Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  "Trust me," Chris said, "they don't care a hill of beans. They done told me that."

  "You might be surprised. People's hearts can change in a minute if a loved one's threatened."

  "You didn't threaten me."

  "I whipped your thieving little hide, didn't I?"

  "That don't count. Did you mean it about me going home with you?"

  "Certainly."

  "I don't believe it. Really?"

  "Yes, really."

  "Are you mad at me for hiding? What were you dreaming? You didn't really kill someone, did you?"

  "Hey, one question at a time." Daniel could see the boy's outline with the flashlight on again and his eyes more accustomed to the dark. "How could I be mad? You're my friend, little buddy. I tried to find you but you were gone." He paused. "Matter of fact, if I had my choice of traveling companions, I'd pick you." He reached out and patted Chris's head. "When a man comes out from a—a nightmare like I just had, he needs a good friend to lean on."

  "What was it about? The nightmare. You scared the shit out of me."

  "Don't cuss!" Daniel said, his voice stern. "I don't know if I'd tell a young squirt your age what the nightmare was. It's too scary."

  "I'm not a innocent little kid. I seen things most kids never would. So come on. Was it about the man—or men you said you killed? You didn't really do it, did you?"

  "I did, and I'm sorry." Daniel's tears started again, and he was glad it was dark. "In the war. I killed men in the war. I didn't want to, but they said I had to."

  Chris listened as Daniel explained about the war. Finally he said, "You had to kill your enemies or they'd kill you."

  "That's right. But it tore my heart out to shoot another human being." He paused a minute. "My best friends died in the war, Chris—Milt, Leonard, Frank, Big Woody. They were good boys, each with his own family. Moms, dads, and wives. Now they're gone, and ol' Shine's still alive. It ain't fair."

  "Who's Shine?"

  "That's me, it's a nickname they gave me." He sighed. "The good ones died, but the worthless one survived."

  "You ain't worthless," Chris said. "Don't say that again. You want worthless? My—my dad, he's worthless. All he knows is how to make more kids he don't want." His voice broke. "I even thought about stabbing him once."

  "But you couldn't," Daniel said, shocked by the confession. "Just like I couldn't. Thank the Lord most people are civilized. There's so much good in this life, but when I have one of those nightmares, I forget what it is."

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, feeling the car sway on the tracks.

  "You don't understand, do you?" Daniel said. "I can't expect a boy to know what I'm talking about."

  "It scares me. I'm not afraid of most things, but this scares me."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

  "It's okay."

  "No, it ain't okay, Mr. Christopher. War is hell."

  "Yeah." Chris paused then asked again, "Did you mean it about taking me home?"

  "Sure did."

  A banjo note floated through the boxcar. Then another, the same one over and over.

  "This thing needs some new strings," Chris said. "It's only got one left." He plucked the single string again. Plink. Plink. Plink.

  "I'll fix it for you someday."

  The note stopped.

  "Daniel?"

  "What?"

  "I'm glad you're not mad."

  "I couldn't stay mad at you if my life depended on it," Daniel said. "You remind me of myself in a lot of ways. Better get some rest before we get to the city."

  "What are we going to do there?"

  "Going to eat first thing. Then I need to see some folks about work. I can't go home till I have a job. I wouldn't dare face my wife after running out on her, unless I found work to support my family with."

  "What's her name, your wife?"

  "Her name's LaDaisy." The name rolled off Daniel's tongue as smooth as silk. "Prettiest little woman on earth."

  Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Chris said, "Daniel? You awake? You're not having another nightmare, are you?"

  "I'm awake, and I'm all right."

  "I just remembered what somebody told me about dreams," Chris said. "I don't know if this works, cause I never tried it. "

  Daniel straightened up and tried to see the boy. "What's this about, Chris? I'll try most anything to make these bad dreams stop."

  Chris plucked the string again. "It sounds dumb. But you can chase your nightmares away. Then they won't be scary anymore."

  "Is that right?"

  "I don't know how you can do it, Daniel. Maybe you can figure it out."

  Daniel became thoughtful. "Well, you'd have to know you're dreaming while you're dreaming. How the heck could you do that?"

  "Don't ask me."

  "I'll give it some thought ... before the next nightmare happens."

  The train rolled northwesterly from Springfield, sometimes with as much as a half-hour layover at some small town before moving on again.

  Daniel couldn't sleep and lay awake making plans. He couldn't jump off the train just any old place now. There was Chris to think of. He had to consider what effect his decisions would have on this boy.

  Though it was still dark, he knew they were on the eastern edge of the metropolis after passing through Swope Park. Lights popped on in houses and streetlights twinkled in the distance. Familiar scenery rolled by as he counted city blocks. After the freight crossed the Blue River, before the tracks looped back into the city proper, he shook Chris awake.

  "Come on, son, it's time to go."

  "Wh—where are we?"

  "Kan' City. Come on, it's about time to get off. We'll be slowing down soon."

  He helped the boy up, steadied him, led him to the door.

  "Watch your step here ... can you still jump?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  The freight announced its presence with a loud blast and blowing smoke, chugging slowly through the outskirts of the city before slowing to a snail's pace. Daniel felt the familiar surroundings enclose him as he helped a sleepy Chris to the ground.

  They stood a good distance from the tracks, watching freight cars roll by in the near darkness, wheels clacking as each car bumped and swayed on the rails. The train was long, and they couldn't see the engine or coal car up ahead. A cloud of smoke filled the air as Daniel picked up his gunnysack and likewise Chris the banjo.

  "Did you count all the cars?" Daniel asked Chris as the caboose vanished far ahead.

  "Nope. Bet there's a hundred."

  "Well, c'mon. I don't know if anything's open at this hour, but let's find a place to eat."

  "I don't have any money."

  "Didn't think you had any. Anyhow, you ain't going to pick any pockets up here, unless you want me to lay a strap on you—at the very least—or go to jail, at the most."

  He mentally calculated the coins in his purse. By feeding two people, they'd soon be gone. But it couldn't be helped. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't feed a hungry boy. If Chris got any skinnier, even the banjo-strings wouldn't hold his pants up.

  "Boy, I'm thirsty," Chris said, "Got any water?"

  They stopped walking and Daniel pulled his canteen from the gunnysack.

  "Go easy till we find a place to fill it up again."

  Stopping under a street lamp, he pulled the scrap of paper with the employment address out of his pocket. He could barely make it out in the dim light: 1908 Main. Two-story yellow brick next to Monroe Hotel.

  He looked up at the street sign as Chris unzipped his pants and peed in the gutter. 15th Street. He'd often passed that way going to the West Bottoms or driving someone to the train depot.

  He thought of Union Station, where he'd climbed aboard a troop train with a group of young men called to duty. South of the station, the Liberty Memorial rose majestically for 217 feet, its tower inscribed: In honor of those who served in the world war in defense of liberty and our country. The n
ames of Kansas City's war dead engraved on bronze tablets in the Memory Hall were burned into his heart.

  "Holy smoke, Chris, we got a long way to go. How the heck did we get way over here?"

  "What's wrong? Are we in Colorado or something?"

  Daniel laughed. "Nope, still in Missouri. But we're too far east. We should've stayed on the train a little longer. But the closer we'd come to the rail yards, the more chance of getting caught." He stuck the paper back in his pocket.

  "What would they do if they caught us?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Put us in jail?"

  "Prob'ly," Daniel said. "And throw away the key. I've got me enough worries without going to jail. First time in over a year, I see a chance to find a good job. I ain't going to blow it." He stretched his arms and shoulders and picked up his sack again. "It took me long enough, but I finally realized there ain't no better place than home."

  "I never had much of one anyway." There wasn't the slightest hint of whining in the boy's voice. "Maybe I'll get a job, too."

  "Well, come on, then," Daniel said. "We got some walking to do. If we're lucky, we might find a cheap restaurant open so we can fire up our engines." He looked at the boy in the morning light as it crept across the sky, glad to see what he looked like again after traveling in darkness together. "Think you can do it? My feet hurt, but we don't have a choice." He took stock of their surroundings. "You carry ol' Betsy and I'll lug this here gunnysack and all these tools in my pockets."

  "Hey, Daniel, I got an idea."

  Daniel stopped walking and turned to the boy, who stood waving the banjo in the air.

  "What are you talking about? And stop swinging that around before you crack somebody's head open."

  "It's this, Daniel, this here banjo. Can you play it?"

  Daniel thought for a minute, staring at the instrument.

  "Well, I use to could. But as you see, it ain't got but only one string left."

  "Yeah," Chris said. "But see, if you put more strings on it you can play it on the street. I saw people do that."

  "Now wait just a darn minute."

  Chris's thoughts raced out of control.

  "And you know what?"

  Daniel watched him in amazement. "No, what?"

  "I don't know why I didn't think of this before. But if you play it uptown on the sidewalk, people will stop and listen—and they'll throw money at us."

  "Right, like an organ grinder and a monkey with a tin cup. You got any more bright ideas? Besides, you'd have to be the monkey, 'cause I can't hop, climb, or swing by my tail no more."

  He took the instrument and examined it. Plucked the string. Closed one eye and peered at Chris with the other. "What would we do for strings? There's only one on this here banjo, and the two holding up your pants are useless."

  Chris nodded enthusiastically. "We might have five strings right here." He fished in his pocket, brought out a handful of strings and handed them to Daniel. "See if there's enough."

  "What th' hell? Where'd you get these?"

  "I was hanging around the freight yard last night and noticed a broken banjo someone put in the garbage. I took off the strings and other pieces you might need."

  "You just knew we were going to meet up again, right?"

  Chris grinned, and Daniel started laughing hysterically.

  "You're a sneaky little boy, ain't you? Had it all planned out." Tears ran down his face and he couldn't stop laughing. He wiped his eyes and examined the strings. "If I have enough, I'll use the old string to repair this loose armrest."

  "Hey, don't use the good strings for that," Chris said. "Take the broken ones. I don't care if my underwear falls off. Here, I'll take 'em off right now so you can get the strings."

  He tugged on his pants, but Daniel stopped him.

  "Hold your horses. You're not taking your pants off in the middle of the city. Bad enough you had to wet in the street."

  "It was dark."

  "Well it ain't that dark anymore, so you're not doing it." He paused. "Ok, I'll stick the strings in the gunnysack. When it gets light, I'll see how to repair that banjo. But maybe they ain't good, either. A broken banjo's often got broken strings. Then what?"

  "Then we're screwed till we find some."

  Daniel got down in Chris's face. "Look here, kid, if you're coming home with me, you'd better clean up the street talk."

  "Oh, gee whiz, Daniel. Screwed ain't dirty. Lots of people screw things."

  Daniel looked at him from the corner of his eyes. "You got a smart mouth, you know that? Humph." He nudged the boy along. "Come on, let's get moving."

  The pair made good time on foot. By the time the sky turned pink in the east, they were lucky to catch a ride to 15th and Main on the bed of a produce truck bound for City Market on 5th Street. The driver pulled the truck to the curb, got out, and let down the tailgate.

  "Thank ya, kindly," Daniel said. "The ride saved us some blisters, corns, and cussin'."

  The farmer sized him up and also gave Chris the once-over.

  "Where y'all coming from?"

  "Springfield," Daniel said. "I heard there might be work up here."

  "I wouldn't bet on it."

  Daniel shrugged and pulled his gunnysack off the truck bed as Chris jumped to the ground.

  "It's just about the last thing in the world I can count on."

  "For the boy's sake, I wish you luck." The man turned to Chris. "Your dad taking good care of you? When's the last time you ate?"

  "My—?" Chris hunched his shoulders up to his ears. "Who knows? Can't remember when I ate last." He turned to Daniel. "Hey Dad, did I eat yesterday?"

  Daniel grinned. "Yeah, I think so, Son."

  The farmer climbed on the truck bed and gathered some pears and apples from a bushel basket, a loaf of homemade bread, and a pie in a tin plate. He got down and handed the crusty loaf to Chris.

  "Wow, thanks!" Chris sniffed the bread with a satisfied sigh as Daniel accepted the fruit.

  "Put 'em in your poke, mister. Here's a fresh blueberry pie, too."

  Daniel hesitated, his mouth watering. "Well, now I—"

  The man pushed the pie at him. "Go on, take it. The wife would want you to have it, though she might wish for her pie plate back. Besides, with business slow, I doubt I'll even sell half the stuff I got here. For pennies, I might add."

  He got back in his truck before Daniel could protest, and left them standing by the side of the road as he drove up Main toward the market.

  Daniel remembered City Market well, for he'd often brought homegrown tomatoes, peppers, onions, and green beans to sell. Sometimes the price was right; sometimes not. Sometimes it barely covered the rent. It was either pay the rent or the doctor bills, and with him out of work he couldn't do both. His gut jolted as he realized how close he was to home.

  "I think our luck's about to change," he said to Chris.

  Clutching the loaf of bread to his chest like a gold brick, Chris stood with his nose in the air like a hound with a treed possum. At the sound of Daniel's voice, he turned.

  "What?"

  "Something wrong?"

  "No." Chris shook his head. "I just never been to a big city before. Look at all this stuff."

  Chris stared at the buildings and streetcar tracks like he was in Wonderland, and Daniel's heart warmed.

  LaDaisy's gonna love him.

  He shouldered the gunnysack. "We'd best be moving on. We can stand here gawking all day, but I got things to do. Let's find us a place to eat these goodies. I need to fill up my water jug, too. There's a drugstore across the street. Maybe they'll spare some water and let us use the toilet."

  Chris held the loaf in one arm, the banjo in the other. He waited outside the drugstore while Daniel went in and returned a few minutes later with the water.

  "They said we can use the toilet but leave it clean. I just washed my hands for now so I can eat." He looked sternly at Chris. "Run along inside and clean your own hands."

 
A few minutes later they found a secluded spot next to a building and sat down to feast on the bread. Daniel bowed his head.

  "Thank you, Lord, for this blessing of food. Amen." He broke the loaf completely in half.

  "Amen," Chris echoed.

  A newsboy came along the sidewalk, glanced at the pair, then tossed a folded Kansas City Times in the doorway of the building. Daniel retrieved the newspaper and sat down to read. The headlines were not good: the economy was getting worse. A large inside spread was all about the upcoming November election, with a lot of political stuff about Mr. Hoover and Mr. Roosevelt.

  He liked what he read about the wealthy presidential candidate. Both Franklin and his wife, Eleanor, looked like decent folks. They understood the common man's grief in the Depression. He thought the country couldn't do any worse by electing FDR. The man had some good ideas.

  He opened the classified section and searched the few job listings. There was nothing he could do, mostly office work or back-breaking work at the stockyards. A small jazz band advertised for a piano player, another for a singer, specifically a white one. Daniel could neither sing nor play a piano. He remembered the area: a few blocks away lay the segregated district, where young black men hung out on street corners. At night, lively jazz and soul music poured out of the bars and pool halls. Black men could sing—boy could they ever sing, or jig or toot a trumpet.

  When he'd finished reading, he refolded the paper and tossed it back in the doorway, then leaned back against the building and closed his eyes, feeling good about being so near home.

  "You have to go to school," he said.

  Chris shook his head. "Nope. Not going to school."

  "It's the law. You don't have any say."

  "But—"

  "No buts. What kind of man would I be if I didn't send you to school?" Never mind the kind who'd leave his family to struggle while he traipsed all over the country.

  "I ain't going."

  "We'll see. Soon as we get settled somewhere and buy you some decent rags, I'll go to the courthouse and get temporary custody of you. If what you say about your family's true, it shouldn't be too hard."

  "You don't own me."

  "That's right, I don't. But you're underage. You need a guardian. I don't intend to go to jail for kidnapping."