Sweet Song (23 page)

Bob placed a tentative grip on a steel track, and the cold attacked his fingers. He pulled back as if burned. He stood and looked at Hugh.

“Don’t worry, we can do this,” Hugh said.

“There has got to be another bridge,” Bob said.

“Probably, but we here now.”

The gaps between ties were wide enough to fall through. “I’ll go first,” Hugh said.

The steel burned so cold that crawling might freeze their hands.

“I don’t like this,” Bob said.

“You want across?”

“I know. I know.” The menacing river licked up and rolled under the bridge with great force.

“Don’t look at the river. Don’t look through the ties, but at them. They’re about one stride apart. If you watch them, you’ll step on them,” Hugh said.

Bob shifted his bedroll. Then he put his arm through the twine that held it together. His hands were free. He put them out to his sides for balance.

Hugh laughed. He held his bedroll in one hand and stepped onto a railroad tie between two long steel tracks. “The first few steps there’s no river.” He began to walk.

Bob began to sing. “The river’s my friend and savior you know/ it cries like a baby in winter snow./ It moves like a serpent all the way home,/ let it be kind and gen-tle.” His voice rang steady until punctuated with each step. Hugh walked far ahead of him. Halfway across, a strong wind – cold as the ice along the rising riverbank – pushed hard against Bob’s body and he thought he might slip. His voice got louder and his legs spread across two wide ties. Bridge planks ran under the steel, but there wasn’t enough space for safe footing.

Bent like an old man, his legs crouched as if he were trying to sneak across the bridge, Bob stepped and sang an even motion across the wind-torn width of the Susquahanna.

Hugh held out his hand at the end of the trek and Bob shook it as though they had just met. The river roared behind him.

“Good job,” Hugh said.

“I damned near pissed myself,” Bob said, forcing them both into laughter.

“You got quite a bellow in you,” Hugh said.

“It keeps my mind busy.”

“Ain’t never heard that river song though.”

“Made it up.”

“No?”

“Make a lot of songs up. In the moment. Then they go away.” Bob rambled. “When things get bad or scary, I sing. If I’m making up songs, I’m not thinking the worst and somehow the worst doesn’t happen.”

They walked from the bridge, the river song waning as birds chirped loudly in nearby trees.

“Sounds like a philosophy to stick with.”

“Perhaps it is,” Bob said.

“Where you grow up?”

Bob stopped walking.

Hugh turned and nodded without stopping. “Don’t need to tell me. I just wondered.”

Bob caught up to Hugh. “I don’t like to think about where I come from. I got out. That’s all I know. Like I died and was born new. My whole life’s new. I’d like to start with now.”

“I suppose a man don’t need to look behind him. Can’t retrace where he come from. Can’t change it none. I suppose a man can look ahead his whole life if he wants.”

“Where are you from?” Bob asked.

“All over. Left home at thirteen just after a solid beatin’. My mama was cryin’ but I never looked back. My pa throwed an axe at the back of my head. Handle hit me square and bounced off. That’s the last of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I take care of myself pretty well. No need for you to be sorry. If you ain’t talkin’ then maybe you had it worse.”

Bob didn’t respond.

Hugh didn’t force the issue.

Bob and Hugh followed the tracks into a turn, then west into town. They veered off to a road with a sign that said Fourth Street. “I’ve never seen one of those,” Bob said, stopping to read the sign.

“A sign?”

“A street sign. I’ve seen road signs pointing to the next town, but never a sign ‘in a town’ telling you where you’re standing.”

Hugh spit into the road. “Well shiny shit balls, you are an odd one. I’d a thought you learned to read in a big city to hear you talk.”

“I don’t know how I picked it up, I just did. The language, I mean. I just know what sounds right most of the time and what sounds wrong.” He shrugged and moved along. Hugh fell in beside him.

A lot of shacks and boarding houses – some on the verge of collapse – stood along the eastern side of Fourth Street. A mile or so up, they came to a crossroads. Looking toward the river, Bob noticed a bridge. He poked Hugh’s arm. “The bartender didn’t tell you about that?”

Hugh laughed. “He did not. I’ll bet he’s laughin’ all day today.”

Bob shook his head. “Had one of us fallen into the river, it wouldn’t have been funny.

After walking past several cross streets while heading west, some big houses lifted out of the ground like giants in a circus. Bob’s eyes bulged and his head swiveled on his neck as he tried to take in the whole town at once.

Hugh did the same. “Wow,” he said. “I only heard about this.”

“Some of these people are rich beyond what you can imagine,” Bob said.

“And we’re goin’ to grab some of it.” Hugh’s face lighted up like a huge square lantern, his teeth wet and colorful. “Why I bet there’s more work than there are people.”

“I bet you’re right,” Bob said.

There were general stores downtown, and restaurants, and dance halls, and more rooming houses. There were shacks and mansions, building supply stores, and even a news and bookstore.

The closer to the center of town they got, the more people they encountered. Bob and Hugh must have made an odd pair because people would turn as they walked past. Bob watched with interest and smiled only if he made eye contact.

He wasn’t sure what the people thought, but Hugh sure appeared to like the attention. He would turn and say howdy. He’d nod his head, or wink at a lady or child.

At the far other end of town, the boom built into the river took on its own industry and enterprise. Bob could feel the weight of it before they reached it. Saw mills stood back from the riverbank, stacked lumber made piles everywhere. The railroad tracks passed near the stacks and into the wilderness beyond town.

Hugh led the way up the hill to an office over the mill shed. Once there, Bob knocked on the office door.

“Come in,” a nasty voice said.

Bob and Hugh entered the room. A man sat behind a wooden desk. His bushy hair curled on the ends. He wore a face full of freckles so dense that in some areas they merged, making brown patches. “Lookin’ for work, are you?” He shoved some paperwork aside and folded his hands in the center of the desk, feigning patience.

“Yes, sir,” Bob said.

“Not much yet. Maybe another week, maybe another month.”

“Looking at the river, I’d say sooner than a month,” Bob said.

“You a rafter?” The freckled man perked up, one eye shaded in a dull red blotch like a hunting dog might have.

“No, sir. I just watch the river.”

The man laughed. “I thought you wanted work?”

“He’d work out in the office,” Hugh said.

“Oh?”

“He’s a good reader and a good speaker. He might even make a good shift foreman he’s so organized.”

“Shift foreman?” the man said. He waved the idea off. “Too young. I have a steady crew that shows up. Farmers livin’ all around here who done this before.” He motioned beyond the city boarders. “And my three brothers’ all the foremen I need and more. I can use log rollers, mill handlers, and flatbed loaders, but not today.”

“Can I sign up today?” Hugh asked.

The man opened a notebook and turned it toward Hugh. “You can.”

Hugh bent over and signed his name below several others. There was a space for an address. “Ain’t got a place to stay yet.”

“Fill it in later. I got your name. That’s all I need. You’ll be back.”

The man slid the book over to Bob.

“I’ll think about it,” Bob said.

“You do that.” A freckled hand reached out and closed the signup book.

Hugh left the office with Bob behind him. “What the hell you thinkin’?” Hugh said.

“I don’t know. I stepped inside and my whole chest and throat tightened. I couldn’t imagine working there. Something inside me wouldn’t let me sign that book.”

“He won’t sign you on now. Not unless he gets desperate. The list could drag on for pages before the one I signed. He might not even get to our names.

“Your name.”

“My name, then. What do you think you’re going to do in a lumber town if you don’t want to touch wood?”

Bob paused on the decline toward the river. “Look at this town. There’re stores that need help, shipping clerks, bartenders.”

“You know anything about any of that?”

“I can learn,” Bob said.

Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “Even if you’d a signed, you didn’t have to take the job when it was offered.”

“This way I can’t take it.”

The light from the sun had lowered and the early dark of spring headed into town. Even more people appeared in the streets, some obviously tired after a long day of hard work.

Bob smelled food cooking and his mouth began to water. “Let’s eat,” he said, “and find somewhere to sleep.”

“I’ll buy you dinner, since you paid for breakfast.”

“That’s okay,” Bob said.

Hugh looked indignant. “I can do it. I got money.”

“Then why…”

“I’m careful is all.”

“You got me here safely. Let’s call it even.”

“Deal. I’ll eat what I want and you do the same.”

“I don’t want you being upset,” Bob said.

“Then let me take care of myself.”

“You’ve been doing it long enough to know how. I suppose you can keep doing it,” Bob said. Out of courtesy, Bob chose a place that looked inexpensive. Hugh appeared to be fine with it. “There was a place I saw that had a sign said, ‘Thirty Bunks.’. We can stay there tonight.”

“That’s okay for now.” Hugh stepped into the restaurant Bob had suggested. “Let’s pray for rain,” Hugh said under his breath as he walked inside. “And a fast thaw.”

Bob was concerned for his new friend, but no more concerned than he was for himself. Why he refused to sign in for a mill job was a curious memory now. The thought came with doubts about what else he could do. At least he knew wood.

Bob glanced around the room and there wasn’t one black face. He didn’t remember seeing one in the streets either. Yet he was there. Why? How could he be there and no other black man could?

He dug into his mashed potatoes and gravy. He had decided to order whatever Hugh had ordered. Although he would have wanted meat with his meal, Hugh did not spend the extra amount. Bob went
along, but now wished he hadn’t. He also wished he hadn’t looked around the room. He felt separate. He felt black. Not black like Big Leon was black, but black like Bess. Black like the pickaninnies he grew up with. Black like Martha. He turned to look outside. The air coming into the restaurant brought a chill. A glimmer of light reflected off the railing.
The Lord’s sweet song into night
, he thought.

As quickly as he felt separate, Bob’s shoulders sagged. He wasn’t himself, didn’t feel as though he could be himself, whoever that was.

In a day, Leon had disappeared and Bob White had been born. But who was Bob White? It was a confusion he had lived with his whole life regardless what name he went by.

Hugh tapped a spoon against Bob’s plate. “You goin’ too deep in there. Your whole face change right before my eyes.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were traveling. Probably somewhere you didn’t belong.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Your look. Wasn’t good.”

Bob put a glob of potatoes in his mouth.

“You looked defeated,” Hugh said. “You looked sad. It made me sorry I asked about where you from. I know you were headin’ there.”

Bob looked up at Hugh’s big head. “I was thinking.”

“How about we sleep outside for a few days?” Hugh said.

Bob shook his head.

“Maybe not tonight, but in a week if there ain’t no work.”

“There’ll be work. I can feel the river rising. I can smell the ice melting.”

“What will you do?”

Bob shook his head. “Don’t know yet. But there’s work here. I just have to find it.”

“I believe you will, Bob White, I believe you will.”

After dinner the two men took their bedrolls and packs and hit the street again. The air belted them at every cross street, clapping against their ears in a fury. Cold and warm at the same time, the air brought rain. The clouds thickened, then darkened with dust particles. The leaves on trees turned up. Those few in the street
hurried somewhere with a purpose. Bob and Hugh were no different.

At Campbell Street Bob led the way to the Thirty Bunk sign. They climbed a few stairs and walked in. A man in a black wool coat and beaver-fir hat said, “Three bunks left.” No greeting, no introductions.