It's Thursday.

Eleven The Jinx

From the drain pipe the animals watched Paul put out the fire. He dragged what papers he could out of the newsstand and got a bucket of water to douse the rest. And he watered down the walls to make sure they wouldn’t flare up later. When the danger was over, he called up Papa Bellini on the telephone. “What a mess,” said Tucker Mouse, looking at the soggy, smoldering piles of papers and magazines. No one knew what to say. “What are you going to do, Chester?” said Harry Cat finally. “I’m going back there,” said Chester. “If the Bellinis find me gone, they’ll think I set the fire and ran.” “What makes you think they won’t think you set the fires and stayed?” said Tucker. “I’ll have to take that chance,” said Chester. Before the cat or the mouse could say anything to stop him, he hopped over to the newsstand. Paul had told the engineer that he would miss a few trips on the shuttle and was waiting for the Bellinis. He didn’t want anyone monkeying with the cash register while the cover was off. The conductor thought that the cups and bags from the animals’ party had been left by Mario or Papa. While he was taking them over to a trash barrel, Chester jumped up on the shelf. Nothing there had been burned, but there was a smoky smell to everything. The cricket took a downhearted leap into the cage and settled himself for whatever might come. It didn’t take the Bellinis long to arrive. They had taken a taxi. And when the Bellinis took a taxi, you could be sure it was an emergency. Chester could hear them hurrying down the steps from the street. Papa was trying to soothe Mama, who was wheezing heavily from asthma and excitement. When she saw the heaps of scorched magazines and newspapers she began to moan and shake her head. Papa eased her down onto the stool, but it was still covered with water and she stood up again with a wet spot on her skirt. “Ruin—we’re ruined,” she sobbed. “Everything’s burned.” Papa comforted her as best he could by saying that it was only a few stacks of the Ladies’ Home Journal that had been lost. But Mama wouldn’t believe that anything less than complete destruction had come to them all. Mario, who brought up the rear of this sad parade, thought first for the safety of his cricket. He say that Chester was in his cage, though, and decided that it would be best to keep quiet until Mama’s outburst of grief had subsided. Paul told them what had happened: how he smelled smoke and heard the alarm clock ringing. Then he came to the part about the animals who had escaped from the burning newsstand. “So--!” said Mama Bellini, all her despair changing into anger. “Animals in the newsstand again! Didn’t I tell you?” She lifted her forefinger at Mario. “Didn’t I say the cricketer would ask in his pals? He probably set the fire. He’s a firebug!” Mario didn’t have a chance to speak. He would open his mouth to defend Chester, but before he could say a thing, the words were drowned in Mama’s flood of reproaches. She had found someone on whom she could blame her unhappiness and there was no stopping her. When a pause came, Mario said meekly, “My cricket would never do anything like burn up our newsstand.” “The fact remains,” said Mama, “we had a fire!” “But crickets are good luck—” Mario began. “Good luck!” said Mama indignantly. “He eats money—he commits arson! He’s a jinx, that’s what. He’s good luck going backwards. And he’s got to go.” She folded her arms across her chest. It was an attitude that Mario knew meant the absolute end of everything. “I could keep him somewhere else,” the boy offered. “No,” said Mama, shaking her head as firmly as a door being closed. “He’s a jinx. He goes.” Papa put his finger to his lips as a signal that Mario shouldn’t say anything more and the two of them began to clean up. They carted away all the hopelessly burned magazines and tried to salvage some that had only been scorched. Mario mopped the floor of the newsstand while Mama spread out papers to dry. By the time they were finished, it was almost the hour for the first wave of commuters. Chester was lying on the floor of the cricket cage. He felt guilty, because even if he hadn’t set it, in a way the fire was his fault. If he hadn’t invited everyone into the newsstand, it wouldn’t have happened. And it was his playing of the rumba that had made Tucker want to dance, and so tip over the matches.And he did eat the two-dollar bill. He began that he really was a jinx. During the early-morning rush hour Mario was especially eager in his shouts of “Paper, mister,” and “Time or Life, mister.” Papa was more active than usual too. But Mama look on her face. Despite the fact that the selling that morning went very well, she wouldn’t change her mind. After the rush hour was over, Papa went out to buy a new lock. Chester heard a soft scratching from behind the Kleenex box. A familiar face peeked out. “What’s going on?” whispered Tucker Mouse. “Are you crazy?” said Chester under his breath. “All they need is to catch you here.” “I had to find out how you were going,” said Tucker. “They’re going to throw me out,” sighed Chester. “Oh oh oh,” Tucker moaned. “And it was me that did it. Supposing I give you the rest of my life’s savings. Maybe we could buy them off.” Chester leaned his black little head up against the bars of the cricket cage. “Not this time,” he said. “Mama’s got her mind made up. I don’t blame her either. I wish I’d never come to New York.” “Oh, Chester,” wailed Tucker Mouse, “don’t say that! You’ll make me feel like a rat. And I’m only a mouse.” “It’s not your fault, Tucker,” said Chester. “But I’ve been nothing but bad luck to them since I came.” Without knowing what he was doing, the cricket began to chirp to ease his feelings. He found that it helped somehow if you sang your sadness. He wasn’t paying much attention and just by accident he played the first few notes of an Italian folksong he had heard the night before. It was so melancholy, and yet so sweet, that it fitted his mood exactly. Mama Bellini was untying a bundle of Herald Tribunes when she heard the chirping. At first she didn’t know what it was. “Che cos’questa?” she said in Italian, which means, “What’s that?” Chester stopped playing. “Chi cantava?” said Mama. “Who was singing?” Mario looked at his mother. Usually when she spoke in Italian it meant that she was in a good mood. But that couldn’t be true today. Now Tucker Mouse was a very good judge of character—both animal and human. He thought he heard a kind of softness in Mama Bellini’s voice. “Play some more,” he whispered to Chester. “She hates me,” said Chester. “It’ll only make her more angry.” “Do as I tell you!” commanded the mouse urgently. So Chester started to chirp again. He was in such disgrace anyway, what difference could it make? The piece he was playing was called “Come Back to Sorrento,” and by the greatest good luck, it happened to be Mama Bellini’s favorite song. Back in Naples, Italy, when Papa was courting her before they came to America, he used to come beneath her window on a moonlit night and sing this ballad to the plunking of an old guitar. As the cricket chirped, the whole scene came back to Mama: the still, warm night, the moon shining down on the velvety Bay of Naples, and Papa singing to her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of the bygone times, and very softly she began to murmur the words to the song. Chester Cricket had never played with so much skill before. When he heard Mama singing, he slowed his tempo so she could keep up without straining. When she was loud, he was too—and then softer when she got choked up with emotion and her voice dwindled. But always his chirping carried her along, keeping her on the right beat and right tune. He was the perfect accompanist. Mario was dumbfounded. He stared astonished at the cricket cage and then at his mother. It was just as marvelous for his mother to be singing as it was for a cricket to chirp familiar songs. Sometimes, when she was very happy, Mama Bellini whistled, and once or twice Mario had heard her hum. But now here she was crying and warbling like an Italian nightingale! Chester finished “Come Back to Sorrento.” “Keep it up! Keep it up!” squeaked Tucker Mouse. “She’s a sucker for sad songs.” Before Mama’s mood had a chance to wear off, Chester began chirping the selections from opera that he had played during the party. Mama didn’t know the words to the operas, but she hummed some of the tunes along with him. Mario was as still as stone. Papa Bellini came back from the locksmith’s. Coming down the stairs he was surprised not the hear his wife and Mario calling out the newspapers. But when he got nearer the newsstand, he was even more surprised to hear the strains of the Grand March from Aida coming from the cricket cage. “He chirps opera?!” exclaimed Papa. His eyes looked as big and startled as two hard-boiled eggs. “Shhh,” said Mama with a wave of her hand. Chester’s memory for music was perfect. He had to hear a piece only once to remember it forever. When he had finished all the operatic numbers, he stopped. “Should I go on with the pop tunes?” he whispered to Tucker Mouse, who was still hidden behind the Kleenex box. “Wait a while,” said Tucker. “See what happens.” Mama Bellini had a dreamy look in her eyes. She put her arm around her son and said, “Mario, no cricketer who sings ‘Torna a Surrento’so beautifully could possibly start a fire. He can stay a while longer.” Mario threw his arms around his mother’s neck. “You hear? You hear?” squeaked Tucker Mouse. “You can stay! Oh boy oh boy oh boy! And this is only the beginning. I’ll be your manager—okay?” “Okay,” said Chester. And so began the most remarkable week in Chester Cricket’s – or any cricket’s – life.