HOLES — by Louis Sachar

Chapter 36

 

* * *

 

 

They put four of the unbroken jars in the burlap sack, in case they might be able to use them. Stanley carried the sack. Zero held the shovel.

“I should warn you,” Stanley said. “I’m not exactly the luckiest guy in the world.”

Zero wasn’t worried. “When you spend your whole life living in a hole,” he said, “the only way you can go is up.”

They gave each other the thumbs–up sign, then headed out.

It was the hottest part of the day. Stanley’s empty–empty–empty canteen was still strapped around his neck. He thought back to the water truck, and wished he’d at least stopped and filled his canteen before running off.

They hadn’t gone very far before Zero had another attack. He clutched his stomach as he let himself fall to the ground.

Stanley could only wait for it to pass. The sploosh had saved Zero’s life, but it was now destroying him from the inside. He wondered how long it would be before he, too, felt the effects.

He looked at Big Thumb. It didn’t seem any closer than when they first started out.

Zero took a deep breath and managed to sit up.

“Can you walk?” Stanley asked him.

“Just give me a second,” Zero said. He took another breath, then, using the shovel, pulled himself back to his feet. He gave Stanley the thumbs–up sign and they continued.

Sometimes Stanley would try to go for a long while without looking at Big Thumb. He’d make a mental snapshot of how it looked, then wait maybe ten minutes before looking at it again, to see if it seemed closer.

It never did. It was like chasing the moon.

And if they ever reached it, he realized, then they’d still have to climb it.

“I wonder who she was,” said Zero.

“Who?”

“Mary Lou,” said Zero.

Stanley smiled. “I guess she was once a real person on a real lake. It’s hard to imagine.”

“I bet she was pretty,” said Zero. “Somebody must have loved her a lot, to name a boat after her.”

“Yeah,” said Stanley. “I bet she looked great in a bathing suit, sitting in the boat while her boyfriend rowed.”

Zero used the shovel as a third leg. Two legs weren’t enough to keep him up. “I got to stop and rest,” he said after a while.

Stanley looked at Big Thumb. It still didn’t look any closer. He was afraid if Zero stopped, he might never get started again. “We’re almost there,” he said.

He wondered which was closer: Camp Green Lake or Big Thumb?

“I really have to sit down.”

“Just see if you can go a little —”

Zero collapsed. The shovel stayed up a fraction of a second longer, perfectly balanced on the tip of the blade, then it fell next to him.

Zero knelt, bent over with his head on the ground. Stanley could hear a very low moaning sound coming from him. He looked at the shovel and couldn’t help but think that he might need it to dig a grave. Zero’s last hole.

And who will dig a grave for me? he thought.

But Zero did get up, once again flashing thumbs–up.

“Give me some words,” he said weakly.

It took Stanley a few seconds to realize what he meant. Then he smiled and said, “R–u–n.”

Zero sounded it out to himself. “Rr–un, run. Run.”

“Good. F–u–n.”

“Fffun.”

The spelling seemed to help Zero. It gave him something to concentrate on besides his pain and weakness.

It distracted Stanley as well. The next time he looked up at Big Thumb, it really did seem closer.

They quit spelling words when it hurt too much to talk. Stanley’s throat was dry. He was weak and exhausted, yet as bad as he felt, he knew that Zero felt ten times worse. As long as Zero could keep going, he could keep going, too.

It was possible, he thought, he hoped, that he didn’t get any of the bad bacteria. Zero hadn’t been able to unscrew the lid. Maybe the bad germs couldn’t get in, either. Maybe the bacteria were only in the jars which opened easily, the ones he was now carrying in his sack.

What scared Stanley the most about dying wasn’t his actual death. He figured he could handle the pain. It wouldn’t be much worse than what he felt now. In fact, maybe at the moment of his death he would be too weak to feel pain. Death would be a relief. What worried him the most was the thought of his parents not knowing what happened to him, not knowing whether he was dead or alive. He hated to imagine what it would be like for his mother and father, day after day, month after month, not knowing, living on false hope. For him, at least, it would be over. For his parents, the pain would never end.

He wondered if the Warden would send out a search party to look for him. It didn’t seem likely. She didn’t send anyone to look for Zero. But no one cared about Zero. They simply destroyed his files.

But Stanley had a family. She couldn’t pretend he was never there. He wondered what she would tell them. And when?

“What do you think’s up there?” Zero asked.

Stanley looked to the top of Big Thumb. “Oh, probably an Italian restaurant,” he said.

Zero managed to laugh.

“I think I’ll get a pepperoni pizza and a large root beer,” said Stanley.

“I want an ice cream sundae,” said Zero. “With nuts and whipped cream, and bananas, and hot fudge.”

The sun was almost directly in front of them. The thumb pointed up toward it.

They came to the end of the lake. Huge white stone cliffs rose up before them.

Unlike the eastern shore, where Camp Green Lake was situated, the western shore did not slope down gradually. It was as if they had been walking across the flat bottom of a giant frying pan, and now they had to somehow climb up out of it.

They could no longer see Big Thumb. The cliffs blocked their view. The cliffs also blocked out the sun.

Zero groaned and clutched his stomach, but he remained standing. “I’m all right,” he whispered.

Stanley saw a rut, about a foot wide and six inches deep, running down a cliff. On either side of the rut were a series of ledges. “Let’s try there,” he said.

It looked to be about a fifty–foot climb, straight up.

Stanley still managed to hold the sack of jars in his left hand as he slowly moved up, from ledge to ledge, crisscrossing the rut. At times he had to use the side of the rut for support, in order to make it to the next ledge.

Zero stayed with him, somehow. His frail body trembled terribly as he climbed the stone wall.

Some of the ledges were wide enough to sit on. Others stuck out no more than a few inches — just enough for a quick step. Stanley stopped about two–thirds of the way up, on a fairly wide ledge. Zero came up alongside him.

“You okay?” Stanley asked.

Zero gave the thumbs–up sign. Stanley did the same.

He looked above him. He wasn’t sure how he’d get to the next ledge. It was three or four feet above his head, and he didn’t see any footholds. He was afraid to look down.

“Give me a boost,” said Zero. “Then I’ll pull you up with the shovel.”

“You won’t be able to pull me up,” said Stanley.

“Yes, I will,” said Zero.

Stanley cupped his hands together, and Zero stepped on his interwoven fingers. He was able to lift Zero high enough for him to grab the protruding slab of rock. Stanley continued to help him from below as Zero pulled himself onto the ledge.

While Zero was getting himself situated up there, Stanley attached the sack to the shovel by poking a hole through the burlap. He held it up to Zero.

Zero first grabbed hold of the sack, then the shovel. He set the shovel so that half the blade was supported by the rock slab. The wooden shaft hung down toward Stanley. “Okay,” he said.

Stanley doubted this would work. It was one thing for him to lift Zero, who was half his weight. It was quite another for Zero to try to pull him up.

Stanley grabbed hold of the shovel as he climbed up the rock wall, using the sides of the rut to help support him. His hands moved one over the other, up the shaft of the shovel.

He felt Zero’s hand clasp his wrist.

He let go of the shaft with one hand and grabbed the top of the ledge.

He gathered his strength and for a brief second seemed to defy gravity as he took a quick step up the wall and, with Zero’s help, pulled himself the rest of the way over the ledge.

He caught his breath. There was no way he could have done that a few months ago.

He noticed a large spot of blood on his wrist. It took him a moment to realize that it was Zero’s blood.

Zero had deep gashes in both hands. He had held on to the metal blade of the shovel, keeping it in place, as Stanley climbed.

Zero brought his hands to his mouth and sucked up his blood.

One of the glass jars had broken in the sack. They decided to save the pieces. They might need to make a knife or something.

They rested briefly, then continued on up. It was a fairly easy climb the rest of the way.

When they reached flat ground, Stanley looked up to see the sun, a fiery ball balancing on top of Big Thumb. God was twirling a basketball.

Soon they were walking in the long thin shadow of the thumb.

 

 

Chapter 37

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re almost there,” said Stanley. He could see the base of the mountain.

Now that they really were almost there, it scared him. Big Thumb was his only hope. If there was no water, no refuge, then they’d have nothing, not even hope.

There was no exact place where the flat land stopped and the mountain began. The ground got steeper and steeper, and then there was no doubt that they were heading up the mountain.

Stanley could no longer see Big Thumb. The slope of the mountain was in the way.

It became too steep to go straight up. Instead they zigzagged back and forth, increasing their altitude by small increments every time they changed directions.

Patches of weeds dotted the mountainside. They walked from one patch to another, using the weeds as footholds. As they got higher, the weeds got thicker. Many had thorns, and they had to be careful walking through them.

Stanley would have liked to stop and rest, but he was afraid they’d never get started again. As long as Zero could keep going, he could keep going, too. Besides, he knew they didn’t have much daylight left.

As the sky darkened, bugs began appearing above the weed patches. A swarm of gnats hovered around them, attracted by their sweat. Neither Stanley nor Zero had the strength to try to swat at them.

“How are you doing?” Stanley asked.

Zero pointed thumbs up. Then he said, “If a gnat lands on me, it will knock me over.”

Stanley gave him some more words. “B–u–g–s,” he spelled.

Zero concentrated hard, then said, “Boogs.”

Stanley laughed.

A wide smile spread across Zero’s sick and weary face as well. “Bugs,” he said.

“Good,” said Stanley. “Remember, it’s a short ‘u’ if there’s no ‘e’ at the end.Okay, here’s a hard one. How about, l–u–n–c–h?”

“Luh — Luh–un —” Suddenly, Zero made a horrible, wrenching noise as he doubled over and grabbed his stomach. His frail body shook violently, and he threw up, emptying his stomach of the sploosh.

He leaned on his knees and took several deep breaths. Then he straightened up and continued going.

The swarm of gnats stayed behind, preferring the contents of Zero’s stomach to the sweat on the boys’ faces.

Stanley didn’t give him any more words, thinking that he needed to save his strength. But about ten or fifteen minutes later, Zero said, “Lunch.”

As they climbed higher, the patches of weeds grew thicker, and they had to be careful not to get their feet tangled in thorny vines. Stanley suddenly realized something. There hadn’t been any weeds on the lake.

“Weeds and bugs,” he said. “There’s got to be water around somewhere. We must be getting close.”

A wide clown–like smile spread across Zero’s face. He flashed the thumbs–up sign, then fell.

He didn’t get up. Stanley bent over him. “C’mon, Zero,” he urged. “We’re getting close. C’mon, Hector. Weeds and bugs. Weeds and boogs.”

Stanley shook him. “I’ve already ordered your hot fudge sundae,” he said. “They’re making it right now.”

Zero said nothing.

 

 

Chapter 38

 

* * *

 

 

Stanley took hold of Zero’s forearms and pulled him upright. Then he stooped down and let Zero fall over his right shoulder. He stood up, lifting Zero’s worn–out body off the ground.

He left the shovel and sack of jars behind as he continued up the mountain. Zero’s legs dangled in front of him.

Stanley couldn’t see his feet, which made it difficult to walk through the tangled patches of weeds and vines. He concentrated on one step at a time, carefully raising and setting down each foot. He thought only about each step, and not the impossible task that lay before him.

Higher and higher he climbed. His strength came from somewhere deep inside himself and also seemed to come from the outside as well. After focusing on Big Thumb for so long, it was as if the rock had absorbed his energy and now acted like a kind of giant magnet pulling him toward it.

After a while he became aware of a foul odor. At first he thought it came from Zero, but it seemed to be in the air, hanging heavy all around him.

He also noticed that the ground wasn’t as steep anymore. As the ground flattened, a huge stone precipice rose up ahead of him, just barely visible in the moonlight. It seemed to grow bigger with each step he took.

It no longer resembled a thumb.

And he knew he’d never be able to climb it.

Around him, the smell became stronger. It was the bitter smell of despair.

Even if he could somehow climb Big Thumb, he knew he wouldn’t find water. How could there be water at the top of a giant rock? The weeds and bugs survived only by an occasional rainstorm, like the one he had seen from camp.

Still, he continued toward it. If nothing else, he wanted to at least reach the Thumb.

He never made it.

His feet slipped out from under him. Zero’s head knocked against the back of his shoulder as he fell and tumbled into a small muddy gully.

As he lay face down in the muddy ditch, he didn’t know if he’d ever get up again. He didn’t know if he’d even try. Had he come all this way just to … You need water to make mud!

He crawled along the gully in the direction that seemed the muddiest. The ground became gloppier. The mud splashed up as he slapped the ground.

Using both hands, he dug a hole in the soggy soil. It was too dark to see, but he thought he could feel a tiny pool of water at the bottom of his hole. He stuck his head in the hole and licked the dirt.

He dug deeper, and as he did so, more water seemed to fill the hole. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it — first with his fingers, then with his tongue.

He dug until he had a hole that was about as deep as his arm was long. There was enough water for him to scoop out with his hands and drop on Zero’s face.

Zero’s eyes remained closed. But his tongue poked out between his lips, searching out the droplets.

Stanley dragged Zero closer to the hole. He dug, then scooped some more water and let it pour out of his hands into Zero’s mouth.

As he continued to widen his hole, his hand came across a smooth, round object. It was too smooth and too round to be a rock.

He wiped the dirt off of it and realized it was an onion.

He bit into it without peeling it. The hot bitter juice burst into his mouth. He could feel it all the way up to his eyes. And when he swallowed, he felt its warmth move down his throat and into his stomach.

He only ate half. He gave the other half to Zero.

“Here, eat this.”

“What is it?” Zero whispered.

“A hot fudge sundae.”

 

 

Chapter 39

 

* * *

 

 

Stanley awoke in a meadow, looking up at the giant rock tower. It was layered and streaked with different shades of red, burnt orange, brown, and tan. It must have been over a hundred feet tall.

Stanley lay awhile, just looking at it. He didn’t have the strength to get up. It felt like the insides of his mouth and throat were coated with sand.

And no wonder. When he rolled over he saw the water hole. It was about two and a half feet deep and over three feet wide. At the bottom lay no more than two inches of very brown water.

His hands and fingers were sore from digging, especially under his fingernails. He scooped some dirty water into his mouth, then swished it around, trying to filter it with his teeth.

Zero moaned.

Stanley started to say something to him, but no words came out of his mouth, and he had to try again. “How you doing?” It hurt to talk.

“Not good,” Zero said quietly. With great effort, he rolled over, raised himself to his knees, and crawled to the water hole. He lowered his head into it and lapped up some water.

Then he jerked back, clutched his knees to his chest, and rolled to his side. His body shook violently.

Stanley thought about going back down the mountain to look for the shovel, so he could make the water hole deeper. Maybe that would give them cleaner water. They could use the jars as drinking glasses.

But he didn’t think he had the strength to go down, let alone make it back up again. And he didn’t know where to look.

He struggled to his feet. He was in a field of greenish white flowers that seemed to extend all the way around Big Thumb.

He took a deep breath, then walked the last fifty yards to the giant precipice and touched it.

Tag, you’re it.

Then he walked back to Zero and the water hole. On the way he picked one of the flowers. It actually wasn’t one big flower, he discovered, but instead each flower was really a cluster of tiny little flowers that formed a round ball. He brought it to his mouth but had to spit it out.

He could see part of the trail he had made the night before, when he carried Zero up the mountain. If he was going to head back down and look for the shovel, he realized, he should do it soon, while the trail was fresh. But he didn’t want to leave Zero. He was afraid Zero might die while he was gone.

Zero was still lying doubled over on his side. “I got to tell you something,” he said with a groan.

“Don’t talk,” said Stanley. “Save your strength.”

“No, listen,” Zero insisted, then he closed his eyes as his face twisted with pain.

“I’m listening,” Stanley whispered.

“I took your shoes,” Zero said.

Stanley didn’t know what he was talking about. His shoes were on his feet. “That’s all right,” he said. “Just rest now.”

“It’s all my fault,” said Zero.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” said Stanley.

“I didn’t know,” Zero said.

“That’s okay,” Stanley said. “Just rest.”

Zero closed his eyes. But then again he said, “I didn’t know about the shoes.”

“What shoes?”

“From the shelter.”

It took a moment for Stanley to comprehend. “Clyde Livingston’s shoes?”

“I’m sorry,” said Zero.

Stanley stared at him. It was impossible. Zero was delirious.

Zero’s “confession” seemed to bring him some relief. The muscles in his face relaxed. As he drifted into sleep, Stanley softly sang him the song that had been in his family for generations.

“If only, if only,” the woodpecker sighs,

“The bark on the tree was just a little bit softer.”

While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,

He cries to the moo–oo–oon,

“If only, if only.”