Read Online Journey to an 800 Number by E.L. Konigsburg - Free Book Online Page B

said anything to her about the money. But there was no hint, so I didn’t know if he didn’t say anything or if she just made it look as if he hadn’t.
    Iago came with Emmy. He didn’t act as if Manuelo had said anything to him either.
    I gathered together all the dirty clothes that we had and wrapped them in a sheet. Emmy then went to the cupboard and got a box of detergent and handed it to me. I started out the door. Emmy called after me. “Wait for me. I’m sposed to take you.”
    I thought that lugging a couple weeks’ supply of dirty clothes including an extra set of sheets plus a box of detergent was enough to do without babysitting, too. But Emmy came along. She reached up for my hand that I thought I needed to help support the load I had slung over my shoulder. She took me straight to the laundromat. The minute that I set the bundle of sheets down, she began sorting them according to some system that I had seen but never taken seriously on television commercials. She then looked over the four piles and lumped two of them together. “We won’t use bleach this week,” she said, “and we’ll use the heavy loaders.” Thenshe asked me for nine quarters, which I gave her. She filled three washing machines, standing on a step stool that was nearby. She put three quarters, one after the other, in each of the three slots and came over to the row of chairs where I was sitting. She climbed into a chair next to me, turned, crossed her arms across her chest and said, “Let’s hope none of these suckers break down. The mother who runs this place screams and won’t give you your money back when they do.”
    I scratched my head and said nothing. Emmy continued to sit there, her arms folded across her chest, staring at the washers while they filled up and began doing whatever it is they do.
    “You can go home,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
    “Mama told me to help.”
    “Did Manuelo say anything to your mama about me?” I asked.
    “About your checking on the money, you mean?”
    “Well, about that or about anything else.”
    “Manuelo just said that you’re a asshole, and Mama, she said that you’re young for your age and that we should remember that what we do is because we love your papa. No one said anything else. Jesus looked like he wanted to say something, but Mama told him to zip up and get to bed.”
    We sat in silence until the machines finished their cycle, and then Emmy showed me how to dry the clothes and fold them when they were done. Onthe way back to the camper, she held my hand again just like someone who is really her own age.
    That night when Manuelo stopped by with the money, he just put it down on the counter. I said nothing, and he said nothing. Mama Rosita and Iago, or Jesus or Emmy came by at times during the day, and so did a lot of the Fair regulars. They brought gifts for Father. A man who had a hot dog concession brought a six-pack of beer. Two Indians from the Five Civilized Tribes Booth of Indian Folk Art brought Father a blanket from all of them. (It was a large booth.) Pete, a security guard, brought a cellophane pack of Tom’s cheese crackers. Fanny brought a basket of fruit from all of the game concession people. I had to thank each of them and give each a health report on Father. I now knew why when famous people get sick, they have a hospital spokesman give health bulletins at certain times during the day. I got tired of saying that Father had had a good night or that his fever was down. I got tired of saying the same things, and I got tired of hearing the same things.
So you’re Bo? How do you like our Fair? That’s some nice guy you have for a daddy. You take good care of that old man now, hear?
    I got tired of it all.
    I got tired of hearing how Father was one of the nicest guys in the world.
    On the last day of the Fair, Father was feeling well enough to get dressed and shaved and sit forshort periods of time on the camper step. “Hey, Bo,” he said, “why don’t you