Susan Pfeffer - The Dead And The Gone

The first man looked over at Alex and read what he'd written. "Your parents?" he asked.

Alex nodded, not sure he could trust himself to speak.

"You okay?" the man asked. "You have someone to look after you?"

Alex nodded again.

"Puerto Rico," the second man read. "By the coast or inland?"

"Coast," Alex choked out.

The second man shook his head. "San Juan was hit hard," he said. "All the coast. You and your family will be in my prayers."

"Mine, too," the first man said, gently resting his hand on Alex's shoulder. "If you need help, you know someone at St. Margaret's will be here for you. We're family here, don't forget that."

"I won't," Alex said. "Thank you."

The two men walked away, their places taken immediately by two others. Alex checked out the rest of the notices on the bulletin board. Monday was going to be a national day of mourning. Schools would reopen on Tuesday. Curlew was still in place. A Mass for the dead would be held daily at 6:00 PM until further notice.

Alex left the church uncertain where to go, but ending up on Amsterdam Avenue. What few cars were on the street whizzed their way uptown. Alex walked the two blocks to Joey's pizza parlor. The door was locked, but he looked through the window and spotted Joey behind the counter. Alex knocked on the window, and when Joey looked up, waved.

Joey walked over to the door and unlocked it. "I'm glad to see you," Joey said. "I wanted to call but no phones."

"I know," Alex said. "Are you going to open?"

Joey shook his head. "The ovens are okay," he said. "But there's no refrigeration. I've lost all my cheese. Can't have pizza without cheese."

"The electricity's supposed to be back by Monday," Alex said.

"That's what they say," Joey said. "But what if it comes and goes? And what if the phones don't work good, either? People call in for pizzas. No, I'm shot. The chains'll figure a way. Pay off the right people, get all the service they need. But us little guys, we're goners."

"I guess I'm out of a job then," Alex said.

"You and me both," Joey said. "My wife's already after me for us to move. She says this is just the beginning."

"You think so?" Alex asked. "I figure the scientists are working on solutions. And the government. If we get electricity back, that'll make things better right there."

Joey shook his head. "I'm not ready to give up, but my wife's got a point," he replied. "It's not like the tides just hit Wednesday night, like one of those tsunamis, one-shot deal. Tides are twice a day, every day. Full moons will really be killers."

"But people will just move away from the coast," Alex said, trying to sound calm and rational, trying not to think of his father. "Lots of New York City is inland. We're not getting hit by tides here."

"That's what I said to my wife," Joey said. "But she says the whole city will erode. I guess the question is how long will it take. Weeks, months, centuries."

Alex smiled. "I'm going with centuries," he said. "The Empire State Building isn't eroding anytime soon."

"Tell that to my wife," Joey said. "Meantime, I don't see how I can stay in business, and I don't know what else to do. Become an undertaker, maybe. But since you're here, I should settle up with you. How long since I paid you?"

"Last Friday," Alex said. "I worked a full day Saturday, three hours on Monday and Tuesday, and four hours on Wednesday."

"That's right," Joey said. "You were here when the cable went out. I never did find out if the Yankees won. Okay, that's eighteen hours I owe you for. You got all your tip money?"

Alex nodded.

"Here, take this," he said, handing Alex a batch of bills. "It's all I got in my wallet."

Alex looked over the money. "Too much," he said, handing a ten-dollar bill back to Joey.

Joey shook his head. "Take it," he said. "I got cash at home."

"Thank you," Alex said. "When you reopen, I'll put in a couple of hours for free."

"Deal," Joey said. "Look, Alex, take care of yourself. You're a good kid, best worker I ever had. Kids like you, you're the future. Especially now. Pray for us while you're at it. All of us."

Alex nodded. "I'll do that," he said. "I'll see you soon, Joey."

"I hope so," Joey said. "Here's to better days."

"Better days," Alex said. As far as he was concerned, they couldn't come too soon.

Sunday, May 22

Much to Alex's relief, at Mass Father Franco made no announcements. After the service was over, Briana and Julie found friends and joined them. After a minute or two, Bri ran over to Alex.

"Kayla's mother invited us for lunch," she said. "She said you could come, too."

Alex looked over to where Julie was standing. She and her friends were giggling as though nothing had changed.

"I don't think so," Alex said. "Thank her for me, though."

"You sure?" Bri asked.

Alex grinned. "Positive," he said. "Thanks anyway. Have a good time."

He was glad his sisters had friends to talk with. It would make Monday with no school that much easier for all of them. But he was just as glad to have some time alone.

He used the free time to walk around the west side, not sure what he was looking for. There were more people on the streets, but they seemed as dazed as he was.

Just when Alex became convinced nothing would ever be open again, he chanced upon an open hardware store. He was taken aback by the sight of the normal: paint cans, screwdrivers, duct tape all neatly in place.

Alex spotted a couple of flashlights. It wouldn't hurt to have another one, he thought, in case the blackouts continued.

"Thirty dollars," the man behind the counter said.

"Thirty dollars?" Alex said. "For a flashlight?"

"I only got two left," the man said. "Supply and demand. The last one'll be forty bucks."

Alex put the flashlight away. They could live without it. But as he reached the door, he turned around. "Batteries," he said. "You have any batteries left:"

"They'll cost you," the man said.

Alex pulled out his wallet. He had fifty-two dollars on him. "I need Cs and Ds," he said.

The man looked behind the counter. "I got a four-pack of Cs for twenty bucks," he said. "Two Ds'll cost you ten."

They had food, Alex told himself, plenty of canned goods, and starting on Tuesday when school reopened, they wouldn't have to worry about lunches. But who knew when electricity would get back to normal.

"I'll take them," he said, handing over a twenty and a ten.

The man put the batteries in a bag. "You won't regret it," he said. "Next guy comes in, I'll charge twice that."

I bet you will, Alex thought. But it won't be my problem.

As he opened the apartment door, he noticed how silent it was. There was always somebody at home, with six people in the five-room apartment. Even when they were sleeping, there was the constant background of street noise, cars driving by, honking horns, people laughing or shouting. The washers and driers in the basement laundry room rumbled well past midnight, and in the wintertime, the oil burner that kept the entire building heated drowned out all the other sounds.

But now even West Eighty-eighth Street was quiet. Quiet as a grave, Alex thought.

He sat on the sofa and told himself this was the ideal time to cry, when his sisters couldn't see him. He knew there was no shame in crying. Papi had sobbed the day Carlos went off to boot camp. He'd cried just the other day when he heard Nana had died. But Alex didn't shed a single tear. Maybe it was just too quiet to cry.

He spotted the transistor radio, put the C batteries in it, and spun the dial until he got a New York station. It was good to know it was on the air, even if all the news being broadcast was horrible.

"A telephone hotline has been set up for assistance in locating missing New York City family members," the woman on the radio said. "If one of your family has been missing since Wednesday night, call 212-555-CITY. That's 212-555-2489."