The Gift-Giver Read online

  The Gift Giver

  A novel in the 163rd Street Trilogy

  Joyce Hansen

  * * *

  CLARION BOOKS

  New York

  * * *

  To My Mother and Father

  * * *

  Clarion Books

  a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003

  Copyright © 1980 by Joyce Hansen

  All rights reserved

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,

  Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003

  www houghtonmifflinbooks com

  Printed in the USA

  The Library of Congress has catalogued the hardcover edition as follows.

  Hansen, Joyce The gift-giver

  Summary The year she is in fifth grade, Dons meets a special friend in her Bronx neighborhood

  [1 Friendship—Fiction 2 Afro-Americans—Fiction ]

  I Title PZ7.H19825Gi 1980 [Fic] 80-12969

  CL ISBN-10 0-395-29433-9

  PA ISBN-13 978-0-618-61123-2 PA ISBN-10 0-618-61123-1

  MV 25 24 23 22

  * * *

  Contents

  1 • Spring Fever 1

  2 • Naming 5

  3 • Under Punishment 9

  4 • The Game 15

  5 • Missing 21

  6 • Runaway 28

  7 • Friends 42

  8 • The Shooting 49

  9 • Changes 58

  10 • The Scholar 64

  11 • No More Books 68

  12 • The Nit Nowns 71

  13 • Dog Days 82

  14 • Burdens 90

  15 • Understanding 98

  16 • The Picnic 102

  17 • Autumn 108

  18 • First Day 115

  19 • A New Day 117

  1. Spring Fever

  Yellow Bird was on the window ledge; Russell crunched a big lollipop; Mickey and Dotty raised their hands. Mrs. Brown asked Sherman to name the fiftieth state and he said he didn't remember but he could name the fifty-first. And Amir looked at all of us like we was crazy.

  I felt sorry for Amir. It was hard to come to our fifth-grade class in April. We'd all been together since last year—me, Yellow Bird, Big Russell, Mickey and Dotty, Sherman and the rest. I took one look at Amir and knew he'd have a hard time.

  First, he'd have to get a name. Like we call Yellow Bird, Yellow Bird cause he's little and pale and got a long beakish nose. And we call Big Russell, Big Russell 'cause he's big. But we also call him Big Hocks behind his back; everybody's afraid to say that to his face. We like Big Russell but we careful how we call him.

  And Mickey and Dotty—the twins. They was borned with them names. It fit them so good nobody bothered to give them new ones. Mickey and Dotty don't look exactly alike. Dotty is so short she looks like a little round dot. Mickey is a little taller than Dotty. But you can be taller than Dotty and still be short.

  So when this new boy Amir came I tried to think of a name for him. But Sherman was the namer. When Sherman named you that was your name for good.

  I pulled Mickey's sleeve. "What you think Sherman is going to call that new boy?" I asked.

  "He looks peculiar, don't he?" she said.

  "Look at them big, shining brown eyes. He's little and skinny too."

  "Maybe they'll call him Light Bulbs or Mr. Watts," Mickey laughed.

  I felt like a big, old hunk of a girl when I looked at him. Mrs. Brown stared at me, her face made up like she had eaten some bad-smelling thing. I wondered whether she was still on the fifty states.

  "Doris, I'm going to contact your mother. You've played and talked the entire fifth grade away."

  Yellow Bird saved me. Mrs. Brown saw him on the ledge and dashed to the window. Then the bell rang. And you know what happened. Everybody scrambled to the closets. Everybody except Amir. He just sat there, his eyes big and shining. Mrs. Brown held poor Yellow Bird by the collar.

  "That boy must really think he a bird—sitting out on that ledge," said Sherman.

  Everyone laughed. Mrs. Brown looked swelled up like a balloon. She let out a scream that must a been heard straight down to the principal's office. We was used to her swelling up and screaming, but this time she sounded like she busted something inside herself.

  We got quiet, sat down and took our pencils and notebooks.

  "School's not over for this class. Your behavior has been horrendous this afternoon."

  Nobody said boo. Sherman remembered what the fiftieth state was; Big Russell finished his lollipop and copied the notes; Yellow Bird named the thirteen original colonies; Mickey and Dotty kept their hands down and Amir had a little smile around his mouth as he sat with his hands folded. He'd already copied his notes and answered five questions correctly. I wondered how he knew the answers, being this was his first day in our class.

  When we finished, Mrs. Brown fussed some more and let us go. No one said a thing until we got out in the street. Then Sherman started.

  "I'm gonna make that Mrs. Brown wish she never heard of Sherman Shepard. Why all them Black teachers got to be so strict?"

  "We only got two at Dunbar," I said.

  "It's a good thing. Otherwise our butts be worked to death."

  As we walked down 163rd Street, Sherman looked around like he missed something. He grinned.

  "Hey you, man. Where you from?"

  Everybody stared at Amir. I felt sorry for him. It's hard being the new person. He should've walked home some other way, I thought. Amir looked at Sherman.

  "Same place you from," he said. We laughed.

  "No you not. 'Cause you ain't as fine as me."

  Everyone laughed again. Amir laughed too. I was surprised. If Sherman had said that to me I'd been real mad at him. I thought Sherman was warming up and getting ready to put a name on Amir. But he didn't say nothing else. He just seemed to get in a good mood.

  And when Sherman, Big Russell and the other boys walked over to the park to practice some basketball, Amir went with them, like, as my grandmother would say, it was something he'd been doing every day of his life.

  2. Naming

  I looked at Mickey and Dotty. They were strutting behind the boys.

  "Where y'all going?" I yelled.

  Mickey turned around. "To the playground. We don't feel like going straight home. Come on."

  "I gotta go home."

  "Why?"

  "You know I gotta go straight home from school."

  "You can't do nothing. Your mama treat you like a big, old baby."

  Mickey knew I hated her to say that. "I can do anything anybody else does," I said.

  "You can't do nothing."

  "You need to mind your business, Mickey. I do what I want. I've seen your mother run you and Dotty in the house."

  "Yeah, but we don't get run in the house much as you do," Dotty said.

  "I'll show you. Let's go to the playground," I said. I'll worry about what my mother's gonna say later, I thought to myself. I was tired of them laughing at me 'cause I couldn't do nothing. Anyway I didn't want to miss Sherman putting a name on Amir.

  The boys took their positions on the basketball court. Amir stood by the fence. Someone said to him, "Hey, man. You want to play?"

  "No, I'll watch."

  "You gonna see a lot with them big eyes."

  What he come here for if he not going to play ball, I wondered. Sherman, with his long, skinny self and his big Afro, spun and danced around the court. He shouted orders to everyone. Mickey looked up at me.

  "Is Sherman the coach?" she asked.

  Big Russell almost squashed Yellow Bird. It seemed like they forgot
about Amir. Mickey looked like she was interested in the practice. Dotty looked 'cause that's what Mickey did.

  After a while I said, "Later Mickey, I'm going on home. Nothing happening around here." Soon as I said that the boys stopped playing.

  Amir walked over to a bench and sat down. Me and Mickey and Dotty walked over to the bench too. I talked to Mickey—trying to act like we was having a serious conversation—like we didn't realize we was walking to the benches—and didn't know the boys was there. Amir smiled at us. Then Sherman and Big Russell came over.

  "Here it comes now," I said.

  "Here comes what?" asked Mickey.

  "That new boy gonna get a name."

  "He already got a name."

  "Mickey, you don't understand nothing."

  Sherman sat next to Amir and looked at him like he never saw him before. Amir looked right back at him. Sherman reared back and covered his eyes like when you get blinded by the sun. They all laughed. Amir didn't smile. But he didn't look mad or scared either. Sherman's eyes got small and all sparkly.

  He's gonna come out with a good one now, I said to myself.

  Sherman said, "Why you so quiet, man? Are you strange or something?"

  "Yeah," someone yelled, "he the stranger."

  "Is there any more like you at home?" someone else said.

  "Do you have a home?"

  They laughed like they really said something funny.

  Sherman had a devilish look in his eyes. "Where you get that name from?" he asked. "What does it mean?"

  Amir stood up. "My mother and father gave me my name. Who gave you yours?"

  Sherman leaned back. His spaghetti legs dangled all over the bench. "What you standing up for, man? You gonna knock me out or something?"

  I don't know why, but suddenly I was sorry I was there. Amir looked so little and lonely. Mickey and Dotty acted like they was watching their favorite TV show.

  Yellow Bird tuned up his lips to say something, when'T.T., this old frowsy boy from Union Avenue, got into the act too.

  "Say, you don't play no ball? What's wrong with you?"

  "I like to watch," Amir said, looking him dead in the eye.

  "Why? You can't play? Or you think you too good to play with us?"

  Sherman turned to T.T. "As bad as you play who want to play with you?"

  Then Big Russell got into it. "Yeah, T.T. Maybe you should watch too. Maybe you learn something."

  "Listen, Hocks, I'm gonna bring my boys over here and show you 163rd Street clowns how to play some ball."

  Now like I said before, no one ever called Russell Big Hocks to his face—no one except someone crazy like T.T. Russell flew off the bench and T.T. dashed out the park. All the boys followed, yelling and laughing. They forgot about Amir. Mickey and Dotty followed the boys like two little tails. I was glad they all left.

  Me and Amir walked without talking, back to 163rd Street. I wanted to speak to him, but I couldn't get the words to come out right. I wanted to ask him why he went to the playground in the first place. Why didn't he just run home and stay in the house the way all kids do when they first come to a new school or move to a new neighborhood? Why did he hang around and wait right there for somebody to bother him? And I wanted to ask why he didn't try to act like the other boys if he was going to hang out with them. But we got to Amir's building before I could figure a way to say all that.

  Anyway, I had more important things to worry about. It was late and Mama was upstairs steaming. I didn't even have time to think up a good reason for not coming straight home.

  All this trouble for nothing. Amir didn't even get a name.

  3. Under Punishment

  "Girl, why you so late from school?"

  "I went to the library."

  "I don't see no library books."

  "I read there."

  She had little pieces of chopped meat on her hands. We gonna have them meat balls again, I said to myself.

  "Doris, you gonna be punished twice. Once for lying and once for not coming straight home. Now where you been?"

  "I went to the playground with Mickey and Dotty because the...."

  She whomped me across the face before I finished. I yelled.

  "Shut up that noise 'fore I give you something to cry about. You better wash them dishes in the sink. And make your bed. I told you about leaving the house without making your bed. And I told you about that playground. You a hard head child. Shut up that noise 'fore you wake the baby."

  I felt like doing something crazy. Like dashing out the house and running away. Everybody be looking for me. Mama be crying and begging me to come home. But I wouldn't come back till I got good and ready! Maybe I wouldn't come back till I was twenty-one years old—I'd have a good job making lots of money. Mama wish she'd been nicer to me.

  And Mickey and Dotty be sorry they laughed at me. They'd be jealous when they saw how good I was doing.

  I put my books down and peeped out the kitchen window. Mickey and them ran through the alley. They'd be out till seven or eight. I was in for good and it was only four-thirty. I started washing the dishes. I had eight years before I'd be eighteen and free. Eight years was a long time. I'd probably be hit by a truck or die of pneumonia before I was twelve.

  I felt like breaking every dish. Mama came in the kitchen. I'd be nagged some more. I couldn't say boo else I'd get whacked again.

  "Someday you gonna appreciate me and your daddy. Kids be messing with drugs. And them gangs is always fighting in that playground. It ain't no place for a little girl."

  Little girl, I thought. I'm almost tall as she is. I couldn't say nothing. When she believed something, nobody could change her mind except my father—sometimes.

  Nobody came around us with no drugs in that playground. And people was always saying there was going to be a gang fight. We never saw gang the first. The one time there was a gang fight was at night.

  Sometimes them Union Avenue boys be drinking that sneaky pete wine, that's all. I was glad when she told me to get the baby. At least I wouldn't hear no more lectures. The baby—Gerald—is one year old. Sometimes I like him. But most times he gets on my nerves. I have to be rocking him when I could be doing something else.

  Soon as my father walked in the door she told him. He didn't say anything all through dinner. But I knew it was coming. Daddy never allowed us to talk about problems while we ate. He'd say it was bad for the digestion.

  I walked into the living room and looked out the window. Sherman and Russell was still outside playing. I heard Daddy come into the room, but I stared out the window, like I didn't notice him. The big, ragged leather chair scrunched when he sat down. I still made believe I didn't notice him.

  "Come here, Doris."

  I took a chance and didn't answer.

  "Doris!" He said it fast and loud. I knew I'd better look like I heard him.

  "Come over here, girl."

  I went over to him. I figured they'd put me under punishment and make me stay in the house. They acted like it's the worst thing they could do to me. I thought about making them think I wanted to stay in the house all the time, then they'd send me outside for punishment.

  "Doris, me and your mother decided that you'll be under punishment all week. You can't play outside after your homework. Can't go to the movies Saturday. You got to learn to come straight home after school, like you told."

  At first I didn't say anything. Then I remembered that the next day was the big basketball game between the fifth and sixth grades. I'd picked the worst time to mess up.

  "Daddy, tomorrow is the big game after school. Can I stay for that?"

  "They gonna miss you this year," my mother hollered from the kitchen.

  I hated when she did that. It was like her ears was all over the house. She could hear everything anyone said or did. You couldn't escape her ears—or her mouth.

  "But I been looking forward to this game all year," I said to my father.

  The voice came from the kitchen again. "Yo
u should've thought of that before you decided to take yourself over to that playground. You already had your after-school fun."

  My father spoke real soft. "Doris, I'm sorry. You have to come straight home from school."

  "She's the one who should be saying sorry," my mother yelled. "A hard head makes a soft behind."

  I think my father was surprised she heard him. He was really trying to talk soft.

  I whispered, "Daddy, please, I'll stay under punishment from now till June, but please, don't make me miss the game."

  Ma came flying into the room. Guess I whispered lower than she could hear. She couldn't stand that.

  "Look Doris, we already told you. You coming straight home from school," she said.

  "Mama, please. I promise I'll do anything you say. Please let me go to the game."

  "No, and that's it. You got to learn to do what you told."

  "Why is this game so important, Doris?" my father asked.

  "It's between the fifth and sixth grades. Looks like we're going to win this time. Please Daddy?"

  My mother stood there with her arms folded around a dish towel. "Who on that team? That rude, skinny Sherman? And that tub-a-lard Russell? That who you want to see? What you should be doing is reading some books after school—getting something in your head."

  "Ma, why you hate Russell and them?"

  "I don't hate them. They somebody's children just like you my child. And I hope their mamas be telling them the same thing I'm telling you—to get something in their heads."

  My father sat there quiet. I tried to read his face, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I decided to start crying. I knew that'd get to him.

  My mother rolled her eyes at me. "Stop that, Doris."

  Then my father looked at me, but he talked to my mother. "Let her go to the game," he said. "Nothing else."

  My mother has kind of slanty eyes. When she gets mad they look like two black slits. I turned to my father. "Daddy, please?"

  This time he looked at my mother. "Just let her go to the game. She'll come home right after."

  Mama sucked her teeth real loud and stomped into the kitchen. She clanged and banged pots and pans like it was New Year's Eve. Then the baby started crying. It looked like I saw a laugh somewhere in my father's face. "Doris, stop crying," he said. "Go and get the baby. This sounds like a crazy house."