Free The Planet of Junior Brown by Virginia Hamilton

always a pleasant surprise for Buddy to see how quickly an older boy became attached to a younger one. Always the younger one would grow up better able to take care of himself than the older one had been.
    â€œI guess maybe you are hungry too, just the same as the kid,” Buddy said to Franklin.
    Franklin stared down at his hands, fearing his hunger would appear selfish.
    â€œNothing wrong with needing to eat, man,” Buddy told him.
    Buddy moved to the edge of the candlelight. In the shadows there stood a double-door file cabinet. Buddy unlocked it and opened it; there were stacks of clothing on the upper shelf and a supply of towels and soap. Canned goods, staples, plates and cooking and eating utensils were kept on the two lower shelves. On top of the cabinet were quarts of bottled water and a Sterno set.
    Buddy lifted down the Sterno and water and set them on the table. He took from the cabinet a can of soup, a loaf of dark bread, powdered milk, two bananas and a can of tuna fish.
    The boys watched eagerly as Buddy spread the food out on the table. “Yea!” he said happily. The boys scooted forward to help.
    Opening the bottled water was like a ritual. The younger boy was allowed to do it. When he had used the opener properly in order to get the bottle top off, he leaned back, satisfied.
    From a drawer in the table, Buddy produced three small paper cups. “Now,” he said to the younger boy. “You’ll pour a half a cup of water in each of the cups. You can drink it that way or you can mix it with milk. If you mix it with milk, you can have more if you want. But if you have only water,” Buddy said, “you can have just a half a cup. We buy the water, so it’s precious in the wintertime with all the water fountains turned off.”
    The younger boy would have his water mixed in with milk so he could have a second cup. He poured out the water, clutching the large bottle tightly in both hands. When the task was done, he forced the top back on the bottle. He passed the bottle to Franklin, who, when he was finished, passed it on to Buddy. Buddy returned the bottle to its place on top of the file cabinet.
    They ate tuna fish sandwiches. They had hot soup followed by banana slices. All of the food tasted wonderfully good.
    Softly the younger boy spoke. “I got a name for myself,” he said.
    Buddy was chewing, so he didn’t say anything. The boy stared up at him with wide, happy eyes.
    â€œSo what is it, what’s your name?” Franklin asked.
    â€œNightman,” the boy said.
    There was a dead silence, after which Franklin said, “Naw! That’s not a name!”
    â€œHow come it’s not?” Buddy asked him, for the younger boy had looked crestfallen. “Take a name like Malcolm, Malcolm X. Now that’s an opinion when you think about it. But a cat’s got a right to his opinion.”
    â€œWell, is Nightman a first name or a last name?” Franklin asked the boy.
    â€œIt’s a first name,” the boy told him. “My name is Nightman Black.”
    Buddy had to smile at the kid. The kid had made peace with the dark by making himself a part of it. “That’s a good, tough name,” Buddy told him. “Nightman, you are real together.”
    After the dishes were cleaned and put away, and the cabinet locked again, the three of them sat against the basement wall. Buddy talked quickly but calmly to the two boys. He spoke particularly to Nightman Black. It would be hard for him to catch on at first, Buddy told him. Nightman would naturally go to the sections of town where there were black people. That was all right so long as he stayed out of bars, so long as he kept himself moving. Don’t stand on street corners, Buddy told him. The best place to rest was in playgrounds but only at lunchtime and after three o’clock. He wouldn’t be going to school for another week or two. Buddy told Nightman that he