Dennis followed, keeping a careful distance from the man.
The custodian crouched. He lifted up a fringe of the bush. “See?”
Still keeping his distance, Dennis leaned over. There was a hole in the dirt under the bush. It was about the size of a dinner plate.
Dennis couldn’t help himself.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Too big to be for rats. What do you think?”
Dennis felt the slow, unpleasant tick of imagination. He was unused to using his imagination; it felt deeply uncomfortable, and scary. He didn’t like to pretend, and he didn’t like to dream. If he dared to pretend, he might think he had rights, and if he dared to dream, he might want to leave this place, and that would never happen.
No, life was safer if you just accepted.
But the custodian was looking at the hole under the bush, where it was clear something came—and something went. Something lived down that hole, and the thought filled Dennis with curiosity and the first friendly worm of excitement.
“Maybe it’s a... creature?”
Ralph looked up as if he didn’t know what asking that question meant to Dennis. Never before had he made himself vulnerable to ask such a priceless question.
“It’s got to be something,” the custodian said. He dropped the fringe of leaves, and the hole went away. “The director, he wants me to leave out poison. For the mice. But I’m thinking no way. What if whatever lives down that hole gets into the poison? It might die.”
Dennis was staring at him. He liked it that the custodian didn’t voice false concern about the boys getting into the poison. Whatever creature lived down that hole, it was the real priority. Suddenly, the dead fly stains on his hands seemed gross.
“What do you think it is?” Dennis asked.
Ralph rocked back a little on his heels. From out front came a hopeless sound. It was the near silence of thirty boys dashing for candy across a closely mowed lawn, trying to make as little noise as possible. Dennis thought their keepers wanted them silent as a form of target practice. They were shooting them in their minds.
Ralph seemed to be reading his thoughts.
“Whatever it is, imagine how quiet it must be,” he said. He looked up, and pointed. “See? Your window is right there. That’s why I asked you. I want you to keep an eye out. Morning and night. Let’s find out what lives down this hole. Who knows? Maybe it’s magic.”
Dennis’s little face fell.Magicwas one of those words, likecounselor, ormentor, orfriend. Ormomordad.Magicwas a word grown-ups used when they wanted to lie.
But not Ralph. He stood up and stretched. He had a big belt buckle made of metal that had tarnished. His crotch was safely flat. There was nothing bad about him. Dennis could feel this. He knew it in his soul. Ralph was as safe an adult as he had ever met, because Ralph knew people lied.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll watch.”
Ralph smiled at him, and Dennis couldn’t help it, he smiled right back.
That night, and the next morning, and the days after that, Dennis began looking out his window. He studied the bush over the hole, trying to see what came out of it. But he didn’t see a thing.
Ralph, to Dennis’s dismay, didn’t bring it up again for a whole week. By then Dennis was spitting mad. A week was forever in his world. He didn’t like the pain in his heart that came from waiting.
Finally, he went to find the custodian.
“There’s nothing down that hole,” he said, angry.
“I was just thinking about that,” Ralph said, straightening up from cleaning the first-floor bathroom. Some of the boys were shit smearers, and the walls were always a mess.
“I have a feeling that whatever it is, it must be mighty sneaky,” Ralph said, carefully putting away his cleaning supplies. He carried the basket to the custodian closet and locked it, because the boys were not to be trusted around chemicals. He walked through the kitchen and out back, Dennis following him, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Ralph crouched again, lifting the screen of bushes. The same hole appeared.
“Look there,” the custodian said.
Unwillingly, Dennis crept closer.
