Lost Souls

chapter 27

From downtown to Nummy’s neighborhood, the big storm pipe led uphill. The rise never grew steep enough to make them breathe hard.

Nummy could walk as tall as he was. Mr. Lyss was a little too tall for the drain, but he always stooped anyway, even in the open, so he didn’t bump his head.

Because of the way he stooped, Mr. Lyss sometimes reminded Nummy of a witch he’d seen in a movie, bending over a giant iron pot as she mixed up some magic soup. At other times, Mr. Lyss made Nummy think of old Scrooge in a different movie, mean old Scrooge hunched over a pile of money, counting and counting.

Mr. Lyss never reminded Nummy of any nice people in the movies.

At any time, having a flashlight was a good idea when you used the storm-pipe shortcut, but you could get by without one during the day. Evenly spaced street drains overhead, covered with gratings, made waffles of sunshine on the floor.

Between the sunshine waffles, the dark was plenty dark enough for Nummy, but there was always another waffle ahead.

Smaller drain lines opened into the main one. Nummy couldn’t always see them, but he could hear his footsteps echoing off to the left or right when he passed another pipe. If Mr. Lyss cursed the dark just then, his words spun away, hollow and spooky, into other parts of town.

Sometimes when Nummy was in the storm pipe alone, he felt like something lived down here-something not someone-but he didn’t know what it might be, and he didn’t want to find out. When the feeling got really strong, he stayed out of the storm pipe for weeks.

A few times, when he had a flashlight, he saw a rat-once dead, three times alive. Never more than one, no packs of them. Anyway, rats weren’t the unknown thing that maybe lived down here. Each time Nummy saw a live rat, it seemed to be running scared from something, and not from him.

No rain in two weeks meant the pipe was dry. There wasn’t a bad odor right now, only the smell of concrete all around.

As he had done before, close behind Nummy, Mr. Lyss said, “Don’t try running away from me.”

“No, sir.”

“I’ve got a bloodhound’s nose.”

“Like you said before.”

“I’ll track you down by smell.”

“I know.”

“And tear your guts out.”

“I never would leave you here, sir.”

“I’ll wrap your guts around your neck and strangle you with them. Would you like that, Peaches?”

“No.”

“I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again. I don’t live by any rules, and I have no pity.”

Nummy heard someone talk once about a pity party. He didn’t know what kind of party that was, but it sounded like Mr. Lyss couldn’t go to a pity party if someone asked him because he didn’t have any pity to bring. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was so angry all the time, because he wanted to go to parties but couldn’t.

Nummy felt sorry for Mr. Lyss.

Nummy was never asked to parties, either, but that was all right because he didn’t want to go. All he ever wanted was to stay home with Grandmama. Now that Grandmama was gone, all Nummy wanted was to stay home with his dog, Norman.

But if you wanted to go to parties and you couldn’t, that must be sad. Nummy tried always to choose happiness, like Grandmama told him he could and should do, but he saw how other people were lots of times sad, and he felt sorry for them.

Slowly the storm pipe curved, a long curve, and when they came all the way around to where it ran straight again, there was a big circle of light at the end.

A round grating covered the end of the pipe with crossbars to keep trash and junk wood from washing into the drain. The grating looked like it was fixed all the way around to the sides of the pipe, but it was really like a coin standing on edge. If you knew where the little hidden lever was, you could press it and turn the entire grating sideways to the opening.

“Pivot hinges,” said Mr. Lyss. “Who showed you that?”

“Nobody. Just found it one day.”

They came out of the pipe into a large but shallow concrete catch basin. Workers had cleared out the trash from the last storm. The concrete bowl was clean and dry.

A narrow road dead-ended at the catch basin. They followed it downhill a little way, then left the blacktop and crossed a field to the back of Nummy’s house.

“Sweet little place,” said Mr. Lyss. “Looks like freakin’ Snow White lives here with seven damn dwarfs.”

“No, sir. Just me and Grandmama. Now me and Norman.”

Nummy peeled back the doormat to get the key.

Mr. Lyss said, “You just hide the key under the doormat?”

“It’s a secret,” Nummy whispered.

“Haven’t you ever come home and found your place cleaned out wall to wall?”

“No, sir,” Nummy said as he unlocked the door. “I do all the cleaning my own self.”

In the kitchen, Mr. Lyss said, “Cozy.”

“Grandmama she liked cozy and so do I.”

“Where’s this dog that better well not bite me?”

Nummy led him into the living room and pointed to the sofa on which Norman sat.

Stamping his foot, slapping his hip, Mr. Lyss laughed. He had a laugh you wanted to run from.

“That’s no dog, you idiot.”

“He is too a dog,” Nummy said. “He’s a good dog.”

“He’s a stuffed-toy dog is what he is.”

“Well, you got to imagine good,” said Nummy.

“You have a brain the size of a chickpea. You want a dog, why don’t you get a real one?”

“Grandmama she said a real one might be too hard for me, after she was gone. I have to clean house, make food, take care of myself, and that there’s a big job, even without no dog.”

Mr. Lyss laughed again, and Nummy stepped away from him.

In a meaner than usual voice that reminded Nummy of how that movie witch cackled over her big iron pot, Mr. Lyss said, “You been able to teach old Norman some tricks? He looks so smart.”

“He’s got better tricks than some real dog,” Nummy said.

Just to prove that Norman was special and to make the old man sorry he laughed, Nummy went to the sofa and sat beside his dog.

Hidden behind one of Norman ’s ears was a button. When Nummy pushed it, the dog said in a nice but growly voice, “Rub my tummy.”

“And you probably turn him upside down and rub it half the night,” Mr. Lyss said, and he started to laugh harder than ever.

Nummy pushed the button again, and in his nice growly voice, Norman said, “Can I have a treat?”

Mr. Lyss laughed so hard tears filled his eyes, and he sat down on a chair as if he might fall down if he didn’t sit.

Through his laughter, the old man said, “He must eat you out of house and home!”

Norman the dog said, “Let’s play ball.” He said, “I don’t like cats.” He said, “Time for a nap.”

Mr. Lyss continued to laugh but not as hard as before.

Norman the dog said, “You are very kind to me.”

Mr. Lyss wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve.

Nummy hugged Norman, and the dog said, “I love you.”

Beside the first button was a smaller one. If you pushed it, you didn’t hear the next thing the dog could say, but you heard again the thing it had just said.

“I love you,” the dog repeated.

Holding Norman close, Nummy said, “I love you, too.”

Norman ’s fur was soft and silky. Nummy liked to pet him.

After a while, he pushed the smaller button again, and the dog said, “I love you.”

With the dog to hold and pet, Nummy almost forgot about Mr. Lyss. When he remembered him, the old man was still sitting in the chair, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked different, too-not as much like a witch.

“How old are you, kid?”

“I’m told I’ll be thirty-one next March.”

“How long’s your grandma been gone?”

Nummy shrugged. “Not long. But too long.”

After a silence, Mr. Lyss said, “We can’t stay here. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they’ll come here looking for you.”

“Chief Jarmillo he’s my friend,” said Nummy.

“Not this Chief Jarmillo.” Mr. Lyss got to his feet. “Hey, kid, you have any money?”

“Sure. Grandmama left me money.”

“Where is it?”

“Most is in the bank. Mr. Leland Reese he pays bills and gives me pocket money.”

“But you have some here in the house?”

“Some.”

“Show me where it is. And I have to get out of this jail suit.”

Standing up with Norman in his arms, Nummy said, “You gonna steal from me?”

“Nobody said anything about stealing. I’m asking for a loan. I’ll pay it back.”

“A loan,” Nummy said. “Well… ”

“Kid, we don’t have time to negotiate an interest rate. We have to get out of here before those extraterrestrial sonsofbitches show up, rip our heads off, and do to us whatever the hell it was they did to those people in the next cell.”

Nummy remembered the good-looking young man in the gray pants and the sweater, and how he stopped being good-looking, stopped being a man, and got as ugly as anything could get.

He shivered and said, “Okay, a loan.”