The winter seemed reluctant to let go its bite. It hung on cold and wet and windy long after its time. And people repeated, “It’s those damned big guns they’re shooting off in
France—spoiling the
weather in the whole world.”
The grain was slow coming up in the Salinas
Valley, and the wildflowers came so late that some people thought they wouldn’t come at all.
We knew—or at least
we were confident—that on May Day, when all the Sunday School picnics took place in the Alisal, the wild azaleas that grew in the skirts of the stream would be in bloom. They were a part of May Day.
May Day was cold. The picnic was drenched out of existence by a freezing rain, and there wasn’t an-open blossom on the azalea trees. Two weeks later they still weren’t out.
Cal hadn’t known it
would be like this when he
had made azaleas the signal for his picnic, but once the symbol was set it could not be violated.
The Ford sat in
Windham’s shed, its tires pumped up, and with two new dry cells to make it start easily on Bat. Lee was alerted to make sandwiches when the day came, and he got tired of waiting and stopped buying sandwich bread every two days.
“Why don’t you just go anyway?” he said.
“I can’t,” said Cal. “I said azaleas.”
“How will you know?”
“The Silacci boys live
out there, and they come into school every day. They say it will be a week or ten days.” “Oh, Lord!” said Lee. “Don’t
overtrain your picnic.” Adam’s health was slowly
improving.
The
numbness was going from his hand. And he could read a little—a little more each day. “It’s only when I get
tired that the letters jump,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t get glasses to ruin my eyes. I
knew my eyes were all right.”
Lee nodded and was glad. He had gone to San
Francisco for the books he needed and had written for a number of separates. He knew about as much as was known about the anatomy of the brain and the symptoms and severities of lesion and thrombus. He had studied and asked questions with the same unwavering intensity as when he had trapped and pelted and cured a Hebrew verb. Dr. H. C. Murphy had got to know Lee very well and
had gone from a
professional impatience with a Chinese servant to a genuine admiration for a scholar. Dr. Murphy had even borrowed some of Lee’s news separates and reports on diagnosis and practice. He told Dr. Edwards, “That Chink knows more about the pathology
of cerebral
hemorrhage than I do, and I bet as much as you do.” He spoke
with a kind of
affectionate anger that this should be so. The medical profession is unconsciously
irritated by lay knowledge. When
Lee reported
Adam’s improvement he said, “It does seem to me that the absorption is continuing—” “I had a patient,” Dr.
Murphy said, and he told a hopeful story.
“I’m always afraid of recurrence,” said Lee. “That you have to leave
with the Almighty,” said Dr. Murphy. “We can’t patch an artery like an inner tube. By the way, how do you get him to let you take his blood pressure?”
“I bet on his and he bets
on mine. It’s better than horse racing.”
“Who wins?” “Well, I could,” said
Lee. “But I don’t. That would spoil the game—and the chart.”
“How do you keep him from getting excited?” “It’s my own invention,” said
Lee. “I
call it
conversational therapy.” “Must take all your time.”
“It does,” said Lee.
2
On May 28, 1918, American troops carried out their first important
assignment
of
World War I. The First Division, General Bullard commanding, was ordered to capture
the village of
Cantigny. The village, on high ground, dominated the Avre River valley. It was defended by trenches, heavy machine guns, and artillery. The front was a little over a mile wide.
At 6:45 A.M., May 28,
1918, the attack was begun after one hour of artillery preparation. Troops involved were the 28th Infantry (Col. Ely), one battalion of the 18th Infantry (Parker), a company
of the First Engineers, the divisional
artillery
(Summerall), and a support of French tanks and flame throwers.
The attack was
a
complete success. American troops entrenched on the new line
and repulsed two powerful German
counterattacks.
The
First Division
received the congratulations of Clemenceau, Foch, and Pétain.
3
It was the end of May before the Silacci boys brought the news that the salmon-pink blossoms of the azaleas were breaking free. It was on a Wednesday, as the nine o’clock bell was ringing, that they told him.
Cal rushed to
the
English classroom, and just as Miss Norris took her seat on the little stage he waved his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Then he went down to the boys’ toilet and
waited until he heard through the wall the flush of water on the girlside. He went out through the basement door, walked close to the red brick wall, slipped around the pepper tree, and, once out of sight of the school, walked slowly along until Abra caught up with him. “When’d
they come
out?” she asked. “This morning.” “Shall
we wait till
tomorrow?”
He looked up at the gay
yellow sun, the first earth-warming sun of the year. “Do
you want to wait?” “No,” she said. “Neither do I.”
They broke into a run— bought bread at Reynaud’s and joggled Lee into action. Adam heard loud voices and looked into the kitchen. “What’s the hullabaloo?” he asked.
“We’re going on a picnic,” said Cal. “Isn’t it a school day?” Abra said, “Sure it is. But it’s a holiday too.” Adam smiled at her.
“You’re pink as a rose,” he said.
Abra cried, “Why don’t you come along with us? We’re going to the Alisal to get azaleas.”
“Why, I’d like to,”
Adam said, and then, “No, I can’t. I promised to go down to the ice plant. We’re putting in some new tubing. It’s a beautiful day.”
“We’ll bring you some azaleas,” Abra said.
“I like them. Well, have a good time.”
When he was gone Cal said, “Lee, why don’t you come with us?”
Lee looked sharply at him. “I hadn’t thought you were a fool,” he said. “Come on!” Abra cried. “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lee.
4
It’s a pleasant little stream that gurgles through the
Alisal against the Gabilan Mountains on the east of the Salinas Valley. The water bumbles over round stones and washes the polished roots of the trees that hold it in.
The smell of azaleas and the sleepy smell of sun working
with chlorophyll
filled the air. On the bank the Ford car sat, still breathing softly from its overheating.
The back seat was piled with azalea branches.
Cal and Abra sat on the bank among the luncheon papers. They dangled their feet in the water.
“They always
wilt
before you get them home,” said Cal.
“But they’re such a good excuse, Cal,” she said. “If you won’t I guess I’ll have to
—”
“What?”
She reached over and took his hand. “That,” she said.
“I was afraid to.” “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I guess girls aren’t afraid of near as many things.”
“I guess not.”
“Are you ever afraid?” “Sure,” she said. “I was afraid of you after you said I
wet my pants.” “That was mean,” he
said. “I wonder why I did it,” and suddenly he was silent.
Her fingers tightened around his hand. “I know
what you’re thinking. I don’t want you to think about that.” Cal looked at the curling water and turned a round brown stone with his toe.
Abra said, “You think you’ve got it all, don’t you? You think you attract bad things—”
“Well—”
“Well, I’m going to tell
you something. My father’s in trouble.”
“How in trouble?”
“I haven’t been listening at doors but I’ve heard
enough. He’s not sick. He’s scared.
He’s done
something.”
He turned his head. “What?”
“I think he’s taken some money from his company. He doesn’t know whether his partners are going to put him in jail or let him try to pay it back.”
“How do you know?” “I heard them shouting
in his bedroom where he’s sick. And my mother started the phonograph to drown them out.”
He said, “You aren’t making it up?”
“No. I’m not making it
up.”
He shuffled near and put
his head against her shoulder and his arm crept timidly around her waist.
“You see, you’re not the only one—” She looked sideways at his face. “Now I’m afraid,” she said weakly. 5
At three o’clock in the afternoon Lee was sitting at his desk, turning over the pages of a seed catalogue.
The pictures of sweet peas were in color.
“Now these would look nice on the back fence.
They’d screen off the slough. I wonder if there’s enough sun.” He looked up at the sound of his own voice and
smiled to himself. More and more he caught himself speaking aloud when the house was empty.
“It’s age,” he said aloud. “The slowing thoughts and
—” He stopped and grew rigid for a moment. “That’s funny—listening
for
something. I wonder whether I left the teakettle on the gas.
No—I
remember.”
He listened again. “Thank
heaven I’m not superstitious. I could hear ghosts walk if I’d let myself. I could—”
The front doorbell rang.
“There it is. That’s what
I was listening for. Let it ring. I’m not going to be led around by feelings. Let it ring.”
But it did not ring again.
A black weariness fell
on Lee, a hopelessness that pressed his shoulders down. He laughed at himself. “I can go
and find it’s an
advertisement under the door or I can sit here and let my silly old mind tell me death is on the doorstep. Well, I want the advertisement.”
Lee sat in the living room and looked at the
envelope in his lap. And suddenly he spat at it. “All right,” he said. “I’m coming
—goddam you,” and he ripped it open and in a moment laid it on the table and turned it over with the message down.
He stared between his knees at the floor. “No,” he said, “that’s not my right.
Nobody has the right to remove any single experience from another. Life and death are promised. We have a right to pain.”
His stomach contracted.
“I haven’t got the courage. I’m a cowardly yellow belly. I couldn’t stand it.”
He went
into the
bathroom and measured three teaspoons of elixir of bromide into a glass and added water until the red medicine was pink. He carried the glass to the living room and put it on the table. He folded the telegram and shoved it in his pocket. He said aloud, “I hate a coward! God, how I hate a coward!” His hands were shaking
and a cold
perspiration dampened his forehead.
At four o’clock he heard Adam
fumbling
at the
doorknob. Lee licked his lips. He stood up and walked slowly to the hall. He carried the glass of pink fluid and his hand was steady.
