Read Online Your Eyes in Stars by M. E. Kerr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. E. Kerr
Ads: Link
in you-name-it, wouldn’t change his destination. You’relike that too. Guess what else you share with Hoagy?”
“What else, ma’am?”
“How many people you going to meet in a lifetime called what you’re called?”
“How many people had a midwife named Anne Slater deliver them? No, I never heard of another Slater.”
“You ever hear of another Hoagy?”
Miss Nellie Purrington, called Purr by students at Peachy School, taught music, history, English, and geography. She could play the trombone, the trumpet, the cornet, and the saxophone. Slater had her all eleven grades. He’d stay after class to clean the erasers and empty the pencil sharpeners. He learned about all the composers from Hoagy Carmichael to Bix Beiderbecke to Lorenz Hart, and how to play the piano, the harmonica, the trumpet, and the bugle.
His favorite composer of all of them remained Hoagy Carmichael, and the song he liked best, of course, was called “Georgia on My Mind.”
18
I T WAS EARLY Saturday night, warm the way July evenings are upstate New York.
Sometimes my father would call from the prison and announce that he was having dinner there. It was his habit to drop into the mess hall now and then unannounced, to show the inmates that he kept the cooks on their toes. They saw that whatever was good enough for them to eat was good enough for the warden too.
“I suppose Dad thinks he’s some kind of hero because he does that,” said Seth.
“He is a hero to eat that food,” said my mother. “We’re so overpopulated, it’s hard to serve decent fare.” Our mother always said “we” and “us” when she was talking about the prison. “This depression is as hard on us as it is on anyone.”
Seth said, “They’re not eating steak up there—you can bet on that.”
The Myrers were eating steak. Mother had won two dollars in a bridge tournament and had planned to surprise Daddy that night. Then he’d called to say he would eat on The Hill. The superintendent of prisons was visiting.
Nights my father wasn’t present for dinner, we ate in the dinette instead of the dining room. Nights he didn’t come home in time to walk around the block with Mother, she would occasionally ask me if I wanted to walk with her.
I wasn’t crazy about hearing everything that was wrong with me while we strolled along, from my posture to what Mother called my “fantasy” that Elisa Stadler was my friend. Seth would walk with her readily. She never found fault with Seth.
Olivia Myrer, animal lover supreme, had been told by Elisa and me, just before Seth arrived for dinner, that Wolfgang Schwitter had adopted the wire-haired brown dog, now called Wurst. Richard had taken him to Lakeview Avenue himself. My mother merely said, “All’s well that ends well.” She was too excited to have Seth home for dinner. She had gone on to fuss over the special Thousand Island dressing Seth liked on his salad, and where was his favorite yellow sweater he’d been missing for weeks? There was a white M on the right sleeve.
At the table Seth said, “We don’t have it hard, Mom.You want to know who has it hard because of this depression? J. J.’s father.”
“Oh, well,” said my mother, “I know people who worked for him, and that’s another story.”
“Why is that another story?”
“Those people don’t have enough to eat,” Mother said. “They don’t have savings like the Joys do.”
“He lost everything, Mother. His business. His name. They don’t have savings either!”
“People like the Joys land on their feet, dear.”
“The Joys may have to move to Iowa,” Seth said.
“Oh, they won’t have to move, honey. Something will come up. Something always does.”
“He’s really down in the dumps. He’s drinking!”
“Drinking?” My mother’s ears pricked up.
“You must never tell this.”
“Of course not!”
“J. J. says he sneaks drinks. They keep a bottle of scotch in a cabinet in the dining room. J. J. sees him going
“What else, ma’am?”
“How many people you going to meet in a lifetime called what you’re called?”
“How many people had a midwife named Anne Slater deliver them? No, I never heard of another Slater.”
“You ever hear of another Hoagy?”
Miss Nellie Purrington, called Purr by students at Peachy School, taught music, history, English, and geography. She could play the trombone, the trumpet, the cornet, and the saxophone. Slater had her all eleven grades. He’d stay after class to clean the erasers and empty the pencil sharpeners. He learned about all the composers from Hoagy Carmichael to Bix Beiderbecke to Lorenz Hart, and how to play the piano, the harmonica, the trumpet, and the bugle.
His favorite composer of all of them remained Hoagy Carmichael, and the song he liked best, of course, was called “Georgia on My Mind.”
18
I T WAS EARLY Saturday night, warm the way July evenings are upstate New York.
Sometimes my father would call from the prison and announce that he was having dinner there. It was his habit to drop into the mess hall now and then unannounced, to show the inmates that he kept the cooks on their toes. They saw that whatever was good enough for them to eat was good enough for the warden too.
“I suppose Dad thinks he’s some kind of hero because he does that,” said Seth.
“He is a hero to eat that food,” said my mother. “We’re so overpopulated, it’s hard to serve decent fare.” Our mother always said “we” and “us” when she was talking about the prison. “This depression is as hard on us as it is on anyone.”
Seth said, “They’re not eating steak up there—you can bet on that.”
The Myrers were eating steak. Mother had won two dollars in a bridge tournament and had planned to surprise Daddy that night. Then he’d called to say he would eat on The Hill. The superintendent of prisons was visiting.
Nights my father wasn’t present for dinner, we ate in the dinette instead of the dining room. Nights he didn’t come home in time to walk around the block with Mother, she would occasionally ask me if I wanted to walk with her.
I wasn’t crazy about hearing everything that was wrong with me while we strolled along, from my posture to what Mother called my “fantasy” that Elisa Stadler was my friend. Seth would walk with her readily. She never found fault with Seth.
Olivia Myrer, animal lover supreme, had been told by Elisa and me, just before Seth arrived for dinner, that Wolfgang Schwitter had adopted the wire-haired brown dog, now called Wurst. Richard had taken him to Lakeview Avenue himself. My mother merely said, “All’s well that ends well.” She was too excited to have Seth home for dinner. She had gone on to fuss over the special Thousand Island dressing Seth liked on his salad, and where was his favorite yellow sweater he’d been missing for weeks? There was a white M on the right sleeve.
At the table Seth said, “We don’t have it hard, Mom.You want to know who has it hard because of this depression? J. J.’s father.”
“Oh, well,” said my mother, “I know people who worked for him, and that’s another story.”
“Why is that another story?”
“Those people don’t have enough to eat,” Mother said. “They don’t have savings like the Joys do.”
“He lost everything, Mother. His business. His name. They don’t have savings either!”
“People like the Joys land on their feet, dear.”
“The Joys may have to move to Iowa,” Seth said.
“Oh, they won’t have to move, honey. Something will come up. Something always does.”
“He’s really down in the dumps. He’s drinking!”
“Drinking?” My mother’s ears pricked up.
“You must never tell this.”
“Of course not!”
“J. J. says he sneaks drinks. They keep a bottle of scotch in a cabinet in the dining room. J. J. sees him going
Similar Books
