“You put lots uh cream in that,” Frieda urged Junior. “Don’t want to stunt your growth.” She told Amburgy, “Some won’t let a young person drink coffee at all, but I think it’s O.K. if diluted.”
The stout minister said, “Speaking for myself, it gives me acid stomach.” His drink had come in the bottle, with a straw: he now sucked at the latter while raising his eyebrows toward Frieda.
She resumed, “Bud came to with quite a headache, as you might expect, but what could Ray have done otherwise to stop him from shooting up the town? He seemed to understand that himself, and was real sorry about the whole thing.” What she did not say was that when an attempt was made to put Bud properly to bed, he began to fight with the policeman, who was a head taller than he and had forty pounds on him, and Ray had to restrain him in a pair of handcuffs. Dr. Swan came and put him under with a shot, and the ambulance boys, who said they were just back from another emergency down at the mill, hauled him here to Merryvale, where at present he was technically under observation, though practically he was still out.
“So anyway Doc Swan thought they might figure out what was ailing him if he stayed here overnight, but naturally we’re worried, and I sure thank you for giving us the ride. It’s times like this I regret I never learned to drive.”
The Reverend Amburgy looked solemn. “Only too glad to help out, Frieda. That’s what I’m for. I call on all folks from the congregation who get sick. The kind of thing that is troubling Bud, well, maybe I can talk to him some: that might be the sort of medicine which would do him more benefit than morphine.”
Frieda shook her head. “Is that what the doctor gave him?”
“I would imagine,” said Amburgy, his gaze drifting away.
“That’s awful strong stuff, isn’t it? I didn’t think he was in that bad uh trouble.”
The preacher looked at something off to the left for another instant or two, and then he came back to her. He said, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice a young boy at the counter over there. Earlier he was sitting with another boy, the one who just a minute ago walked right past here on his way out, if you noticed. But the second one sat there for a minute longer, and then he left the stool and went around the other side of the counter, but then all at once disappeared. He must have scrooched down below it. He still hasn’t come up. I wonder where he went?”
They all looked in the appropriate direction, Frieda and her daughter turning in the booth.
Seeing the group movement, the waitress came to them. “Check?”
The Reverend Amburgy said, “We were just curious about where that boy went, that other boy at the counter.”
The waitress, a stringy-haired woman wearing earrings, said, “I’ll find out.” And off she went.
Amburgy simpered in a certain embarrassment. “I don’t know,” said he, “if it’s that important.”
Frieda turned back, but Eva kept looking toward the counter. Junior was still blowing on his coffee. “See,” said his mother, “you probably should have got a cool drink of some kind.”
When the waitress came back she was snickering. “He went out through the kitchen. Cook saw him come walking in, all bent over, and thought he got sick.” She laughed raucously. “Ptomaine, you know? Anyway, out he goes by the service door. I guess it was some kinda joke he was playing. He wasn t sneaking out, anyway. He paid the check.”
Junior, with a sneer, tried his coffee. The Reverend chuckled briefly, and then he siphoned up the remainder of his orange drink. “I do have to make my other rounds,” said he. “Should I look in later on you in the waiting room? Do you have any idea how long you’ll stay?”
“Gosh, I don’t,” said Frieda. “I just figure we ought to be here, so that when Bud comes to, he won’t feel like we deserted him. But I don’t know what the rules are. Maybe they’ll want to kick us out by a certain time.”
Amburgy extricated himself from the booth, the edge of the tabletop temporarily scoring his belly. When he was out and standing erect, he said, “I’m afraid I can’t be here tonight because of the regular weekly meeting of the Bible Club. I can’t bring you home if you stay that late.”
“Now, don’t you worry yourself none about that, Reverend,” said Frieda. “We’ll make out O.K. There’s the bus, and then who knows if we won’t run into somebody going our way.”
As Jack came back to the coffee shop he stared with interest at the girl with the group in the booth. She did not return his glance or give any indication that she was aware of his passing. He went to the empty counter and shrugged. The waitress came over to him.
“Looking for your friend?” She giggled stupidly. “He just left.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t see him in that hall,” she explained, “because he snuck out the kitchen.” She laughed some more.
“So?” That might seem like a funny thing to do, but why admit it to this person?
“He’s a real nut!” said she.
Jack left the coffee shop. Going in this direction, he could see only the back of the head and shoulders of the girl in the booth. She had not appeared to be as sophisticated as Mary Catherine Lutz, because she was younger, but he liked her a lot. However, he and she were like ships that pass at sea and never the twain shall meet again.
If Tony had left via the kitchen, he had gone outside, probably en route to the car for some reason. Therefore instead of returning directly to the waiting room, Jack left the building by the front door and walked to the parking lot. Nope, the car was there, but no Tony. Nearby a fat man with glasses was rolling down the window and smiling at him from the driver’s seat of another automobile. He smiled back.
“Hi, there,” said the fat guy. “Weren’t you in the coffee shop just now?”
“That’s right.” Jack was somewhat flattered.
“I couldn’t help but notice you and your friend. He left in an unusual way while you were gone.”
Tony seemed to have acquired an instant fame for this episode. “Yeah. He’s my brother.”
“Ah…” The man smiled a while longer. He wasn’t the sort of older person Jack found very interesting: he seemed sissified. “Say, you wouldn’t like a ride back to Millville?”
“No thanks,” said Jack. “We got a car. Anyhow, we’re from Hornbeck.”
This information seemed to please the fat man. “Oh, how nice,” he said. “But that’s not far away. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime. You’re welcome to come over at any time to our Young People’s Nights in the church basement. I’m the minister there.” He told Jack where the church could be found.
That explained a lot. Jack had begun to get the uncomfortable suspicion that this guy might have it in mind to corner him somewhere and slide a fat hand between his legs, which had happened once the previous summer with a man who was parked near the public swimming pool; he said he was lost and couldn’t figure out where he was on the state road map, and Jack’s showing him with a fingernail did not do the job, because the map was upside down; so he got into the passenger’s seat, and the man slipped a hand under the map as he held it and rubbed his crotch with strong fingers; at first this didn’t feel bad, but then he thought about it and saw that it was creepy; so having indicated where Hornbeck could be located, he politely left the car.
He said good-bye to the preacher now and went into the waiting room, where not only Tony but also Dr. Kinney had joined his mother.
Whatever the doctor had reported, he was finished by the time Jack arrived and, holding his black bag, was obviously anxious to get going elsewhere.
The doctor was saying, “—easy, Bobby. Worrying yourself to a frazzle won’t help, now will it?” He clapped her on the shoulder, and then he looked at Jack and said, “Don’t tell me this is who I think it is? Looks like you put on a few ounces, Jackson.”
Jack had always had difficulty in gaining weight. He had never eaten much because he was rarely hungry. Dr. Kinney had prescribed a tonic for him that was supposed to increase the appetite, but he couldn�
�t feel any difference. However, he didn’t want to insult the doctor, who was only doing a job, and therefore he said yes, he was eating better.
After the doctor had departed, his mother said, “We’ll just go home and keep our fingers crossed.”
As usual, Jack had to ask what had happened. He seemed always to be somewhere else when information was handed out.
“Nothing,” said his mother. “They’re keeping Dad real quiet. There’s nothing to do but wait, so I guess we can do that at home. I gave Doctor Kinney Dad’s pajamas and shaving stuff to take in.”
“Where’d you have that all this while?”
“Didn’t you notice that shopping bag I was carrying?”
Darned if he did. He was aware that some details eluded him, and that was annoying, because he thought of himself as a keen observer as well as a shrewd judge of character: though so far as the latter went, he had been wrong about the preacher, who might not even be really a sissy. He might be just a gentleman, who spoke in that very clear way in the fashion of those actors who wore Ascots and velvet smoking jackets with fringed belts, who were sometimes Englishmen or just imitating them.
On their way out to the car Jack said to Tony, “Did you take an exit through the kitchen of the coffee shop?”
His brother glared suspiciously at him. “What do you know about that?”
Jack said, “It was noticed.”
Tony seemed hard hit by this news. “They saw me?”
“The waitress did. She just thought it was strange, I guess.”
“Well, it was my business.”
“That’s what I told ‘em,” said Jack. “When we get home, I’ll work on that letter.”
“Don’t say anything to Mom on that subject,” Tony said in an undertone, leaning close. Their mother was coming along in the rear: she didn’t walk fast in her good shoes.
“I met this preacher. He’s not such a bad guy. He invited me to come over to these young people’s affairs at his church: it’s in Millville.”
“I guess you ain’t about to take him up on that,“ said Tony. He opened the car door for his mother.
Whereas in reality Jack was secretly thinking of doing that very thing. He had somehow hoped, foolishly, that Tony might give him some encouragement. For a moment he had forgotten about the trouble with the Bullards and was occupied utterly by the idea that if the preacher had been sitting with those people in the coffee shop, they probably went to his church and that girl attended the functions for young people. Jack had not yet learned to dance, despite some rudimentary lessons from Bernice, but he could play games, drink punch, and eat ham-salad sandwiches as well as the next. He had done those things on occasion in the basement of the Hornbeck church to which his family nominally belonged, and given the other young people in attendance, he had been unspeakably bored, but having a girl you liked nearby could transform such an event. This one had the kind of face to which he was sure he could bring laughter with some of the jokes he had memorized from the witty repartee he heard on the radio.
Instead of returning via the direct route, going south on the county pike until they hit the main west-east thoroughfare, Tony unaccountably turned off into a maze of back streets when they reached the former.
Jack asked, “This a shortcut?”
“Yeah,” said his brother. “I sorta wanna keep outa downtown, without a regular license and all. You can’t ever tell.”
“I forgot about that,” said Jack. “It’s crazy. I bet you’re the best driver on the road.” Jack did not yearn to drive; he looked forward to being rich enough to have a chauffeur. Tony was great at any kind of practical pursuit, yet he seemed none too certain of where he was going at the moment. In the middle of this block he had slowed down almost to a stop, and he was staring across Jack and out the passenger’s window. There was nothing there but an ordinary house.
Jack said, “Are we lost?”
“I guess not.” Tony shifted gears and picked up speed, turning right at the corner.
Their mother had been silent since leaving the hospital. Jack turned and spoke to her.
“I hope Dad gets some rest,” he said. “He’s had a lot of aggravation lately. I think that made him nervous and put a strain on his constitution.”
His mother smiled in a sad way, and then she seemed to cheer up. “What sounds good to you fellas for supper? Pork chops? Tony, stop at the butcher’s on the way home, willya?”
Over his mother’s shoulder, through the rear window, Jack saw a police cruiser approaching a couple of blocks behind them. It was rolling considerably faster than they were. The red light behind its windshield was flashing, and in the next moment its siren was heard.
“Looks like there’s a bank robbery in progress,” Jack said in some excitement.
But Tony groaned. “You mean, it looks like my goose is cooked. I think I went through a stop sign back there.” He pulled into the curb.
Jack still assumed that the cop was en route toward big criminal game, until the Millville police car passed them and swung into the gutter just ahead. The officer took his own good time in emerging. When he finally appeared, he was a stocky man in navy-blue uniform pants striped in yellow, and a white shirt and a black tie, but the jacket he wore seemed to be a civilian windbreaker. He put on a police cap as he approached them.
Tony moaned, and his mother said, “Now, don’t you worry.” She leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “I’ll explain.”
The cop stuck his large face into the opening of the window which Tony had just lowered.
“You look like a stranger here,” said the officer.
“Yessir, we are,” said Jack’s mother. “Our dad has just been rushed to the hospital.”
“Then,” the cop went on to Tony, “I guess you don’t know we require respect for our traffic laws.” He smiled, but not kindly.
“Wellsir,” said Jack’s mother, “you just tell us what we did wrong, and we’ll apologize.”
“You got a driver’s license?” the cop asked Tony.
Tony shrugged hopelessly, leaned forward, and dug his wallet out of his left rump pocket. He probed within one of its compartments.
“See,” his mother said urgently, “our poor dad just had a heart attack and—”
The policeman poked a thick, blunt finger toward her. “Lady, you keep your goddam trap shut.”
Tony violently hurled the door open, knocking the cop backwards and almost off his feet.
He shouted, “Don’t you talk to my mother that way!”
The officer recovered and began to claw at his holstered revolver. He was detained by the strap that ran around its hammer and snap-buttoned below. He began to yell in the filthiest language Jack had ever heard in public.
This caused Tony to go wild. He hurled himself at the cop and gave him a series of punches too fast to count, but one or more of them knocked his enemy down, and out. The policeman lay prone on the asphalt.
Their mother called from the car. “Oh, my, Tony! You haven’t killed him, have ya?”
Tony’s glasses were disarranged, though he had not been touched. He adjusted them and peered carefully down at the officer.
“Naw,” he said. “He’s breathing…. Come on, we better clear out fast.”
Jack was thoroughly shaken by observing this episode. His brother might be an old hand at violence of various kinds, but he himself was entirely innocent of it. He had never had a single fight, and managed for the most part to avoid rough sports.
No doubt with the realization that as long as the cop was unconscious no one could nab him for speeding, Tony now took the direct route and zoomed through Millville.
Until they crossed the Hornbeck line nobody said a word. Then Tony looked at his mother in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry about that,” said he. “I should of shut him up before he opened his foul mouth, that filthy skunk.”
His mother leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “You did fine, Tony. You’re a real good boy. I guess us
Beelers don’t have much luck in Millville. We ought to stay out from now on.”
It took Jack a while to form the words. He had never seen anyone attack a policeman, for God’s sake, let alone his own brother. “Boy,” he finally managed to say, “if he was trying to get out his gun when you hadn’t even socked him, what’s he going to do when he comes to?”
Tony slowed to make the turn into the alley behind their house. He said, “What choice did I have? What kinda man sits there and lets his mother be insulted? He’s lucky I never took that gun of his and shot him with it. He’s a disgrace to his uniform.”
This interpretation had not occurred to Jack. He realized that his brother had a more complex conscience than he had previously supposed.
He said, “You got all the nerve in the world, Tony.”
“Listen, you would of done the same.” Tony here revealed how little he knew his brother. Jack would no more have done anything of the sort, regardless of the provocation, than he would have set himself on fire. He knew that very well, and he felt guilty about this inability and tried to tell himself that using the brain could often be courageous, but he did not really believe that theory. Columbus had been brave not because of his insistence that the world was round, but rather because he had sailed three flimsy boats into uncharted seas to prove it. And though Galileo knew very well that the earth moved around the sun instead of vice versa, he lied about it so that the Catholics wouldn’t burn him at the stake: which was not brave, but it was certainly intelligent.
When they got home, Jack’s mother said, “In all the commotion I forgot to stop for the pork chops. There isn’t much to eat here. I better go down Dorfman’s and buy some wienies and a couple cans baked beans.”
Jack made the unprecedented offer to fetch the order from the grocery that was two blocks away. He was not usually the one to volunteer for a job, but Tony’s feat continued to stir him in odd ways.
“Why, that would be real nice,” said his mother. “That’ll gimme the chance to tell Harvey Yelton about what happened over there. Gosh knows what report that Millville cop will put out.”
The Feud Page 10
