Читать книгу The Neverborne - James Anderson - Страница 5

The house was a big white two-story place with green trim and a colonial front. The yard was immaculate. An older but well kept Cadillac and a new Continental sat in the looped driveway. Ruben checked the address a third time to make sure he was in the right place. He was. Looking at himself in the rear view mirror, he suddenly thought he looked stupid. Well, he thought. Too late now.

He walked up to the house, flowers in hand. As soon as he knocked Esther opened the door. In the afternoon sun, he could see that her hair was indeed black and her eyes were a dark, chocolate brown, contrasting sharply with her very fair complexion.

“Hello, Ruben Barlow. I’m relieved you’re here. My father wondered if you would actually come. He said young men sometimes have second thoughts about meeting parents.”

He smiled. “I have to admit I’m nervous.”

She suddenly seemed concerned. “Didn’t you bring your guitar? My parents are looking forward to hearing you play.”

“It’s in the trunk. I didn’t know if I should bring it in now.”

She stepped through the door. “Let’s get it together.” She put her arm through his and started walking toward his car. The contact made him dizzy.

“I brought some flowers for your mother. My mom said it would make your mother think I had some sense.”

Esther found that delightful. “She is absolutely right. My mother will be very impressed.”

Ruben opened the trunk and got the guitar. Esther took the flowers and smelled them.

“Ummm. They smell wonderful. What a cute car you have. Is it yours?”

“Yes. I’ve always liked these old Chevys.”

“Do you work on it yourself?”

“Good grief, no. I don’t know a thing about cars.”

She moved close and spoke in a low voice. “Neither do my father nor brother, although sometimes they pretend to.”

The inside of the house was as great as the outside. Ruben immediately noticed a grand piano in the spacious living room. “I hope I hear you play.”

“My parents will insist upon it.”

A distinguished, fit-looking man in his late-forties appeared, drying his hands on an apron, and extended his hand.

“Ruben,” said Esther, “this is my father, Dr. Richard Rosenberg.” Ruben put his guitar down and shook his hand. “Father, this is the young man I told you about, Ruben Barlow.”

“I’m honored to meet you, sir.”

“And I you, Ruben.” Esther’s father turned. “Rebecca, come and meet Mr. Barlow.”

A beautiful, dark-haired woman who looked very much like Esther came into the room.

She also extended her hand and smiled. “Hello, Ruben. I’m Rebecca Rosenberg, Esther’s mother.”

“Mother, Ruben brought you some flowers.” She handed the flowers to her mother.

“Oh, how thoughtful of you. Thank you so much. Esther, could you put these in some water?” Esther took the flowers and disappeared. By this time, Ben had entered the room. He looked slightly older than Esther but the family resemblance was obvious. They shook hands and exchanged greetings. Ben’s eyes were still narrowed at Ruben but they had softened a little compared to when they first met. Ben picked up Ruben’s guitar and placed it by the piano.

The father asked him to sit and the talk began. When he was asked to play, Ruben was ready. He was now on display, just as he had been many times before. He knew rock and roll would be a bad idea and had already decided what to play. This was music he had made up and kept in his head, intricate guitar work involving chimes and double picking while playing melody and background at the same time, something he’d learned listening to Chet Atkins. Ruben was confident – this was his world and he was very comfortable in it.

He positioned the guitar, checked the tuning, took a deep breath, and began playing. The music was played with no pick, only his thumb and fingers. The sustaining notes of the fine old guitar blended together to make a wonderful, haunting sound. As the song progressed, it became more and more intricate, rising and falling, changing directions yet keeping whole and harmonious. The song lasted about four minutes, finally transitioning from the flamingo flavor to an almost bluegrass sound, different yet congruous. When he finished, there was complete silence.

Esther took his arm and whispered, “That was absolutely fantastic.”

Dr. Rosenberg sat looking at Ruben. “Where did you learn to play like that, and who wrote that wonderful piece?”

“I’ve never had any formal lessons. And that song is mine. I made it up.”

“Incredible,” said Mrs. Rosenberg. “It’s obvious that you understand theory. If you can’t read music, how did you write that?”

“Basically, I combine chord progressions and scales until they sound good.”

“The intricacy of that piece is impressive under any circumstances,” she said. “With training, you could be a world class musician.”

“That’s what my mother keeps telling me. Sometimes she gets mad and tells me I’m wasting my talent. I just don’t see it. I love playing rock.”

Ruben always remembered that day as one of the best in his life. It was a day for playing music by Bach, Beethoven, and young Barlow. Ruben never considered himself in the same universe as the great composers, but the Rosenbergs liked his music, and he truly enjoyed listening to them play. Esther was wonderful. The notes were clean and clear and cascading from the piano like water from a tall mountain. He stood behind her and marveled as her perfect hands alternated between black and white to make all the musical colors of the rainbow.

When it was time to leave, they asked when they might meet his mother. Ruben replied that he had to play in Pismo Beach the next Friday and Saturday, but he would love to take everyone out to dinner the following Sunday. They replied that would be too expensive for a young man, and he assured them he made plenty of money. They were taken aback to hear how much. If they ever noticed the hickey on his neck, they were too polite to mention it.

When Ruben left it was dark. Ben walked him to the door and shook his hand and even smiled a little. Esther walked him out to his car. The night seemed a little cold so Esther had a sweater wrapped around her. A street light cast a soft glow and, with that thick black hair encasing those perfect porcelain features, she seemed like a great artist’s conception of the perfect woman.

“Esther, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. What in the world are you doing with me?”

“That will be the first and last time you will ever say that. Do you understand me?”

“Are you scolding me?”

“Yes. I think you’re wonderful, Ruben.”

“Esther…”

She touched his lips. “Don’t speak,” she said. “I want to tell you something.” She dropped her hand but continued to look into his eyes. “You underestimate yourself, Ruben Barlow. I wasn’t at that dance by accident. I’ve seen you play before. The first time I saw you, I wanted to meet you but didn’t know how. I asked someone I saw talking to you and he told me who you were. I wasn’t at all surprised to hear you were Jewish. I’ve gone to three of your dances since then, hoping to meet you, and found out I had to get in line. You wouldn’t believe how girls talk about the Mustangs in the ladies bathroom. The first time I heard that talk, I walked out of there looking like a beet I was so embarrassed. Each time I went, I tried to get up the courage to talk to you. Last night, I resolved to introduce myself. I thought that you would consider me just another girl but I was going to try anyway. I’ve built you up a great deal in my mind.”

“Whoa,” he said. “Talk about pressure.”

She smiled. “When you tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around, and really saw you for the first time, I was very glad. I see right through you, Ruben, and I like what I see.”

The next Sunday, he took his mother and the Rosenbergs to the best restaurant in Fresno. After meeting Mrs. Barlow, the Rosenbergs, even Ben, had no reservations about their daughter spending time with Ruben. They went to movies, ate hamburgers, went to parks, anything they felt like doing. She took him to museums and classical concerts. He took her to shoot pool at Moe’s Pool Hall in Hanford and to Lake Millerton to watch the Gypsies.

She sometimes wondered why he didn’t try to make their relationship more physical and even asked him about it. Without hesitation, he answered, “Because you are one of the great miracles of this world. And to bring something like that in before marriage would be the worst kind of blasphemy. Even if you asked me to, I wouldn’t do it. We’ll wait until we’re married.”

He then told her about the episode with Georgia and how he had vowed never to put himself in that situation again. “It was a mistake,” he said. “Now that I know what it feels like, I can’t help but think about it. But that will not happen with us until we are married.”

Esther was angry about Georgia. She tried to reconcile it with the fact that it happened before she met him, and what other seventeen-year-old boy would have been able to stop like that? But she was still angry.

Esther even met Georgia once at a dance. Ruben introduced them and Esther was cordial but actually felt hatred toward her. Georgia was with someone in his mid-twenties and both had obviously been drinking. She was a very beautiful girl but not Ruben’s type. Esther thought she was far too showy and dressed too provocatively. She was incensed when Georgia threw her arms around Ruben’s neck and kissed his cheek. Ruben broke away quickly and looked apologetically at Esther. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but imagine every detail of Ruben’s encounter. Whenever she thought about it, she became livid and it was all she could do not to heap reprimands upon Ruben. Finally, she couldn’t help herself. He was taking her home after eating dinner at his house when she turned to him and said, “What possessed you to go with that tramp?”

He looked at her. “Who?”

“That Georgia person.”

He understood. “Oh, her.” He pulled over and said, “It was a huge mistake and I’m sorry. I’m also sorry I told you.”

That shocked Esther. She reached over and turned off the key. She guided his lips to hers and kissed him. “No,” she said, “don’t say that. You should tell me everything. I’m sorry I got so upset. It’s just that I love you and the thought of you with another girl….well…it drives me insane.”

“I know,” he said. He took her face in his hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

She thought about Georgia again and was angry all over. “I don’t like her one bit, and all of a sudden I wish I didn’t know about her. I hate what happened between you. It’s almost like you were with a…a…prostitute!”

Ruben knew why she was angry but there was nothing he could do about it. In fact, her unwillingness to forget it made him angry. With a raised voice, he said, “What else can I say? I didn’t even know you then. If you want me to do that to you, I will. OK? Is that what you want?”

Esther felt very foolish and very hurt at the same time. But she was also mad. “You’re being a beast,” she said, “a real beast!” Tears came to her eyes and he was immediately sorry. But when she scooted all the over to the passenger door, he was totally subdued.

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.” He reached out for her but she pulled away.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. “Right now I hate you!”

He didn’t know what to do. “I sorry,” he said, softer. “I’m really sorry.”

She took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears. “She’s had a part of you I’ve never had, and it drives me crazy. That’s all. I can’t help it.” She began sobbing which made her even more frustrated. She waved her handkerchief up and down as if she was trying to dismiss something. “Oh, never mind!”

He reached out to her and pulled her to him. This time she didn’t resist. “Esther, let’s not fight. I hate it when we fight. But I don’t know what else to say about it. I’m sorry.”

She buried her face in his chest. “I know. I just love you so much. I can’t stand thinking about it.”

When summer came and their days were free, they went swimming in the Kings River and took day trips to places like Three Rivers or Hume Lake. Ruben wrote songs for Esther which the Mustangs put into their regular sets. The fame of the Mustangs was growing and they were making more money. Ruben and Esther began hinting to their families about marriage and record companies were talking contracts. Ruben averaged a thousand dollars a week for the first months of summer and marriage became a serious subject.

Both families thought they were too young and, after much cajoling, the couple finally agreed to wait a year. Esther had been accepted at Fresno State College as a music major and Ruben was studying theory from Mrs. Rosenberg. He insisted on paying her for teaching him.

The band cut a record that made it to the top 25 on the charts, then another, then an album. Ruben was also taking classical guitar lessons from a man in Fresno and was progressing rapidly. He was getting offers for good-paying solo gigs playing classical guitar. He played at several Jewish functions but refused money for them.

All was right with the world until, one day in August, 1967, Ruben received a letter. He saw the envelope on a Saturday morning and could not imagine what it could mean.

When he read the draft notice, he went into the bathroom and threw up. His mother rushed in and he handed her the notice. When she read it, she cried.

He called Esther and told her they needed to talk. She asked what was wrong and he said, “I’ve been drafted. I have to report by the end of the month.”

“Don’t joke like that, darling.”

“I’m not joking, sweetheart. I wish I were. I have to report to the induction center on Shaw Avenue by noon on the thirtieth.”

Esther broke down and became hysterical. “NO! NO! I WON’T LET YOU GO! YOU CAN’T GO!”

“Esther, baby, calm down. Maybe there’s some way I can get out of it.”

He could hear Esther crying in the background when Dr. Rosenberg’s voice came over the phone. “Ruben, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been drafted. I have to report by the thirtieth.”

He heard Dr. Rosenberg say, more to himself than to Ruben, “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

He wasn’t a coward, but he didn’t want to leave his music and he certainly didn’t want to leave Esther.

“I don’t know what to do,” he told Dr. Rosenberg. “What should I do?”

“We’ll try to think of something, son. Can you and your mother come over tomorrow about noon? I’m going to call in some marks.”

But Dr. Rosenberg didn’t have marks with the right people for this. Ruben didn’t have a student deferment because he wasn’t attending a recognized institution of higher learning. The band wanted him to say he was gay to get out of it. Of course that was out of the question. Others told him to go to Canada, or be a consciences objector.

Ruben, once the dust settled in his mind, knew he had to go. His father had fought his way across Europe in World War II with the Second Ranger Battalion and was wounded twice. One of his father’s brothers flew twenty-two missions as a tail gunner on a B-17. He was shot down over France and lost both legs below the knee. Another brother was wounded with the First Marine Division on Guadalcanal. Both of his mother’s brothers were in Army Intelligence. In short, Ruben’s family had contributed significantly to the country’s defense and his mother thought it the worst kind of injustice for the government to take her youngest son. She tried to be strong for Ruben but could rarely hold it together. Mrs. Rosenberg complained bitterly to her husband.

“Isn’t there anything you can do? What about all these delinquents doing nothing on the street corner? Why can’t they go? We’re talking about Ruben! This is insane!”

In the end, Ruben reported to the induction center on Shaw Avenue in Fresno. He asked his Mother, the Rosenbergs, and Esther to say goodbye to him at the door, telling them it would be easier that way.

The last words he heard before going through the door were, “I will wait for you, Ruben Barlow. If I do not marry you, I will marry no one.”

Inside, fate threw him one more curve. After the physical examination and other protocols, Ruben saw two Marines enter the room. They were starched and pressed and moved with a swagger. They announced, “We’re short three for our quota. You, you, and you. Let’s go.” The last “you” was Ruben Barlow.