Iggie's House Read online

  “Do you have a minute, Mr. Berger?” Winnie asked timidly.

  Mr. Berger checked his watch. “Sure I do Winnie. My next lesson’s not for another ten minutes.” He sat down on a chair beside her.

  “We’ve got some new neighbors Mr. Berger. In Iggie’s house. They’re uh … they’re uh … Negro,” Winnie said quietly.

  Mr. Berger kept smiling at her. “Oh …”

  “Yes … we’re very good friends,” Winnie said excitedly. Then she paused and added, “At least we were until this morning. Mr. Berger, I’ve got this petition and uh … I’d like you to sign it for me. Would you?”

  Mr. Berger looked at Winnie for what seemed to be a very long time. Then he said, “Well, I can’t answer that until I see it. Where is your petition?”

  Winnie whipped it out and presented it to him. “Here it is and here’s a pencil,” she said, fumbling in the bottom of her pocketbook for the one she had sharpened so carefully.

  Mr. Berger read her paper thoughtfully. “This is more of a questionnaire than a petition, Winnie. But I’ll fill it out for you.” He reached for her pencil and Winnie held her breath, wondering if he would check Like … Don’t Like … Don’t Care … or Don’t Know.

  Mr. Berger handed the questionnaire back to her. She was almost afraid to look. “Go ahead and read it Winnie,” he said.

  Winnie turned away from the sun and studied the paper. Mr. Berger had signed his name in the proper space: Frank G. Berger. To the question “Feelings about Colored People” Mr. Berger had written across one whole line … What color? Green or purple?

  “Mr. Berger!” Winnie sighed, embarrassed. “You know what I mean!”

  “Yes, I think I do Winnie. But I can’t answer a question like that by checking a box. I have many feelings. And my feelings are different for each person.”

  “That’s just it Mr. Berger!” Winnie raised her voice. Then she leaned over closer to him and explained softly, “You see, Mrs. Landon is being mean to the Garbers without knowing them, because of their color. And my folks, well, I’m disappointed in them too. And I’m all mixed up, Mr. Berger. And I just wish Iggie was here. And I wish somebody would help me understand!” Tears came to Winnie’s eyes and she looked away.

  “Winnie, Winnie,” Mr. Berger said gently, putting an arm around her. “Sometimes life is like that. I’ll tell you one thing though. I’m proud of you.” And then with a grin he added, “Even if you do wear nose clips!”

  “You think I’m right then?” Winnie asked, returning the smile.

  Mr. Berger nodded. “I think anybody who cares about people is right Winnie.”

  They were interrupted by a shrill voice screaming, “Don’t put your face near the water. Don’t go in so deep. Come back here Clarice! You’ll drown. No splashing! You’ll ruin my hair. Please children!”

  Winnie groaned, as she turned toward the voice. Mrs. Landon and Clarice. Yick! Winnie heard that they recently joined the pool. “I can’t stand her,” Winnie confessed to Mr. Berger. “And that itsy-bitsy precious-wecious little princess of hers!”

  “I can understand how you feel about Mrs. Landon, Winnie. But try not to take it out on Clarice. It isn’t easy to go through life with a mother like that. Why don’t you talk to Clarice? Give her another point of view. The way Iggie did for you.”

  “I can’t Mr. Berger. I just can’t!” Winnie insisted.

  “Well, think about it Winnie. I’ve got to give a lesson now. Keep your chin up!” Winnie nodded and watched Mr. Berger walk away.

  She folded her questionnaire and racked it into her pocketbook. Mr. Berger was right … you can’t expect people to answer a question like that with a simple check mark. There had to be another way.

  Winnie sat down on the edge of a lounge chair. She watched Mr. Berger jump off the diving board with a little boy. He used to do that with her too. She felt the sweat trickle down her chest inside her bathing suit. She decided as long as she was at the pool she might as well have a swim.

  Winnie sat down next to the ladder at the deep end of the pool and dangled her feet in the cold water. She read the printed sign stating WOMEN AND GIRLS MUST WEAR BATHING HATS AT ALL TIMES—THE MANAGEMENT. She held hers in her lap, not wanting to put it on until the last possible second. The hat squeezed her head and she hated it.

  Since she had passed the deep water test last summer she was allowed to use all sections of the pool. She even had a badge to pin on her bathing suit saying GUEST: DEEP WATER. Winnie was thinking about the things she and Mr. Berger had discussed when someone suddenly shoved her from behind and sent her splashing down into the cold water, totally unprepared. She came up choking and spurting water, her nose clips still hanging around her neck. The life guard stood up furiously blowing his whistle at her. He pointed at her head, indicating that she was in the pool without a bathing cap. Wonderful! she thought! She might have drowned and all the life guard cared about was that her hair wasn’t covered. She looked up into Big Red’s laughing face.

  “Oh, that was just great Winnie!. I really surprised you, didn’t I?” He laughed hysterically and slapped his thigh. “Oh boy, I really caught you off guard!”

  Winnie muttered under her breath and considered how good it would feel to chop off his big red head with a sharp hatchet!

  She climbed up the ladder, stepped out of the pool and sat down in the sun, hoping her hair dried before she had to go home. Mrs. Landon was still sitting on a chair right up close to the shallow end of the pool. She was wearing a bathing suit but had her sweater over her shoulders anyway.

  Clarice was floating inside a tube. She twirled around and around but didn’t get her face wet. At that moment Winnie felt sorry for her. Having a mother like Germs, Inc. was pretty bad. Mr. Berger was right. It really wasn’t Clarice’s fault that she was the way she was. Maybe when she got older she’d change. Maybe, but probably not, Winnie decided.

  She took out her questionnaire again. She simply could not resist the temptation to approach Mrs. Landon. She walked over slowly and just stood there, waiting for Mrs. Landon to notice her.

  “Hello, Winifred. Do you want to swim with Clarice?”

  “No … I … uh … it’s just my questionnaire, Mrs. Landon. I’d appreciate it if you would fill it out please,” Winnie said, making her voice as gentle and sweet as she possibly could.

  “Questionnaire! Now what are you up to young lady?” Winnie handed her the paper. Mrs. Landon read it and sucked in her breath. She kept her voice low, almost swallowing every word. “Winifred Barringer … I feel sorry for you! And for your parents!” Mrs. Landon shook the questionnaire in Winnie’s face.

  Winnie grabbed it and went to search for her aunt. She was afraid if she stayed she would cause a commotion. Then Aunt Myrna might be mad at her, and she was, after all, only a guest.

  “Glad you’re here Winnie,” Aunt Myrna said, as Winnie approached her bridge table. “It’s almost four o’clock, and I have to be going. Let’s get our things together now.”

  Winnie opened the car door on the driver’s side. She slid over into her own bucket seat, and fastened the safety belt. Aunt Myrna backed out of the parking lot and headed for Grove Street.

  Winnie asked her aunt to drop her off at the Garbers, instead of at home. Aunt Myrna agreed. Winnie got out of the little red car, thanked her aunt for the afternoon, and skipped up to the Garbers’ front door.

  She pressed the bell and looked around. There was no green station wagon in the driveway. Winnie wondered if anybody was home. She pressed the bell again and listened for footsteps. She didn’t know just what she was going to say to the Garbers, but she had to face them.

  chapter eight

  Glenn answered the door. “Hi Winnie,” he said, munching a chocolate-chip cookie.

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Winnie realized that she hadn’t been inside the house since the Garbers moved to Grove Street. The thought gave her a sinking feeling, but she swallow
ed hard and stepped into the house. “Isn’t anybody else at home?” she asked.

  “Tina and my father took Woozie to the vet. He needed some shots.” Glenn’s voice was almost a whisper. Winnie had to lean close to hear every word. “And Herbie’s upstairs sleeping.” Glenn finished his cookie and brushed off his hands.

  “Sleeping? At quarter to five in the afternoon? How come?”

  “He puked after lunch. After uh … after Mrs. Landon … oh, you know.” Glenn looked at his sneakers.

  “Yeah,” Winnie said, and then tried to brighten things up. “Say! I threw up on a bus once. Spaghetti! All over the place. The people on the bus weren’t very happy about that at all.” Winnie laughed nervously. She certainly hadn’t planned to tell anyone that story.

  Glenn didn’t laugh. He just looked at her kind of funny. “I’m doing something in the kitchen … come on.”

  Winnie followed Glenn through the long hallway leading to the rear of the house. The kitchen looked out on the back yard. A folding table and three chairs were set up in one corner of the bright sunny room. Winnie sat down on a chair. The yellow countertops were cluttered with grocery bags. Somebody must have been shopping. Glenn reached into bag after bag, coming up with a variety of cans, jars and boxes, which he banged down on the counter. Winnie watched silently. She noticed that the Garbers used the same kind of peanut butter that her mother bought for her. The creamy kind. She hated the kind with lumps.

  Glenn opened the cabinet over the counter and started putting in all the cans and jars. He didn’t make rows like Mrs. Barringer did. He practically threw them in every which way. Winnie’s mother lined everything up so you could read the labels.

  “How come you’re putting all that stuff away? Where’s your mother?” Winnie asked.

  “Upstairs,” Glenn mumbled.

  “What’s going on around here anyway?”

  Glenn faced her. “Okay, you might as well know, Winnie,” he said disgustedly. “My mother’s packing.”

  “Packing! For what?” Winnie asked.

  “To leave here … to move … that’s what!”

  “But why?”

  “Why!” Glenn raised his voice. “How can you ask why? You know why.”

  “You mean you’re going because of … of … that sign and Mrs. Landon?” Winnie didn’t want to believe it. How could the Garbers give up so easily?

  “I don’t know if we’re really going or not. All I know is my mother’s been screaming and carrying on all afternoon. She’s had it! That’s all I know.”

  “But what about you?” Winnie asked.

  “Me!” Glenn laughed. “Do I matter? Does anybody ever care about what I think?” He turned back to the bundles.

  “I do,” Winnie said softly.

  “A lot of good that’ll do!” Glenn clunked two cans of tuna fish into the cabinet. “For all I know my mother’s going to take us back to Detroit and leave my father here.”

  “Why would she do a thing like that?”

  “Because my father’s not going to want to move. I just know it He’s got the job he’s been after … the one he’s been working for.”

  “Your father’s not mad?” Winnie asked.

  “Mad!” Glenn slammed the cabinet door. “This is more than just getting mad. I don’t think you understand.”

  Understand? What did he think anyway? Hadn’t she been understanding right from the start. Wasn’t she the one who wanted to be a good neighbor!

  She heard somebody run down the stairs and tear through the hallway into the kitchen. It was Herbie. He looked awful. His eyes were red and swollen. He had a blue terry bathrobe wrapped around him. He was barefoot. Winnie hoped he wasn’t going to throw up again. That was something she couldn’t stand.

  “Oh … it’s you!” Herbie looked at her, then turned away.

  “Come off it, Herbie,” Glenn said. “There’s no point in taking it out on Winnie.”

  “Good old Winnie!” Herbie slapped her on the back and made her cough. “Miss Do-Gooder Herself!”

  Who did he think he was? Here she was trying to help … trying to do her best for them and this is where it got her. “Do you have to be so nasty all the time?” she asked Herbie. “What’d I ever do to you?”

  Herbie dropped to his knees, pretending to pray. “Lord … oh Lord! Thank you Lord for sending the Garber family this Great Do-Gooder, Winifred. Now that she’s discovered us, she’s going to save us, Lord. All by herself! And after we’re gone, Lord … then she’ll be able to tell everyone how she’s had black friends. Now isn’t that wonderful! I ask you Lord … isn’t that just too …”

  Winnie jumped to her feet. “SHUT UP!” she yelled. “Just shut up.” She smacked Herbie across the face, as hard as she could. “YOU CREEP! she screamed. “You rotten, lousy creep!”

  Herbie grabbed her by the arm. “Shut up yourself!” he hollered back.

  Glenn stepped between Herbie and Winnie, forcing them apart. “Cut it out … both of you!”

  “You know what I think, Herbie Garber,” Winnie cried. “I think you’re as bad as Mrs. Landon. I used to think you picked on me ’cause I’m a girl. But I just found out the truth. You hate everybody who’s white! I feel sorry for you!” She stormed out of the kitchen before the tears came. They tasted hot and salty.

  Glenn caught her at the front door. “Hey, take it easy Winnnie.”

  “Easy? Ha! Did I start it? Did I?”

  “Look, all Herbie means is he doesn’t think you’d be so interested in us if we weren’t black. He doesn’t want to be used by somebody who thinks it’s groovy to have black friends.”

  “Doesn’t want to be used! Well, I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean! I just don’t seem to understand anything anymore!” She was crying hard now and she didn’t care who knew it.

  She ran home sobbing. Whatever made her think they were so special. They were just ordinary. That’s all! Plain, old ordinary! And no matter how much she wanted to be friends … no matter how hard she tried … that Herbie Garber was hard to take! He was more than hard to take … he was IMPOSSIBLE.

  Dear Iggie,

  How are you? I have tried my absolute best to make friends with the Garbers (who bought your house). I have done everything I could for them. And do you think they appreciate anything???? They do not!!! Especially one impossible one named Herbie. I just smacked him. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I felt like it!!! What would you think of your best friend spending the rest of her life in jail?

  Winnie took a bath before dinner. Nobody told her to, but if her folks saw how upset she was they’d want to know about it, and she wasn’t going to go through that again. Not after this morning’s scene with her mother.

  She didn’t feel like eating dinner. But her mother said, “No dinner … no dessert!” And Winnie had seen four cherry tarts sitting in the refrigerator. Her favorites! So she forced herself to nibble on the main course. She gagged on a mouthful of lima beans before she managed to wash them down with two glasses of water.

  Just as her mother carried in the cherry tarts the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” Winnie said, already out of her chair. “But don’t start the tarts without me.”

  It was Mrs. Landon, wearing her glasses and looking very stern. “Good evening, Winifred. Are your mother and father at home?”

  “Yes, but we’re in the middle of dinner,” Winnie said.

  Mrs. Landon raised her voice. “Well then, I’ll wait!”

  Winnie could tell that Mrs. Landon was not about to leave so she went back into the dining room and announced the arrival of Germs, Incorporated.

  “I guess our cherry tarts will have to wait,” Mr. Barringer said, as they went to the front hall to greet Mrs. Landon. She wasn’t there. She had already seated herself comfortably in the living room.

  “Well, did you tell them, Winifred?” Mrs. Landon asked, turning on the smile.

  “Tell us what?” Mrs. Barringer looked at Winnie.

  “I don’t know Mo
m,” Winnie said.

  “What you were doing at the pool!” Mrs. Landon said sharply.

  Mr. and Mrs. Barringer looked at their daughter.

  Winnie said nothing.

  “Well, if you don’t tell them, I will! About your questionnaire,” Mrs. Landon said.

  “Oh that!” Winnie said weakly. “No, I didn’t tell them about it. Not yet.”

  “Will somebody please tell me what is going on around here!” Mrs. Barringer demanded.

  “I guess I’ll have to be the one to tell you,” Mrs. Landon began, before Winnie had a chance to say a word. “Your daughter—this child standing right here—” she stood up and started to tap Winnie on the head with her handbag but Winnie ducked and moved away. “Your daughter brought a questionnaire to the pool today. And … and … she asked me to fill it out. Can you imagine!” Winnie had the feeling that Mrs. Landon was about to explode.

  “What kind of questionnaire, Winnie?” Mr. Barringer asked.

  “Wait a second and I’ll get it Dad,” Winnie said, dashing up the stairs.

  She took the paper carefully out of her red pocketbook and smoothed it out. It had only one signature on it. Mr. Berger’s. She carried it downstairs and presented it to her father, glancing sideways at Germs, Incorporated. She really wanted to stick out her tongue but her parents were watching.

  Winnie’s dad read the questionnaire, smiled and handed it to his wife. She read it and put it down on the coffee table, but did not smile.

  “Well, she’s not your child, Dorothy,” Mr. Barringer said firmly, “and we don’t need any help or advice in handling her. As for this questionnaire … I don’t see any difference between it and your petition. Except of course you represent different opinions. But Winnie is as much entitled to an opinion as you are.”

  Winnie could hardly believe her ears. He was on her side! Her father was on her side! He didn’t like Mrs. Landon any more than she did!

  “Well … well.…” Mrs. Landon fumed, her face turning purple. “I have news for you, Paul Barringer, that may make you change your mind. It just so happens that late this afternoon we had a real estate representative pay us a visit. He’s going to do us a favor and buy our house. Of course we won’t get as much as we should—because of THEM—but we feel fortunate in being able to get rid of it at any price. Now this gentleman is going to be calling on all of Grove Street very soon, offering to buy your homes quickly, while there is still time. And if you’re smart you’ll sell fast. Just as we did. Sell fast and get out of this neighborhood before it’s too late! Before they take over!”