Christmastime 1941 Page 12

  Chapter 11

  *

  On Saturday afternoon, Lillian glanced up from her ironing to see what the boys were arguing about. Tommy sat at the kitchen table, enjoying a piece of the chocolate raspberry cake and washing it down with a glass of milk. His baseball glove sat next to his plate, and in between bites he slipped it on and punched it a few times.

  “I said, where is it?!” asked Gabriel, looking around the counter, lifting covers, opening the bread drawer. He then realized that Tommy had eaten the last piece of cake.

  “Hey! I was saving that for Tiny!” cried Gabriel.

  Lillian lifted one of Tommy’s shirts out of the laundry basket and sprinkled it with water. “Tommy! You were supposed to share that piece with Gabriel.”

  “I asked you if I could have it,” said Tommy. “And you said yes.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that was the piece Gabriel was saving. And I told you to share it with him.” She began to press the shirt. “How about some cookies and milk, Gabriel?”

  “You knew that was my piece,” Gabriel said. “That wasn’t very nice, Tommy.”

  “Here,” said Tommy, cutting a piece of imaginary cake, and placing it on an imaginary plate. “I saved this piece just for Tiny. It’s his favorite.”

  Lillian was afraid Gabriel might punch Tommy, or at the very least say something smart to him. But he simply took out a checked napkin and wrapped a few apples in it, added a bag of Annette’s toffee, and then placed the bundle into his burlap bag of sticks. A snack for the ball game, she guessed, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Tommy put his dishes in the sink, and mussed Gabriel’s hair. “Come on, Gabe. Let’s go beat the Bulldogs. Don’t forget your glove. We might need you to field.”

  The boys put on their coats and caps and headed for the door.

  “Gabriel, do you really need to take that big bag with you?” asked Lillian.

  “Just stuff for our game,” answered Tommy, wanting to avoid any delays. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll be home before dark.”

  “Keep an eye on Gabriel,” she called after them.

  “Bye, Mom!” both boys hollered as they ran down the stairs.

  Gabriel was upset with Tommy for eating the piece of cake, and remained silent on their way to the park.

  Tommy playfully pulled down the brim of Gabriel’s cap. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t be sore. I’ll buy you a piece of cake at the diner later.”

  They crossed over into the park and fell in with the other boys. The Bulldogs won the coin toss and batted first. Gabriel waited until the second inning when Tommy was at bat, and then he ducked away to take his bag of sticks to Tiny.

  One block up, and three blocks over. Gabriel had only been to Tiny’s building once before, but just outside on the steps, never inside. He recognized the building and walked up to the stoop. He stepped around the shards of glass on the sidewalk, and was careful not to wake the man who was propped up against the wall, sound asleep with an empty bottle in his hand.

  Gabriel opened the front door, and climbed the dark flights of stairs. Tobacco smoke and cooking smells filled the air. On the second floor, a door stood open, and sounds of something sizzling and the banging of utensils mixed with other sounds in the building: a man and a woman yelling, a door opening and closing, a burst of laughter. When Gabriel reached the fourth floor he heard an angry baby crying; he could almost see the tiny fists shaking with each warbled wail.

  Tiny had told him that he and his brother lived at the very top. Gabriel climbed the fifth flight, and saw that it was the last; it leaned at an odd angle, with a long rod braced against the wall opposite – to keep it from falling down, Gabriel supposed.

  At the top floor, two doors were boarded over, so Gabriel knocked at the third door. No one answered. He knocked again. “It’s me, Tiny. Gabriel! I brought your sticks.”

  The door cracked open and Tiny peeked out. He then opened the door to let Gabriel in. “I thought you were the police.”

  “The police?” asked Gabriel, glancing behind him before stepping inside.

  “We owe rent. My brother lost his job when he got sick.” Tiny closed the door, and slid a lock into place. “Mrs. Malden rents out the rooms and says we can stay until she finds another renter. She lives on the first floor. Her legs are bad.”

  “Oh.” Gabriel stood near the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  “I carry coal for her from the cellar, run errands, and chase her cat down when it runs away,” continued Tiny. “She says I’m working out the rent. But when the landlord comes he says we’re squatters, and is going to call the police on us.”

  Gabriel turned a troubled face to Tiny.

  “Don’t worry. He only comes at the beginning of the month, so we’re safe for now. Come on in.”

  Tiny walked over to a mattress that was set against the wall, next to a tiny wood burning stove and an up-side-down crate that served as a table – the only furniture in the place.

  “This is my brother.” Tiny knelt down next to the mattress. “Hey, Marcel, this is my friend, Gabriel, that I told you about. He brought us some firewood.”

  Gabriel looked down on a pitifully thin man, or boy. As with Tiny, Gabriel couldn’t tell for sure which one he was. The blanket was pulled up to Marcel’s chin, and on top of the blanket lay an old black overcoat, tucked around him like an empty embrace. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes, and his breathing was slow and laborious. A tiny ripple seemed to take place deep in his chest after each breath, followed by a long pause before another intake of breath. It reminded Gabriel of the little warble at the end of the long, drawn-out cries of the angry baby; he wished their mothers could come and make them better.

  “Hi, Marcel,” Gabriel said softly, kneeling down beside the bed. “I brought you guys something. Sticks, and some food. I was going to bring you a piece of cake, but Tommy ate it.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the small bundle of apples and the bag of toffee, and placed them on the crate, next to some dried autumn leaves that Tiny must have gathered – faded yellow, orange, and curled up red. “Some apples from my aunt’s orchard.”

  Marcel shifted slightly under the covers, as if he wanted to say or do something, but gave it up.

  “Gee, thanks, Gabriel,” said Tiny.

  Gabriel shivered in the chill air. But Tiny was now stuffing the stove with sticks, and soon a little warmth poured over them in the cramped attic room.

  “I was just reading to brother.” He held up a tattered book. “The Count of Monte Cristo. Have you read it?”

  “No,” said Gabriel, running his finger over the words on the blue book.

  “You gotta get it. It’s great. Right, brother?”

  Marcel gave the smallest of nods.

  “Okay,” said Gabriel. “My mom will get it at the library. She reads to me. Tommy used to, but he doesn’t anymore.” Gabriel turned to Marcel. “Tommy’s my brother. He’s older than me. Just like you and Tiny.”

  Marcel tried to smile, then he closed his eyes and remained still.

  Tiny untied the napkin and uncovered the treasures within. “Look at these, Marcel!” One by one, he polished the four red and green apples on his threadbare pants, and then arranged them on top of the crate, among the dried leaves. He cocked his head at the display of color in the otherwise gray room, and nodded in satisfaction.

  Then he took the bag that held the toffee, and opened it. He almost choked in surprise.

  “I don’t believe it!” He lifted a small piece and waved it under his nose, closing his eyes in delight as he inhaled the scent. Then he broke off a chunk, put it in his mouth, and released an audible sigh. He broke off another piece.

  “You’re not going to believe what Gabriel brought us.” He slid a piece into his brother’s mouth and waited for his response.

  Marcel opened his eyes and blinked at the taste, and then turned to Tiny and smiled.

  Gabriel saw that Marcel’s chest rose and fell more smoothly now, and that
his eyes were brighter. Gabriel leaned over to Tiny and whispered, “I think the toffee is helping him.”

  “It sure is,” answered Tiny. “Remember that, Marcel?” Tiny leaned back on an elbow and smiled. “Just like Christmas at the orphanage, right brother? Sister Rosetta and her Christmas toffee. Every year.”

  Tiny crunched on the toffee. “It’s best to let it melt – it lasts longer that way. But sometimes I just can’t wait.” Tiny handed the bag to Gabriel.

  Gabriel took a small piece and tried to let it melt.

  “Those were good times,” said Tiny. “Christmas Eve to the Epiphany. No better times than that.” He and Marcel exchanged glances, and both laughed at the unspoken thought between them.

  “We had a tradition of our own at the orphanage,” Tiny explained. “Marcel would tell me a Christmas story about Mom and Pop – about the presents they gave us, the surprise visit from Father Christmas, some of the special dishes Mom cooked. Then we’d save our toffee to eat at the exact same time. We were in different dormitories because of our age, but they had lights-out at the same time. So we’d both go to sleep with that sweet, buttery taste in our mouths, dreaming of spicy kitchens, and Mom and Pop, and –”

  Marcel said something that Gabriel couldn’t make out.

  Tiny laughed. “That’s right. And beaches.”

  Marcel added a few more words, in between raspy breaths.

  Tiny smiled. “Yep. That’s right. We’re going back there. Soon as brother gets better.”

  Tiny turned to Gabriel. “That’s where we used to live. A long time ago. I don’t remember it, but brother does. It was a warm place, by the ocean. Pop was a fisherman, right?” he nodded at his brother. “When he died, Mom brought us up here. She was sick. She used to have family here but she couldn’t find them. That’s how we ended up at the orphanage. She had to go to the hospital but she never came out. So we’re going back. Where it’s warm. It’ll be good for brother’s chest.”

  Tiny paused to pass some more toffee all around. “Father Dwyer has been looking for some of our family for us. He’s the one who found us this place. He’s been asking brother all about where we used to live, any names of relatives he remembers, writing to different dioceses in Florida and Louisiana. He found some Demains down in New Orleans. Says one of them is my uncle. Maybe we’ll go there and look around.”

  Tiny’s brother said something, then coughed with the effort, and closed his eyes.

  “What did he say?” asked Gabriel.

  “He said I have to go even if he can’t.” Tiny gently placed his hand under his brother’s neck, and lifted his head while he gave him a sip of water from a tin cup.

  “Marcel said when Mom was sick she told him that dying was just like changing your clothes. Sometimes your clothes just plain wear out and it gets time to change them. She said not to worry. That we would all be together again. No doubt about it. And she said whenever we wanted to talk to her, she would hear us.”

  Marcel struggled to say, “Tell Gabriel – about the Christmas tree,” and for a brief moment Marcel was present, engaged in the conversation as he anticipated the description.

  Tiny wriggled in excitement as he relived the memory, getting up on his knees to better tell the story. “Every Christmas at the orphanage, they put up a tree that reached to the ceiling of the assembly room. All week the nuns decorated it, but they kept the room locked so we couldn’t see. Then a couple of days before Christmas –” Tiny slowly spread his arms wide. “They opened the doors, and there it was!”

  Once again, Tiny was rapt with awe, his eyes traveling up limb to limb of the tall tree. “A huge Christmas tree, with shiny ornaments and red ribbons – and an angel on top. And streamers all around the room. We always knew it was going to be there, but it was always a surprise.”

  He sat back down on his heels, and was silent for a few moments. “Then on Christmas Eve we’d sing carols around the tree, and go to bed knowing that the next morning, at each of our seats in the dining hall, there would be presents. Wrapped up in Christmas paper, just for us.” Tiny and his brother exchanged glances, and Marcel pointed to the book.

  “Yep,” said Tiny, handing the book to his brother. “This was one of brother’s gifts the last year we were there.

  Marcel rested both hands over the book, and fixed his eyes on Tiny.

  “Those nuns, Gabriel. It was like having thirty moms. Sure, some of them were strict.” He raised his eyebrows at his brother. “Sister Sebastian? Man, oh man. But she was fair. And she read to us every Friday afternoon. She knew of some good books: On the Run, Huckleberry Finn, Corporal Downing Takes the Trail, Connie Morgan in Alaska – that was a great one. Most of the books were for boys.”

  Tiny laughed at a memory that came to him. “One time, some of the boys goofed off, and Sister Sebastian announced that just for that, she was going to read Heidi – a girls’ book! We all moaned and groaned. But then we liked it so much, we asked her to read it a second time. Yep, that was a really great story.”

  Tiny smiled, as if he were right back in the schoolroom, hands folded on his desk, once again seeing Heidi and her grandfather, and Peter and his goats, his blind grandmother and…

  “Did you stay at the orphanage all the time?” asked Gabriel.

  “Sure,” said Tiny, returning from the Alps. “Where else would we go? A lot of kids were half-orphans and some of them went home over the summer, but most were like us. No parents. But summers were all right.”

  He looked to his brother for confirmation, and nodded. “There was a huge playground, with a merry-go-round that held about twenty kids. We’d run and get that thing spinning, and then all jump on. We’d go so fast, our caps would fly off. And some kids roller skated in the courtyard and down the driveway. I only had one skate, but I got pretty good at it.”

  “Where was the other skate?” asked Gabriel.

  Tiny shrugged, as if the small detail didn’t matter. He clasped his hands around his knees and rocked, pushing off with his toes, thinking about the good ole days.

  He tipped his head to his brother. “We were lucky. Most of the kids were alone. But we always had each other. Ever since I was born I had my brother.” Tiny’s voice quivered a little, and he reached inside the bag for another piece of toffee, and gave it a firm crunch.

  “This tastes exactly like Sister Rosetta’s. It’s like you brought us our old Christmas back. Thanks, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel watched Marcel, who remained motionless, and then looked back at Tiny. With a worried expression, Gabriel leaned in towards Marcel, waiting for him to move or cough or breathe or do something. But he just lay there with eyes closed, utterly still. Gabriel turned to Tiny. “Did he change his clothes?” he whispered.

  Tiny caressed his brother’s hand. “No. He’s just sleeping.”

  Gabriel watched them for a few moments. “Will you still talk to me, Tiny, when you go to the warm place?”

  “Course, I will.” Tiny stretched out and rested his head on the mattress, and crossed one foot over his knee. He put his hands behind his head, and squinted across to the tiny single window, seeing beyond the streaky glass. “I might collect shells down there. Or help out with the fishing boats. Or I might just sit on the beach and eat coconuts.”

  Marcel began to cough and Tiny helped him to raise his head a little. Then Marcel lay back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Tiny tucked the blanket back under his chin, and Marcel fell into sleep again.

  Tiny leaned over to the crate and picked up a box of matches. He struck a match and lit a short candle stub in the darkening gloom. “There we go,” he said cheerfully.

  Gabriel looked over at the dark and dusty window. “Well, I guess I gotta go. My mom gets worried when it starts to get dark. She’s kind of afraid of the dark.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the sticks,” said Tiny, walking him to the door. “And the toffee. That made brother real happy.”

  Tiny’s brow suddenly knitted in worry, and he looked quickl
y around the room. “Hold on Gabriel.” He ran to the bed, and from underneath the mattress he pulled out his prized treasures, two books by Father Finn: Sunshine and Freckles, and Tom Playfair. He looked at the covers, and then handed the newer looking one to Gabriel.

  “A gift from me and Marcel. Tom Playfair – you’ll like it. About a boy who gets sent away to a boarding school. One of my Christmas presents at the orphanage.”

  “Gee, thanks!” Gabriel put the book inside his jacket. “So long, Tiny. Say bye to Marcel for me.”

  Tiny walked Gabriel to the door, and once again poked his head out into the hall. “The coast is clear. See you around, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel walked in near darkness down the leaning stairs. The man and woman were still arguing, but the baby must have fallen asleep.

  Gabriel left the building, stepping over the man who was now stretched out on the bottom step. Then he ran all the way back to the park.

  The game had run into extra innings. The score was locked in a tie, with a guy on third, and one out. Gabriel saw that Tommy was up to bat.

  “Come on, Tommy!” he yelled along with the other boys. “Slug it!”

  Tommy swung once, almost spinning in a complete circle, but missed the ball. He swung at the second pitch, and Gabriel cheered when Tommy got a hit. The ball arced high up, and then landed smack in the shortstop’s glove. Tommy kicked at the dirt, and ran back. Two outs.

  Tommy walked over to Gabriel, remembering him all of a sudden.

  “Where were you?!”

  Gabriel pointed to where he had crossed into the park. “Over there.”

  But Tommy was biting his nails, focused on the next batter. Mickey walked up to the plate, bent his knees, and planted his feet. He connected with the ball on the first pitch, sending it straight down the center, and then ran like lightning. Spider, who was standing just behind second base, missed the ball and had to chase it down, and wrestled it away from the center fielder. Then he threw it wide to the short stop, enabling Mickey to make it all the way home. Tommy and the Redbirds cheered at their win, and tossed their caps high into the air.