by Dean Hughes
Jay wasn’t going to say anything else. He wanted to yell at his grandpa, the way he’d yelled at his mother—tell him to get out too. But he couldn’t yell at Grandpa, not when he was talking so soft.
But Grandpa seemed to know all that without him saying so. “Jay, you get some sleep now. These things take some time to get used to. But it wouldn’t hurt anything for Hal to stop by once in a while, the way he did tonight. And they won’t ever be left alone. I’ll make sure everything is kept proper.”
Jay said nothing. Grandpa talked a little more, but it was all the same thing, just him repeating himself, and then he finally left. After Grandpa had been gone for a while, Jay slipped off the bed and onto his knees. He prayed the same prayer he’d prayed every night this summer. He asked God to bring his father home safe and well, and to change him so he would love his mom, and love him, and they would all be happy together. But all he could think of was the stuff his mom and Grandpa had said. What good did it do to pray, if they had given up?
CHAPTER 12
JAY THOUGHT HE WOULDN’T BE able to sleep, but he did. He curled up on his bed without any covers and shut his mind off. He dropped like a rock into darkness. But he woke up early the next morning. The light was just a hint in his room. Gradually everything came back to him from the night before. He knew what he knew. His dad was dead.
He had known it for a long time, but now it was in his chest, like a weight on him. He didn’t know if he could stand up, if he could walk, if he could get through a day. He wanted to play baseball, to go back to where he had been before the dance last night, but there was no way he could face everyone in town. Everyone in Delta would soon know the story.
He thought he might leave. He could hike out of town and then hitchhike his way back to Salt Lake. He had a friend there, a guy named Stanley White. Maybe Stanley’s mother would let him stay there, maybe sleep on the floor in the bedroom where Stanley and his brother slept. The idea seemed pretty good when it first came to him, but as soon as he tried to put it into words, plan it out, it fell apart. Mom would know right where to look. She and Grandpa would come after him.
Today, one way or another, the story about him and Ken dancing would get to this house. Mom would say it didn’t matter, that everyone would forget about it. But they never would. He’d seen how Lester looked at him, heard him say that he should have shot the two of them. That was how people would feel.
The sun came on stronger, and then he heard footsteps in the hallway. He shut his eyes and pretended he was asleep. He heard his grandma’s voice at the open door. “Jay, honey.” She hesitated and then said, “What did you do, sleep on top of your covers?”
He didn’t want to answer.
“Honey, are you going out to the farm? Maybe you don’t want to go this morning. I know you’re tired. If you’d rather just—”
“No. I’ll go.”
It was the best thing to do. He didn’t want to be at home that morning and have his mom start talking to him again. He didn’t want to see anyone. Ken was the only guy around who wouldn’t know what had happened.
So he got up and pulled his old jeans off the chair where he’d left them. He didn’t put on a shirt, just wore his undershirt. He laced on his work boots and then walked out to the kitchen. Grandma was making pancakes for him. He wondered what she knew, but then he saw it in her eyes. Grandpa had told her about his argument with Mom.
“Jay, honey, I know you didn’t like Hal being here last night. But he’s just lonely, the same as your mom. And they’re old friends. It doesn’t mean your mom’s untrue to your father.”
Jay sat at the table. He didn’t want to talk about this. Grandma was nicer than just about anyone. She always thought everything would be all right. He watched her back as she flipped his pancakes over, her whole body making the motion, even her hips shifting. She was wearing a dress already, not a bathrobe like Mom would have had on. It was her gray dress—little black and white checks, really—and an apron over that. She was up for the day.
“Did you dance last night, honey?”
“A little.”
“I’m glad you’re learning. That’s a skill you’ll always be happy for, Jay. Some boys never learn to dance, and when they start to court a girl, they feel silly. It’s too bad. Your grandpa’s a wonderful dancer. When we were going together, he used to . . .”
On and on she went. She brought him his pancakes and a glass of milk, and she never stopped talking. Everything was all right now in her mind. He ate while Grandma made sandwiches for him, and then he told her he was on his way. She took him in her arms and kissed him on the top of his head, pressing him tight against her bony body—tighter than he liked. Her apron was hot still, from the stove, and it smelled like flour and maple syrup. He pulled away quickly, walked to his bedroom to get his old baseball hat, then came back and grabbed the flour sack Grandma always put his lunch in.
He rode his bike down the street, hoping to see no one, but once he reached the Thompson place, on the edge of town, he pumped the mile or so down the road much more slowly. He was in no hurry to get to the farm. He felt funny about seeing Ken now. The guy never should have danced with him. He could have shown him the steps; he didn’t have to grab hold of him.
When he reached the farm, Ken was up, but he was still inside the house. Jay walked to the back door. He looked through the screen, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hey, Jay, I got up a little late. Come on in. Did you have some breakfast?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll wait out here.”
“No. Come in. I want to hear about the dance.”
“That’s all right. I’ll just—”
“Come in. Come in.”
Jay stepped inside and saw that Ken was scrambling eggs at the old electric range. The smell was filling the room—eggs and burnt toast.
Ken looked over and smiled. “So, were you a big hit? Did you show those guys how to do it?”
“No.”
“But you danced, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And you did all right?”
“About the same as the rest.” He turned and looked back out through the screen. He usually liked this time of day, before the heat came on, but the world looked dreary now, as though it would always be behind the dark mesh of the screen door. “What are we going to do today?” he asked, just to say something.
“Did you try any of your jitterbug steps?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter? You look all down in the dumps.”
“I don’t know.” But then he added, “I want to move away from here.”
Ken scraped the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate. Then he pulled open one side of the old toaster and grabbed a slice of toast that was almost black. He spread some butter onto it anyway, making a scraping sound and throwing little black flecks across the cabinet. He dropped the toast on his plate and set the plate on the wooden table. It wasn’t until he sat down that he finally said, “I thought you were starting to like Delta.”
Jay turned around. He thought of sitting down at the table across from Ken, but he decided to stay where he was. “I might go live with my other grandma,” he said. It was an idea that had come to him as he had been riding to the farm. She was a nice lady who didn’t speak much. She lived on a reservation in southern Utah, somewhere around Montezuma Creek. He remembered that name, and he figured if he got there, people could tell him how to find her. She would take him in.
“Are you talking about your Navajo grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have to live in a hogan, or whatever they call those things?”
“I guess so.”
He hadn’t really thought about that. He had only tried to think of somewhere he could go. If guys called him an Indian, well, he would go and be one. He would learn Indian ways. He would find out more about the desert than Gordy and the other guys wo
uld ever know.
Ken laughed. “I don’t know, Jay. I don’t think you’d like that. If you lived there, you’d have to learn some new dance steps, that’s for sure. Maybe a war dance.”
Ken thought that was funny, but it made Jay mad. He felt like telling Ken what he thought about his dance steps and all the trouble they had caused him. “I’m going to wait outside,” he said.
Ken spoke with his mouth full. “Wait a sec.” He chewed the hard toast, drank a quick gulp of milk, and swallowed. “I’ve gotta tell you my good news.”
Jay waited.
“I took the bus back out to the camp again last night. There was something I wanted to tell my dad when I was out there the night before, but I lost my nerve. But I knew I had to do it. So last night I made him sit down with me, and I told him why I wanted to join the army—to prove myself and everything. You know, the stuff I’ve been telling you. I thought he wasn’t even listening to me. He didn’t say much. But then he said it was okay if I join when I turn eighteen.”
Jay nodded.
“I think he knew I was going to go anyway, and it was just a way to save his pride, but that satisfied my mother—who’s probably been talking to him, trying to convince him. My birthday’s coming up in about a month. I’ve got to tell your grandpa I’m about to head out so he can find someone else, and I’ve got some other things to take care of, but I’m excited. In a few weeks I’ll be in basic training somewhere. And then, look out, Krauts. I’ve got you in my sights.” He held his arms up as though he were aiming a rifle.
“You don’t even know how to shoot a gun,” Jay said. He hadn’t known he was mad that Ken was leaving until he’d said it, but he knew it now.
“Hey, what kind of burr got under your saddle?”
Jay didn’t know. But now this was over too. Ken would leave, and he would be alone. There was nothing left here.
“I can shoot all right. And I’m in good shape already. I’ll make those fat white guys at boot camp look like a bunch of boobs. I can’t wait to get into a battle somewhere and rack up some kills.”
“You’ll get yourself killed. That’s what you’ll do.” He was breathing hard. “And I don’t care if you do.”
“What?”
“You’re a big bragger, that’s all.”
“You must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, Jay. You—”
“You’re like my dad. You think you’re so great, but you’ll get killed, just like him.”
“You told me your dad was still alive.”
“Shut up, all right? Just shut up.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.”
“My dad’s dead. He’s at the bottom of the ocean. He talked and talked and talked. He made promises. But he never kept any of them.”
“Did you get word or something? Did they find his body?”
“No. But he’s dead.”
He was going to leave now. He wasn’t going to talk to Ken anymore. He turned, but then he said what he’d wanted to say for a long time. “My dad was a big liar. Just like you.”
Ken stood up from the table. “Look, that’s enough. I don’t know what’s going on here, but you better lay off, right now.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Don’t try to find out.”
“Oh, you’re tough, aren’t you? You’re going to kill all those big Germans. But you’re just a little Jap. The Germans will slap you away like a fly.”
Ken stepped around the table. “I said that’s enough, Jay. I may be small, but I’ll fight like a man.”
“Like a chicken. That’s what Japs are. They’re little yellow bellies. They torture people, and they . . .” But he couldn’t think what else to say, what else he had heard his friends say.
Ken was on him by then, had hold of his shoulders. He shouted into his face, “Shut your mouth, Jay. If you weren’t a little kid, I’d knock your head off.”
“Go ahead. I don’t care. You’re just like my dad.”
“Your dad was a drunken Indian. Maybe he was a liar, but I’m going to back up what I say.”
“America’s going to win the war,” he shouted at Ken, “and then we’re going to ship all you Japs back to Japan.” He waited for the blow. He knew it would be coming and he didn’t care.
But Ken let go of him. “You’ve gone crazy, Jay. Just because your dad was no good, you don’t have to put all that on me.”
Jay charged him, thrust his hands into Ken’s chest, sent him flying backward. Ken struck the table as he went down, shoving it back. The plate and the glass of milk flew. As Jay turned, he heard the sound of shattering glass, thought he saw the yellow scraps of egg fly. But he didn’t care. He was falling off a cliff. He slammed his hand into the screen door, felt the old screen tear, and then felt the door pop open, and by then he was already running through, heading toward the barn and then on by. He didn’t know where he was going from there, only that he couldn’t go back to Delta.
“You’ll be dead too,” he yelled at the field in front of him. “You’ll tell everyone what a hotshot you are, then get yourself killed. But I don’t care.”
He kept running. “I don’t care,” he shouted again. “I don’t care.”
CHAPTER 13
HE RAN UNTIL HIS LUNGS wouldn’t let him run anymore, and then he walked hard. He headed south from the farm, away from Delta, down a dirt road. He knew that he had to figure something out. He had to get away from Ken, and he was not going back to face the boys in town. He also wasn’t going to watch his mother sit in the living room with Hal Duncan every night.
The road kept going until it gradually dwindled down to nothing more than tracks in the desert overgrown with rabbitbrush and mustard weed. It was stupid to keep heading deeper into the desert, but he couldn’t think what else to do. He could head off to the east and try to get to a highway, maybe hitchhike his way somewhere. But he didn’t know where. No matter what he’d said earlier, he couldn’t really go to his Navajo grandmother. He didn’t want to live in a hogan.
Jay stopped and looked out across the desert. Everything was flat and empty. It was gray more than green, and he didn’t understand anything about it. Maybe Indians knew these places. Maybe they knew how to live out here, but he didn’t. He needed to think of something else.
Maybe he really could make it to the major leagues. Maybe he could work harder than anyone and get really good. Gordy would probably never work that hard, but he thought he could. He needed to get to a place where he could practice every day, play on a good team, spend all his time getting better. If he could do something like that, someday no one in Delta would talk about him dancing with a Jap. They would say, “I knew that guy back when he lived here. He’s a big-league ballplayer now.”
He stopped. He looked out toward the mountains. Then he looked back toward Delta. Maybe he would have to go back to town—hide out there somehow while he figured things out. But he saw something moving, something black. He realized it was a train pulling out of town, the engine making black smoke. It would pass him by, to the west, but not by more than a quarter of a mile, and it didn’t look like it was picking up much speed. He didn’t know where it was going, but it was heading south, away from here.
He had seen hoboes in town. Grandma had fed them. He’d heard them say that they “rode the rails.” They jumped onto empty boxcars. Suddenly he was running. Lots of things were coming together in his mind. Maybe he could ride trains and get to California. There were jobs in California. He could say he was older than he was, get a job, then practice baseball every day after work. He wouldn’t have to go back to town. But the train was going faster now, and he kept running harder and harder.
He didn’t zig and zag much; he mostly crashed through the rabbitbrush, or jumped over it when he could, and he angled toward the train, cutting somewhat south to get to the middle of it before it left him behind. His lungs were aching again. He stumbled and went down but was up without losing much time or speed, running again and then
getting close before he realized he didn’t know how to get on. He saw ladders on the sides of the boxcars. He could jump onto them, but then what?
And then he saw an open door and jumped. He tried to jump onto the floor of the car but only got his shoulders through. He fought to get hold of something. He grabbed the side of the door, with his elbow against the inside. He clung hard but was dangling, couldn’t pull himself up, and he knew he was in big trouble. He couldn’t hang on forever, and he couldn’t get any leverage to pull himself up.
Then suddenly something seized his arm and pulled, and he was swept inside the boxcar. Everything was dark for a moment, and he wasn’t sure what had happened, but he rolled over and looked up at a hulking form, a man, standing over him. “You trying to git yerself killt?” the man said. His voice was like an echo from inside a barrel.
Jay didn’t answer. He just stared up at the man, whose face he could see now. It was dark, covered with whiskers, with hair too long falling around his ears, and black eyebrows like thistles.
“He’s just a kid,” someone else said. Jay looked into the dark end of the car and saw two men sitting side by side, leaning back against rolls of blankets. His eyes were getting used to the dim light, and he could see that they were dirty, one in overalls, the other in tattered jeans, but they didn’t look mean—or angry.
“You better hop back offa here,” the big guy standing over him said. “Before we pick up too much speed.”
He couldn’t think what to say. But maybe he should jump off.
“You just playin’ around?” one of the men sitting down asked, yelled really. The sound of the tracks inside the car was thumping louder all the time. “ ’Cause if you are, it was a stupid thing to do. You just about ended up under the wheels of this car.”
He finally thought what to say. “Does this train go to California?” he called out over the noise.
All three men laughed.
“What do you want in California?” the big guy, the one standing, asked.
