Palisades Park (53 page)

He waited until the flames died down, then returned to the house.

Toni stayed behind, staring without comprehension into the dying embers of Jack’s childhood.

*   *   *

The next morning, as Jack slept, Toni shared what happened with her father, and they decided that if Jack wanted to talk about his experiences he would, and if he didn’t, that was his business. “He needs for home to start feeling ‘real’ to him again,” Eddie said, “and I think that’s the best thing—maybe the only thing—we can do for him right now.”

That first day all Jack seemed to want to do was sleep, which was understandable, but on his second day home Toni talked him into a walk along the riverfront. They bundled up in winter clothes and strolled along the banks of the frigid Hudson, toward the George Washington Bridge. “Remember when we found the ‘dinosaur bone’ here?” Toni said, pointing out the slippery rocks they had clambered over in grade school.

Jack smiled. “Yeah. Johnny Lamarr was there that day. I never did manage to meet up with him in Korea. Hope he’s okay.”

Toni took him to lunch at Callahan’s, where his trembling hands needed no utensils to grip one of the gigantic franks. As he wolfed it down, something of the old Jack glimmered in his tired eyes. “Man, these are
great
. After a year and a half of Army chow, this is like eating at the Ritz.”

When he finished that one he promptly ordered another, as well as a second Yoo-Hoo to wash it down. Toni was glad to see him so happy.

After lunch they dropped by Eddie’s Polynesia, where a light afternoon crowd was gathered to graze on the day’s appetizers: Mandarin dumplings, Tahitian fruit
poi,
and shrimp grilled in coconut oil. Jack sampled one of each, even after the two hot dogs, but passed on Eddie’s offer of a Singapore Sling: “After the injury, I drank a lot of beer, hoping it would help, or at least help me forget.” He shook his head. “All it did was make me feel even less in control of my body.”

When he first sat down at the bar, he stared at the mural behind it—
his
mural—with an intensity that alarmed Toni. Too late, she realized it might be a mocking reminder of what his once-healthy hands could do. But a small smile crept onto his face and he said, “There
is
something peaceful about it … isn’t there? Almost like a window into the past, into Gauguin’s South Seas—not that it comes close to Gauguin. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to bear the sight of it, but … it’s nice to sit here and imagine I could step through it into another time, another place. Another me.”

Jack seemed to feel so at ease in the bar that after a couple of days Eddie suggested he help out there, to give him something to do. “Dad, are you nuts?” he asked. “I can barely hold on to a fork, can you imagine how many mugs and glasses I’d break?”

“I was thinking you could work the cash register. You were always good with math and numbers. What do you say?”

Jack agreed to give it a try, and the next day came to work wearing one of the gaudy Hawaiian shirts Eddie kept for fill-in personnel. Jack had little trouble operating the cash register; his fingers were shaky, but they could press a key all right. The trickier part was taking money—directly from customers, Eddie, or Lehua—placing it in the cash drawer, then dispensing change. His hands shook as he tried to separate dollar bills from fives and tens, putting them in separate compartments, but he managed.

Worse were the coins, which he could barely pick up one at a time, much less hand back to Eddie or Lehua. Even his left hand would shake so violently that he would spill the coins all over the counter, his frustration mounting. Finally, after three hours, it came to a head when he tried to open a roll of quarters and wound up scattering them all over the floor.

He looked ready to burst into tears.

“That’s it. This was a crappy idea from the start,” he told Eddie, and got out from behind the counter. “I’m going home.”

“Jack, wait—”

But Jack ignored him and hurried out the door. Eddie ran after, catching up to him in the parking lot. “Jack, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— Will you
stop,
for Chrissake, and let me
talk
to you?”

“There’s nothing to say!” Jack snapped, but he did slow and let his father approach. “I’m just a goddamned spastic cripple.”

“Let me find out the name of Jack Rosenthal’s doctor,” Eddie pleaded. “There’s
got
to be something they can do for you.”

“Dad, there’s nothing they
can
do, because it isn’t a physical injury!” Jack blurted.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s a psychiatric problem, all right? I cracked up! I broke down. I’m a goddamn coward, Dad—is
that
what you wanted to hear?”

Eddie was too stunned to respond. His face red with shame, Jack turned and started to run away.

Eddie shook off his stupor and ran after him, grabbing him by the arm before he could cross Palisade Avenue to the nearest bus stop.

“Jack, there are still doctors who may be able to help you—”

“Shrinks? In Korea they’ve got traveling psychiatric detachments, ready to fix you up and send you right back to the front. I was so fucked up, they sent me home. I’ve seen enough shrinks for one lifetime, thanks.”

He pulled loose from Eddie, who made no further effort to stop him. The truth was, Eddie didn’t know what to say to him—this was so far outside his experience, he was afraid anything he said might make things worse.

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his wounded son hurrying down Palisade Avenue toward Route 5 and Edgewater. Goddamn it, he thought, it wasn’t fair. Why had Eddie, with a hardier constitution, been spared the horrors of war, while his son—sensitive, physically slighter—was sent straight into hell?

Worst of all—Jack had been following his father’s example by volunteering to go to war. Eddie knew in the pit of his soul that this was all
his
fault—and he would never forgive himself for it.

*   *   *

On Saturday night, Jimmy took Toni back to the Chimes Restaurant, but all the way there and into the meal, all Toni could talk about was Jack and how worried she was for him. Jimmy, who had started the evening out jovial if a bit nervous, slowly deflated in enthusiasm as Toni related the story of Jack burning his comic books in the dead of night—until finally she looked into Jimmy’s face, saw the dismay in it, and said, “Oh God, I’m sorry, this must be so depressing to you. I’ll shut up now.”

“No, this is what I love about you. You love your family, like I love mine. It’s just…” He sighed. “I wanted this night to be special. Don’t you remember? It was exactly nine months ago we came here on our first date.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. You’re so much more romantic than I am.”

“I thought it would be a good time to … oh, hell, it still is. Why not?”

He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a small velvet-covered box, placed it on the table, and opened it.

Inside was a gold ring inset with a small cluster of diamonds.

“I love you, Toni,” he said, taking her hand. “Will you marry me?”

Toni stared at the ring—this had been the furthest thing from her mind when the evening started—and then her face lit with a smile.

“Of course I will,” she said, and kissed him with a ferocity not quite befitting a public place.

The next morning she told her father and brother, who were both delighted for her. But as Eddie and Toni washed the breakfast dishes together, Eddie said gingerly, “Honey, I know you don’t want to hear this, but … I think you should seriously consider inviting your mother to the wedding.”

She looked up, startled. “Okay, I bite. Why?”

“You can’t keep your mom out of your life forever.”

“You did.”

“Yeah. I did.” Eddie’s face darkened. “And it was only after she passed away a few years ago that I learned from Viola how hurt she was that she hadn’t been there to see me get married, or to play with her grandchildren. I thought I was doing the right thing by you kids, but I realize now I was just doing it selfishly, for me.”

“So you think I’m being selfish?” Toni said, a bit tartly.

“Look, I know how you feel—I was pissed off that my mom married Sergei so soon after my dad died, but now I realize she didn’t have any choice. She had three kids to feed and could barely do it working as a steam press operator. Sergei offered security. I just didn’t get along with him, that’s all, so I scrammed.”

Sarcastically Toni asked, “You think Mom has some real good reason to tell me why she abandoned us to run off with Mr. Brylcreem of 1945?”

“She did have her reasons. But you don’t even have to listen to them, especially not on your wedding day. Just invite her. Let her back into your life for that one thing, and see where it goes from there. And at least that won’t be on your conscience, when you’re my age.”

Toni hated the idea. But she agreed to think about it.

*   *   *

Sunday was laundry day in the Stopka household, and everyone but Eddie seemed to clear out early that morning and find things to do, leaving their father to do the washing, drying, and folding. Toni took Jack to Callahan’s for lunch, so it was left to Eddie to carry the laundry basket up from the laundry room and then, as Adele had done for years and for which Eddie was beginning to realize she had not received adequate esteem, deliver the clean clothing to the appropriate closet or chest of drawers.

This being the first laundry day since Jack’s return, Eddie had to open several drawers in his son’s bureau in order to figure out what went where. The third one was Jack’s underwear drawer, but as Eddie opened it and began to make room for a stack of undershirts, his hand brushed against something that was both hard and soft. In the back, tucked in a corner behind some clean socks and jockey shorts, were two small, felt-covered boxes. Eddie took them out and opened the first, which contained a ribbon of red attached to a bronze star. The second held a purple ribbon attached to a gold heart-shaped medal.

A Purple Heart—and a Bronze Star, awarded for valor in combat.

Eddie was astonished. Jack called himself a coward—but here were two medals he’d been awarded for heroism.

What the hell was going on?

*   *   *

Eddie returned the medals to Jack’s hiding place and waited the rest of the week, trying to figure out what to say and when to say it. On Saturday, when he returned home from the bar, it was half past midnight and Toni was fast asleep. But Jack was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching, of all things,
Wrestling from the Marigold Arena
on DuMont. On the nine-inch screen it appeared that Lou Thesz was fighting “Farmer” Don Marlin. “You’re still up,” Eddie said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why are you watching this? You hate wrestling.”

“I hated high school wrestling. These are professional thespians.”

Eddie came over and said, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Eddie drew a short breath. “Jack, I didn’t set out to do this, but—when I was putting away your laundry last weekend, I found your—your medals.”

Jack stiffened but said nothing, just kept watching Farmer Don Marlin grunt and groan as Lou Thesz pinned him briefly to the canvas.

“Why didn’t you tell us about them?” Eddie asked.

“Because they don’t mean anything, that’s why.”

“You must’ve done something to merit them.”

“They’re a joke!” Jack snapped.

“The Army didn’t think so.”

Jack’s temper flared. “Fine! You want to hear the joke? It’s a damn funny one, you’ll laugh your ass off. You really want to hear it?”

He glared as if daring Eddie to listen. Eddie turned down the volume on the TV, and as the tiny black-and-white figures silently grappled with each other, Eddie sat down on the couch. “Okay. I could use a good laugh.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I’ve already told you about how the cold turned men into Popsicles. Did I mention the guy who slept in his combat boots? Inside his sleeping bag?”

“No.”

“That’s not what got him kicked out of the Army, though. See, the frostbite in his boots was so bad that when the doc took them off, there was no skin left, just a few pounds of ground meat.”

He looked at Eddie as if to say, Heard enough?

Eddie said, deadpan: “You call that funny? What else you got?”

Jack let out a breath, resigned to telling this now.

“Okay. So it’s forty below and my regiment’s been marching for five straight days. We were told to take this hill—somebody named it Hamhock Hill because he said it looked like a pig’s ass. I remember Bernstein asked the second looie if he could sit this one out: ‘This hill ain’t kosher,’ he said.”

Eddie laughed. “Now
that’s
funny.”

Jack allowed himself a thin smile. “Yeah, the lieutenant laughed too, then told him to get his ass in gear. The Chinese were dug in on the hill, so our tanks went in first, trying to soften up their artillery, to be followed by grunts like me. Well, if that artillery was soft I’d hate to see the hard stuff. The damn mortars went right over the heads of the tanks and exploded all around us. You know one’s coming your way because the shell cuts through the air like a banshee. Went on like that for half a fucking hour.”

“Jesus,” Eddie said, “how did you stand it?”

“Oh, I wanted to shit my pants plenty of times,” Jack admitted. “But then you look like a pussy to your pals, so you suck in your gut and take it. ’Course, they’re all doing the same thing. Ninety percent of bravery in combat is trying not to look like a pussy in front of your friends.

“Finally, the tanks take out one of the enemy positions and the looie tells us to get going. So we charge up the hill, firing our burp guns at enemy positions, hoping one out of four bullets does some damage.

“My buddy Dominguez was on my left as we went up, and then out of my left ear I hear a banshee shriek, louder and closer than before. It was just a knee-jerk reaction—I grabbed Dom by the arm, yanked him toward me, and a few seconds later the spot where he’d been standing is a smoldering crater. We dive to the ground as dirt, rock, and shrapnel go flying over our heads. When we’re finally clear of it, we get up.