Page Ten

TPERSPECTIVES


BROTHER EDDIE
... Continued from Page Eight

Then Mrs. Lewis would come back and
turn the light on.
"What's the matter, Eddie? Is Pat
bothering you again?"
Pat would wait until Eddie answered.
"No, ma'am. It wasn't nothing."
"Well, leave him alone, Pat, and don't
make him yell. You two have to get up
for school tomorrow, so go to sleep, both
of you. Good-night." Then she would
close the door and there would only be
the sounds of the radio from the living
room once in a while. If the two boys
wrestledany more Pat would let Eddie
get the advantage for saying, "No,"
when his mother came back.
If Henry Ford had one hundred mil-
lion dollars, how many did John D.
Rockefeller have? That's what Eddie
wanted to know. Twenty millions cars
was a lot.
T WAS THE SECOND WEEK that
Eddie's mother was away that there
seemed to be something wrong. The
boys might be coming from the candy
store and Pat would say something and
get no answer.
"Hey, Eddie, I asked you do you want
to see 'Hell's Angels' again? They're
bringing it back to the Imperial for
Saturday."
"What?"
Pat would repeat it and even then
Eddie wouldn't hear sometimes. They
went to see "Hell's Angels" and Eddie
just said "Nothing" when Pat tried to
find out what the other was quiet about.
The following Monday was a big day.
For one thing Eddie had stopped being
so quiet and everything was okay again.
Besides that, it was cold outside, not
slushy. The snow was good for the idea
Pat had. Abram had kept his eye open
and was going to save a couple of strong
sticks that Pat could have Wednesday
afternoon. Pat figured you could nail
short pieces of wood on them and have
two hockey sticks.
Pat told Eddie about the hockey sticks
Monday night.
"Hey, boy, that's swell. Where'll we
play?"
"In the alley behind the apartment.

We'll get a couple of bricks for goals
and the snow on the cement will be
packed hard like real ice." Cars going
up and down the alley had made the
snow hard like a steamroller would have.
"And we'll have a real hockey puck,
hey?" said Eddie.
"Naw, we can get an empty shoe
polish can or a piece of wood. If we prac-
tice enough maybe the big guys on Beau-
mont will let us go over and play with
them."
S"Gee, you get the swell ideas, though,
Pat."
"We can get the sticks Wednesday
after school, so we'll go right over to
Abram's and not come home first, hey?"
"Okay," Eddie said.
Wednesday morning going to school
Pat looked for the sun but didn't find it.
The day was cold like Monday. At noon
the sun still wasn't out. He and Eddie
ran home for lunch without stopping,
not because it was necessary to keep
warm, but because it was good to run.
Going into arithmetic after lunch at
one o'clock, Miss Burke stopped Pat.
"Because you've done so well in the
last week, Pat, I'm going to let you wash
the black board for me at three-thirty."
Pat heard what Miss Burke said but
didn't answer right away. Three-thirty?
To wash the board on such a night when
Abram . . . yet Eddie would go over to
Abram's like was agreed. Eddie was the
kind of kid who remembered ...
"Yes, ma'am. I'll sure do a swell job,
Miss Burke."
"'Swell,' Pat?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'll do a good job." And
Pat went to his seat, breathing the dry
perfume Miss Burke wore, wondering
if he other kids could smell it on him.
That afternoon Pat found out that the
clock went faster if he didn't look at it.
So he kept his eyes away from it as long
as he could at a stretch. When he
thought of the black board he wondered
about Abram. Abram had known him
for a long time. He'd gotten cigarettes
for Abram, Pat had, from time to time.
Abram would save the sticks. And to-
night Pat would tell his mother about

doing the black board for Miss Burke
and she'd tell Pop.
When it was close to three-thirty Pat
heard the kids begin opening and snap-
ping shut their pencil boxes and cram-
ming their books into the little shelf be-
neath their desk tops. When he looked
up most of the kids were sitting up
straight in their seats, like Marjorie Wil-
liamson, who was always trying to have
Miss Burke look at her and who took
absence excuses in envelopes right up
to Miss Burke instead of leaving them on
the desk.
The bell rang outside in the hall and
feet began to shuffle and give Pat the
feeling he got when he went down in an
elevator in a department store. Then
Miss Burke left, smiling, looking differ-
ently in her fur coat and galoshes. She
told Pat to be sure and shut the door
and smiled again and was gone, on silent,.
furry galoshes.
PAT erased the four black boards and
got water from the boys' lavatory in
the rusty tin bucket that was kept in the
closet where Miss Burke's coat hung dur-
ing the day. With a ragged piece of
sponge he washed the boards but it was
ten to four when he finished, and he put
the bucket in the closet without empty-
ing it, thinking of Eddie and the sticks.
He tried the classroom door a second
time. He didn't forget to do that. And
then he ran down the hall to the stairs
and onto the street. There were only
a few kids left on the playground. Going
up toward the candy store Pat began to
run and as he passed it as full speed he
saw it was empty. The circus poster with
the clown was gone.
Abram's place was four blocks up and
Pat ran until he was out of breath and
then he had to crawl along. He ran
again before all of his breath was back
and just made it to Abram's before he
had to stop running again.
An electric light was making shadows
in Abram's garage. Pat pushed his nose
against the glass in the door. All he saw
was Abram, fixing an inner tube. Eddie
wasn't there. Why wasn't he there?
Hadn't he promised? Had Eddie waited?

Abram looked up and waved for Pat to
come in, but the boy shook his head. He
had to go and find out why Eddie wasn't
there.
Pat ran toward the apartment house
and kept running when his breath was
gone. He crossed two vacant lots, slip-
ped, fell, and kept on. His hat was tight.
His clothes were wet on him, stuck to his
neck and to his arms.
The back door to the apartment house
was open. Pat closed it after him and
found the hallway noisy with the people
who were coming from the Dunns' first
floor flat. Pat went through the crowd 4
upstairs but there was no one in his
flat. He ran through the rooms and
out the back door and down the stairs,
bumping into Mrs. Mergenthaler.
The crowd in the hallway was milling
about, saying something. Everyone stop-
ped and poked their head in the Dunns'
back bedroom and exclaimed.
Pat heard his 'mother's voice.
"You're late from school, Pat."
He thought, yes I am, but did not hear
himself answer.
Then he was able to look in at the
back bedroom of the Dunn flat. Mrs.
Dunn was in the bed, her thick brown
hair down around her shoulders. She
was smiling at everyone. She was hap-
py. She smiled at Pat and he saw how
warm her face looked. Then she looked
at the new, unique thing beside her
that everyone had exclaimed over, that
which had no intelligent sight in its new
eyes.
At the foot of the bed, with one leg
supporting his weight, rubbing it with
the instep of the other foot, was Eddie,
looking at the new thing and rubbing
his leg some more. Eddie Dunn had
both hands on the foot of the bed, tongue
working in his cheek like bubble gum,
giving everyone who looked in the same
look. It's ours, ours, ours, the look said.
The small kid at the foot of the bed
said, "H'ya, Pat."
He got no "H'ya Eddie" in reply. Pat
was trying to get through the crowd but
there were so many people in his way
that he was having a hard time of it.



. .,.

THE FUNinAL
. .. Continued from Forge Four

I'm not crazy. I'm just different. It's
my life work . . . I know other funny
things too. Thirty peculiarities of this
state. Why Tom Edison used to tell me,
'Will, that's a fine bunch of oddities
you have there.' And he ought to know.
Guess so."
The grandson was fascinated. Crazy
all right, but interestingly so. He'd
never heard anything like this in his
life. Funny his father had never men-
tioned such a character in the rela-
tionship.
The quavering voice was lowered. "I
know what you're thinking. You're
wondering what all this has to do with
her." A thumb was jabbed in the gen-
eral direction of the dead body.
"Well, it ain't a think to do really.
I knowed all the time what you was
thinking."
The grandson really flushed now. The
old man put his other gnarled hand on
the shoulder of the boy. He spoke seri-
ously and yet with a mock solemnity,
so that the boy did not know whether
he was joking or whether he meant
his words.
"Yes, I've seen a lot of oddities, and
a lot of wonderful things in life too.

Fifty-six years, they lived together.
Fifty-six years."
"Fifty-six years," repeated the boy.
"It ain't everybody that can do that.
Bet you don't bet you! Why, they
never even quarreled. I don't feel sorry
for her. She's got a nice funeral. That's
the teaching my fence corners tells me.
People come, people go. And it's always
the people that doesn't go that it's
hardest on. She was a good woman . .
. You never really knew her ... She
was a good woman. And all these peo-
ple show that by coming to see her
now. It's your funeral that shows what
you were.
"She went to church every Sunday
too. Never missed a Sunday, nope, nor
the missionary meeting Wednesday af-
ternoons either, until she was ailing.
That's how she got that pin on her
dress. A life member of the Lutheran
Ladies' Missionary and Foreign Aid So-
ciety. Fifty-five years she belonged.
The ladies from it sent her the yellow
flowers."
"I'd like to see them," said the boy,
glimpsing a way of escape.
"They'll be here tomorrow too," said
Uncle Will.

"It'll be a lovely funeral, a lovely
funeral. I've got everything planned.
You shouldn't be sad, young fellow.
You shouldn't mourn. When you're as
old as me, you'll know that."
The old man was a relative, the
grandson knew; but he did not know
what connection he might have with
the funeral and wondered at his re-
marks. The boy was afraid to ask,
afraid that he might have been intro-
duced previously and would be rebuked
for not remembering the identity of
the latter. One thing certain, the old
man knew him.
"It's a happy occasion. My fence
corners say that. She was old; she
lived a long time. It's hard on your
grandfather, yes. But do you realize
what a funeral does. It brings a fam-
ily together, and they can see each
other again. It lets outside people see
just who is the relationship and what
they stand for. My wife says I'm crazy,
but I say I'm a what you call it, a
philosopher. You being in college,
you'll understand."
"Yes," said the boy. "I see what
you're driving at."
"She's peaceful," nodding toward the

corpse, "and I think I fixed her up
pretty nice. Folks will remember her
that way. I did a careful job, and the
minister and me buried the commit-
ment with the service. If earthy flesh
ever rises, as the Bible says ..."
The boy wished to hear no more. "I
think I'd better see how my mother is
getting along," he said. And he left
the room quickly.
IT WAS COLD and blustery outside
the old brick church. The people
did not loiter after the bell tolled. Al-
though the wind had been howling a
threat of rain, the brazen clanging
seemed to break a long period of si-
lence. The sound seemed suspended in
air, as if the metal tongue of the bell
were weaving a pall for the dead wom-
an. Memory may obliterate the web
of sound, but it shall be there, lost in
the consciousness of the listeners.
Some day it shall find light again, when
the memory of the dead woman is no
more than last year's wreath on her
rain-swept grave. One may forget the
dead, but one remembers death.
The grandson helped carry in the
(Continued on Page Eleven)