A Lost King: A Novel (4 page)

“And your mother?” he was saying, as he closed the door.

“My mother passed away.”

“I'm sorry, my boy.”

“Eggs,” I said. “How about some eggs?”

“Perfect, perfect. Three will do.”

He sat down at the table. I made coffee. I fried three eggs in butter and toasted four slices of bread. I put everything in front of him at the same time so that I could sit and watch him. I wanted to hear that rich singing voice again.

“My own dear mother came from Ireland,” he said. “One winter there she and my grandmother and grandfather ate thirty bushels of potatoes. The next winter they ate forty bushels of potatoes. And the next winter fifty bushels.”

“And then?”

“She came to try her luck in America. She met and married my father. He was an artist. A painter. He painted pictures of her. All day. My mother could never understand why he wanted pictures of her when she was there in the flesh. She began to think there was more to be said for potatoes.”

“Really?”

“Probably. Now look at me. But you mustn't look too close. I have my father's temperament, my boy, but no talent. A talent only for living. Would you believe I was once regarded as a dashing figure? And then I found myself dashing to catch buses. And dashing to the bank. And dashing to pay grocery bills.”

He finished the eggs and cleaned the dish with his bread. He sipped coffee and wiped the beard away from his mouth with his forefinger. His eyes were roving. They fell on my father's pipe and hat on the refrigerator. He got up.

“A pipeful would be excellent,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He filled the pipe and lit it. Puffing, he studied the hat. Gently he took it down and turned it in his smooth white hands. My father would have liked the way he touched it.

“Beautiful,” he said, sitting down. “How soft it is. And the color is perfect. It's a living black. Like the night.”

He put it on. That black hat was perfect above swirling hair and clear startling eyes. I watched him. He gazed at me and then beckoned. I went to him. He wanted me to stroke his beard.

“Are you thinking deep thoughts?” he said. “You should always ponder and meditate when you stroke a beard. Wait then, wait then. Give me your other hand. Put it on my heart. Do you feel it beating? Alone in the dark and so brave. Yours is the same. Yours is the same. Keep stroking the beard. Think and feel. The heart sings alone like a bird. Think and feel, my boy.”

Sweet smoke from the pipe engulfed me.

Lance Caulfield was putting my hands together as though for prayer. He was whispering as he turned me to send me back to my chair.

“Promise me,” he said. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Promise to tell your father that Lance will return. I kept my promise. I kept mine, I kept mine. Ashtabula, Ashtabula.”

He went away.

All at once my father came lunging through the door. It was such a shock to me that I burst into tears. After a while I remembered what happened. I tried to explain it to him.

“Lance will return,” I said, finally. “Ashtabula, Ashtabula.”

My father was looking at the top of the refrigerator where his pipe and hat had been. His dark eyes burned shut and seemed to leave his face in ashes. He put his hands in his pockets and went into the bedroom. He closed the door, softly.

First thing in the morning he hit me twice. Little by little I could feel my head going numb. It was happening more quickly all the time. My father hit me so often in those days that the neighbors explained everything about me by saying I was stunned. I still have this feeling he slapped something out of me, or into me.

After hitting me he ordered me to go down the cellar and fire the furnace. Before going down those creaking stairs I dropped a scrub pail to scatter the mice. That pail banging down the stairs brought a scream from Nina and a wild cry from my father. They thought I fell. My father rushed over.

“What happened?”

“I dropped the pail to scare the mice away.”

“When will you learn to think before you act?” he said. “When will it be, when will it be?”

He smacked me.

I went downstairs crying. I put newspaper and sticks in to start the fire. I decided to cut school and go downtown. To spite him further I threw one of his winter boots on the fire before putting in the coal. I was on my way downtown when the smell of it filled the house.

That night he gave me a terrible beating. Next morning I threw in the other boot and went downtown again. He gave me another beating. All in all it was worth it.

After a time it was so good to be with Nina that my father became suspicious. No longer did she complain about work in the house. Each day she managed to get the cleaning and shopping done. She sang songs while ruining our food and she was blushing and trembling in every corner. The house came alive with stirring sounds. All around us were delicious little sighs and soft moans of delight and sudden bells of innocent laughter. Once I heard her whispering hotly in the clothes closet. I flung open the door. She flung her arms around me.

“I forgive you for everything!” she cried. “Now and forever!”

Life was so sweet for her that one night she danced around the kitchen with the broom and then the mop. My father sat there watching with wild steady eyes and head cocked as though listening for the footfall of the enemy. The very next night Nina danced out of our lives with the insurance man Andy Bobbio. My father was left watching me. He broke mop and broom over his knee and then locked the door against Nina.

“Didn't I tell you to watch them in the day?” he said. “What the hell were you doing here?”

“I was watching,” I said.

“You watched them go out the door! Everything was happening and you saw nothing! Next time I'll tell you to watch the sky! Why didn't you tell me what was going on? Why didn't you warn me?”

“You were at work.”

“And so everything happened tonight? Is that it? They met and ran away to get married.”

I said nothing.

“I'm talking to you,” he said. “What were you doing?”

“I was thinking.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “You were thinking if you had a camera you'd take their picture.”

“And then I said a prayer.”

“A what?”

“A prayer for Nina to be happy.”

“Good for you! Millions of people are in misery all over the world and God is going to make Nina happy! Do you want to pray? Pray for your wits. Pray for strength. Pray for luck. You'll find out what it is without a sister. Go back to bed!”

He stayed up all night. He was raving. Nina had baked a farewell sponge cake as a gift and he threw it out the window. Some of it stuck to his hands.

“It's like cement,” he said. “It's made with the left hand like everything else for us. Let her cook for him now. Now it's his turn. By Christ, I think they deserve each other. They look for love and find justice! It's the same old kick in the ass!”

All along I had been watching Nina and Andy. Warmth of feeling spilled over between them and yet I had no idea they were planning to elope. Day after day he kept turning up for coffee and talk. I was on the alert. Nina made weak coffee and her talk was even weaker.

“Look who's here,” Andy would say.

He swept off his porkpie hat and his curly hair jumped up.

“Stop, look, and listen,” he said.

His hair was like black broccoli.

“Never fear, Andy's here,” he said.

There was no doubt about it. He was a feast for the eyes in that smoke on the South Side. He had a dimpled baby face with eyes dark as his hair. He was wearing a gray flannel suit and a black and gold bowtie like a rare butterfly. Round his waist was a black shoestring belt with a silver buckle. He wore black moccasins with pretty leather bows. Nina and I were goggling at him.

“Don't be greedy,” he said. “Save part of me for later.”

He reached into his pocket for a cigarette case. He held it to catch the light and blind us. A moment later he was lighting a cigarette and watching Nina through the smoke. He was watching her in a way that forced me to look at her. Just about then he crossed his legs to show us gray socks with pink rabbits dancing on them. There was no place to go from the socks and so Nina and I went back to start with his hair again. So dazzling was he that a boy named Danny Poulos used to throw stones at him in the alley.

“You think this is something?” said Andy. “You should see my underwear. My underwear, that's right. You'd applaud.”

“Really?” I said.

“You've had enough excitement for one day,” he said. “And another thing. I forgot the plums.”

“Plums?”

“I always carry plums in my pocket. When I see someone with his mouth open like that I always put a plum in. A plum, that's right. You heard me. Your ears don't flap over.”

He sat there sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. Nina whirled around him with mop and broom and pail. Never had she worked so hard. The house was in fair order while Andy made those visits.

“Don't lift that couch,” he'd say, jumping up to help. “Listen, Nina, you should be more careful. You'll strain yourself doing things like that. What's the matter with Paul? You work like a slave here. A slave, that's right.”

My teacher Miss Riordan used to say that when a man called you a slave he had a change of masters in mind.

“When do you rest around here?” said Andy. “Why are you on your feet all the time? Sit down a while. Who's driving you? I don't like this. For one thing you'll ruin your legs. Your legs, that's right.”

Nina blushed. She looked beautiful to me with her black hair and those brown eyes flecked with gold. It seemed I was seeing her for the first time.

“What do you do?” said Andy, turning to me.

“I just started high school. Lincoln High.”

“He was set back twice in school,” said Nina.

“Don't worry about it,” said Andy.

“That's why they set me back,” I said.

“How about the important things?”

“What important things?”

“Can you make change for a dollar?” he said. “Do you feel in your heart there's happiness right around the corner? Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of the team?”

“What team?”

“Are you a good athlete? Can you fly a kite? What if I bring a kite? Will you go out and fly it?”

“Save your money.”

“Hold still then. I'll carve your statue in this butter.”

“Can you do it?”

“I wish I had a plum.”

He turned to Nina.

“Just look at your hands,” he said. “Look how red and raw they are. They'll look like liver in another month. Liver, that's right. You should wear rubber gloves if you put them in water so much. All the girls do. Don't you know that?”

Nina was looking at her hands. She was on the verge of tears.

“It's incredible and unbelievable,” he said. “Don't you realize you're like a prisoner in this house? Don't you ever get out for a good time? Do you like music? How about it?”

“Oh, Andy,” she said.

“Do you ever go dancing? Do they ever take you out to dinner or a show? Let's start at the beginning. Now I want you to think hard. Did anyone here ever say thank you for anything?”

“Oh, Andy.”

“Now I need plums for both of you,” he said. “I didn't know I was delivering the news. Believe me, Nina, this is an old story. They take you for granted here. They don't appreciate you at all. Tomorrow will be just like today. But you'll be a day older and more worn out. It's all the same to them as long as the house is clean and their supper's on the table. I've seen it like this. My work takes me into a lot of houses. Consider your father. I don't want to say anything against him. But he's like an animal. An animal, that's right.”

Andy thought he better bring me into it.

“Isn't that right, Paul?”

“What's that?”

“Tell the truth now,” he said. “Doesn't your father act like an animal around this house? Doesn't he?”

Andy touched his bowtie and then gave me another look at the rabbits on the socks. The dancing rabbits did it. I was with him.

“An animal?” he was saying.

“He really is,” I said.

Right then my father came in. He slammed his lunchpail and gloves down on the cupboard. He looked at no one. His black cap curved down on both sides from its peak and seemed to be cupping his face until the big bones bulged.

“Good afternoon,” said Andy. “I'd like to talk to you.”

My father wheeled on him with that crazed look.

“Now's your chance,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Christopher, maybe we should talk about insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“Insurance against things happening.”

“There's no insurance against things happening.”

“I mean it's good to have insurance in case things happen.”

“You mean it's good for those who collect on the insurance.”

“Well, Mr. Christopher, I wouldn't put it in that way.”

“You wouldn't put it in any way at all. You're sitting in my kitchen and drinking my coffee. And you're telling me I'm going to die. This is important. This should be cut in stone. But all I hear from you is things will happen. It's wind through the leaves. And then you say insurance is a good thing for me and what you mean is hard cash for somebody else. What you want me to do is pay my way out and leave something behind.”

“Maybe I better be going,” said Andy.

“Now you're talking,” said my father.

At night Andy waited for Nina around the corner in Lincoln Park. In the day he kept turning up at the house when my father was at work. He brought gifts. He brought pies and cream puffs for Nina. He brought Hershey bars for me. I sat in that kitchen watching them and eating pie and candy until I broke out with boils on my neck.

By now they were touching each other in a delicate way as though touching harps. Once he dared put his hand right over hers while she was pouring coffee for him. So thrilling was it that she poured the coffee in his lap. She burst into tears. He said it didn't matter. He didn't mind having hot coffee in his lap as long as she made and poured it. She laughed through her tears.

After a few weeks they didn't talk much at all. Andy gazed out the window. Nina sat with her hands folded in her lap. I could hear them breathing. It seemed they were blowing up invisible balloons. Even when they talked I couldn't understand it.

“I was thinking,” he would say.

“I know,” she said, blushing. “So was I.”

“I was sort of wondering here,” he said.

“Say it,” she said.

“But there's Paul,” he said.

“What is it, Andy?” I said, through a mouthful of peach pie.

“Say it,” she said.

“But Paul,” he said.

“Yes, Andy?” I said.

“Say it then,” she said, urgently. “Please.”

“I wish I could,” he said, breathlessly pale.

“Never mind,” she said. “I think you did.”

“Did he?” I said.

Three days later it was over for my father and me. Andy came through the door. Nina hurried to him with the mop. They stood beside the refrigerator. They were watching each other as though for a false move. I held my breath. They had caught me up in it.

Andy didn't know what to do and so he swept off his hat. His curly black hair jumped in a coil. Nina sighed. Andy was swallowing so hard that his bowtie fluttered. They came together in a kiss. The mop fell to the floor. Nina was clinging helplessly and they swayed there in the gold slanting haze of sunlight. I turned away in a kind of shame. For some reason my heart swelled with pity for my father.

They eloped on that very night. My father was working the afternoon to midnight shift in the mill. Nina came to me in the bedroom before going away. She sat on the bed and took my hand.

“Paul,” she said. “Are you awake, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Can you hear me, honey?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to me, Paul. I won't be seeing you for a few days. It's just a few days. I'm going to marry Andy.”

“All right.”

“Are you really awake? Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“I guess so.”

“Look at this. Andy brought you something.”

“I don't want any candy.”

“He brought you something else.”

“What is it?”

“He brought you a harmonica.”

I took it. The gold of it was warm and moist from her hands.

“Tell him thanks.”

“You can play songs, Paul. You can play songs for everybody.”

“I guess so.”

“And you can play a song for me when I come home. I'll be here on the weekends to clean the house. Is it all right, Paul? Say it's all right. I love Andy and I have to be with him. Can you understand?”

“Yes.”

She was beautiful. Her black shining hair held the light and her dark eyes were big and soft with tears. She touched my face and I thought of my mother. Suddenly I realized how much I loved Nina. Now it would never be the same with us. She belonged to Andy. I remembered that kiss and I hated him.

“I feel so bad inside,” she was saying. “So bad.”

“Why should you?”

“It's like I'm doing a wrong thing. I shouldn't be leaving now. I shouldn't be leaving you and Pa alone here.”

“We'll be all right. I'll take care of things.”

“Oh, Paul, I love you so. It just seems like you realize things too late. And I love Pa, too, with all his ways. Why can't things ever be perfect? Why is life so hard all the time?”

“Don't go crying.”

“I was thinking about Ma, too. I was wondering what she'd say if she knew I was leaving like this. It's a selfish thing, Paul. I feel ashamed of myself.”

“Don't talk like that.”

“I think Pa's right. There's a worm in the fruit. Wouldn't it be awful if he's right about everything?”

“I think he's wrong. I really do.”

“I'll pray for us. I'll pray with all my heart. And I'll be here on the weekends to help out. You'll see. Tell Pa.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I wish I could play this harmonica right now. I'd play a song for you. Just for you to be happy, Nina.”