We keep staring at Noble. It really is him. Alive, in the flesh, not in a song or a dream. You can touch him, smell him, pull his hair. I need to find out how long he’s going to be here and all kinds of important stuff, but I’m stupefied and can’t snap out of it. Noble is hunched down in his chair. Pitiful looking, exactly the way I pictured him when playing the harmonica. Closely cropped hair. Not a buzz cut, but it would have been better if it were, because the person who gave him this was clearly bipolar. Hair sticking out in untidy clumps, and between them the skin is visible under the stubble, like he’s got ringworm. Whoever thought of cutting Noble’s hair, especially in this fashion, can’t be considered normal, that much is obvious. Noble has on Humpback’s leather jacket and my old vest. His eyes seem bigger than before, face looks smaller, fingers tease the badges stuck all over the jacket, and he never raises his head. He looks like hell, and the worst of it is that everyone just stares silently.
I begin swaying fretfully. The bad situation is getting worse and worse, until Blind sneaks out to the wheelchair and offers cigarettes to Noble.
“Here, have a smoke. You’re unusually quiet.”
Noble grabs the pack the way a drowning man grasps at the life preserver. And my stupefaction is suddenly gone. So is everyone else’s. I turn on the afterburners, but I’m still the last one to reach him. Noble is being swarmed, jostled, sniffed, and shouted at. I join in the festivities at top volume. In the middle of the celebrations he breaks down and starts crying.
“OK, that’s enough,” Sphinx cuts in immediately. “Dinner, everyone. Leave him alone.”
I am not about to leave Noble alone, no way. I climb on his lap, to have better access to his ears, because right now it’s important to tell him stuff, like how I missed him. I don’t care if he listens or not. When he drops the cigarette, six more are thrust at him from all directions.
“Look at your hair,” Humpback says, ruffling the ugly ’do. “Horrible. Who would do something like that?”
“How’s my vest been treating you?” I ask. “Because if you like it, I’m not going to ask for it back. Especially now that I have this brand-new one.”
“Are you . . . staying?” Sphinx says carefully.
Noble nods.
“Yay!” Humpback shouts, tossing Nanette in the air.
Blind feels Noble’s head and whistles sadly.
“And we have this new Law, imagine that,” I begin, but Sphinx cuts the story short.
“Dinner! On the double!” he shouts testily.
They pry me off Noble and carry me away, even though I struggle valiantly. In the hallway I catch up with Humpback, who’s apparently talking to himself.
“I knew he was a solid character.”
That would be Ralph, obviously. A bit farther away are Sphinx and Blind, and Sphinx is saying, “Smells of the nuthouse.”
That would be Noble.
I put on some speed and bump into their heels. I don’t give a hoot what Noble smells like as long as he’s back, and all this talk is perfect nonsense. The only thing to do now is sing and rattle things. So I sing. I sing, I run rampant, I throw cutlery. I make a huge sandwich for Noble and douse it in syrup. It, the plate, the tablecloth, and myself. I fish meatballs out of the soup, also for Noble. Two end up on the floor for each one I salvage and I stuff them into a second sandwich. Soon I’m swimming in the syrup-and-soup lake. Sphinx gives me a furious eye but doesn’t say anything. It’s Lary who speaks.
“If anyone asks, I’m not from the same pack. ’Cause that’s just embarrassing.”
Then we drive back. I rush ahead, but then fall behind because I remember about Ralph and start searching for him. I guess I wouldn’t have asked him anything even if I saw him, but until I do I can’t be sure. For example, where did he bring Noble from? It’s very intriguing, and you can’t just go and ask Noble, because you can’t. Not done, not allowed, not polite—in a word, forbidden. Unless Noble tells me on his own, which he won’t, that much I gathered. That’s why I keep looking for Ralph, but he’s nowhere to be found, so I go and catch up with the others, who got distracted receiving high-fives from those who already heard the news.
I gladly would have joined in, except the damn sandwiches keep oozing and staining everything, so I am confined to waving my hand as I drive by. It appears that I spot a couple of girls among the well-wishers, but I have no time to investigate further because I’m in such a hurry.
TABAQUI
DAY THE SIXTH
—Lewis Carroll,
