The Leap Year Boy

by Marc Simon

  Hannah smiled at her. This woman was so nice. She wished her own mother had been as nice. “Yes, he’s an angel.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Six.”

  “Six? He’s tiny.”

  “Yes. He’s fine, really healthy, but I’m taking him to a specialist to find out why he’s so little.”

  A conductor called out that the eleven o’clock Broadway Limited was leaving on track twelve and that passengers should be on board.

  “Is that your train, dear?”

  “What? Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Her feet tapped up and down. “Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The woman finished her apple. “To Indianapolis. To a funeral. My aunt.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “She had the cancer. It’s better she passed. And you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, I mean, where are you headed?”

  “Well, you see, I’m waiting for my husband. He’s a very busy man. He owns several metal fabricating plants, for the steel mills, and it’s so hard for him to get away from the office, you see, so he sent Alex and I ahead and he’ll be joining us later in the week on our vacation.”

  “I thought you said you were taking him to a specialist.”

  “Oh, I am, I am, and then Abe will join us. He loves Alex so much, it’s hard for him not to be there at the doctor’s, but work, you know.”

  “My husband worked himself to death hauling coal. Keeled over one day with a heart attack, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Hannah jolted back. “Oh my.”

  The woman got to her feet. “Well, I think I’ll buy myself a couple of magazines for the ride. Where did you say you were going?”

  Hannah glanced up at the big board. “Philadelphia. My father says that’s where they have the best doctors.”

  “Well, good luck with that boy of yours. He’s a cute one.”

  The woman had gone three paces when Hannah said, “Wait.” She walked up to her, glancing back twice at Alex. “Can I ask you a question?” She clutched the woman’s arm.

  The woman looked at Hannah’s hand. The knuckles were white. “My goodness, what is it, dear?”

  Hannah lowered her voice. “How do you buy a ticket? My husband didn’t explain.”

  The woman looked at Alex, then back at Hannah. “You sure your boy is all right?”

  “Oh yes, he’s just sleeping. He likes to nap.”

  The woman gently pulled Hannah’s hand from her sleeve. She pointed to the ticket counter across the concourse. “Go over there, dear, to the window. They’ll help you out. You just tell them where you want to go and they give you a ticket and then you pay for it.”

  Hannah looked as if she were going to burst into tears. “Of course. Thank you so much, you’re so kind.”

  “I have to go. Trains wait for no one, except the Pope and the President.” She squeezed Hannah’s hand. “Good luck in Philadelphia.”

  Hannah watched the woman disappear into the crowd at the far end of the concourse. She began to miss her dearly. Alex slept on the bench with his mouth slightly open. He looked so peaceful, she thought, she wished there were a photographer nearby to take his picture, she could pay, she had money. When she got to Philadelphia, she would arrange for a nice photograph of her and Alex in the park, on a marble bench, in front of a fountain, and he would wear a brand-new suit and she would be dressed in a simple white dress with flowers in her hair, pink baby roses.

  Alex moaned in his sleep, something about Arthur fighting the Germans. She looked at his little hands, clenched in fists, as if he were about to fight, too. She had to get the ticket. But the window was across the way and she couldn’t leave Alex alone on the bench. She shook him by the shoulders, and when he stirred slightly, she kissed his eyes over and over until he opened them. His breath was like liquor and licorice. She wet her handkerchief with saliva and wiped the corners of his mouth. “Sit up, Alex. Are you awake?”

  His cheeks were pale. He sat up and vomited his breakfast into her hands.

  She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed as she wiped her hands with her handkerchief. She opened the thermos of lemonade, poured some into the metal cap and held it up to his lips. “Here. This will make you feel better.”

  Alex pushed her hand away. “I don’t want it.”

  “How is your headache, dear?”

  He looked around, blinking, his pupils dilated. “Where are we?”

  “We’re on our adventure, sweetheart. This is the train station. It’s where all the trains come and go, everywhere—New York, St. Louis, Chicago.” She hugged him. “This is so exciting. But first we have to buy tickets. All right?” She took his hand and as she pulled him across the concourse, his legs wobbled.

  Joseph Mancuso, a former porter who’d worked his way up to ticket clerk, eyed Hannah and the little boy that dangled at her arm. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I need a ticket. Well two, actually, one for me and one for my son.”

  Mancuso leaned over the counter. “He’s under two years old, he don’t need one. He can ride on your lap.”

  She started to tell him that Alex was six, but then she’d have to explain a lot of things. “Oh. Oh, that’s fine, then.” She ran her hands over the bills in her bag. Her father had told her many times to be careful with her money, to keep it in her purse, don’t flash it around for people to see, you never know who might be a thief, people were out to steal you blind. “How much is a ticket?”

  Mancuso lit a cheroot. His wife had forbid him to smoke in their apartment, and according to the railroad’s rules he was allowed to smoke only on his break, but it was slow at eleven-thirty in the morning. “That depends on where you’re going, miss. What’s your destination?”

  “My destination?” It sounded so odd when he put it that way. New York, Chicago, St. Louis, Philadelphia, Washington, D.C. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

  “Miss?”

  “I’m sorry, I…Philadelphia. Yes, that’s it, we’re going to Philadelphia to see a specialist for my son.”

  Mancuso took another look at Alex. “You mean for those arms of his?”

  “My husband is a very important plant manager at a steel mill. They make all kinds of steel. He’ll be joining us.”

  “So you want two tickets to Philadelphia.”

  “Two? But you said he could ride on my lap.”

  Another doozy, Mancuso thought. “One for you, one for your husband.”

  “Wait. I have to see how much money I have.”

  “Lady, I ain’t told you the price yet.”

  Hannah laid her bag on the ground. “Just wait, please.”

  As soon as she let go of Alex’s hand, he started to run on unsteady legs in the opposite direction. Mancuso said, “Lady, your boy’s running off like he was in the Kentucky Derby.”

  “Alex!” She dropped her bag. She reached him in three strides and pulled him back. “You stay with me.”

  Mancuso waved a finger at him. “Listen to your mother, kid.”

  Alex screamed, “She’s not my mother! She’s not my mother.” He bit her hand.

  Hannah shook him off. “You’re hurting me.”

  Alex rubbed his eyes. “She’s not my mother!” He kept yelling despite Hannah’s efforts to quiet him. “My name is Alex Miller. I live on Mellon Street with my daddy. She’s not my mother.” Hannah put her hand over his mouth, but he bit her again. “She took me.”

  Hannah dumped a handful of bills on the ticket counter. “Please, give me a ticket, please, sir.” She took the Hostetter’s Bitters from her bag. “Now Alex, stop screaming and I’ll give you your medicine, all right?”

  Mancuso counted more than forty dollars. He watched Alex scream and spit as Hannah tried to make him drink from a bottle of medicine. Something was fishy here. He pressed a button beneath the countertop. Thirty seconds later, two burly security guards dressed in dark blue uniforms came trotting over.

>   Hannah sat on the floor with her arms flung around Alex, trying to hold him still. When she saw the guards she got to her knees. “Please. Please don’t take my baby away.”

  One of the guards picked up the bottle of tonic bitters, most of which had spilled on the floor. He looked at Mancuso, who nodded at Hannah and twirled his index finger in small circles next to his temple.

  The taller guard said, “Miss, what’s going on here?”

  “I’m sorry I made a mess. I’m taking my son to see the doctor.”

  “I’m not her son!” Alex screamed. “My name is Alex Miller. My daddy works for Shields Metals. He lets her watch me when he’s at work, but today is the last day.”

  “Alex, no,” she said. She tried to touch him, but he clung to the guard’s leg.

  The shorter guard patted Alex on the head. “Calm down, sonny. We’ll figure this out. Now, miss, what did you say your name was?”

  Hannah put her hands over her ears. Why did they have to keep asking her questions? Why couldn’t they just give her the ticket and show her where they could get on the train? She’d given them money. All she wanted to do was go to Philadelphia, or was it Indianapolis, but that didn’t matter, because what was important was that they were together, she and her baby. But now these big men were there and they didn’t understand. She pointed at Mancuso. “He said he would give me a ticket.”

  Mancuso made the crazy sign again. He’d already pocketed the forty dollars.

  “Sure. Sure he did.” The guard squatted down next to Alex. “She’s your mommy, right?”

  “No. She just watches me. My mommy is dead.” He pointed at Hannah. “Her name is Hannah Gerson. My name is Alex Miller.”

  The guard looked at Hannah, who was shivering and hugging herself. “Can you tell me what happened, Alex?”

  “She tried to take me away.”

  Chapter 28

  If it had been up to Mayor Willie McGee, he would have issued a proclamation declaring free admission to the circus to every child under 16 in the city, thinking that it would be a good investment in his political future. However, his campaign advisors put the kibosh on the noble idea, patiently explaining that, even as powerful as he was, he had no legal basis with which to order a privately owned business to give away their product, and, what’s more, if the city had to foot the bill for thousands of admissions, the money would have to come from his re-election fund. Mayor Willie dropped the idea. Ironically, he wasn’t elected mayor again until 1922.

  The circus arrived in town on a typical Pittsburgh 3-H day—hot, humid and hazy. Despite the overheated, carbon monoxide-clogged air, children and their parents turned out in the thousands to gawk and cheer at the circus’ grand parade as it proceeded through the heart of the city. Children of all ages, on bikes and on foot, raced after the horse-drawn calliope wagon, whose enticing pipe organ drew them on like the piper of legend, and they pushed and shoved to see who would be first to touch the gaily painted vehicle. The crowd ooh-ed and awed and waved American flags at the colorfully dressed elephants, which were clad in every color of the rainbow except their natural gray. They thrilled to the enormity of the beasts and elbowed each other for a closer look, marveling at the size of their poop. They gasped at the wild-haired snake charmer, a sinewy Sri Lankan woman festooned with a green python that slithered around her neck. Housewives swooned and fanned themselves at the sight of the poster-handsome ringmaster, who rode atop the United States Bandwagon, a splendid vehicle over seventeen feet long, decorated front to back, top to bottom, in splendid American symbols—gleaming red, white and blue wheels, intricate scrolls of golden flowers and laurel wreaths, buxom gold-winged mermaids, fierce Indian warriors on horseback, fetching tight-bodiced Indian maidens and marching Revolutionary War patriots, all done in bas-relief against a backdrop of the stars and stripes. Carved on the wagon’s precipice was a stately bald eagle with a writhing snake in its beak.

  Next came a wagon packed with clowns, which the onlookers alternately cheered and jeered. The children either pointed and laughed or hid behind their mothers’ skirts. Walking along behind them were jugglers, unicyclists and trapeze artists, waving and throwing kisses and wondering how long it would be until the end of the parade, when they could get their pre-performance meal. Lions, tigers and bears rolled by, asleep in the midday heat, followed by animal trainers, carpenters, gaffers and various roustabouts who would gladly have taken a nap as well. All in all, the procession was close to 100 wagons long. It was a show in and of itself and a spectacular tease for the evening to come.

  Alex missed the parade. He spent the morning with Delia and Benjamin at the Millers’ house, waiting for Abe to come home from work, where he had managed to convince Shields to give him the afternoon off if he took it without pay.

  Unable to contain his excitement, Alex careened from room to room, bouncing off the walls, figuratively and literally. Delia felt antsy, too. Here it was, finally, the day she’d been waiting for week after week, the day that kept her almost sane as she waited on drunken slobs at The Wheel and scraped the mess from their dinner plates into the garbage. Sometimes she would finish their half-eaten sandwiches or chicken legs so she could save her food money to buy decent clothes, maybe not as fine as the outfits she’d worn in New York, but fashionable shoes and a couple of dresses from Kaufmann’s with some style to them.

  She had on one of her best dresses, a flowery print with a cinched waist, and although she knew she was probably overdressed for the circus, she’d be damned if she’d go out in public looking like a peasant or a frumpy housewife. What’s more, she wanted Lotte to see her looking her best, that she hadn’t let the day-to-day drudgery of her life as a servant turn her into an unfashionable hag.

  Alex grabbed her hand. “When is Daddy coming home? When is Daddy coming home? I want to go to the circus now. Elephants. You said there would be elephants, and giraffes.”

  It was odd how the tiny little kid was always going on about the biggest of the beasts, she thought. “All right, all right, keep your pants on, we’re going as soon as your father gets home and has his lunch. And what about you? Did you eat that cheese sandwich I made you?”

  “I don’t want a sandwich. I want to go the circus.”

  The kid was wound tighter than a two-bit watch. He was making her nervous, and she never got nervous. It was going to take some smooth maneuvering to get him to toss the knives. “Now, Alex, do you remember what we talked about? How you are going to show my friend Lotte how you can throw the knives into the bull’s-eye? Remember how you promised me?”

  “You promised elephants and giraffes first.”

  “Right. Give me your pinky.” They looped their little fingers together. “O.K.?”

  “O.K.”

  She checked her watch. The plan was to get to the circus well before three o’clock, when they were supposed to meet Lotte and this Markham guy, the one that booked the talent, so Alex could see the animals in their cages before the show, and before he threw. It was past noon already. Where the hell was Abe? She decided she couldn’t wait any longer. “Alex, let’s get this show on the road. Benjamin, you tell your father we just couldn’t wait anymore, all right? We’ll meet you at the main entrance in a few hours. About four o’clock. Wait there for us.”

  *

  The oak trees were at their late summer fullest, and as he turned off Stratton Avenue and onto the far end of Mellon Street, Abe caught sight of the Browns’ little girl, whom he’d known since she was a toddler. She chased after her little brother around a thick tree trunk, and Abe thought, when had that tree gotten so big? It seemed as if the city had just planted them, but that was when Arthur was born, and that was, what, seventeen years ago now? They’d put them in every front yard, a feeble attempt to beautify the neighborhood, but half the saplings had died within a year. Irene had been so proud of their tree until it became infested with some kind of insect and rotted from the inside. Funny, he thought, how so many things reminded him of her.
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  A Ford Model T was parked in front of the Walsh’s house. They’d been the first on the block to have a car of their own. Abe couldn’t figure out how Walsh had swung it. Evidently the man was a damned good plumber when he wasn’t face down drunk.

  It was the same kind of Ford the police had driven him to Penn Station in the day Hannah had run off with Alex. The boys in the shop had been stunned that day when the cops came by to pick him up. Regis Maloney had yelled, “Lock him up and throw away the keys, boys.”

  The police escorted him down the steps of the station to the main concourse. His heart beat quicker as he saw Alex sitting on a high stool next to a security guard, eating a scoop of chocolate ice cream, half of which was spread over his cheeks. Alex leaped off the stool and into Abe’s outstretched arms. One of the policemen said, “Guess you’re his old man.”

  The other officer pointed to Hannah. “You know her?”

  Abe looked at the woman balled up in a fetal position on the floor. Hannah looked like a terrified, confused child and nothing like the pretty, alluring woman that had tempted him more than once. He said, “Yes.”

  “You her husband?”

  “No.”

  “Because she says she’s waiting here for her husband to take her to Philadelphia or Indianapolis. You know anything about that?”

  “I know she’s not married. She is supposed to be taking care of my son, but what the hell she’s doing here with him, I don’t know.”

  Alex said, “Daddy, she tried to take me away on a train, but I wouldn’t let her.”

  “What?”

  One of the policemen took his hat off. “Actually, Miller, your boy here pretty much summed it up, from all we can gather. We got a witness saw the whole thing, this ticket clerk here.” He pointed to Mancuso, who was smoking another cheroot. “She come up to his booth but she was talking kind of crazy to him, didn’t even know how to buy a ticket, and when he saw her manhandling the boy, he called the guards.”