and set out looking for Willie May.
He found her in the laundry room, sitting on one of the foldup chairs, smoking a cigarette, and staring into space.
“Hey there,” she said to him. “Where’s your lady friend at?”
“School,” said Rob. “But today’s only a half day.” He kept his hands in his pockets. Now that he stood before Willie May, he was afraid to give her the bird. What if it was wrong? What if he had carved it wrong and it didn’t look anything like the real Cricket?
“What you giving me them shifty-eyed looks for?” Willie May asked.
“I made you something,” said Rob quickly, before he lost his nerve.
“Made me something?” said Willie May. “For real?”
“Uh-huh. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
“I ain’t,” said Willie May. But she smiled and closed her eyes and put out her enormous hand, palm up. Rob carefully placed the bird in it.
“You can look now,” he told her.
She closed her fingers around the little piece of wood, but she didn’t open her eyes. She puffed on her cigarette; the long gray ash on the end of it trembled.
“Don’t need to look,” she finally said. The cigarette ash dropped to the floor. “I know what I got in my hand. It’s Cricket.”
“But you got to look at it and tell me did I do it right,” said Rob.
“I ain’t got to do nothing,” said Willie May, “except stay black and die.” She opened her eyes slowly, as if she was afraid she might frighten the bird into flying away. “This the right bird,” she said, nodding her head, “this the one.”
“Now you don’t got to dream about him no more,” said Rob.
“That’s right,” said Willie May. “Where’d you learn to work a piece of wood like this?”
“My mama,” said Rob.
Willie May nodded. “She taught you good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Rob. He stared down at his legs. “I know a wooden bird ain’t the same as having a real one.”
“It ain’t,” agreed Willie May. “But it soothes my heart just the same.”
“My dad said he ain’t got no jobs for me until this afternoon. He said I could help you out this morning.”
“Well,” said Willie May. She dropped the bird into the front pocket of her dress. “I might could find some way for you to help me.”
So Rob spent his morning following Willie May from room to room, stripping the dirty sheets from the beds. And while he worked, the keys jingled in his pocket, and he knew that soon Sistine would be out of school and that she would demand again that he unlock the cage and let the tiger go.
“Where’s the prophetess?” Sistine asked him as soon as she stepped off the bus. She was wearing a bright orange dress with pink circles all over it. Her left knee was skinned and bleeding, and her right eye was swollen.
“Huh?” said Rob. He stood and stared at her and wondered how she could get into so many fights in only half a day of school.
“Willie May,” said Sistine. “Where is she?”
“She’s vacuuming,” said Rob.
Sistine started walking purposefully toward the Kentucky Star. She talked to Rob without looking back. “My mother found out that I was wearing your clothes to school,” she said. “She took them away from me. I’m in trouble. I’m not supposed to come out here anymore.”
“You know,” said Rob, “you don’t always got to get in fights. Sometimes, if you don’t hit them back, they leave you alone.”
She whirled around and faced him. “I want to get in fights,” she said fiercely. “I want to hit them back. Sometimes, I hit them first.”
“Oh,” said Rob.
Sistine turned back around. “I’m going to find the prophetess,” she said loudly. “I’m going to ask her what we should do about the tiger.”
“You can’t ask her about the tiger,” said Rob. “Beauchamp said I ain’t supposed to tell nobody, especially not Willie May.”
Sistine didn’t answer him; she started to run. And Rob, to keep up with her, ran too.
They found Willie May
He found her in the laundry room, sitting on one of the foldup chairs, smoking a cigarette, and staring into space.
“Hey there,” she said to him. “Where’s your lady friend at?”
“School,” said Rob. “But today’s only a half day.” He kept his hands in his pockets. Now that he stood before Willie May, he was afraid to give her the bird. What if it was wrong? What if he had carved it wrong and it didn’t look anything like the real Cricket?
“What you giving me them shifty-eyed looks for?” Willie May asked.
“I made you something,” said Rob quickly, before he lost his nerve.
“Made me something?” said Willie May. “For real?”
“Uh-huh. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
“I ain’t,” said Willie May. But she smiled and closed her eyes and put out her enormous hand, palm up. Rob carefully placed the bird in it.
“You can look now,” he told her.
She closed her fingers around the little piece of wood, but she didn’t open her eyes. She puffed on her cigarette; the long gray ash on the end of it trembled.
“Don’t need to look,” she finally said. The cigarette ash dropped to the floor. “I know what I got in my hand. It’s Cricket.”
“But you got to look at it and tell me did I do it right,” said Rob.
“I ain’t got to do nothing,” said Willie May, “except stay black and die.” She opened her eyes slowly, as if she was afraid she might frighten the bird into flying away. “This the right bird,” she said, nodding her head, “this the one.”
“Now you don’t got to dream about him no more,” said Rob.
“That’s right,” said Willie May. “Where’d you learn to work a piece of wood like this?”
“My mama,” said Rob.
Willie May nodded. “She taught you good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Rob. He stared down at his legs. “I know a wooden bird ain’t the same as having a real one.”
“It ain’t,” agreed Willie May. “But it soothes my heart just the same.”
“My dad said he ain’t got no jobs for me until this afternoon. He said I could help you out this morning.”
“Well,” said Willie May. She dropped the bird into the front pocket of her dress. “I might could find some way for you to help me.”
So Rob spent his morning following Willie May from room to room, stripping the dirty sheets from the beds. And while he worked, the keys jingled in his pocket, and he knew that soon Sistine would be out of school and that she would demand again that he unlock the cage and let the tiger go.
“Where’s the prophetess?” Sistine asked him as soon as she stepped off the bus. She was wearing a bright orange dress with pink circles all over it. Her left knee was skinned and bleeding, and her right eye was swollen.
“Huh?” said Rob. He stood and stared at her and wondered how she could get into so many fights in only half a day of school.
“Willie May,” said Sistine. “Where is she?”
“She’s vacuuming,” said Rob.
Sistine started walking purposefully toward the Kentucky Star. She talked to Rob without looking back. “My mother found out that I was wearing your clothes to school,” she said. “She took them away from me. I’m in trouble. I’m not supposed to come out here anymore.”
“You know,” said Rob, “you don’t always got to get in fights. Sometimes, if you don’t hit them back, they leave you alone.”
She whirled around and faced him. “I want to get in fights,” she said fiercely. “I want to hit them back. Sometimes, I hit them first.”
“Oh,” said Rob.
Sistine turned back around. “I’m going to find the prophetess,” she said loudly. “I’m going to ask her what we should do about the tiger.”
“You can’t ask her about the tiger,” said Rob. “Beauchamp said I ain’t supposed to tell nobody, especially not Willie May.”
Sistine didn’t answer him; she started to run. And Rob, to keep up with her, ran too.
They found Willie May