Rock Island Line

by David Rhodes

  What had happened was that Barney had become interested in talking about jewelry, and the fact that he didn’t expect July to have enough money to buy even one of his poorest pieces made no difference. He put the necklace back carefully and began a slow browse from case to case, in search of the perfect thing—it was a necklace that July said he wanted, not a ring (though that would be his second choice) or a bracelet or pin. He talked as he went and asked July questions, each time surprised at his natural knowledge—his inchoate sensitivity to beauty. This boy is worth a thousand, he thought—truly remarkable to have such feelings so young.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Hawaii.”

  They talked and disagreed, but finally reached a mutual decision with a single-diamond pendant, 108 facets, on a white-gold chain. Barney felt it was the best (of a certain type) that he had in his store, and believed it fully worth the $1600 he had paid for it and even the $2000 he asked for it. But he’d been talking for a long time and his congeniality was beginning to waver. He wanted to get back to the ring he was taking apart, and visual memories of a small fissure in one of the stones became recurrent and pleaded with him to come back and find a solution for hiding it. Also he particularly disliked the situation of people finding just what they want—just what they think will change their lives (and in most cases, he believed, would)—standing, looking and knowing it can never belong to them. Much better that they should never come in at all. So, just at the moment he was ready to ask July to leave, the paper sack was upended above the counter, opened, shaken, and a tremendous pile of dollar bills fell out. The boy counted out $73 and separated it from the pile.

  “There’s two thousand dollars,” he said. “Put the necklace in a box, please.”

  Snells put it in a box, a little shocked at the ugly sight of the bills on the counter, soiled and wadded up. Checks were the only real way to do business. “There’ll be tax,” he said, handing July the small wooden container, and disdainfully began to count the bills.

  July didn’t have enough to pay the tax, but Barney accepted the $73 and a pledge for the remainder when he could get it. It never occurred to him to think that he had no right selling such an expensive piece of jewelry to a fifteen-year-old boy—that he could be morally reprehended for it. Not at all; he simply was glad for him to be able to have it, and thought that if at his age he himself had had a diamond of such quality, his whole life would have been much better. All things should work out as well, he thought.

  July, young as he was, didn’t have the adult experience of being immediately dissatisfied with his purchase. In fact, from the moment he was out on the sidewalk with Butch he forgot about the transaction and thought only of the diamond in his pocket . . . as though it were alive. Possessing it was exciting. What it promised to do for him was even more exciting.

  They took a couple of cheeseburgers, milk and fries home with them, and spent the rest of the evening taking the precious necklace out and putting it back again, reading several pages, and taking it out again and looking at it with the light, putting it on Butch and putting it back. Sleep didn’t come quickly because tomorrow was Saturday. The future happiness of the rest of July’s life would be decided then, one way or another.

  Of course she won’t come, thought July the following afternoon. I never really expected her to. She doesn’t love me. Four o’clock went by. He imagined everyone in the park, in their light colorful clothes, talking about him: See that kid over there . . . he’s waiting for somebody. There’s one born every day.

  How long do you think he’ll stick it out’?

  Some————s will never give up.

  Sad, isn’t it?

  There’s one born every minute.

  At four thirty, a half-hour late, she did come. As soon as she came up to him she began talking.

  “I wasn’t going to come at all. Then the idea of you hanging around waiting . . .”

  He felt happy, like anyone who believes that one of the old virtues has paid off.

  Without saying anything of the diamond, he took her to the matinee. In the darkness of the theater, with the backs of their heads lit from the projector hole, he rejected putting his arm around her. Even through his elation he could tell that she’d made herself very sour for this afternoon and he was afraid she’d say something like Watch it, Jack, out loud. So he sat there in silence and tried to get through to her with his intense feelings. He wondered what to say when he gave her the necklace—what would be appropriate yet nonchalant?

  After the movie was over, it seemed events were rushing by him so quickly that he might not have time to give it to her at all; it was all he could do to keep up with what was happening. As soon as they were out on the street she wanted to go home.

  “OK. We better say goodbye now.” Her white teeth flashed. “No use in dragging this thing out any more than we have to . . . I should never have come.”

  “But you promised,” said July, laughing.

  “But I promised.”

  “It’s because you’re honest. I’m like that too. You know, every time I strike a match without closing the cover, I always think for a second—remember that line, ‘Close Cover Before Striking’—that I’ve broken the law and that I might be arrested. When I don’t think of it that way, I think I’m devil-may-care. Sometimes I close the cover and feel safe.”

  “It’s not honesty,” she said. “It was laziness.”

  “Laziness?”

  “I don’t know. Quit asking me questions. It’s just sort of laziness. That’s all.”

  “Let’s go get some grinders.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  July could feel his hold on himself slipping. She was walking faster. He knew that inevitable corner was just ahead where she would not allow him to come any farther. This would be the last time. There would be no more. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this. But it was now or never. Stopping to pry out the box from his pocket, he fell behind. Running, in a very emotional voice, he called out, “Wait, wait. I have something for you.” Several young men in suits were walking up the street toward them.

  Charlotte stopped, wheeled around and snapped the box out of his hand. “What’s this here? What is it? You bought this for me? Let’s see.” She opened it and grabbed the diamond. “Oh, a necklace,” she said. “Very nice.” It dangled from her outstretched hand. “Yes, it’s very nice, but I’m afraid I can’t accept it, I told you—”

  “I want you to have it,” said July. “It’s for you.”

  “That’s very nice, but really, you must go now. These are friends of mine coming here.”

  The two young men were nearly within hearing distance, walking casually but determinedly, both nineteen or twenty.

  “Another time. We’ll see each other another time,” he said quickly.

  “No, no more times, I told you that. Oh, I should never have come. Here, take this back.”

  “Hey, Charlotte,” called one of them. “We were just coming to get you. We must hurry if we’re to get there by six. Aunt Alice will be simply mortified.” They had come up to them now.

  “Who’s this here, a friend of yours?” the other asked, almost pleasantly.

  “Yes,” said Charlotte quickly. “Yes, here.” She held out the diamond to July, who stood there stunned, motioning with his hands and backing shyly away.

  “You keep it,” he whispered.

  “We’ve interrupted a love scene!” called the one young man to the other. “Charlotte, really!”

  “Shut up,” she said.

  But the one, obviously irritated in being late, pressed on. “What have you there—a necklace?” He held out his hand for Charlotte to show it to him. “Let’s see,” and snapped his fingers. July took another confused step backward.

  “Wait.” She followed him. “Take this back. Don’t mind them.”

  “You keep it,” he whispered inaudibly, turned and ran. The young men howled with laughter.

  Even as he
ran, he felt himself filling with anger, and after running down the first side street, he stopped. Then, shaking with rage, he peered cautiously around the corner to where the three stood. The young men had the necklace held in front of them and soon they were all laughing. One of them said, “A paper boy. Really, Charlotte, a paper boy!” Then they began to walk toward him and he pulled his head back. When he rechecked, they had stopped again and were hanging the diamond around her neck, then admiring her as she pretended to be a model, laughing. As they came closer their bright chatter grew louder. July held on to the wall with his left hand, as though he were in a faint, while his right hand, tightened unconsciously into a fist, had splintered the little wooden jewelry box and pieces of red felt showed between two of his fingers. Dry tears ran down his throat.

  When they stepped into view, she was in between the two young men. July rushed forward, hurling the one closest to him out of the way, and in one quick motion caught the delicate chain in his hand and ripped the necklace from around her neck. She screamed. The two young men were stunned with surprise and looked at him bewil-deredly, as though he were some phantom of the night. July gave them a quick defiant look, turned and ran, disappearing in several long bounds into the darkness of an alleyway.

  That night he sat by himself on a bench and watched cars moving on silent rubber tires.

  The following day he didn’t leave his cement room at all, even to eat. He lay, or sat, and stared at the walls. His estimation of himself was low, stupid and shameless. He took the diamond to a pawnbroker, who eyed him with suspicion as he noticed the broken chain, and offered him $100 for it. “Give it back,” July demanded, and it was given back. He refused to take it back where he’d bought it, and resolved to keep it; and later he fixed the broken chain with a pair of tweezers and kept it in one of his glass jars.

  The experience hung over him like a cloud and, whatever he tried to do, he couldn’t seem to manage without reflecting upon it, and finally, once again, the laughter would loom up just as it had in the empty street, and he’d hear the voice. “A paper boy. Really, Charlotte, a paper boy!”

  While working with Ed Shavoneck, he’d think, Newspaper boy. Lousy newspaper boy. Once more he tried to pawn the diamond, but was once again insulted. So he added it to his collection of most valuable possessions: his cat, his gun, his bullets, his pictures, his Bible and now his diamond. Many times he carried it with him in his pocket and took it out and admired it.

  Days passed. He worked behind the green counter as if in a trance.

  In a phone booth.

  “Hello—this is July . . . July Montgomery. If you still want me, when can I go to work?”

  “Oh yes, July.” Pause. “How’s your cat?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good, good. Excuse me, but do you remember that job I was talking about to you? I mean, did I really offer you a job?”

  “Yes, we were talking about it a few months ago, at Shapiro’s.”

  “Oh, yes, Shapiro’s. Just a minute, will you—” Then he must have cupped his hand over the receiver, because July couldn’t hear clearly enough to know anything about the conversation he was having at the other end. It wasn’t very long before he was back on the line.

  “Here we go—you still there?”

  “Yes—about the job.”

  “Oh yes, the job. Well, why don’t you come on over and we’ll talk about it. You know where the store is?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s . . . Sure you do. It’s in the phone book. You must have used a phone book.”

  “Oh, I guess I did at that.”

  “You should learn to use your head. When are you coming?”

  “Right away.”

  “Fine, fine. Look forward to seeing you. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” said July, but the connection had already been broken. I’ll have to remember that, he thought: Keep your finger on the receiver button and press it just as the other person starts to say goodbye—leaving the impression that you’re only half interested.

  Carroll’s Furniture was not nearly as large as July thought it would be. He’d pictured himself going to work in a store with large glass doors, in a place where if you didn’t wear a $400 Fifth Avenue suit, you’d look out of place. No, this was a crouching toad of a building, surrounded by a railway storage yard, a warehouse and an immense parking lot. Little, frame windows and a door hardly big enough to get a comfortable chair out. (Foolish, he thought; all that goes on through a back door.) He went in.

  The inside looked bigger than the outside and was very clean and the ceiling was high, with good lighting, but not a place where being without a Fifth Avenue suit would be noticed. For such a large store, July thought, it seemed funny for it to be so empty. But it was Wednesday morning—possibly a poor time for selling furniture. Carroll seemed to materialize out of nowhere and took him back into the shop.

  The job, he learned, was not quite as glamorous as he’d imagined. But then Carroll didn’t see anything wrong or degrading about it. “You won’t make much at first,” he explained, “but after you learn your way around I can use you in more places. In essence, you have to start somewhere, and so that’s the bottom.”

  What it consisted of was sweeping, dusting, helping to unload furniture trucks, refinishing and reupholstery work in the shop, and sales work in the evening (but very little of that because he was too young and unknowledgeable). The pay was less than he had made as a newsboy, but he could live on the second floor with his cat, furnish it as he pleased, and Carroll would put in a bathtub. He could use the toilet behind the cash register (which meant, though he didn’t say it out loud, that he could roam at will throughout the whole building). Twenty dollars a week.

  July accepted, and they shook hands. In a moment of unexpected outwardness, he showed his new boss his diamond. Carroll showed him a larger one on his ring, took him upstairs and showed him the little apartment quarters in a room that had been an office when the building belonged to a textile merchant. It had been equipped with a kitchen when the upstairs had been rented by a square-dance club, and was now out of use. The rest of the floor was storage space for furniture, as was the third floor. Carroll reiterated that he would have a tub installed and showed July that he would have his own private entrance and exit—a small fire escape leading to the ground from a door beside the refrigerator.

  “It’s an awfully big room,” said July.

  “Well, it’s good you think so at least. Any complications about leaving where you are now?”

  Pause.

  “None.”

  “Fine. It’ll be good to have someone here at night. We had two break-ins last year. Yes, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve things to do. Why don’t you go get your stuff? I’ll see if I can’t have a lock put on this door here opening into the storage area, and sometime next week we’ll get a fellow to put in a bathtub. Where do you want it?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” began July.

  “Well, think about it and let me know.” He gave the room a quick last look. “Oh yes, might not be too bad a little room, fixed up. Is there anything else? Now I must run. I’ll see you later.”

  July was left alone in his new room. He couldn’t believe he was so lucky.

  It wasn’t entirely true that leaving his cement room underneath City Hall was without complications. He knew there would be some as soon as he was down on the first landing, and by the time he could hear the trolleys running, he felt like an insect—the kind of person who could abandon a place that had seen him through all his trials, that had sheltered him and belonged only to him—had known no one before and would know no one after. To give it up in exchange for a room owned by someone else, whose location could be known to anyone . . . Refrigerator, hot and cold running water, a bathtub, electricity, toilet, winter heat and windows—all these seemed like the ear-marks of misplaced priorities—luxuries owned by people who cared nothing for the real things in l
ife—the old things, the safe things and the sacred things—by people who forsook their pasts and lived without feelings.

  He slipped underneath the landing and went back to his room. Butch was there. July closed the cardboard door, lit his lamp, set it on the table, lay down on his pallet looking up at the conduit pipes and decided to go back to being a newsboy and let Franklin Carroll get in his bathtub and sail down the river. He fell asleep. Terrifying thoughts filled his dreams, causing his body to sweat and jerk.

  When he woke up there was a specter in his chair. He could see the orange-and-yellow light flickering through her bones. She was quite old and dressed in a fashion common to a much earlier age. Butch was walking back and forth in front of her on the table, blocking the lamplight, then letting it through, her face darkening, then growing brighter. There was something about her that was very comical, and though he couldn’t put his finger on just what it was, he knew it had something to do with her eyes; for that reason he was careful not to look into them for fear of laughing.

  “So it’s back to the newspaper business,” she said, picking up his deck of cards and trying to get them to fan out in the way of cardsharps, but having a hard time of it.

  “I guess so,” said July.

  “It’s not a bad business. I mean, it’s pretty good money. You should get yourself a new deck of cards; these stick together something fierce.” She put them down and frowned at them. Butch walked around them because they were in his path.

  “Would you like something to drink?” asked July, sitting up. “I’ve got a little whiskey here.”

  “You know I can’t eat or drink anything—testing me, no doubt. Now see here, young man, don’t think you shall impress me with this drinking business. What seems to be the matter with this cat here—walking back and forth like some prowling monkey?”

  “He’s sort of suspicious by nature. He was kidnapped once.”

  “Well, I’d never take him, you can depend on that, and I wouldn’t think you’d worry about his being stolen in the future. That one time must have been a fluke. After all, who’d want such a suspicious, prowling cat? It’d make me nervous.”