Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [40]
Honora’s fondest memories of her childhood home are of the nights when she and her family would all play Michigan poker using Diamond matches for chips. Some mornings, she would awaken and discover that a gentle fog had blanketed the mountain hamlet. Her mother would have left the bedroom already, and from the kitchen the sound of eggs sizzling in grease would be floating up the stairs. Honora would dress and leave the house and stand at the end of the lane near the swaying picket fence. She would look down through the tunnel of trees. The air would be soft and milky, and if the fog was just right, it would leave the lane visible but obliterate all the world beyond it.
Alphonse
Alphonse waits on the corner where he met the man in the blue shirt four weeks ago. Every Sunday he has stood here and hoped that McDermott would come and take him fishing. He waits on the corner because he thinks that if he stays in the apartment the man won’t bother to come up the stairs. And besides, Alphonse doesn’t want his mother or Marie-Thérèse to talk to McDermott because they will have a million questions and the man will naturally get sick and tired of answering them and then he will never ever come back for Alphonse and that will be that.
Probably the man won’t come today anyway because it’s too foggy to go fishing. The fog is so thick that he can’t see the end of the block. It moves through the streets like smoke, and Alphonse pretends the Germans are right around the corner and that the smoke is from the guns and the bombs. Pow. Pow, he says. Bam. Bam. He raises his arms as if he had a rifle in them and goes into a crouch and swings the gun wide.
The man puts a hand to his chest and staggers a step or two and then goes down onto the sidewalk.
Oh, Jesus, Alphonse thinks.
“You got me,” McDermott says.
Alphonse quickly lowers his arms. The man gets to his feet and says hello and Alphonse says hello back.
“You ready to go fishing?” McDermott asks.
“Sure,” Alphonse says.
McDermott crouches down in front of his face. “Hey,” McDermott says, tilting Alphonse’s chin up. “Remember you have to look at me? Otherwise I might not know what you’re saying.”
Alphonse wonders how old McDermott is. Probably not as old as his mother.
“I would have come before,” McDermott says, “but my sister Eileen has been sick, and I’ve had to take care of the kids. My brothers and sisters. They’re a handful.”
“So are mine,” Alphonse says. And isn’t that the truth.
“I’ve been down to the river to have a look,” McDermott says. “I left my gear down there. You can’t even see to the other side of the river, but, hey, the fish don’t know that, do they?”
McDermott chuckles at his own joke, but Alphonse, even though he thinks the joke is kind of funny, can’t quite manage a laugh. McDermott stands up and cocks his head in the direction of the river.
McDermott lights a cigarette as they walk. “Have you been waiting here every Sunday?” he asks.
“Yes,” Alphonse says. “But I didn’t mind.” He has hardly thought of anything else since the man first mentioned fishing the Sunday that all the men went into Arnaud’s father’s house. Arnaud said that the men were planning a union and that it was a big secret, but if Arnaud knew a fact it couldn’t possibly be secret anymore, could it?
“I should have sent one of the boys to tell you,” McDermott says. “I’m sorry about that. It’s been pretty chaotic for a few weeks.”
Alphonse shrugs. He knows all about household chaos. He takes a quick look at his feet. He polished his shoes and stole the laces from Marie-Thérèse’s boots and he’s hoping she won’t notice until he gets back.
“Have you always lived here in Ely Falls?” McDermott asks.
“No,” Alphonse says. “We used to live on a farm in Quebec.”