Holes (Holes 1)

“No,” said Zero. “How about you.”

“No,” Stanley lied. He didn’t want to be the first one to take a drink. Although they didn’t mention it, it had become a kind of challenge between him and Zero.

They climbed down into the frying pan. It was a different spot from where they had climbed up. They eased themselves down from one ledge to another, and let themselves slide in other places, being especially careful with the sack.

Stanley could no longer see the Mary Lou, but headed in what he thought was the right direction. As the sun rose, so did the familiar haze of heat and dirt.

“You thirsty?” Zero asked.

“No,” said Stanley.

“Because you have three full jars of water,” said Zero. “I thought maybe it was getting too heavy for you. If you drink some, it will lighten your load.”

“I’m not thirsty,” said Stanley. “But if you want a drink, I’ll give you some.”

“I’m not thirsty,” said Zero. “I was just worried about you.”

Stanley smiled. “I’m a camel,” he said.

They walked for what seemed like a very long time, and still never came across the Mary Lou. Stanley was pretty sure they were heading in the right direction. He remembered that when they left the boat, they were headed toward the setting sun. Now they were headed toward the rising sun. He knew the sun didn’t rise and set exactly in the east and west; more southeast and southwest, but he wasn’t sure how that made a difference.

His throat felt as if it was coated with sandpaper. “You sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

“Not me,” said Zero. His voice was dry and raspy.

When they did finally take a drink, they agreed to do it at the same time. Zero, who was now carrying the sack, set it down and took out two jars, giving one to Stanley. They decided to save the canteen for last, since it couldn’t accidentally break.

“You know I’m not thirsty,” Stanley said, as he unscrewed the lid. “I’m just drinking so you will.”

“I’m just drinking so you will,” said Zero.

They clinked the jars together and, each watching the other, poured the water into their stubborn mouths.

Zero was the first to spot the Mary Lou, maybe a quarter mile away, and just a little off to the right. They headed for it.

It wasn’t even noon yet when they reached the boat. They sat against the shady side and rested.

“I don’t know what happened to my mother,” Zero said. “She left and never came back.”

Stanley peeled an onion.

“She couldn’t always take me with her,” Zero said. “Sometimes she had to do things by herself.”

Stanley had the feeling that Zero was explaining things to himself.

“She’d tell me to wait in a certain place for her. When I was real little, I had to wait in small areas, like on a porch step or a doorway. ‘Now don’t leave here until I get back,’ she’d say.

“I never liked it when she left. I had a stuffed animal, a little giraffe, and I’d hug it the whole time she was gone. When I got bigger I was allowed to stay in bigger areas. Like, ‘Stay on this block.’ Or, ‘Don’t leave the park.’ But even then, I still held Jaffy.”

Stanley guessed that Jaffy was the name of Zero’s giraffe.

“And then one day she didn’t come back,” Zero said. His voice sounded suddenly hollow. “I waited for her at Laney Park.”

“Laney Park,” said Stanley. “I’ve been there.”

“You know the playscape?” asked Zero. “Yeah. I’ve played on it.”

“I waited there for more than a month,” said Zero. “You know that tunnel that you crawl through, between the slide and the swinging bridge? That’s where I slept.”