Page:Fire!! - 1926.djvu/35

November, 1926

e wanted to do something to write or draw  or something  but it was so comfortable just to lay there on the bed   [sic] his shoes off  and think  think of everything  short disconnected thoughts—to wonder  to remember  to think and smoke  why wasn't he worried that he had no money  he had had five cents  but he had been hungry  he was hungry and still  all he wanted to do was  lay there comfortably smoking  think  wishing he were writing  or drawing  or something  something about the things he felt and thought  but what did he think  he remembered how his mother had awakened him one night  ages ago  six years ago  Alex  he had always wondered at the strangeness of it  she had seemed so  so  so just the same  Alex  I think your father is dead  and it hadn't seemed so strange  yet  one's mother didn't say that  didn't wake one at midnight every night to say  feel him  put your hand on his head  then whisper with a catch in her voice  I'm afraid  sh don't wake Lam  yet it hadn't seemed as it should have seemed  even when he had felt his father's cool wet forehead  it hadn't been tragic  the light had been turned very low  and flickered  yet it hadn't been tragic  or weird  not at all as one should feel when one's father died  even his reply of  yes he is dead  had been commonplace  hadn't been dramatic  there had been no tears  no sobs  not even a sorrow  and yet he must have realized that one's father couldn't smile  or sing any more  after he had died  every one remembered his father's voice  it had been a lush voice  a promise  then that dressing together  his mother and himself  in the bathroom why was the bathroom always the warmest room in the winter  as they had put on their clothes  his mother had been telling him what he must do  and cried softly  and that had made him cry too but you mustn't cry Alex  remember you have to be a little man now  and that was all  didn't other wives and sons cry more for their dead than that  anyway people never cried for beautiful sunsets  or music  and those were the things that hurt  the things to sympathize with  then out into the snow and dark of the morning  first to the undertaker's  no first to Uncle Frank's  why did Aunt Lula have to act like that  to ask again and again  but when did he die  when did he die  I just can't believe it  poor Minerva  then out into the snow and dark again  how had his mother expected him to know where to find the night bell at the undertaker's  he was the most sensible of them all tho  all he had said was  what  Harry Francis  too bad  tell mamma I'll be there first thing in the morning  then down the deserted streets again  to grandmother's  it was growing light now  it must be terrible to die in daylight  grandpa had been sweeping the snow off the yard  he had been glad of that because  well he could tell him better than grandma  grandpa  father's dead  and he hadn't acted strange either  books lied  he had just looked at Alex a moment then continued sweeping  all he said was  what time did he die  she'll want to know  then passing thru the lonesome street toward home  Mrs. Mamie Grant was closing a window and spied him  hallow Alex  an' how's your father this mornin'  dead  get out  tch tch tch an' I was just around there with a cup a' custard yesterday  Alex puffed contentedly on his cigarette  he was hungry and comfortable  and he had an ivory holder inlaid with red jade and green  funny how the smoke seemed to climb up that ray of sunlight  went up the slant just like imagination  was imagination blue  or was it because he had spent his last five cents and couldn't worry  anyway it was nice to lay there and wonder  and remember  why was he so different from other people  the only things he remeberedremembered [sic] of his father's funeral were the crowded church and the ride in the hack  so many people there in the church  and ladies with tears in their eyes  and on their cheeks  and some men too  why did people cry  vanity that was all  yet they weren't exactly hypocrites  but why  it had made him furious  all these people crying  it wasn't their father  and he wasn't crying  couldn't cry for sorrow altho he had loved his father more than  than  it had made him so angry that tears had come to his eyes  and he had been ashamed of his mother  crying into a handkerchief  so ashamed that tears had run down his cheeks and he had frowned  and some one  a woman  had said  look at that poor little dear  Alex is just like his father  and the tears had run fast  because he wasn't like his father  he couldn't sing  he didn't want to sing  he didn't want to sing  Alex blew a