Bouncey, bouncey, bally,
My sister's name is Paulie.
She gave me a smack,

I gave her one back.
Bouncey, bouncey, bally.

"Now it's my turn," said another girl. "Give me the ball." She too bounced the ball on the black tar roof of the tenement, throwing her right leg over the ball every third bounce.

One, two, three a nation
I received my confirmation
On the Day of Decoration
Just before my graduation.
One, two, three a nation!

 

"Me now," said the third girl, and took the Spalding ball, bouncing it the same way.

Once upon a time
A baby found a dime.
The dime turned red,
And the baby fell down dead!

 

"Me again," said the first girl and, taking the ball, began, "Bouncey, bouncey, bally, My sister's name is . . ."

After she finished, she handed the ball to the second girl, and then the third girl took a turn'. They repeated this a few times and decided to stop playing.

"It's too hot up here," said the first girl. "Look, the tar is melting and getting stuck to my shoes."

"Ugh, yeah." "Let's go."

They walked along the rooftops, going from building to building. Each building was separated from the next by a short wall of painted cement, stretching across the width of the building, no higher than three and a half feet. When they reached each wall the girls climbed over, explor­ing another rooftop.

"It's too hot out here; let's find a hallway to play in," said the second girl.

"O.K.," agreed the third girl, "but let's get a place where they don't throw us out."

"How about the building over there?" The first girl pointed to a tenement several rooftops away. "Most of them families in that building moved out, so probably no one will hear us."

They headed in that direction, eager to be out of the hot sun.

"I hope the entrance ain't locked," said the third girl.

They climbed the last dividing wall and went straight to the entrance, which jutted out of the rooftop at a slant. The third girl pulled at the large metal door; it wouldn't budge.

"It's locked," she said to her companions. "Try it the other way," said the first girl. "Let's push in."

They pushed the door, and it opened slightly.

All three girls pushed with all their might, and slowly the door began to open.

"A little more and one of us can slide in and see what's making it get stuck," said the third girl.

The door opened about one and a half feet. "Good. Let's go in and see what's making it stuck." The first girl slipped through. "Ouch," she said. "There's a man sleeping, I think." She quickly came back out.

"Well?" the second girl asked.

"Wanna come in and see him?" the first girl replied. "It's dark in there. But it was a man; and he was sleeping real sound. He didn't make no noise when I stepped on him."

"Let's go on in and see," said the third girl.

"What if he should wake up?" asked the second girl.

"We'll run real fast," said the first girl. "Yeah," said the second girl. "Down the stairs. Otherwise he might catch us on the roof. What do you say? O.K.?"

They agreed and slipped in through the par­tially opened door. They entered the dark hall­way carefully, avoiding the body that lay on the floor between the door and the wall.

"See?" The first girl pointed. "He must be fast asleep."

They concentrated as they stared at the body, trying to make things out. After a while, their eyes adjusted to the dark and he became more visible.

"Oh, look! He's got a jacket, and it's from that club," said the third girl.

He lay curled up, facing the wall; they could see his back clearly. He wore a bright orange jacket. A large picture of the head of a leopard baring its teeth was decaled across the back. Underneath, the words PUERTO RICAN LEOP­ARDS were stenciled in black

"It's one of them guys," said the first girl. "You know?" she continued. "He's not moving. Maybe . . . maybe he's dead!"

The girls rushed away from him, going down a few steps into the stairwell.

"What do you think we should do?" asked the second girl.

"Maybe we should find out who he is," the first girl responded.

"He might wake up if we get too near," said the second girl.

They looked at one another and then at the young man. He had not moved and still faced the wall, his body curled up.

"Who's gonna look and see who he is?" asked the first girl.

"Not me." "Not me." "Not me neither, then."

They stood silently for a while, and finally the third girl said, "We should go and tell the super of the building."

"That's right. Good idea!"

"I say we should still know who it is," said the first girl. "Let's find out-come on!" She went up the steps.

"Wait," called the second girl. "Be careful; he might wake up."

She stopped and nodded in response, then

quickly stepped up to the young man. Leaning over, she looked at his face and ran back to her friends.

"Well, who is it?" they asked.

''It's their leader. You know, that real tough guy. Frankie-Chino!"

"No kidding, him?" "Wow. "

"Yes. And you know," said the first girl, "His eyes are closed . . . and he's not breath­ing!"

''Really?" "Honest?"

"Go see for yourself," she told her friends. "I'm scared he might wake up," said the second girl.

"He won't. He's not breathing," said the first girl.

Holding hands, they went up to him and quickly bent over, looking into his face. They ran back down, a little less scared than before.

"I think he's dead," the second girl said. The third girl nodded in agreement.

"What should we do?" asked the first girl. "I know," she went on, "let's go tell them about it at their clubhouse. It's down in the basement, right next to the candy store on Wales Avenue, off Westchester."

They all looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"Let's do it," said the first girl. "Come on."

"All right." "Sure.­

All three ran down the stairs and out into the street. They hurried, talking in short, anxious sentences, planning how they would tell their story.

"They are real tough guys. Wow, my mother better not find out we went there," said the second girl.

"Oh, we won't tell nobody. It's our secret. Right?"

"Also, we have to promise that we won't let nobody else know . . . about him. Except the Puerto Rican Leopards, of course."

They all promised.

They reached Wales Avenue and went down the old tenement steps leading to the basement clubhouse of the Puerto Rican Leopards. They got to the door and knocked; no one answered. They knocked again and again, waiting for a response. After a while, the first girl tried the doorknob; the lock released, and the door opened.

They walked in slowly, entering a large unkempt room that was damp and dark. A studio couch with large holes, where the stuffing spilled out, was against the center wall. Several old rusted metal kitchen chairs were scattered about the room, some overturned. A broken radio was set on two wooden crates. The center of the cement floor was covered by a large piece of broken and peeling linoleum. Dirty paper cups and plates were strewn about. The room looked dusty and neglected.

"Nobody's here," said the second girl. "It looks deserted," said the third girl. "Let's get out of here," said the first girl. All three walked out of the dark basement and out into the street. The afternoon sun shone brightly; it was hot and humid.

"Whew," said the first girl, "it was so much more cooler down there."

Slowly, they walked along tossing the ball to one another until they got back to their build­ing.

"What do you think?" asked the second girl. "Should we tell somebody what we seen?"

"I think we should just forget it. That guy was probably sleeping and woke up already," said the third girl.

"Yeah. We better not; then they'll ask us what we was doing up on the roof and all," said the first girl.

"Let's have another game of ball," said the second girl.

"Let me go first," said the third girl. "I was last before."

"O.K." "All right."

Bouncing the ball and throwing her leg over it on every third bounce, she sang,

Once upon a time

A baby found a dime. The dime turned red, And the baby fell down dead!

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