Before My Life Began (43 page)

“Why should I mind?”

“Because I'll have to leave Brooklyn. Because I might never come back. Because we won't be working together.”

“So?”

“So won't that bother you?”

“No.”

“Not at
all?”

“Look, Davey,” he said, smiling. “I'll miss you, sure, but I think this is what I've been trying to tell you today, don't you see? That it's time to go our separate ways. I think I knew it when we talked that time you didn't call me, when Gail kept the note from you. I was angry with her too, but do you know what? The more I thought about it the more I liked it. Not what she did, but that she did it.” He laughed. “It was the kind of thing I figured I might have done if I was trying to protect somebody I cared about. Sure. And we've both noticed the changes, the new way you've been with me ever since she came into your life. There's nothing like the love of a good woman to bring out the best in a man. I always said so, didn't I?”

“Did you ever have that kind of love?”

“Yes.”

“Then why—?”

“What kind of life would it have been, married to me? I was ahead of them today, sure—but to make someone you love wait at home day after day, afraid—?” He shrugged. “The story I told you about me and Lillian was true. It's just that it's not the only story. What I figured out, see, is that there's no need for you to repeat my life in order to understand it.”

I swallowed hard and began talking quickly, so that he wouldn't see how upset I was. I talked about what Gail said: that it would be good for us to get away from the city for a few years, from her parents and my mother, that it would be good for us both to get college degrees, and even though Abe nodded, I could tell that he had stopped listening to me. He talked about Fasalino. The fact that Fasalino's men had tried to strong-arm him only proved what he'd suspected: that there was little to worry about. If Fasalino had had any real leverage, he wouldn't have needed to try something cheap. Why, then, I asked, had Abe given me the key and told me about the safe-deposit box? Abe smiled easily, said that he had done so just in case—that it was always good to have a contingency plan, to be careful. Now that Fasalino's men had made their move, though, he was less concerned. Was he telling me the truth, I wondered, or, having noticed how upset I was, was he merely using what had happened to reassure me?

He leaned back, eyes misty, and said that he envied me going to Kentucky. He'd always loved the horses—touching them, watching them. He'd never ridden, not even along the Ocean Parkway bridle paths, but he had been to the Derby in 1941, when Arcaro rode Whirla way to the roses. He was stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison, outside Indianapolis, and he and three other guys from his unit had gone down there together. Did I know that he used to hitch rides up to Saratoga from Parksville in the summers, to watch the horses? The horses and the women.

He liked things that were strong, beautiful, and draped in silk. Why not? He blinked, as if it confused him to be telling me about what he remembered. Had I ever tried to draw a picture of a race horse? He didn't remember getting pictures of race horses when he was overseas. I said that I'd once copied a picture of the Lone Ranger and Silver from the back of a Cheerios cereal box, but that was all. I might try again, though, when I got to college. I was thinking of taking art courses.

“Sure, Davey. Sure. The sooner we all get out of Brooklyn the better, I guess. Only I want to get out of here in my own way and in my own good time and on my own terms.”

“Fine.”

“You don't like it when I talk this way, do you?”

“You can talk any way you want.”

“I never
bet
the horses much. Gambling like that, where there's no real control, never interested me. I liked cards—poker, blackjack, pinochle—but I never played the horses. Mostly I just liked being away from home on my own, hitching rides and talking with strangers, watching the thoroughbreds run, chasing after the two-legged fillies. I liked to watch the pretty women, Davey. I was always a sucker for a beautiful smile. I had a system, see. I'd spot a few good-looking women and I'd go around and give six or seven of them tips on a race—a different horse for each woman—and then I'd go back after the race was over and see what I could collect from the one I'd given the winner to.”

Abe leaned back, eyes closed. When he looked at me a few seconds later, there was something very peaceful in his expression, as if he were waking from a pleasant dream.

“Just a little more time, Davey, and I think we can close the books on a lot of stuff neither of us really likes. Be patient with me, all right? All I want, see—what I'm angling for—are certain assurances about how things will operate when I'm no longer in charge. Can you understand that?”

“No.”

He nodded, as if he understood even better than I did why it was I'd answered him this way. He reminded me of what he wanted me to do for the rest of the day: I was to go around as if it were a normal day—collect the rents, check up on Benny and Lefty, look in at Mr. Rothenberg's restaurants, make sure the routes were in order, see if any of the apartment houses needed attention. Then I was to go to my mother's for supper, and to wait for his call. If the message said to call Ellen, that meant I was to head for Ellenville, without going home, without waiting. If the message said to call Gail, that meant I could go on home, that there were no problems. He pushed himself away from the table and turned toward the window so that, in the sunlight, the pupils of his eyes seemed to fade to a pale transparent silver.

“I promised myself I'd give you an escape clause—just in case—and I've done that, all right? The only thing I'm unhappy about is that I set it up for you before Gail and the baby came along.”

“What about yourself?”

“Myself what?”

“What about an escape clause for you?”

“It's all taken care of. What do you think—that I want to die? Nobody wants to die.” He stood. “You be careful, though. People always let you down.”

“I wouldn't let you down.”

“Not even if it meant choosing between me and your family—between me and Gail and Emilie?” He picked up the check. His eyes were cold again, like the sky on a day when you can't be sure if it's going to rain or not. “Everybody lets you down in the end. Everybody disappoints you.”

“You wouldn't let me down.”

He smiled in the most relaxed and natural way. “Who knows, Davey?”

I stood.

“Don't go, uncle Abe. Please—?”

“Sit down.”

I sat. He was behind me, his hands on my shoulders. He spoke gently, ruffling my hair while he did. “Trust me about this.” He dug his fingers into my shoulder muscles. “Hey—you're almost relaxed. Nice and loose. You stay like that all the way to Kentucky, do you hear me? What you have to remember, though—why we can't kid ourselves—is that they have no reason to trust anybody either. Why should they? Costello and Luciano helped us win the war when we came up through Sicily—they made deals and who knows if we could have won without them?—but after the war the government double-crossed them too, shipped them back. So why should they trust anyone? You be a good boy, Davey. You take care of yourself.”

I couldn't see his face, but the touch of his hand on my neck and on the top of my head spread downward, warmed me. Only for a second, though. I tried to concentrate, to think ahead: What if Fasalino, when he sent his two men, had done so anticipating Abe's reaction? What if Fasalino had known that Abe would have himself covered….

“I am sorry. I'm real sorry about some things, Davey.”

I'd never heard Abe use those words before.
Uncle Abe!
I wanted to call out, but I didn't.
Uncle Abe! Wait! Be careful!
I turned and watched him walk off, his stride strong and confident, but I couldn't see his face when he passed the table where Benny and Turkish Sammy had been sitting, or when he paid the check, or when he walked out of the cafeteria.

My mother was dancing with Beau Jack. They circled the living room in one another's arms as if in slow motion. The chairs and coffee table were pushed to the edges of the room, the oriental rug rolled up next to the couch legs, the couch shoved back to the windows. The parquet floor, cross-hatched squares of oak, glistened. It was dark outside. The Venetian blinds had not yet been lowered. Across the alleyway I could see lights on in other apartments.

Beau Jack held my mother at arm's length, and I thought of Confederate soldiers in Civil War movies dancing with beautiful girls under crystal chandeliers. Beau Jack's skin glittered as if dusted with a fine golden-brown powder. My mother's head was tilted back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes closed. She seemed very young and happy. She wore a white peasant blouse, a flowered skirt, sandals. My grandfather sat in a wooden chair between my bedroom and my mother's, patches of fur on his lap, a thread looped across his mouth, a silver needle hanging from the thread. How could my mother and Beau Jack dance so gracefully in such a small space? They moved like porcelain dolls I'd once seen on a music box, as if they had made the same circles a thousand times before. Beau Jack wore a yellow-and-brown-striped shirt, blue pants hitched up high and held by black suspenders. Instead of his Dodger cap, he had a red paisley kerchief tied onto his head, piratestyle. I smelled rose-scented hair pomade.

Was I dreaming? The music seemed too loud. Beau Jack and my mother swirled in faster circles. They seemed larger suddenly, impossibly large for the small rectangle they were moving within, and for a moment it was as if they were taller than I was, as if I were a small boy coming out of my bedroom late at night, sleepy-eyed, to find them there.

Had Gail telephoned yet? Would she worry about me because I was already late for supper? I didn't want to phone her until I knew more, until I heard from Abe. I tried to picture her in our bed, cuddling Emilie. Gail's skin was smoother than it had ever been, a change she attributed to the pregnancy. They hadn't heard me knock at the front door, but my mother was coming toward me now, her right hand across her mouth, her eyes wide, and she was laughing in a way that made me know she was pleased that I'd found her there dancing with Beau Jack. She said she was glad that I was home, that they'd been expecting me.

“Expecting me?”

“Abe called and said you'd be stopping by about suppertime.”

“When?”

“Didn't you hear me? About suppertime.”

“I meant when did he call?”

My mother turned to Beau Jack. “Hello, Davey,” he said. “Your uncle called about two hours ago.”

“Not since?”

“No.”

I touched my back pocket, felt the tiny ridged teeth of the key. My mother's hand was on my arm.

“Hey listen—you won't tell Sam, yeah, about me and Beau Jack? When it comes to other men Sam got a temper like I never seen.” She slipped her arm around my waist, kissed my cheek. “Doesn't Beau Jack dance beautifully?”

“I learned to dance at the Hostess Houses. I told Davey about them before. They had us dance with the nurses, and with the women who came overseas to see that we had a normal life sometimes. They gave lessons.”

“Oh I love to dance, Davey! Do you and Gail like to dance?”

My mother twirled around so that her skirt rose in a wide arc. I saw Ellen, turning blindly in her garden. I thought of ripples on a lake moving outward. A stone floated down, lost in the center. The lake was dark, muddy. A
fool can throw a stone into the water that ten wise men can't recover
. Abe's favorite saying.

“Beau Jack's been coming up here every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, giving me lessons. It's nice, ain't it? I mean, who does it hurt? Before your father and me got married I used to go dancing with my friends down to this place called the Chateau Pierre, in Sea Gate. Abe didn't like me there, said I had to be careful of all the mashers.” She cupped my ear, whispered: “Abe visited us yesterday. He spoke to Poppa!”

I said that Abe had told me. My grandfather was sucking on a thread, drawing it to a point, pulling it through the eye of a needle. He grinned at me toothlessly. I wanted to get away—to be home. Make a spoon, Gail would say in the morning when we were snuggling, her back to me. Make a spoon.

“You won't tell Sam, then?”

The phone rang. I started for the kitchen, but my mother held my arm, told me that she had discovered that Sam Lipsky was the most wonderful man in the world.

The phone rang again. My grandfather shuffled by, returned a few seconds later, told me the call was for me. I went into the kitchen.

“Davey Voloshin?”

“Yes.”

“It's Vincent. Listen, I was wondering if you saw the evening paper yet?”

“Why are you calling me here?”

“It's just that when I saw the news in the paper, it made me think about you. I called your home first, see, but your wife said you weren't back yet, so I figured I might catch you at your mother's place.”

“What do you want?”

“To be your friend. So you go take a look at the paper and then maybe if you want to talk about the news, we'll be in touch.”

He hung up. I told my mother that I was going downstairs to get the paper. She asked me who had telephoned.

“I'll get the paper,” Beau Jack said. “You stay with your mother and grandfather for a while.”

“Come here.”

My grandfather was beckoning to me with a finger. Beau Jack left the apartment. My grandfather lifted the small blanket so that I could feel the fur, admire the stitching, the black satin lining. He bit off some thread. I turned to my mother, thought of asking her how he could bite off thread if he didn't have his teeth in.

“Do you want your room back?” my grandfather asked.