City Kid. Mary MacCracken
drove for about a mile with Wendell Higgins crouched, wary and intent beside me. “Cops don’t come near here in the A.M. Stop here. I’ll get him.”
Within five minutes Wendell was back. Luke walked behind him, his face expressionless.
He was so small. Seven and a half. My own son at almost that age was tying knots for a cub scout badge, and Luke was dodging the police.
“Hello, Luke,” I said, trying to keep my face as expressionless as his. I took out my wallet. “Here’s the two dollars I said you could give to Wendell.”
Luke passed the bills to Wendell and once again Wendell Higgins was instantly out of sight. Luke looked nervously around him.
“Will you get in, Luke?” I asked.
Luke quickly stepped into the car and closed the door behind him, obviously glad to be out of view.
I started the car and drove without any particular thought as to direction. Because it was the route I took most often, I headed back toward college. Luke huddled close to the door on his side of the car, but at least he had come to meet me. That was a beginning.
I had no plan of what I would do or what I would say to Luke. I concentrated my entire energy on trying to feel what he was feeling, trying to listen with the “third ear.” I let the car drive itself.
Suddenly Luke sat up straight, leaning forward, peering intently out the front window.
I, too, strained forward trying to see what he saw, but there was nothing. Only the road cutting through the hills on the way to State. Even the trees were bare, except for the pines.
I could feel Luke looking at me. I kept driving, looking straight ahead. Give him time. He’s almost ready. Don’t look at him now; that will make it harder.
“How’d you know about the mountain?” Luke whispered the question.
What did he mean? What mountain? The hills? These hills must seem very big when you’re as small as Luke. And then I knew. This is where he had been. This was his hiding place. Was this also where he had set that large fire last fall?
I drove until I found a flat place where I could pull off the road. After I’d parked I turned toward Luke.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “I’m sorry about this week. I was sick and couldn’t drive down. I called school and explained, but somehow the secretary got mixed up –”
Luke nodded, barely listening, intent on something beyond the car.
“Let’s walk awhile,” I said. There were evidently no answers to be found inside my old convertible.
Luke was instantly out of the car, running down the way we had just come. I followed as fast as I could.
About a quarter mile back he jogged off the road onto a small path, turning once to look back at me.
The ground began to rise almost immediately. Within ten minutes we were on steep rocky ground. Another ten and I was panting. I pulled off my sweater and tied it around my waist. Luke obviously had a destination in mind. This was no casual stroll.
We were almost to the top when the water tower came in sight. I remembered now seeing it from a distance, a large blue-gray metal tank ballooning against the sky, supported by thin splayed legs. Strange that it had been out of sight as we walked toward it.
Luke climbed in underneath the water tower and sat down. I hesitated and then sat next to him, feeling the chill dampness of the earth seep into my jeans almost immediately. There was no board or blanket. Luke would have been very cold if he had stayed here any length of time; there must be some other type of shelter. I looked upward. The metal legs that supported the water tank had small cross bars, not visible from a distance, but up close you could see they formed a ladderlike structure.
Luke had brought me only partway. I stood and began to climb up the water tank. Three quarters of the way up the four legs were joined by a kind of platform; someone had put a piece of plywood over the metal grids. I crawled out on the board and caught my breath at the sight of Falls City spreading out beneath me.
The great falls that had once provided power for the silk mills tumbled and spat foam high against the sky; old, intricate, elegant church spires pierced the smoke puffs of the factories. From here the decay and squalor were not visible, and the city glowed with a luminous dreamy beauty. It was also possible to see beyond Falls City; the highways leading in and out were clearly visible. How had Luke found this place?
It was obvious that Luke was not going to climb up and join me, so I climbed back down and sat beside him on the cold ground beneath the water tower.
“It’s nice,” I said. “And a good lookout. You can see when anyone’s coming.”
Luke sat expressionless beside me. How had he learned to keep his face so still? There was nothing in his eyes at all. Was that because he felt nothing, or because he’d learned to cover it so well? I rubbed my thumb across the moss that grew under the water tower and tried to feel what Luke was feeling. What would it be like to be seven years old and have only a water tower for comfort?
Luke spoke suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. “My father brought me here. My real father,” he added quickly.
“I don’t know about your father.”
Luke shrugged. “I don’t see him much anymore. Mom and him are divorced and he’s got a new wife now. She’s got three kids.”
We sat without talking again. What was there to say? I watched Luke’s small, handsome face for some opening, but it remained closed and immutable. His round brown eyes stared straight ahead, never flickering; his arms were wrapped tight around his knees.
After a long time he turned to me and said, as if he couldn’t bear to keep it inside any longer. “This is where he used to shoot up.”
“Shoot up?” Why couldn’t I do better than echo his words?
But Luke barely noticed. Now that he’d begun, the rest tumbled out in a torrent. “He’d stay here, underneath, see, and I’d go up there to the seat and watch out. I’d call back and tell him if there were copper cars or anything and when it was okay I’d call down and he’d get out his stuff and make a little fire and get it all ready – and then he’d do it.”
For the first time, Luke’s face changed, crumpled more than changed, and his teeth began to chatter. “I stayed up there on top watching out – and anyway, I didn’t like to watch the needle.”
I nodded. My own body was trembling. What a way to live. How old would Luke have been then? Five? Six?
“We’d stay till it was almost morning, till it got light; then he’d take me back to the project so I’d be there before Mom and Alice and Frank woke up.”
Well, at least I understood one thing. My face had no expression now, either. It’s a lot easier not to cry that way.
“Your mom didn’t know you stayed out here?” I asked. Somehow we could talk under the water tank. There was a feeling of safety and it took less effort to find the words. I didn’t feel as if I was intruding when I asked the question.
“Mom’s sick a lot,” Luke said. “She doesn’t shoot up.” He sat up straight and looked me in the eye. “Honest,” he said. “She never does. She drinks some and smokes stuff and she gets sick. She throws up a lot, but she doesn’t ever shoot up.”
“Who cooks? Who takes care of your little brother and sister?” Wrong. Luke turned away, defenses back in place.
“She does,” he said. “Most of the time.”
I stood up, or partway up, and crawled out from under the water tower. I stretched, my body cramped from sitting and emotion. I looked at my watch. Four o’clock.
Inadequacy and urgency churned inside my stomach. There were less than two hours of daylight left and