Читать книгу '60s Song - Tom Dwyer - Страница 3

CHAPTER ONE

The hot morning sun was already moving through the housing project on the banks of the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia. It created a haze that blanketed the city with a sweltering heat that seemed to have the whole world moving in slow motion. Frankie Johnson, a skinny, black teenager with a slight limp in his right leg, knocked on the front door of his best friend’s house. They had been friends ever since their families moved into the housing project on the same day ten years back. Frankie knocked again and heard footsteps in the house. The door opened, and George Bannon, a muscular Irish kid with wavy black hair and deep dark eyes saw Frankie standing on the steps.

"We going swimming today or what, white boy?” Frankie asked. George looked through the beat-up screen door that was hanging off one of its hinges, and then waved him in. Frankie entered the small two-story house where George lived with his mother and a younger sister. The family was on the waiting list with the housing authority to move to a bigger house up on the hill but it could be years before a vacancy might open up. The small dirty kitchen had dishes in the sink and bags of trash waiting to be put out. George opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a soda for breakfast.

"Yeah, we're going swimming. Hold your horses there, Tonto. Hey, I heard one of the McCanns got shot up in Vietnam.” George said as he yawned, trying to wake up.

"I didn't know any of the McCanns were over there."

"I heard it from one my cousins. She used to date the guy. He's in a hospital overseas somewhere."

Frankie sat at the small kitchen table. He placed his weakened leg on the chair next to him, and then helped himself to a stale sugar donut that had been sitting on the table for days. George shook his head in amazement.

"Don't they feed you at home?"

Frankie continued to eat the donut and gave George the finger.

George sat down next to Frankie and grabbed a piece of the donut that had almost made it to Frankie’s mouth.

"Man, I really don’t want to go over there. I don’t know what I’ll do if I get a draft notice.”

"You got that right, George. Besides, the way things are going around this project, we'll probably get killed right here, even before we get a chance to get sent over there," Frankie said, finishing the donut.

"You know, sometimes you ain't that dumb for a Negro, you know that?"

"Black person. We're called black people now. Get hip, cracker."

George pulled a worn tee-shirt on over his head, grabbed his pocket knife off the kitchen counter and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"Does that mean I got to call Aunt Jemima a black person now?”

Frankie shoved him out the door closing it behind him.

"It's just a matter of time, white boy, and you'll be working for me."

They cut across two vacant lots littered with old cars, broken bottles, and burnt tires. They came to an entrance to Fairmount Park on the edge of the housing project. It was still early in the morning and the park seemed deserted. They walked under tall poplar trees along a dirt path until they came to a steep incline that led down to the Schuylkill River.

"You know, George, being black in this country is no joke.”

George kicked a large stone toward the river watching it sail through the morning light.

"Let me tell you something, Frankie, I'm just as oppressed in this country as you are. Don’t matter what color you are. Being poor in this country, now that’s screwed up.”

They continued down the incline until they reached the river where they felt a cool wind blow over them.

"I'm going in," George said. He removed his tee-shirt and sneakers then jumped into the cool river water. Frankie watched George disappear under the surface. He removed his shirt and sneakers and disappeared under the water as well. The two figures converged on each other under the water and began wrestling. The first to break to the surface was George. He gasped for air, and then swam back to where his clothing was on the river bank. Frankie broke the surface a moment later, and followed George to shore. They laid on their backs letting the morning sun flow over them. Only the sound of cars horns from the expressway on the other side of the river broke the silence.

"Hay, Frank, let's dive into the cave."

"No, man. We almost didn't get out the last time we went in there!"

"Come on, you chicken-shit, nothing’s gonna happen."

They walked along the edge of the river carrying their shirts and shoes. To their left rose a 50-foot wall of black bluffs formed from coal and granite that ran parallel to the river like a fortress. They stopped at a series of three large boulders shooting out of the water under the Strawberry Mansion Bridge. The boulders hugged the bank as they rose out of the ten feet or more, majestic and mysterious. Frankie and George hid their clothing under a shiny black rock at the base of the bluff, and then dove down between the two largest boulders. They swam down along the edge of one of the boulders, their hands touching the rock as a guide, their lungs burning for air as they made their way deeper into the cool water. When they hit the river’s bottom, George motioned for Frankie to follow him. George swam through a small opening between the base of the two boulders which led up into the cave buried deep in the base of the bluffs. He burst into one of the cave’s many rooms, his lungs praying for air. Frankie came crashing through the surface of the water right behind him.

"Christ, I got to stop smoking!" George yelled.

The two climbed out of the water onto a stone ledge. The cave’s ceiling was low and was covered with stalactites, huge crystal icicles which filled the area with a strange natural light. George had discovered the underwater cave two summers back when his fishing line got stuck and he dove down to disentangle it. It was then that he discovered the small entrance between the base of the boulders leading upward to the cave. Since that day, Frankie and he had returned to the cave a few times, but had never told anyone about the place. It was their secret.

They walked along a narrow ledge that led deeper into the cave. George stopped in front of a familiar crevice and reached in pulling out a small water-proof bag he had brought down with him on an earlier trip. Inside the bag was a pack of cigarettes, a flashlight, some candles, matches, and a red magic marker. George lit a smoke and pointed the flashlight down the damp hallway. On the walls around them were primitive sketches of Indians in boats. The stick figures seemed to have been etched with a crude tool, and at one time had color. But time and water had faded the images.

Soon after his first trip to the cave, George had asked his mother if she had ever heard about any caves in the park. She had told him that there were caves all through this area, from the Poconos, to the Wissahickon Creek, down to the mouth of the Delaware River. During the Depression, hundreds of poor people had actually lived in the caves during the long, cold winters. But what really caught George’s attention was when she told him that down by the river, there used to be a big cave near the old Strawberry Mansion. But a kid fell in some twenty years back and was killed. After that the city closed up the entrance so that other kids wouldn't meet the same fate. George decided not to mention anything about his cave; he didn't want to worry her. She worried too much about everything already.

Frankie and George continued walking through the cave, marveling at the round, smooth ceilings, looking as if they were man-made.

"You know, there has got to be an opening to the outside somewhere in this cave," George remarked, reaching up to touch the blue granite stone above his head.

Frankie limped behind George, trying to keep up as the light from the flashlight revealed more chambers.

"Yeah, well, we keep looking every time we come down here and haven't found anything yet. Every passageway we go down leads to another dead-end. But those Indians on the walls there must have found a way to get down here without swimming under the rocks to get in here.”

George tuned shining the light in Frankie’s face.

“Well they’re sure as hell not giving up their secrets if they did.”

“I can relate to that,” Frankie said. “They knew the white man was coming. White folks did the same thing to the Indians that you did to us blacks.”

George was about to say something but instead took the magic marker from the water-proof bag and marked a big round red circle on the wall in the room they were standing in. They had gotten into the habit of marking all the walkways and tunnels they explored so that way they could find their way back.

"In years to come, Frankie, someone will find this place like we did and see all of these mysterious red circles on the walls that we made. They won't have a clue as to what they are.”

Frankie limped faster catching up to George.

"Sure they will, they'll know some dumbass Irishman had nothing better to do but to wander around a dark, damp cave marking up the place."

They continued down the winding hallway. Water dripped from small holes in the ceiling, and a whistling sound moving down the hallway as if there was a window open somewhere.

"I'm thinking of going to a party up on the hill tonight. Should be some really fine girls there just holding their breaths 'til I show up. You want to come and hang, Frank?"

"Who invited white trash like you?”

“You got to be kidding. Those rich girls dig me. You know that’s true.”

Frankie shook him head and continued to walk through the cave.

"What gets them rich girls excited is this black boy. You know the taboo thing.”

"Well, you want to go or not?"

"Sure, why not? It could be fun hanging with the uppity white folks.”

They turned a corner and entered a large, almost perfectly round room. It was by far the biggest room they had found so far.

Once more Frankie and George were mesmerized by the primitive faces painted on the walls and the carved images of the sun and moon chiseled into the stone ceiling. They walked around the room touching the walls, feeling the moist, rich dirt as if it held a great secret and would give them a clue as to what this place was all about.

“What the hell is this place, George?”

George ran his hands over the walls and looked up at the fading images above his head.

"I don't have a clue, but my mom said something about an Indian tribe living in this area hundreds of years ago. I think she called them the Lenapes. Maybe this was one of their hangouts."

"How is your mom?"

“Oh you know, she lives up in that bedroom. Once in awhile she comes downstairs to see what my sister is up to, see if she is still alive. It's like she's given up on life or something, just wants to read those books and watch dumb TV.

Frankie leaned up against the wall, giving his aching leg a rest.

"I see that in my mom. Life sure can wear you down if you let it. Neither one of them have husbands to help them with things. You know that got to be hard."

George aimed the light up on the ceiling hoping to find a ray of sunlight. But all he saw was the chiseled carving of the sun.

"Maybe we should let somebody know about this place. I mean, like a museum or the cops. Maybe we could make some money, George."

George aimed the light at Frankie's face.

"Why the hell would we want to do that? This is our place. No one else in the world knows about this cave but us. I mean right smack in the middle of Philadelphia, under a river, we found an Indian cave the size of a football stadium. No, man, this is our place. Our secret."

"Okay, keep your shirt on."

George reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pocket knife.

"Give me your finger, Frankie."

"My finger? Why?"

"Let's seal our promise to keep this place a secret.”

“No way. Grow up. If you think I’m going to let you cut me you’re crazy. You already broke my leg and gave me this limp. Shit. I haven’t forgiven you for that one yet.”

For a fleeting moment a look of sadness crossed George's face.

"You know I didn't break your leg on purpose. We were playing football; you just got in my way."

Frankie looked at the knife George was holding.

"Put that thing away. You’re not going to cut anybody."

“I didn't break your leg on purpose. You know that. That limp will keep you out of the Army. You should thank me, you really should."

“I’m not going into any army, I'm going to collage in the fall. You, on the other hand, didn't have the brains to stay in school. Your ass is going to be wearing army green very soon."

George placed the knife in his pocket. "Don't count on it."

Frankie shook his head and started back. They walked in silence, neither one anxious to continue the conversation. When they reached the first chamber, George returned the flashlight, matches, and marker in the water-tight bag, then placed the bag on a dry rock up high.

"Be careful going back up, Frankie. Don't get caught up in the tree roots or mud."

George stepped into the water and disappeared under the surface. Frankie followed right behind him, the two friends leaving one world and returning to another. Moments later they burst through the surface of the river, gasping for air. They swam the short distance to shore, then lay on the rocks letting the morning sun move over them.

"So we'll go to the party tonight, Frankie?"

"Sure, why not?”

George sat up and touched Frankie's arm.

"Come on, we can have a cool time.”

"Hand me my shirt, I got to get home. My mom wants me to help her do some shopping."

"You're such a good boy, Frankie, such a good boy," George said sarcastically. Frankie shoved him away.

After walking for fifteen minutes, they arrived at the stretch of pre-fab, cheaply built houses that made up the East Falls housing project. George watched Frankie disappear into his house at the end of the block. George then entered his home and heard his mother walking around upstairs in her bedroom. He noticed the mail on the table and flipped through it knowing it would be mostly bills. When he reached the bottom of the stack, he spotted the large, official-looking envelope with his name on it. He knew what it was before he opened it. He ripped it open and read the letter three times before placing it in his pocket. He thought for a moment to call his mom and let her know he had received his notice to report for his Army physical in a month, but he didn't want to worry her yet. There would be time enough for that. At least he would have the summer, he thought to himself. Maybe he could get some of that peace and love everybody was talking about. He still had time he thought, as his mother shuffled around upstairs like a ghost searching for her lost life.