Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.
Charles W. Eliot
ePub
A4Chương 54
C
hapter 541
The winter seemed reluctant to let go its bite. It hung on cold and wet and windy long after its time.
And people repeated, “It’s those damned big guns they’re shooting off in France—spoiling the
weather in the whole world.”
The grain was slow coming up in the Salinas Valley, and the wildflowers came so late that some
people thought they wouldn’t come at all.
We knew—or at least we were confident—that on May Day, when all the Sunday School picnics
took place in the Alisal, the wild azaleas that grew in the skirts of the stream would be in bloom. They
were a part of May Day.
May Day was cold. The picnic was drenched out of existence by a freezing rain, and there wasn’t
an-open blossom on the azalea trees. Two weeks later they still weren’t out.
Cal hadn’t known it would be like this when he had made azaleas the signal for his picnic, but once
the symbol was set it could not be violated.
The Ford sat in Windham’s shed, its tires pumped up, and with two new dry cells to make it start
easily on Bat. Lee was alerted to make sandwiches when the day came, and he got tired of waiting and
stopped buying sandwich bread every two days.
“Why don’t you just go anyway?” he said.
“I can’t,” said Cal. “I said azaleas.”
“How will you know?”
“The Silacci boys live out there, and they come into school every day. They say it will be a week
or ten days.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Lee. “Don’t overtrain your picnic.”
Adam’s health was slowly improving. The numbness was going from his hand. And he could read
a little—a little more each day.
“It’s only when I get tired that the letters jump,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t get glasses to ruin my
eyes. I knew my eyes were all right.”
Lee nodded and was glad. He had gone to San Francisco for the books he needed and had written
for a number of separates. He knew about as much as was known about the anatomy of the brain and
the symptoms and severities of lesion and thrombus. He had studied and asked questions with the
same unwavering intensity as when he had trapped and pelted and cured a Hebrew verb. Dr. H. C.
Murphy had got to know Lee very well and had gone from a professional impatience with a Chinese
servant to a genuine admiration for a scholar. Dr. Murphy had even borrowed some of Lee’s news
separates and reports on diagnosis and practice. He told Dr. Edwards, “That Chink knows more about
the pathology of cerebral hemorrhage than I do, and I bet as much as you do.” He spoke with a kind of
affectionate anger that this should be so. The medical profession is unconsciously irritated by lay
knowledge.
When Lee reported Adam’s improvement he said, “It does seem to me that the absorption is
continuing—”
“I had a patient,” Dr. Murphy said, and he told a hopeful story.
“I’m always afraid of recurrence,” said Lee.
“That you have to leave with the Almighty,” said Dr. Murphy. “We can’t patch an artery like an
inner tube. By the way, how do you get him to let you take his blood pressure?”
“I bet on his and he bets on mine. It’s better than horse racing.”
“Who wins?”
“Well, I could,” said Lee. “But I don’t. That would spoil the game—and the chart.”
“How do you keep him from getting excited?”
“It’s my own invention,” said Lee. “I call it conversational therapy.”
“Must take all your time.”
“It does,” said Lee.
2
On May 28, 1918, American troops carried out their first important assignment of World War I. The
First Division, General Bullard commanding, was ordered to capture the village of Cantigny. The
village, on high ground, dominated the Avre River valley. It was defended by trenches, heavy machine
guns, and artillery. The front was a little over a mile wide.
At 6:45 A.M., May 28, 1918, the attack was begun after one hour of artillery preparation. Troops
involved were the 28th Infantry (Col. Ely), one battalion of the 18th Infantry (Parker), a company of
the First Engineers, the divisional artillery (Summerall), and a support of French tanks and flame
throwers.
The attack was a complete success. American troops entrenched on the new line and repulsed two
powerful German counterattacks.
The First Division received the congratulations of Clemenceau, Foch, and Pétain.
3
It was the end of May before the Silacci boys brought the news that the salmon-pink blossoms of the
azaleas were breaking free. It was on a Wednesday, as the nine o’clock bell was ringing, that they told
him. Cal rushed to the English classroom, and just as Miss Norris took her seat on the little stage he
waved his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Then he went down to the boys’ toilet and waited
until he heard through the wall the flush of water on the girlside. He went out through the basement
door, walked close to the red brick wall, slipped around the pepper tree, and, once out of sight of the
school, walked slowly along until Abra caught up with him.
“When’d they come out?” she asked.
“This morning.”
“Shall we wait till tomorrow?”
He looked up at the gay yellow sun, the first earth-warming sun of the year. “Do you want to
wait?”
“No,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
They broke into a run—bought bread at Reynaud’s and joggled Lee into action.
Adam heard loud voices and looked into the kitchen. “What’s the hullabaloo?” he asked.
“We’re going on a picnic,” said Cal.
“Isn’t it a school day?”
Abra said, “Sure it is. But it’s a holiday too.”
Adam smiled at her. “You’re pink as a rose,” he said.
Abra cried, “Why don’t you come along with us? We’re going to the Alisal to get azaleas.”
“Why, I’d like to,” Adam said, and then, “No, I can’t. I promised to go down to the ice plant.
We’re putting in some new tubing. It’s a beautiful day.”
“We’ll bring you some azaleas,” Abra said.
“I like them. Well, have a good time.”
When he was gone Cal said, “Lee, why don’t you come with us?”
Lee looked sharply at him. “I hadn’t thought you were a fool,” he said.
“Come on!” Abra cried.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lee.
4
It’s a pleasant little stream that gurgles through the Alisal against the Gabilan Mountains on the east
of the Salinas Valley. The water bumbles over round stones and washes the polished roots of the trees
that hold it in.
The smell of azaleas and the sleepy smell of sun working with chlorophyll filled the air. On the
bank the Ford car sat, still breathing softly from its overheating. The back seat was piled with azalea
branches.
Cal and Abra sat on the bank among the luncheon papers. They dangled their feet in the water.
“They always wilt before you get them home,” said Cal.
“But they’re such a good excuse, Cal,” she said. “If you won’t I guess I’ll have to—”
“What?”
She reached over and took his hand. “That,” she said.
“I was afraid to.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I guess girls aren’t afraid of near as many things.”
“I guess not.”
“Are you ever afraid?”
“Sure,” she said. “I was afraid of you after you said I wet my pants.”
“That was mean,” he said. “I wonder why I did it,” and suddenly he was silent.
Her fingers tightened around his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want you to think
about that.”
Cal looked at the curling water and turned a round brown stone with his toe.
Abra said, “You think you’ve got it all, don’t you? You think you attract bad things—”
“Well—”
“Well, I’m going to tell you something. My father’s in trouble.”
“How in trouble?”
“I haven’t been listening at doors but I’ve heard enough. He’s not sick. He’s scared. He’s done
something.”
He turned his head. “What?”
“I think he’s taken some money from his company. He doesn’t know whether his partners are
going to put him in jail or let him try to pay it back.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard them shouting in his bedroom where he’s sick. And my mother started the phonograph to
drown them out.”
He said, “You aren’t making it up?”
“No. I’m not making it up.”
He shuffled near and put his head against her shoulder and his arm crept timidly around her waist.
“You see, you’re not the only one—” She looked sideways at his face. “Now I’m afraid,” she said
weakly.
5
At three o’clock in the afternoon Lee was sitting at his desk, turning over the pages of a seed
catalogue. The pictures of sweet peas were in color.
“Now these would look nice on the back fence. They’d screen off the slough. I wonder if there’s
enough sun.” He looked up at the sound of his own voice and smiled to himself. More and more he
caught himself speaking aloud when the house was empty.
“It’s age,” he said aloud. “The slowing thoughts and—” He stopped and grew rigid for a moment.
“That’s funny—listening for something. I wonder whether I left the teakettle on the gas. No—I
remember.” He listened again. “Thank heaven I’m not superstitious. I could hear ghosts walk if I’d let
myself. I could—”
The front doorbell rang.
“There it is. That’s what I was listening for. Let it ring. I’m not going to be led around by feelings.
Let it ring.”
But it did not ring again.
A black weariness fell on Lee, a hopelessness that pressed his shoulders down. He laughed at
himself. “I can go and find it’s an advertisement under the door or I can sit here and let my silly old
mind tell me death is on the doorstep. Well, I want the advertisement.”
Lee sat in the living room and looked at the envelope in his lap. And suddenly he spat at it. “All
right,” he said. “I’m coming—goddam you,” and he ripped it open and in a moment laid it on the table
and turned it over with the message down.
He stared between his knees at the floor. “No,” he said, “that’s not my right. Nobody has the right
to remove any single experience from another. Life and death are promised. We have a right to pain.”
His stomach contracted. “I haven’t got the courage. I’m a cowardly yellow belly. I couldn’t stand
it.”
He went into the bathroom and measured three teaspoons of elixir of bromide into a glass and
added water until the red medicine was pink. He carried the glass to the living room and put it on the
table. He folded the telegram and shoved it in his pocket. He said aloud, “I hate a coward! God, how I
hate a coward!” His hands were shaking and a cold perspiration dampened his forehead.
At four o’clock he heard Adam fumbling at the doorknob. Lee licked his lips. He stood up and
walked slowly to the hall. He carried the glass of pink fluid and his hand was steady.
