“Did you go to the cemetery?”
“No, ma’am. Nobody did—except him.”
“Who?”
“Her man.”
Kate said quickly—almost too quickly, “Have you got any regulars tonight?”
“No, ma’am. Day before Thanksgiving. Bound to be slow.”
“I’d forgotten,” said Kate. “Get back out.” She watched the girl out of the room and moved restlessly back to her desk. And as she looked at an itemized bill for plumbing her left hand strayed to her neck and touched the chain. It was comfort and reassurance.
Chapter 49
1
Both Lee and Cal tried to argue Adam out of going to meet the train, the Lark night train from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
Cal said, “Why don’t we let Abra go alone? He’ll want to see her first.”
“I think he won’t know anybody else is there,” said Lee. “So it doesn’t matter whether we go or not.”
“I want to see him get off the train,” said Adam. “He’ll be changed. I want to see what change there is.”
Lee said, “He’s only been gone a couple of months. He can’t be very changed, nor much older.”
“He’ll be changed. Experience will do that.”
“If you go we’ll all have to go,” said Cal.
“Don’t you want to see your brother?” Adam asked sternly.
“Sure, but he won’t want to see me—not right at first.”
“He will too,” said Adam. “Don’t you underrate Aron.”
Lee threw up his hands. “I guess we all go,” he said.
“Can you imagine?” said Adam. “He’ll know so many new things. I wonder if he’ll talk different. You know, Lee, in the East a boy takes on the speech of his school. You can tell a Harvard man from a Princeton man. At least that’s what they say.”
“I’ll listen,” said Lee. “I wonder what dialect they speak at Stanford. “ He smiled at Cal.
Adam didn’t think it was funny. “Did you put some fruit in his room?” he asked. “He loves fruit.”
“Pears and apples and muscat grapes,” said Lee.
“Yes, he loves muscats. I remember he loves muscats.”
Under Adam’s urging they got to the Southern Pacific Depot half an hour before the train was due. Abra was already there.
“I can’t come to dinner tomorrow, Lee,” she said. “My father wants me home. I’ll come as soon after as I can.”
“You’re a little breathless,” said Lee.
“Aren’t you?”
“I guess I am,” said Lee. “Look up the track and see if the block’s turned green.”
Train schedules are a matter of pride and of apprehension to nearly everyone. When, far up the track, the block signal snapped from red to green and the long, stabbing probe of the headlight sheered the bend and blared on the station, men looked at their watches and said, “On time.”
There was pride in it, and relief too. The split second has been growing more and more important to us. And as human activities become more and more intermeshed and integrated, the split tenth of a second will emerge, and then a new name must be made for the split hundredth, until one day, although I don’t believe it, we’ll say, “Oh, the hell with it. What’s wrong with an hour?” But it isn’t silly, this preoccupation with small time units. One thing late or early can disrupt everything around it, and the disturbance runs outward in bands like the waves from a dropped stone in a quiet pool.
The Lark came rushing in as though it had no intention of stopping. And only when the engine and baggage cars were well past did the air brakes give their screaming hiss and the straining iron protest to a halt.
The train delivered quite a crowd for Salinas, returning relatives home for Thanksgiving, their hands entangled in cartons and gift-wrapped paper boxes. It was a moment or two before his family could locate Aron. And then they saw him, and he seemed bigger than he had been.
He was wearing a flat-topped, narrow-brimmed hat, very stylish, and when he saw them he broke into a run and yanked off his hat, and they could see that his bright hair was clipped to a short brush of a pompadour that stood straight up. And his eyes shone so that they laughed with pleasure to see him.
Aron dropped his suitcase and lifted Abra from the ground in a great hug. He set her down and gave Adam and Cal his two hands. He put his arms around Lee’s shoulders and nearly crushed him.
On the way home they all talked at once. “Well, how are you?”
“You look fine.”
“Abra, you’re so pretty.”
“I am not. Why did you cut your hair?”
“Oh, everybody wears it that way,”
“But you have such nice hair.”
They hurried up to Main Street and one short block and around the corner on Central past Reynaud’s with stacked French bread in the window and black-haired Mrs. Reynaud waved her flour-pale hand at them and they were home.
Adam said, “Coffee, Lee?”
“I made it before we left. It’s on the simmer.” He had the cups laid out too. Suddenly they were together—Aron and Abra on the couch, Adam in his chair under the light, Lee passing coffee, and Cal braced in the doorway to the hall. And they were silent, for it was too late to say hello and too early to begin other things.
Adam did say, “I’ll want to hear all about it. Will you get good marks?”
“Finals aren’t until next month, Father.”
“Oh, I see. Well, you’ll get good marks, all right. I’m sure you will.”
In spite of himself a grimace of impatience crossed Aron’s face.
“I’ll bet you’re tired,” said Adam. “Well, we can talk tomorrow.”
Lee said, “I’ll bet he’s not. I’ll bet he’d like to be alone.”
Adam looked at Lee and said, “Why, of course—of course. Do you think we should all go to bed?”
Abra solved it for them. “I can’t stay out long,” she said. “Aron, why don’t you walk me home? We’ll be together tomorrow.”
On the way Aron clung to her arm. He shivered. “There’s going to a frost,” he said.
“You’re glad to be back.”
“Yes, I am. I have a lot to talk about.”
“Good things?”
“Maybe. I hope you think so.”
“You sound serious.”