A Lost King: A Novel (17 page)

Time wore on. There was no wind to stir the clean white curtains. Smoke from cigars and cigarettes filled the room. Hour on slow hour the neighbors drifted in and out of the house. Late in the afternoon John Zalewksi stopped in for a few minutes. I stood up to shake his hand. He took my hand and didn't let go of it.

“I'm sorry about that job,” I said.

“Forget that job,” he said.

“It was all my fault.”

“The hell with that job. And Curry, too. I'm sick of listening to him about it. I came here to pay my respects.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I liked your father. Let me know if there's anything I can do. Let me know if you want me to act as pallbearer. I'd like to do it.”

“Thank you.”

He squeezed my hand and went out.

Toward evening the talk faltered and then ceased in the house. The day would last forever and yet it seemed there was nothing more to be said in the world. The women started to put the house in order. They washed the dishes and swept the floors. They were asking me sharp little questions as though to keep hold of me.

“Paul,” said Mrs. Rakowski. “What should I do with this ham?”

“Please put it in the refrigerator.”

“It should be wrapped first. Is there any wax paper here?”

“The wax paper's in the cupboard. See it there?”

This talk seemed an excellent thing to me. I was eager and precise. I answered one question and waited for another.

“Where does this chair go, Paul?” said Mrs. Kroger.

“That chair goes in the cellar,” I said. “I brought it up last night for the party.”

“It's funny. Were these legs cut short or something?”

“My father cut that chair down for my mother. She used to sit in that chair when she changed us. Or when she nursed us.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kroger.”

I wanted to say more about that chair. She sensed it and waited. We were looking at each other.

“That chair can be left up here for the time being,” I said.

“All right, Paul.”

She was still looking at me.

“I might want to sit in that chair,” I said.

“All right, Paul.”

At last the house was in order. Talk ceased again. Outside it was dark. The silence seemed to be growing around us like the night. Suddenly the house was split by a sob from Nina in the bedroom. There were hushed words from Andy and Sophie. Nina was crying softly.

Now the neighbors made ready to leave. The women looked around with a kind of satisfaction. There was nothing more to be done. The men came to me and offered to act as pallbearers. Afterward they moved closer to their women. They were filled with care and watchfulness. Presently they went away. I had the strange feeling that I would hear sudden big shouts of yes and yes in the night.

Andy led Nina into the kitchen. Sophie followed them. Nina burst into tears again. She hugged me and kissed me. She wanted me to come and stay with her. She begged me to do it.

“I'll stay here,” I said.

“But I want you with me,” she said.

“Please, Nina. I want to be here.”

“Don't worry about the arrangements,” said Andy.

“What arrangements?” I said.

“The funeral arrangements,” he said. “I called the funeral director. He'll take care of everything. We'll be here early tomorrow morning. Try to get some rest, Paul.”

They left.

Sophie put a pot of coffee on the stove. She sat at the table across from me. We looked at each other. My father was right when he said her face was like a cauliflower. As though for the first time I remembered that her husband was dead and that her married son had moved to Los Angeles. I was anxious to know about them. I started to ask questions. It pleased Sophie to talk about her family. I listened for every word and yet I could grasp the meaning of none of it. A moment later there would be another question popping out of my mouth. I leaned forward to listen to her. It seemed I was sinking through black still water lit here and there by the gleaming senseless details of her life.

She served the coffee.

“Will you eat something, Paul?”

“I've been nibbling all day. Maybe I'll have some whiskey.”

“I'll get it for you. Are you staying here tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I'll spend the night with you if it's all right.”

“It's very nice of you.”

She filled a glass with whiskey. I swallowed it in one gulp. It was raw and blinding. It was so good that I filled the glass again.

“That's enough,” she said, sharply, taking the bottle.

I drained the second glass. It seemed to burn me clean inside. I sipped coffee. I was feeling reckless again.

“I'll get some things,” she said. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“Good. I'll fix my bed for you.”

That whiskey went to my head. Everything was spinning around me by the time Sophie returned. I told her I was going out for a walk. She took my hand.

“Are you all right, Paul? Tell me now.”

“I'm all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sophie.”

“I'll wait up for you.”

I kissed her and went out.

Night seemed to be waiting for me. I walked out of Lincoln Court. The mills below were like the smoking ruins of an entire city. I walked faster and faster. Terrible excitement was growing in me. All at once I was running again. I ran around the block and past the coffee house. I ran up to Lincoln Park and sank down on the grass under the trees. My heart was pounding. I lay there looking at the moon and stars. A cold blue star winked below the moon. I closed my eyes against that star. Suddenly everything was spinning around me until it seemed by the awful beat of my heart that the earth itself had slipped from the hand of God and was falling in the night, unremembered.

Two days later we buried my father beside my mother in Calvary Cemetery. After the ceremony at the grave our neighbors followed us back to leave the death at H. C. Kowal's Funeral Parlor on Professor Avenue. Anna Kowal served butter cookies and coffee. I sat with Nina and Andy. As in the past two days it seemed we were sitting in freezing white light while everyone else lounged in the sun. The neighbors were making plans for the future. I thought of delicate glass bells that would break on ringing.

Finally the three of us went back to the house in Lincoln Court. Nina prepared lunch. She fried bacon and eggs. Sophie had baked a loaf of white bread as a gift for us. Nina toasted six slices of it. We ate in silence. It was right after the meal that Andy started to move nervously from room to room. He glanced at Nina in a significant way. She cleaned the table and then she went to lie down in my room. Andy sat across from me.

“Are you feeling all right?” he said.

“I guess so.”

“Do you feel like talking things over?”

“What things?”

“Well, Paul, your father left a sort of a will.”

“A will? How do you know?”

“I found it in his dresser.”

“You mean you went through his things?”

“I was looking for the insurance policy, Paul. I didn't go through his things for any other reason.”

“What about the will?”

“About a month ago he put the house in your name.”

“Did he? A month ago?”

“It's about a month.”

“It's when he put me out. I guess he thought I couldn't take care of myself at all.”

“He said you can do what you please with it. And then he said he knows you'll do the right thing by Nina if you sell it.”

“What do you think about it?”

“I'm an outsider, Paul. I'm the kind of brother-in-law who comes in handy to make funeral arrangements and things like that. The truth is the truth. What can I say?”

“Say what you think.”

“Well, it depends on you. What are your plans? Are you planning to live here by yourself?”

“I don't know, Andy. I didn't make any plans today.”

“There's nothing for me to say if you decide to live here.”

“What if I don't care about it?”

“The best thing then is to sell the house.”

“Sell it then.”

“Don't misunderstand me. If you want to stay here, Paul, that's the end of this as far as I'm concerned. Selling it is something else again. It's better to do it right away.”

I had this urge to reach over and tickle him.

“Do what?” I said, teasing.

“Sell the house. Next month it'll be worth less. It's hard to sell old houses in the winter. They look worse than they are.”

“I know you'll do what you think is best for me.”

“Try to understand, Paul. I'm in an awkward position here. If I talked about this next week or even a month from now you'd still think it was a shame for me to bring it up.”

“It's a shame to bring this up, Andy.”

“It's not what I want to do. Well, that's not exactly true. The money will help us all. Maybe we can start a business or something.”

“Do what you please, Andy. It doesn't matter to me. With him gone it doesn't matter if this house just blows away. Even then it would be better to sell it first. Don't you think so?”

“I understand how you feel, Paul.”

“Now what else is on your mind?”

“Well, Paul, everything in the house is yours. But you understand Nina wants a few things. To remember the family.”

“I thought so. I expected it. Do you know a couple of weeks ago I took some pictures of myself? I'll have them enlarged for you.”

“It's no use talking if you're going to act like this.”

“Nina can have whatever she wants. You know that.”

“I was thinking we should take what we need and then sell the rest with the house. How about the refrigerator?”

They wanted the refrigerator.

“I'll tell you what,” I said. “You can have everything and I'll just take the refrigerator.”

“All right, Paul.”

Carefully I stepped down on his shoe under the table.

“Wait then,” I said. “I'll take everything and you can have the ax. I'll do it for you and Nina.”

“What ax?”

“Don't you know about the ax? It's hidden down in the cellar. My father's father gave it to him when he left the old country. And his father gave it to him. It's what they call an heirloom, Andy.”

“You're on my foot.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” he said, wearily.

I felt a sudden pity for him.

“Listen then,” I said. “Don't pay any attention to me. Nina can have the refrigerator and anything else she wants. She can even have the new television set. But you'll have to finish the payments.”

“It's really kind of you, Paul. I mean it. There's something else I'd like to say.”

“Say it then.”

“You won't believe this, Paul, but I liked your father. I know we never made things easier for him. But it started wrong between us. It was all our fault. I admit it. It was all our fault.”

“No use talking about it. I was with him all the time and I couldn't do the one or two things he wanted me to do.”

Andy scratched his head and glanced around the kitchen. He was losing interest in the conversation.

“That's the way people are,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they save their time and their money and themselves. And what are they saving for?”

“You mean we're like misers?” I said, stepping on his shoe.

“That's right. You're on my foot, Paul.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Maybe I'll lie down a while,” he said.

I went out on the porch. I sat in the chair and rocked. There was the chill of winter in the air. Dead leaves were blowing. Smoke and fire climbed on the gray sky. I rocked and rocked.

Late in the afternoon Sophie Nowak came across the street with a white package. Smiling, she tapped the package and walked past me into the house. In a moment there was excited talk from the kitchen. I went inside. Sophie had brought some homemade
kielbasa
, a garlic sausage. Nina was delighted. Andy said the sausage would be good with beans and horseradish. He offered to go out and buy a jar of horseradish. Sophie said beet horseradish would be best of all with the sausage. Andy went out to buy a jar of beet horseradish.

“Is there anything I can do?” I said.

“Nothing,” said Sophie. “Just wait.”

I turned away from Sophie. Something was coming loose inside me. I turned to Nina and waited.

“How are you feeling, Paul?” she said, finally.

“Well, Nina, I'll tell you how it is. Ten minutes ago I didn't think we had a chance. Any of us. I mean it. Now everything looks a little different. Maybe this sausage will be a turning point.”

“What's the matter with you?” she said.

“I feel a little strange. I really do. I was sitting on the porch there and I was thinking about Pa. Do you know what I used to say to him sometimes? I used to say, ‘Well, sir, we meet again.' I had this feeling he liked to hear crazy things like that. Guess what? I forgot what happened. I was rocking there on the porch and I was expecting him to come out any minute. Do you know what? The first thing I was going to say was, ‘Well, sir, we meet again.'”

Every weekend during that autumn I went out to Calvary Cemetery. The neighbors heard about it. They gave me money to buy flowers for the graves of their loved ones. The cemetery was divided into sections and the sections were divided into ranges of graves. I walked up and down those curving green lanes. Laden with flowers, I spent whole afternoons looking for the graves of strangers. I would save my father and mother for last. Once it was dark by the time I found the son of Rakowski and I went home without stopping at the grave of my father. It came as a shock to find in that cemetery another mother and father and son and daughter and sister and brother. It seemed that everybody was there. Even more bewildering was the fact that my neighbors went on working and laughing and making plans as though nothing had ever happened. I would go looking for them.

“I found your son's grave,” I told Rakowski.

“Thank you, Paul, thank you. Did you buy that pot with the nails in the bottom? Did you put the flowers in?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How does that stone look to you?”

“The boy was sixteen years old when he died.”

“That's right, Paul. Stanley was sixteen.”

“Wasn't he your only son?”

“That's right. There's only the girl left. Let's go up and I'll buy you a beer at the Dew Drop. How about it?”

“I don't want a beer. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I'm sorry, Paul. You're still feeling bad, eh? Wait a minute. I meant to tell you about Boganowski.”

“Boganowski?”

“Henry Boganowski. Henry used to work with me in the mills. He used to operate the whirly crane. The man never married and he didn't have a relative here. I took care of his funeral. But now I can't remember where he's buried. I think it's near the railroad tracks. I was looking for him a couple of times and I couldn't find him. Let me know if you run across him.”

“What if I do?”

“Let me know where he is,” said Rakowski. “And put a flower on his grave while you're up there.”

“Why don't you go up and put your own flowers? Why should I put flowers on his grave? I didn't even know him.”

“Your father did. Henry was a good man in his way. He deserves a flower, Paul.”

“I'm sure he deserves a flower. They all deserve flowers. Flowers should rain from the sky on them day and night. It's about time you people woke up and realized what's happening here.”

“Come up to the Dew Drop. I'll buy you a fish fry and we'll have a glass of beer. It'll take your mind off things.”

“I don't want my mind off things!”

“All right then, Paul. Stop at the house for supper some night.”

He squeezed my arm and walked away. I watched him go toward the Dew Drop. Surely he was dreaming. A moment later I thought that I was dreaming. In the end I thought that God was dreaming.

After returning from the cemetery on the next afternoon I went for a walk through the neighborhood. I stood on Clark Bridge for a while and looked down at the steel mills. Perched on the bank of the winding river were the fast-plant cranes. An ore boat was being unloaded. Hot puffs of white smoke went up from two of three cranes. Their buckets came up full from the boat and then swung to the end of the wings where they dropped the ore into the pit beyond a reddened concrete wall. High above was the black bridge crane that took ore from the pit into the mills. Smoke was everywhere on the gray sky.

I walked back to Lincoln Park. I thought of Peggy. It seemed years and years ago that we strolled and kissed there in the dark under the trees. Now there were dead leaves and empty wine bottles and a litter of newspapers on the grass. It started to rain. I stood under a tree. Rain came down harder. I went over to the coffee house.

I sat down and pretended to watch a card game. No one spoke to me. I was grateful. After a while Theodore beckoned. I got up and went over to him. He reached under the counter and handed me a bright new harmonica. It was twice as big as my own. I was afraid to look at Theodore. When I did he was looking over my shoulder at the gamblers.

“I picked that up for you,” he said.

I said nothing.

“The man told me it's a Hohner,” he said. “It's what they call a chromatic. Made in Germany. See that button? You press it and it plays a half a note higher. I don't remember everything he said. But he said it plays the sharps and flats, too.”

“I don't know anything about it.”

“I thought so.”

“Besides, I don't play any more.”

“I don't blame you. Do you want some coffee?”

I shook my head.

“I know how it is, Paul. I guess your father would know, too. He must've took it bad when your mother passed away.”

He was looking over my shoulder.

“I was going through the Euclid Arcade,” he said. “I saw that harmonica in the window. I thought of you. And then I was thinking maybe you'd want to make a song for your father. That's one reason I bought it. It was on sale, too.”

I turned away.

Blindly I went out of the coffee house. Marko was laughing in the corner. His laughter followed me into the rainy night. I wanted to run away and hide and yet there was no place for me. I stepped into the doorway next to the coffee house. I sank down on the stone step.

Marko came out. His coat was thrown capelike over his shoulders. He was smiling and nodding and then he saw me. One look was enough to start him laughing again. Now he was pointing to that big harmonica in my hand. He cupped his hands around his mouth. He was pretending to play a harmonica. He shuffled around to the forlorn sounds he was making in the night. All at once his hands fell to his sides and his head went back in wild laughter. He moved away.

When Sophie Nowak found me in that doorway I was wet to the skin. She was carrying a cane umbrella. She leaned over and took hold of my arm. She shook me hard.

“Paul,” she said, sharply. “Get up, Paul.”

I stood up for her. She forced her arm through mine. We started to walk. She was trying to keep me under the umbrella. We walked close alongside each other. My steps were a little too long for her. We were bumping at the hips. I shortened my stride to be in rhythm with her. Presently we were marching as one in the night. The precise step of it seemed very jaunty to me. There was no place to go and so I found myself hoping that we would go on marching and marching.