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American Drummer, which Librarian Higgins orders especially for me.

Publié le 06/01/2014

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American Drummer, which Librarian Higgins orders especially for me. It was boring. I went to the science lab, to see if Mr. Powers would do some experiments with me. He said he actually had plans to eat lunch with some other teachers, and he couldn't let me be in the lab alone. So I made some jewelry in the art studio, which you are allowed to be in alone. Friday, Jimmy Snyder called me from across the playground, and then he came up to me with a bunch of his friends. He said, "Hey, Oskar, would you rather have a handjob or a blowjob from Emma Watson?" I told him I didn't know who Emma Watson was. Matt Colber said, "Hermione, retard." I said, "Who's Hermione? And I'm not mentally retarded." Dave Mallon said, "In Harry Potter, fag boy." Steve Wicker said, "She has sweet tits now." Jake Riley said, "Handjob or blowjob?" I said, "I've never even met her." I know a lot about birds and bees, but I don't know very much about the birds and the bees. Everything I do know I had to teach myself on the Internet, because I don't have anyone to ask. For example, I know that you give someone a blowjob y putting your penis in their mouth. I also know that dick is penis, and that cock is penis, too. And monster cock, obviously. I know that VJs get wet when a woman is having sex, although I don't know what they get wet with. I know that VJ is cunt, and also ass. I know what dildos are, I think, but I don't know what cum is, exactly. I know that anal sex is umping in the anus, but I wish I didn't. Jimmy Snyder pushed my shoulder and said, "Say your mom's a whore." I said, "Your mom's a whore." He said, "Say your mom's a whore." I said, "Your mom's a whore." "Say 'My' 'mom' 'is a whore.'" "Your mom is a whore." Matt and Dave and Steve and Jake were cracking up, but Jimmy was getting really, really angry. He raised a fist and said, "Prepare to die." I ooked around for a teacher, but I didn't see any. "My mom's a whore," I said. I went inside and read a few more sentences of A Brief History of Time. Then I broke a mechanical pencil. When I came home, Stan said, "You've got mail!" Dear Oskar, Thanks for mailing me the $76.50 you wed me. To tell you the truth, I never thought 'd see that money. Now I will believe everyone. (cab driver) Marty Mahaltra .S. No tip? I counted off seven minutes that night, and then fourteen minutes, and then thirty. I knew I'd never be able to fall asleep, because I was so excited that the next day I'd be able to search for the lock. I started inventing like a beaver. I thought about how in one hundred years every name in the 2003 Yellow Pages will be for someone who's dead, and how once when I was at The Minch's I saw a TV show where someone ripped a phone book in half with his hands. I thought about how I wouldn't want someone to rip a 2003 Yellow Pages in half in one hundred years, because even though everyone will be dead, it still felt like it should make a difference. So I invented a Black Box Yellow Pages, which is a phone book that's made out of the material that they make the black boxes on airplanes out of. I still couldn't sleep. I invented a postage stamp where the back tastes like crème brûlée. I still couldn't sleep. What if you trained Seeing Eye dogs to be bomb-sniffing dogs, so that they'd be Sniffing Eye Seeing Bomb dogs? That way, blind people could get paid for being led around, and could be contributing members of our society, and we'd all be safer, too. I was getting further and further from sleep. When I woke up it was Saturday. I went upstairs to pick up Mr. Black, and he was waiting in front of his door, snapping his fingers next to his ear. "What's his?" he asked when I handed him the present I made for him. I shrugged my shoulders, just like Dad used to. "What am I upposed to do with it?" I told him, "Open it, obviously." But I couldn't keep my happiness in, and before he got the paper ff the box I said, "It's a necklace I made for you with a compass pendant so you can know where you are in relation to he bed!" He kept opening it and said, "How nice of you!" "Yeah," I said, taking the box from him because I could open it aster. "It probably won't work outside your apartment, because the magnetic field of the bed gets smaller the farther ou get from it, but still." I handed him the necklace and he put it on. It said that the bed was north. So where to?" he asked. "The Bronx," I said. "The IRT?" "The what?" "The IRT train." "There isn't an IRT train, and I don't ake public transportation." "Why not?" "It's an obvious target." "So how do you plan on us getting there?" "We'll walk." That's got to be about twenty miles from here," he said. "And have you seen me walk?" "That's true." "Let's take the RT." "There is no IRT." "Whatever there is, let's take it." n our way out, I said, "Stan, this is Mr. Black. Mr. Black, this is Stan." Mr. Black stuck out his hand, and Stan shook it. I old Stan, "Mr. Black lives in 6A." Stan took his hand back, but I don't think Mr. Black was offended. lmost the whole ride to the Bronx was underground, which made me incredibly panicky, but once we got to the poor arts, it went above-ground, which I preferred. A lot of the buildings in the Bronx were empty, which I could tell because hey didn't have windows, and you could see right through them, even at high speeds. We got off the train and went own to the street. Mr. Black had me hold his hand as we looked for the address. I asked him if he was racist. He said overty made him nervous, not people. Just as a joke I asked him if he was gay. He said, "I suppose so." "Really?" I asked, ut I didn't take back my hand, because I'm not homophobic. he building's buzzer was broken, so the door was held open with a brick. Agnes Black's apartment was on the third floor, nd there was no elevator. Mr. Black said he'd wait for me, because the stairs at the subway were enough stairs for him or one day. So I went up alone. The floor of the hallway was sticky, and for some reason all of the peepholes had black aint over them. Someone was singing from behind one of the doors, and I heard TVs behind a bunch of others. I tried my ey in Agnes's lock, but it didn't work, so I knocked. little woman answered who was in a wheelchair. She was Mexican, I think. Or Brazilian, or something. "Excuse me, is our name Agnes Black?" She said, "No espeaka Inglesh." "What?" "No espeaka Inglesh." "I'm sorry," I said, "but I don't understand you. Could you please repeat yourself and enunciate a little bit better." "No espeaka Inglesh," she said. I pointed a finger in the air, which is the universal sign for hold on, and then I called down to Mr. Black from the stairwell, "I don't think she speaks English!" "Well, what does she speak?" "What do you speak?" I asked her, and then I realized how dumb my question was, so I tried a different approach: "Parlez-vous français?" "Español," she said. "Español," I hollered down. "Terrific!" he hollered back. "I picked up a little Español along the way!" So I brought her wheelchair to the tairwell, and they hollered to each other, which was kind of weird, because their voices were traveling back and forth but they couldn't see each other's faces. They cracked up together, and their laughter ran up and down the stairs. Then Mr. Black hollered, "Oskar!" And I hollered, "That's my name, don't wear it out!" And he hollered, "Come on down!" hen I got back to the lobby, Mr. Black explained that the person we were looking for had been a waitress at Windows n the World. "What the?" "The woman I just spoke with, Feliz, didn't know her personally. She was told about her when she moved in." "Really?" "I wouldn't make that up." We went out to the street and started walking. A car drove by that was playing music extremely loudly, and it vibrated my heart. I looked up, and there were strings connecting a lot of the windows with clothes hanging on them. I asked Mr. Black if that's what people meant when they said "clotheslines." He said, "That's what they mean." I said, "That's what I thought." We walked some more. Kids were kicking rocks in the street nd cracking up in the good way. Mr. Black picked up one of the rocks and put it in his pocket. He looked at the street ign, and then at his watch. A couple of old men were sitting in chairs in front of a store. They were smoking cigars and atching the world like it was TV. That's so weird to think about," I said. "What is?" "That she worked there. Maybe she knew my dad. Or not knew him, but maybe she served him that morning. He was there, in the restaurant. He had a meeting. Maybe she refilled his coffee or something." "It's possible." "Maybe they died together." I know he didn't know what to say to that, because of course they died together. The real question was how they died together, like whether they were on different ends of the estaurant, or next to each other, or something else. Maybe they had gone up to the roof together. You saw in some of he pictures that people jumped together and held hands. So maybe they did that. Or maybe they just talked to each other until the building fell. What would they have talked about? They were obviously so different. Maybe he told her about me. I wonder what he told her. I couldn't tell how it made me feel to think of him holding someone's hand. "Did she have any kids?" I asked. "I don't know." "Ask her." "Ask who?" "Let's go back and ask the woman who's living there now. I bet she knows if Agnes had any kids." He didn't ask me why that question was important, or tell me she already told us everything she knew. We walked back three blocks, and I went up the stairs and brought her wheelchair back to the stairwell, and they talked up and down the stairs for a while. Then Mr. Black hollered, "She didn't!" But I wondered if he was lying to me, because even though I don't speak Spanish, I could hear that she said a lot more than just no. As we were walking back to the subway, I had a revelation, and then I got angry. "Wait a minute," I said. "What were you cracking up about before?" "Before?" "When you were talking to that woman the first time, you were cracking up. Both of you." "I don't know," he said. "You don't know?" "I don't remember." "Try to remember." He thought for a minute. "I can't remember." Lie #77. We bought some tamales that a woman was selling by the subway from a huge pot in a grocery cart. Normally I don't like food that isn't individually wrapped or prepared by Mom, but we sat on the curb and ate our tamales. Mr. Black said, "If anything, I'm invigorated." "What's 'invigorated'?" "Energized. Refreshed." "I'm invigorated, too." He put his arm around me and said, "Good." "These are vegan, right?" I shook my tambourine as we walked up the stairs to the subway, and held my breath when the train went underground. Albert Black came from Montana. He wanted to be an actor, but he didn't want to go to California, because it was too close to home, and the whole point of being an actor was to be someone else. Alice Black was incredibly nervous, because she lived in a building that was supposed to be for industrial purposes, so people weren't supposed to live there. Before she opened the door, she made us promise that we weren't from the Housing Authority. I said, "I suggest you take a look at us through the peephole." She did, and then she said, "Oh, you," which I thought was weird, and she let us in. Her hands were covered with charcoal, and I saw drawings everywhere, and they were all of the same man. "Are you forty?" "I'm twenty-one." "I'm nine." "I'm one hundred and three." I asked her if he was the one who made the drawings. "Yes." "All of them?" "Yes." I didn't ask who the man in the drawings was, ecause I was afraid the answer would give me heavy boots. You wouldn't draw someone that much unless you loved him nd missed him. I told her, "You're extremely beautiful." "Thanks." "Can we kiss?" Mr. Black stuck his elbow in my side nd asked her, "Do you know anything about this key?" Dear Oskar Schell, I am responding on behalf of Dr. Kaley, who is currently in the Congo on a research expedition. She asked that I pass on her appreciation for your enthusiasm about her work with elephants. Given that I am already her assistant--and budget limitations being what they are, as I'm sure you've experienced--she isn't now able to take on anyone else. But she did want me to tell you that should your interest and availability remain, there might be a project next fall in Sudan that she will need help with. (The grant proposals are just now going through.)

« blowjob?" Isaid, "I'venever evenmether." I know alot about birdsandbees, butIdon't know verymuch about thebirds andthebees.

Everything Ido know Ihad to teach myself onthe Internet, becauseIdon't haveanyone toask.

Forexample, Iknow thatyougive someone ablowjob by putting yourpenis intheir mouth.

Ialso know thatdickispenis, andthat cock ispenis, too.Andmonster cock, obviously.

Iknow thatVJsget wet when awoman ishaving sex,although Idon't know whattheygetwet with.

I know that VJiscunt, andalso ass.Iknow whatdildos are,Ithink, butIdon't know whatcumis,exactly.

Iknow thatanal sexis humping inthe anus, butIwish Ididn't. Jimmy Snyder pushed myshoulder andsaid, "Sayyour mom's awhore." Isaid, "Your mom's awhore." Hesaid, "Say your mom's awhore." Isaid, " Your mom's awhore." "Say'My''mom' 'isawhore.'" "Yourmomisawhore." MattandDave and Steve andJake were cracking up,but Jimmy wasgetting really,reallyangry.

Heraised afist and said, "Prepare todie." I looked around forateacher, butIdidn't seeany.

"Mymom's awhore," Isaid.

Iwent inside andread afew more sentences of A Brief History ofTime.

Then Ibroke amechanical pencil.WhenIcame home, Stansaid, "You've gotmail!" Dear Oskar, Thanks formailing methe $76.50 you owed me.Totell you thetruth, Inever thought I'd see that money.

NowIwill believe everyone. (cab driver) MartyMahaltra P.S.

Notip? I counted offseven minutes thatnight, andthen fourteen minutes,andthen thirty.

Iknew I'dnever beable tofall asleep, because Iwas soexcited thatthenext dayI'dbe able tosearch forthe lock.

Istarted inventing likeabeaver.

Ithought about howinone hundred yearsevery name inthe 2003 Yellow Pageswillbefor someone who'sdead,andhow once when Iwas atThe Minch's Isaw aTV show where someone rippedaphone bookinhalf with hishands.

Ithought about how Iwouldn't wantsomeone torip a2003 Yellow Pagesinhalf inone hundred years,because eventhough everyone will bedead, itstill feltlike itshould makeadifference.

SoIinvented aBlack BoxYellow Pages,whichisaphone book that's made outofthe material thatthey make theblack boxes onairplanes outof.Istill couldn't sleep. I invented apostage stampwhere theback tastes likecrème brûlée. I still couldn't sleep. What ifyou trained SeeingEyedogs tobe bomb-sniffing dogs,sothat they'd beSniffing EyeSeeing Bombdogs?Thatway, blind people couldgetpaid forbeing ledaround, andcould becontributing membersofour society, andwe'd allbe safer, too.

Iwas getting further andfurther fromsleep. When Iwoke upitwas Saturday. I went upstairs topick upMr.

Black, andhewas waiting infront ofhis door, snapping hisfingers nexttohis ear.

"What's this?" heasked whenIhanded himthepresent Imade forhim.

Ishrugged myshoulders, justlikeDad used to."What amI supposed todo with it?"Itold him, "Open it,obviously." ButIcouldn't keepmyhappiness in,and before hegot the paper off the box Isaid, "It'sanecklace Imade foryou with acompass pendantsoyou canknow where youareinrelation to the bed!" Hekept opening itand said, "How niceofyou!" "Yeah," Isaid, taking thebox from himbecause Icould openit faster.

"Itprobably won'tworkoutside yourapartment, becausethemagnetic fieldofthe bed gets smaller thefarther you getfrom it,but still." Ihanded himthenecklace andheput iton.

Itsaid that thebed was north. "So where to?"heasked.

"TheBronx," Isaid.

"The IRT?" "Thewhat?" "TheIRTtrain." "There isn'tanIRT train, andIdon't take public transportation." "Whynot?""It'sanobvious target.""Sohow doyou plan onusgetting there?" "We'llwalk." "That's gottobe about twenty milesfromhere," hesaid.

"And haveyouseen mewalk?" "That's true.""Let'stakethe IRT." "There isno IRT." "Whatever thereis,let's take it." On our way out,Isaid, "Stan, thisisMr.

Black.

Mr.Black, thisisStan." Mr.Black stuckouthishand, andStan shook it.I told Stan, "Mr.Black livesin6A." Stan took hishand back, butIdon't thinkMr.Black wasoffended. Almost thewhole ridetothe Bronx wasunderground, whichmademeincredibly panicky,butonce wegot tothe poor parts, itwent above-ground, whichIpreferred.

Alot ofthe buildings inthe Bronx wereempty, whichIcould tellbecause they didn't havewindows, andyoucould seeright through them,evenathigh speeds.

Wegotoffthe train andwent down tothe street.

Mr.Black hadmehold hishand aswe looked forthe address.

Iasked himifhe was racist.

Hesaid poverty madehimnervous, notpeople.

Justasajoke Iasked himifhe was gay.

Hesaid, "Isuppose so.""Really?" Iasked, but Ididn't takeback myhand, because I'mnot homophobic. The building's buzzerwasbroken, sothe door washeld open withabrick.

Agnes Black's apartment wasonthe third floor, and there wasnoelevator.

Mr.Black saidhe'd waitforme, because thestairs atthe subway wereenough stairsforhim for one day.

SoIwent upalone.

Thefloor ofthe hallway wassticky, andforsome reason allofthe peepholes hadblack paint overthem.

Someone wassinging frombehind oneofthe doors, andIheard TVsbehind abunch ofothers.

Itried my key inAgnes's lock,butitdidn't work,soIknocked. A little woman answered whowasinawheelchair.

Shewas Mexican, Ithink.

OrBrazilian, orsomething.

"Excuseme,is your name Agnes Black?" Shesaid, "Noespeaka Inglesh." "What?""Noespeaka Inglesh." "I'msorry," Isaid, "butIdon't. »

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