Dave at Night Read Free

me, one or two at a time, and they all slipped money into my pocket or into my hand—mostly quarters and dimes, a few nickels, and no pennies.
    Uncle Jack stayed after everyone left. I went back into the front room. Gideon was packing. I couldn’t believe it. He was going without me. Ida was sitting on the bed in her and Papa’s bedroom, her skinny shoulders hunched over. I could see her from where I sat on the couch.
    Gideon and Uncle Jack were going to sleep at Cousin Melvin’s tonight and leave for Chicago tomorrow. Uncle Jack stood at the window, holding more ice to his temple. It was late afternoon, starting to get dark out.
    Uncle Jack didn’t say anything. He and Gideon were the only quiet ones in the Caros family. Normally Ida hardly ever talked, either, but she wasn’t really a Caros.
    It wouldn’t take Gideon long to pack. Neither of us had much. I sat on the couch, tossing my green rubber ball from one hand to the other. Gideon kept looking at me and not saying anything.
    â€œI can be just as quiet as Gideon,” I told Uncle Jack. “I wouldn’t make any noise if I lived with you. I wouldn’t give you headaches.”
    â€œDave is determined,” Gideon said. “If he puts his mind to it, he can do anything.”
    Uncle Jack shook his head. “Dave is too much of a handful for me.”
    I wouldn’t be. I’d be good.
    â€œIf the factory weren’t so noisy, I’d take him.” Uncle Jack was the bookkeeper in a place that made printing presses. “When I get home, I need peace and quiet.” He moved the ice to the other temple. “Abie always boasted about the two of you—brilliant Gideon and daredevil Dave.”
    â€œDave’s a good boy,” Gideon said.
    â€œI know he is.” Uncle Jack turned to Ida, who had gotten up and was standing in the doorway. “In a year or so when he’s older, I’ll send for him if I can.”
    What a laugh, him making excuses to Ida. What was her excuse? But that was that. He wouldn’t take me. I bounced my green ball as hard as I could. Let his head hurt.
    I bet Gideon was secretly glad to be going without me, the troublemaker. I bet he couldn’t wait to get to Chicago and start being quiet with Uncle Jack.
    Gideon closed the suitcase and went back to the bureau. He took out his treasure, the best thing he had, the carving of animals marching onto Noah’s ark that Papa had made for him. “Here, Dave. You keep it.”
    I took it. I didn’t say thanks or give him anything to remember me by. Let him leave. I didn’t care if I never saw him again.
    â€œYou’ll be all right,” Gideon said. “You always are.”
    Sure I’d be all right. What did that have to do with anything?
    â€œReady?” Uncle Jack asked.
    â€œReady.”
    Uncle Jack bent over and hugged me. “I’ll send for you when you’re older.”
    I didn’t hug him back.
    â€œGood-bye, Dave,” Gideon said. “I’ll write.”
    â€œWhere will you send the letter?” I muttered.
    â€œWhat?” he said.
    I shook my head. Good riddance.
    â€œGood-bye,” he said again. “Don’t make trouble.”
    They left, closing the door softly behind them.
    I sat on the couch. I thought about asking what Aunt Sarah had meant about giving me up, but I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t give Ida the satisfaction.
    I did ask if I could go play stickball. She said I couldn’t. She said we were sitting shiva. Sitting shiva means you stay home for a week after somebody dies. You sit around in torn clothing to show how sad you are, and people visit you to pay their respects.
    Nobody else came that day. For dinner we ate the baked fish and the spinach pie that Aunt Lily and Aunt Sarah had brought. After dinner I drew funny pictures of the kids at school for a while. Then I started bouncing my green ball. After two bounces, Ida told me