Galveston (31 page)

“Why not?”

“Because they don't like me. Joe Baker—the oldest—accused me of being a Yankee. Not to my face, of course. I overheard him say it to one of the others. Isn't that stupid? I mean, just because I live further north than he does, it doesn't make me a Yankee.”

“What did you do?”

“Pretended not to hear. Joe Baker's bigger than me, and a year older besides.”

“You're good at judging things.”

“I have to be. When a guy is little and wears spectacles, and isn't handsome, he must be able to figure things out in advance, so he won't be made a fool of.”

“James, don't downgrade yourself. You've only got to grow a little older and you'll be far better-looking, and know much more, than all those Baker kids and their pals put together.”

“That isn't saying much. Joe picks his nose all the time, and the oldest girl, Delta, chews gum with her mouth open. They're a bore, the whole group. Probably not one of them ever checked out a book from the library.”

I was chuckling over his description of the Baker ring, though he was perfectly serious. I gave him the key, and he reached up and unlocked the Fischer gate.

We had been there, probably, forty-five minutes.

I was dangling my feet from the pier, since this was not a day that I could swim. James was playing in the water, enjoying the whitecaps of the swollen tide; Porky was beside me on his back. I heard a voice at the fence and looked around. It was Roman Cruz.

His shoulders were colored by the sun, muscles rounded under the black knit of his swimsuit. “Hey there,” he called, “is this private property, or can anybody come in?”

My heart pumped as though I'd already run the length of grass between the pier and the fence, and I hesitated at first, aware of the silly bathing outfit I was wearing, the navy one I'd sewn for myself and had made too small.

I should have said, “Yes, this is private. Please go away,” but even at that early moment I bowed to the command of the man across the fence. I waved to him and walked over, uneasy every step because I could feel his gaze on me, and the bathing suit seemed to be shrinking in both directions the further I walked.

At the fence I tried to sound as casual as though Roman Cruz were a delivery boy, bringing something ordered from the house. “Hullo, was there something you wanted here?”

“I was looking for you. I watched you pass by, down the beach a little while ago. I shouldn't think you'd be surprised, after you gave me a standing ovation night before last.”

“You must be mistaken. I stayed home and embroidered a pillowcase night before last.”

Then James, poor dear, noticed who it was and shouted from the bay: “Hey, it's the guy from the band. He remembered you,” and I wanted to be swallowed up by the ground.

“That your kid brother?”

“Next-door neighbor.”

“He was the boy with you, then?”

“Well, perhaps it was another night I worked on the pillowcase.… Look, I just enjoyed your music. I didn't intend to make a spectacle of myself.”

“It's okay. I'm not above flattery, my dear. Now, are you going to open this gate or do I have to climb the fence?”

I unlocked the gate, thankful no one was around. What would people think if they could see me admitting a total stranger into the Fischer grounds?

“This is quite a place. Yours?”

“No. It belongs to a friend who's away for the summer.”

“I see. I didn't think it was yours.”

“Why not?”

“You don't strike me as the snobby little-rich-girl type.”

“Well, you guessed that right. My father's a parson, in charge of a very small church.”

My words sounded almost choked, yet he continued to toss questions at me as though I were a companion of long standing who'd just returned from a trip.

“That's quite a bathing outfit you're wearing. It isn't even wet. You just like looking at the water, do you?”

“No. I—uh—was just getting a little sun on the pier.”

He laughed softly, and it struck me he knew exactly why I was staying out of the water that day. “Did you know your nose turns red when you're nervous?”

“I'm not nervous; why should I be?” I said, yet reached a finger to my nose, then forced it down.

“It's strange, you know, a lovely girl like you chasing around with a small fry like that one in the water.”

“James is quite grown up for his years, and more fun to be around than anyone else I know right now.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose it could be, here in Galveston. Not much excitement going on as a rule, I expect.”

“Have you been with the band a long time?”

“Three years. I was here last summer, and the one before. Why didn't I see you?”

“I don't know. I just never got around to going to the Pavilion. I thought James might enjoy it. He was the one who wanted to sit on the front row, so we did—just for him, of course.”

“I'm glad of that, or else I might never have met you.”

We were approaching the pier now and James, showing more instinct for good manners than he had a few minutes earlier, stayed in the water, his body turned away from us. Porky sniffed at Roman once or twice, but was instantly endeared to him when he put out a hand and roughed his coat a little. “That's a good boy, stranger, keep your place and I'll sit on the other side of your mistress.”

He then sat down beside me on the towel, as though he'd done it hundreds of times and this was an accepted thing going on. He was so cheeky that I didn't know how to handle him. I simply couldn't appear high-minded, though. Something told me that would be a mistake.

I yanked on my swimsuit at the top. The sailor collar had always plunged an inch or two too low. He lay back on the towel and raised his head on one elbow, shading his eyes. “You've a great body,” he said. “Swimming all the exercise you get?”

“No. I dance ballet at Madame D'Arcy's studio here.”

“I see. I should have guessed. I can tell, even under the suit, your legs are good.”

What was he doing? I'd never before let anyone talk to me in such a way. Yet he was like a scientist in his observations, analyzing some new biological specimen in the confines of a laboratory. His manner was calmly detached as he mentally stripped everything from me and looked straight through.

“Your parson father would be awfully sore at you for taking up with the likes of me.”

“Who said I'd taken up with anyone? You simply asked to come in, that's all. I don't own this place. Who am I to decide whether anyone should or shouldn't come in?”

“Oh, you rationalize beautifully, better than some of the more experienced ladies I've met. I'll bet you have a fiancé hidden away somewhere—at least a steady beau. Someone your family highly approves of and is looking for you to marry. You'll get hitched in a candlelight ceremony and wear your mother's wedding gown, and she'll cry tears of happiness and wave her handkerchief, and hope for a dozen grandchildren.”

His badinage can be unbearable at times. “Oh, stop it,” I said. “You couldn't possibly know anything about me.”

“I can look at you and see. Now, tell me. What's the fellow's name? You've at least got to grant me some knowledge of my competitor for your affections.”

“Look, I know you're just playing with me. You think you're very sharp, don't you? Think you know all about the girls in Galveston, that we're not very worldly or sophisticated. Well, the truth is I do have a steady beau, but I'm not engaged and have no intention of marrying anytime soon. Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't wear my mother's dress because she stands a full head taller than I—if she stood, which she doesn't because she's been a bedridden invalid for years.”

“Oh, I'm sorry for that … truly I am,” he said gently. Roman Cruz is like that: just when he gets you to the point of slapping him, his manner does an about-face, and he melts you next with contrition and understanding.

“But you don't really love this young man, do you? What is he, a shopkeeper, shipbuilder, something?”

“Church organist, if you must know. And I haven't decided if I love him.”

“How long has he been courting you?”

“Over a year.”

“You've decided, then.”

“What of you? You're very good at asking questions. What's your family like, anyway, or do you have a family?”

“A mother, back in St. Louis, and in New York one sister who's a ballet dancer, like you. She dances with a ballet corps.”

I'd been all set to ask whether he had a sweetheart, or even a wife, for he looked old enough to have either. But now I leapt at his last statement. “How exciting! If I could only ever get a chance to—” I began, but never finished because my words were shot through by a single piercing scream.

Chapter 4

It was James, surrounded by a school of Portuguese man-of-war.

Porky leaped to his feet, barking ferociously, and I gaped in horror, unable to move or speak. Roman jumped into the water and spattered toward James, freeing him from his now frightened predators. James was wild-eyed, screaming all the while at the top of his lungs as Roman pulled him back toward the shore.

“It's all right,” he shouted to me, “I don't think he got it too badly. Here—what's your name?—let's get him onto the beach and pack some sand on his leg.” I nodded, smarting from my stupidity in failing to warn James of the danger of man-of-war. They look like filmy crystal balls above the water, their long tentacles full of poison, hidden underneath the surface. People often call them accidents of nature.

“My name is Serena,” I answered finally, once we'd gotten James calmed down a bit.

“We'll have to get him home now. He'll need some first aid.”

“I thought they were colored balls,” said James. “I was going to pick one up—I—”

“It's all right, don't try to talk,” said Roman. “Here, up you go. Serena, get the gate and lead the way. We'll have to hurry. He can develop a fever from this.”

Being referred to as, “what's your name,” had not been flattering, especially after having talked with Roman Cruz so intimately for the space of a few minutes, yet of course this fact never dawned upon me until later, after we'd gotten James safely back home. We had looked for a trolley, but as luck would have it we missed the most recent car by several hundred yards, so we half walked, half ran the length of the beach and up Avenue L, where we found Helga Reinschmidt standing on Claire's porch, looking toward the street.

“It's James, he's had a man-of-war sting,” I shouted. “Where's Claire?”

“I wouldn't know. She took off an hour ago and hasn't come back. Lunch is waiting.”

“Where can we put him?” Roman asked.

“Up to the front room,” she said, opening the door as we came up the stairs. “I'll get ammonia from the bathroom.”

Her calmness irritated me. “I'll show you to his room,” I told Roman. “Here it is, to the right …”

When we lay James upon the bed Roman said, “It's lucky we were so near … he probably would've gotten stung a lot worse trying to free himself. I got a sting once, and it's no fun.”

“It's all my fault. I should have watched him more carefully. He isn't from around here and he wouldn't know that he had to be cautious about this kind of thing.”

“Aw, Serena, it's okay. I'm all right, honest,” James spoke up weakly.

“You lie still while we get this wound treated,” I told him.

Helga was soon there with ammonia and bicarbonate of soda. She's very astute at dressing wounds, yet her unsmiling face shows no sympathy. I've often thought if one could strip away her skin, one would find solid rock underneath.

When she was done, she looked at James and said, “Now, you rest for an hour or two. And mind you, no swimmin' in the sea for a day or so unless Mrs. Becker says.” She looked across at me then, and I felt my face redden under the sternness of her gaze.

“It wasn't her fault,” said James. “Please don't make such a bother about it. I don't want to be any trouble, please.”

“All right. Let's go,” said Helga. “We'll leave the boy alone for a bit.”

“Maybe he'd like some ice water or something else cold,” I said.

“Yes, that'd be swell,” said James.

“I can get it—”

“No. You two go on about your business. When Mrs. Becker is away, James is in my charge. I'll tend to him.”

“Yes, come, let's get out of here,” said Roman.

He held a hand under my elbow as we trailed Helga's black skirt down the stairs, and I was surprised at his chivalry. It was more suited to Nick's personality, this gesture of protectiveness, yet I had always despised Nick's constant showing of patronization because it seemed to reflect possessiveness. I believe I sensed even then that Roman Cruz would never try to possess anyone, and in so doing would possess anyone he chose.

Out on the verandah my voice was too anxious. “You could stay if you've time. I could make lemonade. I live just there, the yellow house.”

“All right, but I have rehearsals within the hour.”

“We'll sit on the steps, so we won't disturb Mother.”

“And also in plain view of the neighborhood,” he said, and looked at me from out the corner of his eye. “I do believe I perceive a note of fear in the fair damsel's manner. Not to worry, though. I always leave what virtue there is intact.”

As I went to the kitchen to fill the pitcher, I was sure I ought to have nothing more to do with anyone like Roman, yet, by the time I walked back out on the porch, I was already thinking of the first of my diary entries about him.

“You were born here, lived here all your life?” he asked as I handed him the lemonade.