She went back upstairs and Johnny moved. We carefully wiped the cement chips off the vinyl but when we put it back on the record player the needle jumped from the front to the middle then slid off making a terrible unmusical sound.
The pope was right. Sin had cost us the price of a record. And we weren’t sure about our future. But we all left that basement feeling very grown up. We had learned the line and knew sin could indeed come from a place called Happy.
Back in Tommy’s basement with the dirty book we jumped up and he put the book back and put the sheet metal on top of it and grabbed the sinkers and put those into the box so fast I was afraid he would drop them and his father would hear what we were doing and then kill both of us. As you can see, there was a lot of killing going on. And that would happen before I got the chance to rub myself again while thinking about ploughing, whatever that meant.
Tommy put the top tray in just as we heard the door at the top of the stairs open. He closed the box and slid it back to where it was under a shelf on the work bench and I could see Tommy’s father’s legs coming down the stairs.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked. His voice was not friendly.
“Just playing,” said Tommy.
“What are you playing?”
“Nothing,” said Tommy.
“Well, you two get out of here and don’t go snooping around. I’ve got rat traps set everywhere and if you stick your finger in one, it will break your finger right off.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we ran up the stairs and out into the dark early evening.
“See, that’s sex,” said Tommy. “You got to be careful about it.”
“I know about sex,” I said. “I saw Vanessa naked that night.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.”
“Not.”
“What’d you want to do?”
“Don’t know. Want to get a comic and a Coke?”
We came up with fifteen cents and went to Matty’s and got a Superman comic and one small Coke. If we had a penny more it could have been a Cherry Coke, but plain was okay. Tommy drank first because he had put in a dime. Then I drank from the other side of the glass. If we both drank from the same side it would be like you were out with a girl. The comic was between us on the counter and this, we both said, was a better story than the woman in the carriage, even if it didn’t have sex.
Rock Paper Scissors. Slap
“That hurts.”
“It’s supposed to hurt.”
“Ready?”
I nodded.
“One, two, three.”
I threw out rock. Jimmy Lee threw out scissors.
“Ha,” I said.
He held out his right hand. The top of his wrist was almost bleeding. The rules were you could not switch hands. He made a fist. I licked the underside of my index finger and middle finger, took his fist in my hand and smacked down as hard as I could on the tender skin with my wet fingers.
“Owww.”
You could yell as loud as you wanted, but no flinching. If you flinched you got hit again.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
Rock Paper Scissors was not just a way of deciding who went first, it was the game that kept us going when we needed an instant game because there was no one else around or no balls to throw or no comics to read.
“One, two, three.”
He threw out scissors again and I was standing there with paper, a flat hand and a stupid move. I should have known he was going to repeat what he did last. He always repeated it, but I forgot.
He laughed. I held out my wrist. It was in worse shape than his. The blood was running over my wrist bone and dripping on the street.
“You want to quit?” he asked.
“Not until you do.”
He licked his fingers and smack. The pain went up to my eyebrows. I almost felt myself flinch, but not quite. I looked at him and my breath was short. Would he call me for that or not?
He looked into my eyes.
“Ready?”
He didn’t call me. Sometimes you can tell a real friend.
“Wanna quit?” he asked.
That was not the question of do you want to quit because you’ve had enough but do you want to call it a night. We had our fun. Let’s do something else.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.
“Tommy said you have some gin.”
I had found a bottle in the bottom of the closet, behind the broom.
“So?”
“Tommy said maybe we could have some.”
I was angry.
“Tommy’s not going to tell me who I am going to give gin to.”
Jimmy Lee stepped back. “I wasn’t saying he was saying you would give it away. I was just saying maybe sometime Tommy says we could see what it tastes like.”
“Maybe, I’ll let you know. I’m going home now.”
I ate my hot dogs and watched my mother drink her tea and I had my milk and she went to bed with her cigarette and her book and I went to the closet and pulled back the broom.
It looked like water and it was three quarters full. I had told Tommy I knew about gin because he said his father drank it every night and I didn’t want to sound like I didn’t know what gin was, so I told him my mother has gin too, and then I said it tastes pretty good.
That was when he said he knew how it tasted and maybe we could taste some of my mother’s, and I said maybe. But that was all I said. Now Jimmy Lee thinks that he can have some.
I went to bed thinking about the gin. It looks like water, I was thinking, when I fell asleep. At least I know I fell asleep because I saw the train going by and everyone in the windows of every car was drinking gin in glasses that I could see and I watched them and I thought it looked like water.
The next day after school I saw Tommy and told him he shouldn’t say I was giving away gin.
“Didn’t say that. I didn’t say it,” he said.
“Jimmy Lee said you did. And you said he could have some.”
“Didn’t,” he said.
“But if you have some, could we taste it so I can tell you if it is different than what my father drinks?” said Tommy.
I don’t know how I let him talk me into it. I knew it was wrong. But I hated to say no to Tommy because he was what I wanted to be. He had a father who did not go to the bar.
“Alright, you can have some, but just a little because my mother knows how much is in the bottle.”
I was just saying that when Jimmy Lee and Johnny and Vinnie and Buster were coming down the street.
“Want some gin?” asked Tommy.
“Don’t,” I said, but it was too late.
“My fadder drinks gin,” said Vinnie.
“I thought your father drinks wine,” said Johnny.
“He does, but he also drinks gin. He loves gin.”
We came to a stop in front of my place, and I let them in the door.
“Shhhh, Mrs. Kreuscher is upstairs.”
Mrs. Kreuscher was the landlady and sometimes I could hear her at the top of the stairs and sometimes she would call down to me not to smoke because I might burn down the building.
I almost never saw Mr. Kreuscher, but one time when I was hunting around the cellar I found that typewriter of Mr. Kreuscher’s that I knew was old. I could see the letter J was yellow. I knew that was from the nicotine on his finger. But what I found in a box under the typewriter was a lot more impressive.
I opened the lid and there was nothing in it. So I started to close it but then I thought it was strange that there was nothing in the box because there is always something in a box, otherwise why did you have a box?
So I opened it again and put my hand in. There, I knew there was something in there. It was hard and cold under my fingers and almost round but I could not see it. I slid my hand down to the bottom.
I know what this is, I thought.
I put my fingertips under the edge at the bottom and lifted out a very
heavy steel Army helmet. It was so heavy. How could they wear this on their heads?
It was from World War I. I knew that because of the shape and the rim around the edge at the bottom.
Then I saw a gouge along the side. I put my finger in it. That was a bullet that did that. I put the helmet on my head and it was even heavier than when I was holding it. I put my finger in the gouge. If the strap went down here under my chin then the gouge would have started right in the front of the helmet. That means it probably would have gone right past the front of his head and when it hit the helmet it would have smashed the steel into his skull.
I was scared just pretending it happened to me, and I was in the cellar all alone with no one shooting at me.
But now I wasn’t alone. And now we didn’t have the enemy, we had the landlady.
“Shhh,” I said again. “Mr. Kreuscher may be sleeping.”
They tiptoed to the end of the hallway and I opened our door with another key. Once we were inside, Tommy took out a pack of Camels.
“Anyone want a smoke?”
We all lit up. It was so grown up. We puffed and inhaled and blew smoke rings.
“Where’s the gin?” asked Tommy.
I opened the closet door and reached behind the broom and took out the bottle.
“I drink mine with water,” said Tommy.
“Me too,” said Vinnie.
I opened the bottle and poured a little into a couple of glasses.
“I could drink some more,” said Tommy.
“No way, my mother would notice it gone.”
I put some water from the tap into the glasses and handed them to Tommy and Vinnie.
“Got some ice?” asked Tommy.
“Sure, of course, I always use ice,” I said.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled open the freezer compartment door, taking out an ice tray. It was frozen over the top. I pulled a handle and the ice cracked and I took out a few cubes and put them into the glasses. They clanked.
“I like that sound,” said Tommy.
He took a glass and sipped it then handed it to me. I took a sip. Ugh. It was awful and I felt a tingle in my lips and a burning in my throat.
“That’s good,” I said, but I wasn’t able to say it clearly. I was trying to cover up the bad taste that was holding my tongue.
“Give me some,” said Vinnie.
I handed him the other glass. He drank and spit it back into the glass.
“Yuck,” said Vinnie.
“Come on, that’s gross. Now you have to drink it all,” said Tommy.
Vinnie looked terrified. “I can’t drink that. It tastes like poison. It tastes like the time you pissed in my orange soda.”
“We didn’t piss in your orange soda,” said Johnny.
But Johnny didn’t know that we did. We were playing cards in Johnny’s cellar and peed in Vinnie’s soda when he was outside in the lane to do the same. Johnny was upstairs checking on his father. When Vinnie came back and took a drink, he spit it out all over the cards.
“I’m going to kill you guys,” he said.
But we laughed and after Vinnie washed his mouth out with some Coke he laughed too, but I remember that he didn’t really look like he was laughing. He looked more like he wanted to kill someone.
Then Johnny came back down and wanted to know how the cards got so wet and we told him we peed in Vinnie’s soda and he drank it. But Vinnie said that was not so, that he just spilled the soda.
We dried off the cards next to the furnace and tried to play again, but this time the cards all stuck to each other so we went outside and sat on the stoop and talked about what we would do if there was another war.
“If I get drafted I’m never taking off my helmet,” I said.
“You can’t sleep in your helmet,” said Buster.
“Yes I can, because a helmet can save your life.”
“Can not, a bullet will go right through it,” said Vinnie.
“How do you know?” asked Tommy.
“Cause my father was at D-Day. He drove a landing craft and he said he saw hundreds of guys get killed as soon as they ran off his boat. And some of them got shot right through the helmet.”
“He didn’t say that,” said Tommy.
“Did so. I know what my father said.”
“You’re making that up just to make us scared,” said Tommy.
“I don’t care what you say, I’m still going to sleep in my helmet,” I said. “I saw Mr. Kreuscher’s helmet and it saved his life.”
“Kreuscher’s a German name,” said Tommy. “Maybe he’s a Krout who stole the helmet.”
That’s when I got mad. Mr. Kreuscher was a nice man with no accent and he sometimes told my mother that it was okay for her to wait another week to pay the rent.
“Don’t say that or I’ll punch you.”
That was the end of the talk about war for that night. Now we were in my kitchen telling Vinnie he had to drink his gin.
“Can’t do it,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll drink it,” I said.
I took a swallow and almost gagged. Then I forced another gulp down because I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t.
I watched Tommy take another drink and I had another one. And I started to feel funny.
“Who else wants a drink?” I asked.
I poured some more gin into my glass and put some water and ice in and Jimmy Lee took a sip, but it was only a small one. Then I took another. Tommy finished his glass and wanted another. I poured some more in.
I started laughing and Tommy was laughing and I think everyone was laughing and we lit up more Camels and I held the smoke in my chest for a long time. I had never done that before. Then we finished the cigarettes and the bottle was half empty.
“I know how to fix that,” said Tommy. “Put water in it. It looks the same.”
So I held the top of the bottle under the tap and that was hard because I couldn’t hold the bottle still. But I got some water into it and screwed the cap back on and put it back behind the broom, but I had a hard time getting it down on the floor without knocking it over and then I couldn’t get the broom to stay in front of it. I kept laughing when the broom fell over.
Finally the bottle was behind the broom and that was funny. And we all went outside and I heard Mrs. Kreuscher close her door as we staggered through the hallway. Tommy kept banging into the walls. I wanted to tell him to be quiet, but I kept laughing.
A few hours later when my mother came home from work she said, “I’m having your aunt and uncle for dinner Saturday.” Then she looked at my face. “Are you sick? You look sick. You should go to bed.”
I thought I was going to die.
Christmas Eve
Miss Flag made us sing “Rudolph.” We had stopped singing “Old Black Joe” in the fall and now it was winter and we were singing about a reindeer. She played the piano in the auditorium and we sang, “You’ll go down in hist-or-ree.”
“It’s almost Christmas, children, and you know what that means.”
It was the only time she was not scolding us.
I knew what Christmas meant – time to make Manhattans. I was getting good at it. Three parts rye and one part sweet vermouth, with a dash of bitters.
Christmas was a happy time. Everywhere there were pictures of Santa going down the chimney with a carton of Camels sticking out of his pack. And the night before, my mother and I picked out a tree from the man who had them leaning up against the wall of the bar under the El. There were only five trees left and none of them came up to my shoulder.
“Are they on sale yet?” my mother shouted.
It was dark. It was cold. A train was going overhead. The bar was crowded, because it was Christmas Eve and that was a good place to celebrate, and the man with the trees was shivering. He had been there all day. He pulled his knitted Navy surplus hat down over his ears and blew out steam.
“A dollar fifty,” he said. He didn’t shout. The train had passed.
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“Are they going to go any cheaper later?” my mother asked.
He shook his head. “Then I might as well throw them out,” he said.
“But you can’t sell them tomorrow.”
I knew my mother made fifty dollars a week. I had once seen her paycheque.
“It’s Christmas Eve, you have to put them on sale,” she said.
“You want it, you buy it,” the man said. “The sale comes tomorrow.”
“But no one will buy them tomorrow.”
He dropped a scrawny tree on the ground. “You think I care? I got my own problems.”
I wanted to say something but that would have gotten them both mad at me, and besides, this was just the way Christmas trees were sold. You get mad.
“Okay, a dollar,” he said and smiled. “Now pick one and get out of here.”
I took the biggest one and my mother dug through her pocketbook for the money.
“Is that the one you want?” my mother asked me.
I nodded. “It’s the best one.”
“We can carry it together,” she said.
She took the heavy end, which wasn’t very heavy, and I held the other as we walked down the block with her in front. I looked back, and under the street light, I saw the steam coming out of the Christmas tree man’s mouth.
“I bet we could get it cheaper later,” I said to the back of my mother’s head, but she shook her head and when the street got quiet between the trains I could hear her sniffling, which meant she was crying.
We passed the other homes and I could see trees with lights in most of them. There were no other decorations.
When we got inside our apartment my mother said she wasn’t feeling well and had to lie down. I got out the tree stand from the corner of the cellar where we could store some of our stuff, and got the lights from the shoebox that was next to the stand and put the tree up and the lights on and plugged them in.
Nothing. There were two extra bulbs in the box. If one bulb was out they all would be out. So I unscrewed the first bulb and replaced it with one of the extras. Nothing. Then I unscrewed the replacement and put the original back. Then unscrewed the second and replaced it with the replacement. Nothing.
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