Henry could feel the brakes of the train starting to clamp down on the huge metal wheels as a bit of steam drifted up from the pistons that were grinding to a halt. His stomach churned with glee and he could almost see his family in his mind. When the train finally stopped, he was the first out of his seat, grabbed his duffle bag, and slung it over his shoulders. He nearly skipped down the aisle and pivoted at the exit, then skipped down the stairs.
A mass of humanity hustled and bustled about the platform. Beautiful women marched about with large hats almost covering their faces except for flashes of their burning eyes as porters hustled behind them. Sweat dripped from the small parts of their brows their blue caps did not cover. The engine rocked a bit on its axles and then let out a huge billowing fog of steam as it came to a full stop. People funneled out of the exits like angry bees from a hive, pushing and jostling through the hordes of folks.
Henry could smell fresh popcorn and peanuts and from the corner of his eye he could see a vendor near the door of station. Then, as his eyes fixed on the little round man with the handlebar mustache, he also could hear the organ grinder cranking on his little red box. "Come getta yer peanuts! And-a yer popcorn! Getta yer hot peanuts and poppa-corn! Getta dem hot, getta dem here!" the vendor sang out. His words were kind and welcoming, just like the smile that cracked his face and wiggled his mustache.
Henry scanned the crowd, searching with a yearning heart and aching soul--but he found nothing. He had told his mother he was going to be coming in and they had all said they would pick him up. He kept resilience on his face and cut politely through the people. He walked towards the vendor.
"Can I get some peanuts, please?" Henry asked.
"Si, si, son." The vendor tried his best to enunciate his words since English was not his native tongue. "Where-a you come-a from, son," he inquired as he dug his silver scoop through the depths of the nuts and slid them into a small white sack.
"New York, but before that I was in the war in Europe," Henry said nonchalantly.
"Oh, you-a justa gettin’ back, son? You-a missa da parades and-a all-a da parties. It was quite-a to-do, I mean-a to tell you!" The vendor handed him the sack and grinned wide enough to split his face in two. Henry tried to hand him a few cents.
"Oh, no, son!" The vendor feigned a frown and winked at Henry. "Your-a money is no good-a to me. You missa da fun. The least-a I canna do for a tanks is give-a you da bag a warm-a peanuts."
"Thank you." Henry turned to walk away.
"But tell-a yer friends," the sly vendor snickered. "I-a charge-a dem double!" He began to bellow and his laugh was loud enough to be heard over the commotion of the platform which was starting to thin out.
Henry lumbered over to a vacant bench and let his duffle bag crumple against a brick wall. There was a chill in the air. After twenty minutes or so Henry was the last person on the platform--even the vendor had left.
The sound of the trains vanished into the bluish green horizon. Across the way was a clearing and just beyond that was a tree line, and then the great sky was starting to turn pale in the midst of dusk. Henry just stared at the planks of the platform and a glum and sad frown pulled down on his cheeks and lips. He was hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and he moved the empty paper sack in his hands till it felt like tissue paper.
"Sir," with a modest tone, a little man with a receding hairline spoke to Henry.
"Yes?"
"I saw you from my window inside. If you are waiting for a train, there will be no more today, not until tomorrow," he apologized with a forgiving grin and tugged lightly on the black visor that sat atop his brow.
"Oh, no," Henry suddenly felt defensive, "I just came in from New York. I’m just waiting for my parents; they are coming from my hometown to get me and must be running late. I know what happened. One of my sisters probably tried to get all dolled up to come to the city and my brothers are just goofballs anyways. They always make my parents late. So I’ll just wait for them." Henry gave a real awe-shucks grin to the man and then realized it and fixed a stern look upon his brow.
"Are you Henry Schott?" the frail man questioned, squinting as if he knew Henry.
"Yes?" Henry’s voice rose with hesitation as he had never seen the man before.
"Oh, heavens, son," the man let his shoulders slouch as he just snorted with a heavy laugh and cracked his hand across his knee. "Darn, I’m sorry, I plum forgot. Your parents called here hours ago and told me to tell you to take a bus out to their town."
"Oh." The disappointment was steep in Henry’s face. He looked away for a second and then spoke, "Are there no more buses tonight, either? Do I need to find a room here?" Henry felt defeated and nearly deflated of all the joy that had built-up in his heart as he rocked on the waves and put up with the asses on the bus.
"Hold on." The man rushed back inside and in the stark silence of the closing night, Henry could hear the man shuffling furiously through papers. "Nope, one left! Going your way, too! But you gotta hurry! It’s out front!"
"Okay!" Henry bolted to the door. His temporary gloom had vanished.
"Here! Here!!" The man’s skinny fingers ran roughshod over the desk and he struggled to keep control as he fluttered the ticket towards Henry as if a gale force wind had swept through the terminal.
"Where?" Henry yelped.
"Out front!" The man raised his arm and hand but his gnarled knuckles actually pointed in several directions away from the enormous building. Henry looked about the interior of the terminal which looked more like a church than a bus stop. Henry tried to see the front door but because of the room’s great size, all he could make out was the dismal light far off in the distance.
"Wow, I guessed there had been a few changes since I left," Henry muttered to himself. "How do I pay?"
"Your parents wired me the money. Just go, son! Go!!" the old man urged, his face cracking in a perturbed frown.
Henry grabbed the ticket and took off. His heart felt a bit lighter when he realized his parents had called ahead and paid for the ticket. But it was hard for him to think as he dodged travelers, salesmen, and strollers, all the while feeling like he was running in sand. He neared the door and could see the bus. Then in a flash it started to roll forward and he could see the wheels turning. In his worried mind they almost moved in slow motion.
Then the bus slipped away from the curb just as he reached the front door of the building. But it wasn’t a door! It was a revolving door and it took him a few seconds to get acclimated to the motion and then he leapt out the other side like being fired from a cannon. The bus was pulling away and his duffle bag suddenly got very heavy as he began to run faster.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!!" he shouted as he waved his ticket in the air. He swung out to the side of the bus as it neared the end of the parking lot, trying desperately to see the bus driver in the mirrors, hoping the bus driver could possibly hear him. Henry shouted till his lungs hurt. He could see the bus driver’s face and then he thought the bus was about to slow--but actually it sped up! Henry ran even faster. After a couple hundred feet the bus slowed and Henry could see an evil smirk carved across the bus driver’s face.
Henry nearly crawled to the side of the bus and waited as the doors slowly opened. He climbed the steps, completely out of breath, and just looked at the bus driver with eyes of utter doubt.
"Th-th-thanks," Henry could barely stammer as his breath was dry and short.
"Sure thing, anytime," the man snickered to himself and let the bus lurch away as Henry staggered down the aisle. He found two open seats and dropped his bag on the outside and crashed into the seat against the window. He rested his temple against the window and could feel the smooth cool glass pressing against his head. Henry scooted till he could feel content in his bones and suddenly his heart began to slow a bit and he felt comfortable.
His mind began to drift and wander. The images of his future started to knit his mind and a pleasant smile curled onto his face. He remembered the strong heavy
feel of a hammer in his hand and a few nails jingling in his pocket as he traipsed about the eves and gables. He smelled the fresh sawdust lingering in the air and the fragrance of damp pine needles on the breeze as the dew was still on the grass.
Henry’s mind harkened back to the good days--the simple times when he would walk the boards and feel the sun warm on his back as he fastened the last couple pieces of slate to a roof--or the wind on his face as the brisk autumn would start to rise up in the late days of October. He and his brothers would walk onto a site that was clear of everything and within a day there would be a sturdy yellow frame of wood and within a few more days the once barren land would be furnished with a tall strong building. They only built them when the other barns crumbled or were demolished by a storm.
Most of the time Henry’s siblings and father worked the fields or tended to the animals but Henry didn’t want that life for his future. He wanted to build things and hear a hammer driving a nail or feel sweat pouring from his brow and the exhilarating sense of building something with his own two hands. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing he worked a good day and changed someone’s life for the better. He wanted to give a family shade, grant them warmth, and bless them with joy. He wanted to watch houses rise from nothing and see the gratitude in a man’s face, knowing he would feel the warmth of his own home that very night.
Henry had known what he wanted to do since he was a boy and now, now that he was a man, he aimed to find his place in the sun. His thoughts meshed with his feelings and he could feel his chest fill with happiness even as he neared complete exhaustion. He had started today on a ship which he had been on for far too long, and then he rode the rails, and now, finally, he was about to go home. But the day and the month and the last couple years had been too much for Henry and he succumbed to a sleep that nearly pulled him towards the darkness of his eyelids.
A rattle, a whap, and a dull thud brought Henry’s head painfully banging against the now frosted glass. He lifted his head enough to glance out the window and in the thin light of the rising moon he could see the landscape that surrounded his childhood. Ivory rays skipped across the fishing pond with the half bare trees of autumn clustered together to form a collage of dark shadows. A sense of relief grew within his chest as he saw the simple rolling hills that lined the road and seemed to glide away to the far corners of the night.
Henry’s hometown was small enough that there was no bus stop. There was just a set of crossroads that seemed as empty as a field or as silent as a meadow, so the bus came to an abrupt stop at the confluence of the two small roads. Henry could hear the doors of the bus spring open and instantly it was as if he was granted freedom, a parole from his demons. He jumped from his seat as if his back no longer ached. His legs had lost their soreness and he was almost levitating towards the doors. The bus driver looked at him with teasing eyes, eyes that would and did not understand the pure rapture that now lived in Henry’s mind.
The boy had left the corn stalks and pastures behind years before and now a man stepped off the bus. He was now brave and knowing. As quick as his boots hit the hard ground, the bus was making tracks westward and left Henry standing in its billowing exhalation of dust. He did not care. The war changed the world Henry once knew. He was no longer self-assured and the mountains of Europe did not hold the glory he had envisioned them to have.
On this cold and dry road he could look off in the distance and see a series of lights dotting a hill and he knew he was home. He slung his bag over his shoulders and even this late time of night could not slow Henry down. He started walking down the road and soon the lights on the hill shed a bit of color into the night and he could see the white of the farmhouse. It looked like frosting atop a cake to him.
When he got to the bottom of the driveway which was long and straight he could see the form of the house as it sat perched like a proud and mighty eagle atop the hill. He couldn’t help it but from his eyes tears sprung forth and he began to churn his legs up the hill until he was running—running for everything that was once normal in his life and he hoped could be--again.
Those dreams of his dead brother still lingered like a haunting echo within his brain but he knew deep within himself he could make those thoughts and images vanish and his family would help him. His mother and father would be so proud that he fought and won. His life would be like that of a god. He would be a hero to them and to all his brothers and sisters. No matter if they were older or younger, they would look upon him as an idol.
Yes, yes, of course, his fears and disappointments would be vanquished. Henry stopped just as the ruts in the driveway veered in either direction, surrounding the house with the rocky dirt path. He was panting now, and he could feel his chest full of life! All the lights in the house were on! Enough of a breeze was gusting to help the porch swing sway to and fro and the chain links of the swing moan in the night.
He ran up the stairs of the porch and looked around. The paint was fresh as it was each fall and he reached out and touched the house, feeling the texture of the paint over the wood boards. A few bugs danced about the porch light and he glanced sideways through the large picture window. Henry could hear the sound of the radio lazily floating on the wind.
He glanced over and could see his parents sitting humble and proud just on the other side of the large picture window. One of his sisters and brothers sat on the wooden bench at the piano and giggled, making those small fingers prance across the ivories. He could hear footsteps traipsing roughly across the floors above and tromping down the stairs like tumbleweeds in a summer storm.
"I’m home!" Henry burst through the door and threw open his arms.
There was a muffled noise but the house remained calm and serene.
"Mom! Dad!" he blurted, feeling a bit of confusion coming over him as he took a couple lumbering steps into the parlor. "I’m home!!"
"Oh, my Heinriche!" His mother got up slowly from her chair, much slower than Henry remembered her moving. "How good to see you!" She moved towards him and her hip seemed to be stiff as her gait was short and hitched.
Henry engulfed her in a huge embrace and soon many of his siblings were surrounding him. His younger siblings used to come up to his knees and waist. Now they looked him in the eyes and he stared into their faces as if they were almost strangers. Their voices had changed and their cheeks were now full. The boys were round in the shoulder and husky in the chest and the girls, well, they were no longer girls. They were nearly women. Henry felt strange hugging them as if it might not be polite anymore.
"Father, come see your son," Mrs. Schott asked of her husband.
Mr. Schott looked up from his paper and tilted back his head to be able to use his glasses to see his son. He slowly, methodically took off his spectacles and set his paper gently down on the side table. He got up from his chair. His back was bent way over for a moment and then it straightened an inch at a time like links in a chain. He walked across the room, nearly dragging his right foot and he stood before his son. Henry was now a few inches taller than his father and his frame was thick and full. Although Henry dwarfed his once hulking father, in Henry’s eyes his father would always be a bigger man.
"Father," Henry said dryly, feeling uneasy.
"Mein son," his father looked him up and down with an indifferent eye, "goot to haf you home." He growled in his broken English as he patted Henry on the shoulder and nodded slightly and then he turned and went back to his chair and paper.
Henry’s mother led him up the stairs. The words and actions of his father had settled heavy and hurtfully on his mind. The stairs creaked and the upstairs lights were dim as they always had been. Henry could not understand the weakness of his father’s greeting and lack of celebration from his family which left an empty and strange feeling in his heart.
"You can stay in here, Heinriche," Mrs. Schott said with a plain voice as if she were almost showing a boarder the room.
He dropped his duffle bag onto the thin mattress and the
springs screeched in unison as it took a few seconds for them to settle.
"Goot to haf you home, Heinriche," Mrs. Schott offered, as she placed her hands on his face and pressed a kiss upon his cheek.
"Thanks, Mother," he said.
The next thing he knew, she was gone and he was left alone staring out the window—and his homecoming was over. He curled himself up atop the covers and gazed out the window with a lackadaisical numbness upon his mind and body. He once again was drawn into a restless sleep.
.....
The distant crow of the rooster cracked the dawn but Henry was already sitting on the edge of his bed fully clothed with no idea where to go or what to do. For so long he had had dozens of men telling him where to go and what to do but this sudden explosion of autonomy left Henry in a confused fog. A pale glow filled the room and he stared with complete oblivion at the floor. From outside his door the clomping of boots could be heard getting ever louder. His bedroom door creaked open and his father’s haggard face peaked through the shallow darkness.
"Henry, come, vee vork," Mr. Schott grunted. His thick German accent always made each word seem like a harsh curse. Henry’s mother and father were born in Pittsburgh but both of their parents only spoke German, and for the most part, the only schooling both of Henry’s parents ever received was from the farm or the streets.
Mr. and Mrs. Schott had been born in Pittsburgh in the late 1800’s and migrated away from the rough and angry streets that were lined by sooty steel mills. The smoke stacks were as high as a young boy could see and they billowed with a constant black smoke. The more smoke that rose from those brick monoliths, the more food was on their plates.
When it got to be too much for the German people, they started to move farther away from the growing mass of humanity and wanted to find land, land like they had back in the old country. They remembered the land of the Black Forest, the Rhine River, and the hills and mountains stretching till their minds were content with joy. Rural meant not being able to see your neighbor’s house. They remembered a quiet place where they could work the land and once again feel the coolness of the soil between their fingers and see pant legs stained with black earth. They remembered their pale skin scorched from the sun, not from the blazing heat of the blast furnaces.
Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 20