Movie Shoes (6 page)

The train was just like a train in the movies. All the cars were pullmans. Aunt Cora’s friend came onto the train to see that they were what he called fixed all right. There were seats with room for two facing each other; each seat belonged to one person. Aunt Cora’s friend showed them where presently the top bunks would come down and told them that the porter would make up their beds when they were ready for them and where he would fix curtains across so that each one of at night would have complete privacy. Then he led them down the train and showed them the places where they would go to wash and dress, and where the diner was, and the club car. After Chicago, he said, where their through pullman would be hooked onto a train called
The Chief,
they ought to sit in the observation car because the scenery would really be something.

When they had waved good-bye to Aunt Cora’s friend, John led, the way back to their seats and said with more enthusiasm than they had heard in his voice since the accident. “Isn’t this fun!”

Jane was still very black-doggish, and was convinced she had a right to be. She had hoped John and Bee would ask her what was wrong so she could tell the whole story. In her mind she could hear them say, “Well, Peaseblossom, I think Jane and Tim were right; if the taxi driver gave his opinion of England, there was no harm in their criticizing people and things in America,” or something of that sort, which would squash Peaseblossom. Since neither Bee nor John appeared to have noticed she was angry, Jane had to open the subject herself.

“It would be more fun if people were allowed to say what they thought.”

Bee saw Jane felt she must tell her grievance or explode. “What mayn’t you say, darling?”

Jane explained. She was prompted by Tim, who, now that the whole story was repeated, was angry again.

While the story was pouring out, John seemed to be looking out of the window and not attending, but as Jane finished, he turned around. He held out a hand to Tim and pulled him onto one knee; he put an arm around Jane and nodded to Rachel to sit opposite him.

“Looks as though I ought to have had this talk on the boat. There’s a thing we’ve got to remember every day and every minute of the day from now on. We are foreigners.”

“Foreigners!” the children exclaimed.

Rachel added, “But the American soldiers weren’t foreigners to us when they lived in England when there was a war.”

“Yes, they were, and I expect they felt it.”

Tim wriggled around on John’s knee so that he could look at him. He did not feel he could expostulate well unless he could see his father’s face. “We can’t be foreigners; we all speak the same language.”

“That’s the snag. Just because we speak more or less the same language, we forget we’re foreign and expect Americans to behave and think as we do; actually we are just as foreign as if we were Dutch, French, Belgian, or Swiss. Being foreigners means we are staying in somebody else’s house. When you stay with Aunt Cora, you won’t come down to breakfast and look at the food and say, ‘We cook that better at home,’ or, when some plan’s made, ‘I don’t want to do that,’ and you won’t criticize the way her furniture is arranged or what she says. You’ll be in her house, and you’ll feel, as a guest does, that what she does in it is her business.”

Jane was still looking very black-doggish.

“Do you mean that all the time we’re staying here we’ve got to be visitors, and if somebody like that taxi driver says things about us, we can’t say things back?”

“Well, he knew what he was talking about. He was in England for months probably and got to know us well, but what’s the point in your flying out about manners of policemen and bus drivers when you’ve been in the country only five minutes? It’s not only rude but ignorant. I don’t want to preach to you, but it’s common sense. Let’s behave like visitors who hope to get asked again.”

There was silence for a moment. The fact that they were now foreigners had surprised the- children, for somehow they had not thought of themselves as that. It had been a shock to Tim and Jane to find that John sided with Peaseblossom in thinking they had been rude. Jane still wanted to argue. A holiday in which she was supposed to be on guest behavior with everybody was not at all her idea of a nice time. She had, of course, known that they would be Aunt Cora’s guests, with all the being polite that meant, but being the guests of everybody in America was too much. She said as much. “I think it’s idiotic that we can’t say we don’t like things if we don’t.”

John was losing the gay mood in which he had come on the train. He looked tired.

“I can’t help what you think. I’m telling you how we’re going to behave. When we’ve been here a month or two, it’ll be different; we may be able to discuss ways of doing things, but not the moment we arrive. Anybody who yaps about somebody else’s country without knowing a thing about it looks like a silly ass. You don’t want to look like that.”

Bee thought the lecture had gone on long enough. She was unwinding paper off a long, thin roll. “Look what I bought for you all.” She held out a piece of music. It was a copy of “California, Here I Come.”

Tim had the music. The others leaned over his shoulder. He read it through; then, very softly, he hummed the chorus. In quiet voices, so as not to disturb the other passengers, Rachel and Jane joined in with him.

They laughed at the words, but singing them gave them a very happy feeling. After all, it was not just a song they were singing; they were really going to California. They were actually on their way. A man across the aisle leaned over.

“Sing up, folks. Let’s all enjoy it.”

That was just what was needed; Americans seemed awfully nice on trains, not a bit standoffish. Soon lots of people were joining in, including Joe, the porter, and those who were not were laughing.

Aunt Cora

The morning they were due to arrive in Los Angeles, the most careful preparations were made for meeting Aunt Cora. Even Rachel’s ears and nails were inspected. The children were not allowed to do their own hair and once dressed were scarcely permitted to move.

The only thing which helped make the waiting time pass was the view from the window. The sky was startling blue. There were mountains. Most amazing of all, there were oranges.

“Fancy looking out of a train in October and seeing oranges growing,” Rachel marveled. “At home now the last leaves are blowing off the trees.”

Aunt Cora was on the platform. She was just a little like John but not a bit the children’s idea of what a widowed aunt ought to look like; in fact, she was so unlike their idea of what any aunt, widowed or not, ought to look like that they wished Joe had not told them he would be watching the meeting. Of course, Aunt Cora had married an American when she was eighteen, but though they knew that fact it had not prepared the children for an un-English-looking and -sounding aunt. Aunt Cora was thin with bright golden hair; she was wearing no hat and the oddest dress. To Tim and Jane it looked like any fancy dress, but Rachel felt it belonged to the first act of
Giselle,
for it had puffed sleeves and a peasanty look. Aunt Cora had a whiny voice with a queer accent that was neither English nor American but halfway between. She was wearing an American welcoming expression, and she said all the right American welcoming things; only somehow, perhaps because she was not an American, she did not sound or look sincere. The more welcoming her words and face tried to be, the more the whole family remembered how early she must have got up to meet their train. She did the proper things, kissing everybody, even Peaseblossom, and for each one had special words. “Bee! Why, isn’t this too wonderful! ... Miss Bean! I’m surely glad to know you.... This must be Rachel. We’ll have to look after you, or we’ll be losing you to the movies.... You must be Jane. Poor little thing, she needs feeding up.... Tim! Quite a little man, isn’t he?” After a lot more of this she held John by the shoulders. “John! Big brother John.”

John thought the welcome had gone on long enough. He said in a very brisk that’s-enough-of-that voice, “Fine seeing you, old girl. Oughtn’t we to be doing something about the luggage?”

Aunt Cora had borrowed a station wagon, which held them all and the luggage. She drove very fast, talking in her funny, whiny voice to John. Mostly she asked about people in England, and only John needed to pay attention, which was lucky because it gave the rest of them time to look around. Everything was unlike any place the children had been in before. Huge palm trees bordered the roads. There were no hedges or fences around the houses. Instead each garden came down to the edge of what the children called pavement but Aunt Cora, speaking to John, called the sidewalk. There were so many unusual plants and flowers about that Bee, who loved flowers, kept giving pleased squeaks.

“Oh, look, a plumbago hedge! ... Oh, do look at that bougainvillaea!”

Aunt Cora looked over her shoulder.

“We’re just leaving Beverly Hills; at the end of this boulevard we’ll be in Santa Monica.”

They were by the sea. There was a beach, restaurants with big signs outside saying Seafood, and houses built right up against the shore with steps leading down to the beach. A general gay seaside look everywhere. The children were thrilled.

“The sea! Look at the sea!”

Aunt Cora said, in reproving way, as if the word “sea” were insulting, “You don’t use the word ‘sea’ here. You say ‘ocean’.”

Peaseblossom hurried to cover the family’s mistake. “Of course we do. We just forgot the Pacific was an ocean, didn’t we, dears?”

Aunt Cora had built her own house, or rather Aunt Cora’s husband, whom she called “My dear Ed,” had built it for her. It was at the far end of Santa Monica. A lovely house, long, low, white, with what the family called a veranda and she called a porch overlooking the sea. From the porch, steps led down to the beach. The bedrooms were lovely. John and Bee had a big one with its own bathroom, and Tim had a dressing room opening off it. The two girls and Peaseblossom had a big room, and it had its own shower. Aunt Cora’s room, which was too grand for words, had a bathroom, and there was another shower for Bella, Aunt Cora’s black live-in maid. The number of bathrooms impressed the children very much, for in Saxon Crescent they had only one.

“I shouldn’t think,” Rachel said, “Buckingham Palace could have more.”

The first thing they did on arrival was to have another breakfast. Just as if she had known what they would like, Bella had made popovers for them, and there was the most amazing fruit as well. Blueberries, the size of gooseberries, served with thick cream. Purple figs. Little melons cut in half and iced. Queer soft orange-colored fruits called persimmons and, just to show they had come to the land of plenty, a whole bunch of bananas. There was a glass of chilled tomato juice; there was cereal; there were eggs, bacon, and coffee and cream. None of the Winters was sure if in America it was the right thing to talk about food, but they simply had to. Aunt Cora looked in a sad way at the table.

“I always provide good food, but I scarcely touch it myself. I have to be so careful to stick to my calories.” She looked at herself and then disapprovingly at Peaseblossom, who had curves. “That’s how I keep my figure.”

Breakfast was served on the porch. While they all were admiring the food, Bella had come in from the back and was standing in the doorway. She was large and colorful in a bright flowered housedress, and her face had a wide, pleased smile; it could not have smiled more if she had been welcoming her own relations. At Aunt Cora’s words she chucked: “Don’t listen to Miss Cora. You eat all you’ve a mind to. Miss Cora eats no more than a bird.”

Aunt Cora looked peevish. “And Bella eats enough to keep a family, and look at her!”

They looked at Bella. Just looking at her made them smile; she seemed so pleased about everything. Bella shook her head and gave another chuckle.

“I surely enjoy my food, but I’m not aiming to suffer from my nerves.”

Aunt Cora waited until Bella had shut the door and was out of earshot. Then she lowered her voice.

“I expect you’ll think Bella very familiar, but she has been with me ever since I married and thinks herself one of the family. Sometimes I think she thinks it’s she who owns the house. You want to keep her in her place, or she’ll be ordering you around.”

The family went on eating and said nothing. Inside, they thought that they would not mind very much if Bella did order them around.

After breakfast the children were told to go on the beach while Bee, John, and Peaseblossom unpacked. Only Jane went straight to the beach. Rachel and Tim had first to see about their special things.

Ever since they had arrived in America Rachel had been saying to herself, “I’m going to see Posy Fossil. there’ll be a letter from Posy Fossil… On the very day I get to Aunt Cora’s I might meet Posy Fossil.” The moment breakfast was over she had looked around the house. There had been no mention of letters, so apparently Posy Fossil had not written yet. Still, she might at any minute, and, thought Rachel, in the meantime, she must find a place to practice. It did not take long to find the place: the porch. It had a balustrade around it just the right height for a barre. She was just trying it out when she heard Aunt Cora call up the stairs.

“Oh, John! Here’s some mail for you.”

Rachel stopped practicing and listened. How perfect if Dad called out, “Where’s Rachel? There’s one for her.” There was silence. Dad must be sorting the letters. Then she heard his voice. “Good. News from home. Three for you, Bee, two for Peaseblossom, and four for me.”

Bella came to clear the breakfast. She smiled when she saw Rachel. “You enjoyed your breakfast.”

This was clearly a statement and did not need answering. Rachel came over to the table and helped stack the plates. Bella did not look like the sort of person who would find it a nuisance answering questions.

“How often do posts come? I mean, posts from-people who live in California?”

“Miss Cora opens the mailbox herself. Were you expecting a letter?”

“A letter or a message.”

Bella stopped, a pile of plates in one hand. “I was remembering. I called Miss Cora to the telephone. There was a lady asking for you.”

Aunt Cora was in the living room. Rachel peered around the door and looked at her. She was writing at a desk. She looked busy. Almost every day since they had known they were coming to California Peaseblossom had said something about their being as little trouble as possible to Aunt Cora. Interrupting a person who was writing was being a little trouble, but not a great deal of trouble, and of Posy Fossil had left a message, it would be too frightful not to answer at once. Rachel cleared her throat.

“Aunt Cora?”

Aunt Cora swung around. Though all the welcoming had not worn off her face, she looked as though she were hoping very much she was not going to be interrupted every time she sat down for five minutes.

“Yes, honey?”

“I asked Bella about letters, and she said she thought there had been a telephone message for me.”

Aunt Cora looked vague. Then she nodded.

“That’s quite right. A Miss Postle or Mossel called you up. She very kindly offered to see to your dancing lessons while you are here, but the studio was way over the far side of Sunset Boulevard, so I thanked her and said it couldn’t be managed. I explained I was pleased to have you as my guests for the winter, but that did not include my acting as chauffeur all over Los Angeles.” She gave a nod of dismissal and went back to her writing.

Rachel rushed up to her parents’ room. John was arranging a table as a desk. He was putting out his typewriter paper and reference books, and as he arranged them, he whistled in a contented way through his teeth.

Bee was unpacking. She put an armload of John’s clothes in Rachel’s arms. “Hang these in that cupboard, darling. Only we mustn’t call them cupboards anymore, must we? They are called closets here.”

Rachel took the clothes, but she did not move. “Posy Fossil rang me up to ask me to take dancing lessons, and Aunt Cora told her I couldn’t go; she said the studio was too far away.”

Bee pointed at the closet. “Hang them up, and don’t look so distraught.”

“But I feel distraught; having a chance to learn dancing from Posy Fossil is just about the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

As John stood back from his table to see how it looked he said, “I don’t think you need despair yet. I daresay there are streetcars, or we can borrow a bicycle. The great thing is not to rush your aunt for a day or two. After all, we’ve been in the place only about an hour.”

Rachel hung the clothes in the closet. Nobody could have a nicer father and mother than she had, but sometimes they were disappointing. It didn’t seem possible that anybody could think that seeing Posy Fossil in a day or two would do. It was the sort of thing that ought to be done the very first minute. She said no more, but she looked a lot.

Aunt Cora had no piano. Tim did not accept this strange fact without verifying it. He went into the kitchen and asked Bella; after all, the piano might just be away being repaired. Bella had a nice kitchen and seemed pleased to see him and if the question of a piano had not been so urgent, he would have liked to stay and have a good look around. Bella was definite. She had looked after Miss Cora for years, and there hadn’t ever been a piano.

Tim went in search of Aunt Cora. He arrived just after Rachel had left. He did not make Rachel’s polite entrance. He stalked in, looking severe.

“Why haven’t you a piano, Aunt Cora?”

Aunt Cora looked up from her letter. Her face lost more of its welcoming look. Another child! Really!

“Why don’t you go play on the beach? I do hope you children aren’t going to run in and out the whole time. My nerves won’t stand it.”

Tim did not care what Aunt Cora’s nerves would stand.

“I have to have a piano. I have to practice every day. I promised Mr. Brown I would. How do you get a piano in America if you haven’t got one? Can you hire one for me?”

Aunt Cora saw that Tim was determined to go on talking about pianos until he had an answer. She laid down her pen. “You can rent pianos in America, but they cost money. You haven’t money, so you can’t rent one.”

“I’ll have pocket money, I suppose. I do in London.”

“I don’t know from whom, unless you earn it,” Aunt Cora said.

Tim was exasperated. “Children don’t earn pocket money. It comes from their fathers on Saturday mornings.”

Aunt Cora took up her pen in a very meaningful way. “In America it does not. You’ll earn any you get here.”

Tim was quite prepared to start earning if that was the way to get a piano. “How do I earn?”

“Will you stop asking questions? You make me so nervous. I don’t know how children earn. I just know they earn. Now will you please run away? I’m busy.”

Jane loitered up the beach. It was a nice beach, and the water looked perfect for bathing. She walked slowly along the sand, examining each house. She wondered if children lived in any of them; it would be nice if they did; with Rachel taking dancing lessons from that Posy Fossil and Tim practicing, she would need somebody for a playmate. She thought all the houses very nice and gave marks to each according to her view of its merits. She was just turning back to find out what was keeping Rachel and Tim when she saw something which stopped her in her tracks. She was in front of a nice white wooden house which would have got almost full marks had it not been that at the back of the lawn, fastened to his kennel by a chain, was a black spaniel. The spaniel seemed to be reasonably contented, but Jane was not contented for him. Without remembering any of the things she had been told about how to behave in a foreign country, Jane marched up to the gate.