A Lost King: A Novel (14 page)

All at once there were hard thudding noises in the middle of the belt. Milk cartons went flying in the air. I stood there in horror.

Schultz came rushing over to turn the machine off.

“Come with me,” he said.

I thought he would fire me on the spot.

“Look at this,” he said. “See the carton caught down here at the bottom? See where the edge is bent up? This one carton started all the trouble. You've got to be sure these cartons are straight at the edges when you slap them in. One bent edge will jam everything up in there. See how it happens? Now this machine doesn't make any mistakes.”

“It doesn't?”

“Never. It's one thing you should understand. It's your mistake because the gluing machine's perfect. Think a minute. This machine is so perfect it stopped a carton that wasn't perfect.”

“I understand.”

“Now I don't mean it's your mistake. Sometimes these boys bend the cartons when they load them on the dolly. I'm only saying that we're to blame when this happens. It's not the machine.”

Schultz pulled out the smashed cartons. He flipped the switch and the buzzing started. He slapped a stack of cartons into the mouth. His blue eyes went round and his head jerked when the last carton slipped away. He nodded to me and left.

The gluing machine jammed again just before lunch at three in the morning. Schultz came over to pull out the smashed cartons. The lunch whistle sounded and he sent me to the locker room where I ate a bologna sandwich and a cherry pepper. I was very sleepy. I washed my face with cold water and went back to the machine at three-thirty.

For a while I was turning and slapping in a perfect rhythm with that machine. My glance jumped from the clock to the bulb to the hair of that girl. That hair was changing like fire. It was wild and free with dancing lights. I was falling in love. I was longing to touch that hair and kiss it. Suddenly I had this feeling that the gluing machine was biting a little faster. I stayed with it. I turned for a stack of cartons and slapped it into the mouth. I turned for another stack and slapped it. I turned and slapped. I slapped and turned. I turned and turned and turned. Tension was growing in me. I went over to drown it with a long drink of water.

Toward the end of the shift the gluing machine kept jamming up. It was startling to hear the solid thud of cartons and then to see them flying up crazy like flushed birds. I would turn the machine off as Schultz hurried over. He was becoming upset.

“You must be handling these cartons wrong,” he said.

“I can't figure it out,” I said.

“I figured it out for you a while ago.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Now what? Are you going to climb on my shoulders? Stand back. How the hell can I see what I'm doing?”

Once he came over and there was such a mess that he had to pull out smashed cartons with pliers. He was cursing softly. He glanced at my badge and then took a good look. I was smiling in that picture. It seemed I was laughing at him and he could hear that laughter. He flipped the switch on the machine. He lifted a stack of cartons and looked down to see if the edges were straight. He looked sharply at me and then flung the stack down into the mouth. He leaned over to watch. At the same time he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I was leaning and watching him. Our heads jerked together as the last carton disappeared. Satisfied, he went away.

It happened an hour before quitting time.

I was turning and turning. I was slapping and slapping. Nothing was left but the hair of that girl. The machine seemed to be biting faster and faster and faster. Now I was spinning to keep up with it. That hair was red and then alive with softer lights and then turning into a liquid crown of gold. Something was going wrong inside me. A cry wild as a bird was beating around my heart. Suddenly it came hot and hard against my throat. I was going to scream. Quick I leaned over to bend one corner of a carton in the middle of that whizzing stack. A moment later the gluing machine jammed and those cartons were flying in the air. I was breathing a sigh of relief when I heard Schultz cry out above the thudding of those cartons.

“Sonofabitch!” he said.

I turned.

“I saw that!” he cried, pointing at me.

“Saw what?” I said.

“Get out! You're fired! Don't say one word! Don't say one word or I'll smash your face!”

There was dead silence on the floor. Everyone had stopped work to look at me. I walked across the floor of that long building and started to go out. I was right under that lone white bulb when I heard quick heavy footsteps. Schultz was coming down on me. I stood frozen. Cursing, he ripped off my badge and tore my shirt. He dropped the badge on the floor and ground his shoe into it. He lifted his foot. There was a trace of a smile in that ruined picture. He kicked the badge away.

“Now get out,” he said.

The worst had happened and yet there was a sense of peace in me as though I had scored a triumph. I was going my way lightly when I remembered my father. The thought of him was like a pillar of smoke in the lovely blue of morning. Suddenly I was troubled by my sense of peace. It occurred to me that I might be a little loose inside like Marko. The only difference seemed to be that Marko laughed for everyone to hear.

I stopped at Lemko's Bakery across the street from Lincoln Park. I bought Lemko's special lemon layer cake with butter cream frosting and lemon custard in the middle. I went home. My father was still in bed. I put the cake on the kitchen table. I washed my face and then I undressed and slipped into bed. I was thinking of the beautiful hair of that girl at the other end of the gluing machine. I was reaching over to touch that hair.

It was late in the afternoon when I woke. The house was quiet. A brown spider sat right above me on the ceiling. He seemed to be watching me from the edge of that long crack in the wallpaper. I named him Magellan and lay there watching him. Presently he went down the slant ceiling and disappeared behind the window shade. Sunlight had turned that shade into a golden map of delicate black scrawlings. There was no sound from the kitchen. In that moment I remembered the voice of my mother. I thought it was the most precious thing in life to come awake with the sound of a beloved voice.

I dressed and went into the kitchen. My father was sitting at the table. His hands were clasped around a cup of coffee. The lemon cake loomed before him. It was holding all the light in the kitchen. It looked like a living thing.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I said. “We meet again. You'll notice I baked a fifty-pound cake to celebrate the occasion.”

He said nothing.

“Don't say a word,” I said. “Don't even move. I want you to be comfortable and happy. And please don't apologize. Don't apologize for the way you behaved yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. And the way you're behaving now. Don't waste time on apologies. I understand your nature. What's even harder, sir, I accept you.”

He didn't move. It troubled me. Perhaps he had heard about that job. Nothing could be done. I put a pot of coffee on the stove and kept talking. I asked him what he wanted me to make for supper.

“How about some potatoes and cherry peppers fried in oil? How about a salad of tomatoes and hot peppers? We'll have some fish as a side dish. I'll go to the market and get that blue pike for you.”

He shifted in the chair and looked up at me. We watched each other. It was strangely peaceful and yet it seemed that in a moment I would hear his heart pounding.

“The councilman was here,” he said, softly.

I nodded and turned away.

“Don't turn away,” he said. “Don't turn away.”

“He got me this job.”

“I heard about it.”

“They fired me. I deserved it.”

“His friend called him with the news. John was so upset he threw up his breakfast. He's been telling everybody on the street about you. He came here to drag you out of bed. I stopped him. Not only that. I told him not to talk so loud. The words popped out of my mouth. It's like I didn't want him to wake you from your beauty sleep.”

“I don't know what to say, Pa.”

“Don't you? You mean you've run out of words for yourself? It's worse than I thought.”

“I mean I can't explain what happened.”

“What's to become of you? What's to become of you?”

“I was working and working and it was all right. And then the next thing I knew he was throwing me out. I did a wrong thing. Something happened inside me.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know, Pa. But there's another thing. I didn't even care about it until I thought of you. And even now I don't really care about it. I was trying, Pa. It was for you.”

“For me? How hard did you try? How long will this go on?”

“I'll be all right. Wait and see. I'll find a place where I belong. I don't want that job. I don't like that kind of work.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Why should I spend time doing something I don't like?”

“What time did you spend? You didn't even finish one night.”

“But I would've spent more time there. It was a steady job. It would've been day after day and month after month. And then years.”

“But it's the same with any job,” he said, trying to control himself. “It's the same with life. Don't you understand? You don't stop living because you don't like it.”

“Something happened inside me. It's like I was being choked up. It's like dying. I'll be all right when I find what I like.”

“What do you like? Besides playing the harmonica?”

“I'm not sure, Pa. I'll find out.”

“When will you understand that work is work and not play? When will you understand this? They pay for work and not to make you happy. You can't do as you please in life. It's only people with money who do as they please. And they do nothing.”

“But I'm free. I'm free to look for what I want.”

“Listen to me. This freedom is nothing. It's worse than nothing. In fact, it's a slavery. You give in to yourself. You give in and give in. But one of these days there'll be no choice for you. There'll be no way out for you. Life will come down on you like a lion and there'll be nothing left in you to meet it.”

“I'm saving something, Pa.”

“What are you saving?”

“A terrible scream.”

His eyes closed. I watched him. He looked old and weary. Suddenly I was remembering the days of his strength.

“Listen then,” he said, softly. “I want you to find a place to stay. I think it's the best thing.”

“A place to stay? What do you mean, Pa?”

“I mean what I say.”

“But what are you saying? What place is there for me to find? My place is here with you.”

“But I don't want you here.”

“But this is my home, Pa.”

“It's a home for no one.”

“It's not true. It's a home as long as we're together.”

“Then it's a home no longer. Don't you understand? You make me so nervous I can't eat or sleep right. I want peace. I want peace.”

“Why do you get nervous? Is it these jobs? Is that it?”

“Some of the neighbors stopped here this morning. They were asking about you and John Zalewski. A few of them were laughing. And then one of the women looked at me like she was going to cry.”

“Why do you listen to people? I walk away when they talk about you. It's all words to me. I belong with you and not with them.”

He pounded the table with his fist and then swept the cup against the wall. He stood up. His eyes flashed and his mouth was working even before words came.

“Is this where you belong?” he said. “Do you think you belong here with me?”

“What is this? Of course I belong here.”

“You're wrong! Do you hear me? You're wrong! Put it in your head! I say you'll have to find a place for yourself! You don't belong here any more!”

“Wait, Pa.”

“The waiting is over!”

“Listen a minute. Tell me what you want me to do. I'll do anything you say. Just tell me.”

“But I just told you,” he said. “I want you to get your things and leave this house. I want you out of here tonight!”

“You don't know what you're saying. You're all upset. How can you send me away? How can you even think of such a thing?”

“I know exactly what I'm saying,” he said, softly now. “I don't want you here with me. Do you understand?”

“But I'll be with you whether I'm living here or not. There's no one but you, Pa. I have to see you and be with you.”

“I called your sister,” he said, nodding. “She hasn't got any room for you right now. But it's better. It's better for you.”

“This is like a dream. Wait a little. Wait till tomorrow.”

“No. It's tonight.”

“But winter is coming and everything. Who'll take care of you in the mornings?”

“Worry about yourself.”

“I'll tell you what, Pa. I'll quit the job with Sam. I'll go out every day looking for another job. I'll find something good. And I'll stick to it. I swear it. I can do it. I'll force myself. How's that?”

“It's for you and not for me.”

“Tell me what you really want then. Tell me right out, Pa. Do I talk too much? Is that it?”

“I don't want to argue.”

“But it's nothing to argue about!”

“Look at me,” he said. “Take a good look. I'm tired. I go to sleep tired and wake up tired. Don't you understand? I'm tired of life itself. I used to wonder about things. I used to wonder why certain things happened in life. I used to drink and swear. I used to smash things and ask questions. Now I don't even care why. It's enough that certain things happen. It's too much. All I want now is to lie down and die in peace.”

He shuffled out to the porch.

I sat there watching him through the door. He lit his pipe. He smoked and rocked. It was quiet in the alley. Suddenly it seemed that the neighbors had heard everything and were waiting for me to leave the house. I was deeply ashamed for myself and for my father.

I went into his bedroom. I pulled the old black suitcase out of the closet and took it into my room. I wiped it inside and out with a damp cloth. No one ever used that bag. I packed some socks and shirts and underwear. I closed the bag and started to tighten one of the frayed straps. The end of it came away like paper in my hand. I cut the rest of that strap away from the bottom of the bag. I started to tighten the other strap. It came away in my hand. I sat down on the bed and looked at it. It seemed a cruel thing that the second strap broke. I cut the rest away. Finally I lifted the bag and it dropped back to the floor. The handle of it was left in my hand.

After a while I pushed that bag into the kitchen. I was going to call Sam Ross and then I changed my mind. He lived too far from Lincoln Court. I called Theodore and explained the situation. Laughing, he told me to come right over. He would set up a cot for me in his rooms behind the coffee house. His laughter relieved me a little.

My father had stopped rocking. Smoke curled up from his pipe. I took a deep breath and pushed the suitcase through the screen door. I stood on the porch and waited. He was staring straight ahead.

“Well, Pa, I guess I'm about ready,” I said. “I'm going over to the coffee house. I'll stay with Theodore.”

He nodded.

“You know the telephone number,” I said. “Be sure to call if there's anything you want. Call any time. But I'll be here tomorrow.”

I wanted to tease and turn him to me.

“I've got this feeling,” I said. “I've got this feeling you're breaking some law. I'll have to put this in the hands of my lawyer.”

He was watching a flag of fire in the sky. I lifted the suitcase to my shoulder. All at once my heart seemed to shrink away.

“Well, Pa, I'm ready. I guess you know something. I guess you know I'd never send you away from me. And you're the only one who could send me away from here.”

“Good night,” he said, softly.

I went over to the coffee house and stood outside until Theodore saw me. He waved me around into the yard. He was waiting for me at the back door that led into his kitchen. He greeted me with an open smile. Theodore was sensitive about his lost front teeth and so I was grateful for that smile. His head was bobbing as though to music.

“Come in, Paul, come in,” he said. “Put the bag down.”

“Thank you, Theodore.”

“Don't worry about things. It happens every day.”

“Does it?”

“Sure it does. My old man used to throw me out when he couldn't think of anything else to do. He'd go fishing a few days and then he'd get tired of it and send for me. Leave your things. There's a poker game out front. I'll make the rent tonight. Come out there. I'll fix you a cup of camomile. It'll settle your stomach. When the game breaks up we'll go down on Bolivar Road for some lamb and rice.”

I followed him into the dining room. A door led from there into the coffee house. Six men were sitting around the big table beside the counter. Marko sat alone near the door. Theodore warned him to watch out for the police.

“Hello, Paul,” said Regas. “Say, I heard that speech.”

“What speech?” I said.

“The councilman made a speech about you. In the Dew Drop Inn. He spelled out your name, too.”

“I heard that speech,” said Poulos. “I felt proud. It always makes me proud when a South Side kid stands out like that.”

“What language was he talking at the end there?” said Regas.

“I think it was Polish or something,” said Poulos.

“A man really chokes on that Polish language.”

“Why don't you mind your own business?” said Theodore.

“Why don't you mind yours?” said Regas. “Why don't you put a fan in this place and blow the smoke out? And why don't you serve a sandwich or spring for a round of drinks? You'll end up with all the money in the game. And take off your mask.”

Talk died away. The gamblers concentrated on the stud poker. I sipped camomile tea and watched the game. Theodore kept reaching in to take a quarter or a half-dollar out of the pot. He reached in while the last card was being dealt. The players were so absorbed in the last round of cards that they paid little attention to him.

Suddenly the front door flew open. Everyone cried out and jumped as though the table had burst into flame. There was wild grabbing for the money. Two policemen had come plunging down big as elephants.

“Stand back!” they cried. “Hold still!”

Marko got up and came toward Theodore. He was pointing to indicate that two policemen had arrived on the scene. He gestured again to let Theodore know that the police car was parked across the street.