A Lost King: A Novel (12 page)

On the way home I stopped at the open market on West Twenty-Fifth Street and Lorain Avenue. I bought hot peppers and plum tomatoes for my father. I bought walnuts and poppy-seed cake. I went across the street to Gray's Drug Store and bought half a gallon of red wine. Candles were on sale and so I bought a golden one as big as a quart bottle.

My father was making coffee when I staggered into the kitchen. I showed him the groceries and the potash. I told him the bad news. He shuffled into the bedroom and closed the door against me.

“The coffee's ready,” I said. “Come out and have your breakfast. Don't let a lost job spoil everything. Look what I brought you. It's a poppy-seed cake. And it's still warm.”

There was no sound from the bedroom.

“Look what else I brought,” I said. “You'll never guess. What a surprise. We'll have a celebration. And wait till you see this candle. What we need in this house is a light of gold. Things have been getting grayer and grayer since Nina left. Why should we live like spiders, Pa? Tell me why. From now on we'll eat and have our discussions by candlelight. Maybe we should dress for dinner. And then after dinner we'll have brandy and cigars. By candlelight. We'll go over the events of the day and make plans for tomorrow. I have this feeling we'll look better to each other by candlelight. We might even become friends, Pa. Tell me one thing. Is there any reason in the world why we should live like spiders?”

He came out and went into the bathroom.

“Now here's your horoscope in the
Plain Dealer
,” I said. “Are you listening? Pay attention. It says: ‘Be audacious. Stimulating rays for mental work, developing new ideas, trying new fields. You are in a favorable position for personal, professional and business ventures. You should emphasize your fine imagination, foresight and keen judgment. There's no reason in the world for you to live like a spider.' Well, Pa, how's that sound?”

He was cursing his luck.

Next day I went back on the watermelon wagon and he wouldn't even look at me. He started to do the cooking. No longer could I eat that food. He loaded it with more and more hot pepper. Everything exploded in my mouth. One evening I sat there watching him prepare supper. He fried pork chops with cherry peppers. He put three more of those peppers in the salad. He boiled two potatoes and sliced them in a dish. He put olive oil in a frying pan and dropped in a handful of dried red devil peppers. He fried the peppers black and then poured everything over the potatoes. He sat down and took a deep breath.

“You forgot to set fire to the bread,” I said.

Day after day he took terrible punishment. Sweat dripped off him. His mouth hung open and his dark eyes seemed to be melting away. In the middle of the night he would rush to the bathroom where he cursed fate and his scorched bowels. Afterward he went out to sit on the porch in the dead smoky air. Sometimes he rocked until dawn.

August had come. South wind brought clouds of soot and smoke from the mills. First thing in the morning I wiped all dirt away with a damp cloth. Next morning there would be dirt again as though some witch came in the night to sweep with a black broom over tables and chairs and window sills. All the curtains in the house had gone dark along the edges. It was like living black lace. Nina had promised to come twice a month to wash and iron the curtains. Finally Sophie Nowak offered to do it.

“Please mind your own business,” my father told her. “I enjoy the curtains. I look at them and think of my daughter. I don't have much to think about these days. If you wash the curtains I wouldn't think of my daughter at all.”

The long slow days of that August seemed to burn hope and delight out of everyone in the neighborhood. It was the worst month of the year. Two and three nights a week there was uproar in the Dew Drop Inn. Men came plunging through the door to fight in the street. Harsh cries went up like ugly birds. Presently the black and white police car came to scatter the crowd. One night the policemen jumped out of their car and someone jumped right in and drove it away.

There were bitter arguments in the coffee house. Seldom did the Greeks fight with their fists. They pounded the tables and insulted each other along with God. Each would listen and wait for the other to finish his speech. It went on to the point of danger and then as if by signal they turned and walked away big with triumph like kings. Most of them worked as painters of structural steel. They were related in various ways and those arguments would start about work or gambling and then shade into old family rivalries and foul play.

It was on one of those hot smoky nights that Rakowski smashed his furniture. He drank himself into a fury and staggered home to smash chairs and lamps and tables. Next morning he burst into tears when he saw the house in ruins. He cried and cried about it. He started to cry about his hatch-tender's job in the steel mill and then he cried because his daughter had run away ten years before with a Russian cabinetmaker. He cried about Poland and America and then because he had so much reason to cry.

A few nights later Florio drank too much wine. At three in the morning he was playing arias from the Italian operas on his phonograph. That music woke everyone in Lincoln Court. Someone called the police. Just before they came we heard this thrilling tenor voice lifted in the night. A sob was torn from the heart of that singer. Now his song was lifted again and given and lost in the giving like the soar of a fountain. Two policemen were pounding on the door.

That tenor was singing himself free of the despair that would soon fill my own heart. I had promised to free myself with a song. It was too late and too soon. For it was on the first day of September that Peggy Haley married Edmund Hatcher.

Three days before the wedding she came over to see me. All she talked about was her Edmund. He was brave and true. He was taking her away from the alley. I listened to her and then I kissed her hard on the mouth. Her body started to come alive. She pushed me away.

“Why did you do that?” I said.

“Do what?”

“Push me back like that.”

“You shouldn't be kissing me, Paul.”

“Why did you kiss me back?”

“I didn't. Besides, it's like a good-by.”

“It didn't feel like a good-by.”

“Well, it is.”

“I just don't understand it,” I said. “I really don't.”

“Understand what?”

“You never gave me a chance. You were playing with me the whole time. What's wrong with me?”

“You're the one that's playing, Paul. You're playing through life. It was the same in school and everything.”

“Was I playing with you? Didn't I tell you I loved you?”

“Are you talking about that night in Lincoln Park?”

“That's right.”

“You're acting silly, Paul. Kissing doesn't mean that much.”

“I guess it doesn't. But you're the only girl I ever kissed. And you're the only one I ever wanted to kiss.”

“Kissing is like dreaming. It's like dreaming about love.”

“Is it? When did you know you were dreaming?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Did you know it then in the park?”

“Maybe I wasn't too sure right then. I do like you, Paul. I like you an awful lot.”

“But you weren't too sure. How about Edmund? What if you wake up some morning after you're married and find out it was all a dream? You were dreaming about love. Like you did with me.”

“That won't happen!”

“How do you know? You're talking to an expert on the subject. Ask anybody in Lincoln Court. Ask my father. He thinks I'm dreaming about life and everybody else is living. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he's dreaming about me.”

“Not so loud, Paul.”

“And I'm beginning to dream about the neighbors, too. You should hear what they tell me. They stop me on the street. They give me all kinds of advice. They tell me I'm too old to work on a watermelon wagon. They tell me I should wake up. They tell me I'm too old to play the harmonica. I tell them I'm happy and they say no, no, no. Does it sound like I'm dreaming? What kind of life is this? I do my best and everybody thinks it's all wrong!”

“Not so loud. They'll hear you.”

“What's the difference if they hear me? They know everything about me.”

“I better go.”

“Maybe you better. Why did you come over here in the first place? Wait, wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You want me to play the harmonica at your reception. Is that it?”

“No!”

“Why then? Do you want to be sure I'm suffering? Take a good look. And then go home. One of these days you won't be able to turn away so easy. You'll have to look things in the face. And I see that look in your eyes, too. Shame on you. Shame on you to be all excited like that just because I feel like I do!”

“I don't feel that way!” she said, bursting into tears. “I came over because my mother said you were at the house one night! Playing the harmonica for me!”

“And you're lying about how you feel!”

“I'm going, Paul!”

“And I'll tell you something else! From now on I'm never going to be in love with anybody! I mean it! Once is too much! This is the last time for me! From now on I'll be looking the other way!”

“Good night, Paul!”

“Good night and good-by!”

On the day of the wedding I was marching from room to room in the house. My father puffed his pipe and watched me. I went into the bathroom and slammed the door against his burning eyes. He called out that it was getting late.

“Late for what?” I said.

“Aren't you going to the wedding?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Do you think you can hide from it?”

“What do you want me to do? Go over there and throw rice? Join the celebration? Play the harmonica for them?”

“It's what you promised. You talk a good game.”

To spite him I rushed over to St. Augustine's Church. I was late and so I sat in the last pew near the door. The ceremony was ending. Father Murphy was saying those final precious words. A breathless silence followed. Edmund turned to kiss Peggy lightly on the mouth. So shy and innocent was it that my heart ached with sudden pity for them. I slipped out of the church. I went across the street to Lincoln Park.

The church doors opened. People streamed out and formed an aisle. Suddenly Peggy was there. Never had I seen such beauty. The sunlight of morning was caught by the shimmering white swirl of gown and veil. I had to turn away. All the love in my heart meant nothing. My darling Peggy was lost to me forever.

I went home. My father was reading a magazine on the porch. In that moment I resented his loneliness and blamed him for it. I was afraid to talk and so I hurried past him into the kitchen. He followed me. I wanted to cry out. It seemed he was in pursuit of me with loneliness. I went into the bathroom and locked the door.

“Is it over?” he said. “It couldn't happen and wouldn't happen. And now it happened. It's like death a little.”

I said nothing.

“I knew you'd end up looking in the window,” he said.

He was right again.

That night at the wedding reception I was looking through the window of the Polish National Home. Peggy danced with everyone. She was laughing and laughing. Her cheeks were like roses in the night of her hair. For a while I was hoping she would come to tell me that her heart was secretly broken. I was foolish. Never once did she think of me.

My final hope was that something would happen to ruin the wedding celebration. The best thing was to shoot myself through the heart and then fall across the doorway. I would die with my eyes open and that look would haunt Peggy the rest of her days. It would be a sensation in the newspapers. They would say I died for love. Afterward they would study my background and say I was unstable. I was thinking about it when trouble started in the hall. The butcher Kroger was serving at the bar and he scolded Rakowski for drinking so much.

“Why don't you stop a while?” said Kroger.

“Are you paying for it?” said Rakowski.

“Drown yourself then,” said Kroger.

A man beside Rakowski was muttering.

“What's that?” said Rakowski.

“Bartender's right,” said the man.

“Listen, Greek,” said Rakowski, putting his hand on the man.

“I'm no Greek.”

“Russian!”

“I'm no Russian.”

“What are you?”

“Polish.”

“Liar!” said Rakowski.

He hit the man in the face. Kroger reached over to hit Rakowski on the side of the head. Rakowski turned and pulled him right over the bar. A crowd gathered around them. Everyone was pushing. Women were kicking and swinging their purses. Uproar spread through the hall like a wild new dance. The music stopped and started. The accordionist was playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Someone hit him on the forehead with half a chicken.

Peggy and Edmund were being led through the front door by their families. Peggy was crying. I had moved away.

“They spoil everything,” she said. “They just spoil everything.”

“Never mind,” said her mother. “Never mind them.”

“It's all right,” said Edmund.

“Your nose is bleeding,” said his mother. “Did they hit you?”

“No, Ma, no,” he said. “I'm all right.”

“It's too much excitement for one day,” said his mother. “You be sure to get your rest. Do you hear?”

“Please, Ma, please,” he said.

There were kisses and tears. At last Peggy and Edmund were left alone on the sidewalk. They stood there in a helpless way. He took her hand. A piercing scream came from the hall.

“My God,” said Peggy. “Let's get away from this place.”

“I'll get the car,” said Edmund.

He looked around as though lost.