a flashlight, some candles, matches, and a red magic marker. George lit a smoke and pointed the flashlight down the damp hallway. On the walls around them were primitive sketches of Indians in boats. The stick figures seemed to have been etched with a crude tool, and at one time had color. But time and water had faded the images.
Soon after his first trip to the cave, George had asked his mother if she had ever heard about any caves in the park. She had told him that there were caves all through this area, from the Poconos, to the Wissahickon Creek, down to the mouth of the Delaware River. During the Depression, hundreds of poor people had actually lived in the caves during the long, cold winters. But what really caught George’s attention was when she told him that down by the river, there used to be a big cave near the old Strawberry Mansion. But a kid fell in some twenty years back and was killed. After that the city closed up the entrance so that other kids wouldn't meet the same fate. George decided not to mention anything about his cave; he didn't want to worry her. She worried too much about everything already.
Frankie and George continued walking through the cave, marveling at the round, smooth ceilings, looking as if they were man-made.
"You know, there has got to be an opening to the outside somewhere in this cave," George remarked, reaching up to touch the blue granite stone above his head.
Frankie limped behind George, trying to keep up as the light from the flashlight revealed more chambers.
"Yeah, well, we keep looking every time we come down here and haven't found anything yet. Every passageway we go down leads to another dead-end. But those Indians on the walls there must have found a way to get down here without swimming under the rocks to get in here.”
George tuned shining the light in Frankie’s face.
“Well they’re sure as hell not giving up their secrets if they did.”
“I can relate to that,” Frankie said. “They knew the white man was coming. White folks did the same thing to the Indians that you did to us blacks.”
George was about to say something but instead took the magic marker from the water-proof bag and marked a big round red circle on the wall in the room they were standing in. They had gotten into the habit of marking all the walkways and tunnels they explored so that way they could find their way back.
"In years to come, Frankie, someone will find this place like we did and see all of these mysterious red circles on the walls that we made. They won't have a clue as to what they are.”
Frankie limped faster catching up to George.
"Sure they will, they'll know some dumbass Irishman had nothing better to do but to wander around a dark, damp cave marking up the place."
They continued down the winding hallway. Water dripped from small holes in the ceiling, and a whistling sound moving down the hallway as if there was a window open somewhere.
"I'm thinking of going to a party up on the hill tonight. Should be some really fine girls there just holding their breaths 'til I show up. You want to come and hang, Frank?"
"Who invited white trash like you?”
“You got to be kidding. Those rich girls dig me. You know that’s true.”
Frankie shook him head and continued to walk through the cave.
"What gets them rich girls excited is this black boy. You know the taboo thing.”
"Well, you want to go or not?"
"Sure, why not? It could be fun hanging with the uppity white folks.”
They turned a corner and entered a large, almost perfectly round room. It was by far the biggest room they had found so far.
Once more Frankie and George were mesmerized by the primitive faces painted on the walls and the carved images of the sun and moon chiseled into the stone ceiling. They walked around the room touching the walls, feeling the moist, rich dirt as if it held a great secret and would give them a clue as to what this place was all about.
“What the hell is this place, George?”
George ran his hands over the walls and looked up at the fading images above his head.
"I don't have a clue, but my mom said something about an Indian tribe living in this area hundreds of years ago. I think she called them the Lenapes. Maybe this was one of their hangouts."
"How is your mom?"
“Oh you know, she lives up in that bedroom. Once in awhile she comes downstairs to see what my sister is up to, see if she is still alive. It's like she's given up on life or something, just wants to read those books and watch dumb TV.
Frankie leaned up against the wall, giving his aching leg a rest.
"I see that in my mom. Life sure can wear you down if you let it. Neither one of them have husbands to help them with things. You know that got to be hard."
George aimed the light up on the ceiling hoping to find a ray of sunlight. But all he saw was the chiseled carving of the sun.
"Maybe we should let somebody know about this place. I mean, like a museum or the cops. Maybe we could make some money, George."
George aimed the light at Frankie's face.
"Why the hell would we want to do that? This is our place. No one else in the world knows about this cave but us. I mean right smack in the middle of Philadelphia, under a river, we found an Indian cave the size of a football stadium. No, man, this is our place. Our secret."
"Okay, keep your shirt on."
George reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pocket knife.
"Give me your finger, Frankie."
"My finger? Why?"
"Let's seal our promise to keep this place a secret.”
“No way. Grow up. If you think I’m going to let you cut me you’re crazy. You already broke my leg and gave me this limp. Shit. I haven’t forgiven you for that one yet.”
For a fleeting moment a look of sadness crossed George's face.
"You know I didn't break your leg on purpose. We were playing football; you just got in my way."
Frankie looked at the knife George was holding.
"Put that thing away. You’re not going to cut anybody."
“I didn't break your leg on purpose. You know that. That limp will keep you out of the Army. You should thank me, you really should."
“I’m not going into any army, I'm going to collage in the fall. You, on the other hand, didn't have the brains to stay in school. Your ass is going to be wearing army green very soon."
George placed the knife in his pocket. "Don't count on it."
Frankie shook his head and started back. They walked in silence, neither one anxious to continue the conversation. When they reached the first chamber, George returned the flashlight, matches, and marker in the water-tight bag, then placed the
