aisle now leaned toward us and offered Papa a cigar. It was an expensive cigar, packed in a bullet-shaped humidor. With a simple dignity Papa accepted it, bowing from the waist.
“Thank you, Mister. I’ll save it for when my grandson’s born. She’s too good to smoke now.”
It was very touching. The man in tweeds looked to his big blond wife, whose bosom heaved, whose face was framed in tenderness. She whispered something, and the man in tweeds now produced a second cigar. Papa protested that this was too much, too much, but he let them force it upon him. Mr. Randolph urged him to go back to the men’s room and enjoy the gift, and Papa agreed. Carefully he put away his bread, wrapped his salami in a dishcloth, and tucked up his goat’s cheese in a sack. Not one crumb was wasted. He closed the suitcase and got to his feet. He was tight, but it took an experienced filial eye to notice it.Mr. Randolph assisted him down the aisle. Heads turned to watch him go. He left a trail of love in his wake.
I leaned against the window and stared straight ahead. I was very lonely and friendless. Papa’s absence created an hiatus distinctly felt. The train pounded ahead. The man in tweeds and his wife rose to go to the diner. I was not worthy of his glance, but his wife looked down at me with flaring nostrils. Mr. Randolph returned.
“The old gentleman wishes his black suitcase.”
I handed Mr. Randolph two garlic-scorched dollars.
“See that he gets whatever he wants.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
He sniffed the garlic and looked at me suspiciously.
A few minutes later he was back in the car, making up the berths. I went into the men’s room. Papa sat red-eyed at the window, mumbling to himself. The room was full of expensive cigar smoke.
“The berths are being made, Papa. You better go to bed.”
“Go on, son. Have a good time. Laugh and play, don’t worry about your father.”
“I think you ought to go to bed.”
“Not me. No train beds for Nick Fante. I’ll stay right here.”
And there he stayed. I went back to the club car and had a brandy. When I returned to Car 21 Mr. Randolph had made up all the berths. The men’s room was crowded, passengers washing their faces, scrubbing teeth, preparing to retire. Everybody called my father “Dad” and wished him good night. Nobody had a word for me. I gritted my teeth and brazened it out, smoking cigarettes and gasping for tomorrow morning, when the black journey would come to an end.
By eleven o’clock all the passengers in Car 21 were in bed except Papa and me. He slept by the window, snoring. I shook him awake.
“Come to bed.”
“No, sir.”
“You can’t sleep here. I got a nice bed for you.”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Randolph entered.
“Poor old fellow. He’s so tired.”
“He won’t sleep in a berth.”
“Mighty fine old man.”
“Help me get him to bed.”
We tried to lift him, but he kicked with such energy, and he was wearing heavy work shoes, that it was useless. I pleaded and argued.
“No, sir.”
It defeated me. I went down to our section and got into the lower berth. Since Papa refused to stretch out, I saw no reason for climbing into the upper. I had trouble sleeping. The berth was hot and stifling. Three times I rose, pulled on my pants and went down to the men’s room. Papa lay full length on the seat. Each time I shook him, he growled and started kicking. I went back to my berth. It was choked with heat. I rang for Mr. Randolph. He was asleep in a lower near the men’s room. He had little patience with me.
‘It’s too hot in there,” I said. “Close up the upper berth so I can get some air.”
He did as I asked. Now I had the whole section opened up and it felt much better when I lay down. In a little while I was asleep.
It was morning when I awoke. The train was leavingCastaic in the mountains and we were a little more than an hour out of Los Angeles. I dressed with wonderful freedom, for I could stand up now
“Thank you, Mister. I’ll save it for when my grandson’s born. She’s too good to smoke now.”
It was very touching. The man in tweeds looked to his big blond wife, whose bosom heaved, whose face was framed in tenderness. She whispered something, and the man in tweeds now produced a second cigar. Papa protested that this was too much, too much, but he let them force it upon him. Mr. Randolph urged him to go back to the men’s room and enjoy the gift, and Papa agreed. Carefully he put away his bread, wrapped his salami in a dishcloth, and tucked up his goat’s cheese in a sack. Not one crumb was wasted. He closed the suitcase and got to his feet. He was tight, but it took an experienced filial eye to notice it.Mr. Randolph assisted him down the aisle. Heads turned to watch him go. He left a trail of love in his wake.
I leaned against the window and stared straight ahead. I was very lonely and friendless. Papa’s absence created an hiatus distinctly felt. The train pounded ahead. The man in tweeds and his wife rose to go to the diner. I was not worthy of his glance, but his wife looked down at me with flaring nostrils. Mr. Randolph returned.
“The old gentleman wishes his black suitcase.”
I handed Mr. Randolph two garlic-scorched dollars.
“See that he gets whatever he wants.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
He sniffed the garlic and looked at me suspiciously.
A few minutes later he was back in the car, making up the berths. I went into the men’s room. Papa sat red-eyed at the window, mumbling to himself. The room was full of expensive cigar smoke.
“The berths are being made, Papa. You better go to bed.”
“Go on, son. Have a good time. Laugh and play, don’t worry about your father.”
“I think you ought to go to bed.”
“Not me. No train beds for Nick Fante. I’ll stay right here.”
And there he stayed. I went back to the club car and had a brandy. When I returned to Car 21 Mr. Randolph had made up all the berths. The men’s room was crowded, passengers washing their faces, scrubbing teeth, preparing to retire. Everybody called my father “Dad” and wished him good night. Nobody had a word for me. I gritted my teeth and brazened it out, smoking cigarettes and gasping for tomorrow morning, when the black journey would come to an end.
By eleven o’clock all the passengers in Car 21 were in bed except Papa and me. He slept by the window, snoring. I shook him awake.
“Come to bed.”
“No, sir.”
“You can’t sleep here. I got a nice bed for you.”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Randolph entered.
“Poor old fellow. He’s so tired.”
“He won’t sleep in a berth.”
“Mighty fine old man.”
“Help me get him to bed.”
We tried to lift him, but he kicked with such energy, and he was wearing heavy work shoes, that it was useless. I pleaded and argued.
“No, sir.”
It defeated me. I went down to our section and got into the lower berth. Since Papa refused to stretch out, I saw no reason for climbing into the upper. I had trouble sleeping. The berth was hot and stifling. Three times I rose, pulled on my pants and went down to the men’s room. Papa lay full length on the seat. Each time I shook him, he growled and started kicking. I went back to my berth. It was choked with heat. I rang for Mr. Randolph. He was asleep in a lower near the men’s room. He had little patience with me.
‘It’s too hot in there,” I said. “Close up the upper berth so I can get some air.”
He did as I asked. Now I had the whole section opened up and it felt much better when I lay down. In a little while I was asleep.
It was morning when I awoke. The train was leavingCastaic in the mountains and we were a little more than an hour out of Los Angeles. I dressed with wonderful freedom, for I could stand up now
Similar Books
