Читать книгу Billy Don't - William OSB Baker - Страница 9

"Hi there, Bozo." It was the way he greeted his son, a nickname used to convey a special value, an especially felt relationship.

"Hi, Dad." It was always "Dad" with Billy, never "Daddy."

Billy moved between his father's legs, reaching round his waist, and gaining a hold to pull himself tightly against his sitting father. He placed his head against his father's chest. "I love you, Dad. And I miss you."

"I love you too, Bozo. And oh boy, do I ever miss all of you." He reached out for Beth and Randolph, folding them into his arms. He lowered his head, fighting back the emotion which was engulfing him, and silently gave divine thanks for his three beautiful children, and the time they were to share together.

"I'm sorry I wasn't back when you got here" Billy visualized how he would have greeted his Dad by waiting on the stoop until he saw him coming up the sidewalk, running to join him, and having his Dad place his hand on his head, saying, "I'll use you as my cane." His Monday chore had cheated him out of his simple pleasure.

"Heck, I'm glad you got that load home. Aunt Rae told me you were hauling greens for the chickens." His Dad never referred to relatives by their hereditary titles. Aunt Rae was Aunt Rae, Uncle Bud was Bud, cousin Rae Ellen was Ellen, and Grandmother Munroe was Mother.

"Looks like you did yourself proud. Quite a load for your little wagon." Billy wondered if Aunt Rae had told his Dad about the candy bar. Since nothing was said, he guessed not.

"Billy." Mrs. Blair had stepped out onto the porch. "Pull your wagon round to the chicken yard gate and get your clothes changed. Your father is waiting on you." Partially turning to return to the house, she cast a frowning glance at Billy's father, and said, "Hello, Mr. Munroe." The words were cold and harsh.

He responded, his voice being without emotion, "Hello, Mrs. Blair."

Mrs. Blair returned to the house, closing the door behind her.

Dad returned to the children, "1 have something in this bag for you. Can you guess what it is?"

"Candy," replied Billy, remembering Beth's comment.

"Right you are, Bozo. But, what kind?" His Dad wanted to continue the guessing game, sure that Billy would have the correct answer.

Billy considered the question for a moment before replying. Then his words exploded. "Black jelly beans." He knew they were his Dad's favorite and on their trips from Carmel they always shared a bag of black jelly beans.

"Right again. Didn't think you'd miss that one." He handed the bag to Billy. "Have a couple now and save the rest for the show."

Billy dug into the small bag for two of the largest beans, then held them up to show his Dad before plopping them into his mouth. Between his chews he asked his sister, "What kind a candy did you get?" And, at the same time, he reached to peer into the bag she was holding. Beth pulled away. The bag tore, spilling the tinfoil wrapped candy kisses onto the sidewalk.

"Darn you Billy. You pick them up."

"1 didn't do anything. You pulled the bag. You pick 'em up."

Dad laughed. "No harm done. They are all wrapped. It was a weak bag anyway. Both of you pick up the candy, and we'll go next door to see Mrs. Baxter for a minute or two. Then we'll go to the show.”

The two children picked up the candy kisses, putting them back in the torn bag. "Bozo, you take the wagon round back, change your clothes, and come over to the Baxter's. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad." He stuffed his candy bag into his pants pocket, took hold of the wagon handle, and pulled it down the gravel driveway to the chicken yard gate

Dad Munroe, taking notice that Randolph was tightly gripping his bag of assorted jellies, lifted him off the stoop and stood him on the sidewalk. "you take your sister's hand, Randy, and keep a good hold on your candy." Dad then placed his hand on top of his daughter's head to steady himself. "you can be my cane, Kiddo." Although he played the game of "cane" with the children, he refused to walk with a cane, and was determined to overcome his disability. Bill's crushed hip had not healed properly, causing him to walk in a staggering manner. In later years he would joyously tell the story of being stopped by a cop (Dad always called policemen "cops") who thought he was a staggering drunk. The story was particularly humorous to those who knew him since he never drank hard liquor and would only take a small glass of wine on a very special occasion.

Billy dropped the handle to the wagon at the chicken yard gate, and ran toward the house, taking the rear stairs two at a time. He dashed through the kitchen, and heard the words, "Put on your knickers," chasing after him as he grabbed the square banister post at the bottom of the stairway and vaulted himself to the first landing. He paused, yelled, "I don't like 'em," then bounded up the stairs to his closet under the attic staircase.

"You put on those knickers." Her voice echoed up the stairwell from the front entrance hallway.

"No. I don't like 'em." He screamed his objections. "Sissies wear 'em." His temper was gaining control.

"Don't you yell at me, young man." She now stood outside the closet door.

Billy leaned back against the closet wall, then slid down to a sitting position where he sat with his arms folded, staring straight ahead. "I'm not going to wear 'em." He was defiant.

"Then you'll not go to the show with your father."

They had reached an impasse. She stood glaring down at Billy. He sat staring straight ahead, not moving.

"Get up from there and be a good boy." she pleaded. "God can see you, and He does not like what He is seeing."

Billy did not move. She reached down, placing her hand under his arm in an effort to raise him to his feet. Billy jerked away. His shoulder hit the orange crates, rocking them back and forth and spilling the stacked clothes onto the floor. "Now, look what you've done."

"I didn't do it. You made me do it. It was your fault and God saw you do it." He started to cry. "I want to go with my Dad."

"Then get up from there and put on your knickers." Slowly Billy raised himself from the floor. Mrs. Blair stepped inside the closet, picking up the spilled clothes and handing him his knickers. "Put them on in the bedroom," she commanded. Her patience was gone. Billy was conscious of her stem rule calling for him never to expose himself or his underclothing. On bath nights before entering the bathroom to ensure he had properly washed himself, she would call ahead, asking, "Are you covered?" It was Billy's signal to place a wash cloth over his genitals. On wash days she frequently warned him not to look at the female undergarments hanging on the line. "Don't you look at those. Your soul will turn black."

He sat himself with deliberate force on the foot of his cot, removing his trousers and stepping into the knickers, giving them a violent kick in the process.

"Here, put on this shirt and vest sweater." He complied without comment. He had stopped crying. She stood watching as he transferred the bag of jelly beans to his knickers.

"What is that?" she demanded to know.

"Jelly beans. My Dad gave 'em to me." She looked Billy over, pulling his shirt collar out from under the vest sweater and smoothing his ruffled hair. "You can go now."

He bolted for the stairs taking them three at a time, checking his rapid descent at the two landings by hitting the wall with his outstretched hands. Slamming the front door behind him, he ran toward the Baxter's house.

Mrs. Blair stood staring down the empty staircase. "Sure as rain," she said aloud, "the Devi1lives in that boy"

Beth was coming out of the Baxter's front door as Billy rounded the hedge heading for the front porch. "Here he is, Daddy," called Beth, letting her Dad know Billy had arrived and telling Billy they had been waiting for him. The four of them walked toward 38th Avenue, passing the telephone pole between the Baxter's and Blair's which served as the counting place for the neighborhood games of Hide 'n Seek.

In front of the Blair's they stopped briefly while Dad said good-by to Randolph, who was too small to walk to the movie, instructing Beth to take him to Mrs. Blair. Billy and his Dad continued on toward 38th Avenue. Beth, having delivered her younger brother to Mrs. Blair, ran after them, catching up where the sidewalk made a small bend before commencing its downward slope to the corner where the policeman had lived.

"Shirley lives over there." Beth pointed to a white stucco house, it was next to a lot where putrid smells of decaying vermin came from a dilapidated shack set far back from the street amongst the towering eucalyptus trees. The shack was occupied by an old lady who was seldom seen.

"Gladys Armstrong lives in the next house. She is my best friend." Beth motioned in the direction of the two story brown shingled house.

Billy jumped in, "Ellen Nygard lives in that white stucco house. She s from Finland. She's in my class."

Beth continued. "Georgia and the twin brothers live there. Her brothers go to a military school in Pacific Grove." She pointed toward the house sitting back from the street between Gladys' and Ellen's houses.

"Sounds like you have a lot of friends to play with," observed Dad, glad to share in the children's description of their neighborhood and friends.

"Shirley doesn't play with us very much. Her mom makes her stay in the yard." Mr. Munroe's hip was beginning to bother him. The earlier walk from Aunt Rae's had made him tired. It was not a far walk, only a couple of blocks from Agua Vista Street, but the hills had put extra strain on the weak hip. "I think we'll take the street car. It is getting late, and this "ole crip" may not make it in time for the movie."

Billy glanced up at his Dad. I'll be your cane." He became consciously aware of his position alongside his Dad and made a deliberate effort to walk straight and tall. Squaring his shoulders and holding his head high, he said to himself, "I'll be the best cane ever."

Dad walked between his two children, one hand on Billy's head and the other holding Beth's hand. He was a tall man with broad, squared shoulders and strong hands. His red hair accentuated the ruddiness of his complexion and brought out the blue of his eyes set deep in their sockets behind a high bridged nose which flared at the nostrils. The square jaw and straight lined mouth gave him a look of strength. His eyes were kind, passionate and understanding, humorous and teasing. The youthful years of hard labor in helping his mother to overcome the tragic deaths of first his father and then his mother's second husband had given him moral strength and a purpose to his life. He was a strong willed man who sought after his visions with objectivity and persistent determination. He was resourceful in overcoming obstacles and willing to self-sacrifice for those whom he loved and trusted. He was always honest and forthright in his dealings .... no trickery or bribery. "Mean what you say and say what you mean." and "Never be a fore-flusher." Those were his often repeated words. Mr. Munroe's visions had been within reach when the very venture which was to pyramid his successes came crumbling down.

The disastrous collapse of the parking garage left him crippled and bankrupt, and the divorce was to forever separate him from the children he loved. He asked no pity for the permanent hip injury, and never suspected that it would cause him to lose his balance and fall from a forty foot bluff onto the banks of the South Fork of the Tuolumne River where he would lay for two days before being found by two fishermen. His injuries from the fall were nearly fatal. The doctors predicted he would not live and chose not to treat his shattered right shoulder, which healed in a most useless manner. Still he asked for no pity.

He was vengeful. He was vengeful toward the wife who stripped him of his children and wealth; toward the surgeon who failed to properly mend his hip; toward the doctors who left him for dead. He was intolerant of those who claimed to be his friends when times were good, but vanished when he needed them. His life had been disrupted, permanently altered. Although he often had vengeful thoughts, he did not seek revenge. To the contrary, he found or created the rationale necessary to explain away the acts of others.

After the Monterey accident and the divorce, Bill Munroe had taken stock of his personal situation, his financial position, his physical limitations, and his expectations. He drew strength from the lessons he'd learned in his youthful years, bringing himself to full realization of where he was and what was best for him. The accident and divorce had denuded him of his financial holdings, leaving him with a small monthly medical disability payment of which one-half was awarded to Gertrude for child support. His decision to live in a caretaker role in an isolated cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains answered the facts he had assembled. He would not be dependent on his mother.

Financially, he could not afford to live in Carmel or Oakland. The hip injury needed time to heal. He needed time to repair the emotional and mental injuries he had suffered, and to be away from the scenes which carried memories of the past would speed that recovery. Mums reluctantly accepted her son's decision to live in the mountains, and as a supporting offer agreed to periodically return him to Oakland for visits with his children. At first there were a couple of visits a year. Then as the children adjusted to their environment and became less aware of his absence, a chasm in their relationship began to develop. A visit of a few hours became too short to rekindle memories and devotions. The visits became difficult, their purpose and pleasure lost. Gradually the visits became fewer and further apart. Eventually they stopped.

"Clang, clang, clang." Billy heard the distant clanging of the street car's bell, remembering when he rode the street car to his grandmother's how the conductor incessantly tapped his heel on the steel pin which struck the bell anchored under the conductor's platform. Billy thought, "They ring the bell all the time." And so it seemed with most conductors. As the three reached the corner, the clang of the street car's bell was coming over the hill giving advance notice of its impending arrival. "Just in time," said Dad. "We won't have to wait." The steel wheels screeched as they brought the street car to a stop on the shiny surface of the tracks midway up the hill. The doors folded open and the step dropped down into its place.

They boarded the car, and Dad dropped three tokens into the square fare box. "Need transfers?" "No, thanks. Just going up to the show," replied Dad, making his stumbling way to the seat where Billy was sitting against the window, and Beth was standing in the aisle waiting for him to take his place between them. "Looks like you two are going to make a sandwich out of me." The children laughed. "Which one is the onions?"

Not me, I'm ketchup," chimed in Beth, happy to play the game of make believe.

"Me neither. 1 don't like onions." Billy screwed up his face and held his nose, emphasizing his point.

Dad tilted his head back in the pretence of calling in an order. "Hold the onions." He spoke in a rather loud voice, which drew a smile from the lady seated across the aisle.

The game of food nudged Billy's thoughts into an awareness of the black jelly beans crammed into the pocket of his knickers. "Can 1 have one of my jelly beans now?" He squirmed on the seat, making room to force his hand into the tight pocket as Dad said, "It'd sure beat the gee-willickers out of this sandwich." They all laughed, and the lady across the aisle again smiled.

Beth, correctly assuming the granted permission included her, carefully unfolded the torn bag she had been holding in her hand and removed a candy kiss. "They are all melted," she complained. "Well, now you have a bag of finger-lickers instead of kisses." Beth laughed at her dad's comment, carefully peeling the thin foil from the melted candy kiss.

Dad reached up to pull the cord signaling the conductor they wanted off at the next stop. Billy jumped to his feet. "1’ll pull it, Dad." He gave the cord a hard yank.

At the corner the street car came to a stop, and the three got off. The show was a Tom Mix western preceded by the Movietone News and a cartoon. Billy ate his black jelly beans, sharing a few with his Dad. Beth's candy kisses were messy, but good. She paid more attention to unpeeling the foil wrappers than she did to the movie. On their way out, Dad suggested, "Let's use the restrooms. I think some fingers could use washing." Outside, they crossed the street to wait where the street car would be stopping.

As they stood waiting, Dad spoke. "Oh say, you know what?"

Billy responded, "Oh say, you know what." It was a game Billy played with his father's habit of starting a conversation with the those words.

Again, Dad said, "Oh say, you know what."

"What?" asked Beth

"I just thought of a riddle. See if you can solve it."

"Okay," Beth and Billy gleefully answered in unison.

"Here it is. On my way to Van Nuys I met a man with seven wives. Each wife had seven sacks. Each sack had seven cats. Each cat had seven kits. Now, kits, cats, sacks, and wives, how many were going to Van Nuys?"

"What?" asked Billy, his face screwed up in a puzzled look.

"I'll repeat it for you." He did, speaking slowly and emphasizing the words, "0n my way ....." "I know. I know." Beth excitedly called, jumping up and down.

"Okay. How many?"

"Fourteen." "Nope.

Do you know, Bozo?"

"No." Billy was trying to mentally add the seven kits, seven cats and seven sacks. "How many wives were there?" he asked.

"Seven of everything, except me." Again, Dad repeated the first three words. "On my way." Only this time he gave added emphasis to the word "my".

"I know. I know." Beth twirled herself in a small circle.

"Okay. How many?"

"One." She shouted out the answer.

"Right, Y'are, Kiddo."

"I don't get it." Billy stood half-pouting, half-confused, disturbed that Beth had the correct answer.

Mr. Munroe was in the process of explaining how only he was going to Van Nuys when a car stopped at the curb in front of where they stood. The driver leaned across the front seat and opened the front door. "Hey, you guys looking for a ride?"

Dad for a short moment looked quizzically at the car, then the driver. Recognizing Bud, he said, "Hey, yourself. Straw is cheaper. Didn't recognize the car, Bud. What're doin' here? Make a special trip for us?"

"Yep. Thought you might like a ride home."

"Mighty kind of ya, Bud. We'd appreciate it."

"Ah, forget it. I'd do it for any "crip" even if he was my wife's brother."

"That's the way it is with Bud," thought Bill, letting the remark pass, always kidding and joking around." He opened the rear door, ushered the children into the back seat, and got into the front with Bud.

"Hi, Uncle Bud."

"Hi, Billy. How's the carrot top?"

"I'm not a carrot top. Carrot tops are green." It was a standard exchange between Billy and his Uncle Bud.

"Hi, Uncle Bud." "Hi, Sweetie Pie. How was the show?" "It was good....."" Billy interrupted. "It was about cowboys, and they got the bad guys who stole the cattle." Bud turned to Bill. "A real cliff hanger, eh, Bill?" Both men laughed. The car pulled away from the curb.

"Uncle Bud?" "Yeah, Billy. What's on your mind?" "When is soon?" "Huh? What’cha mean, 'when is soon?'" On hearing the question Bud's first reaction was to make fun of the question. But the tone of Billy's voice suggested that a serious answer was expected. "I don't understand the question, Billy." "You told me you would take us to see Dad in the mountains, soon. I want to know when soon is."

Bud looked at Bill. They both wanted to break out laughing, but stifled the urge. "That is a good question." Bud waited a moment before going on. He needed to compose himself and think out the answer.

"Uncle Bud ..... " "Yeah, I'm thinking." "Hold yer britches," commented Dad, giving Bud a moment longer to form an answer. Bud spoke. "I think 'soon' can be when the snow starts to fall. It would be a lot of fun playing in the snow, and your Aunt Rae enjoys going to the mountains in the winter time.

"When does it snow?" asked Beth. Neither of the two children had ever seen snow, and the mere mention of the word was true excitement. They both stood behind the front seat leaning to hear every word. "It should snow anytime now." said Bill.

Bud added, "School is out over Thanksgiving. Maybe we can go up then. What’cha think, Bill?"

"Yeah, I'd guess so. Sure would be a good time, but can you get away from the job?"

"Yeah. Sure. They owe me a week from last Christmas."

Billy was now bouncing up and down on the back seat. "Hurray. Hurray. We are going to the mountains." He repeated it over and over until Dad asked him to stop.

"Can we build a snowman?" asked Beth.

"Why, sure. You can build all the snowmen you want. Ain't nothin' but room and snow up there," replied Dad, happy to have had the visit established. He reached over and gave a knowing pat on Billy's leg. They drove on home.

"Here we are." The car stopped in front of the Blair's. Billy stood, placed his arms around his Dad's neck, giving him a tight hug. His Dad turned to face the children. "Kiss me bye for now. I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Be sure and bring warm clothes." The children took their turns kissing their Dad goodbye, then stepped out onto the sidewalk. Uncle Bud turned in his seat to slam the rear door closed. "Bye, kids." "Bye, Uncle Bud. Thanks for the ride. Bye, Dad."

They ran toward the house, Billy in the lead. He was full of excitement, and anxious to announce the impending trip to the mountains. He swung open the front door, allowing it to bang against the wall, and ran on through the sitting parlor into the living room where the Blair family was gathered around the pot bellied stove. "Haven't I told you not to bang the front door and not to come through the parlor?" Mrs. Blair admonished him. The excitement of his intended announcement left him.

"We are going to the mountains to see my Dad." He spoke in a soft voice, his words barely audible and directed toward the floor.

"Uncle Bud is going to take us to the mountains to play in the snow at Daddy's." Beth spoke as she entered the living room, coming from the kitchen.

"Oh, and when is all this to happen?" Mrs. Blair showed her surprise and disapproval.

"Thanksgiving vacation." Beth answered. "Daddy says we can build all the snowmen we want and to bring warm clothes."

"Well, that's a time away. We'll see what your mother has to say about a trip to the mountains in all that snow. Best you two get yourselves to bed, school tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am. Goodnight." Beth spoke for both of them.