Unhooking the Moon (12 page)

‘There's the Statue of Liberty!' said the Rat.

It must have been nice for the old immigrants to see her, especially after such a long journey. Winnipeg should have had a Statue of Liberty for our immigrants because they had a long journey too, longer. But the French never saw fit to make us one.

‘Come on, Bob.'

We rode up to the top of the bridge and stopped to take in the view. Above us a beautiful American flag fluttered in the breeze. It looked magical. But everything
looked magical. What's more the city seemed to buzz. It wasn't a sound you could hear, it was more of a vibration. Maybe it was the millions of conversations, or the cars on the streets, or the electricity that ran through the cables. Or maybe it was a force that came from the city itself. When I looked at the Rat she was smiling. ‘It's the Emerald City!' she said.

Suddenly I was scared. I felt like we were on the verge of something. And I knew that once we rolled down the boardwalk we'd have no control over it. ‘What shall we do?' I asked. I said it more to myself but the Rat's pointy ears picked it up.

‘First I have to go to Ground Zero to say a prayer,' she said, pushing her bike to the edge of the slope. ‘And then we can start our search.'

I felt like I was on a high diving board and she was hurrying me to jump. But it was too late to turn back now. And when the Rat got religious there was no stopping her. So we rolled down the boardwalk and into Manhattan singing ‘New York, New York' as we went.

We cycled into the city, weaving in and out of the double-parked delivery vans, the slowing yellow taxis, and the cops who slapped citations on stagnant windscreens. The streets were loud with pounding
jackhammers, screaming whistles, and orange-vested construction workers who shouted to each other in thick New York accents. As did the drivers who hurled insults at the cars that held them up. New York was so noisy it made me nervous. And it was as smelly as an old garage.

As we rode we sneaked glances at the high-rises and the helicopters that hovered above them. Some of the buildings were huge masses of steel and glass while others looked so old and sophisticated they might have had gargoyles at the top.

The Rat stopped her bike and, oblivious to the traffic, she frowned up at them. Then she came back down to earth and asked a guy the way to Ground Zero. He never stopped walking, but shouted street names and pointed as he went. We didn't understand his directions, but we headed off in the direction he had pointed in.

When we found it the Rat gave me her bike and, walking towards a security fence, she looked down into what was more of a construction site than a hole. Then she clasped her hands together and, bowing her head, she prayed. A couple of construction workers stopped their hammering and looked on. It was a bit embarrassing to tell you the truth. But the Rat didn't
care, and neither did the passing New Yorkers. I was soon to learn that you could act as crazy as you like in New York and nobody would care. So in that sense, the Rat was in the right place.

When she came back she looked sad. But it
was
sad. I remember the Old Man crying the day it happened, and the day after. And I remember the Rat, who was really little at the time, putting her arms around him to comfort him.

Suddenly she stopped and turned her head to one side. It was as though she was listening to something. ‘There have been angels here,' she said, ‘hundreds of them. They must have helped the people into heaven.' Then she looked around her, scanning the area.

I looked around as well to see what she was looking at. ‘Are you looking for angels?' I asked.

‘No, stupid. I'm looking for a coffee shop! I'm upset, Bob. I need a mocha!'

‘OK! OK!' I said. She's such a little mood swinger.

We wandered around until we found a place with a lot of business types inside. The Rat's mood changed when she got her mocha. She went from being sad to sarcastic in a second. ‘Not as sophisticated as Winnipeg people,' she said, analysing her fellow coffee drinkers.

‘No,' I said.

‘No. Not really. And that guy can't take his eyes off that woman's legs! Every time she looks away he's staring at them!'

I looked over to see a big brunette in a short dress and she did have legs worth looking at. But I said nothing. The Rat could be a real prude at times. Most of the time, if you asked me.

‘Look! Now he's touching them! In public as well!'

‘Why don't you drink your mocha?'

‘I have a plan, Bob!' she said sitting up. ‘We'll start off in the Bronx. I've heard there are a lot of drug dealers there. One of them is bound to know Uncle Jerome. I have a very good feeling about the Bronx. A great feeling in fact!'

‘Are you kidding! Do you know how dangerous the Bronx is? We could get killed.'

‘Call yourself a man.'

‘I never did. And this is your first time in New York. You don't even know where the Bronx is.'

‘I know what I know, Bob. And the Bronx is the place to start.'

‘You don't know anything.'

‘Ah beep you, Bob. I'll tell you what,
you
lead the way if you're so damn smart. See how far we get. Go
on. Where do you wanna start our search?'

She folded her arms and glared at me. I didn't have a clue where to start our search and she knew it. Then she sipped her mocha smugly like she held all the cards. Some days I felt like punching her in the head. I really did.

‘The last time I had a feeling as good as this was when Taija got hit by lightning.'

The Rat once had a rival back in Winnipeg and her name was Terrible Taija: a kid as scary as a serial killer. Even Little Joe didn't like her and he likes everyone.

She stole the fundraising money that was meant for St Boniface and said she had found it in the Rat's coat pocket. No one believed her, not the Luxton teachers, not the other kids, and certainly not Father Henri. I mean, there's no doubt the Rat was a closet shoplifter and I'm sure she'll be convicted of something someday. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. But she would never steal money collected for a good cause. Never.

Anyway, she told me one morning she had a very good feeling that this was the day Terrible Taija would get her comeuppance. And sure enough Taija was struck by lightning. She never died or anything, but she stuttered for a month and she wobbled when
she walked. After that, her mother moved her to Churchill, the shame of failing to frame the Rat still hanging over her. The Rat's convinced she'll be eaten by a polar bear one day, and is no doubt looking forward to hearing the news. As for the lightning, I think it was just a coincidence. But the Rat's premonitions could be pretty accurate.

‘OK. We'll start off in the Bronx.'

‘And we should check the internet. Uncle Jerome might have a website.'

She was still a little kid really. I smiled with satisfaction as I told her that New York drug dealers don't have internet sites. But I did check the phonebook. I didn't think a drug dealer would have his name in the phonebook either, but in New York you never know. I even called information, but there wasn't a single DeBillier listed.

‘We could be the last of the DeBilliers,' said the Rat. ‘Just like the Mohicans.'

We found a bank to change our Canadian dollars into American dollars, and then we walked around a maze of ropes and posts until we arrived at a teller.

‘This is a lot of money for you kids to be carrying around,' said the teller, who looked like a stern schoolteacher. ‘There're a lot of crooks in this city.'

‘She's right, Bob. Make sure you count the money.'

‘Little girl, I wasn't talking about me. I'm not a crook!'

‘You wouldn't tell us if you were,' said the Rat.

The Rat was just winding her up. She did that some days. She took a dislike to someone and decided to wind them up. She could be a bit of a bully. Very sternly and slowly the woman counted out our money. The Rat was making us enemies and we'd only just arrived.

We found a subway and, bumping our bikes down a set of steps, we saw a guy in a glass box.

‘We want to go to the Bronx,' said the Rat to the guy in the glass box. ‘Can we have two tickets and can you tell us how we get there?'

The guy passed her the tickets and spoke into a microphone. ‘Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Uptown Blur! Blur! Blur! The Bronx.'

‘Can you repeat that please?' asked the Rat.

The guy looked offended. ‘Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur! Uptown Blur! Blur! Blur! The Bronx!' Then he pushed the mike away to indicate that no further help would be given.

‘I think we've upset him,' said the Rat. ‘Maybe it's not his job to give out information.'

‘Here, kids.' A tall redheaded policeman held open
a black gate and we went through with our bikes.

‘Thank you, officer,' said the Rat.

‘Go down them stairs over there and take the C train to 42nd Street. There's an underground walkway you can take to Times Square and from there you can take a train to the Bronx.' Then he looked at us, puzzled. ‘Why you kids wanna go the Bronx?'

Just then someone called him on his radio and we slipped down the stairs hoping he wouldn't follow.

The New York subway was depressing. It was dirty and dismal and the floor was sticky with gum. You'd think a city as rich as New York could get the gum off the floor, or at least get the drunk off the bench so we could sit down. And the people were different from Winnipeg people. Some of them spoke different languages. But that wasn't it … they were just different.

We waited for the train to come while breathing in the stale air and watching out for muggers. There are always muggers in New York movies, especially on the subway. It's a movie mugger's paradise. And there were a few crooked-looking characters standing about. In fact the whole platform looked like a line-up for America's most wanted. I couldn't wait for the train to come.

It wasn't long before one came. It roared into the station, fanning us with a warm gust of wind, and then screeched to a screaming halt. But we couldn't get on, it was jammed with people. Even if we never had our bikes we couldn't have got on. The people inside watched us while waiting for the doors to close. And not one of them looked happy. When it left we made our way to the end of the platform, hoping the compartments would be less full on the next train.

‘There's a rat!' said the Rat. ‘Look at the size of it. There's another!'

‘They're your New York cousins.'

She laughed and I laughed with her. ‘Here's a train,' shouted the Rat to the rats. And as though they understood her they scurried away.

When the train stopped we squeezed inside with our rucksacks and bikes while bumping into people. We apologized as best we could, but they didn't look impressed. And so we stood there feeling uncomfortable until the doors closed. Then we rocked and swayed with the other passengers until we saw a station that said 42nd Street.

‘We're here,' said the Rat.

We got off and, along with an army of people, we followed the signs to Times Square station.

‘Don't get lost,' I said. It was crazy. There were thousands of people coming and going, and there were so many staircases and signs, and so many uptowns and downtowns we were like rats in a trap, at least my sister was.

Eventually we saw a sign saying the Bronx and bumped our bikes down the steps to the platform. But it had two tracks.

‘Excuse me,' I said to this white-whiskered old guy. ‘Which side is for the Bronx?'

‘What? Are you stupid? This is going downtown. Downtown! You want to take the 2 train opposite. You have to go back up the stairs. Get it together, kid!' And then he glared at me like I'd tried to mug him or something. Trust me to ask the grouch.

‘That's the famous New York rudeness,' said the Rat.

She wouldn't have thought it was so famous if he'd been rude to her. But we scurried to the opposite platform just in time to take the Bronx-bound 2 train.

As soon as we were on board a black woman in a dirty white T-shirt swung open the compartment door. ‘Hello, everybody,' she shouted. ‘My name is Janice. I'm hungry and homeless and I haven't eaten in days. If anyone could help me out with some spare
change, or something to eat, I'd appreciate it. Y'all have a nice day.'

The compartment went quiet as she passed through with her cup. No one put money in it. In fact most of the people put their heads down. I felt bad for her because she was poor and had no front teeth, and so I put a dollar in her cup.

‘Thank you, sir,' she said, and passing through to the next compartment she closed the door behind her.

‘You're such a sucker,' said the Rat.

Then a black man came into the compartment. ‘My name is Joe. I'm trying to get some money together so I can sleep somewhere safe tonight. I was robbed last night. And the night before. I don't wanna get robbed again tonight. Any donation would be appreciated.' And he too came through the compartment with a cup.

Once again the heads went down. But this time the Rat gave him a dollar. ‘Thank you kindly,' he said and followed Janice into the next compartment.

‘You think Janice and Joe are friends?' asked the Rat.

Before I could answer, an older black woman came through. She never made a statement like the other two. She just gave her cup a little wave and smiled as
she walked. And for some reason people put money in it. Maybe it was because she had a nice smile and she was better dressed. Or maybe she had a better technique. Either way her cup was overflowing. Then another one came! I'm not kidding! There was a never-ending parade of beggars passing through the compartment.

‘There's a lot of money in this begging business, Bob.'

I bet there was too.

The train went from being under the ground to over the street and when it did me and the Rat attached ourselves to the windows. We waited for a station that said the Bronx, but one never came.