© 2003 Robert Frey, all rights reservedappears here by permission
Mae had been right, as usual. Belle Regent did go for the idea, and she and Walter moved in just before the beginning of August when the days were still bright and the nights were still warm and children were under the illusion that the summer would never end. Just as she thought, they did take the larger front room, even though Belle had protested and said absolutely not, that that was Mae's and Tom's room and she would never move them out of there under any circumstances. That is, when Mae first offered it to her. But Mae, as good as she was at reading between the lines, saw through that ruse in a minute and knew that Belle not only wanted the larger room but expected it since she was paying the lordly sum of twenty dollars a month for the privilege. And so after a minimum of haggling and insistence on Mae's part that she take it, Belle graciously accepted, tucked in that funny little chin of hers, which really wasn't much of a chin at all but a flap on that round, solid lump of flesh that sat on top of her neck less body, and smiled.
For her twenty dollars a month, Belle not only received the front room, she had full cooking privileges, the large bottom shelf in the ice box for her and Walter's perishables, a shelf in the cupboard for her other food and the small kitchen table and matching chairs for taking their meals. Since Walter started work very early in the morning and, as a result, got home way before Tom usually did, there would be no problem of getting into each other's way for cooking and use of the stove. And even if there were, on occasion -- like weekends, say -- they would work things out and they were sure everything would sort itself out in the end. Mae, Tom and the children would use the table in the dining room for all their meals. That didn't mean that Tom or the kids, of course, couldn't use the kitchen table for a snack or something if Belle and Walter weren't using it. After all, there were no hard and fast rules about anything except for the food. That is, it would be kept in the respected places in the cupboard and the ice box and that no one would ever eat any of the other's without first asking permission. Now that was especially true for Walter's Erlanger beer. He liked to have a case around at all times, which would be kept in the small entry way at the far end of the kitchen that led out back door down the back wooden steps to the driveway. And although Mae knew that Belle definitely wore the pants in her family, there were a few things Walter could get uppity about. And one of them was his Erlanger beer.
Another one of Walter's sore points was his sauerkraut sandwiches. He just loved sauerkraut sandwiches and took them to work just about every day, where he toasted them on a hot plate before he ate them. He had had quite a sweet tooth when he was a kid -- as a matter of fact, he still always carried some hard candies around in his trouser pocket, which he liked to suck on from time to time -- and this combined with a total neglect and ignorance of dental hygiene had caused him to lose all of his teeth before he was forty. Every single last one of them. As a result, he was forced to wear a set of choppers which he never wore and which he kept in a porcelain cup on the bedroom bureau or in his trouser pocket along with the candies if he were expected to use them some place when he and Belle went out.
Now the choppers were a touchy subject and a constant source of irritation and conflict between him and Belle. Belle, of course, who liked to put on airs about the need for a certain level of refinement in life since she claimed to be descended from English royalty, which all the Trainors, but especially Joel, sincerely doubted, would have liked him to wear them at all times. For without them, you see, there was this definite V or sinkhole there that started under his rather large English nose and ended with his bony, pointed chin, which made it look that at one time or another he had been hit in the mouth with an axe. In addition to that, when he talked, a lot of shushing and spraying went on that made him look and sound exactly like Gabby Hayes in the Roy Rogers movies, which by any stretch of the imagination was far from refined or genteel. In fact, it was downright inelegant.
Well, Belle had long given up her crusade of having him have the choppers in his mouth at all times and had settled for him wearing them when they went out in public (except at the Lodge meetings where everybody knew him) and when they ate. He constantly balked at the latter and that's where the stuff like the sauerkraut sandwiches and all the other soft foods came in. He claimed that the choppers didn't fit right and hurt when he chewed and he was always after her to have something soft for supper like sauerkraut or soup or mashed potatoes or something. One of Belle's favorite sayings actually was, "That man is so crazy about mashed potatoes he could live on them alone if I let him." Or sauerkraut or Jello or rice pudding, Joel thought. Anything soft he could wrap his naked gums around and chomp on and swallow without going to the trouble of putting in his choppers and properly chewing it. Belle, of course, as high hat as she was at times, fought him tooth and nail all the way. She was constantly buying and cooking meat for supper. Things like steak, chops, hamburgers, roast beef, pot roast or what have you. You know, anything that would require him to put in his false teeth to eat.
Joel could hear them fighting about it all the time. Walter, in that high-pitched, whining voice of his, moaning and complaining that she wasn't taking good care of him. That he was the man and he worked real hard for his money and he ought to be able to have what he wanted for his supper, at least sometimes. Belle, on the other hand, in her low bass voice, telling him that he didn't know what was good for him, that he was just a child and he just couldn't exist on that slop he wanted to eat all the time. It would go on and on until Belle got fed up with it. Then she would flat tell him to shut up, that she was sick and tired of hearing about it and if he didn't keep quiet she'd shut him up. And she meant it, too. And he knew she meant it. And he also knew she could do it, too, without even working up a sweat. And so, with maybe a couple of grumbles and a groan, he'd put the choppers in and do the best he could with the pork chop or the slice of beef or whatever it was. He wasn't happy about it but he would let it rest; that is, until the next time, which was more than likely than not tomorrow night.
It was one of Walter's shortcomings or weaknesses. Call them what you will. He had a slew of them, one of which got him into trouble shortly after they moved in. Oh, incidentally, Mae had been wrong about having to buy another bed for Belle and Walter since they brought their own bed along, as well as several other items, such as a bureau for their bedroom, a couple of end tables and a rocking chair Belle liked to sit in from their old house when they moved in. The rest of their stuff they either sold or gave away, although they did keep a beautiful oak table with removable leaves that Walter carefully wrapped and stored in the Trainor's basement. Anyway, getting back to Walter's trouble, it was his drinking or, rather, one of the results, no, a side effect of his drinking that caused the ruckus.
Here's how it went. As was his custom, Walter had an Erlanger with his supper each and every night. But sometimes -- it could have been on those nights when he had an especially bitter fight with Belle over the choppers -- one wasn't enough and he'd have two or maybe even three and, on rare occasions, even four. He quickly developed the habit, since it was still warm and comfortable in the evening, of sitting out back on the wooden steps after supper to finish his beer and have a cigar, since Belle didn't allow him to smoke in the house. And, as he was a small man and the other couple of beers he already had would go right through him, it wouldn't be long before he had to take a pee.
Now in addition to being oversexed, having a sweet tooth, not liking to wear his choppers and drinking too much on occasion, Walter wasn't exactly a paragon when it came to social behavior or etiquette either. That is, as tacky as it sounds, he had been known to pass wind, belch and, yeah, pick his nose in public, much to Belle's chagrin and humiliation, of course. So it really wouldn't have been any big deal, for Walter, that is, to pee in public rather than take that long, laborious walk back up those wooden stairs, through the kitchen and by the living room and up the other set of stairs to the bathroom on the second floor. After all, he was tired from working all day. And he truly did work hard in the foundry, what with all that constant heat and the noise and the running around and heavy lifting and all the other stuff he had to do as a smelter. So, that's exactly what he did. He got to partially hiding himself behind the high wooden steps and taking a leak against the house with his back toward the driveway so no one could see, well, his, ah, private parts. After all, he wouldn't do it if there were any children around playing or a neighbor was out hanging clothes or putting out the trash or something. He'd wait until it was all clear. In his mind, he was being very discreet and proper about it, even suave. And then he could go back and finish his beer and smoke his cigar in peace and comfort.
Now Joel noticed it a couple of times himself. Or, that is, he noticed the smell, since most of the time it would be all dried up by the next morning. He had wondered about it because it really stank to high heaven and finally dismissed it as the work of one of the many driveway cats. Or a dog. Or, maybe, it could have been done by their own dog, a white Eskimo dog by the name of Buddy. At any rate, he had put it completely out of his mind until one evening after a pretty bad supper of pork chops and mashed potatoes, he was laying in bed thinking about a girl he saw at the Quarry, a place past League Island where he and Tommy and the rest of the guys went swimming, when he heard a blood-curdling scream outside, right below his bedroom window.
He instantly knew by the sound of it that at the very least someone was in the act of being murdered, so he jumped up and ran to the window as fast as he could go, and there he was surprised to see old Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Yeah, she was standing right there down below on the driveway sputtering and pointing at something he couldn't see but which he took to be Uncle Walter. And with that she turned and ran like a bat out of hell -- for an old lady, that is -- down the driveway and out of sight. Joel turned and bounded out of the room and down the stairs like a wild man to see if he could find out what it was all about. He ran down the short hall past the dining room and into the kitchen where Belle was sitting in a chair at the table talking to Mae who was standing at the sink doing the supper dishes.
"Slow down," Mae shouted, between bits of conversation as Joel passed by her and headed for the back. "And don't slam the door."
"It's Uncle Walter," Joel yelled, "and Mrs. Fitzgerald," as the screen door slammed with a bang behind him and he raced out onto the small porch and started down the stairs. By then lights had gone on in several neighbor houses across the way. Mrs. Anderson and her husband Ernie were already out in their backyard looking spooked and lost as people often do when they have been wrenched from their everyday life by an event that they know by instinct is life threatening but as yet have no idea what's going on. The people next door, to the right of Mrs. Anderson, also were out. Little Wally's parents, that is. He was a big, tall guy with glasses, and his redheaded wife, whom Joel didn't know by name, was small and skinny and pretty looking. Even the big, potbellied guy who was the father of the little girl who called everybody "cok thucker" was making his way up the driveway. It was going to be quite a shindig. Walter just stood there under the porch looking like he had been struck by a lightning bolt or, maybe, riveted into the ground. Joel could hear Mae and Belle coming out onto the porch up behind him as he started down the rest of the stairs.
"What in hell tarnation is the matter with that woman? Is she plain crazy?" Walter shushed, coming out and looking at Joel.
"What's going on?" Mae yelled, clattering down the stairs and bailing Joel out before he could answer.
Ernie Anderson opened the little, iron gate of his fence and came out onto the driveway as Mr. Patterson, without his beloved Ford, came moseying down.
"What is going on?" Mae repeated in a sharp voice as she stepped off the stairs and looked at Joel and continued on toward Walter.
"I don't know," Joel shrugged, putting up his hands and looking at Walter like he didn't know any more about it than she did. Ernie Anderson and Mr. Patterson joined the tightening circle around Walter and Mae. The potbellied man stood a little ways off watching with his hands on his hips. Mrs. Anderson, in a plain, frumpy house dress but, nevertheless, looking as beautiful as ever just the same, stayed behind the fence, much to Joel's relief.
"What's wrong, Walter?" Mae said, pushing out her lower lip with her tongue as she stood and looked uncertainly at a befuddled Walter.
"I don't know," Walter whistled like a man in a daze. "I was just taking a pee when---"
"---You were what?" Mae said sharply, cutting him off, her eyes wide open. By now Belle had made it down the steps and stood solidly beside her. "I was just taking a pee," Walter repeated in an exasperated voice, looking Mae over like she was the Gestapo or something.
"Oh, Walter," Belle cried in a shocked voice.
Walter turned on her like she was mentally incompetent, hard of hearing or both. "Damn it, I was just taking a pee," he slushed for the third time in a loud, controlled, strident voice that anyone within fifty yards could hear, "when I heard something behind me. I turned and saw this crazy woman standing there, who looked at me, screamed and went running down the driveway."
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Belle squealed, squaring her nonexistent flap jaw and glowering at him.
Just about then a young, clean-cut looking guy whom Joel had never seen before stepped out from between the potbellied man and Ernie Anderson. "Are you the guy that exposed himself to my grandmother?" he said in an angry voice, clenching his teeth and glaring at Walter like he was going to do him damage. Joel gulped and swallowed his spit. The potbellied man let out an audible grunt.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Walter gushed, doubling up his fists, making the thick cords in his forearms pop out and spinning and confronting the young man. "I didn't expose myself to anyone," he spattered, looking as though he was ready to defend himself with blows if he had to. "I was just taking a pee and she happened to come along, that's all." He pressed the lips of his sinkhole together, forcing his bony chin to stick out like a defiant lance. By now, half of the people whose homes faced the driveway had joined the circle. Junior Thomson was there. He sidled up to Joel and asked in that nosy, irritating way of his what was going on. Scully and his two gorgeous sisters were there along with their mother. Little Wally had come out but his father had sent him back with a whack on his bottom when he started to scream in protest. Big Jim, the big, barrel-chested guy with the slick black hair who worked up at the ice house on Paschall Avenue was there. As was Harvey Synder, the butcher from the Baltimore Market, and a whole slew of other people, too numerous to mention.
"I ought to teach you a lesson, you little runt," the young man said all of a sudden.
Now say what you will about Walter, but the one thing he wasn't was a coward. Despite his small size and fly weight he was ready to do battle with anyone at anytime and always had been, especially someone who was bigger than he was, as some small guys are prone to do. He sputtered a spray of spit, put up his dukes and advanced toward the man. But despite her dead weight, Belle was too quick for him and before Walter could get to him she had stepped between them like a wall, effectively blocking one from the other.
"Now Walter Regent you stop all of this, this minute," she scolded, waving a pudgy finger in his face, "or you're gonna have to answer to me." Walter backed up. "What were you doing going to the bathroom out here in the first place?" she demanded, her small, pig eyes flashing through her stylish glasses. "Of all the stupid tricks." And with that, she upped and slammed Walter on the top of his head with her black leather purse, which she had grabbed on the way out because she didn't like to leave it all alone, that is, unguarded, with money in it. Walter grabbed his head and stepped back as everybody gasped and groaned and the men and boys chuckled. But whether she had meant to or not -- she probably didn't -- Belle had done the trick. The tension was broken and any threat of a conflict or fisticuffs quickly dissipated as people began to murmur and laugh.
"He didn't mean anything," Mae said, taking the young man by the arm. "He's a little wild sometimes but I'm sure this is just a big misunderstanding."
"Well , okay," the man said hesitantly, staring at Walter who stared right back at him. "But he shouldn't do things like that. He scared my grandmother half to death."
Belle revolved around like a millstone and faced him. "I apologize for him," she jabbered. "I'm sorry. And you tell your grandmother he's sorry, too. It will never happen again, not if I have anything to do with it," she added, with a stern, rigid face like a schoolteacher.
"Well, okay," the man said again slowly, still looking at Walter. "Well, have a nice evening," he said suddenly, nodding to Belle and Mae. And with that he turned and walked away.
The crowd began to disperse now that it was all over. Ernie Anderson went back into his yard and shut the iron gate and Joel watched as he and Mrs. Anderson went back in the house. The potbellied guy turned and started home himself.
"Damn fool woman," Walter hissed as he looked at his cigar, which somehow he had been carrying around the whole time. He started to throw it away in a snit but then decided it was too big to waste, that he could still get half a smoke out of it and stuck it back in his mouth. "I don't know what she was getting all upset for anyway," he wheezed, taking the cigar back out again.
"Hush," Belle said, taking him by the arm and steering him toward the steps as a couple of latecomers, a young man and a woman, hung back and pricked up their ears to hear what he was saying.
"I was just taking a leak, for crying out loud," he sputtered, as Belle put her fat hand over his mouth to shut him up.
Walter pushed her hand away in anger. "Scared half to death," he blubbered. "Hasn't she ever seen a man's ding dong before?" he hissed in a gruff voice.
"If you don't shut up, you're going to get it again," Belle said sharply. "Haven't you caused enough trouble for one night?"
"Okay, okay," Walter said, cowering and putting up his hands. "A man can't even relieve himself anymore," he murmured.
"Walter, I'm warning you," Belle said, raising the purse again. "One more word."
Walter looked at the purse, decided against it and let himself be led to the stairs. Joel watched them go up, Mae first and Belle second with Walter pushing her from behind on her wide-bodied buttocks. Joel had to laugh to himself. The man will never learn, he thought.
"Want to go up and hang out on the corner for a while?" Junior Thomson said, suddenly beside him.
"Joel, don't go anywhere," Mae yelled from the top of the steps. "It's getting late."
"Aw, mom," Joel grumbled with an unhappy face. It wasn't getting late at all. What was she talking about? It was barely dark. Something must be eating her and she was taking it out on him. He turned and shrugged at Junior Thomson and Scully beside him.
"What does she mean it's getting late? It's barely dark," Junior Thomson barked, taking the words right out of Joel's mouth.
"I don't know," Joel said lamely. "You heard her."
"What happened to the old guy?" Junior Thomson said. "Is he your uncle or what? Is he a sex fiend or something? What did he do? Did he give the guy's grandmother the bird? Did he?" he prodded when Joel didn't answer right away.
"He was just taking a piss," Joel said in a flat voice.
Junior Thomson looked at him like he was full of beans.
"Look, I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? I gotta go," he added, not really knowing why he said it. But he was just tired of the subject already, like Walter really was his uncle or something.
"Okay," Junior Thomson said through his nose. But he didn't move. He just stood there waiting; his long, lank body bent over Joel like a question mark
Joel suddenly became aware of Junior Thomson hanging over him like that and turned and looked at him. There was just no dealing with him when he got like that. Like a vulture. "See you," he said, ending the conversation and heading for the stairs.
Junior Thomson didn't move until he was halfway up the stairs and then he and Scully started up the now deserted driveway.
Joel stopped and watched them. Everything was peaceful and back to normal now, just as it should be. Yellow light shining from houses on the other side and from homes on his side cast expanding and diminishing reflections on the driveway all the way up to Fifty Fourth Street. The sky was alive with stars. Burning bodies of gases, from which light had started its journey to the earth many, many years ago. Before Lincoln and Washington. Even before Napoleon and Marco Polo even. And they would be there long after he was gone, too. Him. His mother. His father. Danny. Buddy. Jeannie Sweeney and everybody else. People didn't like to think about that much, he guessed. They were all back in their homes now doing what they always do on a weekday night. Reading the newspaper. Listening to the radio. Playing cards. Sitting around talking. And, yeah, doing it, too.
He wondered if Mrs. Anderson was doing it. You know, up there, up there in her bedroom with Ernie. It would make a lot of sense, you know, after all the excitement and all. Yeah, it would be a perfect time. Ideal. He let his eyes drift up to her second floor. He wondered if that back window really was her bedroom, the place where they did it and all. He honestly didn't know. As many times as he had stood in the dark at his own bedroom window and looked over there, he had never seen her. Not once. Not even a glimmer of her. Unfortunately for him, she was the picture of modesty and was very careful to always keep the shade pulled down as tight as a drum, and he had long ago given up any hope of seeing her undress or naked or anything.
He stood there and looked up at it, and almost as if by magic or wishful thinking or something, click, the light up there went on. He knew deep in his heart it was risky for him to continue to stand there like that but that rectangle of light seemed to have an almost reverential pull on him, a promise to slake his thirst like the Promised Land, and it just wouldn't let go. He was spellbound, completely taken with it. And then, just like that, faster than you can say Jack Robinson, a figure appeared in the window and seemed to look down at him. He was frozen in his tracks. He didn't know what to do. Should he abruptly turn away and go up the stairs like he had been caught red-handed and forget it? Or should he just stay where he was and pretend he hadn't even see them, whoever it was, like he was just out getting a breath of fresh air or something? And before he could decide, the shade came down, thump, like the end of a movie. The end. Finis. T'that's all, folks.
Oh, no, he was screwed again. He slapped his forehead in disbelief, turned on his heels and climbed the rest of the stairs. What a numb nuts he was. He would have to open up that can of worms again, wouldn't he? Why couldn't he ever learn to just leave well enough alone? Why did he always have to go back to that? Trim. Poon tang. Nookie. The opposite sex. It was enough to drive a guy kooky.
Walter, Belle and Mae were still talking it over heatedly in the
kitchen when Joel came in and shut the back door. His father had joined
them and was leaning up against the wall by the doorway, not saying a
word, as usual. He had sat through the entire incident, blood-curdling
scream and all, listening to an episode of Fibber McGee and Molly
on the radio. Joel held his breath, made his way through unmolested and
went down the hall. "That woman's a damn fool," he heard
Walter shush as he started up the stairs. He thought of asking his mother if
he could go up to the corner so he could hang out with Junior Thomson
and Scully for a while but it really didn't seem like a good time. Instead he
flaked out on the bed again and almost like a magnet coming around to
point at the North Pole, his mind drifted back to the girl at the quarry.
© 2003 Robert Frey, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
The Corner is a corner in Philadelphia just after World War II where three generations of men and boys hang out as sort of an extended family. A little promo-type teaser about this currently* unpublished novel: "e;Kill him, Johnny,"e; some joker yelled in a vicious voice. Poor Bobby didn't have a shot. No bull. He wrapped his arm around Bobby's neck, twisted him to one side, exposing his rib cage, and then, ugh, drove his fist violently into Bobby's side with a crack. Christ, you could hear it. You could actually hear it crack. It was sickening. Just awful. Then he spun the hapless Bobby around and drove his fist into the small of his back with the force of a sledgehammer. The blow seemed to paralyze Bobby and he slumped to his knees. Teach him a lesson? Jesus Christ, it was more like he was trying to kill him. And wouldn't you know it, that's exactly what some asshole yelled. Johnny Callahan is a legendary street fighter who takes Bobby Denver apart one night in an after-hours bar, only to have Bobby keep coming back to fight him until, well, he almost drives Johnny crazy looking for ways short of killing him to get him off his back. Set in Philadelphia just after World War II, The Corner is a loving look back at a simpler, more predictable time when children really had a childhood and it was easy to tell the good guys from the bad. While the narrative touches the lives of many of its inhabitants, it mainly follows two characters: Bobby Denver, and Joel Trainor, an impressionable fourteen-year-old. Among other ups and downs, Joel is chased and brought down by a strange, loping creature one night in a deserted railroad yard right after seeing The Wolf Man at a local movie theater. And, hello, he chances upon the ultimate sex machine in a bedroom window on one of his, er, evening walks, only to be shot at and chased by a local hood with blood in his eye who is her lover.
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