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more important than lying." Erich trotted across the street at a diagonal, Sol beside him. They rounded a corner and Erich gestured for Sol to follow him down an alley, a look of fear and anticipation apparent in Erich's face. He stopped behind a pyramid of garbage cans.
    "There." He pointed down toward where the alley ended in a brick wall. "You see?"
    Tied beneath a lattice of small filthy windows was a bull terrier, whimpering. Beside him stood a stack of crates crammed with chickens, clucking uproariously. A calico cat lay on the top crate, asleep in the slant of sunlight, seemingly oblivious to the birds below.
    "The pup called to me," Erich said.
    "Sure he did. Three blocks away. Next you'll be telling me that the Kaiser sends you mental messages from Holland."
    Erich eyed him sternly. "Don't mock me, Solomon. Just because you can't--"
    A barrel-chested man in a bloodstained apron emerged from the building. He carried a cleaver. A cigarette dangled from his lip as if it were glued there. He opened a cage and gripped a chicken by the neck. While it hung flapping he chopped the twine that had kept the cat tied against the crate, and lifted the animal by its collar. It dangled forlornly, as though surrendered to its fate. Holding both animals, the man went inside, kicking the door closed with his heel.
    "Butcher," Erich said.
    "I know that. I'm not stupid," Sol said.
    "Not stupid. Just not smart." Erich sat down, his back against a garbage can. "Not smart here. In your heart." He tapped his chest with his forefinger. "Peer between the cans. Watch the pup. I'll show you what I can do. I won't even look at him."
    Erich closed his eyes; his face tightened. Sol could tell he was thinking hard.
    As if it had received some kind of message, the pup began mewling, straining so much against its rope that the forepaws scrabbled ineffectually against the pavement.
    "His name's Bull," Erich said.
    "I suppose he told you that."
    "He's telling me...a lot of things."
    "Like what."
    "Private things," Erich said. "If I told you, he wouldn't trust me."
    "He smells us, is all."
    "All he can smell is death, right now." Erich stood and crept around the garbage cans, keeping close to the wall.
    "If you can speak to him so easily," Sol said, "teach him to untie the rope himself."
    Erich waved him off and continued on. Sol went around the cans but feared going further. "That butcher comes out and finds you with his dog, he'll chop you up instead," he whispered.
    "You want me just to let Bull be someone's dinner?"
    The comment caught Solomon so off guard that he consciously closed his mouth. He hadn't thought about the reality. Maybe Erich's right, he thought. Maybe I am smart yet stupid.
    He ran to help his friend.
    "Hurry up!" he whispered, as Erich fumbled with the knot. Erich bundled the dog into his arms and raced back toward the street. Sol looked at the thin rope...at the chicken cages.
    He tied one end of the rope to the shop door and the other to the crates, which he unlatched but did not open. When the butcher opened the shop door, he would free the chickens himself. Life--and death--must go on, but perhaps having to chase after his chickens would make him think twice about stuffing so many into a cage.
    Besides, Sol thought, why should only the dog go free?

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    "This is crazy," Sol said, looking at the puppy Erich held wrapped in a piece of old blanket they had found in another alley. "We'll get... caught."
    He had started to say scolded, but knew it would spark Erich's always-sarcastic laughter. What did a scolding matter, when a puppy was at stake?
    His back against the tobacco shop, Erich craned his neck and peered in through the door's window. "Your papa's busy with a customer. I can't see anyone else inside," he whispered.
    "What if they're in the cellar?"
    "They're probably over at the apartment. Go on, now. Do what we planned."
    "What you planned," Sol said morosely, but opened the door. The bell jangled. Smiling