Next, Ivan stepped up to do his magic tricks. Josef shouted, “Here comes Houdini!” but Ivan didn’t look his way.
Red-faced, he said, “I dedicate this performance to my aunt Elena, because she’s magic!”
First Ivan did a kind of dopey trick where he unbent a spoon with his mind—first strenuously miming bending it, then pretending to unbend it, dramatically showing the intact spoon. “Wow! Great!” the crowd called out politely. Then he did the Magic Coloring Book, where he showed the audience an uncolored book by flipping through its pages, then gave a magical flourish, and showed it again, fully colored. More enthusiasm for that one. Finally, his pièce de résistance. Bringing out four shiny rings, he demonstrated that they were unconnected, with no gaps, and he proceeded to fiddle with them, forming first a chain of four—cries of amazement—then a four-leaf clover. There was delighted clapping and calls for more. Tim whistled again. But Ivan only bowed and waved to Elena and ran to the back of the crowd to nestle beside her.
I felt a bit heartened by all the enthusiasm so far, but for a moment I seriously considered going into the house and hiding under my bed. But I saw Beau and D.L. smirking off to the side, then I looked at Brickie, and he nodded solemnly, giving me a thumbs-up. Elena knew I was faltering and blew me a kiss. I resolved not to disappoint them. Picking up my bow and an arrow, I yelled, “Everybody has to move away from the target!” The target was not very far, close to the street, behind the crowd, but I felt like it was a hundred miles away. The crowd parted. I drew back on my bow, setting my feet apart, trying to steady myself, and let the arrow go. It hit an inner circle, not the bull’s-eye, but not a disgrace, either. There was some clapping. I drew back on another arrow, but as I did, I spied the satanic Schwinn on the lane behind the crowd, nearly obscured by the hedge. Nobody but Max, Beatriz, and I, high on the stage facing the lane, could really see it. Max hissed, “Slutcheon!” The bike approached our yard. Either it was too late for me to stop or the Special Tropical Punch gave me a jolt of courage, or insanity. Aiming just to the left of the big target, I let my arrow fly, and it landed in the spokes of Slutcheon’s front wheel. He wobbled crazily for a second, trying to stay on the bike, but then ditched on his side. He scrambled up fast, his nasty face looking stunned. He limped and remounted, and kept going. Incredibly, he didn’t scream anything, and more incredibly, I guess because of the punch or because I was up higher, the grown-ups hadn’t noticed what transpired behind the hedge, just that I’d been seriously off target. There were calls of “Aww!” and “That’s okay! Try again!” But Max, Beatriz, and the Shreve boys, who’d been watching from the branches of a dogwood, all clapped and whooped ecstatically. Max hollered, “Go, Johnny, go!” I couldn’t believe what I’d done and knew there’d be hell to pay with Slutcheon, but I didn’t care. I readied my last arrow. Feeling brave and rock-solid now, I shot again. The arrow hit the target to the right of the first one, barely inside the center circle, but definitely a bull’s-eye. The crowd hollered, “Bravo!” and “William Tell!” and best of all, there was a shout of “Just like Errol Flynn!” I knew it was Brickie who’d yelled it, but that was fine. Elena and Ivan grinned and waved. I gave a Robin Hood–like bow, wishing I’d worn my old Peter Pan cap with its hawk feather, which would have added the perfect flourish.
Beatriz stepped up, now wearing a grass skirt over her skort and holding her hula hoop, announcing, “And now, in honor of Hawaii, our new fiftieth state, I will perform to the song ‘Me Rock-a-Hula,’ by Mr. Bill Haley and His Comets.” I couldn’t help thinking that if she still had her long hair she would look more Hawaiian, but she was an eyeful. Max was agog.
Brickie put her record on, and she began swiveling her hips, hula-hooping and hula-dancing in perfect time to the rocking music. Everybody clapped along. She hula-ed all over the stage, and then came down the steps, into the audience, still performing her spectacular moves, until the song was over. The crowd went wild. Max let out some wolf whistles, and Tim shouted, “Well, A-lo-HA, Miss Hawaii!” She curtsied several times as her mom, dad, and sister called out, “Brava! Brava!” Gellert ran up, grinning, and sniffed Beatriz’s hair appreciatively. The De Haans came over to congratulate us and tell us how much they were enjoying the Fiesta, the General telling Max, “I vas goodt vit a yo-yo vhen I vas a boy. I should show you zome tricks. Come over vun day and I vill!” Josephine moseyed over and said, “I’m sho glad to see you kids doin’ something constructive. And in the daytime.” Then she gave us each a hug, spilling a little of her beer on Max, who didn’t care a bit, he was so happy. “We’re back in the pool, you guys!” he cackled. “Score one for us!”
Everyone went back to partying with new enthusiasm and more booze. The grown-ups refreshed their drinks and chattered about how great we were. The punch was getting low, but there was still plenty of beer, and Dimma had brought out Brickie’s special vintage bottle of Cuban rum, which guests were mixing with Cokes, stirring with their fingers. Brickie put on a record, and the partying resumed. Maari and Liz showed off, doing the Hand Jive to “Hey! Bo Diddley,” everyone watching them and bouncing to the beat, fingers snapping.
We went back to where Elena sat on the grass. “You were so wonderful, kids!” she exclaimed. “Beatriz, we will have to get you on Ed Sullivan!”
Tim came over, beaming, and congratulated us. “Popsicles for all of you tomorrow after school, and they’re on me, because today, you guys are beautiful.”
Ivan looked like he had when he had a stomachache, but he said he was okay. “You’re probably just three sheeps to the wind,” Max said. “If you put your finger down your throat, you’ll throw up and feel better. That’s what my sister does after a date.” Elena laughed and a tear slipped from one eye. She wiped it away, revealing a little bruised patch on her cheekbone. Then she checked her watch. I was glad her date hadn’t shown up. Maybe he’d stand her up, and she would stay.
Brickie put on the Jackie Wilson “Reet Petite” that we kids loved, and I cried, “Let’s dance, Beatriz!” She and I joined the dancers and began bopping. Beatriz was good at it and I was lousy, but Beatriz didn’t mind. Everyone belted out the refrain, “Uh oh oh oh, uh oh oh oh.” Max tapped me on the shoulder. I backed off, incredulous, and Max and Beatriz danced. All the grown-ups—at least those who could—were whirling and laughing, and, except for the Chappaquas, not with their spouses, I noticed: Dimma and Senhor, Brickie and Mrs. Shreve, Mrs. Friedmann and Josef, Mr. Friedmann and Josephine, the General and Mrs. Andersen, Tim and Maria, and Madame with Mr. Shreve, who was doing pretty well with his game leg. Beau and D.L. were dancing with Maari and Liz! Gellert danced with Zariya! Even the toddler tribe goofily rocked out. “The Beaver Plan is working!” I hollered at Ivan. Even the Pond and Advice ladies, parked off to the side, seemed to be having fun, although the Advice Lady couldn’t resist calling, “You people are going to expire in this heat,” as if the guests were deviled eggs, but it was true that everyone was shiny with sweat. Ivan and I dragged Elena up, and she danced with us both, giving us extra twirls. But then Tim broke in and he and Elena bopped. Ivan and I jigged around together—who cared if we were both boys. The Senhora begged off from Mr. Andersen, probably to keep a better eye on Beatriz, or the Senhor, so Mr. Andersen began dancing with me and Ivan, which was a little disturbing, and in a few moments we sat down. He didn’t seem to mind and continued a sort of interpretive dance with Kees and Piet.