turned the corner. As it approached the stand, the hearse tapped its horn lightly and Joey’s hand shot to his temple in a stiff salute. His cheeks shone with tears.
Next round the corner chugged the Mayo sisters’ ancient Ford, with its running boards and rumble seat. High at the wheel sat Claire Mayo, her square jaw chomping up and down, while beside her, tiny and black-veiled, was May. Her gaze never left the hearse. In the second car came all the boarders, little ladies with pastel waves and bright anxious eyes. A parade of cars followed, all flying small blue flags on their hoods. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, Benjy counted and then in the thirty-fourth, the last car, he saw Uncle Renie, waving proudly from his old green Nash. Beside him Aunt Helen’s profile was as sharp as cut stone under her black velvet cloche.
She stared straight ahead.
Benjy continued through the park, where the sight of the trampled shrubs and torn-up grass shocked him. In the distance was Saint Mary’s Church, its white marble spire gleaming oddly cold in the afternoon sun. Behind the church was the rectory. It was a trim white house with a ladder leaning against it. Balanced on the top rung was Howard Menka. He was brushing dirt from the black shutters. When Howard worked for Benjy’s grandmother he used to give Benjy sour balls. Always soft and fuzzed with pocket lint, they would sit on his tongue like dry bitter cotton. Now that Howard worked for the Monsignor he and Benjy pretended they did not know each other.
In a way being rid of Howard’s awkward attention was a relief, and yet he never passed by without feeling bad about his silence. He did not turn the corner. This was his father’s street and he would not walk here when his father was drinking.
The church bells rang four times and he started to run, spurred on by the sudden hope that Klubocks’ dog might have retrieved the glove. Maybe it was beside him in the driveway right now or in the lilac bush, and if he ran really fast, he could get it down to the baseball field….
“What’s your big rush?” someone hollered. He glanced back to see Norm, his hands in his pockets as he kicked a stone along the sidewalk. His chest ached. Norm hadn’t even gone to the game. Of course not. Without his glove he couldn’t play. Benjy waited for the thump on the back he deserved.
“Guess who I just saw?” Norm said, catching up with him. He gave the stone a final kick into the gutter. “That peddler Duvall, walking along with a big loaf of bread under his arm.”
The minute his mother got home from work Benjy told her about Uncle Renie’s store being closed. “I’ll bring the dial tomorrow,” he promised.
She nodded absently and began peeling vegetables and chopping them into a stew that she put in the pressure cooker. Next, she made five bowls of chocolate pudding. He slipped into the front room and turned the television on low.
“Benjy!” she called from the kitchen. He took a deep breath before going in. So this was it. Mr. Briscoe must have told her. She glanced into the front SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 49
room. Norm was upstairs and Alice wasn’t home yet. She bent close, and his head ran with sweat. “Did Mr. Duvall call or come by?”
When he said no, she turned down the burner on the stove. She got out the stubby broom and swept the kitchen floor, and then she opened the front door and swept out dirt from the rug. She tried to straighten the lampshade but it was still crooked. She went into the bathroom, where she stayed for a long time. When she came out, her thick dark hair had been brushed flat and her lips were red with lipstick and she smelled of a heavy perfume he would always associate with the sadness of his mother’s waiting.
Norm had come down from his room and was sitting on the couch with Benjy.
“Did you go see about that job today?” his mother asked. She and Norm were barely speaking.
“I did,” Norm said, his eyes on the television. “But
Next round the corner chugged the Mayo sisters’ ancient Ford, with its running boards and rumble seat. High at the wheel sat Claire Mayo, her square jaw chomping up and down, while beside her, tiny and black-veiled, was May. Her gaze never left the hearse. In the second car came all the boarders, little ladies with pastel waves and bright anxious eyes. A parade of cars followed, all flying small blue flags on their hoods. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, Benjy counted and then in the thirty-fourth, the last car, he saw Uncle Renie, waving proudly from his old green Nash. Beside him Aunt Helen’s profile was as sharp as cut stone under her black velvet cloche.
She stared straight ahead.
Benjy continued through the park, where the sight of the trampled shrubs and torn-up grass shocked him. In the distance was Saint Mary’s Church, its white marble spire gleaming oddly cold in the afternoon sun. Behind the church was the rectory. It was a trim white house with a ladder leaning against it. Balanced on the top rung was Howard Menka. He was brushing dirt from the black shutters. When Howard worked for Benjy’s grandmother he used to give Benjy sour balls. Always soft and fuzzed with pocket lint, they would sit on his tongue like dry bitter cotton. Now that Howard worked for the Monsignor he and Benjy pretended they did not know each other.
In a way being rid of Howard’s awkward attention was a relief, and yet he never passed by without feeling bad about his silence. He did not turn the corner. This was his father’s street and he would not walk here when his father was drinking.
The church bells rang four times and he started to run, spurred on by the sudden hope that Klubocks’ dog might have retrieved the glove. Maybe it was beside him in the driveway right now or in the lilac bush, and if he ran really fast, he could get it down to the baseball field….
“What’s your big rush?” someone hollered. He glanced back to see Norm, his hands in his pockets as he kicked a stone along the sidewalk. His chest ached. Norm hadn’t even gone to the game. Of course not. Without his glove he couldn’t play. Benjy waited for the thump on the back he deserved.
“Guess who I just saw?” Norm said, catching up with him. He gave the stone a final kick into the gutter. “That peddler Duvall, walking along with a big loaf of bread under his arm.”
The minute his mother got home from work Benjy told her about Uncle Renie’s store being closed. “I’ll bring the dial tomorrow,” he promised.
She nodded absently and began peeling vegetables and chopping them into a stew that she put in the pressure cooker. Next, she made five bowls of chocolate pudding. He slipped into the front room and turned the television on low.
“Benjy!” she called from the kitchen. He took a deep breath before going in. So this was it. Mr. Briscoe must have told her. She glanced into the front SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 49
room. Norm was upstairs and Alice wasn’t home yet. She bent close, and his head ran with sweat. “Did Mr. Duvall call or come by?”
When he said no, she turned down the burner on the stove. She got out the stubby broom and swept the kitchen floor, and then she opened the front door and swept out dirt from the rug. She tried to straighten the lampshade but it was still crooked. She went into the bathroom, where she stayed for a long time. When she came out, her thick dark hair had been brushed flat and her lips were red with lipstick and she smelled of a heavy perfume he would always associate with the sadness of his mother’s waiting.
Norm had come down from his room and was sitting on the couch with Benjy.
“Did you go see about that job today?” his mother asked. She and Norm were barely speaking.
“I did,” Norm said, his eyes on the television. “But
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