excerpt
up Kittitas Street. Sitting in his wagon was a crying boy, about two
years old. Poodie walked backward as he pulled, making sounds at
the child. Spanger eased the car back into its place, contemplated
for a moment, then got out and walked across the street. When
Poodie saw the chief, he transferred his chatter to Spanger, gesturing
toward the little boy, the parade, the wagon and something up
the hill.
Leaning down to Poodie, Spanger said, “I see you’ve become a
father.”
Poodie thrust the wagon handle toward Spanger with one hand
and reached for his pad with the other. Holding the wagon, the
chief faintly heard the end of the Marine Corps Hymn.
“Not my boy. Lost,” Poodie wrote. “Taking him to police station.”
“Good idea,” the chief said, ”but maybe we should try to find his
parents first.”
Poodie hunched his shoulders, spread his arms and grunted a
sentence.
“Well, let’s look again,” Spanger said. “Come on.”
Poodie turned the wagon around and followed the chief back
down the hill. At the avenue, Spanger used his handkerchief to
wipe away tears and traces of ice cream on the boy’s face. He
hoisted the child onto his shoulders. Perched above the crowd, his
hands around the big man’s neck, the boy laughed as a float packed
with elves drifted by. Poodie went from one spectator to another,
tugging on sleeves, pointing up at the boy. No one claimed the
child. Halfway down the block, a young woman, her face strained
in worry, squeezed along the sidewalk through the crowd, pushing
a baby in a stroller. Poodie planted himself in front of her and
turned to point toward Spanger and his passenger.
“Willie,” he saw her say, “oh, Willie.”
Grinning, Poodie led her to the corner. People turned away
from the parade to watch the reunion and the mother’s tearful
thanks.
“Mr. James, we make a pretty good team,” Spanger told Poodie.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 