Monkey Island by Paula Fox Page A

She’d probably even worry about them. She had tried hard to understand what it was like for me, squinting her eyes to show me how much she wants to help.
    â€œOkay,” he said. He felt older than the small plump woman who was looking at him with so much sympathy on her face. At least, part of him did.

9   The Biddles
    Clay’s clothes had been washed except for the corduroy jacket. Dirt had worked into it so deeply it was nearly all one color, an ashy brown. The lining hung from the collar in shreds. He held up a sleeve to his nose. He thought he could smell the streets he had walked on, the ground he had slept on, even the dust-thickened pieces of blanket and canvas he had wrapped himself up in. He bundled up the jacket and held it on his lap, not knowing what to do with it, yet worried at the thought of leaving it in the hospital.
    â€œYou look good, Clay,” the nurse, Alicia, said on her way to one of the other beds, where she took the temperature of a child with a broken arm, who explained, “My Christmas skates did it.”
    Clay was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting. There was a big hole in the sole of his right shoe, but a wad of newspaper Buddy had slipped into the shoe was gone.
    He hadn’t seen Buddy since Christmas morning. Today was January 2. A new year had begun. He wondered if he would ever see Buddy again. In a paper bag next to him was Robinson Crusoe and the English double-decker bus. It was only a toy. Real buses groaned and rumbled along streets, and the drivers in their high seats looked impatient and stony.
    â€œHello, Clay,” somebody said.
    A tall, broad-shouldered woman was looking intently at him from just inside the door. She was wearing a thick, fuzzy gray coat. Little wisps of brown hair stuck straight out around her ears from under a black wool hat on her head. She was holding a pair of red mittens and a big black pocketbook in one hand. In the other, she gripped a black jacket.
    â€œI’m Edwina Biddle,” the woman said. “I know Mrs. Greg explained to you I’d come to take you home with me today.”
    She held out the black jacket.
    â€œThis is an old thing someone outgrew. But we’ll get you a proper coat as soon as we can,” she said. “It’s very cold outdoors today.”
    â€œThank you,” he said. His voice squeaked as though it needed oil.
    Alicia smiled at him as she passed the woman on her way to the hall.
    â€œI hope you’re hungry. I made a meat loaf for supper, and there’s tapioca pudding too.”
    Clay felt tears spring to his eyes, wash down his cheeks, and touch the edges of his mouth. Edwina Biddle remained near the door. She said nothing but kept a steady gaze on his face. When his tears stopped as quickly as they’d begun, she came to the bed and held out her hands with all the things she was carrying hanging from them. He took hold of them and gave a jump so his shoes smacked the floor.
    Later, he was glad she had not rushed over to him and hugged him, or said things like, Don’t cry — everything will be all right . At that moment, he would not have liked to be hugged by someone he didn’t know. He hadn’t, after all, been crying because he felt terribly sad or frightened. His tears had come from the burst of relief he had felt at the word home .
    â€œI hope you’re not married, and I hope you don’t smoke cigars,” Mr. Biddle said that evening when he arrived home from work. He was a big man, broad in the shoulders like his wife. In his dark brown hair, just over his forehead, grew a startling streak of white hair. Clay smiled politely. Mr. Biddle was a joker.
    â€œHave some gum,” he said, holding out the yellow-wrapped stick to Clay. “And call me Henry.”
    â€œDon’t give him that before supper, Henry,” said Mrs. Biddle from the kitchen. “The sugar will take away his appetite.”
    â€œWill it?”