Читать книгу Billy Don't - William OSB Baker - Страница 5

Six months passed before Billy's father was discharged from the hospital, well enough to go home, but still a long way from being well. "The doctors," Bill would later say, "were wrong on two counts. One, I didn't die, and two, I'm walking. Maybe not too good, but I'm walking, and I'll get rid of this cane before too long."

During those long six months, Billy's grandmother took on the multiple roles of grandmother, mother and manager of the Carmel Cottage Courts. She and Billy became great companions, sharing the activities of running the courts and waiting for the day when Billy's father would come home. Billy's love and affection for his grandmother moved through the salutations of "grandmother" to "mother" and then to what was to be his most affectionate expression, of "Mums". Mums became her name.

The months preceding the divorce required frequent trips to Oakland in Mum's Rickenbacker, a spacious automobile luxurious with its pecan wood dashboard and velvet seat coverings in which contrasting patterns would appear when Billy ran his fingers through the nap. On these trips to Oakland Billy stood on the floor between his Dad's legs or sat in his lap, looking out the windshield. It was his place for the long trips.

The road to Oakland wound through the hills and valleys and crossed many bridges. The trips became a game of naming the bridges for a member of the family, or a friend. As the frequency of the trips increased, Billy memorized the bridges and the name given to each bridge. When they approached a bridge Billy would announce it’s name. There was one bridge of great significance to Billy, and it was always a long wait until that particular bridge came into view. It was the longest of all the bridges and spanned a deep and scenic canyon. Seeing the bridge, Billy would proudly announce, "This is your bridge, Mums." Billy loved his Mums.

At the end of one of those happy trips came an event which would forever haunt Billy. He sat with his father and grandmother on the hard wooden bench seat of a courtroom watching his mother on the witness stand. He was too young to comprehend the proceedings, but not too young to know he was being separated from the love of his father and his Mums. The courts awarded all three children to the custody of their mother.

Although Billy chose to blot out the memory of that day, the hurt and anger would forever remain. The divorce had been savagely manipulated by Billy's mother stripping his father of his family, wealth and dignity. Mr. Munroe was powerless to respond and physically incapable of doing so. The ruthlessness of the divorce generated in his father's family a passionate hatred toward Billy's mother. It was a hatred which would outlive Billy.

The Carmel Cottage Courts was sold and the proceeds went toward settlement of the Monterey tragedy. Billy's father moved to seclusion in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and Grandmother Munroe, denied the right to visit with her grandchildren, returned to Oakland. Billy joined his siste,r and brother who were living with the Blair's in Oakland. Boarded out was the term Billy would come to understand.

When Gertrude had arrived in Oakland with Beth and Randolph she had been fortunate in two ways. She had found immediate employment and a friend, with whom she and her two children could live. It was only a short time, however, before the living arrangement demanded a change. Her daily absence from the two young children had placed too much of a burden on what was becoming a fragile relationship. Through a neighbor friend she had learned of the Blair family who lived close by in a large house and who had expressed an interest in boarding the children. Discussions with Mrs. Blair had resulted in an agreement to board the children with the Blair family.

The Blair's house sat atop the hill on Lyon Avenue between 38th Avenue and High Street. The wooden two-story structure, from the web-infested cellar to the attic dormer windows looking out onto the barren front yard and the chicken coops, barn and vegetable gardens in the back yard, showed signs of the times. Money was scarce, and what there was of it, went toward the basic necessities of life. The peeling paint, the cracked window panes, and other things of neglect were seen, but ignored in the knowledge that funds were not available for their repair or upkeep.

Anything costing money and not contributing to the sustenance of the Blair household was banished from their habits, with the exception of the precious donations made to their evangelistic church.

"Billy, don't.” Those were the words of Mrs. Blair, and the words Billy would often hear at the house on Lyon Avenue.

From the street, the sidewalk led toward the small covered front porch which appeared as a hastily added afterthought to the house design. On each side of the walk, the cracked and barren earth resembled a dried lake bed. The yard was devoid of vegetation except for a single struggling cactus whose split and discolored palms told of the abuse it had suffered from pointed sticks and sharp fingernails of the neighborhood children.

"Billy, don't". The words would haunt Billy.

Four steps encased by wooden stoops led from the sidewalk to the small porch serving as a cover for the front door. The stoops, being of proper height and width, made comfortable seats where on warm evenings the neighborhood children gathered. The hollow insides of the enclosed stoops gave a resounding thud-thud-thud to the swinging heels of the children who sat there.

"Your soul will turn black, Billy." Again, the words of Mrs. Blair.

From the front porch the cement walkway led around the south side of the house, alongside the small vegetable garden between the Blair's and Baxter's homes. From there, it continued across the sloping yard before joining a large cement area in the rear of the house connected to the cellar, the woodshed, and a set of wooden stairs leading to the back porch.

The cement area was where Mr. Blair split wood, dressed chickens and made ice cream in the hand-cranked freezer. Under the large living room window, over-looking the cemented area, were the cellar doors which folded down on the cold cellar where Mrs. Blair stored her potatoes, apples and preserves. It was a dark damp place where the spiders and salamanders lived.

"The Devil lives in you, Billy." Again, Mrs. Blair.

The slope of the land fell dramatically from the front to the rear of the house giving the back porch an elevated viewing of the nearly flat back yard. From the porch a quick glance brought into view the lower end of the gravel driveway, the large two-story garage, referred to as the barn, the chicken yard with its coops, the grape arbor in which sat Mr. Blair's pedal operated sharpening wheel, the larger vegetable garden and a view into neighboring yards.

"God can see you, Billy." Could he ever escape from the words of Mrs. Blair.

The pathway from the back porch, through the washroom and into the kitchen was cluttered with bulky clothing hanging on the wall, large wash tubs stacked on the floor, and a hand-cranked wringer washing machine. A large table, with an oil cloth cover, and a four burner gas stove, complete with an oven, occupied the kitchen.

The pantry was in the rear of the house with a window above the sink overlooking the back yard. In the short hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room was the door to the pantry, and across from it the closet in where sat a manually operated gas hot water tank. When lit and forgotten, It had a propensity for turning into a steam boiler and scaring everyone with its rumbling and banging of pipes, as though it were ready to blow itself apart.

"God does not like you, Billy." Again, the words of Mrs. Blair

The south side of the first floor was divided into two rooms. The living room with its large pot bellied stove, and the sitting parlor, a forbidden sanctuary, shut off from the living room by a large oak sliding door. Entrance to the Blair house was by either the front or back door. No rules existed except that doors were not to be left standing open nor slammed shut. Although entrance was unrestricted, the route to the living room was mandated to be by way of the kitchen. The sitting parlor was "not a thoroughfare”.

"Stay out of there, Billy."

The route to the second floor started next to the telephone mounted on the front wall of the entrance hallway, adjacent to the front door, where the wallpaper had been picked away by idle fingers. The bare plaster served as a scratch pad for not-to-be-forgotten numbers. Two stairs, then a landing, a turn to the right, up eleven stairs where, "May I", was played on rainy days, alongside the open-railed banister allowing for inquisitive glances into the sanctuary of the sitting parlor, then another landing and five more stairs to the second floor.

"What are you doing up there, Billy?"

Of the Blair's nine children, only three remained at home. Ralph, no longer a child at age 25, had the bedroom to the right and above the entrance hallway. Straight ahead was the second bedroom shared by Beth and one of the Blair's daughters, Sarah, age 14. Mrs. Blair's bedroom, shared by her youngest child, Eugene, age 12, as well as Randolph and Billy was diagonally to the left and over the living room. It had a view overlooking Allendale District where at night the bright lights of the Allendale Theatre sign could be seen. In his learning process Billy would notice the Allendale Theatre spelling of "theatre" was different from his taught spelling of "theater". The explanation given him was that "theatre" was the English spelling of the word. The single bathroom, located on the second floor above the kitchen, was at the foot of the stairway leading to the attic. Under the enclosed stairway was Billy's closet, an unlighted, cobwebbed place with orange crates set one on top of the other which served as Billy's dresser.

Billy was to stay at the Blair's for seven years.

David Baxter lived next door to the Blair', and was to become Billy's best friend. Together the boys would climb trees, walk back-line fences, play rubber gun wars and string tin cans on heavy thread between their bedroom windows in a futile effort to maintain constant communication, and to be each other's alibi whenever one was needed.

David lived with his mother and grandmother. His father had left the family without warning and had not made his whereabouts known. Bax, as Billy came to call his friend, would often, in a moment of silence, look at Billy and ask, "Wonder where my Dad is?" A common bond developed between the two due to the disappearance of Bax's father and Billy's lonesomeness for his own father.

Conversations during their idle moments, perhaps while sitting on the curb tossing pebbles across the street, frequently brought out memories of experiences shared with their fathers. Fishing for Billy, hunting for Bax.

Shortly after Billy had arrived at the Blair’s, Mrs. Blair and David's mother sat visiting on the front porch stoop watching the two boys playing in the street. "My goodness, those boys could be brothers." Mrs. Blair observed. "Yes, they do look a lot alike. David seems to be a bit taller and a little heavier than Billy. Of course he is three months older," remarked David's mother, and his father was such a huge man." "Yes. He certainly was that. Don't suppose you have heard from him?" "No. Not a word. It's been so long now I really don't want to hear from him. Its all behind me now." She paused, letting go a large sigh. "Sooner forgotten, the better." She returned to the comparison of the two boys. "Billy's red hair is gorgeous. I just love the way it waves row after row." Rhetorically, she asked, "Why is it that boys have naturally curly hair and girls have straight hair?"

"Do you suppose it's his red hair which gives Billy his violent temper?" offered Mrs. Blair.

"Oh, I don't think so. David's hair is brown and he has no shortage of temper. What color are Billy's eyes? David's are blue."

"His are blue. Blue as the sky. His mother says Billy takes after his father who is of Irish extraction with red hair, blue eyes, ruddy complexion and a fierce temper. Billy go it all, I'm afraid."

"He is quite a scrapper, isn't he?"

"Oh my, yes. You know, Mrs. Baxter, the Devil has gotten control of that boy. I'm sure God sees it all and will ..... "

David's mother interrupted, "You will excuse me, but I must get home." She knew from prior happenings that Mrs. Blair was about to launch into one of her God-fearing evangelistic sermons, and she had no desire to sit out another one. She rose and walked away toward her house thinking about the boys, pleased they seemed to be becoming close friends, yet worried about the influence Billy might have on David. She passed the low, well-trimmed green hedge bordering the Baxter's front yard which held beautiful roses and a plush lawn where the neighbor children were allowed to run the D-shaped sprinkler on hot summer days. Preparing to enter her walkway she noticed Mr. Blair approaching from High Street carrying his lunch box. She stopped, waiting for Mr. Blair to close the distance between them. "Good evening, Mr. Blair."

"Ev'ning." He reached up and tipped the wide brim hat he customarily wore.

"Mrs. Blair told me you were working. I am so happy for you."

"Right neighborly of you to say so." Mr. Blair was not a man of many words, and he considered Mrs. Baxter's well intended comment to be an invasion of his privacy. Later he would tell his wife, "Ain't £it'n fer neighbors to be know'n our business." He continued on past Mrs. Baxter. "Good ev'ning, Mrs. Baxter." Again the hand was raised to the wide hat brim.

"Good evening, Mr. Blair," Her words were muted. Men, she thought, how silly they are in their senses of pride and guilt.

Mr. Blair walked diagonally across the barren yard to the cement walkway leading to the rear of the house, entered by the back door and hung his hat on a peg on the washroom wall, placed his lunch box on the pantry counter, and moved to his wooden rocking chair in the living room. Mr. Blair, traditionally called Pop by all those who lived in the Blair household, was an unassuming person, quiet in his behavior, but stern and unrelenting in his principles. Never borrow and never lend. Solve your own problems and mind your own business. His standard answer to nearly all situations was, "Stay on your own side of the fence." He was a tall, rather frail man in his daily dress of bibbed overalls and blue cotton work shirt, both of which appeared to be several sizes too large. The years of hard life and suffering showed in his lined and weathered face.

First there had been years of trying to support his growing family of nine children as a farmer in the dust bowl of Oklahoma. Then he made an attempt at lumbering where he suffered the crushing of both legs in a tree felling accident. Now, as a self-taught carpenter, in the years of the Great Depression, with little work to be found and the physical inability to hold a full-time job, he was a spent man without the knowledge or courage to seek new endeavors.

The burdens of caring for the family and finding ways to make ends meet fell to his wife, an evangelistic fanatic, whose reasoning for her often questionable actions stemmed from the fear of God, and the Day of Reckoning. While Mr. Blair's religious beliefs were less dramatic than those of his wife, he did describe himself as a "God fearing man", and together they espoused the damnation preaching’s of their evangelical beliefs. Mrs. Blair was seen differently by different people. To some, she was the champion of the Blair household, giving of herself to the pleasures of the members. To others, she was an uncompromising religious fanatic who bestowed ungodly trepidations upon the household members and all those around her. And to others she was the source of energy behind the Blair's ability to sustain themselves in a time of desperate needs and hardships. In truth, Mrs. Blair was all of those things. Billy often studied Pop as he sat in his rocking chair leaning forward stroking his aching legs in rhythm with the rocking while uttering in barely audible words, "mercy, mercy, mercy, Oh God have mercy." Mr. Blair's eyes would be closed, his face turned skyward, pleading his words. "Oh God, give me mercy, give me mercy." Billy tried to understand his pleading, to gain a sense of feeling, but it was beyond his ability.

Here was Mr. Blair asking for mercy, yet Mrs Blair spoke of God as someone who saw all the bad and made black marks on people's souls. Whatever a soul was.?

Billy did not understand. Billy liked Pop Blair when he would whittle a stick for him or let him turn the crank on the ice cream freezer. At other times he feared Pop Blair for the painful knuckle rap Pop gave him to the top of his head when he was late in bowing his head for the supper prayer or in finishing his meal. When darkness carne Pop Blair would stand, and bless those present before starting his long, painful climb to his bed in the attic. Billy wondered, but never knew why Pop Blair slept in the attic, while Mrs. Blair slept in her own bed on the second floor.

"Clean the chicken coops tomorrow, Billy." This time it was the words of Pop Blair..

The round pot-belly stove which Mrs. Blair perpetually coated with stove blackening was a symbol of friendship to Billy. It was warm and inviting, and smelled good, especially when Mrs. Blair placed two or three coffee beans on the top of the stove where their toasting sent off a satisfying l aroma.

"Go to bed, Billy."

Bedtime was not a friend of Billy's. The angle iron cot he slept on sat just inside and to the left of the bedroom door. It was a small bed compared to the two brass poster double beds used by Mrs. Blair and Eugene.

Randolph, who was becoming known more by Timmy, the name Mrs. Blair had given him, slept in the crib at the foot of Eugene's bed and across the room from Mrs. Blair's bed. The single bare light bulb hung by its electrical cord in the center of the bedroom. During the daytime the ever-present horde of flies would swarm round the hanging cord, landing on it to brush their forelegs before flying off to another destination. The cord was obliterated with the deposits of the flies. From his bed Billy could see tomorrow's pesky population positioned for the night on the electrical cord.

Nightmares came quickly to Billy. Black depths of fear, falling through space, attacking spiders, visions of the Devil, and always the mystical shrouds of black. His nightmares would shock him awake. Down, down, down into the bed. Escape. Under the covers. Hide, hide. Billy was scared. Billy was alone.