He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Well, I really must find out who I am, he thought.
He tried to tell himself that the relief he now felt was simply caused by the absence of Di Palermo, admitting that he had always been somewhat frightened of the old man. The relief had nothing to do with the fact that Di Palermo, now dead and gone, could not possibly identify him. And anyway, he reasoned, even if he were alive, would he really know who I am? He knew a skinny sixteen-year-old kid who came to work bleary-eyed each morning, who shoved that broom around the sidewalk until it was time to begin deliveries, Apartment 4A, 2117 Riverside Drive, a shudder went up his spine.
I don’t know that apartment, he thought.
I’m glad you’re dead, he thought.
I’m glad I broke your lousy
The boy on roller skates came down the sidewalk at a furious rate of speed. Buddwing heard the familiar grating sound of worn wheels against pavement, and looked up just as the boy approached him. He tried to sidestep, but the boy swerved at about the same moment, so that the two came together in a curiously clumsy embrace, each trying to support the other, losing the battle and clattering to the sidewalk in a scramble of arms and legs and flying skates. There was a brief silence, and then Buddwing sat up and looked at the boy. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the boy said. He was about nine years old, a blond kid with blue eyes. He was wearing short pants and a striped T shirt. One skate had come loose from his foot, dangling there from the strap. He did not examine himself for cuts or bruises — his knees were scabby and scraped and black-and-blue from previous accidents — but instead immediately looked at the dangling skate, and said, “Oh, hell, it opened again.”
“Your skate?” Buddwing asked.
“Yeah.” The boy got to his feet and, on the one skate still operative, skated over to the curb. He promptly sat again, removed the dangling skate from his right foot, and reached into his pocket for a skate key. Buddwing walked over to the curb and sat beside the boy.
“You know how to fix it?” he asked.
“Sure,” the boy said. “Only thing is the nut is stuck.”
“You want some help?”
“I can do it myself,” the boy said. He shoved both parts of the skate back to the proper size, and then fitted the skate key to the nut on the underside. “The thing keeps opening,” he said. “That’s pretty dangerous, you know. You could hurt yourself if you’re going very fast and your skate opens.”
“How fast do you go?” Buddwing asked.
“Oh, I guess about twenty m.p.h.,” the boy answered. “You see what I mean? The nut is stuck, that’s why I can’t tighten it. I think it’s rusty or something.”
“Do you want me to try it?” Buddwing said.
“Well, you can if you want to, but it’s rusty, all right. Here.” He handed Buddwing the skate and the skate key. “You live in this neighborhood?” he asked.
“No,” Buddwing said.
“I didn’t think I saw you around.” He watched as Buddwing struggled with the nut on the bottom of the skate. “It’s rusty, ain’t it?” he said.
“It sure is.”
“Yeah, I told you. Where do you live?”
“Oh, another part of the city,” Buddwing said.
“Pretty nice there?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Buddwing said.
“You got a playground there?”
“Yes.”
“We got one here, too,” the boy said. “You busy or anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Pete is sick, he’s my best friend. I thought maybe if you weren’t doing anything, we could take a walk over to the playground. It’s only a few blocks.” The boy shrugged.
“Sure, I’d like to,” Buddwing said.
“I mean, with that lousy rusty nut, I can’t skate any more, anyway. That ever happen to your skates?”
“It used to,” Buddwing answered.
“Yeah? How’d you fix it?”
“Well, I mean it used to happen when I had skates.”
“Did you lose them or something?”
“No. I just outgrew them.”
“Oh.” The boy nodded. “You ought to get a new pair.” He took the skate from his left foot, and said, “I just want to put these in the hallway,” rose immediately, and ran into a building two doors up. Buddwing waited on the sidewalk. In a few moments, the boy returned. “Okay,” he said, and began walking. Buddwing fell in beside him.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“Sam Buddwing.”
“I’m Eric Michael Knowles,” the boy said.
“Glad to know you, Eric.”
“Have you got a middle name?”
“No,” Buddwing said.
“Well, that’s all right,” Eric said. “Pete’s middle name is Farley. The thing about him, though, is he always gets sick on weekends. That makes it rough, you know. He’s got a lot of toys. Sonar Sub Hunt, and Stratego, that’s a game, and a skeet shoot, and even a set of H-O tanks.”
“Of H-O what?”
“Tanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Buddwing said, and Eric laughed immediately.
“You want to hear a dirty joke?” he asked.
“Sure,” Buddwing said.
“A boy fell in the mud,” Eric said. Buddwing laughed, and Eric watched him curiously for a second, and then laughed with him. “That’s really a very old one,” he said. “Do you get it?”
“Sure,” Buddwing said.
“What is it?”
“Well, a boy fell in the mud.”
“Yeah, but what’s so funny about that?”
“Well, you asked me if I wanted to hear a dirty joke.”
“Yeah, I know.” Eric paused. “What’s a dirty joke?”
“Well...” Buddwing hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
“Then why is it funny?”
“Well, I guess a boy falling in the mud is pretty funny.” Buddwing said.
“Yeah, and pretty dirty, too.” He shrugged. He looked at Buddwing shrewdly and then said, “It’s a good thing the army’s got those things that can go through the mud, ain’t it?”
“What things?” Buddwing asked.
“You know. Those big metal things with treads on them.”
“Tanks?”
“You’re welcome,” Eric said at once, and then burst out laughing. “You’re welcome,” he repeated, almost under his breath, as though savoring the joke a second time, and storing it in his memory. “The playground is up there, near the Drive,” he said.
“Yes, I know.”
“I thought you didn’t live around here.”
“I don’t. But I know where the playground is.”
“It’s a pretty corny playground,” Eric said. “You want to walk by the river instead?”
“Okay.”
“I’m not allowed to walk by the river because you have to cross the parkway, and also a kid drowned there last summer.”
“Well, I’m allowed to,” Buddwing said.
“Then I guess it’s okay, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“I always wanted to throw stones in the river. Do they arrest you if you throw stones in the river?”
“I don’t see why they should.”
“Let’s do it, then.”