Caleb's Wars (20 page)

"All right, but I'm doin' you a big favor not to be mad as hell. You really all right?"

"Except for these," I said, putting my hand on my crotch. "Why'd you have to do that?"

"'Cause it works, brother. And you was goin' crazy."

"Guess I just got mad—you know, Randall and all."

"And they ain't nobody to get back at, right?" Henry asked. "Right."

"'Cept your best friend," Nathan said quietly.

I didn't want Henry to get his feelings hurt. "
One
of my best friends. Sorry."

"Forget it. I understand."

"We better get home."

At his window Henry whispered he'd be praying for us. Knowing that made me feel better.

Nathan put his hand on my shoulder when we got to his place. "You let me know what I can do," he said gruffly.
"Just don't ask me to fight you again, 'cause that'd be one invitation I'd have to decline."

He was still trying to cheer me up. That made me feel better, too.

At home I turned on the light in my room and checked myself in the mirror. My chin ached, and there would be a bruise, and there was a cut across my right cheekbone. Dried blood was smeared all down my face. My clothes were wrecked—Nathan had torn Randall's shirt, and his blood was on the front. Both the shirt and my pants were filthy from rolling on the ground.

I'd have to tell the folks, try to explain.

The clock in the front room chimed five times. In an hour I'd have to get up to go to work. I took off Randall's shirt, ruined now, and dropped it on the floor.

I
OVERSLEPT
. Ma had to wake me. She touched the tangled clothes with her foot. "Caleb? What have you been doing?"

Pop appeared behind her. Maybe I was covered with bruises and cuts, more than I noticed last night. I pulled the covers up to my neck.

"What the hell?" Pop demanded. "You been fightin' again?"

"I can explain, Pop."

"Yeah, I bet! Ain't we got enough trouble in this house without you addin' to it?"

"It's not what you think."

"How you know what I think? Let's talk about what I can
see.
And ain't this your brother's shirt?"

Ma picked it up and held it to her face.

"Sugar, please go start the coffee. Caleb and me'll be along shortly."

Ma murmured something about washing and mending it and left.

Pop glared down at me. "Get up," he ordered.

"I'm not dressed."

"Get up!"

I threw back the covers and started to get to my feet, then had to sit down. I ached all over and felt a sharp pain in my right side. As bad as my body hurt, my heart hurt worse. Just yesterday Pop and I had made up with each other, but now I'd wrecked it all. Here we were, back to the old war between us.

Pop rooted in my dresser. "Here," he said, tossing me a pair of drawers. I pulled them on, then sat back down on the bed.

"Let's go outside."

Instantly I was on my guard. "Why? I won't let you whip me, Pop, no matter what." The fingers on my right hand were twitching.

"Who said anything about a whippin'? You covered with mud. And ain't you looked at your face? That cut might need a doctor."

In the yard Pop filled the water bucket and gave me a cloth to wash myself.

"Now talk," he said when I was done. "First of all, where was you last night, and who you been fightin' with?"

I told him everything. For the first time I could ever remember, I was completely honest, and I didn't feel the need to defend myself. I explained about my nightmares, about waking up and being afraid to go back to sleep, about climbing out my window and getting Nathan and Henry. About us talking at the pond, and then about wanting—about
needing
—to fight somebody at the creek.

Pop lit up his pipe and smoked. I kept waiting for him to get mad, maybe even order me to the shop, but he just looked thoughtful. Sad, even. When I was finished, he didn't say anything.

"Why did I want to fight Nathan, Pop? It just came over me, and I couldn't help it. He didn't do anything to me."

He didn't answer right away. Then he said, "Same reason I reckon a man get home from losin' his job and kick his favorite dog that come runnin' out to meet him."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it, son. Who you really mad at? It ain't Nathan or Henry. What's got you so riled up?"

Although the morning was already warm, I suddenly felt cold, standing in the yard wearing only my drawers. I looked at the ground. "Lots of things. The war, the news about Randall. The way I've been treated at the Dixie Belle—"

"You didn't say nothin' to me 'bout that."

Now I looked at my father, hoping he'd understand.

"Sound like you and me got a lot to talk about," Pop said.

At that moment I was ready to tell him everything else: about Voncille, my friendship with Andreas, going to The Cedars and fighting with Stewart Davis...

"Coffee's ready," Ma called from the kitchen door.

"C'mon," Pop said. "We can talk about this later. After breakfast, if you want." He put his arm around my shoulders as we went toward the door.

"I'm late for work already."

"The Dixie Belle can get along without you for a couple hours. Lou'll tell 'em you need the morning off, after all we been through since yesterday."

Over breakfast I told my story to Ma. "When we got to the creek, I felt all ... stirred up. Like there was a swarm of hornets trapped inside me, fighting to escape. I never planned to punch Nathan. It just happened."

"I know why he done it," Pop said. "He just needed a way to get all his feelin's out. You understand, Lucy."

Ma glared at him. "Of
course
you know why he did it, Frank! You've always done the same thing, and that's how you've raised him. Randall, too. But I
don't
understand. I never did, and now I don't think I want to." Her words came out in a flood. "Why must you men always turn to
fighting
as the way to 'get your feelings out'? Why must violence always be the answer to every problem? You whipped your sons for years because you figured that was the only way to get them to obey you. It didn't work! Do you know that Randall and Caleb went behind your back to do things you never would have allowed? Like climbing out their window night after night, month after month, to go and do God knows what—"

"Ma, don't!" Panic was rising in me. I wanted to jump up, get out of that room, run far away where no one would ever find me. Pop pressed my shoulder so I couldn't move.

Ma kept her eyes fixed on him. "Do you know how long your sons have been smoking and drinking? Or when Randall first started going to Rose's place?"

"Ma, how do you know—?"

Now she looked at me. "Oh, Caleb, I have eyes! And a nose, too. You think I can't smell cigarettes on your clothes? You think I never smelled the perfume on Randall's shirts or saw the lipstick stains on them? You think I never smelled liquor on him in the mornings, or on you? You were out getting drunk the night before your baptism, weren't you?"

I was too dumbfounded to say a word. Pop was silent, too.

"You look surprised," Ma went on. "And maybe you're wondering why I never said anything to your father."

"Yes, ma'am. I do wonder that."

Ma looked back at Pop. "Because I knew that if I did, there'd be even more whippings in this house, and I couldn't stand that! Caleb, you and your friends just had to fight the Hill brothers, didn't you? And last night you had to get into it with your best friend. And why? 'To get your feelings out'! Both times, someone could have been hurt badly. What if the Hill boys had had a knife? What if you'd choked your friend to death?"

"I would never do that!"

"That's easy to say now, but you don't know, just like you'll never know what could have happened all those nights you and your brother and your friends went out looking for trouble. First it's fists—what'll it be next time? Guns? Bombs? More wars?"

Ma was shouting and crying all at once. "What's
wrong
with you—with
all
you men?"

She stood up and wiped the tears off her face. "I'm going to wash Randall's shirt and hang it out to dry. Then I'm going to mend and iron it.
Women's
work. It doesn't hurt anyone! It tries to fix things, makes things decent. Caleb, you're not to touch that shirt again. Your brother will want to wear it when he comes home." Ma grabbed the metal bucket where Randall's shirt was soaking and hurried out the back door.

I got up to go after her, but Pop held me back. "Let her be for now."

Pop and I looked at each other. I kept waiting for him to explode, but he just looked old and tired.

"I'm going to work," I said.

"All right. Take your mind off things for a while."

"Thanks for understanding, Pop. About my fight."

"You still buddies with Nathan?"

"Yeah. About all the other stuff—"

"We can talk about that later on. I got to go be with your ma right now."

"I never saw her so upset."

"Me either. Wish I knew what I was gonna say to her."

"I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"It's a lot more than you scrappin' with Nathan. Don't worry. Your ma's gonna be all right. Go on to work. If I find out anything more about your brother, I'll come by the Dixie Belle."

That was the first time Pop had ever mentioned coming by the café. But anything seemed possible now.

***

When I got to the alley behind the Dixie Belle, there was Andreas, emptying a garbage pail. My stomach knotted.

"Caleb?" he asked. "
Wie geht's?
"

I knew he was asking how I was. But I couldn't answer. I didn't want to see him. He was one of
them
—and they had hurt my brother, maybe killed him. My hands clenched.

But Andreas was my friend, too. "I got to let them know I'm here," I muttered, pushing by him.

"Caleb?" he called after me. I kept going.

In the kitchen Aunt Lou asked how I was and how Ma and Pop were taking the news. She said Ma shouldn't have to bear such a burden—no woman should. How I needed to be strong for both my parents. And how she'd been praying for Randall ever since she'd heard the bad news, and that God would protect him.

I let her go on. Uncle Hiram just put his hand on my shoulder and told me how sorry he was and that everyone in Toad Hop was praying for Randall, and for all of us.

Betty Jean told me she was sorry. Even Miss Sondra said the same.

Aunt Lou kept Andreas busy doing chores away from the sink. I caught him looking at me once, and I guessed he wanted to talk, but I wouldn't give him an opening. Maybe later, maybe after I had the chance to get ahold of myself. At the moment, I just wished he weren't there, would disappear back to Germany. Wished I'd never met him.

***

The dinner hour wasn't busy, so Aunt Lou told me I could have a break. I was glad for a chance to get away for a while, try to sort things out. Aunt Lou made me an iced tea and told me to take my time.

I went into the alley and walked away from the garbage cans. A pecan tree shaded the narrow lane between the back of the Dixie Belle and the tall wooden fences on the other side. The day was hot, so I went under the tree to get out of the sun.

Right away, here came Andreas. I wasn't ready to talk to him, but sooner or later we'd have to speak, so it might as well be now.

He got right down to it. "I hear about your brother—"

"Randall."

"
Ja. Ich weiss.
He is hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Bad hurt?"

I shrugged. "We don't know."

"
Und er ist jetzt ein Kriegsgefangener.
"

"What? Speak English."

He shook his head. "I will try.
Dein Bruder,
your brother, is a prison—"

"A prisoner. Yeah. A prisoner of war. Just like you."

"
Du bist sauer auf mich?
" He was eyeing me carefully.

"I said to speak English!"

"I am sorry," Andreas said. "It is hard for me—when—
ich bin,
how do you say...?"

"How do I say
what?
" I was ready for this guessing game to end. "Give me a cigarette."

He pulled the pack out of his shirt pocket and lit a cigarette for me when I had it in my mouth. After a couple of drags, I felt calmer.

"You are, uh, mad with me?" Andreas asked. "Because of Randall?"

I didn't want to tell him the truth. "I don't know.
Ich weiss nicht.
"

He smiled. "You learn some German,
ja?
"

"
Ja.
"

"
Ich glaube
—I think you are mad with me, and so I cannot, uh, talk so good. And my English—she flies away then,
wie ein Vogel.
" He made a flying gesture with his hands. "Randall is hurt, I am sorry. It is a bad thing. I think of
meinen Bruder,
Reinhardt, and how he is dead."

I'd forgotten that. My brother was injured but might be alive. Reinhardt was dead. Ma and Pop and I still had hope; Andreas's family—none.

"I'm sorry, Andreas. About Reinhardt."

Aunt Lou appeared in the alley. "Hate to break in, but Sondra is wonderin' where y'all are. I tried to tell her you could use some time, but business come first with that fine lady."

We followed her back into the kitchen. The dirty dishes had piled up beside the sink, where just a few minutes ago there had been none.

I started to scrape plates into the metal pail beside the sink. Andreas touched my shoulder. "Stop ... a minute."

I let the messy plate slide into the hot, soapy water. "What?"

"May I...?"

He opened his arms toward me, palms up. Maybe Andreas didn't know the English word, but his meaning was clear.

"Okay."

Then he stepped toward me and put his arms around me. I put mine around him, and the tears came.

I heard the squeaky swinging door to the dining room being pushed open. Then the sound of steps.

"Well, if that ain't a sickening sight," Voncille declared.

Andreas and I let go of each other. I felt embarrassed.