The Predators (13 page)

“It’s wonderful,” the girls squealed almost in unison.

But Kate had seen the back of his hand. “What happened? The back of your hand is black and blue.”

“It’s nothing,” Elisha called back to his sister. “Things like that always happen when you crank an automobile.”

Jean Pierre laughed.
“Pas de probleme,”
he said.

It took only fifteen minutes until Elisha parked the car in front of Giovanni’s Italian Ice Cream Parlor. The store was very attractive. It was paneled in mahogany and all the tables and chairs were in white imitation leather. They sat down at one of the large tables, Jean Pierre next to Elisha. Giovanni, the friendly store owner, came over and stood next to the table. “I have-a made a fresh-a strawberry ice cream today and I make-a sundae with strawberry syrup, topped with-a whipped cream.”

They all ordered Giovanni’s strawberry treat except Elisha. He ordered a new soda that had just been shipped in from the South, Coca-Cola. Giovanni opened the small, icy bottle and put a straw inside. Elisha sipped it and smiled while the others waited for their sundaes. “This is really good. It seems to give you a lift when you are tired.” He seems to be in a better mood, Jean Pierre thought.

The girls didn’t answer. All they wanted to talk about was Elisha’s automobile. They thought it was wonderful. Elisha smiled with all the compliments and then he turned and saw a friend of his standing outside of the ice-cream parlor. Elisha excused himself and walked outside to his friend.

Rosemary looked at Jean Pierre. “I don’t know why my brother even bothers with that silly man. My friends say that he is nothing but a sissy.”

Jean Pierre looked back at her. “What exactly is a sissy? We don’t have this word in French.”

Rosemary answered him. “A sissy is a boy who acts like a girl. He doesn’t play any of the games that boys play and also he never goes out with girls.”

Jean Pierre nodded to her. He knew more about that boy than they knew about their brother. The sundaes finally arrived. They were large and delicious. Jean Pierre thought that American ice cream was better than French ice cream. The American ice cream was made with real cream and milk. With each sundae a glass of water was served. Carbonated water. Jean Pierre looked at Maureen. “I didn’t know there were sparkling water springs here.”

Maureen laughed. “There are no springs on Cape Cod. It’s only ocean. All salt water.”

“Then where do they get sparkling water?” he asked.

Giovanni overheard his question. “We have tanks. Compressed air comes out of tubes and goes into the water and it comes out here.” He turned and pulled the spigot forward and the bubbling water flowed out.

Jean Pierre smiled. “Thank you,” he replied. He took a deep breath—the Americans were so smart.

Elisha came back into the ice-cream parlor. He turned and looked at Rosemary. “Jonathan has just invited me to a friend’s birthday party and I said I would join him. I’ll leave you enough money to take a horse carriage back home.”

“Father will ask us why you left us alone and didn’t make sure we were home safely,” Rosemary said angrily.

“Tell Father that I have to meet the professor that is sponsoring me for an associate professor job at Harvard this fall,” he answered, ignoring her anger. “And you know how important that is to me.”

They were all silent as Elisha went outside and walked off with his friend to the automobile. Jean Pierre turned to Rosemary, his face flushed. “Is it true that he will go to Harvard this fall, not to St. Xavier?”

Rosemary shook her head. “I don’t know. Nobody ever knows what Elisha is doing.”

11

Kate kept her eyes on Jean Pierre as they rode home in the carriage. It was near ten o’clock when they climbed up the steps to the porch. Jean Pierre looked at the girls. “I’m going to sit outside awhile. I’m really not sleepy.”

The two older girls went inside. Kate turned to him. “Do you mind if I stay with you?”

Jean Pierre nodded. “That would be nice.”

She sat down on a chair opposite Jean Pierre. For a while they didn’t speak. “You’re not happy?” she quietly asked him.

“I’m okay,” he answered.

“Are you upset because Elisha may not go back to your school with you?” she asked.

“I don’t understand it,” he replied. “Why did he invite me to come down here with him, if he knew that he might not be returning?”

Kate looked at him. “Do you love my brother?” she asked.

He stared back at her. “That’s a stupid question.”

“It’s not the only time my brother has brought a boy home to spend the summer with him. And then after the season Elisha sent the boy off to his own home.” She reached for his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re not like the other boys were. They were all fresh and common.”

“He never told me that he ever brought anybody else home with him,” he said.

“I knew that you were different from the rest. You never went downstairs in the middle of the night to his room,” she said, still holding Jean Pierre’s hand. “Sometimes I think that Elisha is a sissy like many of his friends. But I just can’t believe that about him.” She paused. “After all, he is my older brother.”

Jean Pierre looked into her eyes. He could see a faint touch of her tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. “Not your brother,” he said. “Elisha is not a sissy. He’s a very kind man and a very good teacher.”

She took her hand away. “Are you still going back to St. Xavier in the fall?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I have to write to my father. I would like to go home to France. I don’t like the school that much. I don’t have many friends there.”

“I could talk to my father,” Kate said. “My father likes you and he could get you into a very good school in Boston. You could live with us and you could help all of us with our French lessons.”

This time it was he who took her hand. “Kate,” he said, “I’m only eleven and I still have to do what my papa tells me.”

She looked down at their hands and then up at him. “I guess it’s time to go to bed. It’s already after ten. My father likes us to be in bed by now.”

“You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll stay down here for a while. I’m not sleepy.”

“Are you going to wait up for Elisha?” she asked. “Maybe he’ll let you know what he’s doing. I haven’t heard anything for sure about him moving to Harvard.”

“Then why did you all think that he was going?” Jean Pierre asked.

“I think Maureen overheard our father talking about it. But nobody will know for sure until Elisha tells us,” she answered.

“That’s funny,” he said. “My father knows everything that I do. In France parents always know what their children are planning to do. I guess the Americans are different.”

“Americans are not different,” she said in a positive voice. “It’s Elisha. His mother died when he was only a year old and he was raised by nannies until he was almost eleven years old. Father never had time to take care of him because he was away on business. It was not until Father married my mother that Elisha began to live with a real family.”

“I lost my mother before I even knew her. I was very young, my father told me. But my father and my grandfather always made a home for me.” He smiled at her. “I was lucky, I guess.”

“You were,” she replied. “My mother passed on when I was four years old. I remember her a little bit, but I always had my big sisters to take care of me.”

“Then we were both lucky.” He smiled.

She got out of her chair. “Okay.” She laughed. “Now I’m really going to go up to bed.”

“Bon dodo,”
he said, and laughed.

12

It was after midnight when Elisha returned home. He walked up the steps of the porch and was almost opening the door to enter the house when he saw Jean Pierre sitting on the veranda chair. He stared down at Jean Pierre. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I wasn’t sleepy,” he said. Then he looked up at Elisha. “How was the party?”

Elisha shrugged his shoulders. “It was okay, I guess. But most of the boys there were pretty stupid.”

“Then why do you bother with them?” he asked.

“What else is there to do here?” Elisha replied, and opened a package of cigarettes and took one.

Jean Pierre watched him. “Could I have one, please?”

Elisha lit his cigarette. “You can’t smoke. You’re too young.”

“My father gave me cigarettes when I was nine years old,” Jean Pierre lied. But he had smoked cigarettes that Armand had given to him once in a while. He looked up at Elisha. “Well?”

Elisha gave him a cigarette. He watched Jean Pierre light it expertly. “Damn!” he said. “You can smoke.”

Jean Pierre let the smoke flow from his pursed lips. “The girls tell me that you are going to be a professor at Harvard.”

“The girls talk too much,” Elisha said angrily. He dragged on the cigarette. “Nothing has been agreed to yet.”

“But you do want to go?” Jean Pierre asked.

“It would be very important for my career, Jean Pierre, if I got an associate professorship at Harvard,” Elisha answered. “Harvard is one of the best universities in the United States. Of course I would go.”

Jean Pierre put out his cigarette with his shoe. “You will go,” he said. “I’m sure.”

“But, if I do go, it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t return to St. Xavier. I will know whoever becomes the next headmaster. He will be a very good teacher, I assure you.”

“It doesn’t matter so much about that,” Jean Pierre said. “I’m lonely. I want to go home to France. Canada or the United States aren’t comfortable for me.”

“But what about the war?” Elisha asked. “Germany seems to be running over France. What are you going to do if they take your country?”

“I’m French,” Jean Pierre answered quickly. “I learned to speak English; I guess I can also learn to speak German as well.”

“You’ll have to write your father for permission,” Elisha said.

“I know,” Jean Pierre answered. “But I’m not worried about his answer. After all, he is French and he will understand my feelings.”

13

He felt a draft as the door to his bedroom opened. He sat up in bed and looked toward the faint light that was shining from the open door and then disappeared. He felt rather than saw a white gown coming to him. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Kate,” whispered the voice.

The moon was shining through the open window and he could see her standing next to his bed. “What are you doing?” he asked, also whispering.

“I’m upset,” she said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Your father will be angry if he finds you here,” Jean Pierre said.

“He won’t find us,” she replied. “He sleeps through everything. He can’t hear anything from his bedroom.”

“Why are you upset?” Jean Pierre asked.

“Elisha says that you are going back to France,” she said. “But I don’t want you to go; it might be dangerous because of the war.”

“I just spoke to Elisha and told him I wanted to go home tonight after he came home. I thought you were already asleep. When did you talk to him?”

She was silent.

He tried to see her face in the dark. “Did Elisha come to your bedroom?”

She still didn’t answer.

“Does he come to your bedroom often?” asked Jean Pierre quietly.

He could hear her begin to cry.

He took her hands from her face. “What is it?” he asked softly. “You can tell me, we’re friends.”

She looked at him. “You won’t tell my sisters or anyone else?”

“I promise,” he answered.

“Every summer since I was twelve,” she whispered.

“Do you think that he ever went to your sisters’ room?” he questioned.

“No,” she replied. “They always shared a bedroom. I was the only one in a room by myself.”

“Did he do anything to you?” he asked curiously.

“Not really,” she said.

“Then why did he come to your bedroom?”

“He always takes out his big thing. He wanted me to watch while he would massage it and it would get even bigger. Then he made me massage it until it spit out juice all over my hands.” She began to weep again. “I told him I didn’t want to do it, but he paid no attention to me.”

“Did you ever want to do anything?” he asked.

“He wanted me to take it in my mouth or rub it against my behind,” she said huskily. “But I never let him do it, Jean Pierre. I told him I would scream and everyone in the house would know what he had done.”

He sat silent for a moment and looked at her. “It’s something that a lot of boys like to do.”

She looked at him. “Do you?”

Jean Pierre shrugged.

“Did Elisha show his thing to you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered. “I told you all boys want to do it.”

She sat quietly for a moment and then shook her head. “I’ll never understand boys.”

“You don’t have to now. When you get older you’ll understand everything. Isn’t that what our parents always tell us?” Jean Pierre said, laughing.

“I guess the French and the Americans are the same. That’s what they always tell us,” Kate answered, giggling. “Do you really have to go back to France?” she asked again.

“It’s my home,” he said.

“Oh, Jean Pierre, I’ll miss you,” she said. “We have so much fun together and you’re so wise.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” he replied. “But we’ll stay in touch with each other.”

She leaned down and kissed his cheek and went back to her room. He sat on the bed and thought for a while. Then he went to the small desk near the window.

He wrote a letter to his father. He wanted to go home.

14

Jacques sat at the dinner table facing his father. He held an envelope and a letter out across the table toward him. “It’s a letter from your grandson, the selfish little prick!”

Maurice read the letter quickly, then looked at Jacques. “What are you so excited about? I remember when you were a child, you pestered me to bring you home from the vacation camp that I paid a lot of money for. You were homesick. So why be angry because your son is homesick?”

“You know how much it cost to send him there,” he answered. “Going to Canada and the United States is even more expensive than going to a French vacation camp.”