The PigmanBook JacketRating:EDITORIAL REVIEW:

JohnConlan and Lorraine Jensen have to tellabout something that just happened to them,about an experience too overwhelming tokeep private.

The two high-school sophomorescomefromconstricting,unhappy homes, and although life seems tol-erable since they have found each other,there is still much to be desired. Unusual cir-cumstancesintroducethemtoalonelyoldman with an awful secret. An intense friend-ship results, and together the three create astrange, unreal worldout of theirzaninessand laughter.

But the very energywhich built this world soon works to destroyit, and John and Lorraine are left again withtheir own reality.

This perceptivenovel hasafresh, startlinglyunsentimentalstory to tell about two young people search-ing for a way out of emptiness.

T-wo high school sophomores tell of the tragicconsequences of their friendship for a lonelyman.

NotableChildren'sBooks19401970 (ALA)Best of the Best Books (YA)19661988(ALA)1969Fanfare Honor List(The Horn Book)Outstanding Children'sBooks of 1968 (NYT)Best Children's Books of1968 (Book World)3/262The PigmanPaul Zindel1Now, I don't like school, which you might sayis one of the factors that got us involved withthis old guy we nicknamed the Pigman. Actu-ally, I hate school, but then again most of thetime I hate everything.I used to really hate school when I first star-ted at Franklin High. I hated it so much thefirst year they called me the BathroomBomber. Other kids got elected G.O. Presid-ent andclasssecretaryandlab-squadcap-tain, but I got elected the Bathroom Bomber.They called me that because I used to set offbombs inthe bathroom. I set off twenty-three bombs before I didn't feel like doing itanymore.The reason I never got caught was because Iused to take a tin can (that's a firecracker, asif you didn't know) and mold a piece of clayaround it so it'd hold a candle attached to thefuse. One of those skinny little birthdaycandles. ThenI'dlight the thing, andit'dtake about eight minutes before the fuse gotlit. I always put the bombs in the first-floorboys' john right behind one of the porcelainunmentionableswherenobodycouldseeit.Then I'd go off to my next class. No matter5/262where I was in the building I could hear theblast.IfIgotall involved, I'dforgetIhadlitthebomb, 1and then even I'd be surprised when it wentoff. Ocourse, Iwasneverassurprisedasthe poor guys who were in the boys' John onthefirstfloorsneakingacigarette, becausethe boys' John is right next to the Dean's of-fice and a whole flock of gestapo would racein there and blame them. Sure they didn't doit, but it's pretty hard to say you're innocentwhenyou'recaught withalungful of rich,mellow tobacco smoke. When the Deancatchesyousmoking, itreallymaybehaz-ardous to your health. I smoke one with a re-cessed filter myself.Aftermybombavocation,Ibecametheor-ganize?of thesupercolossal fruit roll. YoucouldonlydothisonWednesdaysbecause6/262that was the only day they sold old apples inthecafeteria. Sick, undernourished, antiqueapples. They sold old oranges on Fridays, butthey weren't as good because they don'tmakemuchnoisewhen*fourollthem.Buton Wednesdays when I knew there was goingto be a substitute teaching one of the classes,I'd pass the word at lunch and all the kids inthatclasswouldbuythesescrawnyapples.Then we'd take them to class and wait for theright moment-likewhenthesubstitutewaswritingon the blackboard.You couldn't de-pendonasubstitutetowriteontheblack-board though, because usually they just toldyou to take a study period so they didn't haveto do any work and could just sit at the deskreading The New fork Times. But you coulddependonthe substitute tobe mildly re-tarded, so I'd pick out the right moment andclearmythroatquiteloudly-whichwasthe7/262signal for everyone toget the apples out.Then I gave this phony sneeze that meant tohold themdown near the floor. When Iwhistled, that was the signal to roll 'em. Didyou ever hear a herd of buffalo stampeding?Thirty-fourscrawny, undernourishedapples rollinguptheaislessoundjust likeaherdof buffalostampeding.Everyoneof thefruit rollswassuccessful,except for the time we had a retired postmanfor General Science 1H5. We were supposedtostudyincandescent lamps, but hespenttheperiodtellingusaboutcommemorativestamps. He was so enthusiastic about the olddays at the P.O. I just didn't have the heart togive the signals, and the kids were a little putout because they all got stuck with oldapples.8/262But I gave up all that kid stuff now that I'm asophomore. The only thing I do now that isfaintly criminal is write on desks. Like rightthis minute I feel like writing something onthenicepolishedtablehere, andsincetheCricketisdownattheotherendofthelib-rary showing some four-eyed dimwit how touse the encyclopedias, I'm going to do it.Paul ZindelNowthat I'veartisticallyexpressedmyself,we might as well get this cursing thing overwith too.I was a little annoyed at first since I was theone who suggested writing this thing becauseIcouldn'tstandthemiserablelookonLor-raine 's face ever since the Pigman died. ShelookedalittlebitlikeaSaintBernardthatjust lost its keg, but since she agreed to workon this, she's gotten a little livelier and more9/262opinionated. Oneof her opinionsisthat Ishouldn't curse."Not in a memorial epicl""Let's face it," I said, "everyone curses."She finally said I could curse if it was excru-ciatingly necessary by going like this @J$%.Nowthat isn't too bad an idea because@#$% leaves it to the imagination and mostpeople have a worse imagination than I have.SoIfigureI'll golike@#$%ifit'samildcurse-likethekindyouhearinthemovieswhen everyone makes believe they're morallyviolated but have really gotten the thrill of alifetime. If it's going to be a revolting curse,I'll just put a three in front of it- like3@#$%-andthenyou'llknowit'stheraun-chiest curse you can think of.Just now I'd better explain why we call MissReillen the Cricket. Like I told you, she's thelibrarianat Franklinandislettingustype10/262this thing on her quiet typewriter, which isn'tquiet at all. But therearen't manykidsinseventh-periodstudybecausemostofthemcut it andtheothersget excusedearlybe-causeour school is overcrowded. It's onlykids like Lorraine and me that get stuck withseventh-period study because we have tostay around for an eighth-period class calledProblems inAmericanDemocracy. Andifyou think having Problems in AmericanDemocracy is a fun way to end the day, youneed a snug-fitting straitjacket.Anyway, Miss Reillenis alittleonthefatside, but that doesn't stop her from wearingthese tight skirts which make her nylonstockings rub together when she walks so shemakes this scraaaaaaatehy sound. That's whythekidscall hertheCricket. If shetaughtwoodshop or gym, nobody'd really know shemakes that sound-but she's the librarian,11/262and it's so quiet you can hear every move shemakes.Lorraineispantingtogetatthetypewriternow, so I'm going to let her before she has aheart attack.2IshouldneverhaveletJohnwritethefirstchapter because lie always has to twist thingssubliminally. I am not panting, and I'm notabout tohave a thrombosis. It's just thatsomeverystrangethingshavehappenedtousduringthelastfewmonths, andwefeelwe shouldwrite themdownwhile they'refresh in our minds. It's got to be written nowbeforeJohnandI matureandrepressthewhole thing.Johndoesn't reallycursethat much, andIdon't thinkheneedshissystem. But evenwhen we were in Miss Stewart's typing class,he had to do something unusual all the time-12/262like type a letter in the shape of an hourglass.That's the kind of thing he does. And as youprobably suspected, the reason John getsaway with all these things is because he's ex-tremely handsome. I hate to admit it, but heis. An ugly boy would have been sent to re-form school by now.He's six feet tall already, with sort of longishbrownhairandblueeyes. Hehasthesegi-gantic eyes that look right through you, espe-cially if he's in the middle of one of his fant-astic everyday lies. And he drinks andsmokesmorethananyboyIeverheardof.The analysts would call his family the sourceproblem or say he drinks and smokes to as-sert his independence.Itriedtoexplaintohimhowdangerousitwas, particularly smoking, and even went tothetroubleoffindingacasehistorysimilarto his in a book by Sigmund Freud. I almost13/262had him convinced that smoking was an in-fantile, destructive activity when he pointedout a picture of Freud smoking a cigar on thebook's cover.'If Freud smokes, why can't I?" "Freuddoesn't smokeanymore,"Itoldhim. "He'sdead."Another time I got my mother to bring homea pamphlet about smoking inwhichtheyshowedlungsdamagedfromtobaccopois-ons. I even got her to borrow a book from adoctor, which had large color plates of lungsthat had been eaten away by cancer. She's anurse and can get all those things. But noth-ing seems to have any impact on John, whichI suppose brings us right back to his sourceproblem. Actually, we both have families youwouldn't believe, but I don't particularly feellikegoingintoit at themoment becauseIjustatelunchinthecafeteria. ItwasSwiss14/262steak. That is, they called it Swiss steak. Johncalled it filet of gorilla's heart.Also,you'llfindoutsoonenoughthatJohndistorts-when he isn't out-and-out lying. Forexample, inProblems inAmericanDemo-cracytheotherday, Mr. WeineraskedhimwhatkindofhomesearlyAmericansettlerslived in, and John said tree huts. Now JohnknowsearlyAmericansettlersdidn'tliveintree huts, but he'll do just about anything tostirupsomeexcitement. Andhereallydidset off those bombs when he was a freshman,which when you stop to consider sort ofshows a pattern-an actual pattern. I think heused to distort things physically, and now hedoes it verbally more than any other way.I mean take the Cricket for instance. I meanMiss Reillen. She's across the library watch-ing me as I'm typing this, and she's smiling.You'dthinksheknewIwasdefendingher.15/262She'sreallyaverynicewoman, thoughit'strue her clothes are too tight, and her nylonsdo make this scraaaaaaatchy sound when shewalks. But she isn't trying to be sexy or any-thing. If you could see her, you'd know that.She just outgrewher clothes. Maybe shedoesn't have any money to buy new ones orget theoldoneslet out. Whoknowswhatkind of problems she has? Maybe she's got aSickmotherathomelikeMissStewart,thetypingteacher. I knowMissStewart hasasick mother because she had me mark sometyping papers illegally and drop them off atherhouseafterschool oneday. Andtherewas her sick mother-very thin and with thissmile frozen on her face-right in the middleof the living room! That was the strange part.Miss Stewart kept her mother inthis bedright in the middle of the living room, and italmostmademe cry. She madea little joke16/262sbout it-howshe kept her mother in themiddle of the living room because she didn'twant her to think she was missing anythingwhen people came to visit. Can you imaginekeeping your sick mother in a bed rightsmack in the middle of the living room?WhenI lookat Miss ReillenI feel sorry.WhenIhearherwalkingIfeel evenmoresorryforherbecausemaybeshekeepshermotherinabedinthemiddleofthelivingroomjust like Miss Stewart. Who wouldwant to marry a woman that keeps her sickmother in a bed right in the middle of the liv-ing room?The one big difference betweenJohnandme, besides the fact that he's a boy and I'm agirl, is I have compassion. Not that he reallydoesn't have any com-passion, but he'd be the last one on earth toshowit. Hepretendshedoesn'tcareabout17/262anything in the world, and he's always readywith some outrageous remark, but if you askme, any real hostility he has is directedagainst himself.Thefact that I'mhisbest friendshowsheisn't asinsensitivetoHomosapiensashemakesbelieveheis, becauseyoumight aswell know I'm not exactly the most beautifulgirlintheworld.I'mnotVenusorHarlow.Just ask my mother."You'renotaprettygirl,Lorraine,"shehasbeen nice enough to inform me on a few oc-casions (as if I didn't remember the first timeshe ever said it), "but you don't have to walkabout stoop-shouldered and hunched." Atleast once a day she fills me in on one moreaspect of my public image-like "your hairwouldbebetter cut short becauseit's tookinky,'' and "you're putting on too muchweight," and "you wear your clothes funny."18/262If I made a list of every comment she's madeabout me, you'd think I was a monstrosity. Imay not be Miss America, but I am not theabominable snowwoman either.But as I was saying, it is a fact that John hascompassion deep inside of him, which is thereal reason we got involved with the Pigman.MaybeatfirstJohnthoughtofitallsimplyas a way of getting money for beer and cigar-ettes, but thesecondwemet theoldman,Johnchanged, eventhoughhewon'tadmitit. As a matter of fact, it was this very com-passion that made John finally introducehimself tomeandinvitemeforabeerinMoravian Cemetery. He always went toMoravian Cemetery to drink beer, whichsounds a little crazy, but it isn't if you explorehissourceproblemabit. AlthoughIdidn'tknow John and his family until two years agowhen I19/262moved into the neighborhood, fromwhatI've been able to gather I think Ms father wasa compulsive alcoholic. I've spent hours try-ing to analyze the situation, and trie closestI've been able to come to a theory is that hisfather set a badexample at anage whenJohnwasimpressionable.Ithinkhisfathermadeit seemasthoughdrinkingalcoholicbeverages was a sign of maturity. This partic-ular signof maturity endedupgivinghisfather sclerosis of the liver, solie doesn'tdrink anymore, but John does.I had moved into John's neighborhood at thestart of my freshmanyear, andhe andabunch of other kids used to wait for the samebus I did on the corner of Victory Boulevardand Eddy Street. I was in a severe state of de-pression the first few weeks because no onespoketome. Itwasn'tthatIwasexpectingthe boys to buzz around and ask me out, but20/262I was sort of hoping that at least one of thegirlswouldbefriendlyenoughtoborrowahairpin or something. I stood on that cornerdayafterdaywithallthekids, andnobodytalked to me. I made believe I was interestedin looking at the trees and houses and cloudsand stray dogs and whatever- anything not toletonhowlonesomeIfeltinside. Manyofthe houses were interesting as far as middle-class neighborhoods go. Infact, I supposeyou'd say it was a multi-class neighborhoodbecause both the houses and the kids rangedfrom wrecks to rich. There'd be a lovely brickhome with a lot of land, and right next to itthere'd be a plain wooden house with apostage-stamp-sizedlawnthat neededcut-ting. The only thing that was completely highclass was the 'trees. Large oldtrees linedmost of the streets and had grown so tall and21/262wide they almost touched. I loved looking atthe trees more than anything atfirst, butafterawhileeventhosestartedtodepress me.Then there was John.Inoticedhimtheveryfirstdaymainlybe-cause of his eyes. As I told you, he has thesefantasticeyesthattakeineverythingthat'sgoing on, and whenever they came my way, Ilookedintheotherdirection. Hiseyesre-mindedme of a descriptionof a giganticEgyptianeyethat wasfoundinoneof thepyramidsI readabout inabookonblackmagic. Somehow an archaeologist's wifeendedupwiththis hugestoneeyeinherbedroom, andinthemiddleofthenightitexplodedanda big cat startedbiting thearchaeologist's wife's neck. When she put thelights on, the cat was gone. Only the pieces ofthe eye were scattered all over the floor.22/262That's what John's eyes remind me of. Iknew even from the first moment I saw himhe had to be something special.Then one day John had to sit next to me onthe bus because all the other seats weretaken. He wasn't sitting there for more thantwo minutes before he started laughing.Laughing right out loud, but not to anyone. Iwas so embarrassed I wanted to cry becauseI thought for sure he was laughing at me, andI turnedmyheadall thewaysotheonlything I could see out the window of the buswas telephone poles going by. They call thatparanoia. I knew that because somemagazine did a whole article on mental dis-turbances, and after I read the symptoms ofeach of them, I realized I had all of them-butmost of all I had paranoia. That's when youthinkeverybody'smakingfunof youwhenthey're not. Some extremely advanced23/262paranoiacs can't evenwatchtelevisionbe-cause they think the canned laughter isabout them. Freud would probably say itstartedwithmymother pickingonhowIlook all the time. But no matter how it star-ted, I've got to admit that when anyone looksat me I'm sure they're noticing how awful myhair is or I'm too fat or my dress is funny. SoI did think John was laughing at me, and itmademefeel terrible, until finally-andthepsychiatrists wouldsay this was healthy-Ibegan to get madl"Would you mind not laughing," I said, "be-cause people think I'm sitting with a lunatic."He jumped when I spoke to him, so I realizedhewasn't laughingat me. Idon't thinkheeven knew I was there."I'msorry,"hesaid. Ijustturnedmyheadaway and watched the telephone poles somemore. Then I heard him whisper something24/262under his breath, and it had just the tone of afirst-class smart aleck. "I am a lunatic."ImadebelieveIdidn'thearit, butthenhesaid it again a little louder, "I am a lunatic.""Well,Iwouldn'tgoaroundbraggingaboutit,"Isaid, andIwassonervousIdroppedone of my books on the floor. I was mortifiedpicking it up because it fell between the seatand the window, and I was sure I'd look likean enormous cow bending over to get it. All Icouldthinkofatthatmomentwaswishingone of his eyeballs would explode and a nicebig cat would get at his neck, but I managedto get the book and sit straight up with thisreal annoyed look on my face.Thenhestartedthat laughingagain. Veryquietly at first, and boy, did it burn me! Andthen I decided I was going to let out a littlelaugh, so I did. Then he laughed a littlelouder, and I laughed a little louder,25/262andbefore I knewwhat was happening Icouldn't stand it, so I really started laughing,and he started laughing, and we laughed somuch the whole bus thought we were out ofour minds.Like Lorraine told you, I really amveryhandsomeanddohavefabulouseyes. Butthat doesn't get memuch, except perhapswith Miss King, this English teacher I'm go-ing to tell you about. I think she really goesfor me the way she always laughs alittlewhenshetalkstomeandsaysI'msuchacard.Acardshecallsme,whichsoundsri-diculous coming out of the mouth of an old-maid English teacher -who's practically fiftyyears old. I really hate it when a teacher hasto show that she isn't behind the times by us-ing some expression which sounds so up-to-date you knowfor sure she's behind thetimes. Besides, cardreallyisn't up-to-date26/262anymore, which makes it even more annoy-ing. Infact, thethingLorraineandIlikedbest about the Pigman was that he didn't goaround saying we were cards or jazzy or coolor hip. Hesaidweweredelightful, andifthere's one way to show how much you're nottrying to make believe you're not behind thetimes, it's togoaroundsayingpeoplearedelightful.Ihadforgottenthatstuffaboutparanoiainthat magazine Lorraine gave me to readabout seven months ago. She's always read-ingabout eyesexplodingandnuttypeopleand beehives and things. Theonly part that impressed me out of the wholearticle was about the crazy lady in the sanit-arium who hoarded food and sheets and tow-els and bathrobes- the one that used to wearall thebathrobesatonetime. Theysaidatone point she hadhoarded39sheets, 4227/262towels, 93 English muffins-and she waswearing8bathrobes. Herbigproblemwasshe didn't feel secure. So they let her pick outasmuchasshewanted, andsheendedupwith320towels, 2,633sheets, and9,000English muffins. Nine thousand Englishmuffins!But that's how it always is. Lorraine remem-bers the big words, and I remember the ac-tion. Whichsort of makessensewhenyoustoptothinkthatLorraineisgoingtobeafamouswriterandI'mgoingtobeagreatactor. Lorrainethinksshecouldbeanact-ress, but I keep telling her she'd have to be acharacter actress, which means playingwashwomenonTVdetectiveshowsall thetime. And I don't mean that as a distortion,like she always says I do. If anyone distorts,it's that mother of hers. The way her old ladytalks you'dthinkLorraineneededinternal28/262plasticsurgeryandseventeenbodybraces,but if you ask me, all she needs is a little con-fidence. She's got very interesting green eyesthat scan like nervous radar-that is they usedto until the Pigman died. Ever since then hereyes have become absolutely still, exceptwhenweworkonthismemorial epic. Hereyes come to life the second we talk about it.Herwantingtobeawriter ispart of it, Iguess, but I think we're both a little anxioustogetallthathappenedinplaceandtrytounderstandwhywedidthecrazythingswedid.I suppose it all started when Lorraine and Iand these two amoebae called Dennis Kobinand NortonKelly were tot on these phone gags lastSeptember. We did the usual ones like dial-ing any number out of the book and asking Isyour refrigerator running?"29/262"Yes.""Go catch it then."And we called every drugstore."Do you have Prince Albert in a can?""Yes."Then let him out."But then we made up a new game in whichthe object was to keep a stranger talking onthe phone as long as possible. At least twice aweekwe'dmeet foratelephonemarathon.Wednesdayafternoonswe'dhaveitatDen-nis' house because his mother goes shoppingat the supermarket and his father doesn't gethomefromworkuntil aftersixP.M., evenwhen he's sober. And on Sundays we'd do itat Norton's because his father plays golf andhismotherissoretardedshedoesn'tknowwhat'scomingoffanyway, butatleasttheydidn't mind if their kids used the house.Mine and Lorraine's we can't even go to. We30/262couldn't use the phone at Lorraine's anywaybecausehermotherdoesn'thaveunlimitedservice, and at my house my mother is a dis-infectant fanatic. She would have gotten toonervous over all of us using her purified in-strument. Another difficulty there is that myfather, whom I warmly refer to as Bore, put alock on our phone-one of those round locksyou put in the first dialhole so you can't dial.He put it on because of a little exchange wehad when he called from work."DoyourealizeI'vebeentryingtogetyourmother for an hour and a half and the line'sbeen busy?" Bore bellowed."Those things happen. I was talking to afriend.""If you don't use the phone properly, Tm go-ing to put a lock on it.""YeahPNoMddingr31/262Now it was just the way I said yeah that sethim off, and that night when he got home, hejust put the lock on the phone and didn't saya word. But I'm used to it. Bore and I havebeen having a lot of trouble communicatinglatelyas it is, andsometimes I goalittlecrazy when I feel I'm being picked on or notbeingtrusted. Thats whyI finallyput air-plane glue in the keyhole of the lock sonobodycouldusethetelephone, keyornokey.Anyway, the idea of the telephone marathonwas you had to close your eyes and stick yourfinger on a number in the directory and thencall it uptoseehowlongyoucouldkeepwhoever answeredtalkingonthephone. Iwasn't toogoodat this becauseI usedtoburst out laughing. The only thing I could dothat kept themtalking awhile before theyhung up was to tell them I was calling from32/262TV Quiz and that they had won a prize. Thatwas always good for three and a half minutesbefore they caught on.The longest anyoneever lasted was Dennis,becausehepickedoutthisoldwomanwholived alone and was desperate to talk to any-one. Dennis is really not very bright. In fact,he talks so slowly some people think he hasbraindamage. But hetoldthis womanhehad called her number because he had heardshegavegoodadviceandhisproblemwasthat he was about to die from a hideous skindisease because a rat had bitten off his nosewhenhe was a baby and the skingraftsdidn't take. He kept her on the phone for twohours and twenty-six minutes. That was therecordlNow Lorraine can blame all the other thingson33/262me, but she was the one who picked out theKgman's phone number. If youaskme, Ithink he would have died anyway. Maybe wespeeded things up a little, but you really can'tsay we murdered him. Not murdered him.4John told you about Dennis and Norton, butIdon't thinkhegot acrosshowreallydis-turbedthosetwoboysare,Nortonhaseyeslike a mean mouse, and he's the type of kidwho thinks everyone'stryingto throw rustybeercansathim. Andhe'sprettybig, evenbigger than John, and the two of them hateeach other.Actually, Norton is a social outcast. He'sbeen a social outcast since his freshman yearin high school when he got caught stealing abag of marshmallows from the supermarket.Heneverrecoveredfromthatbecausetheyput his name in the newspaper and34/262mentionedthat the entire loot was a bag ofmarsh-mallows, andeversincethenevery-body calls him The Marshmallow Kid."How's The Marshmallow Kid today?"Anyway, he's the one who started cheating inthe telephone marathons we were having.After Dennis had rung up that staggering re-cord about having his nose bitten off, Nortonstartedgettingsmart, andwhenit washisturn to pick out a phone number, he'd peek alittleandtrytomakehisfingerlandonawoman'snumberratherthanaman's. Youcouldalways makeawomantalktwiceaslong as a man.I usedtoignore it because inhis case itdidn't matter whomhe spoke to on thephone. They all hung up.ButthisonetimeIdecidedtopeekmyself.Whenitwasmyturn,ImadebelieveIhadcoveredmy eyes withmy left hand, then35/262thumbed through the pages, and as I movedmy finger down a column I happened to spotthewords"HowardAvenue."Now,HowardAvenue is just a few blocks from where I live,so I could pretend I belonged to the HowardAvenue Civic League or some other fictitiousphilanthropy.There it was:Pigaati Angelo 190 Howard Av ..... YU1-6994When this man answered, my voice wasrather quiverybecauseJohnwas watchingwith his X-ray eyes and I think he knew I hadcheatedabit. Whenheisanactor, Iknowhe'll be able toproject those glaring eyesclear up to the second balcony. '"Hello," this jolly voice said as I cleared mythroat."Hello. Is this Mr. Angelo Pignati?""It sure is," came the bubbling voice again.36/262"This is Miss Truman of the Howard AvenueCharities. Perhaps you've heard of us and ourgood work?""My wife isn't home just now.""I didn't call tospeakwithyour wife, Mr.Pignati," I assured him. I changed to a veryBritish accent. "I distinctly called to speak toyou and summon you to our cause. You see,my organization is interested inreceivingsmall donationsfrompeoplejust likeyou-good-hearted people, Mr. Pignati-we dependon lovely people just like you and your wife-""What did you say the name of your charitywas?" the voice asked.Suddenly I couldn't control myself anymore,and I burst into laughter right into thephone. "Is something funny?""No . . . there's nothing funny, Mr. Pignati . .. it's just that one of the girls . . . here at theoffice has just told me a joke, and it was very37/262funny." I bit my tongue. "But back to seriousbusiness, Mr. Pignati. You asked the name ofour charity-the name of it is-""The Lorraine and John Fund!"'The name of it is-""The Lorraine and John Fund," Johnrepeated."Shut up,"Isaid, coveringthemouthpieceandthenuncoveringit. "Thenameof ourcharityistheL&JFund,Mr.Pignati, andwe'd like to know if you'd care to contributeto it? It would really be a very nice gesture,Mr. Pignati."There was a pause."What was the joke the girl told you?" he fi-nallysaid. "I knowalot of jokes, but mywife's the only one who laughs at them. Ha,ha.""Is that so?"38/262"Shereallydidlaughat them. Shelikedagoodjoke, she did, andI miss her. She'staken a little trip.""Oh, did she?"Tep. She's out in California with my sister.""Isn't that marvelous!""Her favorite was the one about the best get-well cards to get. Did you ever hear that one-what'd you say your name was?""Miss Truman.""Well, Miss Truman, did you ever hear thatone,theoneaboutwhatthebestget-well cardsyou can get are?""No, Mr. Pignati-""It was my wife's favorite joke, that one was.She'd make me tell it a lot of times...."Therewassomethingabout hisvoicethatmade me feel sorry for him, and I began towish I had never bothered him. He just went39/262on talking and talking, and the receiver star-ted to hurt my ear. By this time Dennis andNortonhadgoneintothelivingroomandstartedtowatchTV, but right wheretheycould keep an eye on timing the phone call.John stayed next to me, pushing his ear closetothereceivereveryonceinawhile, andIcould see the wheels in his head spinning."Yes, Miss Truman, the best get-well cards toget are four aces! Ha, ha, ha! Isn't thatfunny?"He let out this wild laugh, as thoughhehadn't known the end of his own joke."Do you get it, Miss Truman? Four aces . . .the best get-well cards you can get-""Yes, Mr. Pignati-""You know, in poker?0"Yes, Mr. Pignati."He sounded like such a nice old man, but ter-ribly lonely. He was just dying to talk. When40/262hestartedanother jokeI lookedat John'sface and began to realize it was he who hadstarted me telling all these prevarications.John has made an art out of it. He prevaric-atesjust for prevaricating's sake. It'swhatthey call a compensation syndrome. His ownlifeissoboringwhenmeasuredagainsthisdaydreams that he can't stand it, so hemakesupthingstopretendit'sexciting.Ofcourse, when he gets caught in a lie, then hemakesbelieve he was only telling the lie to make funof whomever he was telling it to, but I thinkthere's more to it than meets the eye. He cangetsoinvolvedinafibthatyoucantellhebelievesitenoughtoenjoyit. Maybethat'show all actors start. I don't know.One time last termMiss King askedhimwhat happenedtothebookreport hewassupposedtohandinonJohnny Tremain,41/262and he told her that he had spilled some cof-fee on it the night before, and when the cof-fee dried, there was still sugar on the paperand so cockroaches ate the book report. Youmight also be interested in knowing that theonlypartofJohnnyTremainthatJohndidendupreadingwaspageforty-three-wherethepoorguyspillsthemoltenmetalonhishandandcripplesit forlife. That wastheparthefinallydidhisbookreporton-justpage forty-three-and he got a ninety on itl Ionlygot eighty-five, andI readthewholething. Of course, writing book reports is notexactlythekindof writingIwant todo. Idon't want to report. I want to make thingsup. In a way I guess that's lying too, except Ithinkyoucantell thereal truthwiththatkind of lying.AndJohn liesto his motherandfather.Hetold themone time that he was hearing42/262voices fromouter space, and he thoughtcreaturesweregoingto comefor himsomenight, soif theyheardanystrangenoisescomuig from his room would they please callthe police."Don't besilly/*his mother toldhimandlaughedit off withjust theslightest bit ofdiscomfort. His parents don't knowquitewhat to make of him because neither of themhas theimaginationhehas, andinawaythey sort of respect it. Actually, I thinkthey'realittlefrightenedof it. But they'rejustasbadasheiswhenitcomestolying,andthatmaybethereal reasontheycan'thelpJohnthewaytheyshould. FromwhatI'veseenofthem, theydon'tseemtoknowwhat's true and what isn't true anymore. Hisfather goes around bragging how he phoniedupacar-insuranceclaimtoget ahundreddollarstoreplaceapieceof aluminumon43/262theirnewcar,whichhehadreallyreplacedhimself. Mrs. Conlangoestothestoreandtellstheclerkheforgot togiveher GreenStamps thelast timeshewas in, andsheknows very well she's lying. It's a kind of sub-conscious, schizophrenicfibbing, ifyouaskme, andif those parents don't have guiltcomplexes, I don't knowwho has. I onlyhope I won't be that kind of adult."I don't knowwhere you get that from,Johnl"I do."Miss Truman, are you still there?""Yes, Mr. Pignati," I muttered."Well, did you get that joke? I didn't hear youlaugh.""No, I'm sorry I didn't get that joke."1 didn't think you did. I said, 'In many statesa hunting license entitles you to one deer and44/262nomore. Just likeamarriagelicense.' Ha,ha, ha!""That's very funny, Mr. Pignati. That is veryfunny."I must have sounded uncomfortable becausehe said,. "I'm sorry if I'm taking up too muchof yourtime, MissTruman. Youwantedadonation, did you say-f or what charity?""The L & J Fund, Mr. Pignati." I bit my lip.Til be glad to send you ten dollars, Miss Tru-man. Where do I send it?"John bolted upright from his ridiculous posi-tion of pressing an ear against the receiver."Tell him to send it to your house.""Iwillnotl""Let me talk to him," John demanded, takingthephonerightoutofmyhand. Justfromthe look in his eyes I knew what was going tohappen. Youjust havetoknowhowJohndoesthings, andyou'll knowonethingwill45/262always happen. He'll endupcomplicatingeverything.You have to know how demented Dennis andNortonaretounderstandthatwhenItoldthem Angelo Pignati caught on Lorraine wasa phony andhung up, they believedit. Icould tell them I went alligator hunting in St.Patrick's Cathedral last night, and they'd be-lieve it. I just didn't want them to know Mr.Pignati had invited us over to his house thenext day to give us the ten bucks for the L &J Fund. Especially Norton. If he knew aboutit, he'd try to hustle in on the deal, and he'dnever stop at ten dollars. I didn't want any-one really to take advantage of the old man.Somepeoplemightthinkthat'swhatIwasdoing, butnotthewayNortonwouldhave.In fact, if Lorraine felt Hke saying one of usmurdered Mr. Pignati, she should have46/262blamed Norton. He's the one who finallycaused all the trouble.The next day Lorraine chickenedout andsaidshewouldn'tgowithmetocollectthemoney."Give me one good reason," I demanded."Becauseit'swrongtotakemoneyfromanold man, that's why.""All through history artists have survived bytakingmoney from old men. There's nothing wrongwithhavinga patron.""I don'twantto talkabout it." "Don't you know anything?" "I saidI don't-""We can tell him the L & J Fund is intendedto subsidize writers and actors if you want.""You're crazy."Idecidednottopushthematter, butIdidneed a dollar and a quarter for a six-pack, sowhen I got home I asked my Old Lady for it.47/262"No, no, no," shesaidinher best gratingvoice, all the while shining the coffee table inour sparkling living room, which sparkles be-cause nobody's allowed to live in it. She's gotplasticcoversoneverything. Imean, IlikemyMomandallthat, butsherunsaroundlike a chicken with its head cut off."Your father says you're not to have anotherpenny until he speaks to you!""What did I do now?""You know very well what you did.""No, I don't""Well, you just ask your father.""I'm not asking him, I'm asking you.""Kenneth never gave us any trouble," she justhad to add, neatly folding the polishing rag."You just never caught him."Kennethismyolderbrotherwho'smarriedandcarriesanattach^casetoWall Streetevery day. He's eleven years older than me.48/262"Getyourself aglassof milk, butrinseoutthe glass," she babbled, darling up the stairs.I could tell she just got back from the beautyparlor because her hairwas frizzed like she had just rammed her fin-gers into an electric socket."What did I do?" I yelled from the kitchen asI openeda Pepsi.Whenevershe tells me toget a glass of milk, I feel like a Pepsi and viceversa."What did I do?""You knowl""Please tell me."She came to the top of the stairs with a bottleofhairsprayinherhand. "Youputglueinthe telephone lock!" she wailed."You heard me.""Iput glueinthetelephonelock?Areyoucrazy?"49/262"Whenyour father comes home we'll seewho's crazy." She gave her hair a quick sprayto make sure none of the frizz woulddisappear."I'm innocent.""It was a very mean thing to do. Your fathertriedtocallhisofficethismorning, andhecouldn't get the lock off. He couldn't diall""I didn't do it.""Then who did?""The ghost of Aunt Ahra."Tourfather'll havetotalktoyou,"shesaidand ran upstairs. Then I heard her vacuum-ing in her bedroom.I blame an awful lot of things on the ghost ofAunt Ahrabecauseshediedinour housewhen she was eighty-two years old. She wasreally my father's mother's sister, if you canfigure that one out, and she had lived with usever since the time she took a hot bath in her50/262ownapartment andcouldn't getoutof thebathtub for three days. They found her whenshe finally managed to throwa bottle ofshampoo through the bathroomwindow,and it splattered all over the side of aneighbor's house. The neighbor thought itwas the work of a juvenile delinquent at first,whichissortoffunnyifyouthinkaboutitawhile."So you're not going to give me a dollartwenty-five; is that what you're trying tocommunicate to me?""He couldn't even dial his own office.""I told you the ghost of Aunt Ahra did it."'This is not a joking matter.""Mother, your hypertension is showing."Well, that severed maternal relations for theafternoon, and I had no intention of waitingfor Bore to come home. I decided to give Lor-rainethesignaltomeetme,soIpickedup51/262the phone and tapped the connecticm buttontentimes, whichisthesameasdialingO.The keyhole of the lockwas still expertlycrammed with glue."Yes?""Hello, operator?WouldyoupleasegetmeYul-1219?""You can dial that number yourself, sir.""No, I can't. Yousee, operator, I havenoarms.""I'm sorry, sir.""They've got this phone strapped to my headfor emergencycalls, soI'dappreciateit ifyou'd connect me."Til be happy to, sir."As soon as I could hear the number ring onceI hungup. That wasalwaysthesignal forLorrainetomeetmeatthecornerofEddyand Victory Boulevard if she could get out ofthe house.52/262"You'reruiningyourlungswiththatthing"wasthefirst remarkout of hermouthbe-sidesacoughfromamisdirectedpufffrommy 'cigarette. She sounds just like her moth-er when she says that."I'vebeenthinking, andI'vedecidedwe'dbetter go over and collect the ten bucks.""I'vebeenthinking, andI'vedecidedwe'ddefinitely better not," she snapped."We're not doing anything bad," I insisted."Hal""He sounded lonely on the phone, now didn'the?""So what?""Lonelypeopleneedvisitors, so...."Imadebelieve I wanted to look at a new Chevy go-ingbysoshecouldn'tseemyeyes. "Soit'sour duty to visit the lonely."53/262"You never wanted to visit lonely people be-fore, or is it that you only like lonely peoplewho have ten dollars?""Youthinkyou'retheperfect headshrinkerwithall those psychologybooks youread,and you really don't know a thing."Shesatdownonthebus-stopbench, andIcouldseeherbitingherlip. Shedoesthatevery once in awhile when she doesn't knowwhat to say. That's when I know all I have todo is push her a little further and I'll get whatI want."Youreadall those books, andyoudon'tevenknowwhenamanis thinkingaboutcommitting suicide.""Stop it, John.""You think I'm kidding?""Hedidnot soundlikehewasthinkingofsuicide."54/262"You only know about the obvious kind-likewhensomeone'ssodesperatethey'regoingto jump off abridgeor slit their wrists. Thereareotherkinds, you know.""Like what?""Likethesubconsciouskind. You'realwaysblabbing about the subconscious, andyoucan'teventell asubconscioussuicidewhenyou talke to one."She started biting her lip again."He sounded just like the kind of guy who'dcommit suicide by taking a cold shower andthen leaving the windows open to die ofpneumonial"That made her burst out laughing, and then Iknew I had her where I wanted her."Just think of all the joy we can bring into hislife."55/262One-ninety Howard Avenue turned out to bejust across the street from a big convent, andthere were a lot of trees and stuff and nunsrunning around the place. There were a lot ofnice houses on the street too, but one-ninetywas a phenomenal dump.As soon as she saw the house Lorrainestopped."Maybehe'spoor," shesaid. "Lookat thisplace."I figuredhe musthaveenoughmoneyifheofferedit overthephonelikethat withouteven knowing what our charity did. A coupleof nuns were strolling on the lawn of the con-vent and staring at us kind of funny."Or he could be a sex maniac," Lorrainethrew in for good measure. That's her moth-er again.56/262"Wishful thinking," I said, and Lorrainecouldn't helplaughing. Andwhileshewaslaughing I rang the bell.WhenAngeloPignati came tothe door, Iwish you could have seen him. He was in hislate fifties and was pretty big, and he had abit of a beer stomach.But thepart that slaughteredmewasthisgreat big smile on his face. He looked so gladtoseeusIthought hiseyesweregoingtotwinkleoutofhishead. Hewould'vemadeone (r)#$% of a Santa Claus if you had put awhite beard on him and stuck him on a streetcorner in December with a little whiskey onhis breath."Hi!Areyouthecharitypeople?"Hedidn'tseeni to be surprised that we were kids. Hejust seemed glad to see us.Tes. This is Miss Truman, andI amMr.Wander-meyer."57/262Thehousehadanicewarmsmelltoit.Wehad to walk through a hall that had a lot ofold junk stored in it, and then we went intothis living room that had all that old kind ofstuffed furniture with lace things that coverthe arms so you don't wear them out."Please sit down," he said, smiling away likecrazy. "I've got some good homemade wine,if you like.""That'll bejust fine, don't youthink, MissTruman?""Yes... yes."Well, actuallyI might as well tell youwewere both scared stiff when he went into thekitchen. At first he seemed too nice to be forreal, but when I looked at Lorraine and shelooked at me, I could tell we both were think-ingwhatwe'ddoifMr.Pignaticamepran-cing out of the kitchen with a big knife in hishand. He could've been some psycho with an58/262electriccarvingknifewho'ddismemberourbodies and wouldn't get caught until ourteeth clogged up the sewer or something likethat. Imean, Ithoughtof all thosethings,and I figured if he didcome running out with a knife, Td grab holdof the ugly table lamp right next to me andbophimoneontheskull.Imean,ifyou'regoing to survive nowadays, you really have tothink a bit ahead.Hereturnedwiththreeglassesofwineandthat enormous smile of his.Poison perhaps."I just got back from the zoo," he said, sittingin this armchair that seemed to swallow himup. I could see Lorraine looking all around,checking the dust inthe corners andthepieces of electrical equipment that werescattered on one table. 1 take a walk over to59/262the zoo every day. My wife usually goes withme, but she's in California visiting my sister.""Really?"Lorrainesaid, takingasipof thedark wine."That's why the place is such a mess," he ad-ded, pointingtotheelectrical junk. "Whenshe's home, she makes me put all that away.I'm a retired electrician, you know.""Howlong has she beengone?" Lorraineasked, trying to be land, in that English ac-cent of hers."She's been out there about a month now."Foramomenthelookedasthoughhewasgoing to cry, and then suddenly he changedthe subject. Lorraine's nervous radar was infull operation, andIcouldtell itmadehersad to look at the old man."While I was waiting for you I was practicinghow to memorize ten items. Do you know thesecret of how to memorize ten items?"60/262I looked at him, and I had to bite my tonguebecauseIwasgoingtoburst out laughing.He looked just like a great big kid-so happywe were there."You just mention ten objects, and I'llmemorizethem right off the bat You give me one, MissTruman, and then you give me one, Mr.-?""Wandermeyer," I offered, with just the righttouch of disdain I thought.'Tm afraid I don't understand you, Mr. Pig-nati," Lorraine said."Just give me an object. Just say any object.Go on.""Girl?" Lorrainesaid, her accent gettingalittle shaky."Nowyougivemeone,"hesaidexcitedly,pointing at me. "And here's a piece of paperandapenciltowritethewordsdown. Justdon't let me see them."61/262"Couch," I said."Boy," Lorraine went on."Eye.""Chair.""Dog.""Bird.""Stop sign.""Lighthouse.""Cockroach."Mr. Pignati sat forward in the seat, beaming."Now Tm going to repeat them back to you.Didyouwrite themall downso youcancheck me? Did you get them all down?""Yes, Mr. Pignati."He started. "Cockroach, lighthouse, stopsign, bird, dog, chair, eye, boy, couch, girl. Isthat right? Was I right?""Yes, Mr. Pignati."Then he said the items, starting with girl andworkingbacktocockroach, andIswearhe62/262looked just like a great big baby that had justmade a superdupermud pie. He insisted on showing us how hedid this breathtaking feat, calling us over tothe table and drawing a diagram."You just make a mental picture. Like whenMiss Truman said girl, I made a mental pic-ture, and then when you said couch, all I hadto do was make a mental picture of a couchand attach it to the girl. See, you've got to at-tachthepicturesinyour mind. That'sthesecretof rememberingthemall. Goahead,you try it, Mr.-?""Mr. Wandenneyer."It worked!Then Lorraine tried it, and it didn't work toogood with her. But if you ask me, that's onlybecause she was worrying about the old man.63/262Besides, she had polished off her whole glassof wine."We should all go to the zoo tomorrow," Mr.Pignati said, again out of nowhere."Mr. Pignati," I saidwithanair of impa-tience, "Miss Truman and I have many otherstopstomaketoday. Imean, wherewouldtheL&JFundbeifwesimplysataroundand drank wine all day and went to zoos?""Yes," Lorraine said. "We really shouldn'thave stayed this long,""Oh, I'msorry," Mr. Pignati said, and Icouldn't helpfeeling sorry. His smile andbrighteyesfadedinfrontofus,andhegotawkwardly to his feet, "Let me get thecheck," he said, andhis voice was sode-pressed I thought he was really going to cry."You don't really have to-" Lorraine started,but he looked bewildered.64/262"Of course, that's what we came for," I saidto make it look real at least. Lorraine shot mea look of outrage."Of course," he said.We watched him go down anotherhall to aroom that had bkck curtains on the doorway.Imean, therewasnodoor, just thesecur-tains. Hedisappearedthroughthem. Whenhefinallycamebackout, heseemedtobevery tired, and he started writing the check."Whom should I make it out to?" he asked.Lorraine gulped and went speechless."Cashwill befine. Makeit out tocash,"Ifound myself saying.He handed me the check, and my handshook a little. It wasn't that I was scared oranything, but it was an awful lot of money."OnbehalfoftheL&JFundIacceptthischeck."65/262"Oh,yes,"Lorraineechoed,andIcouldtellshewasfuriouswithmebecauseher eyeswere starting to flit all over the place again."Do you think you might like to go to the zoowith me someday?' Mr. Pignati asked just asI knew Lorraine was getting ready to flee outof the house."I always go to the zoo." The old manlaughed. "I love animals. My wife and I bothlove animals, but . . . I've been going to thezoo by myself lately. I always go. Every day.""You love animals . . . ?" Lorraine muttered,herlefthandopeningthefrontdoorjustacrack.There was a dreadful pause."Oh, Iforgottoshowyoumypigs!"heex-claimed, the gleamreturning to his eyes."You didn't see my pigs, did you?"There came another terrible pause."No ... we didn't see ... your pigs," I said.66/262He gestured us back into the living room andthen moved down the hall to the room at thefar end-theonewiththeblackcurtainshangingonthe side of the entrance. Lorraine didn't wantto follow him, but I dragged her behind meuntil we got to the doorway."Ohh-h-hr Lorraine stammered.The room was dark because its two windowswere covered with faded paper shades. It wasa real dump except for the table and shelvesat the far end of it. The table had pigs all overit. Andtheshelveshadpigsall overthem.There were pigs all over the place. It was ri-diculous. Ineversawsomanypigs. Idon'tmeanthelivekind;thesewerephonypigs.There were glass pigs and clay pigs andmarblePigs-Lorraine reached her hand out.67/262"Touchthem,"hetoldher."Don'tbeafraidtopickthemup."Itwasabigchangefrommymotherwhoalwaysletsoutascreechifyou go near anything, so I couldn't help lik-ing this old guy even if he was sort of weird.There were pigs that had Made in Japan onthem. Some were from Germany and Austriaand Switzerland. There were pigs from Rus-sia andlots of pigs fromItaly, naturally.There were little pigs and big pigs. Ugly onesandcuteones. Therewereblue, black, yel-low, orange, striped, green, and rainbow-colored pigs. Pigs, pigs, pigsl"Don't you like them?" he asked."Oh, everybody loves pigs," I said."My wife collects pigs. I got her started on itwhen I gave her one to remind her of me-be-fore we got married.""Oh?"68/262"This one," he said, lifting a large white pigwithanuglysmileonitsface, "thisonewasthefirstoneIgother. Shethoughtitwasveryfunny. Pig. Pig-nati. Do you get it?" "Yes, Mr.Pignati. We get it."6Right after we left the Pigman's, Johndragged me down to Tony's Market, which ison the corner of Victory Boulevard andCebra Avenue. All the kids go to Tony's be-causehesellsbeertoanyoneandforsomereason the police leave Mmalone. Johnthinks lie pays them off, but I think it's justthatoldTonyhasanice, friendlyfaceandbelieves in the old days when they thought alittle alcohol was good for everyone. He's sortof a father-image with a cultural lag.69/262"You're not going to cash that check," I said."You can send it back to him in an envelopeor tear it up or-""If wedon't cashit, he'll knowsomethingwas funny and really call the police," he toldme with typical John Conlan logic."Who are you kidding?""I mean it. Really."I refused to talk to him for five minutes whileI drank a chocolate drink I bought with myown money while John cashed the check andgotasix-packof beerandapackof cigar-ettes.Ijuststaredathimdrinkinghisbeerand waited to see how long it would take forhim to feel guilty."Wouldn't you love to go to the zoo?""No.""Don't be a killjoy.""Why should we go to the zoo? Do you mindtelling me that?"70/262"What do youmeanwhy?" He raisedhisvoice, which is typical when he needs todelay a second because he's at a loss for hisnext distortion. "We owe himsomethingafter taking ten dollars from him, don't we?""What did you take the money for in the firstplace?" I practically screamed.John jumped at my outburst and then slowlysipped his beer. He smiled and said sweetly,"You're a little schlzo today, aren't you?"Ididn'tgethomethatnightuntil aftersis.thirty, and I was a little scared when I foundmymotherthere.She'saprivatenurseandwas supposed to be working a four-to-twelveshift that night. I never have to worry aboutfindingmyfathertherebecauseheleft fif-teen years ago when they got a legal separa-tion, andthenhediedsixyearsago, whichmade it a more permanent separation. As itis, my mother's enough to worry about.71/262"Where were you?"1 went to a drama-club meeting.""Untilnow?"Shefumbledwiththebuttonsof her white uniform, which gave me a mo-ment to think."I hadasodawiththekids afterwards atStryker's Luncheonette.""I don'twantyou goinginthere.I told youthat.""All the kids go there.""I don't carewhat all thekids do. I don'twant you in there. I've seen those boyshangingaroundthere, andthey'veonlygotone thing on their minds."Mymother'sgotareal hang-upaboutmenand boys."Youdidn'ttellmeaboutityesterday."Sheput herfadedbluebathrobeoverherslip."My legs hurt.""I'm sorry."72/262"Theoldfossilhadmeontheranfromtheminute I got there." She started brushing herhair. "At least his worries are over.""Did he die?""Ofcoursehedied. Itoldhisdaughtertwodaysagohewasn't goingtolast theweek.Put some coffee water on."I was glad to be able to get out to the kitchenbecause it makes me sad to watch my motherbrush her hair. My mom is a very pretty wo-man when she has her long brown hairdown, and when she smiles, which is hardlyever. She just doesn't look the way shesounds, and I often wonder how she got thisway. It's not exactly easy being her daughter,and more than once I've thought about whata good psychiatrist could do for her. Actually,I think her problems are so deep-rootedshe'd need three years of intensivepsychoanalysis.73/262"I mean the old guy's throat was closing, andhewas bouncingupanddowninbedfordays. If they don't think I know when a can-cer patient is going to wind up, they're verymuch mistaken.""Yes, Mother."1 don't feel like eating anything. I had a fewpieces of roast beef out of their refrigerator,andI brought homesomecannedgoodsIborrowed from the pantry. They'll never missthem. Thefamilyhasstartedfightingoverhis money already. I thinkthere's a can of turkey soup. Why don't youhave that?"Ican'ttellyouwhatshe'ddoifIevertookanything, but she isn't even ashamed of whatshe does. She figures they don't pay herenough, so she'll even it up her own way.She came into the kitchen and opened a jarof instant coffee. I handed her this oversized74/262coffee cup I gave her for her last birthday. Ithas"MOM"paintedinhugelettersononeside. She cried when she unwrapped it."Here's two dollars for your sophomoredues," she said, putting the money down onthe table. "That school thinks it's easy for awoman to support a kid by herself-two dol-lars for this, five dollars for that . . . twenty-threebucksforadental certificatel I can'tevenaffordtogetmyselfapairofnylons."ShepulledherbathrobeupandmovedsoquicklytowardmeIthoughtshewasgoingto hit me. "Look at them! There're so manyruns you'd think a cat chewed them.""I could wait another week to pay the dues.""Pay it now. Nobody is going to talk about usbehind our backs. Besides, I got an extra tenfrom Solvies.""What?"75/262"Solviestheundertaker. Thefamilylet mecall Solvies, and they always slip me an extraten for the business. How's the turkey soup?""Fine.""I heard Berdeen's Funeral Parlor is slippingtwentyunder thetable, somaybeI'll givethema little business whenthe next onecroaks. As soon as this one died I called theNurses' Registry, but they won'thave anything for me until the day after to-morrow. Anotherterminal cancer."Shesatdown opposite me at the table and lifted thecup to her lips. I tried to keep my eyes on thebig painted letters."I thinkit'dbeagoodideaif youstayedhome fromschool andcleanedthe housewith me tomorrow.""I have a Latin test.""Can't you make it up?"76/262"No," I said quietly, hoping she wouldn't ex-plode. Sometimes it's just the way I say oneword that gets her going, and she's so quickwith her hand its hard to think of her beinggentle to sick people.1 can't go out and earn a living and keep thishouse decent. You've got to do something."I blew on a spoonful of soup. "I did the laun-dry yesterday.""It's about tune.""And I changed the sheets on the bed.""You sleep in it too, you know." I was sorry Ihad said anything."Look up the telephone number of Berdeen'sFuneral Parlor for me and jot it down. I wantto have it handy just in case."I put my soup spoon down."Are you sure you can't stay hometomorrow?""Yes."77/262"I think you could take a year off from thatschool and not miss anything."The test is very important.""Yeah, it's important. Later oninlife Tmsure you're going to run around talking Latinall over the place."I'veoftenwonderedwhat she'dsayif sheknew I wanted to be a writer. WriterI I canjust hear her.After she went tobed, I calledJohn. Hismotheransweredthephone, andIcouldtell therewas some trouble over there."Do you still want to go to the zootomorrow?""Yeah.""Well, it's all right withme," I whispered,keeping one eye on the bedroom door."What made you change your mind?"78/262"I just think I need a day off. What's all thatyelling in the background?""It's just the Bore.""What did you do now?"He raised his voice. "They're trying to accuseme of gluing the telephone lock. They don'ttrust me around here.""Lorraine!" Thevoicecamefromthebed-room. "Who are you talking to?""Jane Appling. I forgot what chapter the Lat-in test is going to cover.""Hurry up and finish.""Good-bye, Jane," I said into the phone.The next day we cut school. That's easy be-cause this girl by the name of Deanna Deas isin love with John and she happens to work inthe Dean's office which gets the cut and ab-sentee cards the teachers send down-if theyhappen to remember.So Deanna said she'dfix it up so John and I wouldn't get anything79/262sent home, althoughI'll bet shewassorryshe wasn't cutting withJohn. SomehowIdon't really think she was jealous. People justdon't get jealous of me. I'mthe type theboss's wife would hire for her husband's sec-retary. DeannaDeasisthetypetheboss'swife would definitely not hire. She evenbleaches her hair.John had called the Pigman and madearrange-ments for us to meet him in front of the zooat ten o'clock in the morning. We didn't wantto be seen walking around our neighborhoodwithhim,butthezoowasfarenoughawayso we knew we'd be safe once we got there.JohnandIarrivedaroundninethirtyandsat down on the benches at the entrance. Thesea-lionpool is right there, andthat keptJohn busy while I was combing my hair andpolishing my Ben Franklin sunglasses, I80/262don't wear all crazy clothes, but I do like myBenFranklinsunglasses because everyonelooks at me when I wear them. I used to beafraidtohavepeoplelookat me, but eversince I met John I seem to wear little thingsthat make them look. He wears phony nosesandmoustaches andthings likethat. He'sevengot abigpinthat says"MY, YOU'REUGLY," and he wears that once in awhile.I really didn't want to go to the zoo. I don'tlikeseeingall thoseanimalsandbirdsandfishbehindbarsandglassjust soalot ofpeople can stare at them. And I particularlyhate the Baron Park Zoo because the attend-ants there are not intelligent. They reallyaren't. The thing that made me stop going tothe zoo a few years ago was the way one at-tendant fed the sea lions. He climbed up onthe big diving platform in the middle of thepool andunimaginativelyjust droppedthe81/262fish into the water. I mean, if you're going tofeedsealions, you'renotsupposedtoplopthe food into the tank. You can tell by the ex-pressions on their faces that the sea lions aresaying things like "Don't dump the fish inl""Pick the fish up one by one and throw theminto the air so we can chase after them.""Throwthe fish in different parts of thetankl""Let's have funl""Make a game out of itl"If my mother had ever let me have a dog, Ithink it would have been the happiest dog onearth. I know just how the minds of animalswork-just the kind of games they like to play.The closest I ever came to having a pet wasan old mongrel that used to hang around theneighborhood. Ithoughttherewasnothingwrongwithsittingonthe front steps and82/262petting him, but my mother called theASPCA, and I know they killed him.At ten o'clock sharp, Mr. Pignati arrived."Hil" he said. His smile stretched clearacross his face. "Hope Tm not late?""Right on time, Mr. Pignati. Right on time,"John answered.Ifeltsorryfortheoldmanbecausepeoplejust don't go around smiling like that all thetimeunlessthey'rementallyunbalancedorharboring extreme anxiety."WhatTl it be first? Peanuts? Soda? TheSnake Building?" He sounded so excitedyou'dhavethought wehadjust landedonVenus.I should have just left there and then becauseIknewthingsweregoingtogetinvolved. Irealize now there were plenty of bad omenswithin the next few minutes. If I'd had half a83/262brain, I'dhavePogo-stickedit right out ofthere.The first was a womanselling peanuts. Iwent up to her and said, "I want four bags ofpeanuts.""How many bags?" she said."Four bags.""Wellj why didn't you say so?"Imean, that'showantagonisticshewas. Areal devotedantagonist Youcouldtell shehatedkids- just hatedthem. I don't knowwhether one of therequirements of dealing with kids is that youhave to hate them to begin with, or whetherworking with kids makes you hate them, butone way or another it works out that way-ex-cept withpeopleliketheCricket, andshedoesn't really know what we're like.Thatwasthefirstomen. Ishouldhaveleftright on the spot.84/262Then I was attacked by a peacock. This low-IQ peacock came tearing after me as soon asit heard me open my bag of peanuts. They letthemrunaroundlooseatBaronParkZoo,and this white one opened up all its feathersand started dancing in front of me and back-ing me up against a fence."Just offer it a peanut" The Pigman was grin-ning. "He likes you. Ha, ha."Thethirdomenthatthiswasgoingtobeabad day was when we went into the nocturn-al room of the Mammal Building. The wholeroom is pretty dark so you can see these an-imals that only come out at night, like owlsand pottos and cute little vampire bats. I hadnever seen this nocturnal room before, and Ialmost went into shock when I got a look atthevampirebats. Theyhadsomeexplanat-ory pictures next to their glass cage thatshowedacoupleof batssuckingtheblood85/262out of ahorse's neckwhilethehorsewassleeping.Butthatwasn'tthepartthatwasthethirdomen. I mean, that exhibit would have beenthereonanyday. It was this childthat Ithought was an omen- a little kid about tenyears old who was sitting right up on the rail-ingandleaningagainsttheglassofthebatcage. Only he wasn't looking at the bats. Hewas looking at you when you came to look atthe bats. And when I came up to the cage tosee these ugly blood-sucking creatures, I hadto look right into thislittlelad'sfacethat hadasmirkonit. Hemade me feel as though I was a bat ,in a cageand he was on the outside looking in at me.It all made me very nervous.But Mr. Pignati just loved the nocturnalroom, andtheonlyonewholoveditmorewas John. John likes things like king86/262vultures and alligators. He was even excitedinthesnakehouse. Asfarassnakesgo, Ithink once you've seen one, you've seen themall. So I let him and the Pigman go on run-ning around while I took this snake quiz thatwasonalightedsign. Theyhadtenstate-mentsandyouhadtopickoutwhichoneswere false.1. All poisonous snakes have triangular-shaped heads.2. Some snakes have stingers in their tails.3. Youcantell a rattlesnake's age-by thenumber of rattles it has.4. Milk snakes will milk a farmer's cow.5. Large snakes can live for more than a yearwithout food.6. Snakes cannot close their eyes.7. Coachwhip snakes will whip people.8. Some snakes can roll like a hoop to over-take their victim.87/2629. Ahorsehairropewill keepsnakesawayfrom a campfire.10. Snakes can hypnotize their prey.I mean, it was not exactly a depth quiz. I wasright onevery one of them. Just incaseyou're tryingtotakeit, I won't put downwhichof thestatements are false until the endof thischapter.Anyway, after seeing Galapagos tortoises, re-ticulatedpythons,andpuffadders,thePig-mandraggedusovertothePrimateBuild-ing, morepopularlyknownasthemonkeyhouse. "IwantyoutomeetBobo.""Bobo?"Even John's eyes widened. "My best friend,"Mr. Pignati explained. We stopped in front ofa cage with bars, only about three feet fromwhere we stood. Let me tell you, Bobo couldhaveusedagoodspraydeodorant. Alittledoorwasopenatthebackofthecage,and88/262apparently Bobo was in the inner part wherethey get fed."Bobo?" the Pigman called out sweetly. Johnlookedat meandI lookedat himandherolled his eyes up into his head. "Bobo?Comeout andsayhellol"At last Bobode-cidedtomakeanappearance. Hewastheugliest, most vicious-looking baboon I'veeverseeninmylife.Imeanarealbaboon.And there's the Pigman, the smiling Pigman,leaningall the way over the guardrail,toss-ing peanuts to this mean baboon. Mr. Pignatiwouldtakeapeanut, holditupintheair,andsay, "Bobowantapeanut?"AndBobowould show these monstrous teeth thatlookedlikedentureswhentheydon't quitefit, and the beast would grunt and swoon andmove its headfromside to side. "Uggga.UgggoT89/262Mr. Pignati was throwing peanuts right andleft. About every third one would hit the barsand fall where the baboon couldn't reach it.Sometimes Bobo would catch the peanut likea baseball. Andthe expressions on both their faces got to beupsetting. John had gotten bored with Boboand moved down to the next cage that had agorilla. HewasimitatingTarzanandgoingAaaaaaaaayaaaaaaaaaH!-which I don't thinkwas the most original performance that gor-illahadever seen. Canyouimagine whatgorillas must think after being in a zoo a fewyears and hearing practically every boy whocomes to look at them go Aaaaaaaay-aaaaaaaaHPIf thatisn'tenoughtogiveananimal paranoia, I don't know what is.It was obvious that Mr. Pignati was going tovisitawhilewithBobo, andJohnandIfeltlike we were intruding.90/262"Miss Truman and I are going to get on thetouring car," John finally announced."Yes. . . ." Mr, Pignati muttered, tossing an-other peanut to Bobo."Mr. Pignati, well meet youback here intwentyminutes."Iwantedtomakesureheunderstood. Til be right here withBobo-""I'm sure you will," John added as we wentout of themonkeyhouseandgot onthismechanical contraption that came by. Itlooked like a train, and it had five cars withrubber wheels because it didn't runonatrack. It only went about four miles an hour,andit's a goodthing because this blond-hairedboydrivingthethinglookedlikehedidn't quite know what he was doing.IwasgettingfullaboutthistimebecauseIhad eaten more peanuts than Bobo, so I justsat back and watched the landscape drift by.We passed the bald eagle (which is also the91/262nickname for the principal of our highschool), the white-tailed deer, tahr goats,three white-beardedgnu, lions in a pit, oneotter,a black leopard, a striped hyena ("a raider ofgraves"), two cheetahs that were fighting,four Bengal tigers, a Kodiak bear, an Americ-anbear, apolar bear, twohippos ("whichsecrete a fluid the color of blood all over theirbody"), an eight-ton bull elephant, and a gi-ant anteater.By that time we were almost backtothePrimate Building, so we jumped off the tinytrainandwatchedthealligatorsbeingfed.They were in a big outdoor pool, and two at-tendants were throwing huge chunks of meatand bone right at them. They ate the bonesand all. It really made me feel like gagging. Imean, I just don't see any point in having an-imalslikethat runningaroundonearth. I92/262think God goofed in that department, if youask me.WhenwegotbacktoMr.Pignati,hehadafresh supply of peanuts and was still chuck-ing them over to Bobo, who kept flashing hisdentures at him. Then John decided to strikeup a conversation with the gorilla. Only thegorilla started to make these terrifyingnoises, and John started to make believe hewas a monkey and began screaming back atthegorilla. I joinedinfinallyandgot thispair of chimpanzees going. "Uggauggaboo" Itold them, and they knew right away it was agame.I thought Mr. Pignati was going to blow histop with all that nonsense going on becauseat first he just looked at us, and I don't meanwith a smile.Then I heard this "Uggauggaboo," and I'll bedarnedif it wasn't Mr. Pignati startingin.93/262And before you knew it, all three of us weregoingUggauggdboo, andwehadBbbo,twochimps, and the gorilla worked up into sucha tizzy I thought the roof of the monkeyhouse was going to fall in.Tilmissyou,Bobo,"Mr.Pignatisaidaswewere leaving.AndwhenBoborealizedliewasn'tgoingtoget any more peanuts, you should have seenthe expression on his face!P.S. The answer to the snake quiz fe that onlystatements five and six are true.7I don't happen to buy all of Lorraine'sstuffabout omens. She talks about me distorting,butlookather.Imean,shethinksshecangetawaywithhersubliminaltwistsbycall-ingthemomens, but shedoesn't fool me.The only difference betweenher fibs and94/262minearethathersareeerie-she'sgotagiftfor saying things that make you anxious.Ihappentohaveenjoyedthatlittletriptothe zoo even if she didn't. I think it was sortofnicethatababoonhadafriendlikeMr.Pignati. I'd say that baboon was @$$%lucky. Asamatteroffact, thewaythePig-manwas treating Lorraine and me you'dhavethoughthelikedusasmuchasBobo.He bought me two cotton-candies-on-a-stick, one bag o peanuts, and a banana splitat this homemade icecream palace. Lorrainegot at least four bags of peanuts, one cherryice-cream cone, and a black-and-white soda.Ifyoulether, Lorrainewouldeatuntil shedropped, and if she keeps going at that rate,I'm afraid she's going to be somewhat morethan voluptuous. She could end up just plainfat95/262WefinallytoldhimtocallusLorraineandJohn because every time he'd say Mr. Wan-dermeyer I'dforget that was supposed to be me. Besides,he was harmless-a little crazy-but reallyharmless.Lorraineand I went to school the followingday, and we didn't get over to the Pigman'suntil that night aroundseveno'clock. Thatwas because when we were heading overthere at three thirty, we ran into Dennis andNorton who wanted to know where we weregoing. We made believe we weren't goinganywhere, so we had to go to the cemetery tohave a beer with them. We drink at a specialpart of the cemetery called Masterson'sTomb. That'swhereall thefamousMaster-sonsareburied, youknow. It'safantasticplacebecausetheyhaveacresandacresallfor their own tomb, and it's fenced in with a96/262private road which they only open up whenoneof theMastersonsdies. But thereisahole in the fence at one place in the woods,and that's where all the kids go through.The tomb is a great big marble building thafsset in the side of a hill so only the fancy frontsticksout. Thecolumnsandeverythingarenice, but it's all chained up, so we climb upthesideofthehillandgetontopbythesetwo glass domes that let you peek down in-side. Youcan'tactuallyseeanything, butitsure makes you wonder.I thinkcemeteries areoneof theloveliestplaces to be-if you're not dead, of course. Thehillsandgreengrassandflowersaremuchnicerthanwhat youget whenyou'realive.Sometimes we go there at midnight and hidebehindstones toscarethe@#$%out ofeach other.97/262Once I ran away from Lorraine and the oth-ersandhidinapart of thecemeterythatdidn't haveperpetual care. That's the part where no onepays to keep the grass cut. I was just lying onmy back, looking up at the stars, and I was soloaded I thought I could feel the spin of theearth. Allthosestarsmillionsoflightyearsaway shining downonme-me gluedtoaminor planet spinning aroundits owngi-gantic sun.I stretched out and touched stone. I remem-ber pulling my hands back to my sides, justkeeping my eyes on the stars, concentratingonbringingtheminandout of focus. "Isthereanyoneup theretryingto talkto me?Anybody up there?""Anybodydownthere?"If Iwaslying