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ratified. Once Volz had Albert’s trust and knew that he could trust Albert in return, the still was, as Albert liked to say, a foregone conclusion. We knew that Volz not only made alcohol for himself but also sold it to supplement the paltry salary he was paid by the school. With anyone else, this would have been a dangerous piece of knowledge for us to possess. But Volz had been like a godfather to us, and we would have undergone torture before divulging his secret.
    Mose and I ate. Volz drank his liquor. Albert watched to the east to be certain we hadn’t been seen.
    When we’d finished our meal, Mose signed to me, Tell them your story.
    “Some other time,” I said.
    “What did he say?” Volz asked.
    Albert said, “He wants Odie to tell us one of his stories.”
    “I’m game.” Volz held up his bottle, as if in encouragement.
    “It’s kids’ stuff,” I said.
    Mose signed, Scared the crap out of me.
    “What did he say?” Volz asked.
    “That another time would be fine,” Albert said.
    “All right.” Volz shrugged and took a swallow. “Then how ’bout you give us a tune on your mouth organ, Odie?”
    I was fine with that, so I pulled my hobo harp from my shirt pocket.
    “I don’t know about this.” Albert looked where a waxing half-moon lit the sky, and the buildings of Lincoln School stood black against that dim yellow glow. “Someone might hear.”
    “Then play soft,” Volz said.
    “What would you like?” I asked. But I knew what it would be. It was always the same tune when Volz had been drinking.
    “ ‘Meet Me in Saint Louis,’ ” the old German said. Which was where he’d met his wife, who was long dead.
    Volz never got drunk. Not because he was immune to the effects of alcohol but because he understood well how much depended on not being drunk. He drank until he felt a warm fuzziness, a soft distance between himself and his troubles, and then he stopped. When I finished the tune, he was in that place. He corked the bottle and stood up.
    “Time to get you two back to the hoosegow.”
    He returned the bottle to the shed and secured the heavy door lock. Albert put the fry pan and plates and forks into an old Boy Scout pack and doused the flames with water from a canteen. He stirred the ash and embers and poured on more water until the fire was truly dead. Volz relit his kerosene lantern, and we left the quarry, walking single file toward the half-moon.
    “Thanks, Mr. Volz,” I said before he closed the door of the quiet room. Then to my brother I said, “I’m sorry I told you I would pee on your face. I wouldn’t really do it.”
    “Yes, you would.”
    He was right, but under the circumstances, I didn’t want to admit it.
    “Get good a night’s sleep,” Albert said. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”
    The door closed gently. The key turned in the lock. Once again, Mose and I were alone in the dark.
    I lay on the straw matting, thinking about how much I’d hated Albert when I believed that he’d toadied out on us. And I thought about how much I loved him right at that moment, though I would never have told him so.
    I heard the little rustle of tiny paws along the wall, and I reached into my pants pocket for the last bit of dark bread, which I’d saved for Faria. I tossed it into the corner. I heard the furious scurrying as he gathered up his prize and raced back to the hole in the stone wall.
    I was ready to sleep, then Mose touched my arm. His hand slid down to my own hand and opened my fingers. On my palm he spelled out in sign, Lucky us.

CHAPTER FIVE
    IT WASN’T VOLZ who woke us in the morning but the head boys’ adviser. Martin Greene was a large, taciturn man, balding, with perpetually tired eyes and huge ears. He moved with a lumbering gait that, because of those big ears, always reminded me of an elephant. He walked us to the dormitory, the whole way talking about how he hoped we’d learned our lesson and maybe time in the quiet room wouldn’t be in our future