He took a deep breath. "Now you ready? Spark retarded, gas advanced. Spark up, gas down. Now switch to battery--left, remember--left." A buzzing like that of a gigantic bee sounded. "Hear that? That's the contact in one of the coil boxes. If you don't get that, you got to adjust the points or maybe file them." He noticed a look of consternation on Adam's face. "You can study up on that in the book," he said kindly.
He moved to the front of the car. "Now this-here is the crank and--see this little wire sticking out of the radiator?--that's the choke. Now watch careful while I show you. You grab the crank like this and push till she catches. See how my thumb is turned down? If I grabbed her the other way with my thumb around her, and she was to kick, why, she'd knock my thumb off. Got it?"
He didn't look up but he knew they were nodding.
"Now," he said, "look careful. I push in and bring her up until I got compression, and then, why, I pull out this wire and I bring her around careful to suck gas in. Hear that sucking sound? That's choke. But don't pull her too much or you'll flood her. Now, I let go the wire and I give her a hell of spin, and as soon as she catches I run around and advance the spark and retard the gas and I reach over and throw the switch quick over to magneto--see where it says Mag?--and there you are."
His listeners were limp. After all this they had just got the engine started.
The boy kept at them. "I want you to say after me now so you learn it. Spark up--gas down."
They repeated in chorus, "Spark up--gas down."
"Switch to Bat."
"Switch to Bat."
"Crank to compression, thumb down."
"Crank to compression, thumb down."
"Easy over--choke out."
"Easy over--choke out."
"Spin her."
"Spin her."
"Spark down--gas up."
"Spark down--gas up."
"Switch to Mag."
"Switch to Mag."
"Now, we'll go over her again. Just call me Joe."
"Just call you Joe."
"Not that. Spark up--gas down."
A kind of weariness settled on Adam as they went over the litany for the fourth time. The process seemed silly to him. He was relieved when a short time later Will Hamilton drove up in his low sporty red car. The boy looked at the approaching vehicle. "That-there's got sixteen valves," he said in a reverent tone. "Special job."
Will leaned out of his car. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Just fine," said the mechanic. "They catch on quick."
"Look, Roy, I've got to take you in. The new hearse knocked out a bearing. You'll have to work late to get it ready for Mrs. Hawks at eleven tomorrow."
Roy snapped to efficient attention. "I'll get my clos'," he said and ran for the house. As he tore back with his satchel Cal stood in his way.
"Hey," Cal said, "I thought your name was Joe."
"How do you mean, Joe?"
"You told us to call you Joe. Mr. Hamilton says you're Roy."
Roy laughed and jumped into the roadster. "Know why I say call me Joe?"
"No. Why?"
"Because my name is Roy." In the midst of his laughter he stopped and said sternly to Adam, "You get that book under the seat and you study up. Hear me?"
"I will," said Adam.
Chapter 30
1
Even as in Biblical times, there were miracles on the earth in those days. One week after the lesson a Ford bumped up the main street of King City and pulled to a shuddering stop in front of the post office. Adam sat at the wheel with Lee beside him and the two boys straight and grand in the back seat.
Adam looked down at the floorboards, and all four chanted in unison, "Brake on--advance gas--switch off." The little engine roared and then stopped. Adam sat back for a moment, limp but proud, before he got out.
The postmaster looked out between the bars of his golden grill. "I see you've got one of the damn things," he said.
"Have to keep up with the times," said Adam.
"I predict there'll come a time when you can't find a horse, Mr. Trask."
"Maybe so."
"They'll change the face of the countryside. They get their clatter into everything," the postmaster went on. "We even feel it here. Man used to come for his mail once a week. Now he comes every day, sometimes twice a day. He just can't wait for his damn catalogue. Running around. Always running around." He was so violent in his dislike that Adam knew he hadn't bought a Ford yet. It was a kind of jealousy coming out. "I wouldn't have one around," the postmaster said, and this meant that his wife was at him to buy one. It was the women who put the pressure on. Social status was involved.
The postmaster angrily shuffled through the letters from the T box and tossed out a long envelope. "Well, I'll see you in the hospital," he said viciously.
Adam smiled at him and took his letter and walked out.
A man who gets few letters does not open one lightly. He hefts it for weight, reads the name of the sender on the envelope and the address, looks at the handwriting, and studies the postmark and the date. Adam was out of the post office and across the sidewalk to his Ford before he had done all of these things. The left-hand corner of the envelope had printed on it, Bellows and Harvey, Attorneys at Law, and their address was the town in Connecticut from which Adam had come.
He said in a pleasant tone, "Why, I know Bellows and Harvey, know them well. I wonder what they want?" He looked closely at the envelope. "I wonder how they got my address?" He turned the envelope over and looked at the back. Lee watched him, smiling. "Maybe the questions are answered in the letter."
"I guess so," Adam said. Once having decided to open the letter, he took out his pocketknife, opened the big blade, and inspected the envelope for a point of ingress, found none, held the letter up to the sun to make sure not to cut the message, tapped the letter to one end of the envelope, and cut off the other end. He blew in the end and extracted the letter with two fingers. He read the letter very slowly.
"Mr. Adam Trask, King City, California, Dear Sir," it began testily, "For the last six months we have exhausted every means of locating you. We have advertised in newspapers all over the country without success. It was only when your letter to your brother was turned over to us by the local postmaster that we were able to ascertain your whereabouts." Adam could feel their impatience with him. The next paragraph began a complete change of mood. "It is our sad duty to inform you that your brother Charles Trask is deceased. He died of a lung ailment October 12 after an illness of two weeks, and his body rests in the Odd Fellows cemetery. No stone marks his grave. We presume you will want to undertake this sorrowful duty yourself."
Adam drew a deep full breath and held it while he read the paragraph again. He breathed out slowly to keep the release from being a sigh. "My brother Charles is dead," he said.
"I'm sorry," said Lee.
Cal said, "Is he our uncle?"
"He was your Uncle Charles," said Adam.
"Mine too?" Aron asked.
"Yours too."
"I didn't know we had him," Aron said. "Maybe we can put some flowers on his grave. Abra would help us. She likes to."
"It's a long way off--clear across the country."
Aron said excitedly, "I know! When we take flowers to our mother we'll take some to our Uncle Charles." And he said a little sadly, "I wish't I knew I had him before he was dead." He felt that he was growing rich in dead relatives. "Was he nice?" Aron asked.
"Very nice," said Adam. "He was my only brother, just like Cal is your only brother."
"Were you twins too?"
"No--not twins."
Cal asked, "Was he rich?"
"Of course not," said Adam. "Where'd you get that idea?"
"Well, if he was rich we'd get it, wouldn't we?"
Adam said sternly, "At a time of death it isn't a nice thing to talk about money. We're sad because he died."
"How can I be sad?" said Cal. "I never even saw him."
Lee covered his
mouth with his hand to conceal his smile. Adam looked back at the letter, and again it changed mood with its paragraph.
"As attorneys for the deceased it is our pleasant duty to inform you that your brother through industry and judgment amassed a considerable fortune, which in land, securities, and cash is well in excess of one hundred thousand dollars. His will, which was drawn and signed in this office, is in our hands and will be sent to you on your request. By its terms it leaves all money, property, and securities to be divided equally between you and your wife. In the event that your wife is deceased, the total goes to you. The will also stipulates that if you are deceased, all property goes to your wife. We judge from your letter that you are still in the land of the living and we wish to offer our congratulations. Your obedient servants, Bellows and Harvey, by George B. Harvey." And at the bottom of the page was scrawled, "Dear Adam: Forget not thy servants in the days of thy prosperity. Charles never spent a dime. He pinched a dollar until the eagle screamed. I hope you and your wife will get some pleasure from the money. Is there an opening out there for a good lawyer? I mean myself. Your old friend, Geo. Harvey."
Adam looked over the edge of the letter at the boys and at Lee. All three were waiting for him to continue. Adam's mouth shut to a line. He folded the letter, put it in its envelope, and placed the envelope carefully in his inside pocket.
"Any complications?" Lee asked.
"No."
"I just thought you looked concerned."
"I'm not. I'm sad about my brother." Adam was trying to arrange the letter's information in his mind, and it was as restless as a setting hen scrounging into the nest. He felt that he would have to be alone to absorb it. He climbed into the car and looked blankly at the mechanism. He couldn't remember a single procedure.
Lee asked, "Want some help?"
"Funny!" said Adam. "I can't remember where to start."
Lee and the boys began softly, "Spark up--gas down, switch over to Bat."
"Oh, yes. Of course, of course." And while the loud bee hummed in the coil box Adam cranked the Ford and ran to advance the spark and throw the switch to Mag.
They were driving slowly up the lumpy road of the home draw under the oak trees when Lee said, "We forgot to get meat."
"Did we? I guess we did. Well, can't we have something else?"
"How about bacon and eggs?"
"That's fine. That's good."
"You'll want to mail your answer tomorrow," said Lee. "You can buy meat then."
"I guess so," said Adam.
While dinner was preparing Adam sat staring into space. He knew he would have to have help from Lee, if only the help of a listener to clear his own thinking.
Cal had led his brother outside and conducted him to the wagon shed where the tall Ford rested. Cal opened the door and sat behind the wheel. "Come on, get in!" he said.
Aron protested, "Father told us to stay out of it."
"He won't ever know. Get in!"
Aron climbed in timidly and eased back in the seat. Cal turned the wheel from side to side. "Honk, honk," he said, and then, "Know what I think? I think Uncle Charles was rich."
"He was not."
"I bet you anything he was."
"You think our father'd tell a lie."
"I won't say that. I just bet he was rich." They were silent for a while. Cal steered wildly around imaginary curves. He said, "I bet you I can find out."
"How do you mean?"
"What you got to bet?"
"Nothing," said Aron.
"How about your deer's-leg whistle? I bet you this-here taw against that deer's-leg whistle that we get sent to bed right after supper. Is it a bet?"
"I guess so," Aron said vaguely. "I don't see why."
Cal said, "Father will want to talk to Lee. And I'm going to listen."
"You won't dare."
"You think I won't."
" 'Spose I was to tell."
Cal's eyes turned cold and his face darkened. He leaned so close that his voice dropped to a whisper. "You won't tell. Because if you do--I'll tell who stole his knife."
"Nobody stole his knife. He's got his knife. He opened the letter with it."
Cal smiled bleakly. "I mean tomorrow," he said. And Aron saw what he meant and he knew he couldn't tell. He couldn't do anything about it. Cal was perfectly safe.
Cal saw the confusion and helplessness on Aron's face and felt his power, and it made him glad. He could outthink and outplan his brother. He was beginning to think he could do the same thing to his father. With Lee, Cal's tricks did not work, for Lee's bland mind moved effortlessly ahead of him and was always there waiting, understanding, and at the last moment cautioning quietly, "Don't do it." Cal had respect for Lee and a little fear of him. But Aron here, looking helplessly at him, was a lump of soft mud in his hands. Cal suddenly felt a deep love for his brother and an impulse to protect him in his weakness. He put his arm around Aron.
Aron did not flinch or respond. He drew back a little to see Cal's face.
Cal said, "See any green grass growing out of my head?"
Aron said, "I don't know why you go for to do it."
"How do you mean? Do what?"
"All the tricky, sneaky things," said Aron.
"What do you mean, sneaky?"
"Well, about the rabbit, and sneaking here in the car. And you did something to Abra. I don't know what, but it was you made her throw the box away."
"Ho," said Cal. "Wouldn't you like to know!" But he was uneasy.
Aron said slowly. "I wouldn't want to know that. I'd like to know why you do it. You're always at something. I just wonder why you do it. I wonder what's it good for."
A pain pierced Cal's heart. His planning suddenly seemed mean and dirty to him. He knew that his brother had found him out. And he felt a longing for Aron to love him. He felt lost and hungry and he didn't know what to do.
Aron opened the door of the Ford and climbed down and walked out of the wagon shed. For a few moments Cal twisted the steering wheel and tried to imagine he was racing down the road. But it wasn't any good, and soon he followed Aron back toward the house.
2
When supper was finished and Lee had washed the dishes Adam said, "I think you boys had better go to bed. It's been a big day."
Aron looked quickly at Cal and slowly took his deer's-leg whistle out of his pocket.
Cal said, "I don't want it."
Aron said, "It's yours now."
"Well, I don't want it. I won't have it."
Aron laid the bone whistle on the table. "It'll be here for you," he said.
Adam broke in, "Say, what is this argument? I said you boys should go to bed."
Cal put on his "little boy" face. "Why?" he asked. "It's too early to go to bed."
Adam said, "That wasn't quite the truth I told you. I want to talk privately to Lee. And it's getting dark so you can't go outside, so I want you boys to go to bed--at least to your room. Do you understand?"
Both boys said, "Yes, sir," and they followed Lee down the hall to their bedroom at the back of the house. In their nightgowns they returned to say good night to their father.
Lee came back to the living room and closed the door to the hall. He picked up the deer's-leg whistle and inspected it and laid it down. "I wonder what went on there," he said.
"How do you mean, Lee?"
"Well, some bet was made before supper, and just after supper Aron lost the bet and paid off. What were we talking about?"
"All I can remember is telling them to go to bed."
"Well, maybe it will come out later," said Lee.
"Seems to me you put too much stock in the affairs of children. It probably didn't mean anything."
"Yes, it meant something." Then he said, "Mr. Trask, do you think the thoughts of people suddenly become important at a given age? Do you have sharper feelings or clearer thoughts now than when you were ten? Do you see as well, hear as well, taste as vitally?"
"Maybe you're right," sa
id Adam.
"It's one of the great fallacies, it seems to me," said Lee, "that time gives much of anything but years and sadness to a man."
"And memory."
"Yes, memory. Without that, time would be unarmed against us. What did you want to talk to me about?"
Adam took the letter from his pocket and put it on the table. "I want you to read this, to read it carefully, and then--I want to talk about it." Lee took out his half-glasses and put them on. He opened the letter under the lamp and read it.
Adam asked, "Well?"
"Is there an opening here for a lawyer?"
"How do you mean? Oh, I see. Are you making a joke?"
"No, said Lee, "I was not making a joke. In my obscure but courteous Oriental manner I was indicating to you that I would prefer to know your opinion before I offered mine."
"Are you speaking sharply to me?"
"Yes, I am," said Lee. "I'll lay aside my Oriental manner. I'm getting old and cantankerous. I am growing impatient. Haven't you heard of all Chinese servants that when they get old they remain loyal but they turn mean?"
"I don't want to hurt your feelings."
"They aren't hurt. You want to talk about this letter. Then talk, and I will know from your talk whether I can offer an honest opinion or whether it is better to reassure you in your own."
"I don't understand it," said Adam helplessly.
"Well, you knew your brother. If you don't understand it, how can I, who never saw him?"
Adam got up and opened the hall door and did not see the shadow that slipped behind it. He went to his room and returned and put a faded brown daguerreotype on the table in front of Lee. "That is my brother Charles," he said, and he went back to the hall door and closed it.
Lee studied the shiny metal under the lamp, shifting the picture this way and that to overcome the highlights. "It's a long time ago," Adam said. "Before I went into the army."
Lee leaned close to the picture. "It's hard to make out. But from his expression I wouldn't say your brother had much humor."
"He hadn't any," said Adam. "He never laughed."
"Well, that wasn't exactly what I meant. When I read the terms of your brother's will it struck me that he might have been a man with a particularly brutal sense of play. Did he like you?"
East of Eden Page 42