Only George didn’t like him. Anytime Sal came into the house, George left. He never did anything with us and never wanted to. I couldn’t understand it. When George got drunk, which was often, he said ugly, mean things about Sal. I didn’t care that he didn’t like Sal, but when he said mean things, I got angry.
I asked Mom once why he didn’t like him. She just said he had a sickness with alcohol and that it wasn’t his fault. I didn’t agree. He never tried to like Sal. He didn’t even try to get to know him.
It was a Saturday morning. Sal was coming over to take us to the beach. I was looking for my bathing suit. George came out of his bedroom. He had a hangover. He went into the kitchen to get some coffee. I followed him.
“We’re going to the beach. Wanna come?” I asked.
“No.”
“You never go anywhere with us. Why not?”
“Leave it alone, kid,” he said. He lit a cigarette.
“George, why don’t you like Sal?”
“I just told you to leave it alone, and you ask me that!”
“I just wanna know, that’s all.”
He poured a cup of coffee and sipped it.
“I don’t understand it,” I said.
“Kid, I don’t like anyone coming in here and taking over.”
“He’s not taking over.”
“Bullshit! I break my ass for this family, and what do I get for it? Nothing. He comes along, and everybody loves Sal. He didn’t have to carry this place when Mom was down. He didn’t have to feed everybody and take care of the bills. He just comes in and laps up everyone’s attention. Well, he ain’t getting mine. Now, ain’t you glad you asked?” He spilled his unfinished coffee in the sink and left the kitchen.
There was something in what he said. He did give a lot to the family, but he took a lot, too. I think the bitterness and meanness made everyone forget he was doing good things, or was it the other way around? Was he bitter and mean because nobody gave him credit for the good things he was doing? I was confused.
The water at Jones Beach was warm, but the waves were too big. Mom wouldn’t let Gene or me go in any farther than the edge of the water. We played in the sand. Mom and Walter waded in up to their waists. They called Sal to come in, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to lie in the sun.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Gene. I headed over toward Sal. “Hello,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, son. What is it?” He lifted himself up to his elbows and shaded his eyes.
“Do you know why George don’t like you?”
“I think so.” He laughed. “Where do you get all these questions?”
“Is it because he did lots of things for the family and nobody thanked him? And then you—”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Well, George has a problem that none of you other boys have.”
“He drinks.”
“Besides his drinking. George is being pulled in two different directions. His heart is telling him one thing, while his mind is telling him something else.”
I looked at him and scratched my head.
“It’s something George has to work out. In time he will. Do you want a soda?”
“Uh…no, thanks. You know, Sal, talking to adults is tough.”
We had a wonderful summer. All but George, that is. I couldn’t remember when we spent so much time together. I wished Larry hadn’t run away. I’m sure he would have had a good time too. I wondered where he was and what he was doing.
In early October, Sal took us all upstate to see the leaves changing colors. We were all very excited, especially Walter. He had a chance to drive the car a really long distance.
He followed Sal’s instructions and soon we were out of the city. The trees along the highways were beautiful, reds and yellows, oranges and browns.
Sal told Walter to make a turn. He did. We passed through two great stone pillars onto a narrow road. Along the sides of the road tall leafy trees overhung each other. It was as though we were riding through a tunnel of leaves. At the end of the tunnel there was a large red brick building with huge white columns holding up a balcony.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“I thought we could all use a rest,” Sal said.
“I want a hambugga,” Gene said.
“Let’s get out and stretch our legs,” Sal said.
We got out of the car. I saw a few people toward the rear of the building.
“What is this place?” I asked.
I no sooner asked than I spotted a boy running toward us. He shouted, “Mom!”
It was Jerome. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Jerome. He hugged Mom and cried. Walter, Gene, and I gathered around to take our turns at greeting him. When it was my turn, I hugged him.
“How ya been?” he asked.
“Gosh,” I said. “I had no idea we were coming to see you.”
“You look kinda shocked,” he said.
“I am. I am.”
We walked around the grounds for a while. Sal told us he and Mom had planned the trip for some time. Only Jerome knew we were coming. We ate lunch in the main dining room. There were lots of other parents, brothers, and sisters, all visiting.
“This doesn’t look too much like a hospital,” I said.
“It’s not,” Jerome said. “It’s called a convalescent home.”
“Oh.”
Jerome laughed. He knew I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Want to see my bed and my new models?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Can I go too?” Gene asked.
“No, dear. You stay here with us,” Mom said.
We left the others at the table and went to his dormitory. It looked a lot like the homes I’d been in, except there were no bars on the windows.
Jerome showed me his model planes and ships. They were really something to see. Jerome handed me a baseball card.
“Yogi Berra?” I said.
“Yep! If he wins the MVP, put it up.” He laughed and made a gesture with his thumb toward the wall.
“Right!”
He took out books of stamps. “I have a collection.”
“Wow!” I began to look at all the pretty stamps.
“So George didn’t come,” he said. He seemed a little disappointed.
“Well…”
“I guess I didn’t really expect him to,” he said. “I was hoping, but not expecting”
“He don’t get along too good with Sal.”
“Well, what can you expect? With the old man twisting up his brains, how could he do anything else but hate Sal.”
“What old man?”
“Your father. Who else?”
“My father!”
“Oh, boy…don’t tell me you don’t know nothing about the old man.”
“You mean the old man on the bench?”
“What bench?”
“Never mind, never mind! Tell me about my father.”
“Oh, boy.” He sat down. “I really put my foot into it.”
“Is my father alive?” I asked. My heart pounded.
“I can’t believe nobody ever told you.”
I sat back on the bed next to his. I had a million questions running through my mind, but none of them would come out.
“He’s a drunk,” he said. “He lives in the Bronx on 149th Street and Third Avenue with his mother. Your grandmother.”
“I got a grandmother too?”
“Oh, boy,” he mumbled. “Mom’s gonna kill me.”
“Jerome, you just gotta tell me more.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Uh…uh…” I couldn’t form any words. “Uh…does everybody know?”
“I don’t know. I thought you knew!”
“Well, I didn’t!”
“Obviously. Hey! You can’t tell Mom I told you.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll kill me
, that’s why not.”
I sat thinking for some time.
“So, is that why George don’t like Sal?” I asked.
“Sure. He likes the old man. They go drinking together. The old man tells him all this junk about Mom…”
“What about Mom?”
“He tells him she’s crazy, junk like that. George believes him.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Mom tells me some, and Walter tells me the rest. Walter really hates the old man.”
“Is that why Walter and George hate each other?”
He nodded his head yes.
“Wow!” I said. “This sure answers a lot of questions. Things make a lot more sense now.”
“Yeah, well, now forget it!”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, and I don’t want to. He never did a damn thing for me or you or anybody. He’s nothing but a drunken bum.”
“I wonder why George likes him.”
“’Cause he’s a drunk too. Drunks like each other. They help each other stay drunk.”
“Maybe if George didn’t drink, he’d see the old man never did anything for anybody. Maybe then he wouldn’t like him either.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s gonna be hard for me not to say anything.”
“Well, try.”
“I’ll try. It sure messes up all my dreams, though.”
“What dreams?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I wanted Sal to marry Mom and be my father someday, that’s all.”
“Forget it. Mom can’t marry Sal until the old man’s dead.”
“Yeah, I know. Look at that. I only found out he was alive ten minutes ago, and already I wish he were dead.”
“Join the crowd.”
Jerome and I looked through his stamp collection. I tried to keep my mind on what he was saying about the stamps, but it was hard. So many things ran through my mind. So many questions and so many answers. Questions I wanted to ask, and answers I now understood.
The ride back home was fairly quiet. Gene fell asleep on Mom’s lap.
“I’m leaving the bus company,” Sal broke the silence.
“What!” Mom said. “Why?”
“I got a better job.”
“Doing what?”
“Driving a tractor trailer from one state to another.”
“Will you go away for long periods of time?” Mom asked.
I perked up to hear the answer.
“Three or four weeks at a clip.”
“Really?” I asked.
“It’ll be all right, son. You’ll be in school and busy with your work. I’ll see you each time I get back.”
I sat in the back and sulked. I didn’t want Sal to go away. I didn’t want him to go away at all! He reached back and started to tickle me.
“Stop!” I laughed.
“As soon as you get rid of the sour puss, I’ll stop.”
He continued to tickle and I continued to laugh.
“Next summer,” he said, “I’ll take you with me.”
“On a truck trip!”
“Yep!”
“Oh, boy!” I said. Suddenly it wasn’t such a bad idea. I would love to go on a trip with Sal. “Okay,” I added.
“Okay, what?” he asked.
“You can take the job.”
Sal burst out with laughter.
Sal went on the road. I missed him from the moment he left.
I kept my word to Jerome. Even though he hadn’t made me promise, I kept my word. Knowing my father was still alive sure made a difference with understanding why George did and said the things he did. And when Walter and he argued, and Walter said he was no better than the old man, I knew who he was talking about. I guess what bothered me the most was: why hadn’t Mom told me about him?
Mom, Gene, and I were watching Rama of the Jungle one Saturday. Rain was falling heavily and there was plenty of lightning. It made the picture on the television jump all over the place. Walter had gone to do some extra work at school before the term started. George was getting ready to go out. The television picture went totally fuzzy. Mom tried fixing the buttons, but nothing happened.
“George,” she called, “could you fix this?”
He came in from his bedroom in a huff. “What?”
“Can you fix the picture?” she asked.
“It’s the antenna,” he said. “It has to be adjusted.”
“Can you adjust it?”
“For Christ’s sake. I gotta go. I don’t have time to screw around on the roof.”
“I only asked. You don’t have to get so angry.”
“Why don’t you get Sal to fix it? He seems to be able to fix everything.”
“If he weren’t on the road, he probably would,” she said.
George stormed out of the house.
“I’ll fix the antenna,” I said.
“No you won’t. You’re too little.”
“I’m not too little,” Gene said. “I’ll fix it.”
Mom laughed. She went to the closet and put on her coat. I was angry at George for what he said about Sal. I wondered how long it would be before I said something.
“I’ll be right back,” Mom said as she left for the roof.
Gene and I sat in front of the television and watched the fuzzy screen. A few minutes later it started to clear.
“That’s pretty good,” Gene said.
“Yeah, not bad.”
I was watching Rama’s friend feed his parrot, when I heard a crashing sound.
“That sounded like it came from the hall.”
I opened the front door and listened. Other people on the floors above us had heard it too. Some of them were opening their doors. I heard a scream. I dashed up the stairs and reached the third-floor landing. A number of people were already in the hall; others were still coming out. As I turned onto the last flight toward the roof, I saw Mom. She was lying faceup on the stairs. She was bleeding from her nose and mouth. Her eyes were closed.
“Mom!” I screamed.
I reached down. I wanted to hold her or something, when a man grabbed me.
“Don’t touch her,” he yelled. “I think her neck is broken.”
“Oh, my God!” I cried.
“I think she’s dead,” somebody said.
“No, no. She can’t be dead. She isn’t dead.”
I struggled to free my arms, but I couldn’t. “Let me go!” I screamed.
“No, son, I can’t.”
Two policemen rushed past me.
“Get these people outta here,” one of them yelled.
“Let me go!” I yelled.
“Who’s he?” the policeman asked the man holding my arms.
“I think he’s her son.”
“Now, son, calm down,” he said. “We’re gonna help your mother.”
“Is she dead?”
“No, son. She’s not.”
Two more policemen rushed past us. They were carrying blankets. My knees started to wobble. I was feeling weak all over.
“Where’s my brother?” I asked.
“He’s in my apartment,” someone said.
The policemen lifted Mom. They slowly carried her down the stairs. When she was within reach of me, I wanted to touch her.
“Let me go, please,” I begged.
The man released his grip and I staggered forward. I managed to touch her hand. I kissed it.
“I love you, Mom,” I cried.
They carried her away.
12
The lady from the Child Welfare Bureau got out of her side of the car and came around to mine.
“Well, here we are,” she said cheerfully.
I looked up at the cold gray stone building. As far up as I could see, the windows were covered with either wire mesh or bars. We were somewhere in Brooklyn.
She pushed open the entrance door and motioned for me to go first. I touched the brown paper bag I had tucked under my arm to assure myself I had it. I went
in through the door and she followed.
The front hallway was tiled an ugly green, the center of which had worn down to a sick pale yellow by a million shuffling feet. She pushed open the second door and again gestured for me to go first. Inside, there was a fat lady with a polka-dot dress sitting at a desk. On the front of her desk was a sign that read “Stop here!” The lady’s hair was pulled back and pinned.
“Good afternoon,” the lady who brought me in said.
“Name?” the fat lady said without looking up at us.
“Tell the nice lady your name.”
“Jennings.”
“First name?”
“That is my first name.”
“Last name?”
“Burch.”
She scribbled my answers on a paper.
“Age?”
“Ten and a half.”
“Residence?”
I hesitated to think.
“Where do you live?” she asked. She was impatient.
“Nowhere,” I said.
“Any clothing?”
I touched the bag under my arm. “A shirt.”
“Wait a minute,” the lady who brought me interrupted. “He lives at—”
“It doesn’t matter,” the fat lady said. “His records will be here soon enough. Wait in there!” She looked at me but pointed to a door on the far side of the room.
I left the desk and headed for the green metal door.
“‘Bye now,” the lady who brought me called out. “Have a good time.”
I didn’t bother to answer her or look back. She was either very new at her job or blind. I pushed open the heavy door and went in.
The room was large and bare. There was one metal bench and a small wooden table along one wall. A few children’s books were scattered on the tabletop and one on the floor. I picked up the book from the floor. It was dog-eared and torn. I put it on the table. Someone has scribbled something across one of the pages. I turned it around to see what it said. “God dam lier” was written in crayon across the faces of a man, a woman, a boy, and a girl. The page was the letter F for “family.”
I sat at the edge of the bench and opened my bag. I took out Doggie.
“Here we are.”
I looked around the room. The frosted-glass window was covered by a rusted old wire-mesh grating. A radiator beneath the window sputtered out steam and some dirty brown water. The paint on the wall was worn away in the area of the water. Little chips of paint had fallen from the ceiling over the years but were never swept away. Only one of the two globe lamps that hung from the center of the ceiling was lit. The room was dark and gloomy.
They Cage the Animals at Night Page 18