The Great Brain (8 page)

The wagon was painted white and had signs on both sides of it reading THE TRAVELING EMPORIUM. It was constructed so it could be opened to display merchandise on both sides. The tailgate let down, forming steps leading into the wagon. The aisle down the center of the wagon had shelves on both sides containing merchandise. Everything from hairpins to coyote traps was on display.

Tom and I were sitting on our back porch, polishing Mamma’s silverware for Sunday’s dinner on the Saturday morning Abie arrived in town. We had a bucket of ashes Aunt Bertha had taken from the kitchen range that morning before building a fire in it, a pan of water, and a pile of clean rags. We dipped the rags into the water and then into the bucket of ashes and used this to polish all the stains off the silverware. It was a boring job but one Tom and I had to do every Saturday morning so the silverware would be all clean and sparkling for our Sunday dinner.

Howard Kay came running into our backyard and up onto our back porch. “Abie and his peddler’s wagon are here!” he shouted. “He’s coming down Main Street right now.

Tom got up and ran to the kitchen door. “Mamma,” he shouted, “can we let the silverware go until we’ve seen Abie and his peddler’s wagon?”

“All right, boys, but don’t stay too long,” Mamma said.

We ran around to Main Street with Howard. Abie and his wagon were just passing in front of our house. There were a couple of dozen kids following it. We joined them and followed the wagon to a vacant lot owned by Calvin Whitlock, the banker, who always let Abie use it when in town. By the time we had arrived at the vacant lot there were about fifty kids with us. We waited patiently while Abie unhitched his team and staked them out in the lot.

Abie was a small man with a gray beard and moustache. He wore a Jewish skull cap and his gray hair protruded from beneath it.

“I think we are ready now, boys,” he said as he let down the tailgate of the wagon. “Get in line and don’t push, please.”

Every year since I could remember, Abie had let us kids see the inside of the wagon first. This was only half of the treat when Abie came to town. He always stationed himself outside the wagon with a glass jar filled with jaw-breaker candy, the kind that lasts a long time. As we came out of the wagon each kid was given a jaw-breaker.

Tom and I saw the inside of the wagon and received our jaw-breaker and then returned to our job of polishing silverware on our back porch. Sweyn was lucky. Mamma said he was too old to have to polish silverware anymore.

When Papa came home that evening, he told Mamma he’d invited Abie for Sunday dinner. A Sunday dinner in our house without guests was unusual. Mamma always prepared for guests because half the time Papa forgot to tell her that he had invited people for Sunday dinner. One Sunday Papa had forgotten to tell Mamma that he’d invited Chief Tav-Whad-Im and the chief’s two sons and their squaws for Sunday dinner. The Indian was the chief of the Pa-Roos-Its band of the Paiute tribe that lived on the Indian reservation near Adenville. The chief’s name translated into English meant Chief Rising Sun, and you would have thought the way the chief and his sons and their squaws ate that Sunday that none of them ever expected to see the sun rise again. It was a good thing Mamma had prepared for guests that day.

Sunday morning we all went to the Community Church. There were only two churches in Adenville, the Mormon Tabernacle and the Community Church. All the Catholics and Protestants in town went to the Community Church. Once in a while a Catholic missionary priest came to Adenville to baptize Catholic babies, marry Catholics, and hold Confessions and Mass in the Community Church. And once a year the Reverend Ingle came to town and held a revival meeting in a big tent on the campground, lasting one week. All the Protestants in town went to the revival meeting.

When we returned from church, Tom, Sweyn, and I quickly changed into our old clothes. Then we waited on the back porch until Papa had changed clothes and come out wearing his overalls. This was the day of the week when we made ice cream, and everybody helped.

We followed Papa down to our icehouse which was located next to our barn. Papa had our icehouse filled every winter with big cakes of ice two feet wide and four feet long, which were brought from a lake in the mountains. The ice was covered with two feet of sawdust so it wouldn’t melt during the summer. Papa took a scoop shovel from a nail on the wall in the icehouse and shoveled away the sawdust down to the ice. Then he used a crowbar to pry one of the big cakes of ice loose. Sweyn was ready with the two-man ice saw and helped Papa cut off a cake of ice for our icebox and a cake of ice to use to make ice cream. Tom and I used the ice tongs to drag the cakes of ice outside while Papa and Sweyn covered up the ice in the icehouse again with sawdust. Papa carried the cake of ice with ice tongs and Tom and Sweyn the other cake, to our backyard. We washed the sawdust off of both cakes of ice with our garden hose. Papa carried one cake into the kitchen and put it in the icebox. Tom and Sweyn put the other cake into a wooden tub and began chopping it up with ice picks.

Mamma had the ingredients for making chocolate ice cream poured into the freezer bucket by this time. Sweyn carried the freezer from the kitchen to the back porch. He and Tom packed the freezer with ice and salt. I folded two gunnysacks and placed them on top of the freezer. It was my job to sit on the freezer and hold it steady while Tom and Sweyn took turns turning the handle which made the freezer bucket go around and around in the ice. When the handle got a little hard to turn, Tom called Mamma and told her he thought the ice cream was done. Nobody knew better than Mamma that the ice cream wasn’t hard enough, but she never let on. Sweyn uncovered the top of the freezer bucket and wiped the lid off with a towel. Mamma dipped a spoon into the ice cream and tasted it.

“It isn’t done, boys,” she said.

“Looks done to me,” Tom said.

There was nothing Mamma could do but let Tom and then Sweyn and me taste a spoonful of the ice cream.

“You are right, Mamma,” Tom said. “It isn’t done.”

Sweyn put the lid back on the freezer bucket and repacked the top with ice and salt. I took up my position. We all knew Mamma wouldn’t stand for any more nonsense. My brothers kept turning the handle until they knew the ice cream was frozen just right.

“It is ready for sure now, Mamma,” Tom sang out.

Mamma came out to the porch carrying a big bread pan and three spoons. Sweyn uncovered the freezer bucket. Just as Mamma started to remove the dasher from the bucket, Tom began to whistle.

“What are you whistling about?” Sweyn asked.

“Just thinking about cleaning off the dasher makes me so happy I feel like whistling,” Tom answered.

This was one time, I thought to myself, that Seth Smith and Pete Hanson were going to be left out. Every Sunday since school let out both of them had shown up just as Mamma was about to take the dasher out.

“Hello, boys” — Mamma’s voice dashed my hopes — “you are just in time.”

I turned around. Standing on the porch steps were Seth and Pete with their mouths watering.

Mamma pulled the dasher from the bucket, scraping some ice cream of the blades but still leaving a generous amount. She put the dasher in the bread pan. We had to wait until she went into the kitchen to get spoons for Seth and Pete.

“All right, boys,” Mamma said as we crowded around the porch table with the bread pan and dasher in the center of it. “One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and away you go!”

Tom with his great brain knew the parts of the dasher to scrape to get the biggest spoonfuls of ice cream. But I managed to give a fair account of myself until the dasher was clean. Then we tipped the bread pan to scoop up the ice cream that had fallen or melted off the dasher.

I got suspicious as I watched Tom walk arm in arm down our porch steps with Seth and Pete as Sweyn repacked the top of the freezer with ice and salt. It just wasn’t like my brother to be so bighearted about sharing the dasher with his two friends every Sunday. I followed them until they went around the corner of our woodshed and stopped. I craned my neck and listened.

“Here’s my penny,” I heard Pete say.

“And mine,” Seth said.

“What about next Sunday?” Tom asked.

“What kind you going to have?” Pete asked.

“Pineapple,” Tom said. “And you both know Mamma makes the best pineapple ice cream in town.”

“We’ll be here,” Pete said. “Same time. Same signal.”

“Right,” Tom said. “When you hear me whistling, come to the back porch.”

I wanted to run around the corner of the woodshed and denounce my brother for being a crook. I restrained myself until Seth and Pete had left.

“I heard everything,” I said to Tom as he came around the corner of the woodshed. “I’m going to tell Mamma. And, boy, when I tell Sweyn, will he give it to you.”

“J.D.,” Tom said, putting his arm around my shoulder, “I’m not going to try to influence you one way or another. But if you tell Mamma, she is going to insist I give Seth and Pete back the pennies I’ve collected so far. And knowing Mamma, she will also insist I invite Seth and Pete every Sunday, because their folks are too poor to have ice cream except on special occasions. And Seth is more your friend than he is mine because he is nearer your age. Am I right?”

“I guess that is what Mamma would do all right,” I admitted. “But you swindled Sweyn and me.”

“How?” Tom asked.

“We would both get more ice cream off the dasher without Pete and Seth digging in,” I answered.

“No, you wouldn’t” Tom said. “Did you notice I always whistle before and not after Mamma takes the dasher from the freezer bucket? That is so she will see Pete and Seth. You don’t think Mamma would leave that much ice cream on the dasher just for you and me and Sweyn, do you?”

“I guess not,” I said. “So I won’t tell Mamma but I am going to tell Sweyn.

“Go ahead,” Tom said. “You will just be cutting off your nose to spite your face. He will want to make as much money on the deal as I do. That means we’ll have to take on two more customers. You know the freezer holds just enough ice cream for Sunday dinner, especially when we have guests. Mamma can’t leave any more ice cream on the dasher than she does now. It will simply mean less ice cream of the dasher for you every Sunday.”

Tom dropped his hand from my shoulder. He looked steadily into my eyes. “As I said, J.D., I’m not going to try to influence you one way or another. I’m going to leave the decision strictly up to you.”

I watched him as he walked toward the back porch, leaving me alone to make the decision. He hadn’t tried to bribe me or blackmail me. With his great brain I knew he could have influenced me, but he didn’t even try. He had treated me as an equal and left the decision strictly up to me. Acting strictly on my own, I decided not to tell Mamma or Sweyn.

After Sunday dinner that day Tom, Sweyn, and I followed Papa and Abie Glassman into the parlor. We listened fascinated as Abie told Papa all the places he’d been during the past year and the things he’d seen and heard. Papa made notes of items he thought would be of interest to the subscribers of the
Adenville Weekly Advocate
. Abie appeared to me not to be his usual cheerful self. Papa also must have noticed it.

“You look worried, Abie,” Papa said. “Do you need any money?”

Papa didn’t have any money because Mamma said he didn’t know beans about trying to save a dollar. But Papa knew he could send Abie to see Calvin Whitlock.

Abie stared at the Oriental rug on the floor. “It isn’t money that worries me,” he said. “It is just that I am getting too old to travel around with my wagon.”

“Then why do it?” Papa asked.

Abie shrugged his thin shoulders. “What else can I do?”

Papa thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Open a variety store right here in Adenville,” he said.

Abie’s eyes brightened for a second and then became sad. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t pay,” he said. “The Mormons naturally buy everything they can at the Z.C.M.I. store and there aren’t enough non-Mormons in Adenville to support a variety store. Besides, it would take every cent I have to open a store and if it failed…” He did not finish the sentence.

“Nonsense,” Papa said. “You are thinking back to the time of Brigham Young when the Mormon leader tried to drive all non-Mormon business out of Utah with his Z.C.M.I. stores. Things have changed, Abie. I am not a Mormon but ninety-five per cent of the subscribers to my newspaper are Mormons and I get all their printing business. Don Huddle, the blacksmith, is not a Mormon. Fred Tanner, who owns the livery stable, is not a Mormon.”

Papa was a good talker when it came to settling somebody else’s future. I knew Abie didn’t have a chance when Papa went to work on him.

“Calvin Whitlock has a vacant frame building on Main Street,” Papa said. “He can have a carpenter build some counters and shelves in it and partition off the rear for living quarters.”

“But—” Abie started to protest.

“No buts about it,” Papa interrupted him. “Let’s go see Calvin right now.”

When Papa returned home, he told Mamma everything was settled. Abie would open his variety store.

“Just think, Tena,” Papa said to Mamma, “after years and years of living and traveling around in that peddler’s wagon, at last Abie Glassman has found a home.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Greek Immigrant

IT WAS RIGHT AFTER Abie Glassman opened his Adenville Variety Store that Vassillios Kokovinis arrived in town with his mother. He was the first genuine immigrant boy that we had ever seen. His father, George Kokovinis, had come to this country five years before, leaving Mrs. Kokovinis and Vassillios behind in Greece. During those five years Mr. Kokovinis had worked in the coal mines at Castle Rock and saved his money. Then he had come to Adenville and opened the Palace Cafe and sent for his wife and son. He had learned how to speak pretty good English during this time, but his wife and son couldn’t speak one word of English when they arrived in Adenville.

I first saw the Greek boy when we were playing Jackass Leapfrog on the Smiths’ vacant lot. He was peering through the fence watching us with big dark eyes. He had an olive complexion and black curly hair. He was wearing a funny hat with a feather in it. He had on green britches with green suspenders and a shirt with a lace collar on it. Nobody but a genuine immigrant boy would have dared to wear an outfit like that in Adenville. He reminded me of a valentine.