The dwarf, Whitey Van Ness, a loner and outcast, rescues a comatose boy and changes his (Whitey’s) life forever.
The Archie Cleebo Saga Continues.
Whitey Van Ness was sitting on the tall grass in a clearing and talking to himself. “Damn! That was one hell of a storm. Good thing I found this open spot to hunker down in; if I was in the trees all that lightning would have nailed me for sure. Wonder where Hoover got off to? I hope he didn't get mixed up with a skunk or porcupine."
He pulled his pipe from his pocket and inspected it, turning it over and over, and pressing it to his nose. "That tobacco smells so sweet; I could use a smoke right now.'' He grasped a pouch and shook tobacco into his hand; it's soaking wet. He returned the unusable mush to the pouch and fished out his matches; they're ruined. He shook his head and climbed to his feet. "I'm one hell of a woodsman. First storm that comes along puts me out of business. I've got to get back to civilization. Now where in the hell is Hoover?'' He walked into the woods, pausing every few yards to shout for his dog.
Whitey was born and raised in San Francisco. His dad, Solomon, told him to be proud, dignified because Van Ness Avenue was named after his great grandpa, or was it his great uncle? Whitey never put much faith in his ancestors and the legacy they left him: where's the dignity of being the runt of the litter? Whitey was always the shortest student in school and, consequently, the brunt of ridicule from his classmates. He was ugly beyond normal ugliness. People would say, "What happened to your face? Did you have an accident or did somebody beat you up?'' Whitey would reply, "No accident; that's the way I was born.'' If they insisted that he must have got his misshapen face in a fight he would tell them he was a lover not a fighter. That was one lie he was guilty of, he never had a girlfriend in his life.
The wilderness had swallowed Hoover: he can't be found anywhere. Whitey stopped walking and looked around. He had been so concerned for that hound that he didn't pay attention to the territory he was passing through. Now nothing looked familiar, he's lost. Whitey started laughing; he has been a klutz all his life and what's more fitting than to get lost in the woods? He bellowed into the trees. "Damn it, Hoover, if you don't get over here right now, you're on your own.'' He laughed some more: Hoover will probably do well without his owner around. Whitey drew his short, stocky frame together and began searching for the highway.
The hours passed and Whitey was more confounded than ever: how in the hell did he ever get himself in such a predicament? He walked all day and he hadn't come across anything that even gives a hint that he was close to a way back to town. He could have starved or froze to death out here and there sure as hell's not going to be anybody looking for him. For the first time in his life he regretted that he had never
bothered to make any friends, someone to care about him and alert the authorities that he was missing.
A gorge blocked his path. His confusion grew: do I go back? Or should I follow along the rim of this barrier? He looked down towards the bottom of the gorge and decided it was too risky to climb down. The rim was equally uninviting so he turned to go back the way he came.
He reached a clearing and sat on a rock. "I'm not getting anywhere. I better think about this for awhile.'' He stabbed his pipe in his mouth and sucked on it. The burnt tobacco residue soothed him. The light was fading fast and it was turning cold so he gathered leaves and brush to prepare a shelter.
The next morning, at first light, he was traveling fast determined not to spend another night in the open. He has found a trail and followed it; it must lead somewhere. He rounded a bend and ran head- on into Hoover.
The big dog leaped on him knocking him to the ground and smothering him with his tongue. Whitey covered his face with his arms. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You don't need to get so rambunctious. Where have you been?'' The mauling continued so Whitey wrapped his arms around Hoover's neck and rolled on top. Now it was the dog's turn to be uncomfortable. He yelped, whined, and fought to get free. Whitey released his friend and climbed to his feet. "Behave yourself.'' He kept a hand on Hoover's head and pushed him down preventing anymore leaps off the ground.
Whitey knelt beside his pet, stroking him, talking in a gentle tone, and calming him. Finally he rose and resumed his journey. He stopped at the sound of barking. Hoover wasn't following; he's running off into the brush and then back again, barking all the time. "What's the matter, boy? You want me to follow you?'' Whitey was reluctant to leave the trail and he can't imagine where Hoover could be leading him. "We don't have time for any monkey business. We've got to get home.'' He slapped his leg. "Come on, boy. Come on.'' He turned and began walking away but stopped when the barking continued. Hoover was frantic: his barking and racing back and forth was frenzied. Whitey stared at the dog, thinking hard: "There must be something terribly wrong. Hoover's never acted like this before. I better follow him.''
Ten minutes later Whitey's sorry he left the trail: what if he can't find it again? Hoover bounced around an object on the ground. Whitey rushed forward then pulled up short. "What the blue blazes?'' It's the body of a small boy. Whitey dropped to his knees and felt the boy's neck. The skin was cold but he felt a pulse. "He's alive but from the looks of him he won't be for long. Hoover, we have to find a way to get him to town.''
The kid lay on a hospital bed while a maid mopped the floor nearby. He was in a coma yet he heard Grandma: "Sidestep to his left, Archie, away from his right. That's all he's got, a right. Make him fire that right across his own body. That way even if he hits ya it ain't gonna hurt. Not a big step, mind you, just a little step ` cause he ain't that much bigger than you.'' Grandma's voice came through loud and clear. "Sidestep and throw the hook at the same time; he ain't got no defense so you'll nail him good. Just don't let him get his ass behind him, always be on one side or the other. Keep him turning and when he stumbles give him a shove to help him along then hammer him with everything you got. You're gonna whip this Pike-Eye son of a bitch's ass good.''
Archie stopped shadow boxing, put his gloved hands on his hips, and turned to face his coach. "Grandma! Didn't anybody ever wash your mouth out with soap?''
Grandma's toothless mouth dropped open as she stared at Archie. "Why...why you little dickens I otta...'' Then she laughed and reached for Archie. "Come here to me so I can squeeze the daylights outta ya.''
The short, plump, black woman in a housekeeper's uniform dropped her mop and ran into the hallway. She shouted, "Marmie, come quick.''
Marmie, dressed in an identical uniform, came running. "What happened, Catherine? What's wrong?'' Catherine turned and pointed into the room she just vacated. "He started laughing.''
"No ...No ...No.'' Marmie shook her head as she walked into the room followed by her friend. "That boy ain't going to be doing anything for awhile.'' The women looked down at the still figure lying on a bed, shrouded with an oxygen tent, and festooned with tubes. Marmie continued talking. "Our little mystery boy; nobody knows who he is or where he come from. It's like he dropped out of the sky. The Sacramento Bee ran a full page story on him and nobody claimed him.''
The Head Nurse walked into the room and frowned. "Good morning, ladies. Is something wrong?'' The housekeepers stepped aside and replied in unison, "Good morning, Missus Prescott.'' Then Marmie pointed at the kid and said, "Catherine says she heard the boy laughing.''
Mrs. Prescott walked to the bed and looked down at her patient. "I'm afraid he hasn't got anything to laugh about. Where's Nurse Hardy?''
Catherine spoke up. "She had to go to the ladies room. She asked me to watch him for a minute.''
Mrs. Prescott nodded her head and walked into the hallway then stopped and looked back. "You ladies can return to your duties now.''
The kid drifted in and out of consciousness. He knew he was in a hospital but he didn't know how he got here. Sometimes people came and asked him questions and he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Voices from his past floated up out of the fog and counseled him. Old Ralph said, "Don't tell them anything, kid. They'll use your own words to hang ya. The only way to beat the sons of bitches is to be dumber than they are. Don't even tell them your name. If they're gonna find a reason to lock ya up and throw away the key let ` em figger it out on their own. Don't give ` em any help.''
Done Gone Broke Charlie chimed in, "Yeah, kid, even a fish wouldn't get caught if he'd keep his mouth shut.''
Sometime way back they moved him from his small dark room to a large noisy ward, day and night somebody nearby was screaming, hollering, and moaning. He heard the men dressed in white uniforms talking while they moved from bed to bed changing sheets and washing bodies. They were talking about the ones that weren't going to make it. The kid listened but never heard his name then he remembered that nobody knew who he was. Maybe he was going to die. The idea didn't scare him. All the feeling was gone and nothing mattered anymore. They brought food on a tray, cranked his bed to a sitting position, and tried to coax him to eat but he only picked at the meal; he was just not hungry.
One morning Nurse Hardy parked a wheelchair next to his bed. "Good morning, little man. It's time you got some fresh air. How do you feel?''
The kid stared at her careful not to nod his head or give her any sign at all. She ignored his silence, threw the bedspread back, and pulled him to his feet. His knees buckled and he had to be lifted onto the wheelchair. "My, you are weak. We're going to have to get you up more.''
The elevator doors opened and a freezing wind pinned the kid to the back of the chair as Nurse Hardy pushed him out onto the roof and around the corner to take shelter behind the elevator housing. The single blast had the kid's teeth chattering.
"It's colder up here than I thought. Here, let me wrap this blanket around you.'' She pulled the folded
blanket from the back of the chair and tucked it around him. The kid watched as she stepped back and leaned against the wall where she pulled a pack of Camels from under her cloak and lit up. She blew a cloud of smoke directly at her charge. "You got everybody fooled with your little act but not me. Not even for a minute. I can look at you and see by your eyes that you know what's going on.'' She took another drag and tilted her head back and blew a cloud into the air. "I know you're hiding something. Come on, you can tell me what it is. I won't tell anybody just like you won't tell anybody you saw me smoking and get me canned.''
The kid stared at her. He knew she was lying: she's going to tell everybody just like that dirty little rat Buddy back in Denver who promised not to tell anybody then told everybody and got him run out of town.
Nurse Hardy stepped on her cigarette butt and aimed the chair at the elevator. "Well...I guess you're not going to talk. But think about it. You're going to need a friend some day.''
The mid-morning sun warmed the small town. The streets and sidewalks were deserted. Only a few cars parked at scattered intervals give a hint that people might be about. On Main Street there was a narrow storefront café. Inside sat a tiny man perched on a stool at the lone lunch counter. His feet dangled six inches from the footrest. A cloud of smoke engulfed him as he puffed on a pipe and cradled a coffee cup with his left hand. A woman walked from the kitchen and stood across the counter. "Whitey, you've been awful quiet lately. Anything wrong?''
Whitey pulled the pipe from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Naw, everything's all right. I've just been doing some thinking, that's all.''
The woman laughed. "That's going to get you into trouble. Whatcha thinking about?''
Whitey rested the pipe on the table and studied her face. "You know, Hazel, you're about the only person I ever talk to but I've been thinking that I've been wasting my life. I've been thinking it's time I got me a home and maybe even a family.''
Hazel dropped her eyes to the counter top then used a cloth to wipe up some imaginary puddles. "Gee...What ever got you to thinking crazy thoughts like that?''
Whitey twisted around on his seat to face the front door. He peered through the glass and out into the street. "There's that boy ... you know the one Hoover found. It's been three weeks now and nobody's come forward to identify him. I'm thinking his folks have abandoned him and he's going to need a home if he ever wakes up.''
"Whoa! If you're saying what I think you're saying just forget about it right now. You don't know anything about that boy. He might be more trouble than the Lord allows.''
Whitey spun back around on the stool and grabbed Hazel's arm as she tried to walk away. "It isn't like we got all that good a life. That boy is going to need somebody to give him a home and nobody's going to let me take care of him unless I got somebody to help me.''
Hazel's eyes and mouth popped wide open as she stared directly into her captor's face. "You're crazier than hell. You're not getting me into any of your cockamamie schemes. Who do you think you are anyway?''
Whitey released her arm and dropped his chin. "I just thought we could get together for the boy's sake. That's all.''
Hazel stormed back to the kitchen. She shouted over her shoulder, "If that's a marriage proposal that's one hell of a way to do it.
The kid returned from the Christmas party with a candy cane in one hand and a toy soldier in the other. Tears ran down his face. What's his mom doing? And his dad? Even Big Cab gets happy at Christmas time.
Grandma, what about her? She's alone now because Andy, Lonnie, Paulie, and Carl are all dead. What's she gonna do now?
"Hey! Quit crying. You got visitors.'' Nurse Hardy was smiling as she pushed the wheelchair close for the kid to climb into.
The police have come to get him and they're going to take him to jail; the great sadness has sunk to complete gloom: he's been caught.
They entered the day room. A man and woman, sitting at a table surrounded with Christmas-wrapped presents, leaped to their feet and rushed toward the kid. The man was a funny-looking little guy but they were both smiling.
Nurse Hardy said, "This is Mr. and Mrs. Van Ness. They come to see you.'' She turned to the couple. "This is our little man. He doesn't talk but he listens real good.''
The woman placed her hand on the kid's shoulder. "Merry Christmas! Look at the presents we brought you.'' She gave a grand sweep of her hand towards the table. The kid fought hard to keep his lower lip from quivering as they pushed him next to their chairs and placed a present in his lap. The woman kept talking non-stop. "We want you to come home with us. We got a room all fixed up just for you. Would you like that?'' The tiny man hovered next to his wife, smiling and nodding his head up and down. Nurse Hardy smiled in the background.
The kid ignored the present. His body began to shake as tears swelled up in his eyes. Whitey's wife leaned closer. "They say you don't have a name. We got one for you. It's Nigel. It's a good English name. It comes from the Hebrew name Nathaniel. It means, ` Gift of God.'
That's what you are: a gift of god because you changed me and Whitey's life forever. Your name is going to be Nigel Van Ness.''
The great stone resolve was torn asunder. The floodwaters were torrential. Hazel Van Ness wrapped her arms around the kid and pulled him into her lap. He buried his face into her bosom and sobbed great heaving sobs.
Tree-lined Highway 120, Yosemite Avenue, travels east and west through the heart of the small valley town. On the highway and just west of downtown, sits a large old white brick building. This is Yosemite Grammar School; a wrought-iron fence faces the avenue and decorates the entrance to the school. A wide concrete stairway goes up and into the second floor hall that leads to the classrooms that line either side of that passage.
It was early morning recess and the play yard behind the school was teeming with screaming, shouting children. A gusty wind swirled dust into the faces of all the participants. In a far corner of the large packed- earth field ten boys formed a small circle.
Black-haired, brown-skinned Joe Diaz grinned showing his fluoride-stained teeth. I'll take Nigel.''
Eight voices shouted together. "No fair! No fair! You're the two best players! You can't be on the same team!''
Joe laughed. "OK. I'll take Curly, Mike, Tom, and Spence. The rest of you can have Nigel.'' Wally Marks frowned as he hefted the football. "You gotta kick off.''
Joe kicked the ball high and wide to Wally who muffed the catch but fell on the pigskin in the melee that followed. Back on his feet Wally huddled with his team. He pointed to Nigel and said, "You go out for a pass and the rest of you block.''
Bobby Patterson leaped for the scrimmage line then hesitated and spun around. "Who's gonna hike the ball?''
Laughter greeted his confusion. Joe Diaz shouted, "They don't know what they're doing.''
Nigel lined up on the end of the line, and watched his team squabble over who was going to be the center. Nigel's mind kept traveling; he was thinking that Nigel is a good name but it isn't his. Whitey and Hazel are nice but he already has a Mom and Dad. He wanted to go back to Modesto and be Archie again. He wanted to see Grandma. He wanted to find out if the police were still looking for him. But he didn't want to hurt Whitey and Hazel's feelings. It was a problem that nagged at him constantly. He didn't want to keep living a lie but he couldn't figure a way out that won't hurt everybody.
"Hey! Wake up!'' Nigel was stunned as the football whizzed by him and bounced on the ground. Wally raced over to him. "What's a matter?''
Nigel, speechless, shook his head. Joe guffawed and shouted from his position in the defensive backfield. "He's dreaming again.''
Wally pulled Nigel into the huddle. "Nigel, you take the hike and throw a pass to whoever's open.'' He turned to the rest of the team. "Nobody needs to block for Nigel so everybody goes out.''
Nigel smiled to himself, that's why he's so good at football: nobody could catch him. He glanced to the sideline and saw a lone spectator. She was a forlorn-looking little girl wearing a long dress that reached the ground and an old-fashioned sun bonnet that hid her hair. Her name was Breana Worley; she followed him everywhere and stared at him with her sad eyes. The constant surveillance made Nigel uncomfortable but he felt sorry for her. The kids shunned her and talked about her. They said her family practiced a strict religion that made her wear clothes from the olden days.
Nigel shook his head to forget Breana and shouted, "Hike!'' The ball flew over his head and he spun, ran it down, and fielded it on the bounce. He sensed his pursuers and he ran to the sideline to escape. On the full run he turned his head and spotted Donald DeCosta running toward the goal. He leaped in the air and hurled the football with all his power. Too late he saw Joe Diaz streaking across the field. He shoved an opponent aside as he charged forward to cut off the victorious Mexican.
Mighty Joe had a full grin on his face as he fielded the ball and sprinted toward Nigel. Joe always won these confrontations; running at half speed straight at his would-be tackler, he would thrust the ball out. The tackler would grab for the ball and fall off balance when it was jerked back. Joe would easily dodge around the hapless player and run for a touchdown.
Nigel had other ideas: he remembered from his boxing days--go where they're gonna be not where they are. He slowed down as he neared the ball carrier and when the ball came at him he grabbed for the space against Joe's belly. It wasn't a perfect grab but the ball was knocked into the air and Nigel leaped high to pull the ball down. He spun past Joe and ran for a touchdown.
"You son of a bitch!'' Nigel turned around, surprised, as an enraged Joe Diaz followed him into the end zone and threw his body at him.
Nigel fended off his attacker, ducked a wild swing, and then drove the guy back with a straight left to the face. That was a clean punch but Joe's reaction was strange. He ran in a circle around Nigel and then dove in with his head down. Nigel tried to sidestep but was grabbed around the waist as Joe struggled to throw him.
Nigel was surprised to find he was just as strong as the stocky Mexican. He remembered Lonnie saying, "Go after his weakest point.'' He put both hands against Joe's face and pushed with all his might until the hold was broken.
Somebody shouted, "Here comes Mr. Hall.'' Both boys stepped back with the crowd of spectators to await the arrival of the boy's gym teacher.
The man had a grim look on his face as he pulled up on a borrowed bicycle. "If you boys want to fight let's do it right.'' He lifted boxing gloves from around his neck, held there by the laces tied together.
Nigel slapped away weak jab attempts by his opponent as he cautiously circled to his right and away from Joe's right hand. The guy didn't know much about boxing but he went crazy and wild when he got hit. If Joe Diaz gets out of control somebody can get hurt. Nigel was reluctant to throw a punch and Joe took that as a signal to attack.
Nigel easily eluded the first flurry but that only brought on even greater effort by his rampaging opponent. Soon the barrage of wild punches was in danger of overwhelming Nigel's solid defense.
The voice from the past boomed: "Sidestep and throw your punch. Don't wait for an opening.'' Nigel laughed and his head was knocked sideways by a slapping blow to the ear.
The voice screamed, "THROW THE DAMNED PUNCH!'' Nigel stepped to his right and fired his left. Joe leaped belly first into Nigel's gloved fist, stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed his midsection, and dropped face first to the ground.
The noisy crowd fell silent. One hushed whisper said, "Damn!'' Nigel scanned the sea of faces and his eyes came to rest on Breana. She opened her mouth to speak and Nigel willed her to shut up; he didn't know what she was going to say but he feared her words. The sad tone only carried a few feet but it was heard by many. "You aren't Nigel. You're Archie Cleebo."
Note
The Archie stories were written for The Voice newspaper magazine that was based in the small mining town of Silverton, Idaho. They ran from 2003 through 2006 when the newspaper went out of business. The Archie stories are set in the years just prior to WWII and are loosely based on the life of the author.
Archie and his family fled the dust bowl of the Midwest USA and moved to California in 1938 where Ma and Pa Cleebo found harsh conditions and 10 year-old Archie was left largely on his own until he was befriended by neighbors (the Johnsons) with a questionable reputation. Archie, and everyone else, called the matriarch of that family Grandma. Grandma and her family were carnival workers until the carnival folded and then they moved to California where they opened an automobile repair business and thrived until driven out of business by a thug and his influential father.
The dwarf, Whitey Van Ness, a loner and outcast, rescues a comatose boy and changes his (Whitey’s) life forever.
The Archie Cleebo Saga Continues.
Whitey Van Ness was sitting on the tall grass in a clearing and talking to himself. “Damn! That was one hell of a storm. Good thing I found this open spot to hunker down in; if I was in the trees all that lightning would have nailed me for sure. Wonder where Hoover got off to? I hope he
didn't get mixed up with a skunk or porcupine.''
He pulled his pipe from his pocket and inspected it, turning it over and over, and pressing it to his nose. "That tobacco smells so sweet; I could use a smoke right now.'' He grasped a pouch and shook tobacco into his hand; it's soaking wet. He returned the unusable mush to the pouch and fished out his matches; they're ruined. He shook his head and climbed to his feet. "I'm one hell of a woodsman. First storm that comes along puts me out of business. I've got to get back to civilization. Now where in the hell is Hoover?'' He walked into the woods, pausing every few yards to shout for his dog.
Whitey was born and raised in San Francisco. His dad, Solomon, told him to be proud, dignified because Van Ness Avenue was named after his great grandpa, or was it his great uncle? Whitey never put much faith in his ancestors and the legacy they left him: where's the dignity of being the runt of the litter? Whitey was always the shortest student in school and, consequently, the brunt of ridicule from his classmates. He was ugly beyond normal ugliness. People would say, "What happened to your face? Did you have an accident or did somebody beat you up?'' Whitey would reply, "No accident; that's the way I was born.'' If they insisted that he must have got his misshapen face in a fight he would tell them he was a lover not a fighter. That was one lie he was guilty of, he never had a girlfriend in his life.
The wilderness had swallowed Hoover: he can't be found anywhere. Whitey stopped walking and looked around. He had been so concerned for that hound that he didn't pay attention to the territory he was passing through. Now nothing looked familiar, he's lost. Whitey started laughing; he has been a klutz all his life and what's more fitting than to get lost in the woods? He bellowed into the trees. "Damn it, Hoover, if you don't get over here right now, you're on your own.'' He laughed some more: Hoover will probably do well without his owner around. Whitey drew his short, stocky frame together and began searching for the highway.
The hours passed and Whitey was more confounded than ever: how in the hell did he ever get himself in such a predicament? He walked all day and he hadn't come across anything that even gives a hint that he was close to a way back to town. He could have starved or froze to death out here and there sure as hell's not going to be anybody looking for him. For the first time in his life he regretted that he had never
bothered to make any friends, someone to care about him and alert the authorities that he was missing.
A gorge blocked his path. His confusion grew: do I go back? Or should I follow along the rim of this barrier? He looked down towards the bottom of the gorge and decided it was too risky to climb down. The rim was equally uninviting so he turned to go back the way he came.
He reached a clearing and sat on a rock. "I'm not getting anywhere. I better think about this for awhile.'' He stabbed his pipe in his mouth and sucked on it. The burnt tobacco residue soothed him. The light was fading fast and it was turning cold so he gathered leaves and brush to prepare a shelter.
The next morning, at first light, he was traveling fast determined not to spend another night in the open. He has found a trail and followed it; it must lead somewhere. He rounded a bend and ran head- on into Hoover.
The big dog leaped on him knocking him to the ground and smothering him with his tongue. Whitey covered his face with his arms. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You don't need to get so rambunctious. Where have you been?'' The mauling continued so Whitey wrapped his arms around Hoover's neck and rolled on top. Now it was the dog's turn to be uncomfortable. He yelped, whined, and fought to get free. Whitey released his friend and climbed to his feet. "Behave yourself.'' He kept a hand on Hoover's head and pushed him down preventing anymore leaps off the ground.
Whitey knelt beside his pet, stroking him, talking in a gentle tone, and calming him. Finally he rose and resumed his journey. He stopped at the sound of barking. Hoover wasn't following; he's running off into the brush and then back again, barking all the time. "What's the matter, boy? You want me to follow you?'' Whitey was reluctant to leave the trail and he can't imagine where Hoover could be leading him. "We don't have time for any monkey business. We've got to get home.'' He slapped his leg. "Come on, boy. Come on.'' He turned and began walking away but stopped when the barking continued. Hoover was frantic: his barking and racing back and forth was frenzied. Whitey stared at the dog, thinking hard: "There must be something terribly wrong. Hoover's never acted like this before. I better follow him.''
Ten minutes later Whitey's sorry he left the trail: what if he can't find it again? Hoover bounced around an object on the ground. Whitey rushed forward then pulled up short. "What the blue blazes?'' It's the body of a small boy. Whitey dropped to his knees and felt the boy's neck. The skin was cold but he felt a pulse. "He's alive but from the looks of him he won't be for long. Hoover, we have to find a way to get him to town.''
###
The kid lay on a hospital bed while a maid mopped the floor nearby. He was in a coma yet he heard Grandma: "Sidestep to his left, Archie, away from his right. That's all he's got, a right. Make him fire that right across his own body. That way even if he hits ya it ain't gonna hurt. Not a big step, mind you, just a little step ` cause he ain't that much bigger than you.'' Grandma's voice came through loud and clear. "Sidestep and throw the hook at the same time; he ain't got no defense so you'll nail him good. Just don't let him get his ass behind him, always be on one side or the other. Keep him turning and when he stumbles give him a shove to help him along then hammer him with everything you got. You're gonna whip this Pike-Eye son of a bitch's ass good.''
Archie stopped shadow boxing, put his gloved hands on his hips, and turned to face his coach. "Grandma! Didn't anybody ever wash your mouth out with soap?''
Grandma's toothless mouth dropped open as she stared at Archie. "Why...why you little dickens I otta...'' Then she laughed and reached for Archie. "Come here to me so I can squeeze the daylights outta ya.''
The short, plump, black woman in a housekeeper's uniform dropped her mop and ran into the
hallway. She shouted, "Marmie, come quick.''
Marmie, dressed in an identical uniform, came running. "What happened, Catherine? What's wrong?'' Catherine turned and pointed into the room she just vacated. "He started laughing.''
"No ...No ...No.'' Marmie shook her head as she walked into the room followed by her friend. "That boy ain't going to be doing anything for awhile.'' The women looked down at the still figure lying on a bed, shrouded with an oxygen tent, and festooned with tubes. Marmie continued talking. "Our little mystery boy; nobody knows who he is or where he come from. It's like he dropped out of the sky. The Sacramento Bee ran a full page story on him and nobody claimed him.''
The Head Nurse walked into the room and frowned. "Good morning, ladies. Is something wrong?'' The housekeepers stepped aside and replied in unison, "Good morning, Missus Prescott.'' Then
Marmie pointed at the kid and said, "Catherine says she heard the boy laughing.''
Mrs. Prescott walked to the bed and looked down at her patient. "I'm afraid he hasn't got anything to laugh about. Where's Nurse Hardy?''
Catherine spoke up. "She had to go to the ladies room. She asked me to watch him for a minute.''
Mrs. Prescott nodded her head and walked into the hallway then stopped and looked back. "You ladies can return to your duties now.''
The kid drifted in and out of consciousness. He knew he was in a hospital but he didn't know how he got here. Sometimes people came and asked him questions and he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Voices from his past floated up out of the fog and counseled him. Old Ralph said, "Don't tell them anything, kid. They'll use your own words to hang ya. The only way to beat the sons of bitches is to be dumber than they are. Don't even tell them your name. If they're gonna find a reason to lock ya up and throw away the key let ` em figger it out on their own. Don't give ` em any help.''
Done Gone Broke Charlie chimed in, "Yeah, kid, even a fish wouldn't get caught if he'd keep his mouth shut.''
###
Sometime way back they moved him from his small dark room to a large noisy ward, day and night somebody nearby was screaming, hollering, and moaning. He heard the men dressed in white uniforms talking while they moved from bed to bed changing sheets and washing bodies. They were talking about the ones that weren't going to make it. The kid listened but never heard his name then he remembered that nobody knew who he was. Maybe he was going to die. The idea didn't scare him. All the feeling was gone and nothing mattered anymore. They brought food on a tray, cranked his bed to a sitting position, and tried to coax him to eat but he only picked at the meal; he was just not hungry.
One morning Nurse Hardy parked a wheelchair next to his bed. "Good morning, little man. It's time you got some fresh air. How do you feel?''
The kid stared at her careful not to nod his head or give her any sign at all. She ignored his silence, threw the bedspread back, and pulled him to his feet. His knees buckled and he had to be lifted onto the wheelchair. "My, you are weak. We're going to have to get you up more.''
The elevator doors opened and a freezing wind pinned the kid to the back of the chair as Nurse Hardy pushed him out onto the roof and around the corner to take shelter behind the elevator housing. The single blast had the kid's teeth chattering.
"It's colder up here than I thought. Here, let me wrap this blanket around you.'' She pulled the folded
blanket from the back of the chair and tucked it around him. The kid watched as she stepped back and leaned against the wall where she pulled a pack of Camels from under her cloak and lit up. She blew a cloud of smoke directly at her charge. "You got everybody fooled with your little act but not me. Not even for a minute. I can look at you and see by your eyes that you know what's going on.'' She took another drag and tilted her head back and blew a cloud into the air. "I know you're hiding something. Come on, you can tell me what it is. I won't tell anybody just like you won't tell anybody you saw me smoking and get me canned.''
The kid stared at her. He knew she was lying: she's going to tell everybody just like that dirty little rat Buddy back in Denver who promised not to tell anybody then told everybody and got him run out of town.
Nurse Hardy stepped on her cigarette butt and aimed the chair at the elevator. "Well...I guess you're not going to talk. But think about it. You're going to need a friend some day.''
###
The mid-morning sun warmed the small town. The streets and sidewalks were deserted. Only a few cars parked at scattered intervals give a hint that people might be about. On Main Street there was a narrow storefront café. Inside sat a tiny man perched on a stool at the lone lunch counter. His feet dangled six inches from the footrest. A cloud of smoke engulfed him as he puffed on a pipe and cradled a coffee cup with his left hand. A woman walked from the kitchen and stood across the counter. "Whitey, you've been awful quiet lately. Anything wrong?''
Whitey pulled the pipe from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Naw, everything's all right. I've just been doing some thinking, that's all.''
The woman laughed. "That's going to get you into trouble. Whatcha thinking about?''
Whitey rested the pipe on the table and studied her face. "You know, Hazel, you're about the only person I ever talk to but I've been thinking that I've been wasting my life. I've been thinking it's time I got me a home and maybe even a family.''
Hazel dropped her eyes to the counter top then used a cloth to wipe up some imaginary puddles. "Gee...What ever got you to thinking crazy thoughts like that?''
Whitey twisted around on his seat to face the front door. He peered through the glass and out into the street. "There's that boy ... you know the one Hoover found. It's been three weeks now and nobody's come forward to identify him. I'm thinking his folks have abandoned him and he's going to need a home if he ever wakes up.''
"Whoa! If you're saying what I think you're saying just forget about it right now. You don't know anything about that boy. He might be more trouble than the Lord allows.''
Whitey spun back around on the stool and grabbed Hazel's arm as she tried to walk away. "It isn't like we got all that good a life. That boy is going to need somebody to give him a home and nobody's going to let me take care of him unless I got somebody to help me.''
Hazel's eyes and mouth popped wide open as she stared directly into her captor's face. "You're crazier than hell. You're not getting me into any of your cockamamie schemes. Who do you think you are anyway?''
Whitey released her arm and dropped his chin. "I just thought we could get together for the boy's sake. That's all.''
Hazel stormed back to the kitchen. She shouted over her shoulder, "If that's a marriage proposal that's one hell of a way to do it.
###
The kid returned from the Christmas party with a candy cane in one hand and a toy soldier in the other. Tears ran down his face. What's his mom doing? And his dad? Even Big Cab gets happy at Christmas time.
Grandma, what about her? She's alone now because Andy, Lonnie, Paulie, and Carl are all dead. What's she gonna do now?
"Hey! Quit crying. You got visitors.'' Nurse Hardy was smiling as she pushed the wheelchair close for the kid to climb into.
The police have come to get him and they're going to take him to jail; the great sadness has sunk to complete gloom: he's been caught.
They entered the day room. A man and woman, sitting at a table surrounded with Christmas-wrapped presents, leaped to their feet and rushed toward the kid. The man was a funny-looking little guy but they were both smiling.
Nurse Hardy said, "This is Mr. and Mrs. Van Ness. They come to see you.'' She turned to the couple. "This is our little man. He doesn't talk but he listens real good.''
The woman placed her hand on the kid's shoulder. "Merry Christmas! Look at the presents we brought you.'' She gave a grand sweep of her hand towards the table. The kid fought hard to keep his lower lip from quivering as they pushed him next to their chairs and placed a present in his lap. The woman kept talking non-stop. "We want you to come home with us. We got a room all fixed up just for you. Would you like that?'' The tiny man hovered next to his wife, smiling and nodding his head up and down. Nurse Hardy smiled in the background.
The kid ignored the present. His body began to shake as tears swelled up in his eyes. Whitey's wife leaned closer. "They say you don't have a name. We got one for you. It's Nigel. It's a good English name. It comes from the Hebrew name Nathaniel. It means, ` Gift of God.'
That's what you are: a gift of god because you changed me and Whitey's life forever. Your name is going to be Nigel Van Ness.''
The great stone resolve was torn asunder. The floodwaters were torrential. Hazel Van Ness wrapped her arms around the kid and pulled him into her lap. He buried his face into her bosom and sobbed great heaving sobs.
###
Tree-lined Highway 120, Yosemite Avenue, travels east and west through the heart of the small valley town. On the highway and just west of downtown, sits a large old white brick building. This is Yosemite Grammar School; a wrought-iron fence faces the avenue and decorates the entrance to the school. A wide concrete stairway goes up and into the second floor hall that leads to the classrooms that line either side of that passage.
It was early morning recess and the play yard behind the school was teeming with screaming, shouting
children. A gusty wind swirled dust into the faces of all the participants. In a far corner of the large packed- earth field ten boys formed a small circle.
Black-haired, brown-skinned Joe Diaz grinned showing his fluoride-stained teeth. I'll take Nigel.''
Eight voices shouted together. "No fair! No fair! You're the two best players! You can't be on the same team!''
Joe laughed. "OK. I'll take Curly, Mike, Tom, and Spence. The rest of you can have Nigel.'' Wally Marks frowned as he hefted the football. "You gotta kick off.''
Joe kicked the ball high and wide to Wally who muffed the catch but fell on the pigskin in the melee that followed. Back on his feet Wally huddled with his team. He pointed to Nigel and said, "You go out for a pass and the rest of you block.''
Bobby Patterson leaped for the scrimmage line then hesitated and spun around. "Who's gonna hike the ball?''
Laughter greeted his confusion. Joe Diaz shouted, "They don't know what they're doing.''
Nigel lined up on the end of the line, and watched his team squabble over who was going to be the center. Nigel's mind kept traveling; he was thinking that Nigel is a good name but it isn't his. Whitey and Hazel are nice but he already has a Mom and Dad. He wanted to go back to Modesto and be Archie again. He wanted to see Grandma. He wanted to find out if the police were still looking for him. But he didn't want to hurt Whitey and Hazel's feelings. It was a problem that nagged at him constantly. He didn't want to keep living a lie but he couldn't figure a way out that won't hurt everybody.
"Hey! Wake up!'' Nigel was stunned as the football whizzed by him and bounced on the ground. Wally raced over to him. "What's a matter?''
Nigel, speechless, shook his head. Joe guffawed and shouted from his position in the defensive backfield. "He's dreaming again.''
Wally pulled Nigel into the huddle. "Nigel, you take the hike and throw a pass to whoever's open.'' He turned to the rest of the team. "Nobody needs to block for Nigel so everybody goes out.''
Nigel smiled to himself, that's why he's so good at football: nobody could catch him. He glanced to the sideline and saw a lone spectator. She was a forlorn-looking little girl wearing a long dress that reached the ground and an old-fashioned sun bonnet that hid her hair. Her name was Breana Worley; she followed him everywhere and stared at him with her sad eyes. The constant surveillance made Nigel uncomfortable but he felt sorry for her. The kids shunned her and talked about her. They said her family practiced a strict religion that made her wear clothes from the olden days.
Nigel shook his head to forget Breana and shouted, "Hike!'' The ball flew over his head and he spun, ran it down, and fielded it on the bounce. He sensed his pursuers and he ran to the sideline to escape. On the full run he turned his head and spotted Donald DeCosta running toward the goal. He leaped in the air and hurled the football with all his power. Too late he saw Joe Diaz streaking across the field. He shoved an opponent aside as he charged forward to cut off the victorious Mexican.
Mighty Joe had a full grin on his face as he fielded the ball and sprinted toward Nigel. Joe always won these confrontations; running at half speed straight at his would-be tackler, he would thrust the ball out. The tackler would grab for the ball and fall off balance when it was jerked back. Joe would easily dodge around the hapless player and run for a touchdown.
Nigel had other ideas: he remembered from his boxing days--go where they're gonna be not where they are. He slowed down as he neared the ball carrier and when the ball came at him he grabbed for the space
The Wrestling Bretons - Paul Serusier, 1893
against Joe's belly. It wasn't a perfect grab but the ball was knocked into the air and Nigel leaped high to pull the ball down. He spun past Joe and ran for a touchdown.
"You son of a bitch!'' Nigel turned around, surprised, as an enraged Joe Diaz followed him into the end zone and threw his body at him.
Nigel fended off his attacker, ducked a wild swing, and then drove the guy back with a straight left to the face. That was a clean punch but Joe's reaction was strange. He ran in a circle around Nigel and then dove in with his head down. Nigel tried to sidestep but was grabbed around the waist as Joe struggled to throw him.
Nigel was surprised to find he was just as strong as the stocky Mexican. He remembered Lonnie saying, "Go after his weakest point.'' He put both hands against Joe's face and pushed with all his might until the hold was broken.
Somebody shouted, "Here comes Mr. Hall.'' Both boys stepped back with the crowd of spectators to await the arrival of the boy's gym teacher.
The man had a grim look on his face as he pulled up on a borrowed bicycle. "If you boys want to fight let's do it right.'' He lifted boxing gloves from around his neck, held there by the laces tied together.
Nigel slapped away weak jab attempts by his opponent as he cautiously circled to his right and away from Joe's right hand. The guy didn't know much about boxing but he went crazy and wild when he got hit. If Joe Diaz gets out of control somebody can get hurt. Nigel was reluctant to throw a punch and Joe took that as a signal to attack.
Nigel easily eluded the first flurry but that only brought on even greater effort by his rampaging opponent. Soon the barrage of wild punches was in danger of overwhelming Nigel's solid defense.
The voice from the past boomed: "Sidestep and throw your punch. Don't wait for an opening.'' Nigel laughed and his head was knocked sideways by a slapping blow to the ear.
The voice screamed, "THROW THE DAMNED PUNCH!'' Nigel stepped to his right and fired his left. Joe leaped belly first into Nigel's gloved fist, stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed his midsection, and dropped face first to the ground.
The noisy crowd fell silent. One hushed whisper said, "Damn!'' Nigel scanned the sea of faces and his eyes came to rest on Breana. She opened her mouth to speak and Nigel willed her to shut up; he didn't know what she was going to say but he feared her words. The sad tone only carried a few feet but it was heard by many. "You aren't Nigel. You're Archie Cleebo.''
Note
The Archie stories were written for The Voice newspaper magazine that was based in the small mining town of Silverton, Idaho. They ran from 2003 through 2006 when the newspaper went out of buisness. The Archie stories are set in the years just prior to WWII and are loosely based on the life of the author.
Archie and his family fled the dust bowl of the Midwest USA and moved to California in 1938 where Ma and Pa Cleebo found harsh conditions and 10 year-old Archie was left largely on his own until he was befriended by neighbors (the Johnsons) with a questionable reputation. Archie, and everyone else, called the matriarch of that family Grandma. Grandma and her family were carnival workers until the carnival folded and then they moved to California where they opened an automobile repair business and thrived until driven out of business by a thug and his influential father.