The Trouble Begins Read online

  “Answer the door,” Thuy yells when it rings again. I just sit in the corner of the couch. My heart is pumping hard. Why would police come to our house? Are they here about me? In the Philippines the police sprayed water cannons and tear gas on some men for getting together in the street at night. The police were afraid they'd riot to get more food. I saw a man get arrested here on Fortieth Street when I was coming home from school. He was handcuffed and pushed into the police car. My mind races around thinking about stuff I've done. I hope they don't take me away because I ran away from school or because I tried to get free chickens at the market or I picked some berries. There's a bowl of berries next to my grandma's bed. I put them there so she'd have something good when she woke up. I see little pimples of fear on my arm. Nobody arrested kids and grandmothers in the Philippines.

  I pull back the blanket again and look sideways at the front door. The two policemen are talking to Thuy now. One of them's a lady. Thuy is using her nicest voice.

  “He's our little brother,” she says. “We're so sorry. He just came two months ago from overseas. The family was separated. He had a hard time. We'll tell him he can't just pick berries because he sees them. He didn't know. We're so sorry.”

  I did not have a hard time. I had a great time. Better than here. I had banana raids and swimming in the ocean and going to school only when my grandma could pay. I didn't have to sit with big fat books at the table and eat slimy cheese. I hear the police talk but their American is too fast to know what they say. I watch them walk down the stairs. I wasn't really scared and now I know it was that old man who tried to get me arrested. This means war.

  I watch from the window while the spy slams out of his gate and stalks over to the policemen. He's waving his arms in the air and pointing at my house. They talk to him and the lady policeman puts a hand on his arm to calm him down. He's still sputtering after them when they get in their black and white car and drive away. That old man called the police because I took a few of his berries. I'm going to call the police next time he looks in our window. Thuy marches back to her studying but she yells, “Du, you stupid!” when she walks past me.

  I put the blanket down. I go in the kitchen to get some food. My grandma's there in the hallway. She has her big straw hat on, rounded on top with the brim like an umbrella. Americans don't wear them. She's scared because the police came. I know she meant to go too if the police took me away. I tell her what happened.

  “Berries?” she asks, not quite believing me. “Berries?” She can't understand that someone would call the police about berries. I shrug. Neither can I. “It's okay now,” I say as I help her back to her room. “Don't worry.”

  “You buy berries, Du,” she says. “All you want.” She gives me money from her pocket to buy berries but it's Vietnamese money. She forgot. Then she adds, “This country has bad food but nice police.” I don't tell her it has mean old men too. Everybody in the Philippines said, “America, America, it's a wonderful place, the best in the world.” So Ba and Ma and Thuy and Lin and Vuong came here but the Americans wouldn't let my grandma and me come. That old spy didn't want us to come, I'm sure. Now maybe he wants to send us back so he spies and calls the police.

  My dad comes home late like always. Thuy hurries to tell him about that old man spy calling the police about the berries. My dad slumps in the kitchen chair but his face sets into anger. “You stay in our yard from now on,” he orders me. He goes to get something to eat. I make a face at Thuy. I guess I won't go out of the yard unless I get hungry and want some more berries. I don't care about staying in the yard. My dad'll forget about it anyway. He's too busy working to worry about a couple of berries. But that old man scared my grandma. I wonder if she worries we'll get sent back.

  Later I take her tea and she tells me a story about a monkey in Vietnam who picked berries and when a snake bit him he thought it was a thorn from the berries so he didn't pay attention and the snake ate him. Usually in her stories I am a dragon, lordly and smart and powerful, not a stupid monkey. I laugh because we both know she's trying to teach me not to pick the berries.

  I'm lying here thinking that some ripe berries would be very good for breakfast. It's so early that that old man is sure to be asleep. It's still mostly dark outside but I don't even need a light. I'll just toss my blanket in the closet, feel around for my clothes here on the floor, and I'm getting out of here.

  It's nice outside in the time before morning. It's cool and quiet. Those berries must be fresh and wet from the dew. The old man's not even awake but I'll still go over the wall in back. It's so easy for me.

  I'll just back up to get a run across the alley. Run. Jump as high as I can to grab the little crack in the blocks near the top. I strain with just my fingertips holding until my feet can find a rough spot to give me a boost up to the top. This is so easy. His big wall can't keep me out. It's easier than last time. I just reach over the top now and pull.

  My hands flail around to get a grip but there's nothing to hold on to, just slippery ooze all over the top. I'm going to fall. Oof! Ow! I can't breathe. I'm flat on my back in the alley gasping for breath and I know as soon as I can think that it's that old man who did it.

  Finally I can pull some air into my lungs. I put my hand to my face and my hand is covered with black slippery oil. I look up at the top of the wall. At the end near our yard sits that cat, looking down at me. “Did you see that? He tried to kill me,” I call to the cat.

  I don't want anyone to see me lying on my back in this dumb alley. I thought I was dead but I can breathe now. I fell hard. I got black stuff all over my shirt and arms and hands. I hate that old man. He put that stuff there so I'd slip off his wall. I scraped my hand on the wall too, trying to grab something when I fell.

  He thinks he saved his berries. No way. I'll just find something to put over that stuff. There's a lot of trash out today. Here's a box. Mash it down. Throw it on top of the wall. That's all.

  Stupid cardboard won't stay up there. It's getting light out. I have to hurry before people start driving down the alley. There! It stuck. Now back up. Run, jump, pull. It's harder with this black stuff on my hands but I'm not going to let him stop me.

  I'm on top but the cardboard is slippery. I can't reach many berries from up here. I'll just bend my knees and jump down into his yard.

  Now what? I land with a splash in smelly stuff that stinks like a latrine and I almost lose my balance. What is this? Yesterday his yard was all smooth green grass. Now there's smelly stinky water in a hole. Two traps that old man set for me. I don't want to fall over in this stuff. It's slippery and it's way over the top of my shoes. I hate that old man but he's a tricky old man, like the snake in my grandma's stories. Two traps when I thought he had only one. There's his kitchen light going on. I gotta get out of here. He'll think he won but I'm not going to forget. Two traps. My shirt and my arms are all covered with black stuff and my shoes are full of stinky water.

  I throw away my shirt with all that black stuff on it, way down at the bottom of the garbage so my mom won't see it when she gets up. I put on another one but I only have three because she says that's all I need. I wear the same pants to school but they don't have so much stuff on them as the shirt. I wear my smelly shoes too because that's all I have. They're squishy with water and mud. The old man put dead fish or something in the water.

  I'm early to school. Walking here I think of my grandma's story about the snake. There was a snake that kept trying to eat a turtle but it couldn't because of the turtle's hard shell. The snake thought it would be good if he had a hard shell too. He asked the turtle how he got his shell and the turtle said he got it by hitting himself over the head with a magic stick. The snake asked the turtle to hit him over the head with the stick because he, the snake, had no arms and couldn't do it himself. The turtle agreed. That's the end of the snake. The story's supposed to keep kids from being dumb and greedy like the snake but also to teach kids to be smart and tricky like the turtle. I'm a dragon but
I like the tricky turtle too. I will be trickier than that old man.

  I wait by the fence until the class lines up. I tag along at the end of the line so no one will hear the squishes or smell the smells. I washed but my arms and hands still have black stuff on them. I sit at my desk at the back hardly moving but it doesn't work. Anthony smells the fish smell.

  “Hey, Du Du,” he whispers. The others around me laugh. I know what Du Du is in American because I heard it before and asked Thuy. It sounds the same as dog doodoo. “Hey, Du Du, your shoes are full of doo-doo,” whispers Anthony again.

  I jump up and crack him over the head with my notebook. “Shut up!” I yell. Suddenly everything is very quiet. Mrs. Dorfman looks at me through the top of her glasses. Her frizzy yellow hair makes her head look big. She stares at me so long that kids start to whisper. Some are laughing. I look down at my desk top. Mrs. Dorfman doesn't say anything. She gets out the pad of yellow slips. She writes so loud I can hear the writing. She tears the top sheet off. She waves it at me. Squish, squish, squish. I walk up the aisle. My smell goes all across the class. Everybody's whispering or giggling now. I take the yellow slip.

  “Class, turn to page one hundred twenty-five,” she says. Now she doesn't look at me at all. I go out the door. I take my time walking to the Counseling Center. I've been there four or five times already. The lady who runs it is Ms. Whipple. I remember because the first time I went Jorge told me she's called Ms. Whipple because she whips you. I was scared. Now I know she doesn't even yell at you. She just talks sadly about whatever you did. I don't look at her face but I know she's leaning forward trying to see inside me. I don't want her to. I look at her hands with bright pink nails twirling a pencil. Ms. Whipple points at a corner near the magazines when I come in. All the little cubicles are full. I like it better here than in class. It's more interesting. Big kids and little kids come in, angry or crying. I look at old magazines.

  That night at home I run to answer the phone. I tell Ms. Whipple that my parents aren't home. True, but my grandma is. My grandma only knows about twenty words of English. I give her the phone. She says, “Yes, yes,” every once in a while. Then she says, “Good-bye.” This is easy. I'm glad my nosy sisters and brother are too busy reading their big fat books to ask what's going on.

  My grandma looks at me. “Tell me, Du,” she says in Vietnamese. I tell her about hitting someone at school. She's not satisfied. “Why?” she asks. I say he called me a name. “What?” she asks. I'm ashamed to tell her but she holds my sleeve and looks at me. I tell her how they change my name in English and what it means. I tell her they say I am dumb because I can't read. “Your name is Du,” she says softly, “and you are smart.” She keeps hold of my sleeve. She goes to the kitchen and keeps me with her. I help her chop vegetables.

  I don't tell my grandma about the old man and how he ruined my shirt and my shoes with his tricks. She will say, “You were the monkey and you weren't careful about the snake. You took his berries. Now you're even.” But I don't think we're even. He called the police. My shirt's in the bottom of the garbage and my shoes still smell. And he's still a spy. Now what should I do to that old man to make it really even?

  Tet-Trung-Thu

  I look at the clock on the wall. Thirty-five minutes till lunch. Mrs. Dorfman has her deck of cards with our names on them. “Alan.” She calls the name from the card. “What answer did you get for number fifteen, please?”

  “Three and five-eighths,” answers Alan.

  “Did anyone get a different answer?” she asks. She frowns like he's wrong. He's right because that's the same answer I got. She fools a bunch of kids, though, who wave their hands around. “Rosaria,” she says, and smiles, calling on one of the hands.

  “I got fifteen,” says Rosaria. Mrs. Dorfman does the whole problem on the overhead projector. This is going to take forever. I look around in my desk for something to do.

  “So Alan was right.” Mrs. Dorfman beams. “Now the answer for number sixteen, please, Du.”

  My paper's lost in a magazine I found in my desk. Everybody's waiting. I look sideways at Jorge's paper. “Four and three-tenths,” I say.

  “Speak up, Du,” says Mrs. Dorfman. Then everybody laughs because that's what happens whenever she says my name. She wants me to say what I said again, only louder, but it's harder to hear with kids snickering and whispering “doo-doo,” which the teacher also can't hear. Dumb Veronica starts telling Mrs. Dorfman what she thinks I said even though she doesn't know either.

  “Shut up,” I say. Then Mrs. Dorfman gets mad because she can hear that.

  She sighs. She pulls out another card. “Jennifer, the answer to sixteen, please,” she says. I find my paper. I got the right answer. I look at the clock. Twenty-six minutes until lunch.

  I hate school. I'm not going to talk again until I can speak American like my brother and sisters. At least, I'm not going to talk at school.

  In the cafeteria the lunch is ugly. It's cheese—stringy like snot—on mushy noodles, and chocolate milk, sickly sweet and not very cold. I eat the apple slices. I raise my hand to be excused to go to the playground. Veronica sits next to me because Mrs. Dorfman makes us walk in line. Veronica says, “You gotta eat half before you can get up, Du.” She says it loud enough for the lunch aide to hear. The lunch aide shakes her head at me—“No, you can't go yet”— and nods at my food—“Eat that first.” I shrug and sit there.

  Veronica's talking to the girl on her other side. I take my chocolate milk and pour it into Veronica's backpack. I stuff my cheesy mushy noodles into the empty milk carton. I raise my hand. The lunch aide nods—“Yes, you can go now”— and smiles happily at my empty tray. As I leave for the playground I hear Veronica shriek.

  In the afternoon our class goes out to play softball. Mrs. Dorfman says to choose teams, boy, girl, boy, girl. I get chosen last. After the last girl. In the Philippines I was the one who chose the teams. We didn't play stupid softball there. We played kick-the-ball even though we had to make the ball from maybe an old tire or just trash tied in a bag. When no one was around to stop us we played throw-rocks-ashard-as-you-can. Here Mrs. Dorfman sits on the bench and grades math papers. She looks up. “Don't throw the bat,” she calls. In the field I stand with my hands in my pockets. When I'm up to bat the teacher watches. I sling the bat hard, almost to first base. “You're out, Du,” she calls.

  We're getting ready to go home. A boy from the smart kids' class brings a note for Mrs. Dorfman from the office. “Du,” she calls above the noise. “You're to go to the office immediately.”

  “Oooh, Du, you're in trouble,” kids whisper. I stroll slowly out of class. I pass Veronica on the playground on my way to the office. She is hurrying back to class with blurry eyes and a snotty nose. She doesn't look at me.

  The principal calls me into his office. I stare at his tie. It has red and green giraffes on it. The principal points his finger at me. “Young man, you have not yet learned to respect other people's property.” I don't say anything. “What shall we do about that?” His finger jabs the air. I'm pretty sure this is about Veronica but sometimes I think I did one thing and they say I did something else. I don't say anything. Why would anyone cry and tell the principal about milk in their backpack? Dump it out is what I would do. Then I'd pour some glue in the other guy's shoe.

  The dumb giraffes, and thinking about shoe glue maybe, make me smile. The principal's hand slams down on his desk. “This is not a laughing matter.” His voice is slow and angry. “You will have to pay for the young lady's three library books and her white sweater.” I shrug. I don't have any money. “I will call your father to arrange for reimbursement.” I don't know what that is but my stomach drops. My face stays the same, I hope. “Your rude attitude is only making this worse,” he adds. Rude? I know what that means but I haven't even said anything.

  “Look at me, young man,” he commands. I look from the giraffes to his red face for only a second. Then I look at his shiny shoes. “Henceforth, you
will eat in the detention corner.” Good, I think, I won't have to sit next to Veronica. I have to get home fast to answer the phone. He waves me out but when I'm leaving he calls after me, “I will telephone your father at his place of employment.” I'm not sure what he means. Then I'm mad at myself because he sees that I'm not sure and repeats himself. “I'm calling your father at work, young man. I have his number right here.” He waves a white card around. There is no escape. My dad will be called at work and asked to pay.

  I walk home slowly. Now I don't want to answer the phone. Not if it's my dad. When school first started he yelled at me about doing my homework but now he just yells at Thuy and Lin and Vuong if they're watching TV, not me. Now when he looks at me he sees my new clothes are messed up already. I know because he orders me to change but the other clothes don't look any better. He doesn't know that's the old man's fault.

  Once I asked Vuong why Ba always looks so mad and yells at us for almost nothing. “I think it's because Mr. Vronsky, his boss, yells at him and he hates it so he yells at us,” answered Vuong.

  “That's not true,” Lin butted in. “He yells at us so we'll work hard and be the best.”

  “Every time you cost him money means more time he has to work for Mr. Vronsky. He wants to have his own business where he's the boss,” added Thuy. “Everyone can see that you don't work. You just mess around all the time. He hates that.”

  “I don't mess around,” I said, and laughed at her. I grabbed her big eraser and her box of paper clips and her apple with the bite out of it. I tossed them into the air one at a time and caught them until all three were going at once. I'm a good juggler.

  “See!” Thuy shouted. “See what I mean.”

  I inched over to the window, still juggling, so if the old man was watching he could see a real show. I got the eraser and the paper clip box and the apple going really high until the paper clip box popped open and the paper clips flew everywhere. Thuy chased me until I tossed her her apple.