CHAPTER 13
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The ringing phone began to sound like a mad song before someone mercifully answered. Far down the hall, I was in my dorm room that night with a coed, trying to stay focused on her bare skin. Moments later, a rap on my door, a curious pause, and then the knotensified to a thundering, which scared the pirl so that she nearly fell off of me."What is it? Im busy. t you see the ie on the doorknob?"
"Henry Day?" Oher side of the door, a voice cracked and trembled. "Its your mother oelephone."
"Tell her Im out."
The voice lowered an octave. "Im really sorry, Henry, but you o take this call."
I pulled on pants and a sweater, opehe door, and brushed past the boy, who was staring at the floor. "Someoerve died."
It was my father. My mother mentiohe car, so naturally, in my shock, I assumed there had been an act. Upourning home, I learhe real story through a word here, raised eyebrows, and innuendo. He had shot himself in the head, sitting in the car at a stoplight not four blocks away from the college. There was no note, nothing explained. Only my name and dorm room number on the back of a business card tucked in a cigarette pack with one remaining Camel.
I spent the days before the funeral trying to make sense of the suicide. Sihat awful m when he saw something in the yard, he drank more heavily, though alcoholics, in my experience, prefer the long and slow pour rather than the quid irreversible bang. It wasnt the drink that killed him, but something else. While he may have ha<s></s>d suspis, he could not have figured out the truth about me. My deceptiooo careful and clever, yet in my infrequent enters with the man since leaving for college, he had acted cold, distant, and unyielding. Some private demons plagued him, but I felt no passion. With one bullet, he had abandoned my mother and sisters, and I could never five him. Those few days leading up to the funeral, and the service itself, hardened my opinion that his selfishness had rotted our family to the roots.
With good grace, my mother, more fused than distraught, bore the brunt of making arras. She vihe local priest, no doubt abetted by her weekly tributions over many years, to allow my father to be buried in the churchs graveyard despite the suicide. There could be no Mass, of course, and for this she bore some rese, but her anger shielded her from other emotions. The twins, now fourteen, were more proo tears, and at the funeral home they keened like two banshees over the closed coffin. I would not cry for him. He was not my father, after all, and ing as it did in the sprier of my sophomore year, his death was supremely ill-timed. I cursed the fair weather of the day we buried him, and a throng of people who came from miles around to pay their respects astonished me.
As was the in our toalked from the mortuary to the church along the length of Main Street. A bright new hearse crawled ahead of us, and a ce of more than a hundred people trailed behind. My mother and sisters and I led the grim parade.
"Who are all these people?" I whispered to my mother.
She looked straight ahead and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "Your father had many friends. From the army, from his job, people he helped along the way. You only knew part of the story. Theres more to a salmon than the fin."
In the shade of new leaves, we put him in the ground and covered him with dirt. Robins and thrushes sang in the bushes. Behind her black veil, my mother did not weep, but stood in the sunshioic as a soldier. Seeihere, I could not help but hate him for doing this to her, to the girls, to our friends and family, and to me. We did not speak of him as I drove my mother and sisters back to the house to receive dolences.
Women from church weled us in hushed tohe house felt more cool and quiet than it did in the dead of night. On the dining room table lay tokens of unity spirit—the noodle casseroles, pigs in blas, cold fried chi, egg salad, potato salad, Jell-O salad with shaved carrots, and a half-dozen pies. On the sideboard, new mixers and bottles of soda stood o gin and scotd rum and a tub of ice. Flowers from the funeral home perfumed the air, and the percolator bubbled madly. My mother chatted with her neighbors, asking about each dish and making gracious pliments to the particular cooks. Mary sat at one end of the sofa, pig at the lint on her skirt, and Elizabeth perched on the opposite end, watg the front door for visitors. An hour after we arrived, the first guests showed up—men who had worked with my father, stiff and formal in their good suits. One by ohey pressed envelopes filled with money into my mothers palm and gave her awkward hugs. My mothers friend Charlie flew in from Philadelphia, but he had missed the interment. He looked aska me when I took his hat, as if I were a stranger. A couple of old soldiers dropped by, specters from a past that no one else khey huddled in the er, lamenting good ole Billy.
I soon tired of them all, for the reception reminded me of those post-recital gatherings, only more somber and pointless. Out on the porch, I took off my black jacket, loosened my ie, and nursed a rum and Coke. The greerees rustled iermittent breeze, and the sunshily warmed the meandering afternoon. From the house, the guests produced a murmur that rose and fell sistent as the o, and every so often, a quick peal of laughter rose to remind us that no one is irreplaceable. I lit a Camel and stared at the new grass.
She appeared at my side, redolent of jasmine, her st betrayiealth. A quick sideways gland an even briefer smile, theh resumed our iion of the lawn and the dark woods beyond. Her black dress was trimmed<mark></mark> at the collar and cutis in white, for she followed the smart fashion, twice removed from the haute couture of Mrs. Kennedy. But Tess Wodehouse mao copy the style without looking foolish. Perhaps it was her quiet poise as we stood at the rail. Any irl my age would have felt the y to speak, but she left it to me to decide the moment for versation.
"It was nice of you to e. I havent seen you since when? Grade school?"
"Im so sorry, Henry."
I flicked my cigarette into the yard and took a sip from my drink.
"I heard you o a recital downtown," she said, "four or five years ago. There was a big to-do afterward with a ranting lady in a red coat. Remember how gently your father treated her? As if she werent crazy at all, but a person whose memory had e undone. I think my daddy would have told her to buzz off, and my mother probablyd have punched her on the nose. I admired your father that night."
While I remembered the woman in red, I had not remembered Tess from that night, had not seen or thought of her in ages. In my mind, she was still a little tomboy. I set down my glass and invited her, with a sweepiure, to a nearby chair. With a demure and being grace, she took the seat o me, our knees nearly toug, and I stared at her as if in a trance. She was the girl who had wet her pants in sed grade, the girl who had beate the fifty-yard dash in sixth grade. When I went off to the public high school in town, she took the bus to the Catholic girls school iher dire. Vahose intervening years had shaped her into a beautiful young woman.
"Do you still play piano?" she asked. "I hear youre up iy at college. Are you studying music?"
"position," I told her. "For orchestra and chamber music. I gave up perf the piano. Couldnt ever get fortable in front of people. You?"
"Im nearly finished for my LPN—lised practiurse. But Id like to get a masters in social work, too. All depends."
"Depends on what?"
She looked away, toward the door. "Oher I get married or not. Depends on my boyfriend, I guess."
"You dont sound too enthusiastic."
She leao me, her faches from mine, and mouthed the words: Im not.
"Why is that?" I whispered back.
As if a light clicked on behind her eyes, she brightened. "Theres so much I want to do. Help those in need. See the world. Fall in love."
The boyfriend came looking for her, the s door slapping the frame behind him. Grinning at having found her, he had an uny effect upon me, as if I had met him somewhere long ago, but I could not place his face. I could not shake the feeling that we knew each other, but he was from the opposite side of town. His appearance spooked me, as if I were seeing a ghost or a stranger drawn from another tury. Tess scrambled to her feet aled into his side. He stuck out a paw and waited a beat for my handshake.
"Brian Ungerland," he said. "Sorry for your loss."
I muttered my thanks and resumed my observation of the unging lawn. Only Tesss voice brought me back to the world. "Good luck with your positions, Henry," she said. "Ill look in the record store for you." She steered Brian toward the door. "Sorry we had to renew our friendship uhese cirbbr></abbr>cumstances."
As they left, I called out, "I hope you get what you want, Tess, and do what you dont." She smiled at me over her shoulder.
After all the visitors had departed, my mother joined me on th></a>e porch. I, Mary and Elizabeth fussed over the covered dishes and the empty glasses in the sink. The final moments of the funeral day, we watched crows gather ireetops before evening fell. They flew in from miles away, strutted like cassocked priests on the lawn before leaping into the brao bee invisible.
"I dont know how Ill manage, Henry." She sat in the rocker, not looking at me.
I sipped another rum and Coke. A dirge played in the background of my imagination.
She sighed when I did not reply. "Weve enough to get by. The house is nearly ours, and your fathers savings will last awhile. Ill have to find work, though the Lord knows how."
"The twins could help."
"The girls? If I had to t on those two to help with so much as a glass of water, I would be dead of thirst. They are nothing but trouble now, Henry." As if the notion had just occurred to her, she quied her rog. "It will be enough to keep them out of ruining their reputations. Those two."
I draihe glass and fished a wrinkled cigarette from my pocket.
She looked away. "You might have to stay home for a while. Just until I get on my feet. Do you think you could stay?"
"I guess I could miss another week."
She walked over to me and grabbed my arms. "Henry, I need you here. Stay for a few months, and well save up the mohen you go bad finish up. Youre young. It will seem long, but it wont be."
"Mom, its the middle of the semester."
"I know, I know. But youll stay with your mother?" She stared till I nodded. "Thats a good boy."
I ended up staying much lohan a few months. My return home lasted for a few years, and the interruption of my studies ged my life. My father had enough money for me to finish college, and my mother floundered with the girls, who were still in high school. So I got a job. My friend Oscar Love, back from a tour of duty with the navy, bought an abaore off Linnean Street with his savings and a loan from the Farmers & Merts. With help from his father and brother, he verted the plato a bar with a stage barely big enough for a four-piebo, and we<s>?9９liｂ?</s> moved the piano from my mothers house. A couple of guys from the area were good enough to round out a band. Jimmy Cummings played the drums, with Gee Knoll on bass uitar. We called ourselves The Coverboys, because thats all we played, and when I wasnt pretending to be Geney or Frankie Valli, I would tend bar a few hts of the week. The gig at Oscars Bar got me out of the house; plus, the few extra dollars enabled me to help out the family. My old friends would drop in, applaud my return to playing piano, but I loathed perf. That first year back. Tess showed up with Brian irl-friend a couple of times. Seeihere reminded me of the dreams I had deferred.
"You were a mystery man," Tess told me one night betwees. "Or mystery boy, I should say, ba grade school. As if you were somewhere totally different from the rest of us."
I shrugged my shoulders and played the first measures from "Strangers in the Night." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, Henry, you were a stranger. Aloof. Above it all."
"Is that right? I certainly should have been o you."
"Oh, go on." She was tipsy and grinning. "You were always in another world."
Her boyfriend beed, and she was gone. I missed her. She was about the only good thing that happened as the result of my forced homeing, my relut return to the piano. Late that night, I went home thinking about her, w how serious her relationship was and how to steal her away from the guy with the deja vu face.
Tending bar and playing pia me out late at night. My mother and sisters were long asleep, and I ate a cold dinner alo three in the m. That night, something stirred in the yard outside the kit window. A flash through the glass, visible for an instant, that looked sort of like a head of hair. I took my plate into the living room and turned oelevision to The Third Man oe, late movie. After the se where Holly Martins first spies Harry Lime in the doorway, I fell asleep in my fathers chair, only to wake up in the depths before dawn, sweating and cold, petrified that I was ba the forest again amid those devils.
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