Galveston (29 page)

“You must have loved your father very much.”

“I loved my mother, too!” he said indignantly, and his face clouded up. He looked straight ahead then, and walked on in silence. Porky slowed down to an even gait, sensing authority in James's voice. I had no idea what to say next, or whether to speak at all.

“She was beautiful, you know,” he said finally, as though to himself.

“I know. My mother painted her portrait. Would you like to come see it?”

“See it? Oh, I don't know … uh, maybe sometime. In a couple of days, maybe.”

“Any time. It's hanging in our dining room.”

“Mother read books and things too, and played the piano. Her fingers were small and dainty, but she could stretch them better than an octave on the keys. She and my father had a lot in common. They met in the library.

“She was going to give me a brother or sister at one time, but had a miscarriage. So now, except for Grandfather, I have no one.”

“It's too bad about your mother losing her baby. When did it happen?”

“Three years ago. She told me she was sorry, and cried a lot after it was over and stayed in bed. I brought her flowers everyday from the garden and read to her, and she told me I was like a golden nugget among a cluster of rocks. She always said I was her undeserved treasure, especially after she lost the baby.”

“Well, you must make friends here in Galveston, just as I've had to do. I have no brothers or sisters either, or even any cousins around here, but Marybeth Fischer—we're going to her place now—is almost like a sister.”

“We'll be friends, you and I,” he said. “If you'll take me along wherever you go, I won't be any trouble, I promise.”

“No, I don't think I would ever regard you as trouble.”

“You know, I wasn't going to tell you this so soon … but you remind me of my mother somehow. You're pretty like her. Of course, you're not
as
pretty as she was, you understand, but like her just the same.”

“You flatter me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Aha, caught you on one. Flatter means … well … to make someone feel very special inside.”

Each time I've passed the public beaches on my way to Marybeth's, I've been grateful all over again for the privilege of swimming off her private beach. Like cattle jammed together inside a fence, the people play in the water, there being scarcely enough room to move one's arms up and down or sideways. For lack of space, no one can swim, and if anyone ventures outside the ropes, a lifeguard stationed high above blows a whistle, and orders the adventurer back inside the bounds. Bathing in such confinement would be no better for me than staying at home, sitting in Mother's room all day.

The public beaches were particularly crowded that day, all the kids being fresh out of school, and James looked on intently, then remarked, “The people look like ants in an ant colony. It was never that crowded in the pond at home.”

“Nor is it where we're going.”

“What's that building up ahead?”

“The Seaside Pavilion. They have band concerts and three-act plays there, tightwire walking and so forth.”

“We didn't have anything like that in Grady. Only traveling shows.”

“We'll have to go in the next night or two, then. There's a group playing from New York. They come here every summer.”

“It's certainly an odd building, with all those flags and things poking out.”

“Yes. It's patterned after the old Galveston Pavilion that burned down when I was younger. In fact, Mother and Father and Claire and Charles and I were in the building when it caught fire. I don't remember of course, for I was only three. But Charles used to talk about it. He said the Galveston Pavilion had two towers just like this one, but it was round instead of rectangular. Claire still calls it the great mushroom.”

The Seaside Pavilion was deserted that day, and it seems odd now to look back on our casual conversation about it, knowing what an important part of my life it became. Even the band members, who often played ball on the beach nearby during their free time, weren't there that day. I supposed them to be rehearsing for the evening performance, a lot of young men from so far away they might as well have been from another country, and I wondered idly as we went along how they were able to draw so many people to their shows year after year. People in Galveston still regard Yankees as rather low-down individuals, though the war has been over almost half a century. Of course, they're not openly ostracized, yet occasionally you hear a slur or two against a person who isn't otherwise well thought of, and if he's also from the North, well … it seems to make him all the worse, somehow.

The sunlight shone like a beacon against the Gulf that day, giving off glitters of light on the water's surface like silver beads on a lady's evening gown. The tide was a little low, not the best for playing in the surf, but it would do for my friend and me, and the still cool June breeze would keep James from tiring too easily. A newcomer has to grow accustomed to the climate here.…

“Is that where we're going, up there at the big fence?”

“Yes. You can see the pier from here. When you jump off the end, you're in five feet of water.”

“Five feet? That's as deep as I am tall.”

“Yes, of course, I never thought. We needn't go all the way to the end. There are stairs along the sides midway down. See the little building at the pier's end, with the pointed roof? That's the bathhouse where we'll change clothes. Now, just here, you can get a view of the house. It's really grand.”

“Gee, must have fifty rooms.”

“Well, maybe half that. The Fischers are from Massachusetts originally, and the house is patterned after one they owned on Cape Cod. Mr. Fischer owns a big fishing fleet here.”

“He must be very rich.”

“He is. Now, if I can just find my key in this bag. Hold still, Porky. We'll be there in a minute.”

“Does Porky go in the water?”

“Sometimes. But he likes to sun on the pier, too, on his back with all four legs in the air. I never stay in the water long because I freckle too easily.”

“Yes. Your freckles were something I noticed because Mother didn't have any. But then she didn't get out in the sun much, either. She was too busy helping my father with the store, you see, then she had the house cleaning and cooking.”

“Your father owned a store?”

“Yes, second-hand furniture; though he did handle new things from time to time. I helped after school, dusting the furniture for sale and cleaning the mirrors. Do you know how to tell if a mirror is any good? You tap the glass with a closed pocket knife. The sound will tell if the mirror is cheap and thin or good quarter-inch plate. My dad always demonstrated that for customers.

“He never really wanted a store, though. He'd rather have been a teacher. He just did it because my grandfather wanted him to, so it was an obligation.”

It occurred to me then there must be many people in the world who inherit what they do from others, spending their lifetimes hacking away at some piece of stone they'd just as soon not fool with. It seemed to be precisely my own lot in life.

And here we were at Marybeth Fischer's, the most independent person I'd ever known. She almost seemed to be breathing down my neck, telling me I ought to consider the wisdom of the little dark-haired half-man who now walked across the lawn with me, gaping openly at the beauty of the house.

His awe reminded me of my own reaction the first time I'd walked with Marybeth across the tree-shaded lawns and gazed at all the pointed gables and graduated levels of the white wooden house. She'd never made any pretense of being rich, and until I went home with her one day after ballet class, I'd never dreamed she was related to
the
Fischers of Galveston, whose names appeared in the paper now and then. She walked into the house ahead of me, throwing her clothes bag down on a mahogany table, almost upsetting a large pot of fresh flowers there, then directed me to a parlor and slumped down into a sofa and ordered a servant to bring ice cream.

That was long ago, and by now I walked across the grounds of her place almost with an air of propriety, had even been guilty a time or two of pretending to myself I really lived here, and might suddenly decide one day to order a servant to pack my bags, and send some employee in my charge to arrange a trip to the Orient. “We'll close up the house,” I would say, “and get Marybeth's friend to watch after it while we're gone.…”

We'd changed our clothes now and were sitting midway down the pier, dangling our feet in the water. “Serena, I hope you won't get angry with me if I tell you something I did last night,” James began. “I meant no harm. If I had, I wouldn't be telling you, would I?”

“That's logical enough.”

“The windows in the room where I'm staying are across from one of your upstairs windows. Last night, when everybody was in bed and all the lights were out, I looked there and saw someone's silhouette in the window shade. I didn't mean to pry. I was just looking out into the night and thinking. The odd thing was, all I could see was a head near the bottom of the shade, like a little person standing there. You did say you had no sisters or brothers?”

“Yes. What you probably saw was my mother's shadow. She was in her wheelchair until late last night, when I helped her to bed.”

“I see. She's an invalid then?”

“Didn't Claire mention anything about her condition?”

“Only that she's sick. I thought she had a bad headache or something. Isn't she ever going to get well?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“May I visit her sometime?”

“I suppose you could, but she doesn't talk, though some days I think she understands what people say better than others.”

“What happened to her?”

“She fell down our front stairs thirteen years ago. She was holding … well, never mind. She just tripped and fell.”

“Oh, the stairs. They're awfully high around here, aren't they?”

“You must mind them, especially after it rains. It had rained the morning Mother fell.”

“It's almost as though you lost your mother, as I did mine, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I told him, and thought that in many ways, it was far worse.

“If you want to go off the deep end of the pier, I'm not afraid. I can swim.”

“No, there's no sense taking chances. Listen, James, there is nothing wrong in being afraid. It's a good idea sometimes, good common sense, as my father would say. Anyway, if we're going to be friends, let's not pretend with each other. You don't have to prove anything to me, and I won't to you.”

“All right then. Will you jump first?”

James took to the water from that day, but we didn't stay in long, and when I reminded him of my tendency to freckle he readily agreed to get under the shade of the bathhouse. As I fluffed my wet hair, spraying water on Porky, who was in his favorite sunning position, I asked him, “Well, what do you think of my playground, the sea?”

“I like it a lot, though the sand feels funny under my feet, like suction cups full of grit. The bottom of the Grady pond is smooth and muddy. You have to hang your feet off the edge and wash the mud off before you can go home.”

“You'll find you have to wash the salt off once you've been in this water. It gives you an awful feeling if you don't. That's why there's a shower in the bathhouse here.”

“Let me look at you. Yes, I think you got a new freckle or two this morning. It's a terrible thing, isn't it? I mean, freckles just appear, nothing you can do will stop them.”

“I dab my face with lemon juice and water at night. I read in the
Ladies' Home Journal
that it helps a little, and it does. But I love the water so much that I'd put up with worse than freckles if I had to.”

“You're lucky to be able to come down here by yourself all the time. Does your father let you do everything you want?”

“Just about, I guess. Of course, I help him do a lot of things, too.”

“How? Does he have a store?”

“No, he's a preacher. I attend teas and receptions, dinners and things, and fill in for Mother. I cook his breakfast in the morning and dinner at night, and stay with Mother afternoons and most evenings.”

“Does your father have a big church?”

“Not so big as it used to be a few years ago. There are only about fifty or sixty families going there now. There were more a few years ago, but they went elsewhere. You know, people are free to worship anywhere they choose. Who can tell what makes people leave one church and go to another? It's a highly personal thing. Anyway, that's what Dad says.”

“I hope I meet your father soon. I'm surrounded by … well, uh …”

“Women? I guess you are, at that.”

“Not that it's so bad, but Mrs. Reinschmidt is very stern and not much fun to be around. Claire isn't quite so stern, but she's always telling me not to blink or something, or correcting me, and it gets on my nerves. Mother and Father treated me more like a grown-up, you know. They used to let me stay up late nights when they went to parties. When they'd come home, they'd tell me all about it and my father would talk like he had a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. It was so funny, I'd laugh and laugh.

“He never was really a chewer, of course. My mother wouldn't have allowed it. It was only the punch that made him talk so funny. He never was a drinking man either, except when they went to parties.”

“I'm surprised they'd let you see—”

“Doesn't your father drink? No, I guess not, if he's a preacher.”

“He does, some.”

It was odd he should have asked that question. My father drinks quite a lot, actually, though I don't think anyone knows except me and maybe Claire. I just hope he can cope after I'm gone. Maybe then, he'll be forced to pull himself together again. Roman says I mustn't worry, that no one can live another's life for him, but I will always worry whether he can make out okay with Mother the way she is. I sometimes believe his spirit, as well as his heart, wound up in pieces at the bottom of those stairs when Mother and Donnie fell.