened. It was impossible. He had gone into the woods like Hansel, turned, and the breadcrumbs were missing. There was no way back.
Maybe when he was very old, he thought, eighty or ninety, when there was nothing left of the boy he had been, maybe then he could come down. He would be an old man, straggly beard, long gray hair, as thin as a skeleton, bent with arthritis and malnutrition. He would lift the trap door at last, trembling with effort, shaking in every limb, and slowly climb down the ladder.
There, in the faded living room, he would discover that his family—Mom, Alma, and Pap—had moved away years ago. A new family lived in the house now, a family who hadn’t even known he was up there. He would stand bewildered and lost, blinking in the light, as frightened and confused at seeing the strangers as they were at seeing him.
Below, his mother said to Alma, “Yes, but he could be dead up there, Alma, or unconscious. That’s why I wanted to call the firemen.”
“He’s not dead.”
“Well, sulking then. That’s just as bad.”
“Look, I’ve got to go to work—I’m late as it is, but you are not to call the fire department. I mean that, Mom.”
“The only reason I’m not calling them,” she said, “if you want the truth, is because I do not want Junior Madison, who I went with in high school, to know I have a son who goes around locking himself in attics!” She slammed something down on the television. “The last time I saw Junior Madison was at the Morgantown-Fairmont football game which Bubba won, and Junior Madison told me he knew how proud I must be of Bubba because his son had bad ankles and couldn’t even run across the family room.”
Alfie could hear the music of the international cartoon. His mother called, “Alfie, this cartoon from Yugoslavia is real interesting. It’s about cities that keep building until they turn into atomic explosions.”
“I don’t know why they make cartoons like that,” Pap complained. “Atom bombs ain’t funny.”
“It’s not supposed to be funny. If you’d listened to what
Chapter Ten
“Y OUR SHOW IS ON ,” his mother called to Alfie. “The one about international cartoons.” It was Alfie’s favorite program, but his mother’s voice had a flat, hopeless sound, as if she knew he would not come down.
He did not answer. He had not moved for hours. His face had a hard set look, like clay.
The only change at all in Alfie had come with his mother’s threat of the firemen. The more he thought of that, the more trapped he felt. The security of being in his own attic, locked away from the world, had been broken.
Firemen could stream in from all directions, he had thought as the minutes ticked slowly past. They could chop their way through the roof, the eaves, ax down the door. He imagined them swarming into the attic, hale and hearty as hornets in their yellow slickers. This would be the kind of assignment they would really enjoy, he thought. They could practice their techniques without any risk.
It was Alma who had saved him.
“Mom, you are not going to call the fire department,” she had said as they came into the living room after supper. Alfie could hear their voices much clearer up here than he had heard them below. Maybe sound rose like heat. “I mean what I’m saying, Mom,” Alma said sternly. “Alfie has got to come down by himself. It’s important.”
“What do you know about it? You’ve never locked yourself up in the attic. You and Bubba had too much sense for that.”
“No, I’ve never locked myself in the attic, but there have been other things that I’ve had to accept and work out for myself, and that’s what Alfie’s going to have to do.”
There had been a pause. Alfie sagged a little in his chair. He knew there was no way he could work this out, alone or with the firemen’s help. He could never come down the ladder into the harsh light of the living room, no matter what happened. It was impossible. He had gone into the woods like Hansel, turned, and the breadcrumbs were missing. There was no way back.
Maybe when he was very old, he thought, eighty or ninety, when there was nothing left of the boy he had been, maybe then he could come down. He would be an old man, straggly beard, long gray hair, as thin as a skeleton, bent with arthritis and malnutrition. He would lift the trap door at last, trembling with effort, shaking in every limb, and slowly climb down the ladder.
There, in the faded living room, he would discover that his family—Mom, Alma, and Pap—had moved away years ago. A new family lived in the house now, a family who hadn’t even known he was up there. He would stand bewildered and lost, blinking in the light, as frightened and confused at seeing the strangers as they were at seeing him.
Below, his mother said to Alma, “Yes, but he could be dead up there, Alma, or unconscious. That’s why I wanted to call the firemen.”
“He’s not dead.”
“Well, sulking then. That’s just as bad.”
“Look, I’ve got to go to work—I’m late as it is, but you are not to call the fire department. I mean that, Mom.”
“The only reason I’m not calling them,” she said, “if you want the truth, is because I do not want Junior Madison, who I went with in high school, to know I have a son who goes around locking himself in attics!” She slammed something down on the television. “The last time I saw Junior Madison was at the Morgantown-Fairmont football game which Bubba won, and Junior Madison told me he knew how proud I must be of Bubba because his son had bad ankles and couldn’t even run across the family room.”
Alfie could hear the music of the international cartoon. His mother called, “Alfie, this cartoon from Yugoslavia is real interesting. It’s about cities that keep building until they turn into atomic explosions.”
“I don’t know why they make cartoons like that,” Pap complained. “Atom bombs ain’t funny.”
“It’s not supposed to be funny. If you’d listened to what
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