The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle Read online

  It is now that I hear myself. I have been humming. Grunting. Snorting like an ancient cow—the aurochs. When I turn I see Calvin is not drawing. He is watching. And listening.

  He whispers, “Don’t stop, Mason!” He makes a rumble in his throat. Like me. Like the aurochs. He points to the wall and says, “The horns!”

  So I turn back. Got that charcoal in one hand. The piece is smaller now. I raise both arms, curl my hands like the horns of the aurochs. I dip my head. Keep a rumble in my throat. I reach up and draw one curved horn. Then the other. And those horns look right! I have the feeling of this whole thing coming together. I pull my arm back. I take the stump of charcoal and drill through the air right to the face of the aurochs. I set down the mark that makes the eye. Then I roar. The sound goes off the close walls in the root cellar and back at me.

  Holy cow! I feel mighty!

  Calvin’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open. Grinning. He stamps his tan-sandy shoes on the dirt floor. He says, “Yes! Mason! You are the aurochs!”

  I make the sound of thunder. Stampeding hooves. I am loud. Calvin is cheering . . . and then there is another noise. It’s sharp. And short. And we stop to listen. It is a bark!

  Once. And again. And there is a scuff-scuffing noise too. Calvin looks at me. I look back at him. We are still and silent in the secret of the root cellar. The bark sounds again. We know who it is. We know what he’s asking. It is killing me. I want to throw the door wide open.

  Calvin puts his eye to the knothole. Walks his body one way. Then the other. He gives me a nod, like I can open the door. But he also presses his hands toward the ground, like to say, Be careful.

  What you do then is you hope. Hope that the dog is here on his own. And you hope you didn’t give up the root cellar while you were being the aurochs.

  I am slow and careful about the door. I pull it open. Just inches. Two white paws scratch at the crack. A black nose squeezes in. Then Moonie leaps! He bursts in. I grab the rope. Pull the door closed behind him.

  Well, now we have him inside, and tell you what, he is happy. He comes to me. Stands two feet on my knee. He stretches up. Tries to lick my chin. Then he bounces away and up to Calvin for more pats.

  He runs around sniffing the corners and crannies of the root cellar. It’s like he has too much to do. And it all must be done.

  Tell you what. I can’t help how much I love having Moonie with us. Calvin seems pretty okay with it too. Maybe he worries. Like me. Like what happens if Matt and Lance come looking for him. But we don’t say it out loud. I just pull the door again. Shut it extra hard.

  Moonie stands below my aurochs. He walks up close. Sniffs the fresh charcoal. His tail wags. Then he takes two steps, picks up his hind leg, and pees on the wall. Calvin and I laugh. We sputter and snort. We pinch our noses some because . . . pee-eww. But the piddle runs down the wall and soaks into the old dirt floor. The stink goes with it pretty quick.

  Then Moonie goes and gives the old rag rug a scratch with one paw. It’s just a thing I found kind of half under our porch where we forgot about it. He circles then lies right down. Chin on paws.

  Calvin says, “I think he just moved in.”

  I say, “Guess so.” I lean down. Pat that dog. That smell of him—not the pee, but that fur and skin smell—makes the middle of me warm. It is simple. I feel good with Moonie in the root cellar. It’s like he belongs here. I know Matt Drinker would say different. I make a plan to carry Moonie home again. Give him protection. Right to his door. I will put him inside the Drinker house myself. But not yet. Because he has tucked his nose into a fold of the old rug and closed his eyes.

  Moonie sleeps beside the aurochs.

  chapter 42

  THE DEAD MAN

  Calvin is showing me some colors. He brought crayons, but not little-kid crayons. No. These are oil crayons. For artists. The colors are rust and brown and gold like our orchard in fall. The oil in them smells good, like the tractor and the lawnmower. Calvin says, “Try them out. You can smudge them and smear them. If you want to.”

  So I squat down by the wall. Begin to put some color on the aurochs. Calvin stands under the shaft. Tablet nearby. He gets down on hands and knees to draw the dead man. We work. Moonie sleeps with legs twitching. I think about those four boys. The ones Garrison Keillor said discovered the Caves of Lascaux. And that dog that was with them. The dog called Robot. I make it up in my mind—a dream for Moonie Drinker. He is running down a rocky hole in France. France over in Europe. He enters the cave and barks for his boys to come see what he sees. An aurochs on the cave wall. Like this one that I am dotting up with oil crayons, only a real ancient one. Moonie Drinker could do that. He could be the dog who discovers an art cave. He has that much dog greatness in him. I believe that.

  It’s not too long before I ask Calvin. I say, “Why do you think it was easy?”

  He says, “Easy? What do you mean?”

  I say, “For a kid like me to draw a pretty good aurochs. I mean all of a sudden like that. You know me. I’m good at making a tractor go. I can dig you a hole. That’s me. I am no artist. But I made a pretty good aurochs here. Didn’t I?”

  Calvin says, “It’s a great aurochs.” He says, “You were in deep there. You were feeling like the aurochs, heart and soul. Your spirits must be matched, Mason. He’s your symbol.”

  I jump up to say it. I tell Calvin, “Yes! That is what I think! This whole time, I thought it!”

  I’m too loud. Moonie wakes and looks at me. He stretches. He curls himself opposite way now. Settles back down.

  I tell Calvin, “So then what about you?”

  Calvin says, “What about me?”

  I say, “Why do you think about that dead man so much.”

  Calvin stands up. Looks down at his drawing. He says, “Well, that’s due to a few things. First, it was a cool coincidence that we ended up with a shaft here in the root cellar when the Caves of Lascaux have the area called the Shaft. And the fact that the dead man is in there, and that he’s the only human image at Lascaux. It’s intriguing. From what I read, no one is sure why he’s there. But you have to believe that the artists had a reason. He must be important. Even though he is skinny as a stick. Like me. But no worries, Mason. He’s not my symbol. Not like you and the aurochs. I’m not the dead man.”

  That is a good thing to hear. I step over to Calvin. Look at the photograph on his tablet. The dead man. Then I look at the root cellar floor. Just below our light shaft. Calvin has drawn a pretty great dead man there in charcoal. The outline. With his weird head that is like a bird’s head. The face that looks like it has a beak. I look at the photo again. I look at the body of that dead man. I say, “That dead man from Lascaux. Well. He sure has a pointed thing on him. You know that, Calvin?”

  Calvin nods his big nod. He looks at the tablet.

  I say, “Art is like that. Sometimes it is naked. Right?”

  Calvin says, “Sometimes.”

  I say, “Are you going to draw that? On him?”

  Calvin says, “Well . . . it seems important. So . . . I guess I will.”

  I say, “I think it’s fine if you do. We are not at school. It probably wouldn’t be allowed there. But here, nobody’s going to see it. You and me. That’s it.” Then I say, “What about the bird? Not the one that is part of his face. The one on the stick beside him.” I point. I touch the tablet by accident again. Leave a smear of oil crayon. Brown. Calvin never cares.

  He says, “The bird is important too. Do you know what they say about that?”

  I think and then I say, “No. I don’t think Garrison Keillor told anything about the bird. That talking bit he did about Lascaux was pretty short.”

  Calvin says, “Well, for thousands of years, humans have believed that birds will guide souls to the place of the dead.”

  I say, “Like to heaven?”

  Calvin says, “Yes. Heaven or whatever comes next.”

  I am thinking about the times when shafts of light shine down t
hrough clouds. How Benny Kilmartin told me those were paths to heaven. Funny thing. Well. Not funny. But if I could talk to Benny again, he would be able to tell about it. He would know for sure if that’s a true thing, because if heaven is real, he has gone there.

  Calvin kneels. Tucks himself down low to the floor. He goes back to work on his dead man. I sink my fingers into Moonie’s furry coat and he leans on me. So I scratch him. I sit back against the wall. I look at the aurochs. I move my head left and right. Funny thing. Sometimes the holy cow looks like he is moving.

  chapter 43

  ROCKS AND WORDS AND GLITTER

  Calvin and I get to the SWOOF at the same time. We get stuck in the doorway together. Pretty much on purpose. We pretend to be jammed there. Then we burst through. Calvin dives flat on his front onto the big couch. Disappears into the cushions. He looks like nothing but a backpack that got thrown down there. Makes me laugh when he sits up again. White hair all standing on end.

  We hear Ms. Blinny come around the bookcase. She says, “Hi, Calvin! Hi, Mason! Did you bring your lunches like we planned?” She is waving to us. Hands full. She’s got a flat round rock in one and a little jar of glitter dots in the other. Her fingers look gluey. Then, all of a sudden, she does not have that jar anymore.

  She says, “Oh dear! Dropped it!”

  Don’t you know, Ms. Blinny has had herself another sparkle spill. This one has gone all across the small wooly rug.

  Calvin and I help. We get down there and Calvin brings an index card. We scrape tiny dots back into the jar. We do okay. But a lot goes into the shaggy rug. A lot sticks to my hands. I try to wipe the dots off. But they spread all over me. That is how it happens when you are a sweaty gross-out of a kid.

  Ms. Blinny tries her mini-vac on that rug. The glitter dots hang on tight to the rug hairs. I have a thought: Why does glitter need glue?

  Calvin has the idea to take the rug outside and shake it. And Ms. Blinny says she will be grateful if we do.

  So then I am at one end of the rug with Calvin at the other. We stand on the strip of grass at the front of the school. We shake the rug and the dots fly up. I am trying to do two things: One is shake the rug good and hard. One is go easy on Calvin. Don’t want to fling him off into the parking lot. It goes okay. Calvin holds tight. The dots fly away on the wind.

  Back inside, we wash our hands. Then we squeeze two chairs in. We sit by Ms. Blinny’s desk and open up our lunches. She goes back to her project. There is a Merrimack Gazette spread open to cover the top of her desk so she won’t get mess on it. She has lots of the smooth, flat rocks. They have words on them. Silver shiny Sharpie pen. Ms. Blinny has made the letters. Fancy. I try to read the words. Just to myself. But I can’t.

  She dabs glue all around the edge of one rock. Then she wipes the extra onto that Merrimack Gazette. Tell you what. That sticks to her finger. I think this: Newspaper on the desk is a very good idea for Ms. Blinny.

  I go to take a bite of my sandwich. Find a little blue glitter dot on my bread. I try to pick it off. Not sure where that ends up. Could be I will eat a blue dot today. Well, the sandwich is good. Leftover roast chicken.

  I swallow a bite. Use my napkin. I tell Calvin and Ms. Blinny, “Funny thing. Any sandwich I eat in the SWOOF tastes better than if I eat it in the cafeteria.”

  Ms. Blinny smiles a gentle sort of smile.

  Calvin says, “Well, there are several reasons for that. The cafeteria is anything but a pleasant dining environment. It’s loud, overcrowded, and likely to be hostile.”

  I like how Calvin Chumsky nails things on the head.

  Ms. Blinny says, “Hmm. Yes. Cafeterias can be isolating. It’s always best to dine with a friend. And you’re right about the crowding. Merrimack has to catch up to itself. This town is full!” She spreads her arms wide. I keep one eye on that rock in her fingers. She says, “Our growing population means we will need to grow the schools, too.”

  I think about that. I wonder this: If Uncle Drum had not sold some of our land for lots, where would the new houses be?

  Ms. Blinny holds the glitter rock for us to see. She says, “What do you think, guys?”

  I lean up to see the rock. Calvin too. I try again to read the words.

  Calvin says, “It’s nice. But what’s it for? Why courageous?” Then Calvin reads more rocks. “Why capable and respected? Why gentle?” He says, “Why all the character-trait words?”

  Ms. Blinny says, “Traits! Exactly. See, it’s hard to identify the great qualities that we each possess. I’m all about helping you discover yours so you will believe in yourselves. That’s what the SWOOF is here for. So, I’m making the rocks as reminders. Or keepsakes. Something you can hold in your hand and read over and over again.”

  I think this: Even a kid like me can do that. Remember one word off a rock. I say, “It’s nice of you, Ms. Blinny. Real nice.” Then I think this: If I hold one of those rocks I will be covered in colored glitter dots. Sweat is stronger than glue. But I do not say it.

  Then Calvin starts talking. Might be about the rocks. Not sure. Because I have got a distraction. I’m trying to read a rock. It’s the only one that does not have just one long word on it. It is three short ones. I get two words. Pretty sure I’m right. Full and of. Next I see the G, R, and A. I say it: “Full . . . of . . . grass?”

  Calvin makes a small noise. Tries to keep it in behind that sandwich he is holding in his kitten paws. But I hear it.

  Ms. Blinny says, “Grace!” She picks up the rock. Shows it to us. She says, “Full of grace. Hmm. Could have just been graceful, I guess.” Now I know why Calvin made that noise. Grass instead of grace is pretty funny. Ms. Blinny says, “Oh my gosh! What if you were full of grass?”

  I say, “Holy cow!”

  Her eyes open wide. So does her smile. Calvin’s too. All three of us crack up.

  Then I say, “You know what? I did eat kind of a lot of grass one time.”

  Calvin says, “Yeah. That was last week, right? I saw you do that.”

  I nudge him. Not hard. I say, “When I was little!”

  Ms. Blinny says, “I did that too!” She rubs glue off her fingers. She says, “High five, Mason!” We slap. She says, “And worse, I ate mushrooms one time in the sand box with my little brother. Boy! Never do that! We had to go to the hospital. They made us throw up.”

  Calvin says, “Bluh-uhhh-uh.” Rolls his eyes.

  Ms. Blinny says, “Oh! Sorry, Calvin! Sorry!”

  Calvin looks at the tail end of his sandwich. He maybe isn’t going to finish that now. Sorry for him. But I laugh because Ms. Blinny is not afraid to be a gross-out.

  When my sandwich is gone I stand up. I ball up my lunch-bag trash in my hands. Paper and sweat. I look at the set of rocks on top of the newspaper. Glitter and glue are drying. That’s when I see Benny Kilmartin. His picture. It is right on that page of that Merrimack Gazette. Right there on Ms. Blinny’s desk.

  I am not thinking. I am just saying, “Hey. Oh. Hey! That’s Benny. Why is his picture there? What is that about?” I look at Ms. Blinny. She looks down at the picture.

  She says, “Oh, Mason. Your friend. I’m sorry. The paper was just to keep my desk clean. I didn’t even realize.” Her cheeks turn red.

  Calvin’s feet bump Ms. Blinny’s desk. He stands up to look. But mostly I see him looking at me.

  I point to the page. I say, “This is him, Calvin. This is Benny Kilmartin. He wrote the acrostic poem. The one in my room. You remember?”

  Calvin says, “Yes.”

  I look at Ms. Blinny. I say, “But why? Why is Benny’s picture in the newspaper now? What is it about?”

  Ms. Blinny says, “Well, this paper is from a while ago.”

  I say, “Like from when he died?”

  Then Calvin answers. He says, “No. This is a few weeks old.”

  I am surprised he knows that.

  Ms. Blinny says, “Well, stories about Benny run periodically because they are still trying to find out what happen
ed. You know.”

  I say, “Oh yeah, I know. Because. Well. Lieutenant Baird. He says it’s an investigation.”

  She says, “Yes.”

  I say, “Boy, I didn’t know it was in the newspaper. We get the Merrimack Gazette. But Uncle Drum recycles pretty quick these days. And I can’t read a newspaper anyway. But I guess it makes sense. Even if the news is sad it still goes in the paper.”

  I lean there a long time at Ms. Blinny’s desk. I’m looking at Benny. It is the smiling picture. His two front teeth are squares. Pretty perfect ones. I forgot that about him. Somehow. And the forgetting comes up on me weird. Makes me wish I had not eaten all of my sandwich.

  Calvin says, “Could Mason have the picture, Ms. Blinny?” Then he checks with me and says, “Do you want it?” Then back to Ms. Blinny he says, “Could we cut it out?”

  She says, “Sure! If you don’t mind a little glue and glitter with it.”

  I sure don’t. So there is Ms. Blinny sliding rocks to one side. She grabs her scissors. She makes clean quick cuts while I dry my hands on my pants. I take the picture of my old friend, Benny Kilmartin. I hold it close to my eyes. I think this: I want to see him and see him and see him.

  Got a feeling inside me. The loving memory of Benny.

  chapter 44

  DISTRESSED

  So it is a Wednesday and it’s good. On Wednesdays Calvin and I can get off at the cluster stop in peace and quiet. The lacrosse boys are at the school instead of playing in the Drinker yard. We scuff our feet because we have time to. I listen to the gravel swish and crunch. We walk into the crumbledown. Easy.

  Inside, we have the banana shakes. Grandma folds laundry across the counter. We talk about our day. Just some. She likes to hear about school. Not just my part. Not just Calvin’s part. She asks about her part too. Her old part. The job she used to have. She says, “Who’s helping the special needs kids there these days?”