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By Root 1477 0

Fastidious Johnny had bought his own cup, emulating men who were in better circumstances. He wouldn’t be shaved with lather from the common cup. Not Johnny. He had come there three times a week—when he had the money—and sat in one of those chairs and looked in that mirror and talked with the barber about—maybe—whether the Brooklyns had a good ball team that year or whether the Democrats would get in as usual. Perhaps he had sung when that other barber played the mandolin. Yes, she was sure that he had sung. Singing had come easier than breathing to him. She wondered if, when he had to wait, he read The Police Gazette lying on that bench?

The barber gave her the washed and dried cup. “Johnny Nolan was a fine feller,” he said. “Tell the mama that I, his barber, said this.”

“Thank you,” whispered Francie gratefully. She went out closing the door on the sad sound of the mandolin.

Back in the coach, she held out the cup to Katie. “That’s for you to have,” said Mama. “Neeley will have Papa’s signet ring.”

Francie looked at her father’s name in gold and whispered “Thank you” gratefully for the second time in five minutes.

Johnny had been on earth for thirty-four years. Less than a week ago, he had walked on those streets. And now the cup, the ring and two unironed waiter’s aprons at home were the only concrete objects left to connote that a man had once lived. There were no other physical reminders of Johnny, as he had been buried in all the clothes he owned with his studs and his fourteen-carat gold collar button.

When they got home, they found that the neighbors had been in and straightened up the flat. The furniture had been put back in place in the front room and the withered leaves and fallen flower petals swept out. The windows had been opened and the rooms aired out. They had brought coal and made a great fire in the kitchen range and put a fresh white cloth on the table. The Tynmore girls had brought up a cake which they had baked themselves and it stood on a plate and was already sliced. Floss Gaddis and her mother had bought a whole lot of sliced bologna. It took two plates to hold it. There was a basket of freshly sliced rye bread and the coffee cups were set out on the table. There was a potful of freshly made coffee warming on the stove and someone had set a pitcher of real cream in the middle of the table. They had done all this while the Nolans were away. Then they had left, locked the door behind them and put the key under the mat.

Aunt Sissy, Evy, mama, Francie, and Neeley sat at the table. Aunt Evy poured out the coffee. Katie sat for a long time looking at her cup. She remembered the last time Johnny had sat at that table. She did what Johnny had done; she pushed the cup away with her arm, put her head down on the table and cried in great ugly tearing sobs. Sissy put her arms around her and spoke in her gentle caressing voice.

“Katie, Katie, don’t cry so. Don’t cry so, else the child you’ll soon be bringing into this world will be a sad child.”

37

KATIE STAYED IN BED THE DAY AFTER THE FUNERAL AND FRANCIE and Neeley wandered around the flat stunned and bewildered. Towards evening, Katie got up and made some supper for them. After they had eaten, she urged the children to go for a little walk, saying they needed the air.

Francie and Neeley walked up Graham Avenue towards Broadway. It was a bitterly cold and a still night but there was no snow. The streets were empty. It was three days after Christmas and children were home playing with their new toys. The street lights were bleak and bright. A small icy wind coming in from the sea blew close to the ground. It whirled bits of dirty papers along the gutters.

They had grown out of childhood in the last few days. Christmas as Christmas had passed unnoticed since their father had died on Christmas day. Neeley’s thirteenth birthday had been lost somewhere in those last few days.

They came to the brilliantly lighted façade of a big vaudeville house. Since they were reading children and read everything they came across, they stopped and automatically