A Rage for Revenge

30 Bear

I should have gotten back in the Jeep and driven away somewhere. But I didn't have any place to go. And besides, Betty-John had told me to stay as long as I needed. They had the room. They didn't mind.

But there wasn't all that much to do around Family. At least, not for me. They had a hundred and seventeen kids to take care of, all various ages from six months up to the age where they stopped being kids and started being assistants. There were thirty-one adults in the town-well, actually, nineteen adults and twelve teenagers, but the teenagers still counted as adults because they were doing adult jobs. Sixteen women, three men, eight girls, four boys; that was the core around which Family revolved.

Three of the women were the mothers of the three youngest children, but it wasn't readily apparent. All the babies seemed interchangeable, regardless of parentage. No one here, either adult or child, acted as if they belonged specifically to any other person. All of the children responded to all of the adults as if they were all their parents. But, of course, that was the whole purpose of the settlement: to parent as many orphans as possible.

I felt as useful as a third nostril.

I tried to keep out of the way. I puttered around the library for a day or two, at first just looking for something to read; somehow, I ended up stacking and shelving and organizing-the place was a mess-but there is nothing that can erode the love of books quite like having to move and sort kilos and kilos and kilos of dusty hardcopies.

I hung around the mess hall for a while, trying to find someone to play dominoes with, but it seemed as if everybody had something else more important to do.

Like I said, I should have gotten back in the Jeep and driven away somewhere.

But this was the last place my mother had been, and . . .

. . . that was odd. I didn't really miss her. I mean, I missed her, but there wasn't an aching hole in my heart that twinged every time I thought of her.

What I did feel was guilt-that I didn't feel more pain. No. What I felt was anger.

It was the divorce, of course. She'd disowned me-a fact that I had conveniently refused to believe. I'd gotten in the Jeep and I'd come looking for her. I didn't know why-and I did.

Sort of.

I wanted her to welcome me with open arms, hug me, and tell me that everything was going to be all right.

Instead . . . she'd disowned me again. This time for good. This time there was no chance of apologizing. Ever.

Goddamn her for leaving me!

And goddamn me-for everything!

I didn't know what to do. All I knew how to do was keep on keeping on. So that was what I did.

I lurched from one day to the next, doing odd chores for Betty-John and the others and waiting for things to sort themselves out.

Of course, they didn't. They never did. Jason had always said

Fuck Jason.

So, mostly, I hung around the mess hall. I ate their food, there wasn't any shortage of food here. I swept their floors. I washed their dishes. Maybe I could stay here for a while. I could lose myself in books and sandwiches and videodiscs and games. I'd been pretty much that way as a kid.

But there had to be something else, something moreBetty-John came striding through the mess hall on some busy errand or other. I tried to flag her down, but she hardly noticed me. She was involved in some uproar concerning committee schedules. She was yelling into her phone

"Betty-John?" I touched her sleeve.

"Oh, Jim-look, I'm awfully busy right now. Can it wait? Thanks. Look, be a love and go down and watch for the bus. We've got some new kids coming in. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure." I felt grumpy, but one thing about Betty-John. If she said, you did. You couldn't really argue with her; the more you talked to her, the more jobs she laid on you.

Kids. They were an annoyance; underfoot, loud, and messy. Runny noses, scabbed knees with red stains of Mercurochrome, dirty faces, small clammy hands-and it was hot outside too.

I went anyway. I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and I must have looked like somebody's idea of a camp counselor. Clean and scrubbed. And it's hard to look impressive in shorts. Especially if you have knobby knees. Probably I looked younger than I had in months; I'd always looked younger than my age. One of my many vanities had been to fantasize that the armed services would make a man out of me. But I couldn't see that there was any difference in the mirror in the morning, and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that whatever it was they were supposed to do for me, it hadn't taken. I'd always heard that those who had been through combat came back with an extra little hardness around their eyes, a kind of mysterious glint that women could somehow sense and respond to. All I saw in myself was my usual unfriendly scowl. If I had somehow taken on a "bloody aura of danger" I couldn't see it.

Never mind. I parked myself under a tree near the lower barricade and began to wait.

I was awakened by a horn beeping and the tired wheeze of a dusty yellow bus. It reeked of methanol and its brakes complained loudly as it rolled to a stop before the sawhorse that kept traffic off the main street of Family. Anxious faces of children peered out of closed windows. The driver-he couldn't have been more than sixteen himself-climbed down with a clipboard. "Hey!" he called imperiously.

I stood up and walked over.

"Who's in charge here?" he demanded.

"Who're you looking for?"

"You know someone named . . ." he checked his clipboard. "Tremaine?"

"Yeah. She's up there somewhere." I gestured vaguely.

"Oh, shit. Hey, can this barricade be moved? Or knocked down?"

"'Uh-uh. We've got children running around. You'll have to hoof it."

He groaned and went back to the bus, opened the door and called in. "You kids stay here, or else! I'll be right back."

I watched him. He had about as much empathy as a slug. And just as much sense. The kids started piling out of the bus within seconds-I would have too. He hadn't inspired much trust, and these weren't trusting kids anyway. They were wide-eyed and suspicious. Curious, but very cautious. The oldest couldn't have been more than fourteen, the youngest were two bundles in blankets, held by two of the girls. They looked tired.

I sighed to myself and walked over. Somebody had to keep an eye on them. "Hi," I said.

They all froze and stared at me. There were seventeen of them, counting the two babies. They had large round eyes, and looked like a cage full of hungry puppies who'd been beaten instead of fed.

I hunkered down to look at one little boy, about four or five. Sandy-haired, he looked a little like Mark. (Mark? Oh, yeah, my nephew. Had I really forgotten?) "What's your name?"

He just stared back at me with the roundest eyes of all. "My name is Jim," I tried. "What's yours?"

Still no answer.

I pointed at the almost shapeless hunk of stuffed animal he carried. "What's your bear's name?"

He murmured something. Very tentatively. "Huh? I didn't hear you. What's his name?" This time louder. "Bear."

"Mm, that's a good name. Is he a good bear?" Round-Eyes shook his head slowly.

"He's a bad bear then . . . ?" Again he shook his head. "But he's your bear, isn't he?"

Slow tentative nod. The child wasn't sure what to make of me. Grown-ups were supposed to be good people, but I was a stranger to him. And God alone knew where he had come from and what he had been through. I wanted to stroke his hair or give him a hug-to show him everything was going to be all right now-but Betty-John had warned me, some of these kids were funny about being touched. Don't touch any of them unless you ask their permission first.

"Will you shake hands with me?" I held out my hand, but not too far. He'd have to reach for it.

He looked at it. He looked at me.

Most of the kids were watching us. They were watching me more than him. A little girl opened up then. "I'll shake hands with you." But there was a "What's in it for me?" implied in the way she said it.

"Okay," I said. I held out my hand to her. She was wearing a faded brown dress-where had I seen her before? She'd been skipping, hadn't she? She must have been seven or eight, or maybe even nine, but she was so gaunt it was hard to tell. She could have been older.

She shook my hand gravely, never once taking her eyes from mine.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Holly," she said solemnly.

"Well, hi, Holly. I'm Jim." I tried to coax a smile from her. I'd been told that if you keep smiling at a kid, they'll smile back, because they haven't yet learned how to smother an almost instinctive response. But apparently this bunch had learned, because it wasn't working. They were regarding me like a used-car salesman. They were skittish, and obviously frightened; what would this towering grown-up want from them? I wondered what some of them must have been through to have learned a reaction like that.

"I had an Uncle Jim once . . ." Holly offered. It was a wary comment, as if she wanted to know if I was going to try to be the "official" replacement.

I tried a different tack. B-Jay had warned against dredging the kids' memories, especially in inappropriate circumstances. First they had to experience that they were in a truly safe place before they could confront their past experiences.

I said, "Good. Will you be my friend?"

She stared. "Don't you have any other friends?"

I shook my head, slowly and very deliberately. I'm sure she suspected me for a liar, but adults never lied. Well, hardly ever. "Not any?" She was horrified. "But you must . . ."

"Not even a bear," I insisted.

That convinced her I was telling the truth. If grown-ups insist on something, it must be true.

"Well . . ." She thought about it. This was a pretty big commitment, even more than getting married. She hesitated, then decided. "I'll be your friend."

"Okay." I looked back at little Round-Eyes. "Do you have a friend?"

He had been watching the exchange between Holly and me with the most intense stare I'd ever seen on a child. Now, when I turned back to him, he merely hugged his bear tighter and tried to shrink away. I wanted to pull him closer to me, but instead I just shifted my position. All this hunkering down and squatting to talk to three-foot people was hard on my back.

"His name's Alec," offered Holly.

"Alec what?"

"I dunno."

A third child stepped forward, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, maybe more; most of these children were small for their age. He'd been watching me a little harder than the rest.

"Who're you?" he demanded suspiciously. "Are you the boss here?"

"My name's Jim."

"I know. But who are you?"

"I'm Holly's friend." I tried to sidetrack him. I offered my hand.

It didn't work. "Uh-uh. What do you do here? We're not supposed to talk to strangers?"

"You weren't supposed to get out of the bus either."

He ignored that. "I'm thirsty."

"What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

I shrugged, shifted position again, gave up, straightened and leaned back against the bus. The metal was still warm and felt dusty. I knew without looking that I'd just gotten this T-shirt very dirty. "So I'll know what to call you." I looked down at him. The advantage that height gave me was more than psychological, but I sensed this wasn't the moment for "I'm bigger than you are" games. Instead, I grinned. "You don't want me calling you, 'Hey, you,' do you?"

He wrinkled his nose, turned to the other kids, ignoring me completely. "Come on, let's get back on the bus before Ollie gets back." He reached out to drag Alec, but Alec pulled away. The boy grabbed Alec again, and again Alec pulled away, this time with a little whine of resistance. The boy stepped forward, raising his fist.

I grabbed-his wrist slapped into my hand. I caught it and held it. I held his arm up high over his head, not too high, but high enough and hard enough to be uncomfortable. And embarrassing. "Hold it," I said quietly, but firmly. "There's not going to be any hitting around here."

"Who says?"

"I do. "

"So what?"

"Well, I'll tell you what-" All right, so I would play the game if I had to. I picked him up by the front of his shirt. It was heavy enough material to support him, his feet left the ground nicely; vhis could turn into quite a power trip. "l say so-I'm bigger than you." I held up my fist-gently, very gently now-in front of his face. "A lot bigger. So, if there's any hitting to be done, I've got first dibsies."

He muted his belligerence, he had no choice, but not his resentment or distrust. I couldn't take those away from him. He bit his lower lip and looked away. I'd won.

I lowered him to the ground, put my hands into my pockets and grinned.

He socked me in the stomach.

I deserved it; I'd let my guard down.

The problem with hitting a kid that size is how do you do it without looking like a bully? The answer is you don't. Fortunately, the question didn't even cross my mind until I'd finished clobbering him. Gently, of course.

First, I cuffed him up one side of the head; then, as he reached up to protect himself, I poked at his stomach with four stiff fingers. He sort of doubled up, and that's when I walloped his behind with the flat of my hand. Then I held him-at arm's length, the little bastard was still trying to kick me-and I slapped him once more. I had him by the throat then, one hand wrapped firmly around it, and he stopped; he had to if he wanted to keep breathing.

I tried not to show that I was out of breath too. He fought like a tiger. "Let's get one thing straight, stupid," I said. "Don't ever try that again."

He glared. "Well-Alec is mine."

"Your what? Are you two brothers?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It's just . . . we stay together. Wherever we go."

"Oh," I said. I had to think about that. I eased up on his neck. "Can I trust you?"

He nodded.

"All right." I let go. "Nobody's going to separate you, if that's what you're afraid of. But you don't have to hit him."

"He doesn't talk much. And if you don't hit him a little, he doesn't move either."

I wondered if Alec was autistic. Maybe; but then again, maybe not. Maybe he was just as withdrawn as the rest of us who had walked into the sledgehammer, which was just about everybody. Sometimes insanity is the only sane response to an insane situation; hadn't Foreman once said something like that? "Well," I said, putting a hand on Alec's shoulder-he had huddled up next to me for protection, I hadn't even noticed until I put my hand down-"Well, around here, it's all right if you don't talk." I leaned down close to Alec. "If you don't want to say anything, you don't have to. Okay?"

He didn't answer, but he never took his eyes off me. Betty-John Tremaine came hustling up then, a collection of freckles with strawberry-blonde hair; it couldn't decide whether to be yellow or red, so settled instead on an unholy pale pink color that floated around her face like a glowing corona. Her attempts to tan had turned her into the source of all freckles; they sometimes called her complexion Mother-Of-Freckle, but never to her face. She had been pretty once; she still was, but now in a leathery sort of way. "Oh, hi, Jim; I'm glad you're here. The kids okay?"

"Just fine."

Ollie, the driver, was frowning. "You kids were supposed to stay on the bus."

"It was too hot for them," I said. "I told them to get off."

"Well . . ."

B-Jay ignored him. She had sized him up as accurately as I had. "Come on, kids. We've got some cold lemonade and baloney sandwiches and cookies and peach ice cream all waiting to be eaten up. Oh, who has to go potty?" She began herding them toward the mess hall. "Then we'll get you some clean clothes and-oh my, look at how dirty some of you are. Well, we'll all go swimming and wash off all the dirt in the creek-hi, what's your name, peanut?-and then we'll give you your own rooms to stay in, and-who likes movies? Let me see your hands. Okay, we'll show a movie too."

"I've got a couple too small too walk," Ollie said, obviously annoyed at something, her-or me, probably.

"So, I'll carry one and Jim . . . ?"

"Oh, sure," I said. "I don't mind. I was making friends anyway. "

One of the older girls-maybe twelve or thirteen, but as gaunt as the rest-piped up. "I can carry one. I've been carrying him all week. I can carry him a little farther. I don't think he's feeling too good though. He's all hot and . . ."

"Well, let me see . . . you're right, we'll get him to the infirmary right away. What's your name, honey? Susan? Okay, you carry him. I'll carry this little lady in pink here, and--oof, she's heavy! Okay, kids, see that yellow building up there, that's where we're going."

I started to follow, bringing up the rear, watching for stragglers, or escapees, when I felt a tug at my arm. I looked down, and round-eyed Alec silently slipped his hand into mine.

"Well," I said. "You want to walk with me? Okay, let's go." I guess I felt kind of proud. Maybe I could be trusted after all. Or maybe he just felt he ought to try to get along with someone who'd just proven he had the right to hit. Either way.

Holly took my other hand, because she was my friend now, and the older boy, whose name was Tommy, tagged carefully along on the other side of Alec. He made a point of taking Alec's hand, possession being nine points of the law.

I wondered if I could win him over. "Where are all of you from, Tommy?"

"I don't know. We all came from the center. That's in Sacramento. Alec and I are from Klamath and Holly's from Orinda. "

"I know Orinda," I said. "That's where the big Jell-O Foundry used to be."

"I never saw it," said Holly, blankly. So much for jokes.

Tommy added, "I don't know where all the rest are from."

"It doesn't matter, you're all at Family now."

"Family? What's that?"

"This is Family. That's the name of this place."

"That's a funny name." That was Holly.

"So is Holly a funny name."

She pouted. "It is not."

"Well then, neither is Family."

"I thought a family was a mommy and a daddy and all their children. "

"That's right. Only here, we have a lot of mommies and daddies and children. It's all one big Family. So that's what we call it."

She eyed me with curious suspicion. "Are you a daddy?"

"Nope. "

"Then what are you?"

"I'm me. I help out."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, I get to spank all the bad kids and kiss all the good ones."

"Oh." She edged a little bit away, even let go of my hand. A minute later, she grabbed hold of it again. Apparently, she figured I was safe after all. She said, "I guess that's okay. I'll even help tell you who all the bad ones are."

"Oh, I think I can tell without any help."

"I'll help anyway, okay?"

"Okay."

We got to the mess hall then and followed the rest of the crowd in. B-Jay was sitting the kids down at long tables, propping the smaller ones up on cushions, snapping orders at Daddy Potts and the other cooks and assistants, even as she kept up a running patter with all seventeen of the kids simultaneously. "Get Doc over here fast, and Nurse Ivy too; some of these kids have infections, but I want to get some food in them first. Daddy, let's get some big bowls of soup on the tables. And then we promised them all sandwiches and lemonade-no, you can't drink your lemonade until you finish your soup-and have we got any of that peach ice cream left? Well, so we won't have it for dinner tonight. The kids are more important-what's that? No, you won't have to get a shot. Unless you need it; Doctor Birdie-yes, that's her real name-is a very good doctor. She doesn't like to give shots. Jim, will you help out here please? Sit down at that end and help those three you brought up."

"Come on, Alec and Holly and Tom--can I call you Tom instead of Tommy? We'll sit over here."

I lifted Alec onto a chair. Too short. I looked around quickly, grabbed a cushion and slid it under him. He was holding onto his bear with both hands. "Hey," I said seriously. "It's going to be hard for you to eat unless you put Bear down. Nobody's going to take him." Something told me not to try taking the bear away from him myself. He had to surrender it on his own. In fact, I wouldn't even touch that bear without his permission. That possessiveness was a signal.

I got up and went over to the steam table, snagged a tray, put some soup and crackers on it, some bread and butter, some celery, uarrots, what else would be attractive to a hungry, dirty child? Sandwiches? Definitely-and apples too. I went back to the table and started distributing the goodies.

Holly had already made up her mind that I could be trusted. She started eating immediately. Tommy checked me out first, sniffed his soup, then began eating slowly, with manners even. Alec just stared.

I looked around the room. The other kids were gobbling up the food as fast as it was being dealt out to them by Daddy Potts and his helpers and B-Jay and just about every other available man, woman, and teenager in the area. Just about every kid had someone fussing over him, it seemed, but it was really just an illusion of motion, there weren't that many adults available. These three apparently were mine for the moment. I sighed. Okay. Turned back to Alec.

"You're going to have to put Bear down." He shook his head.

I considered the situation. He trusted me. A little bit anyway. But he was shy and he was scared and he was in a terrifying new situation. I reached over and stroked his hair. It was very fine and soft, even though it was matted with dirt. There is something about stroking a young child's head that is intensely sensitive. Not just the trust it requires, but the actual sensation itself-something, I think, that harkens back to animal roots and instincts.

Then I had an idea, something from my own childhood. I leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. And then I leaned down and kissed Bear too.

His eyes went as wide as they could with surprise.

I ignored the look, shifted the bowl of soup directly in front of him, picked up a spoon and offered it to him.

He eyed the soup. And me. And the spoon. And Bear. Shapeless old Bear. And then he did it all again.

"Well, if you don't want any, let's see if Bear does." I offered Bear the spoon. "Mmmm, there, you see-Bear likes it. Isn't that good? What's that, Bear? More? Well, wait a minute, let's see if Alec wants some. We have to take turns here." I dipped the spoon in the bowl and held it out to Alec. "Your turn."

Alec's mouth opened almost before he could think about it. I popped the spoon in quickly. "That's the way." His eyes widened slightly in surprise. The soup was good. I gave him a second spoonful, then a third, before he realized he'd been had. He almost started to pout, but there was a fourth spoonful of soup staring back at him. With a piece of meat in it.

He made up his mind. He very carefully kissed Bear and held him out to me. "Will you hold him?"

I started to reach, then stopped just short of touching. "You're sure now? You're sure he'll be okay?"

He bit his lip. Maybe I shouldn't have asked that question. "He's very scared," said Alec. "You'll have to hold him and tell him he's a good bear."

"Okay. " I took Bear carefully into my lap. A torso and one arm. No head. But there was still enough to love. How much of a bear did you have to lose anyway before you lost the soul? Probably a lot more than a head and three limbs.

Alec took the spoon from me and insisted on feeding himself. He pulled the bowl as close to his face as he could and hunkered down over it and spooned the hot vegetable soup into his mouth quickly, looking around all the while as if afraid someone were going to take it away from him. He kept looking over at me and Bear. Bear especially. I made a big show out of stroking Bear and feeding him crackers-to his neck hole. That seemed the most appropriate aperture. Alec was working on his second bowl of soup before he remembered that it was Bear's turn again, but Bear wasn't hungry any more, he'd been filled up on crackers, so Alec had to finish the soup himself.

"Good, huh?" I asked.

Alec was too busy eating and Bear had his neck full of cracker. I took that as answer enough.

Half a table away, someone spilled a glass of milk and started crying

"Oohhhh, we had an accident!" That was B-Jay, already rushing up with a towel. Daddy Potts was right behind her with a fresh glass of milk. "It's all right, honey, don't cry. There's lots more milk where that came from. Jim?" She looked over at me. "We'll need a mop."

I started to get up, but Alec's sudden start stopped me. "Uh I can't. "

"Huh?"

I held up Bear. "I'm Bear-sitting."

She looked puzzled, almost ready to get mad; then she saw Alec and caught it. "Oh, okay."

I was beginning to catch on. The kids were all-important. Whatever else, save the kids. We didn't know what they'd been through, and we didn't have the time to dig into their personal histories. We had to feed them, bathe them, play with them, hold them, kiss their hurts, physical and psychological, and do whatever else they needed right away-because these kids needed one thing more than anything else: assurance that they were safe. Their every need had to be met now, not next week, or an hour from now, or some indefinite later. These kids didn't know later, they only knew now. And these kids were scared. Whatever they'd been through, they were all of them terrified that it wasn't over, not yet; that this . . . this illusion we called Family was only a temporary and unreal Oz and that they would be sent back to Kansas and the desperate hunger of reality all too soon. They were

248DAVID GERROLD

grabbing hungrily for whatever we could give them because they were too damned scared that it wouldn't last and they would have to go hungry again for days at a time, or that they might get beaten, or might have no warm place to sleep or even to hide. Most of all, they were scared that there would be no one to hug them and tell them that they were good and that everything would be all right, even when they knew it really wouldn't. These kids were smart, all kids are. They knew when things weren't all right, but they still needed a parent to tell them that things werebecause it's the existence of that parent that makes everything all right, someone strong they can depend on. What they needed most was someone else who cared and would be responsible for them. For a little while, anyway. A kid isn't ready to be responsible for himself; it makes him old before his time, makes him forget what laughing is for-so if that meant sitting and holding a stuffed piece of bear that was falling apart even as I held it while milk, which was selling at KC 3.23 a gallon, dripped onto the floor, well, that's what it meant. Milk could be wiped up any time. But Alec insisted that Bear had to be held. And that meant now. And I had a hunch about that, too--he wasn't talking about Bear. He was talking about Alee.

What was the word? Projection? Never mind. That was textbook, this was people. Alec couldn't allow himself to show weakness. Not ever. So it was Bear who needed the hug. I sat there and hugged Bear.

Holly and Tommy were working on sandwiches. Alec was having trouble with his, but he refused Holly's help. I put it back together for him-he was willing to accept my help-and placed it firmly in both hands. Tuna salad. Very messy. But good. I licked off my fingers. It was only recently that tuna had come back from being a delicacy to a staple. I'd missed it. Some of the side effects of the Recede weren't all bad. Alec was staring at me. "You weren't supposed to eat it, only fix it."

I put the sandwich together for him again, and this time wiped my hand surreptitiously on my shorts. I'd have to sneak down to the kitchen later and feed my own bear.

B-Jay was standing and counting quietly. "Seventeen," she muttered. "Three down in the infirmary, fourteen beds . . . damn. All right, Betty-John, let's figure this one out by eight tonight. Baths. Right--down to the creek. We'll take 'em swimming and sneak some soap up behind them; probably leave a ring around the whole reservoir. We'll need underpants, sandals, shirts, shorts, definitely Band-Aids. . . .

A RAGE FOR REVENGE249

Someone screamed, one of the little girls. She was standing on her chair and pointing at the door.

"Oh, that's only old Wag," said Betty-John. "She won't hurt you."

Wag was a mangy-skinny, scrawny, count-the-ribs-fromtwenty-meters, old yellow dog with a tongue that lolled halfway to the ground. She was a collection of haphazard pieces of dog: a cockeyed grin; knobby legs; splayed feet; large brown eyes that rolled this way and that, looking for a handout or even a friendly pat; and a gangling, ungainly way of walking that made you wonder why she didn't keep stepping on her ears-her head dipped and bobbed. Dr. Frankenstein must have started out by experimenting with boneless animals.

The little girl was almost hysterical now. Most of the other children were upset and disturbed too, probably thinking, Is this the proper response? Should I be screaming too?

Wag lolled her tongue, rolled her eyes, did her clown act, left out the juggling though, and gangled into the room. The child screamed.

B-Jay was already swooping her into her arms. "Wag's okay, she's just a dog."

"A dog!" cried the girl. "A dog!"

Uh-huh. Right. The kid didn't think of dogs as friendly animals. Dogs were large, vicious things that bit you and stole your food. I'd bet money on what this kid had been through. "She won't hurt you."

"Let me shoo her out, B-Jay." Little Ivy.

"No! Wag is a member of this family too. We're all friends here. Patty and I will go eat in the back room, so Wag can meet her new friends." Still talking, she started walking. "Come on, Patty. "

"No-! I don't want to go!" "Then we'll stay here!" "No!"

"Well, then what do you want?"

"Make it go away!" She pointed at Wag.

"Uh-uh. " Betty-John was firm. "No, honey. Wag is part of our family. She won't hurt you, not any more than I would or ugly old Jim would or anyone would. You can't ask us to push anyone out of the family. We wouldn't do it any more than we would let someone push you out."

The girl looked at her, a funny expression on her face. "Do you want to finish lunch?" B-Jay was firm.

"Uh-huh." The girl nodded.

"In here?"

"Uh-huh."

"if I promise you Wag won't hurt you, will you sit and eat quietly?"

"Oh . . kay. . . "

Wag lolled around the room, sniffing and licking and gladly accepting handouts from tentatively lowered hands. She inspected the floor as she went, licking stray scraps into her mouth. Rule number K-9: Anything that falls on the floor is legally mine. She almost managed to chew with her mouth closed, too; for a dog, she had exceptional table manners. She even came up and sniffed Bear a friendly hello.

Alec stiffened, and when Wag slurped Bear-actually a tiny gobbet of tuna salad-he looked very suspicious.

"Did he bite Bear?" To Alec, all dogs were he, and all pussycats were undoubtedly she.

"Nope," I said. "She only tasted him. I think she likes Bear."

"Is he going to bite him now?"

"No. Wag doesn't bite. He-she only slurps. Like this." I leaned over and slurped his cheek. "Mmm, good. Soup." Alec giggled and wiped with the back of his hand.

Holly looked surprised. "Hey, he laughed!"

I turned to her. "What's so surprising about that?"

"He doesn't talk much. And he never laughs."

"Not even if he's tickled?" I said it seriously.

She tilted her head back and eyed me. "You can't tickle us."

"Betcha I can."

"You're not allowed to."

"Who says?"

"Uh . . I says."

"Well, we'll just have to see about that . . . "

She could too be tickled. And so could Alec. And even Tommy, a little. Not only that, they could even laugh-a little. Even Bear looked a little happier-at least for someone without any head, he looked happier. It was hard to tell.