Joe thought of his bumbling father--because he remembered something the old man had told him. "Look out for a soup carrier," Joe's father had said. "Take one of them dames that's always carrying soup to somebody--she wants something, and don't you forget it."
Joe said under his breath, "A soup carrier. I thought she was smarter than that." He went over her tone and words to make sure he hadn't missed something. No--a soup carrier. And he thought of Alf saying, "If she was to offer a drink or even a cupcake--"
3
Kate sat at her desk. She could hear the wind in the tall privet in the yard, and the wind and the darkness were full of Ethel--fat, sloppy Ethel oozing near like a jellyfish. A dull weariness came over her.
She went into the lean-to, the gray room, and closed the door and sat in the darkness, listening to the pain creep back into her fingers. Her temples beat with pounding blood. She felt for the capsule hanging in its tube on the chain around her neck, she rubbed the metal tube, warm from her breast, against her cheek, and her courage came back. She washed her face and put on make-up, combed and puffed her hair in a loose pompadour. She moved into the hall and at the door of the parlor she paused, as always, listening.
To the right of the door two girls and a man were talking. As soon as Kate stepped inside the talk stopped instantly. Kate said, "Helen, I want to see you if you aren't busy right now."
The girl followed her down the hall and into her room. She was a pale blond with a skin like clean and polished bone. "Is something the matter, Miss Kate?" she asked fearfully.
"Sit down. No. Nothing's the matter. You went to the Nigger's funeral."
"Didn't you want me to?"
"I don't care about that. You went."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell me about it."
"What about it?"
"Tell me what you remember--how it was."
Helen said nervously, "Well, it was kind of awful and--kind of beautiful."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know. No flowers, no nothing, but there was--there was a--well, a kind of--dignity. The Nigger was just laying there in a black wood coffin with the biggest goddam silver handles. Made you feel--I can't say it. I don't know how to say it."
"Maybe you said it. What did she wear?"
"Wear, ma'am?"
"Yes--wear. They didn't bury her naked, did they?"
A struggle of effort crossed Helen's face. "I don't know," she said at last. "I don't remember."
"Did you go to the cemetery?"
"No, ma'am. Nobody did--except him."
"Who?"
"Her man."
Kate said quickly--almost too quickly, "Have you got any regulars tonight?"
"No, ma'am. Day before Thanksgiving. Bound to be slow."
"I'd forgotten," said Kate. "Get back out." She watched the girl out of the room and moved restlessly back to her desk. And as she looked at an itemized bill for plumbing her left hand strayed to her neck and touched the chain. It was comfort and reassurance.
Chapter 49
1
Both Lee and Cal tried to argue Adam out of going to meet the train, the Lark night train from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
Cal said, "Why don't we let Abra go alone? He'll want to see her first."
"I think he won't know anybody else is there," said Lee. "So it doesn't matter whether we go or not."
"I want to see him get off the train," said Adam. "He'll be changed. I want to see what change there is."
Lee said, "He's only been gone a couple of months. He can't be very changed, nor much older."
"He'll be changed. Experience will do that."
"If you go we'll all have to go," said Cal.
"Don't you want to see your brother?" Adam asked sternly.
"Sure, but he won't want to see me--not right at first."
"He will too," said Adam. "Don't you underrate Aron."
Lee threw up his hands. "I guess we all go," he said.
"Can you imagine?" said Adam. "He'll know so many new things. I wonder if he'll talk different. You know, Lee, in the East a boy takes on the speech of his school. You can tell a Harvard man from a Princeton man. At least that's what they say."
"I'll listen," said Lee. "I wonder what dialect they speak at Stanford. " He smiled at Cal.
Adam didn't think it was funny. "Did you put some fruit in his room?" he asked. "He loves fruit."
"Pears and apples and muscat grapes," said Lee.
"Yes, he loves muscats. I remember he loves muscats."
Under Adam's urging they got to the Southern Pacific Depot half an hour before the train was due. Abra was already there.
"I can't come to dinner tomorrow, Lee," she said. "My father wants me home. I'll come as soon after as I can."
"You're a little breathless," said Lee.
"Aren't you?"
"I guess I am," said Lee. "Look up the track and see if the block's turned green."
Train schedules are a matter of pride and of apprehension to nearly everyone. When, far up the track, the block signal snapped from red to green and the long, stabbing probe of the headlight sheered the bend and blared on the station, men looked at their watches and said, "On time."
There was pride in it, and relief too. The split second has been growing more and more important to us. And as human activities become more and more intermeshed and integrated, the split tenth of a second will emerge, and then a new name must be made for the split hundredth, until one day, although I don't believe it, we'll say, "Oh, the hell with it. What's wrong with an hour?" But it isn't silly, this preoccupation with small time units. One thing late or early can disrupt everything around it, and the disturbance runs outward in bands like the waves from a dropped stone in a quiet pool.
The Lark came rushing in as though it had no intention of stopping. And only when the engine and baggage cars were well past did the air brakes give their screaming hiss and the straining iron protest to a halt.
The train delivered quite a crowd for Salinas, returning relatives home for Thanksgiving, their hands entangled in cartons and gift-wrapped paper boxes. It was a moment or two before his family could locate Aron. And then they saw him, and he seemed bigger than he had been.
He was wearing a flat-topped, narrow-brimmed hat, very stylish, and when he saw them he broke into a run and yanked off his hat, and they could see that his bright hair was clipped to a short brush of a pompadour that stood straight up. And his eyes shone so that they laughed with pleasure to see him.
Aron dropped his suitcase and lifted Abra from the ground in a great hug. He set her down and gave Adam and Cal his two hands. He put his arms around Lee's shoulders and nearly crushed him.
On the way home they all talked at once. "Well, how are you?"
"You look fine."
"Abra, you're so pretty."
"I am not. Why did you cut your hair?"
"Oh, everybody wears it that way,"
"But you have such nice hair."
They hurried up to Main Street and one short block and around the corner on Central past Reynaud's with stacked French bread in the window and black-haired Mrs. Reynaud waved her flour-pale hand at them and they were home.
Adam said, "Coffee, Lee?"
"I made it before we left. It's on the simmer." He had the cups laid out too. Suddenly they were together--Aron and Abra on the couch, Adam in his chair under the light, Lee passing coffee, and Cal braced in the doorway to the hall. And they were silent, for it was too late to say hello and too early to begin other things.
Adam did say, "I'll want to hear all about it. Will you get good marks?"
"Finals aren't until next month, Father."
"Oh, I see. Well, you'll get good marks, all right. I'm sure you will."
In spite of himself a grimace of impatience crossed Aron's face.
"I'll bet you're tired," said Adam. "Well, we can talk tomorrow."
Lee said, "I'll bet he's not. I'll bet he'd like to be alone."
&
nbsp; Adam looked at Lee and said, "Why, of course--of course. Do you think we should all go to bed?"
Abra solved it for them. "I can't stay out long," she said. "Aron, why don't you walk me home? We'll be together tomorrow."
On the way Aron clung to her arm. He shivered. "There's going to a frost," he said.
"You're glad to be back."
"Yes, I am. I have a lot to talk about."
"Good things?"
"Maybe. I hope you think so."
"You sound serious."
"It is serious."
"When do you have to go back?"
"Not until Sunday night."
"We'll have lots of time. I want to tell you some things too. We have tomorrow and Friday and Saturday and all day Sunday. Would you mind not coming in tonight?"
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you later."
"I want to know now."
"Well, my father's got one of his streaks."
"Against me?"
"Yes. I can't go to dinner with you tomorrow, but I won't eat much at home, so you can tell Lee to save a plate for me."
He was turning shy. She could feel it in the relaxing grip on her arm and in his silence, and she could see it in his raised face. "I shouldn't have told you that tonight."
"Yes, you should," he said slowly. "Tell me the truth. Do you still--want to be with me?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then all right. I'll go away now. We'll talk tomorrow."
He left her on her porch with the feeling of a light-brushed kiss on her lips. She felt hurt that he had agreed so easily, and she laughed sourly at herself that she could ask a thing and be hurt when she got it. She watched his tall quick step through the radiance of the corner streetlight. She thought, I must be crazy. I've been imagining things.
2
In his bedroom after he had said his good night, Aron sat on the edge of his bed and peered down at his hands cupped between his knees. He felt let down and helpless, packed like a bird's egg in the cotton of his father's ambition for him. He had not known its strength until tonight, and he wondered whether he would have the strength to break free of its soft, persistent force. His thoughts would not coagulate. The house seemed cold with a dampness that made him shiver. He got up and softly opened his door. There was a light under Cal's door. He tapped and went in without waiting for a reply.
Cal sat at a new desk. He was working with tissue paper and a bolt of red ribbon, and as Aron came in he hastily covered something on his desk with a large blotter.
Aron smiled. "Presents?"
"Yes," said Cal and left it at that.
"Can I talk to you?"
"Sure! Come on in. Talk low or Father will come in. He hates to miss a moment."
Aron sat down on the bed. He was silent so long that Cal asked, "What's the matter--you got trouble?"
"No, not trouble. I just wanted to talk to you. Cal, I don't want to go on at college."
Cal's head jerked around. "You don't? Why not?"
"I just don't like it."
"You haven't told Father, have you? He'll be disappointed. It's bad enough that I don't want to go. What do you want to do?"
"I thought I'd like to take over the ranch."
"How about Abra?"
"She told me a long time ago that's what she'd like."
Cal studied him. "The ranch has got a lease to run."
"Well, I was just thinking about it."
Cal said, "There's no money in farming."
"I don't want much money. Just to get along."
"That's not good enough for me," said Cal. "I want a lot of money and I'm going to get it too."
"How?"
Cal felt older and surer than his brother. He felt protective toward him. "If you'll go on at college, why, I'll get started and lay in a foundation. Then when you finish we can be partners. I'll have one kind of thing and you'll have another. That might be pretty good."
"I don't want to go back. Why do I have to go back?"
"Because Father wants you to."
"That won't make me go."
Cal stared fiercely at his brother, at the pale hair and the wide-set eyes, and suddenly he knew why his father loved Aron, knew it beyond doubt. "Sleep on it," he said quickly. "It would be better if you finish out the term at least. Don't do anything now."
Aron got up and moved toward the door. "Who's the present for?" he asked.
"It's for Father. You'll see it tomorrow--after dinner."
"It's not Christmas."
"No," said Cal, "it's better than Christmas."
When Aron had gone back to his room Cal uncovered his present. He counted the fifteen new bills once more, and they were so crisp they made a sharp, cracking sound. The Monterey County Bank had to send to San Francisco to get them, and only did so when the reason for them was told. It was a matter of shock and disbelief to the bank that a seventeen-year-old boy should, first, own them, and, second, carry them about. Bankers do not like money to be lightly handled even if the handling is sentimental. It had taken Will Hamilton's word to make the bank believe that the money belonged to Cal, that it was honestly come by, and that he could do what he wanted to with it.
Cal wrapped the bills in tissue and tied it with red ribbon finished in a blob that was faintly recognizable as a bow. The package might have been a handkerchief. He concealed it under the shirts in his bureau and went to bed. But he could not sleep. He was excited and at the same time shy. He wished the day was over and the gift given. He went over what he planned to say.
"This is for you."
"What is it?"
"A present."
From then on he didn't know what would happen. He tossed and rolled in bed, and at dawn he got up and dressed and crept out of the house.
On Main Street he saw Old Martin sweeping the street with a stable broom. The city council was discussing the purchase of a mechanical sweeper. Old Martin hoped he would get to drive it, but he was cynical about it. Young men got the cream of everything. Bacigalupi's garbage wagon went by, and Martin looked after it spitefully. There was a good business. Those wops were getting rich.
Main Street was empty except for a few dogs sniffing at closed entrances and the sleepy activity around the San Francisco Chop House. Pet Bulene's new taxi was parked in front, for Pet had been alerted the night before to take the Williams girls to the morning train for San Francisco.
Old Martin called to Cal, "Got a cigarette, young fella?"
Cal stopped and took out his cardboard box of Murads.
"Oh, fancy ones!" Martin said. "I ain't got a match either."
Cal lighted the cigarette for him, careful not to set fire to the grizzle around Martin's mouth.
Martin leaned on the handle of his brush and puffed disconsolately. "Young fellas gets the cream," he said. "They won't let me drive it."
"What?" Cal asked.
"Why, the new sweeper. Ain't you heard? Where you been, boy?" It was incredible to him that any reasonably informed human did not know about the sweeper. He forgot Cal. Maybe the Bacigalupis would give him a job. They were coining money. Three wagons and a new truck.
Cal turned down Alisal Street, went into the post office, and looked in the glass window of box 632. It was empty. He wandered back home and found Lee up and stuffing a very large turkey.
"Up all night?" Lee asked.
"No. I just went for a walk."
"Nervous?"
"Yes."
"I don't blame you. I would be too. It's hard to give people things--I guess it's harder to be given things, though. Seems silly, doesn't it? Want some coffee?"
"I don't mind."
Lee wiped his hands and poured coffee for himself and for Cal. "How do you think Aron looks?"
"All right, I guess."
"Did you get to talk to him?"
"No," said Cal. It was easier that way. Lee would want to know what he said. It wasn't Aron's day. It was Cal's day. He had carved this day out for himself and he wanted it. He m
eant to have it.
Aron came in, his eyes still misty with sleep. "What time do you plan to have dinner, Lee?"
"Oh, I don't know--three-thirty or four."
"Could you make it about five?"
"I guess so, if Adam says it's all right. Why?"
"Well, Abra can't get here before then. I've got a plan I want to put to my father and I want her to be here."
"I guess that will be all right," said Lee.
Cal got up quickly and went to his room. He sat at his desk with the student light turned on and he churned with uneasiness and resentment. Without effort, Aron was taking his day away from him. It would turn out to be Aron's day. Then, suddenly, he was bitterly ashamed. He covered his eyes with his hands and he said, "It's just jealousy. I'm jealous. That's what I am. I'm jealous. I don't want to be jealous." And he repeated over and over, "Jealous--jealous--jealous," as though bringing it into the open might destroy it. And having gone this far, he proceeded with his self-punishment. "Why am I giving the money to my father? Is it for his good? No. It's for my good. Will Hamilton said it--I'm trying to buy him. There's not one decent thing about it. There's not one decent thing about me. I sit here wallowing in jealousy of my brother. Why not call things by their names?"
He whispered hoarsely to himself. "Why not be honest? I know why my father loves Aron. It's because he looks like her. My father never got over her. He may not know it, but it's true. I wonder if he does know it. That makes me jealous of her too. Why don't I take my money and go away? They wouldn't miss me. In a little while they'd forget I ever existed--all except Lee. And I wonder whether Lee likes me. Maybe not." He doubled his fists against his forehead. "Does Aron have to fight himself like this? I don't think so, but how do I know? I could ask him. He wouldn't say."
Cal's mind careened in anger at himself and in pity for himself. And then a new voice came into it, saying coolly and with contempt, "If you're being honest--why not say you are enjoying this beating you're giving yourself? That would be the truth. Why not be just what you are and do just what you do?" Cal sat in shock from this thought. Enjoying?--of course. By whipping himself he protected himself against whipping by someone else. His mind tightened up. Give the money, but give it lightly. Don't depend on anything. Don't foresee anything. Just give it and forget it. And forget it now. Give--give. Give the day to Aron. Why not? He jumped up and hurried out to the kitchen.