I looked at her strangely; this, for her, was almost sharp. Her face seemed to be screwed up in little worry wrinkles. “You know me, Aunt Bertha!” I said, trying to get a laugh out of her. “Meals is one thing I’m never late for.”
The kids laughed at that. “That’s right, Mommy,” said Essie, “he’s never late for meals.”
I went into the parlour. My uncle was sitting there in a chair near the window. He seemed to be staring into space, his hands clenched nervously on the edge of the chair. “Uncle Morris, you surprised me. I didn’t think you were home yet.”
“Hello, Frankie, I came home early.” He tried to smile but it didn’t take. It was merely a facial grimace. “I was tired.”
I went into the bathroom and started to wash my hands. I called in to him. “You’d better go in and eat; they’re starting now.”
I could hardly hear his answer: “I’m not hungry.”
Something was wrong, I thought. I could feel the tension in the air. I didn’t feel quite right. I wondered whether I had done anything wrong. I couldn’t tell. I dried my hands and went into the kitchen to eat. We ate the meal quietly. Uncle Morris didn’t come in at all. After dinner I helped Essie with the dishes. She washed and I dried and put them away. Then we went inside and listened to the radio awhile. At eight o’clock the kids went to sleep. About nine-thirty I announced I was going to turn in. I kind of felt my aunt and uncle wanted to talk and I was in the way. It had been a quiet, gloomy evening. Usually Uncle Morris laughed and joked and played with the kids. But tonight he was quiet. When they kissed him he let them kiss him on the cheek and didn’t kiss them back. I went into my room and shut the door and started to undress. Through the closed door I could hear my aunt and uncle talking in low tones. An occasional group of words would come through. I got into bed and stretched out, my arms behind my head, and looked out the window. It had been a long, tiring day. I dozed lightly, troubled by a strange feeling of depression that had descended on me. Suddenly I became completely awake. My aunt and uncle were talking in the hall outside my door. I looked over at the clock on my dresser; its radium dials said it was about two o’clock. I listened.
My aunt was crying softly. My uncle was speaking. “It’s nothing too much to worry about. You heard the doctor. A couple of years in Arizona and I’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m lucky we caught it in such an early stage. It’s completely curable.”
She said something about the kids. I could hear my name but I couldn’t quite get what she was saying. It was something about my not being sixteen yet.
“Don’t worry about that either,” my uncle said. “They’ve got just as good schools out there as they have here. And Frankie will come with us. All we have to do is explain the case to them. I’m sure they’ll listen. After all, he’s only about four months away, and I guess they’ll stretch a point.”
She said something else and I heard the door of their room close. I wondered what we were going to Arizona for, and what my not being sixteen had to do with it. I had almost fallen asleep again when the thought hit me. I sat up in bed. Arizona —t.b.—that’s what it was! That explained the cough he had all winter. It wasn’t a cold. It was t.b.!
I jumped out of bed and slipped into my bathrobe and went out into the hall. I stood in front of their door a moment before I knocked. “It’s me,” I whispered loudly. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” said my uncle, and I opened the door and went into the room. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked.
“I heard you talking,” I blurted out, “and I woke up. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
What’s the matter?”
My aunt and uncle exchanged glances. My uncle spoke. “Nothing. We were thinking of moving, that’s all.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “To Arizona. Why?” They didn’t answer.
“Is it because you’re sick?” I asked.
He looked at me. “You heard?” It was a question the way he said it. “Yes. I can guess. I’m no baby.”
“Well,” he said, “then you know.”
“Look,” I said, going over to the edge of the bed and sitting down, “I have some money in a bank on Broadway if you need it.”
He smiled. “No. thanks. We’re pretty well fixed. Keep it.”
“If it will help,” I said, “you’re welcome to it. It’s more than fifteen hundred dollars.”
He was surprised at that. “Fifteen hundred dollars! That’s a lot of money. Where’d you get it?”.
“I had a job,” I said, standing up. “I’ll tell you about it some time. But if you should ever need it, all you have to do is say so.”
“No, son, we don’t need it. Thanks anyway,” he said.
I started out but my aunt called me back. “Come here and kiss me good night.”
I knelt over and kissed her. “You’re a sweet kid,” she said, smiling. “Now go back and don’t worry about it. We’ll be all right.”
I left the room and went back and got into bed. I remembered what they said about my being not sixteen. I had forgotten to ask them about that. I was going to go back and ask them, but then I decided to let it wait until morning. Anyway, I thought, if it was money I was glad I let them know I had enough to pay my own way. I fell asleep.
I
WOKE
up late the next morning and had to run out of the house without speaking to anyone. All I had time to say was: “So long, see you after school.” I just made the first class. At study period I saw Jerry. We spoke casually for a few minutes; then I left him. At lunch-time I ran into Ruth. I sat down near her.
“How’ve you been?” I asked.
“O.K. I’m boning pretty hard. I graduate this term, you know.” “Yeah, I know.”
“Where have you been keeping yourself lately? You haven’t been down with Marty in a long time. You two haven’t had an argument or anything, have you?”
“Nope,” I said, “we haven’t. But we’ve got different things to do.”
“Well, come around sometimes. The folks will be glad to see you.” She left.
I looked around the lunch-room. Somehow the school looked different to me. I thought maybe it was because I figured I wouldn’t be there long if the family moved to Arizona.
I headed right home after basketball practice. I came in just as the kids were going to play. My aunt was reading the paper in the parlour. She looked up as I sat down. “This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down and look at the paper today,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, and then without even thinking about what she had said, asked: “When are we going to move?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “There are some things we have to work out first. Your uncle has to sell his territory. We have to arrange for a place to live, schools for you and the children. We’ll have to budget ourselves very carefully. Your uncle will have to take it easy for a while.”
“I can work,” I said.
“I hope it won’t be necessary. I want you to finish school and go to college. Have you ever thought about what you wanted to do?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“I was thinking, if you wanted, you might become a doctor or a lawyer. It would make us happy and would be good for you.”
“I don’t know. There’s time enough later to think about it,” I said. “Honestly, how bad is it? What did the doctor say?”
“In some ways we were lucky. Your uncle has tuberculosis. But we caught it in a very early stage, and the doctor said he’d be all right in a little while.”
“That’s good—as long as he’ll be all right. I was worried.”
She smiled. “Just between us, I must confess I was too. But I feel better today somehow. I was feeling pretty low last night.”
“I know. I heard.”
She smiled at me again. “There’s very little you miss, is there, Frankie?” I smiled.
“You’re a strange boy. You’re kind of old for your age and kind of sweet, but I like it.”
I went over to her chair and put my arm around her shoulder. “I kind of like you too.” She patted my cheek. “How about a glass of milk for the growing boy?” she asked. “Throw in some cookies and you’ve got a deal.”
Just then my uncle came in. She got up and kissed him. “How did everything go, Morris?”
“Pretty good,” he said, after saying hello to me. “They’re going to give me fifteen thousand for the territory, and that is a good price. We’ll be able to get along on that for a while. But there’s one hitch. I went down to the children’s welfare bureau to notify them of my intention to move out of the state, and they asked me why. I told them. They told me that we couldn’t take Frankie with us.”
I hopped out of a chair when I heard that. “Why?” I asked.
He turned to face me. “It seems there’s a rule of the orphanage that says when a communicable disease crops up in a family that has adopted a child, the child’s care automatically reverts to them. You may have to go back to the orphanage for a while. But I don’t know. I’m going to see my lawyer in the morning, and we’ll probably have no trouble at all.”
“I don’t care. I won’t go back to the orphanage,” I said.
“You won’t have to, Frankie,” said my uncle. “We’ll see to that.”
A week passed by. It was a busy week at home. We had made arrangements for a place to live not far from Tucson. My aunt had started with her early packing. We were to move in about two weeks. It was Saturday afternoon and I had been helping her. It was May. It was swell. We were all excited over the trip. The kids could talk of nothing else.
About two o’clock my uncle came home. He was tired. He sat in a chair in the living- room. Aunt Bertha had made him a hot cup of tea, and he was sipping it slowly. I was in the kitchen wrapping some dishes in paper and placing them in the barrels when he called me. I went in.
Aunt Bertha came in with me. “Sit down,” my uncle said to me. I sat down on the couch, my aunt next to me. She took my hand and held it lightly.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Frankie,” my uncle said slowly, “but I suppose I’ll have to; sooner or later, and I think you should know now. You won’t be able to come with us.”
I started to say something, but Aunt Bertha squeezed my hand and said: “Let your uncle finish.” I remained silent.
“As you know,” he continued, “I saw my lawyer in hopes that he would be able to straighten it out. But it was no use. There wasn’t anything we could do about it. The law was there and, right or wrong, we have to abide by it. I spoke and pleaded with different officials but it didn’t do any good. I was told you have to go back to the orphanage until you’re eighteen. Then you’ll be able to join us.”
I had a funny feeling in my throat as if I were going to cry. I hoped I wouldn’t. Somehow I had felt all along that I would be able to go with them. I didn’t say anything.
My aunt looked at me; she spoke, her voice soft and sympathetic. “In some ways, Frankie, it has its good points. You’ll be able to finish school here. You’ll be at home with your friends. And Uncle Morris spoke to Brother Bernhard—he’s very fond of you—and he
promised to look after you and take care of you. In a little while you will graduate school, and then you’ll be able to come out with us. You can go to college out there. There are some very fine universities out there. And while you’re going to school here, we can pretend that you’re away at school, just as if you were away attending some college.”
“I don’t care,” I said dully. “I don’t care about pretending anything. I don’t care about my friends. I won’t miss them, I’ll miss you. I want to be with you.”
“We want you with us,” my aunt said gravely. “You don’t know how much. We’ve become very fond of you and we love you, but we can’t do anything about it. We have to do what the law says. We haven’t any choice.”
I looked at them both. I could feel hot tears welling into my eyes. I started to speak but couldn’t. I just looked at them and the tears, filling my eyes, ran down my cheeks. I stood there silently, not sobbing, just crying with the tears running down my cheeks. They watched me, not speaking. Tears came to my aunt’s eyes too. I turned and ran to my room and threw myself across the bed.
I heard my aunt and uncle come to the door. I heard her voice through the door. “Morris, I’d better go in and speak to him. Did you see the look on his face? It was as if he was a little boy locked out of his home.”
“No,” my uncle said. “Let him alone. He’ll get over it soon. He’s a real man.” They walked away.
Vaguely I thought about what he said. I was a real man. Yes, I was. But I was acting like a little boy that had been locked out. I was a man. I tried to control myself. I stopped crying and got out of bed. I went into the bathroom and washed my face. Then I went into the kitchen.
My aunt and uncle were sitting at the table. They looked up when I came in. “Feeling better?” my uncle asked.
I nodded yes. I was afraid to speak—I still didn’t trust my voice. “Sit down and have a cup of tea,” my aunt said.
I did. It wasn’t until years afterwards that I realized my uncle had purposely spoken loudly in the hall outside my door for my benefit. But I didn’t know it then. And I felt real bad. I didn’t want to go back to the orphanage.
Then I was glad I hadn’t told anyone about my going away, for suddenly I didn’t want to tell anyone that I was going back to the orphanage. I didn’t want anybody to feel sorry for me.
I
T
was Friday, May 13, 1927. We were all packed. My things were packed. My uncle was going to take me down to the orphanage with my things. They were leaving the next day. I wasn’t going to stay at the orphanage until after they had gone; all we were going to do was to take my things down.
“Ready?” my uncle called.
“Yes,” I said. I picked up my bag and took it down to the car. We were silent as we rode downtown.
“I didn’t think this would happen,” my uncle said, as if he were apologizing for what had happened.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. When we got down there I took my bag and we went up to Brother Bernhard’s office. He shook my uncle’s hand and then mine.
He tried to be pleasant. “You’ll get your old room back, Frankie,” he said. “Supposing we take the things up there and you can put them away.”
We went up to my old room. I put the bag on my old bed and opened it. Some kids came in, looked at us curiously, and then went out. I didn’t know them. They were probably newcomers. A boy came in that I knew—Johnny Egan. He came over to the bed. He had grown tall in the time I had been away. He was almost as tall as I.