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Authors: Gary D. Schmidt
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asking for an advance on my allowance.
Which I had about as much chance of getting as Shylock had of getting his ducats back.
Still, I thought I might have a little chance when Dad got home that evening and let out the great news: Hoodhood and Associates had won the Baker Sporting Emporium contract! They were going to design a new main store and redesign every single one of the chain storesâand there were plenty of them, one in almost every town on Long Island. He grabbed my mother and twirled her around, and they danced beneath the newly plastered ceiling of the living room. Can you believe it? They went into the Perfect Living Room! Then they danced through the kitchen, back into the Perfect Living Room, out onto the front stoop, down the stairs, and past the embarrassed azaleas.
Let me tell you, when Presbyterians start to dance on the front stoop, you know that something big has happened.
"We got the contract, we got the contract, we got the contract, we got the contract," my father sang. It sounded like he was waiting for a full string orchestra to come in, something out of
The Sound of Music.
When he swept back inside, pirouetting my mother, it seemed the perfect moment to ask.
"Dad, could I have an advance on my allowance next week?"
"We got the contract, we got the contract, not on your sweet life, we got the contract."
That night, I dreamed that Caliban sat at the foot of my bed, looking a lot like Danny Hupfer and telling me how I was going to end up all scurvy and blistered if I didn't get the cream puffs next weekâthe end of the three weeks I had promised. "Beware, beware," he said, and I decided I should.
So on Friday, I went to Goldman's Best Bakery and put two dollars and forty-five cents on the counterâall the money I had in the world.
"Two dollars and forty-five cents can buy a great deal," said Mr. Goldman. "So what is it you want to buy?"
"Twenty-two cream puffs," I said.
Mr. Goldman added up twenty-two cream puffs in his head.
"For that you need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I need the cream puffs by next week."
"You still need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I can work. I can wash dishes and stuff?."
"I should need you to wash dishes? I have two good hands. They can wash dishes, tooâand I don't have to pay them."
"I could sweep and clean up."
Mr. Goldman held up his two good hands.
I sighed. "You don't need anything done around here?"
"What I should really need," he said, "is a boy who knows Shakespeare. But is there a boy who knows Shakespeare these days? No. Not one. You would think that they should teach Shakespeare in school. But do they? No."
Okay, I'm not kidding here. Mr. Goldman really said that: "What I should really need is a boy who knows Shakespeare." Those words came right out of his mouth.
"I know Shakespeare," I said.
"Sure you do," Mr. Goldman said. "You still need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I do."
Mr. Goldman put his hands on his hips. "Show me some Shakespeare, then."
I went back to
The Tempest,
and not just the Caliban curses, eitherâwhich is all that Mrs. Baker thought I knew. I spread my arms out wide.
Now does my project gather to a head.
My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and Time
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?
Mr. Goldman clapped his handsâreally!âand then he leaped upon a stool behind the counterâand Mr. Goldman is not someone whose size encourages leaping. He clapped his hands again above his head, and a fine, light flouring flew into the airâsort of like chalk dustâand a haze shimmered about his face. His voice changed, and when he spoke, it was as though he was chanting a high and faraway music.
On the sixth hour, at which time, my lord,
You said our work should cease.
I spread my arms out even wider, and tried to imagine long robes with sleeves that flowed down along the arms of Prospero.
I did say so
When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
How
Which I had about as much chance of getting as Shylock had of getting his ducats back.
Still, I thought I might have a little chance when Dad got home that evening and let out the great news: Hoodhood and Associates had won the Baker Sporting Emporium contract! They were going to design a new main store and redesign every single one of the chain storesâand there were plenty of them, one in almost every town on Long Island. He grabbed my mother and twirled her around, and they danced beneath the newly plastered ceiling of the living room. Can you believe it? They went into the Perfect Living Room! Then they danced through the kitchen, back into the Perfect Living Room, out onto the front stoop, down the stairs, and past the embarrassed azaleas.
Let me tell you, when Presbyterians start to dance on the front stoop, you know that something big has happened.
"We got the contract, we got the contract, we got the contract, we got the contract," my father sang. It sounded like he was waiting for a full string orchestra to come in, something out of
The Sound of Music.
When he swept back inside, pirouetting my mother, it seemed the perfect moment to ask.
"Dad, could I have an advance on my allowance next week?"
"We got the contract, we got the contract, not on your sweet life, we got the contract."
That night, I dreamed that Caliban sat at the foot of my bed, looking a lot like Danny Hupfer and telling me how I was going to end up all scurvy and blistered if I didn't get the cream puffs next weekâthe end of the three weeks I had promised. "Beware, beware," he said, and I decided I should.
So on Friday, I went to Goldman's Best Bakery and put two dollars and forty-five cents on the counterâall the money I had in the world.
"Two dollars and forty-five cents can buy a great deal," said Mr. Goldman. "So what is it you want to buy?"
"Twenty-two cream puffs," I said.
Mr. Goldman added up twenty-two cream puffs in his head.
"For that you need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I need the cream puffs by next week."
"You still need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I can work. I can wash dishes and stuff?."
"I should need you to wash dishes? I have two good hands. They can wash dishes, tooâand I don't have to pay them."
"I could sweep and clean up."
Mr. Goldman held up his two good hands.
I sighed. "You don't need anything done around here?"
"What I should really need," he said, "is a boy who knows Shakespeare. But is there a boy who knows Shakespeare these days? No. Not one. You would think that they should teach Shakespeare in school. But do they? No."
Okay, I'm not kidding here. Mr. Goldman really said that: "What I should really need is a boy who knows Shakespeare." Those words came right out of his mouth.
"I know Shakespeare," I said.
"Sure you do," Mr. Goldman said. "You still need two more dollars and eighty cents."
"I do."
Mr. Goldman put his hands on his hips. "Show me some Shakespeare, then."
I went back to
The Tempest,
and not just the Caliban curses, eitherâwhich is all that Mrs. Baker thought I knew. I spread my arms out wide.
Now does my project gather to a head.
My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and Time
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?
Mr. Goldman clapped his handsâreally!âand then he leaped upon a stool behind the counterâand Mr. Goldman is not someone whose size encourages leaping. He clapped his hands again above his head, and a fine, light flouring flew into the airâsort of like chalk dustâand a haze shimmered about his face. His voice changed, and when he spoke, it was as though he was chanting a high and faraway music.
On the sixth hour, at which time, my lord,
You said our work should cease.
I spread my arms out even wider, and tried to imagine long robes with sleeves that flowed down along the arms of Prospero.
I did say so
When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
How
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