strands, could sneak to within inches of each other before opening fire. The one absolute rule was no eating in the den. Once crumbs got into the shag, they were gone for good unless you went through the long white fibers with a magnifying glass and tweezers. Getting caught eating in the den was almost an automatic spanking.
âMaybe we can get Dad to change his mind,â Sparky said.
âMaybe,â I said, although I had my doubts. Iâd learned a little about nuclear war from duck-and-cover air-raid drills at school, but most of what I knew about the Russians came from the
Rocky and Bullwinkle Show
on TV. Rocky the flying squirrel and his pal Bullwinkle J. Moose were often called upon to foil the sinister plots of Boris Badenov and his girlfriend, Natasha Fatale, who had foreign accents and were no-good spies from a no-good country clearly like Russia.
Americans were a good, peace-loving people. We had a handsome president with a pretty wife, and we wanted to live freely and play baseball and enjoy life. Russia had an ugly leader who most likely wasnât even married and only wanted to destroy America. The Russian people lived in fear of their leaders and probably werenât allowed to play sports.
So it would be too bad if we werenât getting a swimming pool, but maybe a bomb shelter wasnât such a bad thing, either.
Sparky and I have no dry clothes to change into, so we sit naked on the lower bunk with a blanket around our shoulders. I feel proud of my little brother for not making a fuss about wetting himself. After a while everyone is awake again, and Dad cranks the ventilator to get more fresh air in the shelter. Janet sits on the edge of Momâs bunk and feels her pulse. People stretch and move around. They glance at Mom and at Sparky and me pressed close together, but no one says anything. Paula wrinkles her nose like she can smell what Sparky did, but then whispers to her father, who speaks in a hushed tone to Dad. They may be whispering for Paulaâs sake, but everyone knows what theyâre talking about. Dad gestures at a bucket with a toilet seat on top of it.
âWonât it fill up quickly?â Mrs. Shaw asks.
Dad points at the big metal garbage can next to the toilet bucket. âIt goes in here.â
Paula starts to cry again. Mr. McGovern hugs her. âItâs okay, honey. Everyoneâs going to have to use it sooner or later.â
With her legs squeezed together, Paula leans against him and sobs. I feel bad for her. Maybe everyone will have to use the toilet bucket, but I wouldnât want to be the first, either.
âFor Peteâs sake,â Mrs. Shaw grumbles. I watch in amazement as she pulls up her robe and sits down on the toilet seat. âDonât look,â she says, annoyed.
I quickly turn away and hear the hard rattle as her pee strikes the bottom of the empty bucket. Soon it becomes a dribble and then stops. Mrs. Shaw focuses on Dad. âToilet paper?â
Dad goes to a shelf and gets a roll. âI only stocked enough for four people.â
âHow could I forget?â Mrs. Shaw snorts. The soft sound of tissue tearing is followed by the rustle of clothes. Then in a gentle voice she says to Paula, âOkay, honey, itâs your turn.â
Paula sniffs.
âGo on,â her father says softly.
âNoooo,â Paula wails, as if sheâs in agony. You canât help feeling bad for her. Dad starts to crank the ventilator again. Only this time itâs for the noise.
âCome on, honey,â Mrs. Shaw says. âIâll make sure they donât look.â
Ronnie glances at me and smirks. But heâs being a jerk. Mrs. Shaw stands in front of Paula, and the rest of us look away. When Paulaâs finished, she comes out from behind Mrs. Shaw with her head bowed and goes back to her dad, eyes downcast.
âAnyone else?â Mrs. Shaw asks. I have to go and now that some of the others have, I