your putt-putt hole?” asks Lydia.
“Same thing,” says Gloria.
We’re confused and a little suspicious, but she seems friendly enough. Even sort of charming. And what are we going to say? No, we do not want to see how you’ve been living right next to us in underground aquariums without us even knowing? Yeah, right.
We follow her out the door, and she makes small talk as we walk. She points out the bird nest at the top of an old light pole, and she tells us that the sprinklers come on every night at ten minutes past midnight. She has no idea why there are still sprinklers when there’s no one around to pay the water bill. But if we’re looking to take a good shower, she says, ten minutes after midnight is the time to do it.
We come to the stairs leading down into Hole Nine, and, even in the afternoon sun, I can see a faint glow from the bottom. At our feet, I see the small curved shapes of the three openmouthed fish. As I watch the back of Lydia’s head bob down the stairs in front of me, it occurs to me that this could be some sort of trap. Gloria could have anyone down here waiting for us, hiding in the shadows and ready to spring. It would have been smarter to bring Saban. He’s a nuisance, but he knows when strangers are around.
But the bottom of the stairs looks exactly as we remember it—empty aquariums, some bits of coral inside, lots of dust on the glass, and those painted symbols. I can’t see any signs of life. No criminals hiding in wait. No snakes weaving in and out of human skulls. Also, no beds or blankets or anything like furniture.
“You stay down here?” Lydia asks Gloria.
“Not exactly right here.”
Lydia has stopped by the painted symbols again. She runs her finger over the purple circles. “Did you paint these symbols?” she asks. “Do you know what they mean? Is there something below us? Did there used to be tadpoles down here?”
Gloria cocks her head like she can’t decide what to make of Lydia. Teachers sometimes give Lydia that same look—when she answers a question in class, she usually shouts out three or four answers at once, just to make sure she gets the right one.
“I painted them,” says a voice behind us, and I know it’s Jakobe before we turn around. “And they’re not tadpoles.”
He’s standing behind us, leaning against the glass. He’s got a half-eaten apple in one hand.
“You painted the same signs on the tree where we climb into Lodema, didn’t you?” I ask, even though I’m sure of the answer. “And you did the chalk drawing on top of the castle.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“So what do they mean?” asks Lydia.
“I paint the best things,” he answers. “My favorite things about here. The green means rolling down the hills, and the purple is the blackberries, and the blue is the sprinklers at night.”
“Why those things?” I ask.
He takes a bite out of his apple. “Because they’re my favorite. What else would you paint?”
I study Gloria again, her old jeans and clean gray T-shirt, and her eyes with smile crinkles in the corners. I notice that Jakobe’s wearing the same Chicago Bulls shirt he was wearing the other day.
“You’re . . . homeless, aren’t you?” I say.
Gloria shakes her head. She has silver earrings with little silver feathers dangling from them. They make a sound like bells.
“We’ve just hit a rough patch,” she says. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
“We could stay here forever,” says Jakobe hopefully.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Gloria says. “But a golf course isn’t quite the same as a house. Now come on, girls, you haven’t met the whole family yet.”
She turns and walks to the second set of stairs, the ones we’d used to exit the aquariums and climb back aboveground.
“I think Lodema is much better than a house,” I whisper to Jakobe. He looks pleased.
Instead of walking up the stairs, Gloria walks around them and stops at a dark corner, where I see nothing but
“Same thing,” says Gloria.
We’re confused and a little suspicious, but she seems friendly enough. Even sort of charming. And what are we going to say? No, we do not want to see how you’ve been living right next to us in underground aquariums without us even knowing? Yeah, right.
We follow her out the door, and she makes small talk as we walk. She points out the bird nest at the top of an old light pole, and she tells us that the sprinklers come on every night at ten minutes past midnight. She has no idea why there are still sprinklers when there’s no one around to pay the water bill. But if we’re looking to take a good shower, she says, ten minutes after midnight is the time to do it.
We come to the stairs leading down into Hole Nine, and, even in the afternoon sun, I can see a faint glow from the bottom. At our feet, I see the small curved shapes of the three openmouthed fish. As I watch the back of Lydia’s head bob down the stairs in front of me, it occurs to me that this could be some sort of trap. Gloria could have anyone down here waiting for us, hiding in the shadows and ready to spring. It would have been smarter to bring Saban. He’s a nuisance, but he knows when strangers are around.
But the bottom of the stairs looks exactly as we remember it—empty aquariums, some bits of coral inside, lots of dust on the glass, and those painted symbols. I can’t see any signs of life. No criminals hiding in wait. No snakes weaving in and out of human skulls. Also, no beds or blankets or anything like furniture.
“You stay down here?” Lydia asks Gloria.
“Not exactly right here.”
Lydia has stopped by the painted symbols again. She runs her finger over the purple circles. “Did you paint these symbols?” she asks. “Do you know what they mean? Is there something below us? Did there used to be tadpoles down here?”
Gloria cocks her head like she can’t decide what to make of Lydia. Teachers sometimes give Lydia that same look—when she answers a question in class, she usually shouts out three or four answers at once, just to make sure she gets the right one.
“I painted them,” says a voice behind us, and I know it’s Jakobe before we turn around. “And they’re not tadpoles.”
He’s standing behind us, leaning against the glass. He’s got a half-eaten apple in one hand.
“You painted the same signs on the tree where we climb into Lodema, didn’t you?” I ask, even though I’m sure of the answer. “And you did the chalk drawing on top of the castle.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“So what do they mean?” asks Lydia.
“I paint the best things,” he answers. “My favorite things about here. The green means rolling down the hills, and the purple is the blackberries, and the blue is the sprinklers at night.”
“Why those things?” I ask.
He takes a bite out of his apple. “Because they’re my favorite. What else would you paint?”
I study Gloria again, her old jeans and clean gray T-shirt, and her eyes with smile crinkles in the corners. I notice that Jakobe’s wearing the same Chicago Bulls shirt he was wearing the other day.
“You’re . . . homeless, aren’t you?” I say.
Gloria shakes her head. She has silver earrings with little silver feathers dangling from them. They make a sound like bells.
“We’ve just hit a rough patch,” she says. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
“We could stay here forever,” says Jakobe hopefully.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Gloria says. “But a golf course isn’t quite the same as a house. Now come on, girls, you haven’t met the whole family yet.”
She turns and walks to the second set of stairs, the ones we’d used to exit the aquariums and climb back aboveground.
“I think Lodema is much better than a house,” I whisper to Jakobe. He looks pleased.
Instead of walking up the stairs, Gloria walks around them and stops at a dark corner, where I see nothing but
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