Mama and June were watching me as if I was a bomb about to explode and wreck everything, but Bobby, Ernie, and Victor were too busy blowing on brand-new pinwheels to pay me any attention. I noticed June was holding one of those Shirley Temple dolls she'd always begged for. Mama was wearing a flowered sundress I'd never seen before. She'd slashed her mouth with bright red lipstick and painted her nails to match. I could smell her perfume from several feet away. Like the old man, she was playing at being somebody else.
Grandma stood at the sink, sipping a cup of coffee and looking out the window. She glanced over her shoulder at me, then turned her back on us again. She didn't have to say anything. I knew she was just as disgusted as I was.
June held the doll up. "See what Daddy brought me, Gordy? Isn't she pretty?" She smiled that hopeful smile, the one she'd used to good effect on Grandma.
"I brought something for you, too, Gordy." Like the ancient Greeks William had once told me about, the old man had come bearing gifts. Holding out his hand, he showed me mine—a pearl-handled penknife with a double blade, the kind I'd wanted all my life.
I stuck my hands in my pockets real fast because they were just itching to hold that knife. "Keep it," I muttered.
A frown slid across the old man's face so fast I was the only one to see it. "It's a good one," he said. "I paid a lot for it."
"I don't want it." I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets.
The old man shrugged and laid the knife on the kitchen table. It looked out of place among the coffee cups and cereal bowls and juice glasses. But, much as I wanted that knife, I didn't touch it. It could stay there forever. I wasn't taking anything from the old man—good or bad.
"Gordy's rude," said June. "Isn't he, Mama?"
Mama looked at me. Her eyes were flat and cold. "You could at least thank your father," she said. "You haven't even said hello to him. What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing."
Mama started to say more, but the old man cut her off. "Leave him be, Ginny. If he wants to bite off his nose to spite his face, it's okay by me." Turning to Bobby, he said, "Let me show you how that thing works, son."
Without touching my breakfast, I left the old man puffing on Bobby's pinwheel. Grandma had gone outside to weed the tomatoes but I didn't stop to talk to her. Hot as it was, I ran all the way to the Esso station to tell Donny the news.
I found him pumping gas into Dr. Langerman's big old fancy Buick. Mrs. Langerman was in the front seat, fanning her face with a magazine, and Langerman and his sisters were in the back. The girls were giggling over a comic book, but Langerman was sitting by a window, staring at the back of his mother's head like he was bored to death. Except for him, they looked like the perfect family, heading out to Long View Lake to have a picnic and wasting gas like the war was over.
I walked past the car and sneered at Langerman, but he pretended not to see me. I wished he was by himself. I felt like getting into a good fight.
Donny took Dr. Langerman's money and gas coupons before he turned to me. "What's up, Gordo?"
"Ten guesses," I said, giving Langerman the finger as the Buick sped off. "The first nine don't count."
Donny swore. "The old man's back."
"Got here last night. Brought everybody presents." I spit in the greasy dust by the pump.
"Drunk or sober?"
"Sober." I spit again. "For now."
"Wonder how long it'll last this time."
I shrugged and took a swig from the bottle of orange Nehi Donny handed me. The glass was cold and wet and so was the pop.
For a while we didn't talk, just leaned against the side of the garage, sharing the shade and the Nehi. We were brothers, Donny and me. We understood each other in a way nobody else could. Not even Stu. If he'd been here, he'd have wanted us to give the old man a chance. Donny and I knew better than to give the old man anything.
An Oldsmobile pulled up to the pump. The guy driving it blew his horn. "Hey, kid," he said, "are you going to hold that wall up all day or are you going to give me some gas?"
Donny handed me the Nehi and walked over to the car. I noticed he didn't hurry. After he'd filled the tank, washed the windshield, and checked the oil, he ambled back to the shade and squatted beside me.
"Someday I'll have a car like that," he said as the man drove away.
"Me, too," I said. "Only mine will have white wall tires."
I hung around with Donny all day, cleaning windshields and checking oil, making change, breathing in the good smells of oil and grease and gasoline.
Around three, a familiar black car pulled into the gas station. The old man jumped out and slapped Donny on the back. "It's damn good to see you, son," he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Without giving Donny a chance to say a word, the old man started going on and on about how the army had made a man of him and crap like that. All the while the old man was talking, Mama sat in the car, holding Bobby and smiling that wounded red smile. In the back seat, June and Ernie and Victor were eating ice cream cones, licking them slowly, making them last. Just looking at them, anybody would have thought the Smiths were one big happy family, just like the Langermans.
I don't know how long the old man would've gone on talking about the war if Victor hadn't begun complaining about being hot.
"Hush up, Vic," he said. "Daddy hasn't forgotten. We're going to the park in just a minute."
Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I heard a little edge creeping into the old man's voice. Maybe he was getting tired of playing his new part.
"Ernie keeps bumping my hand," Victor whined. "He's trying to make me drop my ice cream."
"I am not," Ernie said.
"You are too!" Victor punched Ernie. Ernie started to cry and hit Victor back.
"Don't fight, don't fight," June wailed, trying to separate her brothers. "You'll ruin everything!"
The old man muttered something under his breath and opened the car door. I held my breath when he got inside, but all he did was tell them to shut up.
"Got to go," he told Donny and me, gunning the motor.
Before the car pulled away, Mama called, "We're having a big dinner tonight in honor of your daddy. Five o'clock, boys. Don't be late, now."
Donny and I watched the car drive off. June and the little kids waved from the back window. Ernie was holding his pinwheel out to catch the breeze. It spun so fast you couldn't see the colors.
"Are you going to be there?" I asked Donny.
He lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke through his nose, a skill I hadn't yet managed, mainly due to lack of practice. "Only because I don't want to hurt Mama's feelings," he muttered. "The old man will do that soon enough."
I knew what he meant. Mama was desperate to believe the old man was on the level this time. Naturally she wanted us kids to be as happy as she was. But that wasn't possible for Donny and me. Neither one of us was about to forget the stuff the old man had done. We had plenty of scars to remind us.
Like Donny, I figured I'd show up for dinner, too. I didn't want to hurt Mama's feelings any more than he did. Nor did I want to miss seeing how Grandma planned to handle the welcome home party. Somehow I couldn't picture her festooning the dining room with crepe paper streamers and fixing the old man's favorite meal, whatever that might be.
Nineteen
I went over to Donny's room after he got off work and waited for him to take a shower and change. It wasn't much of a place to live, I thought. Stifling hot and barely big enough for a bed, a chest of drawers, a little table for his radio, and a shabby armchair. One window propped open with a stick. Cinders half an inch deep on the sill. Dingy lace curtains framing a view of a lumberyard and the railroad tracks. No doubt the bed shook when a train passed, just like it had in College Hill.
Donny left the radio playing for me, one of those corny wartime songs about walking alone and feeling lonely. I don't know if it was the words of the song or the faded wallpaper or the saggy old chair, but something about the
setup made me sad. Donny had fought his way across Europe and this was all he'd come home to. Of course it was better than a grave in Europe or Okinawa or some other foreign place, but it didn't seem fair. After all they'd gone through, it seemed to me soldiers deserved better. But that was just my opinion. What did I know?
Donny came back from his shower looking clean and fresh. "You better wash up too," he said, tossing me the soap and a towel. "The shower's down the hall on the left."
"What's the use? I don't have any clean clothes to change into." Glad to have an excuse, I threw the soap and towel back. I never took showers unless somebody like Grandma made me.
Donny shrugged. "Have it your way, Gordo. Don't blame me, though, if nobody wants to sit next to you."
I laughed and punched his arm and he punched me back. Not hard. Just in fun.
By the time we'd walked the eight blocks to Grandma's house, the whole family was sitting at the table waiting for us. The old man frowned and glanced at his watch. Donny mumbled something about his job and took a seat next to Ernie. I dropped into a chair across the table from him. Grandma sat at the head, the old man faced her at the other end, with Mama on his right and June on his left.
"Everybody's here but Stu," the old man said, looking up and down the table as if what he saw pleased him. "We sure don't miss him, do we?"
I wasn't sure who he was talking to. Neither was anyone else because nobody said anything.
"Never thought a son of mine would turn out to be a coward," the old man went on. "Did everything I could to make a man of him. Nothing worked. Why, June here's got more backbone than Stu ever had."
Still nobody said a word. Mama took a sip of iced tea. Grandma buttered a roll. June fidgeted. The little boys ate without looking up. Donny cleared his throat but kept silent otherwise.
"You know what I hope?" The old man's voice rose as if he thought nobody was listening. "I hope the army puts him away for life. I hope they throw the book at him."
"They might as well," Donny said quietly. "You threw just about everything else at him."
"What did you say?" The old man leaned toward Donny.
Mama cast Donny a begging look and he shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered.
The old man nodded as if he'd decided to accept that. "You served," he said. "You did your share, you answered your country's call. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, son."
When Donny didn't answer, the old man said a few more patriotic things. Finally he gave up and let us eat in peace.
I don't know why, but Grandma had gone all out to fix a great meal. Pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and beans from the garden. Fresh-baked rolls and coleslaw, too. Maybe she thought she had a duty to make Mama happy. Or maybe she thought we wouldn't be getting any more good dinners if we went off with the old man.
About halfway through the meal, the old man lit a cigarette. Grandma looked at him and said, "Please don't smoke at the table, Roger."
He narrowed his eyes and laid the cigarette on the edge of his plate. Didn't put it out, just left it there. The smoke drifted past June. She made a face and tried to wave it away with her hand.
"Roger," Grandma said, still calm, still reasonable, "you can go outside and smoke after dinner. That's what Virginia does."
The old man just looked at her. Though I'd seen it before, I didn't like the expression on his face.
Mama shot a frown at Grandma and then touched the old man's hand the way you might touch a bear or a wolf. "Mother doesn't allow smoking in the house, Roger. I told you. Don't you remember, honey?" Her voice had a sickening sweetness that riled me.
"I always smoke at dinner," said the old man. To prove it, he picked up the cigarette and took a drag so deep I could almost feel it burn the back of my throat.
Grandma got up and left the room. I was amazed at her for giving in so quick, but I should have known better. In a few seconds she was back, carrying a pan of water. Before the old man knew what she was doing, she grabbed the cigarette and dropped it into the water. The room was so quiet we all heard the hiss it made.
The old man's face reddened. "Why, you old son of a—" Somehow he stopped himself. "You wasted a perfectly good cigarette. Do you know how hard it is to get ahold of a Camel these days?"
Grandma didn't bother to answer. She walked into the kitchen, opened the screen door, and flung the water into the backyard, cigarette and all. Then, without even looking at the old man, she sat back down. "Would anyone care for more mashed potatoes?" she asked. "They're getting cold."
I heard the old man swear under his breath. He was fighting to keep his evil self from breaking loose, I had to give him credit for that. But I was braced for an explosion.
June must have sensed trouble coming too. Thinking she could ward it off, she smiled her bright puppy-dog smile and nudged the old man. "Look, Daddy, Shirley can do a trick." Holding her new doll by its arms, she spun its body. "See? She does somersaults."
Unfortunately, the doll's feet hit the old man's glass of iced tea. Over it went, pouring into his lap like Niagara Falls. Before June knew what was happening, he'd cracked her on the head with his knuckles. I'd gotten plenty of those knuckle raps. I knew how much they hurt, especially if you weren't expecting it.
"Can't you be more careful or are you just naturally clumsy?" the old man shouted.
June started crying and jumped up from the table. The old man grabbed her arm. "Sit down and behave yourself! You can leave when I say so. Not before!"
June cried harder.
"Stop that bawling," the old man said, "or I'll give you something to cry about."
Grandma got to her feet and pulled June away from him. "That's enough, Roger. There's no need to carry on like this. The child didn't mean to knock over your tea."
"She's my daughter," the old man yelled, grabbing June back. "I'll punish her as I see fit. Don't you interfere!"
Caught between them, June wailed hysterically. Bobby began to cry. So did Ernie. Victor just sat there with his thumb in his mouth, staring. Mama hid her face in her hands. Donny threw his napkin down and swore at the old man. It was a familiar scene—The Smiths' Dinner Hour, brought to you tonight by Camel cigarettes, preferred by doctors everywhere.
With one difference. Instead of hitting Donny, the old man cursed and strode out of the room. The back door slammed behind him.
Mama raised her head and glared at Grandma. "I hope you're satisfied, Mother."
With that, she threw her napkin on the table and hurried after the old man. The door slammed again. My three little brothers ran after her. Bang, bang, bang went the screen door.
While Grandma tried to comfort June, Donny and I looked at each other.
"So, what's new?" Donny asked and walked out the front door.
I ran after him but he turned me back at the gate. "I'm going to Malone's," he said. "I told the guys I'd meet them there."
I grabbed his arm. "Can I come with you? I swear I won't say anything, you won't even know I'm there, I won't ask you for a Coke, I won't ask for anything at all, I'll just sit there. Let me come, Donny, just let me."
Donny lit a cigarette and squinted at me through the smoke. "You got years ahead of you to hang out in bars if that's what you want to do with your life," he said. "There's no sense starting now, Gordo."
I thought about arguing, I thought about following him, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. I'd just make him mad.
So I stood at the gate and watched Donny walk into the summer evening, slump-shouldered. The sun was low in the sky behind him, and his shadow stretched ahead as if it was leading the way and he was following.
When Donny turned the corner at the end of the block, I swung back and forth on the gate for a while, listening to it squeak. The windows in William's house reflected the sunset as if lights shone in all the rooms, but I knew no one was home. Grandma had told me Mrs. Sullivan planned to stay away all summer. It was cooler at her sister's place, she claimed, better for William. Anything was
better for William than I was.
I swung faster, wishing I'd look up and see him sitting on the front porch, waiting for me to come over. I sure would have liked to talk to him.
"William," I'd say, "I know this is a terrible thing to say, but it should've been my old man who got killed in the war instead of your father."
"Get off that gate, Gordon," Grandma called from the front porch. "You'll break it."
I felt like mouthing off to her, that was the kind of terrible mood I was in, but I ran off down the sidewalk instead. I heard her calling me back, but I kept going. Nobody liked me, nobody wanted me, nobody cared what happened to me. Not Grandma, not Mama, not Donny. I was all alone in the world.
Such thoughts would have made a kid like William cry, but not me. I was as tough and mean as they come. Nothing made Gordy Smith cry. Not even the worst beating the old man could give me.
Twenty
I walked around town for a couple of hours, looking for something to do. Nobody was around. Not Langerman or any of his buddies. I had to content myself writing cuss words on the school sidewalk with a piece of soft rock that rubbed off like red chalk on the cement. I'd have broken some school windows if Mrs. Maxwell hadn't been sitting on her front porch, watching me.
By the time I dragged myself home, it was dark. The night was steamy hot. Heat lightning flickered, lighting the sky like flares, and thunder rumbled softly like a tiger growling somewhere far off. The air seemed as if it wanted to rain but couldn't quite find the energy to do it.
Mama and the old man were sitting in the porch swing. June perched on the old man's knee, smiling as if she'd already forgotten getting a knuckle rap. Mama cuddled Bobby, and Ernie and Victor ran around the yard chasing fireflies. The only person missing from the happy family scene was Grandma.
"Where have you been, Gordy?" the old man barked from the shadows.
"Nowhere." Without waiting to see what he'd say next, I went inside and let the screen door slam good and hard behind me. The old man might fool the others, but not me. I was too smart for him.