Wish You Were Here Read online

  Celia, who’s a lefty, sat on my right at the table and purposely jiggled my arm whenever I lifted my fork. I jiggled hers, and some cole slaw landed in her lap. “Ma!” she said. “Look what he did now!”

  Ma made us exchange seats, and then she began to talk about how she and Aunt Lillian fought all the time when they were children. Now they loved each other dearly, she said—their long-distance bills proved it. And their friendship gave her hope for Celia and me.

  Nana insisted that her girls never quarreled.

  “Oh, not much,” Ma said. “There were scratch marks up and down my arms, as I recall. I wore permanent iodine stripes. And I stopped biting my nails so I could scratch Lilly back.”

  “Ha ha! What an imagination!” Nana said to Nat. “They were angels, they adored one another.” As she spoke, she piled food on everyone’s plate. “Dig in, sweethearts,” she said.

  “Your grandma was a cook in the army,” Pop said, nudging me and winking.

  “Really?” Grace asked.

  After a while, I got exhausted staring at the mountain of potato salad in front of me. It looked as if I should climb it, instead of eat it. Nat gave me a little hand signal, and when Nana wasn’t looking, he switched plates with me. His was empty.

  “Do you see that!” Nana exclaimed, turning to me. “A clean plate! Do you want a little more, darling? But shame on you, Nat! A grown man. Where’s your appetite? Well, we’ll fatten you up soon. And while you’re on your honeymoon, I’ll be right here, feeding these poor starving children.”

  “And I’ll bring the boy into the store,” Pop announced. “Fit him out with some sensible oxfords.”

  “Uh, Mother? Dad?” Ma said. “I didn’t have a chance to—uh—tell them yet.”

  “Tell us what?” Celia demanded.

  “That Nana and Pop have generously offered to stay with you kids while Nat and I are away.” Ma made a warning face at Celia, who ignored it.

  “But we can take care of ourselves!” she said. “Ma, I’m almost seventeen!”

  “In about ten months,” Ma said. “Sweetie, it’s not that I don’t trust you, or any of you. It’s just that I’ll feel better knowing someone older is here. We’ll only be gone a week.”

  Celia’s eyes flashed emergency messages at me. “What are you waiting for, bonehead?” her eyes said. “Why don’t you say something?”

  I put on this dumb expression, as if I didn’t get it.

  In the kitchen later, when Celia and I were doing the dishes, she said, “Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold. I hope Nana knits you a three-piece suit—out of steel wool!”

  I didn’t have the usual need to get back at her.

  There were more important things on my mind. Now I had another reason for getting out of town before the wedding. I’d do anything. I’d sit for the Wolfe boys again, dig ditches, work in a coal mine! Anything, except help Nat.

  A Winning Number

  I HADN’T HEARD FROM my grandfather yet. Only nine days had gone by since I’d sent my letter, and I knew that the mail was slow sometimes, in one direction or the other. Still, I checked out the letters on the hall table as soon as I came in from school. Celia was staying late for a rehearsal, and Grace had gone to her friend Roger’s house to play. I was supposed to pick her up at five o’clock.

  There was a lot of junk mail, most of it for my mother, asking her to subscribe to magazines and join book and recipe clubs. There were a few bills, too. Why did they always get here so fast? I picked up a long white envelope with enormous red letters on it that said: YOU MAY ALREADY BE THE WINNER OF $50,000 IN CASH!

  “Oh, sure,” I muttered. Since the envelope was addressed to “Occupant,” I opened it. I was just as much an occupant as anyone else. Inside, there were coupons for cat food, wrinkle cream, and lots of other stuff that didn’t interest me. I searched through them for something about the fifty grand. Not that

  I really expected to win, but there wasn’t any harm in looking. Finally I found a letter that began “Dear Valued Customer.” It said that everyone was a winner in the Supermarket Sweepstakes, and that my lucky number was HO65923 1287 468B. All I had to do was drop into my local supermarket, where a poster with the winning numbers would be prominently displayed. “All prizes will be awarded,” the letter promised, and the grand-prize money was just one of them. There were also two new sports cars, ten color TVs, fifty cameras, a thousand ski headbands, and many, many generous samples of a revolutionary new product.

  I put the letter in my jacket pocket, and fortified by a peanut-butter sandwich and a glass of milk, I walked about half a mile to the nearest supermarket.

  The place was crowded and noisy, as usual, and Mickey Mouse music was coming over the loudspeakers. I remembered my parents taking Celia and me here, way before Grace was born. I would sit in a shopping-cart seat and reach for everything in sight. If an aisle was empty, Celia would give me a speedy, scary ride through it, almost running me into the loaded shelves. We’d both keep begging for a junk-food snack, and always wind up with something healthy, like raisins.

  The store hadn’t changed that much since then, except now the cash registers had those green digital readouts, and the checkers were prettier. But the shelves were still loaded, and there were some new kids whining for stuff they’d never get.

  I strolled around for a few minutes without finding the poster. I’d feel stupid asking where it was. No matter what they said in that letter, the sweepstakes was probably a big fake, and everyone in the store knew it, except me. But since I was there already, I figured I’d look for the dumb thing and get it over with. I wandered up and down the aisles, as if I might decide to buy some laundry detergent or a jar of mayonnaise. I fingered the letter in my pocket and tried to imagine what would happen if I turned out to be the grand-prize winner. People did win things. There was a picture in the newspaper the other day of a guy who’d won five million dollars in the state lottery. He said he was going to buy a new car and put money aside for his children’s education. But he wasn’t going to quit his job in an electronics factory. He seemed real cool, as if becoming a millionaire overnight was no big deal. And on television there’s this commercial with an old couple standing in front of a brand-new mobile home. The woman says, “When the mailman brought the letter saying we had won, I was so excited.” Then the man says, “It is truly a dream come true.” Only they don’t sound excited. They sound sort of tired, and as if they’re reading the words off a cue card.

  I stopped near a big stack of paper towels. Boy, if I won the fifty grand, I wouldn’t be cool or tired. I’d probably start jumping around and yelling like a nut. I’d buy a treat for every whiny little kid in the store. I could fly first class to Miami, if I wanted to, and take my grandfather out for a great steak dinner as soon as I got there.

  If I won second prize, one of the sports cars, I could sell it for a bundle. Too bad I wasn’t old enough to get my license, so I could drive down to Miami in style.

  My chances were even better for one of the television sets. It stood to reason—there were ten of them. Everyone was a winner, the letter said. I’d let my family use the set until I left, and then I’d take it with me to Florida. If Grandpa had a TV at all, it was probably a dinky little black-and-white job, with a rolling picture and plenty of snow.

  The cameras didn’t exactly thrill me, even though the odds for winning one were good. I already had my own Instamatic, and the truth was I hadn’t used it for a while. Photography isn’t one of my major interests. Still, I supposed a camera wouldn’t be a bad wedding present for my mother. Celia was bugging me about that. She tried to make me discuss how much we were going to spend and what we were going to buy. I almost keeled over when Grace volunteered to chip in, too. She wanted us to get an umbrella. “An umbrella!” Celia said. “Why in the world would we get them an umbrella?” “For the rain,” Grace said. “That’s not a suitable present for our own mother’s wedding,” Celia told her. “We have to think bigger than that, much bigge
r.” She began talking about deluxe toaster ovens and crystal punchbowl sets, and she said we’d have to start window shopping soon. I changed the subject as fast as I could. I had a little over fifteen dollars in my globe bank, and there was no way I was going to part with any of it.

  I decided that if I didn’t win one of the cameras, I would tell Celia that I was going to get Ma something on my own. Then I could send a present later from Miami—one of those neat painted coconut heads, or a gigantic shell ashtray.

  I continued down the aisle toward the light bulbs, and there was the sweepstakes poster. Not exactly prominently displayed, like they’d said. It was half hidden by a rack of mops, and nobody was looking at it. A lady was standing right there, picking up light bulbs, examining them, and putting them back on the shelf. At last she made up her mind and wheeled her cart around the corner. I whipped out the letter and started to check the numbers.

  As I’d figured all along, I didn’t get the big money. My number wasn’t even close. For a moment I wondered who did win it. I pictured some guy standing in a supermarket in Nebraska or New Jersey who just came in for a six-pack or something, and then remembers this letter in his pocket. He takes it out and thinks, What the hell...Then, pow! I hoped he was poor, or wanted something real bad, the way I did. I hoped he wasn’t going to just panel the playroom in his basement, or stash the money in the bank.

  Neither of the cars were mine, either. And my hopes really started running out as my finger went down the ten winning numbers for the television sets. Not a single one of them began with the letter H.

  It took forever to work through the fifty numbers for the cameras. The print was so small I was getting eyestrain. And for nothing! I hadn’t even won a camera! What were you supposed to do with a lousy ski headband if you didn’t ski? My heart wasn’t in it, but I continued to check out my number against the ones on the poster. I didn’t care that there were a few people in the aisle now. I didn’t care that the light-bulb lady was back, looking at every carton on the shelf.

  It was hard to believe, but I hadn’t won a headband, either. Rip-off, I thought, reading over the part of the letter that said everyone was a winner. I looked back at the poster and saw that the final prizes, those dumb samples of that dumb product, would be sent to anybody with a number who hadn’t already won a prize. These lucky winners only had to send in their names and addresses, and one dollar to cover the cost of handling and mailing. “Phooey!” I said out loud. I went to the candy aisle and bought myself a big Hershey bar with almonds, not really hungry for it, and knowing it would cut into my savings from this week’s allowance.

  At five o’clock, I picked Grace up at Roger’s house. On the way home I gave her half my Hershey bar. She put it in her pocket and took my hand. Hers was small and squirmy inside her mitten. She looked up at the sky. “Where are the stars now, Bernie?” she asked. “How come the moon and sun are out at the same time? Can God still see you when it’s dark?”

  The Fight

  CELIA CAME TO THE table on Monday night wearing her wig. It was straw-colored, very short, and kind of ratty.

  Nat made believe he didn’t recognize her. He bowed over her hand and said, “Who is this enchanting creature?”

  Grace said, “You know, Nat. It’s only Celia.”

  Celia giggled and posed, acting as freaky as ever. She did look different, though—younger and boyish, like that girl on the theater program. Ma said that Celia was transformed.

  Then Grace tried on the wig, and it was way too big for her. It slipped down over her eyebrows, like one of Nana’s knitted hats. Nat had to say he didn’t recognize her, either, before she’d eat her dinner.

  A bunch of people in Celia’s play were coming to our house later, and Nat suggested the rest of us go to a movie, so they’d have privacy. I couldn’t think up an alibi for staying home, but when we were clearing the table Celia saved me. She said that the cast was going to work from memory for the first time, and that Mr. Rooney, their drama coach, couldn’t make it. They needed somebody to fill in for him, to give cues and remind everybody to project their voices.

  “I’ll do it if you pay me,” I said.

  Celia looked disgusted, but she said, “Okay, you greedy pig. Just try to behave like a human being in front of my friends.”

  By seven-thirty, they were all there. I knew some of the kids already, from the neighborhood and school. Gary Kramer, the boy playing John Henry, was in my phys ed class. I remembered how relieved I was the first day to see someone smaller than me among those humongous jocks.

  There were parts for three black actors in the play, and there were only a few black students at Plainview High, not all of them interested in drama. Mr. Rooney had asked a music teacher, Mr. Percell, to be Honey Camden Brown, Berenice’s foster brother who plays the horn, and a tall eighth-grader to be T. T. Williams, their friend. A senior girl named Ruth Garvey had the part of Berenice. Except for being black, Ruth wasn’t anything like the description of Berenice in the script. Of course she was too young to look middle-aged and motherly, but she was also very slim and pretty. The wig had really changed Celia, and I guessed they’d come up with something to transform Ruth, too.

  Although Celia still did some over- and under-acting, she was getting better. Even without the wig, she seemed more and more like Frankie, and I secretly believed it was because of my help. Tonight, when she said the line “All people belong to a ‘we’ except me,” it didn’t sound so dumb. I thought of my grandfather, who lived alone, far from everyone he loved. Why didn’t he answer my letter? Maybe it had gone to the wrong address by mistake. Maybe he was broke, and too proud to admit it. I had a mental flash of this bent-over decrepit guy sitting in a dark room eating a cold can of beans.

  “Bernie!” Celia said. “We’re in the second act. Where are you—in outer space? You were supposed to cue Ruth.”

  I fumbled through the pages until I found the right place. “Sorry,” I said, and the rehearsal continued.

  Acting had always seemed like such a cinch. I mean, who couldn’t memorize a few lines? But now I realized that memorizing the lines was the least of it. You had to say them over and over again until they came out a certain way—natural, but special—and you had to act with your whole body. A few of the kids were pretty bad, as if their minds were somewhere else, back in their own real lives. Two of them, Ruth and Gary, could have been pros. Without any costumes or props, they turned into Berenice and John Henry, just the way I’d pictured them.

  During one of my private rehearsals with Celia, she’d said that if anything happened to Gary before the performance, I could take over and play John Henry. I told her I could probably do it blindfolded, once I got to read the whole play. I even daydreamed a little about Gary getting just sick enough on the big night so he couldn’t go on. I would have to take over for him at the last minute, and I’d become an instant star. Celia had only been kidding. There were understudies for all the parts. And tonight, after I saw how good Gary was, I hoped he’d stay healthy.

  One of the great things about Ruth was her voice. It was husky and smooth, and when she spoke, each word sort of hung in the air. When she sang the song about the sparrow, everybody applauded. She could have recited multiplication tables and made them sound interesting. If anything happened to her, I figured they could just cancel the whole thing.

  A little after nine, the moviegoers came back. Grace went right up to bed, and Nat went into the den to build a fire. Soon he and Ma were sitting in front of it, sipping coffee and talking.

  The actors were getting tired, and in a while they decided to end the rehearsal. Celia served refreshments, and then people began putting on their jackets. They still hadn’t gotten around to the last act. “Hey,” I said, “why don’t you stay and finish. I want to find out what happens.”

  “Buy a ticket, Bernie,” Ruth said, and they all laughed.

  I probably won’t even be here, I thought.

  Later, Celia knocked on the bathroom doo
r while I was brushing my teeth. “Have you fainted in there, Segal?” she called.

  I came out, holding my hands up like claws, and with my mouth foaming toothpaste. Celia ran down the hall, shrieking.

  When I was finished in the bathroom, I went to her room and stood in the doorway. She was holding the wig and brushing it. “You’re getting to be pretty good there, Sarah Heartburn,” I said. “It must be my fabulous coaching, so how’s about a raise?”

  “A deal’s a deal,” she said. “And don’t be so conceited.”

  “I’m not,” I said, “but I have every reason to be.”

  “Ha, ha,” Celia answered. She opened one of her dresser drawers and took out her wallet. “Here’s what I owe you for tonight.”

  “Don’t I even get more for cuing those other turkeys?”

  “No, you get paid by the hour, not the person.”

  “Ah, come on, Celia,” I said. “Open your heart and give me another buck.”

  “Nothing doing,” she said. “And I hope you’re saving your money, Bernie. I want to get Ma and Nat something really awesome, and we’ll never squeeze much out of old Gracie. That kid! Could you picture us buying them an umbrella? What do you think of a Lucite ice bucket, with their initials on it?”

  “Listen, Celia,” I said. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not going in with you guys.”

  “What! You promised, Bernie. You can’t go back on it.”

  “It’s just that I want to get them something on my own,” I said. “The bathroom’s all yours,” I added, hoping to close the subject.

  “Well, you can’t get something on your own. I’m depending on your share. In fact, we ought to go to the mall this weekend and start looking. What do you think of sterling-silver vegetable tongs?”

  “I’m not chipping in,” I said, “so it doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “You rotten little fink! You are jealous, aren’t you? You treat Nat like dirt, and now you won’t even buy them a wedding present!”