City. The embassy hadgiven me ten Wells Fargo dollars, and fitted me out with a pair of jeans and aworkshirt that were both far too big for me, so that they slopped around me as Imade my way to the train station and bought my ticket to New Jerusalem.
It was Wednesday, the normal schedule for the Zephyr Speedball, so I didn't havetoo long to wait at the station. I bought copies of the Salt Lake City _Shout_,and the San Francisco _Chronicle_ from a passing newsie. The _Chronicle_ was aweek old, but it was filled with all sorts of fascinating big-city gossip. Iread it cover-to-cover on the long ride to New Jerusalem.
Mama met me at the train station. I'd been expecting a switching, right then andthere, but instead she hugged me fiercely with tears in her eyes. I rememberedthat it had been over six months for her since I'd gone.
"James, you will be the death of me, I swear," she said, after she'd squeezedevery last bit of stuffing out of me.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I said.
"We had to tell everyone you'd gone away to school in France," a familiar malevoice said. I looked up and saw Mr Johnstone standing a few yards away, with ourteam and trap. He was glaring at me. "I've had the barn gateway sealedpermanently on both sides."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said. But inside, I wasn't. Even though I'd only been awayfor a few days, I'd had the adventure of a lifetime: smoked and drank and been'jacked and escaped and received a secret message. My Mama seemed shorter to me,and frailer, and James H Johnstone was a puffed-up nothing of a poltroon.
"We'll put it behind us, son," he said. "But from now on, there will be order inour household, do we understand each-other?"
_Our_ house? I looked up sharply at my Mama. She smiled at me, nervously. "Wemarried, James. A month ago. Congratulate me!"
I thought about it. My Mama needed someone around to take care of her, andvice-versa. After all, it wasn't right for her to be all alone. With a start, Irealised that in my mind, I'd left my Mama's house. I felt the Wells-Fargo notesin my pocket.
"Congratulations, Mama. Congratulations, Mr Johnstone."
Mama hugged me again and the Mr Johnstone drove us home in the trap.
#
All through the rest of the day, Mama kept looking worriedly at me, whenever shethought I wasn't watching. I pretended not to notice, and did my chores, thentook my _Chronicle_ out to the apple orchard behind the Academy. I sat beneath abig, shady tree and re-read the paper, all the curious bits and pieces of a cityfrozen in time.
I was hardly surprised to see Mr Adelson, nor did he seem surprised to see me.
"Back from France, James?"
"Yes, sir."
"Looks like it did you some good, though I must say, we missed you around theAcademy. It just wasn't the same. Have you been keeping up your writing?"
"Sorry, sir, I haven't. There hasn't been time. I'm thinking about writing anadventure story, though -- about pirates and space-travellers and airships," Isaid.
"That sound exciting." He sat down beside me, and we sat there in silence for atime, watching the flies buzz around. The air was sweet with apple blossoms, andthe only sound was the wind in the trees.
"I'm going to miss this place," I said, unthinking.
"Me, too," Mr Adelson said.
Our eyes locked, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, I know where_I'm_ going, but where are you off to, son?"
"You're going away?" I said.
"Yes, sir. Is that a copy of the _Chronicle_? Give it here, I'll show yousomething."
He flipped through the pages, and pointed to an advertisement. "The _SlipperyTrick_ is in port, and they're signing on crew for a run through the south seas,in September. I intend to go as Quartermaster."
"You're leaving?" I said, shocked to my boots.
To my surprise, he pulled out a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers androlled himself a cigarette. I'd never seen a schoolteacher smoking before. Hetook a thoughtful puff and blew the smoke out into the sky. "To tell you thetruth, James, I just don't think I'm cut out for this line of work. Not enoughexcitement in a town like this. I've never been happier than I was when I was atsea, and that's as good a reason to go back as any. I'll miss you, though, son.You were a delight to teach."
"But what will I do?" I said.
"Why, I expect your mother will send you back East to go to school. I graduatedyou from the Academy _in absentia_ during the last week of classes. Your reportcard and diploma are waiting on my desk."
"Graduated?" I said, shocked. I had another year to go at the Academy.
"Don't look so surprised! There was no earthly reason for you to stay at theAcademy. I'd say you were ready for college, myself. Maybe Harvard!" He tousledmy hair.
I allowed myself a smile -- I didn't think I was any smarter than the otherkids, but I sure knew a whole lot more about the world -- the worlds! And maybe,in my heart of hearts, I knew that I was a _little_ smarter. "I'll miss you,sir," I said.
"Call me Robert. School's out. Where are you off to, James?"
I gestured with my copy of the _Chronicle_.
"My home town! Whatever for?"
I looked at my shoes.
"Oh, a secret. I see. Well, I won't pry. Does your mother know about this?"
I felt like kicking myself. If I said no, he'd have to tell her. If I said yes,I'd only have myself to blame if he spilled the news to her. I looked at him,and he blew a streamer of smoke into the sky. "No, sir," I said. "No, Robert."
He looked at me. He winked. "Better keep it to ourselves, then," he said.
#
The ticket-girl at the Castro Theatre wasn't any older than I was, but she woreher hair shorter than some of the boys I'd known back home, and more makeup thaneven the painted ladies at the saloon. She looked at me like I was some kind ofsmall-town fool. It was a look I was getting used to seeing.
"Reddekop only plays for the _evening_ shows, kid. No organ for the _matinee_."
"Who you calling a kid?" I said. I'd kept a civil tongue ever since debarkingthe train, treating adult and kid with equal respect, but I was getting sick ofbeing treated like a yokel. I'd been farther than any of these dusty slickerswould ever go, and I was grown enough that I'd told my Mama and Mr Johnstonethat I was going off on my own, instead of just leaving a note like I'doriginally planned.
"You. Kid. You want to talk to Reddekop, you come back after six. In themeantime, you can either buy a ticket to the matinee or get lost."
On reflection, telling my Mama was probably a mistake. It meant that I waslocked in my room for two consecutive Wednesdays so that I couldn't catch thetrain. On the third Wednesday, I climbed out onto the roof and then went downthe rope-ladder I'd hidden behind a chimney. The Wells Fargo notes I'd startedwith were almost gone, mostly spent on the expensive food on the train -- Ihadn't dared try to sneak any food away from home, my Mama was no fool.
I thought about buying a ticket to the matinee. I still had almost five dollars,but a quick look at the menus in the restaurants had taught me that if I thoughtthe food on the train was expensive, I had another think coming. I shouldered myrucksack and wandered away, taking care to avoid the filth from dogs and peoplethat littered the sidewalks. I told myself that I wasn't homesick -- just tired.
#
"October 29, 1929, huh?" Reddekop was a small German with a greying spade beardand a heavily oiled part in his long hair. His fingers were long and nimble, butnearly everything else about him was short and crude. He made me nervous.
"Yes, sir. Mr Nussbaum thought you'd know what it meant."
Reddekop struck a match off the side of the organist's pit, lighted a pipe, thentossed the match carelessly into the theatre seats. I winced and he chuckled."Not to worry, kid. The place won't burn down for a few years yet. I have it onthe very best authority.
"Now, Nussbaum says October 29, 1929. What else does he say?"
"He said that you'd take care of me."
He gripped the pipe in his yellow teeth and hissed a laugh around the stem. "Hedid, did he? Well, I suppose I should. Of
course, I won't know for sure for morethan 25 years -- I don't suppose you want to wait that long?"
"No, sir!" I said. I didn't like this little man -- he reminded me of some kindof musical rat.
"I thought not. Do you know what a trust is, James?"
We'd covered that in common law -- I could rattle off about thirty differentkinds without blinking. "I have a general idea," I said.
"Good, good. What I'm thinking is, the best thing is for me to set up a trustthrough a lawyer I know on Market Street. He'll
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