CONTENTS
EARLY STORIES
THE MAN WITH THE HEART IN THE HIGHLANDS
MANY MILES PER HOUR
SWEETHEART SWEETHEART SWEETHEART
THE GREAT LEAPFROG CONTEST
LATE STORIES
MADNESS IN THE FAMILY
FIRE
THE INSCRIBED COPY OF THE KREUTZER SONATA
A FRESNO FABLE
COWARDS
THE LAST WORD WAS LOVE
THE DUEL
EARLY STORIES
THE MAN WITH THE HEART
IN THE HIGHLANDS
In 1914, when I was not quite six years old, an old man came down San Benito Avenue playing a solo on a bugle and stopped in front of our house. I ran out of the yard and stood at the curb waiting for him to start playing again, but he wouldn’t do it. I said, I sure would like to hear you play another tune, and he said, Young man, could you get a glass of water for an old man whose heart is not here, but in the highlands?
What highlands? I said.
The Scotch highlands, said the old man. Could you?
What’s your heart doing in the Scotch highlands? I said.
My heart is grieving there, said the old man. Could you bring me a glass of cool water?
Where’s your mother? I said.
My mother’s in Tulsa, Oklahoma, said the old man, but her heart isn’t.
Where is her heart? I said.
In the Scotch highlands, said the old man. I am very thirsty, young man.
How come the members of your family are always leaving their hearts in the highlands? I said.
That’s the way we are, said the old man. Here today and gone tomorrow.
Here today and gone tomorrow? I said. How do you figure?
Alive one minute and dead the next, said the old man.
Where is your mother’s mother? I said.
She’s up in Vermont, in a little town called White River, but her heart isn’t, said the old man.
Is her poor old withered heart in the highlands too? I said.
Right smack in the highlands, said the old man. Son, I’m dying of thirst.
My father came out on the porch and roared like a lion that has just awakened from evil dreams.
Johnny, he roared, get the hell away from that poor old man. Get him a pitcher of water before he falls down and dies. Where in hell are your manners?
Can’t a fellow try to find out something from a traveler once in a while? I said.
Get the old gentleman some water, said my father. God damn it, don’t stand there like a dummy. Get him a drink before he falls down and dies.
You get him a drink, I said. You ain’t doing nothing.
Ain’t doing nothing? said my father. Why, Johnny, you know God damn well I’m getting a new poem arranged in my mind.
How do you figure I know? I said. You’re just standing there on the porch with your sleeves rolled up. How do you figure I know?
Well, you ought to know, said my father.
Good afternoon, said the old man to my father. Your son has been telling me how clear and cool the climate is in these parts.
(Jesus Christ, I said, I never did tell this old man anything about the climate. Where’s he getting that stuff from?)
Good afternoon, said my father. Won’t you come in for a little rest? We should be honored to have you at our table for a bit of lunch.
Sir, said the old man, I am starving. I shall come right in.
Can you play Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes? I said to the old man. I sure would like to hear you play that song on the bugle. That song is my favorite. I guess I like that song better than any other song in the world.
Son, said the old man, when you get to be my age you’ll know song’s aren’t important, bread is the thing.
Anyway, I said, I sure would like to hear you play that song.
The old man went up on the porch and shook hands with my father.
My name is Jasper MacGregor, he said. I am an actor.
I am mighty glad to make your acquaintance, said my father. Johnny, get Mr. MacGregor a pitcher of water.
I went around to the well and poured some cool water into a pitcher and took it to the old man. He drank the whole pitcherful in one long swig. Then he looked around at the landscape and up at the sky and away up San Benito Avenue where the evening sun was beginning to go down.
I reckon I’m five thousand miles from home, he said. Do you think we could eat a little bread and cheese to keep my body and spirit together?
Johnny, said my father, run down to the grocer’s and get a loaf of French bread and a pound of cheese.
Give me the money, I said.
Tell Mr. Kosak to give us credit, said my father. I ain’t got a penny, Johnny.
He won’t give us credit, I said. Mr. Kosak is tired of giving us credit. He’s sore at us. He says we don’t work and never pay our bills. We owe him forty cents.
Go on down there and argue it out with him, said my father. You know that’s your job.
He won’t listen to reason, I said. Mr. Kosak says he doesn’t know anything about anything, all he wants is the forty cents.
Go on down there and make him give you a loaf of bread and a pound of cheese, said my father. You can do it, Johnny.
Go on down there, said the old man, and tell Mr. Kosak to give you a loaf of bread and a pound of cheese, son.
Go ahead, Johnny, said my father. You haven’t yet failed to leave that store with provender, and you’ll be back here in ten minutes with food fit for a king.
I don’t know, I said. Mr. Kosak says we are trying to give him the merry run around. He wants to know what kind of work you are doing.
Well, go ahead and tell him, said my father. I have nothing to conceal. I am writing poetry. Tell Mr. Kosak I am writing poetry night and day.
Well, all right, I said, but I don’t think he’ll be much impressed. He says you never go out like other unemployed men and look for work. He says you’re lazy and no good.
You go on down there and tell him he’s crazy, Johnny, said my father. You go down there and tell that fellow your father is one of the greatest unknown poets living.
He might not care, I said, but I’ll go. I’ll do my best. Ain’t we got nothing in the house?
Only popcorn, said my father. We been eating popcorn four days in a row now, Johnny. You got to get bread and cheese if you expect me to finish that long poem.
I’ll do my best, I said.
Don’t take too long, said Mr. MacGregor. I’m five thousand miles from home.
I’ll run all the way, I said.
If you find any money on the way, said my father, remember we go fifty-fifty.
All right, I said.
I ran all the way to Mr. Kosak’s store, but I didn’t find any money on the way, not even a penny.
I went into the store and Mr. Kosak opened his eyes.
Mr. Kosak, I said, if you were in China and didn’t have a friend in the world and no money, you’d expect some Christian over there to give you a pound of rice, wouldn’t you?
What do you want? said Mr. Kosak.
I just want to talk a little, I said. You’d expect some member of the Aryan race to help you out a little, wouldn’t you, Mr. Kosak?
How much money you got? said Mr. Kosak.
It ain’t a question of money, Mr. Kosak, I said. I’m talking about being in China and needing the help of the white race.
I don’t know nothing about nothing, said Mr. Kosak.
How would you feel in China that way? I said.
I don’t know, said Mr. Kosak. What would I be doing in China?
Well, I said, you’d be visiting there, and you’d be hungry, and not a friend in the world. You wouldn’t expect a goo
d Christian to turn you away without even a pound of rice, would you, Mr. Kosak?
I guess not, said Mr. Kosak, but you ain’t in China, Johnny, and neither is your Pa. You or your Pa’s got to go out and work sometime in your lives, so you might as well start now. I ain’t going to give you no more groceries on credit because I know you won’t pay me.
Mr. Kosak, I said, you misunderstand me: I’m not talking about a few groceries. I’m talking about all them heathen people around you in China, and you hungry and dying.
This ain’t China, said Mr. Kosak. You got to go out and make your living in this country. Everybody works in America.
Mr. Kosak, I said, suppose it was a loaf of French bread and a pound of cheese you needed to keep you alive in the world, would you hesitate to ask a Christian missionary for these things?
Yes, I would, said Mr. Kosak. I would be ashamed to ask.
Even if you knew you would give him back two loaves of bread and two pounds of cheese? I said. Even then?
Even then, said Mr. Kosak.
Don’t be that way, Mr. Kosak, I said. That’s defeatist talk, and you know it. Why, the only thing that would happen to you would be death. You would die out there in China, Mr. Kosak.
I wouldn’t care if I would, said Mr. Kosak, you and your Pa have got to pay for bread and cheese. Why don’t your Pa go out and get a job?
Mr. Kosak, I said, how are you, anyway?
I’m fine, Johnny, said Mr. Kosak. How are you?
Couldn’t be better, Mr. Kosak, I said. How are the children?
Fine, said Mr. Kosak. Stepan is beginning to walk now.
That’s great, I said. How is Angela?
Angela is beginning to sing, said Mr. Kosak. How is your grandmother?
She’s feeling fine, I said. She’s beginning to sing too. She says she would rather be an opera star than queen. How’s Marta, your wife, Mr. Kosak?
Oh, swell, said Mr. Kosak.
I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear that all is well at your house, I said. I know Stepan is going to be a great man some day.
I hope so, said Mr. Kosak. I am going to send him straight through high school and see that he gets every chance I didn’t get. I don’t want him to open a grocery store.
I have great faith in Stepan, I said.
What do you want, Johnny? said Mr. Kosak. And how much money you got?
Mr. Kosak, I said, you know I didn’t come here to buy anything. You know I enjoy a quiet philosophical chat with you every now and then. Let me have a loaf of French bread and a pound of cheese.
You got to pay cash, Johnny, said Mr. Kosak.
And Esther, I said. How is your beautiful daughter Esther?
Esther is all right, Johnny, said Mr. Kosak, but you got to pay cash. You and your Pa are the worst citizens in this whole county.
I’m glad Esther is all right, Mr. Kosak, I said. Jasper MacGregor is visiting our house. He is a great actor.
I never heard of him, said Mr. Kosak.
And a bottle of beer for Mr. MacGregor, I said.
I can’t give you a bottle of beer, said Mr. Kosak.
Certainly you can, I said.
I can’t, said Mr. Kosak. I’ll let you have one loaf of stale bread, and one pound of cheese, but that’s all. What kind of work does your Pa do when he works, Johnny?
My father writes poetry, Mr. Kosak, I said. That’s the only work my father does. He is one of the greatest writers of poetry in the world.
When does he get any money? said Mr. Kosak.
He never gets any money, I said. You can’t have your cake and eat it.
I don’t like that kind of a job, said Mr. Kosak. Why doesn’t your Pa work like everybody else, Johnny?
He works harder than everybody else, I said. My father works twice as hard as the average man.
Well, that’s fifty-five cents you owe me, Johnny, said Mr. Kosak. I’ll let you have some stuff this time, but never again.
Tell Esther I love her, I said.
All right, said Mr. Kosak.
Goodbye, Mr. Kosak, I said.
Goodbye, Johnny, said Mr. Kosak.
I ran back to the house with the loaf of French bread and the pound of cheese.
My father and Mr. MacGregor were in the street waiting to see if I would come back with food. They ran half a block toward me and when they saw that it was food, they waved back to the house where my grandmother was waiting. She ran into the house to set the table.
I knew you’d do it, said my father.
So did I, said Mr. MacGregor.
He says we got to pay him fifty-five cents, I said. He says he ain’t going to give us no more stuff on credit.
That’s his opinion, said my father. What did you talk about, Johnny?
First I talked about being hungry and at death’s door in China, I said, and then I inquired about the family.
How is everyone? said my father.
Fine, I said.
So we all went inside and ate the loaf of bread and the pound of cheese, and each of us drank two or three quarts of water, and after every crumb of bread had disappeared, Mr. MacGregor began to look around the kitchen to see if there wasn’t something else to eat.
That green can up there, he said. What’s in there, Johnny?
Marbles, I said.
That cupboard, he said. Anything edible in there, Johnny?
Crickets, I said.
That big jar in the corner there, Johnny, he said. What’s good in there?
I got a gopher snake in that jar, I said.
Well, said Mr. MacGregor, I could go for a bit of boiled gopher snake in a big way, Johnny.
You can’t have that snake, I said.
Why not, Johnny? said Mr. MacGregor. Why the hell not, son? I hear of fine Borneo natives eating snakes and grasshoppers. You ain’t got half a dozen fat grasshoppers around, have you, Johnny?
Only four, I said.
Well, trot them out, Johnny, said Mr. MacGregor, and after we have had our fill, I’ll play Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes on the bugle for you. I’m mighty hungry, Johnny.
So am I, I said, but you ain’t going to kill that snake.
My father sat at the table with his head in his hands dreaming. My grandmother paced through the house, singing arias from Puccini. As through the streets I wander, she roared in Italian.
How about a little music? said my father. I think the boy would be delighted.
I sure would, Mr. MacGregor, I said.
All right, Johnny, said Mr. MacGregor.
So he got up and began to blow into the bugle and he blew louder than any man ever blew into a bugle and people for miles around heard him and got excited. Eighteen neighbors gathered in front of our house and applauded when Mr. MacGregor finished the solo. My father led Mr. MacGregor out on the porch and said, Good neighbors and friends, I want you to meet Jasper MacGregor, the greatest Shakespearean actor of our day.
The good neighbors and friends said nothing and Mr. MacGregor said, I remember my first appearance in London in 1867 as if it was yesterday, and he went on with the story of his career. Rufe Apley the carpenter said, How about some more music, Mr. MacGregor? and Mr. MacGregor said. Have you got an egg at your house?
I sure have, said Rufe. I got a dozen eggs at my house.
Would it be convenient for you to go and get one of them dozen eggs? said Mr. MacGregor. When you return I’ll play a song that will make your heart leap with joy and grief.
I’m on my way already, said Rufe, and he went home to get an egg.
Mr. MacGregor asked Tom Baker if he had a bit of sausage at his house and Tom said he did, and Mr. MacGregor asked Tom if it would be convenient for Tom to go and get that little bit of sausage and come back with it and when Tom returned Mr. MacGregor would play a song on the bugle that would change the whole history of Tom’s life. And Tom went home for the sausage, and Mr. MacGregor asked each of the eighteen good neighbors and friends if he had something small and nice to eat at his home and eac
h man said he did, and each man went to his home to get the small and nice thing to eat, so Mr. MacGregor would play the song he said would be so wonderful to hear, and when all the good neighbors and friends had returned to our house with all the small and nice things to eat, Mr. MacGregor lifted the bugle to his lips and played My Heart’s in the Highlands, My Heart is not Here, and each of the good neighbors and friends wept and returned to his home, and Mr. MacGregor took all the good things into the kitchen and our family feasted and drank and was merry: an egg, sausage, a dozen green onions, two kinds of cheese, butter, two kinds of bread, boiled potatoes, fresh tomatoes, a melon, tea, and many other good things to eat, and we ate and our bellies tightened, and Mr. MacGregor said, Sir, if it is all the same to you I should like to dwell in your house for some days to come, and my father said, Sir, my house is your house, and Mr. MacGregor stayed at our house seventeen days and seventeen nights, and on the afternoon of the eighteenth day a man from the Old People’s Home came to our house and said, I am looking for Jasper MacGregor, the actor, and my father said, What do you want?
I am from the Old People’s Home, said the young man, and I want Mr. MacGregor to come back to our place because we are putting on our annual show in two weeks and need an actor.
Mr. MacGregor got up from the floor where he had been dreaming and went away with the young man, and the following afternoon, when he was very hungry, my father said, Johnny, go down to Mr. Kosak’s store and get a little something to eat. I know you can do it, Johnny. Get anything you can.
Mr. Kosak wants fifty-five cents, I said. He won’t give us anything more without money.
Go on down there, Johnny, said my father. You know you can get that fine Slovak gentleman to give you a bit of something to eat.
So I went down to Mr. Kosak’s store and took up the Chinese problem where I had dropped it, and it was quite a job for me to go away from the store with a box of bird seed and half a can of maple syrup, but I did it, and my father said, Johnny, this sort of fare is going to be pretty dangerous for the old lady, and sure enough in the morning we heard my grandmother singing like a canary, and my father said, How the hell can I write great poetry on bird seed?
MANY MILES PER HOUR
Fresno Stories Page 1