Galveston (30 page)

Chapter
3

Mornings at the beach with James were among the most pleasant I've spent. He went with me almost every day for the next couple of weeks, and his face and arms were soon tanned, giving him a far healthier look than the one he'd arrived with. Each day he seemed more content with Galveston, mentioning less and less often the prospect of going back to live with his grandfather, and eventually he spoke more easily of his parents, as though a good deal of the hurt he'd suffered with their deaths was either dispelled or suppressed. I could never perceive which.

One day on the way to Marybeth's, he said, “It bothers me, not having seen them. I never saw them after the accident. And when the funeral was held, Claire wouldn't allow me to go. I didn't tell her, but I wanted to go because I thought if I could only see them, I could know for sure they were gone.”

It was a perceptive remark, but then not so surprising, coming from him. I thought for a minute, then said, “James, I'm sure Claire was right about that. You probably couldn't realize, but it would have been much harder to have seen. Now you can remember just how they were before the accident, the way they'd want to be remembered.”

“But when my friend Jeremy Post lost his father, he went right up to the coffin and kissed him. His mother wanted him to. I never even kissed my parents good-by that morning they went off in the carriage together. I was too busy with my butterfly collection …

“That night, after it was all over and people were running in and out of the house, traipsing all over my mother's good parlor rug with their muddy feet and cluttering our kitchen with their food, I went to my room alone and destroyed the collection. I broke all the frames and tore the wings off the specimens my dad and I had collected together.”

“But why—?”

“I just had to do something. But I'm all right now. I can sleep again. Thinking of them used to keep me awake nights, but it doesn't anymore. Grandfather said time will heal the wounds for both of us, and he was right. He's always right.”

“He sounds like a fine man.”

“He is finer than any man, except my father.”

“I'm certain he is.”

“My father and I did so many things together. Like, we used to read in the Greek mythology book and compare the gods and goddesses with people we knew. Last night, I looked in it to find the goddess most like you.”

“Did you find her?”

“Yes. Aphrodite. Some call her Venus, but I prefer Aphrodite … it suits her better.”

“Venus? Well, from what I've heard of her, I'm sure you've paid me a compliment. Why do you think I'm like her?”

“First of all, she loved the sea. She is said to have been of the white foam of the sea. She was very beautiful and pure. Also, she was graceful, and always smiled.”

“My goodness. What became of her?”

“It was tragic, really. There was an ugly god named Hephaestus, who took her for his wife. They were very unhappy.”

“How sad,” I said, and immediately thought of Nick.

“Of course, that doesn't necessarily hold true for you. Things are different here. You can marry whom you want. The fellow I watched you leave with last night, is he the person you've chosen to marry?”

“You watched? My, you're nosy.”

“Cousin Claire and Mrs. Reinschmidt and I were sitting on the verandah after supper last night, when he came to call for you. Mrs. Reinschmidt was snapping beans—she's always busy with something—and Cousin Claire was talking about her operation and how sick she was after it—”

“But that was years ago …”

“You'd never know it by listening to her. Of course she never has said just what kind of operation it was, only that she'd never been the same after it.”

“I see. What were you going to say about Nick?”

“Well, I was sitting on the top step last night, so I got a good view of him. Claire says he's your intended.”

“Well, he isn't. He is just a friend. We've talked of marriage, but I'm not ready for that.”

“Why not? Claire said you're nineteen and that isn't much younger than my mother when she got married.”

“I know, and believe me, you're not the first to point out I'm almost an old maid. Still, I have responsibilities. I'll think about marriage later.”

“He wasn't very handsome, the man you left with last night. Perhaps he's Hephaestus and you can now know for sure you shouldn't marry him.”

I stifled a smile, but didn't let on I'd been thinking along the same lines. “I don't know as I'd go that far, James. He isn't by any means ugly, and even if he were, goodness and consideration, thoughtfulness, are more important than looks.”

“I guess so. But my father was handsome. He was the handsomest—”

“Handsomest man in Grady, and your mother the prettiest woman.”

“Yes.”

The conversation was becoming deplorable. “Look, James, perhaps you shouldn't boast so much. Someone might take it wrong.”

“But I didn't mean … please, I'm sorry if it sounded bad.”

“Well, it did. After all, we did pledge honesty to each other. It's all right, though. I guess everyone brags sometimes.”

“Your being my best friend is something to brag about. I wish I had somebody to boast to about that.”

He was impossible to scold. I smiled at him and we opened the Fischer gate.

It was on a Saturday night we went to the Seaside Pavilion to see Professor King's Band, and it was on that night my life really began. It had rained all day, and we feared we wouldn't be able to go. Yet by late afternoon no sign was left of the shower except a million tiny mirrors reflecting on the grass, and the sky turned lavender and pink as the night spread itself over the day.

James appeared at my front door at seven o'clock, wearing his best cotton suit and a new pair of shoes. Nick had asked earlier in the week if he could join us, but I'd told him no. I didn't know why, really, except that I simply didn't feel like having him. I think Nick has always been jealous of James, and felt I was foolish for preferring his company. Yet it wasn't so silly when I thought of Nick as no more than a friend—regardless of what Claire and a lot of others seemed to think—and James was more fun to be around, even if he was still a little shy of fourteen. Nick could only talk about one thing: studying liturgical music, and being the greatest organist in Galveston, or even in the world. He wasn't truly interested in the music students he taught three days a week, except in the fact they provided extra income for him to flaunt whenever he told me of all he had to offer as a husband.

Nick always looked down on popular music, which is what we'd be hearing from the Professor's band, so it gave me no small pleasure to tell him he wouldn't be interested in the entertainment we were going to see.

On the other hand, James spoke of little else for two days ahead of the show. We walked to the Pavilion instead of taking a streetcar as most people do. I enjoyed walking in semi-darkness, and thought it a good way of rounding off an evening which otherwise would probably be more fun for James than for me.

“Cousin Claire knows all about this place,” James said on the walk down. “Did you know Charles used to own part of the property it's built on?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes. She sold it after he died, for a profit.”

“How nice.”

“She's good friends with the Pavilion owner's wife. Imagine her, knowing someone that important.”

“Imagine …”

There were no more than a hundred people attending that night, I supposed because the earlier rain had caused many to change their plans and stay home playing whist or casino in the parlor. After buying our tickets, James asked, “Can we sit on the front row?”

“Yes, but we must hurry.”

I care nothing for front row seats. They make me feel as though I'm on stage with the performers, and it's impossible to get a good view of the whole show. But it seemed to mean so much to James, and of course he was my main reason for coming. The show was a half hour late beginning, and I shudder now to think I was about to suggest we leave and come some other night, when the white-haired, bearded professor appeared on the stage and all but the footlights in the hall were cut.

“
LADIES AND GEN-TLE-MEN, THIS IS PROFESSOR KING, WELCOMING YOU TO THE THREE-HUNDRED-EIGHTY-NINTH PERFORMANCE OF THE KINGPIN PLAYERS, FEATURING BRASS, STRINGS, DRUMS, CYMBALS, AND AS A SPECIAL FEATURE, MISTER ROMAN CRUZ, THE VERY TALENTED MUSICIAN FROM SAINT LOUIS. AND HERE THEY ARE
…”

A dozen or so young men, dressed dandily in red and white striped blazers, white pants and straw hats with red bands, bounded out onto the stage, bringing forth loud applause. James's eyes widened. Apparently the traveling shows of his hometown were not quite so glittering as this.

After the musicians were seated, Professor King said, “
AND WE
'
LL START OFF WITH A TUNE FAMILIAR TO EVERYONE
—
A GUSSIE L
.
DAVIS SONG
, “
IN THE BAGGAGE COACH AHEAD
,”
AND IF YOU PLEASE
,
THE BAND WILL PLAY ONE CHORUS
,
THEN WE ASK YOU TO JOIN IN AND SING THE WORDS WITH US
.
AND ONE
-
AND
-
TWO
-
AND
-
THREE
-
AND
-
FOUR
…”

After the Davis melody, the band went into “If They Write That I'm Forgiven, I'll Go Home,” and “The Fatal Wedding.” They were far better than I'd expected, although people who'd listened to them for the past two summers had reported they were good. Many of their songs had to do with the railroad in one way or another, and most of them were light and lilting, designed to please an audience wanting music for fun. Nick would've been dismayed by their selections, but even he would have had to admit the group played well together.

I waited anxiously for the special feature, for I'd been playing a game all along, trying to guess which one of the young men on stage went by the intriguing name of Roman Cruz. Finally, near the end, the Professor turned and introduced him, and a spotlight was fixed on this man as he removed his hat and lifted a brass trumpet, and began a slow, haunting rendition of “My Old Kentucky Home,” giving the song a dignity it had never before possessed. He was a stunning figure, with wavy hair the color of raven's wings and dark, almost oriental eyes. He not only played his instrument: he possessed it. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

James whispered in my ear, “It's Apollo, the musician god, Serena, look at him!”

“Yes, yes,” I said. I was in no mood for Greek mythology. On and on he played, the only salient presence in the room, the band's accompaniment soft as a hum behind him. And when he brought the simple folk tune to a close with an arpeggio of notes reaching a full two octaves above its classic finale, a burst of applause vibrated throughout the hall. He nodded confidently, knowing he'd pleased his audience well and would always do so.

I applauded until my hands stung, and when everyone else was silent, I found, much to my embarrassment, I was standing. No one else in the hall was standing, only me. Before I could collect myself sufficiently to sit down again, I saw the trombone player next to Roman Cruz punch him and nod in my direction. I dropped to my seat and bowed my head, while all the people around me snickered.

“James, what can I do? Why didn't you pull me down? I must have looked a fool—”

“Serena, he's looking at you. He's looking at you! He's the best one in the band, and he saw you. Smile at him.”

“Oh, I couldn't. When will this be over?”

“The program says one more number. I'll watch and see if he keeps looking. Imagine, Aphrodite has been noticed by Apollo. What a match!”

“Oh, James, this is no time for games. I shall never lift my head again. I just hope there's no one here tonight that I know.”

“It's all right. You're the prettiest girl in the room. You shouldn't be ashamed of anything. It's the people here who are lucky, cause they got to see you.”

“… James, you are a treasure, just as your mother said …”

As we walked to Marybeth's the following Monday, I said, “Would you trust me with your Greek book for a day or so?”

“Sure. I wish you'd keep it and read it all. See how you can draw parallels between the gods and goddesses and people you know. It was the most interesting game Dad and I ever played, I think. Better even than chess.”

“There's no hurry, of course. I'm just a bit curious, that's all.”

“About Apollo?”

“Oh, don't remind me of that.”

“He watched you until we left, you know.”

“You told me. Probably wanted to get a good look at an imbecile.”

“Nah, he wouldn't do that. He looked at you because you're so pretty.”

“James, I'm not really so pretty … let's don't talk of it anymore.”

“There they are, playing ball on the beach,” he said as we passed the Pavilion.

I walked faster. “If you care to join them, go ahead. I'm sure they'd like to have you.”

“No, they wouldn't. I know better than to try to join in with older fellows. They regard the youngest boy as a squirt, and he becomes the butt of all the jokes. I learned that a long time ago. Look, even the Professor is out there today. You know, he reminds me a lot of your father.”

“Oh? I can't see much resemblance except maybe in the build.”

“It's the hair I noticed.”

“My father's hair is light, not white.”

“I know. Still, he reminds me—”

“By the way, did I see you playing with the Baker kids down the street yesterday?”

“Yes. Claire insisted I play ball with them. But I'm no good at baseball, and I didn't like them very much either.”