The Same Stuff as Stars

“No, and it’s not good for you to stay up so late listening to an old man carrying on. I’ll put out the cigarette, and you get yourself to bed, okay? There’ll be other clear nights.”

She hated to go, but she went, carrying the heavenly swan inside her. She’d look it up and surprise him by learning the names of the stars. She could remember Albireo. How could she ever forget those twin stars? And Deneb—but the others she’d have to practice. They did sound like sneezes.

Maybe there was a library in the village. She’d ask Grandma, tell her that besides the five basic food groups growing kids needed to read lots of books. If there was a library, she and Bernie could walk there and get books to read. They might have a book about the stars that would be easier to understand than her musty encyclopedia. Bernie wasn’t crazy about books. They reminded him too much of school, and he hated school. He’d flunked first grade for spite. He wasn’t stupid, just stubborn. Angel would make him go with her to the library, though. Welfare wouldn’t separate a little kid from a big sister who made sure he ate right and read him lots of books.

At the kitchen door she stopped to take one more look at the sky. She couldn’t find the swan. It was as though it had flown away and lost itself among the stars.

ELEVEN

Miss Liza of the Library

When Angel and Bernie came downstairs the next morning, there was a brown grocery bag on the kitchen table.

“Where did that come from?” asked Angel. For one wild minute she imagined that Verna had come back in the night.

“It was at the door when I opened it to see what the weather was,” Grandma said. “I guess Santy Claus must have brung it.”

“Santa Claus don’t come in the summertime, Grandma,” said Bernie.

“Well, maybe it was the tooth fairy. How should I know?”

“Grandmas aren’t supposed to lie to children,” Bernie said.

“Oh, be quiet, Bernie. Grandma’s just teasing you.” Angel didn’t care who had brought the bag. She wanted to unload it. Milk, a whole gallon—good. A plastic bag with grapes and some bananas—good. Another box of the cereal Bernie hated, so it couldn’t have been Verna who left the groceries. She would know better. A canned ham, not as good-tasting as hamburger but at least another food group, and a loaf of sliced white sandwich bread. Looked like the tooth fairy or Santa Claus or whoever had been boning up on nutrition. There was still “room for improvement,” as Ms. Hallingford used to write on report cards, what with the white bread and no vegetables, but they were definitely “showing progress.”

“Me, oh my,” said Grandma. “I think I’ll have me some of that ham for my breakfast. Why don’t you open it and fry some up, Angel?”

“I don’t like ham,” Bernie said.

“Well, who was asking you, junior?”

“I’ll just fry up some for Grandma and me. You can have cereal.”

“I don’t like that kind of cereal. It’s yucky.”

“Well, it’s all we got now. You ate up all the Sugar Pops.”

“We can buy some more.”

“Not till Grandma gets her check. So what’ll it be? Ham or cereal?” Angel went to the sink. The ham had to be opened with the little key that was stuck on the top. She’d watched Verna do it once when there’d been a canned ham in the Salvation Army Christmas basket. She’d never heard Verna cuss as much as she did trying to open that can. Angel pulled the key off and pried up the metal flap. The trick had to be to wind it absolutely straight. “Grandma? Have you ever opened one of these before?”

“Eh-yup.”

“Would you mind doing this one?”

“Not on your stuffed cabbage. I tore my hand open last time.”

All the time she was talking to Grandma, Bernie was jumping up and down, jabbering, “You not listening to me, Angel!” he said.

“I’m trying to open this can, Bernie. Be quiet.”

“I’m starving to death, and you won’t give me nothing to eat. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.”

“Shut up, Bernie. There’s lots to eat. You’re just too picky. That’s your problem. If you’re starving to death, you eat rats and weeds. That’s what really hungry people do.”

He began to wail. “I don’t want to eat no rats!”

“Well, shut up whining and eat your cereal, then.”