“Go ahead,” Tom said. “You will just be cutting off your nose to spite your face. He will want to make as much money on the deal as I do. That means we’ll have to take on two more customers. You know the freezer holds just enough ice cream for Sunday dinner, especially when we have guests. Mamma can’t leave any more ice cream on the dasher than she does now. It will simply mean less ice cream of the dasher for you every Sunday.”
Tom dropped his hand from my shoulder. He looked steadily into my eyes. “As I said, J.D., I’m not going to try to influence you one way or another. I’m going to leave the decision strictly up to you.”
I watched him as he walked toward the back porch, leaving me alone to make the decision. He hadn’t tried to bribe me or blackmail me. With his great brain I knew he could have influenced me, but he didn’t even try. He had treated me as an equal and left the decision strictly up to me. Acting strictly on my own, I decided not to tell Mamma or Sweyn.
After Sunday dinner that day Tom, Sweyn, and I followed Papa and Abie Glassman into the parlor. We listened fascinated as Abie told Papa all the places he’d been during the past year and the things he’d seen and heard. Papa made notes of items he thought would be of interest to the subscribers of the Adenville Weekly Advocate. Abie appeared to me not to be his usual cheerful self. Papa also must have noticed it.
“You look worried, Abie,” Papa said. “Do you need any money?”
Papa didn’t have any money because Mamma said he didn’t know beans about trying to save a dollar. But Papa knew he could send Abie to see Calvin Whitlock.
Abie stared at the Oriental rug on the floor. “It isn’t money that worries me,” he said. “It is just that I am getting too old to travel around with my wagon.”
“Then why do it?” Papa asked.
Abie shrugged his thin shoulders. “What else can I do?”
Papa thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Open a variety store right here in Adenville,” he said.
Abie’s eyes brightened for a second and then became sad. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t pay,” he said. “The Mormons naturally buy everything they can at the Z.C.M.I. store and there aren’t enough non-Mormons in Adenville to support a variety store. Besides, it would take every cent I have to open a store and if it failed…” He did not finish the sentence.
“Nonsense,” Papa said. “You are thinking back to the time of Brigham Young when the Mormon leader tried to drive all non-Mormon business out of Utah with his Z.C.M.I. stores. Things have changed, Abie. I am not a Mormon but ninety-five per cent of the subscribers to my newspaper are Mormons and I get all their printing business. Don Huddle, the blacksmith, is not a Mormon. Fred Tanner, who owns the livery stable, is not a Mormon.”
Papa was a good talker when it came to settling somebody else’s future. I knew Abie didn’t have a chance when Papa went to work on him.
“Calvin Whitlock has a vacant frame building on Main Street,” Papa said. “He can have a carpenter build some counters and shelves in it and partition off the rear for living quarters.”
“But—” Abie started to protest.
“No buts about it,” Papa interrupted him. “Let’s go see Calvin right now.”
When Papa returned home, he told Mamma everything was settled. Abie would open his variety store.
“Just think, Tena,” Papa said to Mamma, “after years and years of living and traveling around in that peddler’s wagon, at last Abie Glassman has found a home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Greek Immigrant
IT WAS RIGHT AFTER Abie Glassman opened his Adenville Variety Store that Vassillios Kokovinis arrived in town with his mother. He was the first genuine immigrant boy that we had ever seen. His father, George Kokovinis, had come to this country five years before, leaving Mrs. Kokovinis and Vassillios behind in Greece. During those five years Mr. Kokovinis had worked in the coal mines at Castle Rock and saved his money. Then he had come to Adenville and opened the Palace Cafe and sent for his wife and son. He had learned how to speak pretty good English during this time, but his wife and son couldn’t speak one word of English when they arrived in Adenville.
I first saw the Greek boy when we were playing Jackass Leapfrog on the Smiths’ vacant lot. He was peering through the fence watching us with big dark eyes. He had an olive complexion and black curly hair. He was wearing a funny hat with a feather in it. He had on green britches with green suspenders and a shirt with a lace collar on it. Nobody but a genuine immigrant boy would have dared to wear an outfit like that in Adenville. He reminded me of a valentine.
We all stopped playing and stared at the Greek boy.
“That’s the Greek kid,” Sammy Leeds said. “Let’s have some fun with him.” It was like Sammy to say that because he was a sort of a bully with kids younger and smaller than him.
Howard Kay, Jimmie Peterson, Danny Forester, Andy Anderson, and I followed Sammy over to the fence.
“Come and play, kid,” Sammy said, lifting up the fence.
The Greek boy correctly interpreted the invitation and crawled under the fence.
“We are playing Jackass Leapfrog,” Sammy said as he led the immigrant boy to the center of the lot. He pushed the Greek boy’s head down in position to play leapfrog. “You are the jackass,” Sammy said as if the new kid understood English. “Now stay that way.”
The rest of us kids lined up with Sammy in the lead.
“Whack the jackass on the rump!” Sammy shouted as he ran and leapfrogged over Vassillios with one hand while he whacked the Greek boy on the rump with his other hand.
The rest of us followed, whacking the jackass on the rump.
“Give the jackass the spurs!” Sammy shouted as he ran and leapfrogged over Vassillios, doubling up his fists and twisting his knuckles in the Greek boy’s back.
I took my turn but didn’t twist my knuckles because I knew the Greek boy wasn’t used to the game.
“Chop off the jackass’s head!” Sammy shouted as he ran and leapfrogged over Vassillios with one hand and brought the butt of his other hand down on the Greek boy’s neck.
The rest of us took our turns.
“Kick the jackass!” Sammy shouted as he leapfrogged over Vassillios and kicked the Greek boy on the rump with the heel of his shoe.
That should have ended the Greek boy’s turn at being the jackass. Sammy was in the lead which meant it was his turn now to be the jackass.
“Why should I be the Jackass?” Sammy asked with a grin. “This Greek kid don’t know from nothing. We’ll make him the jackass all the time. Get in line.”
I didn’t get in line because I didn’t think it was fair to make the Greek boy the jackass all the time. I sat down by the fence and watched as Sammy made Vassillios the jackass four straight times. I was glad when I saw Tom and Sweyn coming into the lot. I ran to meet them.
“Sammy isn’t playing fair,” I told them. “He made the Greek kid the jackass four times in a row.”
Tom walked over and grabbed Sammy by the arm. “If you are going to play Jackass Leapfrog with this new kid, you are going to play fair,” he said.
Sammy jerked his arm away. “Why should us American kids get whacked and kicked when we got a Greek kid we can make the jackass all the time?” he asked belligerently.
“It is your turn to be the jackass and you be it,” Tom ordered him.
Sammy folded his arms on his chest. “And if I say No?”
Tom bent over and picked up a piece of wood which he placed on his shoulder. “You are going to have to fight me,” he said, daring Sammy to knock the chip of wood of and start a fight.
Sammy knew Tom could whip him although Sammy was a year older than my brother and bigger. He didn’t argue. He walked over and pushed the Greek boy to one side and bent over to be the jackass. Howard Kay and the other kids continued to play with Sammy as the jackass.
I walked with Sweyn and Tom over to where the Greek boy was standing.
Tom pointed at himself. “Me To
m,” he said.
The Greek boy pointed at my brother. “Me Tom,” he said.
Tom shook his head. “Just Tom,” he said.
Again the Greek boy pointed at my brother. “Just Tom,” he said. Then he pointed at himself. “Vassillios,” he said.
“That is a funny name,” Tom said.
“Not half as funny as Just Tom,” Sweyn said, laughing.
Tom pointed at me. “That’s John,” he said. Then he pointed at Sweyn. “Him Sweyn.”
Vassillios nodded as if he understood. He pointed at Tom. “Just Tom,” he said. Then he pointed at me. “That’s John,” he said. Then he pointed at Sweyn. “Him Sweyn,” he said.
“He thinks those are our names,” Sweyn said as he chuckled. Then he slapped Tom on the back. “How are you, Just Tom?”
Tom didn’t laugh. “This kid is going to need a lot of help,” he said. “He doesn’t understand one word of English.”
We played Jackass Leapfrog until everybody had been the jackass. Then we taught Vassillios how to play Kick the Can until it was lunchtime.
Tom pointed at his mouth and then rubbed a hand over his stomach. “Time to eat,” he said to the Greek boy.
Vassillios smiled as he grabbed Tom by the arm and began pulling my brother toward the street. Tom tried to explain it was time for us to go home for lunch, but the Greek boy wouldn’t let go.
“You might as well go with him and see what he wants,” Sweyn said.
I followed Tom and Vassillios down Main Street and up an alley to the rear entrance of the Palace Cafe. We entered the big kitchen.
Mrs. Kokovinis was peeling potatoes. Mr. Kokovinis, wearing a high white chef’s hat, was just putting two big steaks on the grill. Everything in the kitchen smelled good.
Vassillios began to jabber in Greek. I guessed he was telling his parents about playing Jackass Leapfrog because he bent over and whacked himself on the rump. Then he put his hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“Just Tom,” he said. Then he nodded toward me. “That’s John.”
Mr. Kokovinis walked over to Tom and held out his hand. “You will be my son’s friend?” he asked as if it was important to him.
“Yes, Mr. Kokovinis,” Tom said as they shook hands. “But tell him my name is Tom and not Just Tom and my brother’s name is John and not That’s John.”
Mr. Kokovinis spoke in Greek to his son. I heard my name and Tom’s name mentioned in English. Then he spoke to Tom.
“In English you say my son’s name as Basil.”
“Basil,” said Vassillios, nodding his head.
Then Basil began jabbering in Greek to his father.
Mr. Kokovinis looked at Tom. “My son wants you and your brother to have lunch with him,” he said. “How about a bowl of chili and a piece of coconut cream pie?”
My mouth began to water. I had never eaten in a restaurant before.
“All right,” Tom said, “but only if you let Basil have lunch at our house sometime.”
Mr. Kokovinis appeared surprised. “You invite my son to your house for lunch?”
“Don’t you want him to come to my house?” Tom asked as if puzzled.
“Of course,” Mr. Kokovinis said. “It will be an honor. You be my son’s friend and I’ll give you anything you want.”
Poor Mr. Kokovinis, I thought to myself, you had better watch out or my brother and his great brain will take your cafe away from you.
“I’ll be Basil’s friend,” Tom promised. “I’ll make a hundred per cent American kid out of him.”
“You are a good boy,” Mr. Kokovinis said, and looked as if he was about to cry.
Then Mrs. Kokovinis began jabbering in Greek and pointing at the stove where the two steaks were burning on the grill. Her husband ran to the stove and turned the two steaks over.
Tom asked permission to use the telephone in the front part of the cafe. He called Mamma and explained to her why we wouldn’t be home for lunch.
Then we sat down in a booth with Basil. His father brought us bowls of chili and each of us a whopping big piece of coconut cream pie and a glass of milk. After eating, we went back into the kitchen. We had to wait for about half an hour because Mr. Kokovinis was busy cooking and waiting on customers. Finally he was free for a few minutes. I had been wondering why Tom was sticking around instead of going out to play with Basil.
My brother very solemnly informed Mr. Kokovinis there were certain things Basil would need, like marbles, to be able to play with other kids, and these things would cost money. Tom generously offered to help Basil get these things. I was bug-eyed as I watched Mr. Kokovinis hand Basil a whole silver dollar. I couldn’t help thinking he would have saved time by just giving the dollar to Tom.
I wasn’t surprised when we left the cafe with Basil and Tom walked right by the Z.C.M.I. store and Abie’s variety store. He led the Greek boy straight up to our bedroom. Tom pulled the homemade chest containing his possessions from beneath our bed, Then he got his bank out of the clothes closet. He shook out a dollar’s worth of change in nickels and dimes and pennies. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor with Basil sitting opposite him. He pushed the dollar in change across to Basil and held out his hand. Basil understood. He gave Tom the silver dollar.
Then began the greatest swindle in pantomime in Adenville’s history. Tom took twenty of his agate marbles and one flint taw and put them in an empty tobacco sack. He handed the sack to Basil and helped himself to fifteen cents of Basil’s money. Then he took out his homemade slingshot from his chest and handed it to Basil and helped himself to another ten cents. The one-sided trading continued until Tom had gotten rid of all his old junk and had all but ten cents of the dollar Mr. Kokovinis had given Basil.
I guess my brother’s conscience must have been hurting him, because when we left our house, he took Basil and me to the Z.C.M.I. store and blew us each to a penny stick of licorice. I was positive that Mr. Kokovinis would denounce my brother as a cheat and a swindler when he found out what Tom had done as we trooped into the kitchen of the cafe. I couldn’t believe my eyes as Basil showed his father all the junk Tom had unloaded on him, and Mr. Kokovinis just stood there looking as if my brother was Basil’s guardian angel.
Then we went into the alley. Tom drew a ring in the dirt and began teaching Basil how to play marbles.
“You aren’t going to play him for keeps are you?” I asked, wondering if Mr. Kokovinis would be so pleased when he discovered that all the marbles my brother had sold his son had been won back by Tom.
“Of course not” Tom said as if I’d hurt his feelings. “I only play for keeps with kids who can shoot as good as I do.”
Mr. Kokovinis kept coming to the kitchen door every few minutes to watch with a big smile on his face. The smile became even wider when we stopped playing marbles and Tom began teaching Basil how to speak English. They sat on the steps leading to the kitchen.
Tom pointed at his nose. “Nose,” he said.
Basil pointed at his nose. “Nose,” he said.
By the time Tom and I had to leave to go home and do our chores before super, Basil had learned the English names for most of the parts of his body.
As I walked home with Tom I couldn’t help putting into words what I’d been thinking all afternoon.
“Don’t you feel any shame at all?” I asked.
“Shame for what?” Tom asked and looked surprised.
“For unloading all your old junk on Basil and swindling him out of ninety cents,” I said.
“It wasn’t junk,” Tom said, and there was anger in his voice. “It was all stuff American kids have. Take my old slingshot which I sold to Basil. Can his father make him one? No. Can Basil make one? No.”
“But they could have bought a store slingshot for a dime,” I said.
“How many kids in this town own a store-bought slingshot?” Tom asked. “If Basil bought one, it would make the other kids jealous of him.”
It was true but I wasn’t through. “How about the secondha
nd marbles you sold him? You charged him as much as he would have had to pay for new ones at the store.”
“I guess your little brain is too little to understand,” Tom said as if I’d stabbed him in the back. “I’ve taken on a task no other kid in town would touch — teaching Basil English and how to be a good American kid. You saw how happy I made Basil. You saw how happy I made his father and mother. Would you rather I abandon Basil and let the other kids in town make a fool out of him the way they did playing Jackass Leapfrog? I think you owe me an apology, J’D.”
I was now the one who felt ashamed. Here my brother was doing a wonderful, kind, and generous thing and I hadn’t realized it.
“I’m sorry, T.D.,” I said.
Becoming an American kid was not an easy thing for Basil or for my brother Tom. The other kids made Basil the butt of jokes and the goat in any game they played when Tom wasn’t around. One day I found that Sammy Leeds and a bunch of kids had formed a circle around Basil on Smiths’ vacant lot and were shouting at him: “Greasy Greek from Greece!” When Tom found out that Sammy Leeds had started it, he gave Sammy a bloody nose and a black eye in a fight.
That night after supper as Tom sat on the floor in the parlor, he looked up at Papa. “Why does Sammy Leeds hate Basil so much?” he asked. “Basil never did anything to him.”
Papa laid aside a book he was reading. “He gets it from his father,” Papa said. “His father is always complaining about immigrants coming to this country and taking jobs away from Americans.”
“But Sammy’s grandfather was an immigrant,” Tom said.
“When you come right down to it,” Papa said, “we are all immigrants except the Indians. What men like Mr. Leeds fail to understand is that it is the mingling of the different cultures, talents, and know-how of the different nationalities which will one day make this the greatest nation on earth. All intolerant persons must have somebody or something to hate. Mr. Leeds is an intolerant person who hates immigrants.”
“I’m sure if it wasn’t for Sammy the other kids would leave Basil alone,” Tom said. “Basil has got to learn how to fight so he can whip Sammy.”
The Great Brain Page 7
