A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [131]
“Here next week! Chauncy Osborne, Sweet Singer of Sweet Songs. Don’t miss him!”
Sweet Singer…Sweet Singer…
Francie had not shed a tear since her father’s death. Neither had Neeley. Now Francie felt that all the tears she had were frozen together in her throat in a solid lump and the lump was growing…growing. She felt that if the lump didn’t melt soon and change back into tears, she too would die. She looked at Neeley. Tears were falling out of his eyes. Then her tears came, too.
They turned into a dark side street and sat on the edge of the sidewalk with their feet in the gutter. Neeley, though weeping, remembered to spread his handkerchief on the curb so that his new long pants wouldn’t get dirty. They sat close together because they were cold and lonesome. They wept long and quietly, sitting there in the cold street. At last, when they could cry no more, they talked.
“Neeley, why did Papa have to die?”
“I guess God wanted him to die.”
“Why?”
“Maybe to punish him.”
“Punish him for what?”
“I don’t know,” said Neeley miserably.
“Do you believe that God put Papa on this world?”
“Yes.”
“Then He wanted him to live, didn’t He?”
“I guess so.”
“Then why did He make him die so quick?”
“Maybe to punish him,” repeated Neeley not knowing what else to answer.
“If that’s true, what good is it? Papa’s dead and he don’t know that he’s punished. God made Papa the way he was and then said to Himself, I dare you to do anything about it. I just bet He said that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk about God like that,” said Neeley apprehensively.
“They say God’s so great,” said Francie scornfully, “and knows everything and can do everything. If He’s so great, why didn’t He help Papa instead of punishing him like you said?”
“I just said maybe.”
“If God has charge of all the world,” said Francie, “and the sun and the moon and the stars and all the birds and trees and flowers and all the animals and people, you’d think He’d be too busy and too important—wouldn’t you—to spend so much time punishing one man—one man like Papa.”
“I don’t think you should talk about God like that,” said Neeley uneasily. “He might strike you down dead.”
“Then let Him,” cried Francie fiercely. “Let Him strike me down dead right here in the gutter where I sit!”
They waited fearfully. Nothing happened. When Francie spoke again, she was quieter.
“I believe in the Lord, Jesus Christ, and His Mother, Holy Mary. Jesus was a living baby once. He went barefooted like we do in the summer. I saw a picture where He was a boy and had no shoes on. And when He was a man, He went fishing, like Papa did once. And they could hurt Him too, like they couldn’t hurt God. Jesus wouldn’t go around punishing people. He knew about people. So I will always believe in Jesus Christ.”
They made the sign of the cross as Catholics do when mentioning Jesus’ name. Then she put her hand on Neeley’s knee and spoke in a whisper.
“Neeley, I wouldn’t tell anybody but you, but I don’t believe in God anymore.”
“I want to go home,” said Neeley. He was shivering.
When Katie let them in, she saw that their faces were tired, yet peaceful. “Well, they’ve cried it out,” she thought.
Francie looked at her mother, then looked away quickly. “While we were gone,” she thought, “she cried and cried until she couldn’t cry any more.” The weeping wasn’t mentioned aloud by any one of them.
“I thought you’d come home cold,” said Mama, “so I made a warm surprise for you.”
“What?” asked Neeley.
“You’ll see.”
The surprise was “hot chocolate” which was cocoa and condensed milk made into a paste and boiling water stirred into it. Katie poured the thick rich stuff into the cups. “And that’s not all,” she added. She took three marshmallows from a paper bag in her apron pocket and popped one into each cup.
“Mama!” said the children simultaneously and ecstatically. “Hot chocolate” was something extra special, usually reserved for birthdays.
“Mama is really somebody,” thought Francie as she held her