Sugar House (9780991192519) (23 page)

"As well as we can. Walter had to drop out of
school to help us stay afloat. He's working down at the boat docks
and gives me all his pay to help with the bills and groceries. I
don't know how I would survive without him."

"Yes, Walter had always been a good boy,"
Matka responded, patting Joe's red-faced friend on the head. Walter
hardly looked like a boy to Joe. He must have grown six inches
since they had least seen each other and sported a soft blonde
mustache on his upper lip.

"How's it going, Joe?" Walter asked. "Glad to
hear you're all better."

"Thanks, Walt. It's going good. Doing some
odd jobs in the neighborhood to help out, and I've been back at
school for over a year now.. How's work at the docks?" But before
Walter could respond, the sound of trumpets and bugles could be
heard, and the traffic driving on Woodward was directed onto the
side streets. The shoppers and businessmen, who had been going
about their errands, stopped and lined up on the sidewalks to watch
the soldiers march by. The people of the city had grown accustomed
to this monthly or sometimes weekly event but always stopped to
cheer for the rows of men going off to fight.

Joe grabbed the hands of his mother and Frank
and pulled them to the edge of the sidewalk. They stood there
waving and searching for Ojciec as the uniformed men marched in
unison. Frank saw him first, "There's Papa! There he is, in the
middle," he yelled. Joe squinted into the sunshine and saw the
familiar frame of his father approaching amidst his fellow
troops.

"Pożegnanie, Ojciec! Goodbye!" Joe yelled as
his father neared. Ojciec turned his head slightly, and seeing his
family waving, he smiled and gave a wink and continued down the
street. Hundreds more men followed after Ojciec passed. Mrs.
Stanislewski, Walter, and the Jopolowskis waved and cheered for the
men. A large regiment of black men proudly marched at the end of
the parade, and their women and children tried to fight their way
to the edge of the sidewalks so they could say their goodbyes. Some
let the black families make their way to the street, while others
blocked their way in a show of superiority. Joe became upset when
an obese man standing next to him purposefully obstructed the path
of a thin Negro woman.

"Hey, mister! Her family's leaving same as
mine and yours, and she has just as much right to wave goodbye as
we do." The man looked down at Joe with a look of disdain and
turned his attention back to the avenue. "Here lady," Joe said,
grabbing her hand. "You can take my spot. My father's gone by
already." He gently pulled her over to him and stood behind her so
she could see. She smiled her thanks at him and searched the rows
of soldiers to find her man. Joe looked over at his mother to see
her reaction, but she hadn't noticed his act of kindness. She was
holding Stephan tightly in her arms and trying to pick up Frank,
who was crying. Joe pushed through the crowd and picked up Frank.
"Stop crying, Frank," he whispered in his ear. "It's not
patriotic."

"I'm only crying cause Matka was," he told
his big brother. Joe looked up at his mother and saw her eyes were
red and weeping.

"Matka," he said. "Be brave. Ojciec wouldn't
want you to be standing here crying on the street." Joe was
slightly embarrassed his mother had shown such weakness in public.
He'd felt tears gather in his eyes when Ojciec had passed by but
had quickly blinked them away before anyone could notice. His
mother wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and they made their
way down the sidewalk as the crowds began to disperse. "I know.
Let's go get something to eat. That'll take our minds off of Ojciec
leaving," Joe said.

"I didn't bring my purse, Joe. I wasn't
planning on buying anything today. I have cold ham in the icebox if
you're hungry."

"I have money. Come on Matka. It'll be fun. I
know just the place, and it's not far from here." Matka looked down
at her boys and composed herself. Three sweet faces beseeching her
for a distraction from their own sadness helped her overcome her
own sorrow.

"You're right, Joe," she said, "and if you
want to treat your family to lunch, who am I to stop you?" The
family walked a few blocks toward the river and turned onto
Lafayette Boulevard. "Where are you taking us, Joe?" she asked.

"The All American restaurant," he replied. "I
read about it in the paper. It opened last year and they have
sausage sandwiches and chili. I thought since you and Ojciec will
be officially all-American when he gets back, it'd be a good place
for us to go."

Matka laughed and said that Joe was sweet and
very smart and that the All American sounded like a perfect place
to eat. The restaurant was small and narrow. A white marble counter
ran along the back wall, with metal stools screwed into the floor
in front of it. They found a small empty table near the far wall
and sat down. The eatery was packed with businessmen grabbing a
quick bite to eat. Short Greek waiters hopped through the horde
carrying trays of food, yelling orders to the small kitchen in the
back.

They were approached by a handsome Greek man,
wearing a white apron and pointed paper hat. "Hello, I'm Gus" he
said, "What can I get for you folks?"

Joe quickly scanned the menu hanging over the
counter. "We'll have three bowls of chili, three wieners, and three
Coca-Colas," he said.

"All right. Coming right up, young man. How's
about some crackers for your little brother?" Joe nodded his
assent, and the man was gone. Joe translated the order to his
mother, and she asked what a wiener was. He told her it was a mild
sausage on a bun. She looked relieved. Three minutes later, Gus
returned with their order.

"Wow that was fast!" Joe said, looking at the
food on the table. "But we didn't order any potato chips."

"Comes with the wiener, son. I decided I had
to have a little extra something to go with the hotdog when I
opened this place. Potato chips are about as cheap as you can get,
and people seem to enjoy them. So eat up," Gus said with a
smile.

Joe and Frank bit into their wieners and
smiled at each other. "Try it, Matka," Frank implored. "They're
good."

Blanca tentatively took a bite and smiled
back at her boys. "It sort of tastes like a German sausage." She
quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard her. Since the
start of the war, the government had been distributing anti-German
propaganda in newsreels and papers. Sauerkraut had been renamed
liberty cabbage, and a month before a man had been lynched in the
South just for speaking German. Luckily, no one had heard her in
the noisy restaurant. Joe ate his bowl of chili quickly. His
appetite had finally returned that spring. Sometimes he felt like
he'd never be full—even eating his mother's cooking.

Matka took turns giving Stephan a cracker or
bit of bun and taking bites of her hot dog. Joe watched a man
hurriedly pour the remains of his chili bowl onto his hot dog,
finish it off and head out the door.
Funny
, he thought. He
told Matka and Frank what he'd seen. Matka shook her head, laughed,
and said that eating too fast could only hurt a person's digestive
system. Joe walked to the cash register and paid for their meal:
five cents each for the wieners, ten cents a bowl of chili, and two
cents each for the drinks. He counted out fifty one cents and left
a dime on the table for Gus.

The house seemed empty when they walked into
the kitchen, silent and lonely. Aunt Hattie had made some prażonki,
a potato and sausage casserole, and left it on the kitchen
table.

"Well, thank the Lord for family," Matka
said. "At least I won't have to cook supper today."

Matka walked into the living room, sat down
in Ojciec's chair and put her face in her hands. Joe took Stephan
upstairs, laid him in his crib for a nap, came downstairs, and
knelt next to his mother's feet. Matka laid her hand on the top of
Joe's head and smiled.

"Don't worry, my son," she said. "No more
tears from your mother today. We'll be fine. Look, already you have
provided your first meal for the family, and your father probably
hasn't even got on the train yet! Now go play outside with your
friends. It's a nice day and you could use some fun." Joe kissed
his mother on the hand, looking back just once as he headed out the
door. He smiled at her and ran down the front steps.

"They'll never pass it!"

"They can't do that. It's a crime against our
rights!"

"My family will starve. How am I supposed to
make a living?"

Talk was unending, angry, and loud as Joe
made his way through the city with his little wagon performing his
odd jobs and errands. It seemed to Joe that the news of the war had
suddenly been superseded by the subject of Prohibition. Several
states had already outlawed liquor or beer or both, and many
counties in Michigan had voted themselves dry. Now the voters of
the State of Michigan had approved a prohibition amendment to be
added to the state constitution, and Detroit was to become the
largest city in the nation to fall under the Great Experiment. The
law would not be enforced for another year, but the city was
already in an uproar. Tavern owners were furious, and most
immigrants felt that wine and beer were part of their heritage. Of
course, no one could deny the negative effect liquor had on some of
the city's lesser citizens. Drunks sleeping on sidewalks, in parks,
or the stoop of a store or church were almost a daily sight.

Real men drank, be it liquor or beer. But
when they drank so much that they couldn't take care of their
families, they were not real men. It had been like that for a
hundred years, and the effects were starting to cause the nation's
work and morals to decline; or so said the temperance groups, the
Anti-Saloon League chief among them. The nation's brewers had tried
to counteract the movement with positive propaganda promoting beer.
Pictures of babies holding a beer, nursing mothers sipping from a
stein, and elderly men drinking from a bottle with the slogan
"Beer—It's the Health Drink" were posted on the windows of saloons
and on street corners.

How can everyone care so much about beer
when our fathers are over there, fighting and dying?
Joe
thought.
Boy, people can be so stupid… just let them drink their
old beer. It's their choice and then maybe we can get back to
fighting the war and getting the soldiers home.

Of course, the anticipation of Prohibition
hadn't hurt his business. Two of his elderly widowed customers had
him making weekly trips to the druggists for their "special
medicine" so they would be well stocked when the law came into
effect. Joe could tell from the effects the medicine had on them
that there had to be quite a bit of liquor in the bottles labeled
Doc Schwietz's Miracle Cure and Humphreys 77 for grippe, influenza,
and colds.

The weather was turning warmer. Hyacinths, tulips,
and daffodils sprung up in the small yards of Joe's neighborhood as
a sign of God's promise that Easter would arrive soon. Every time
he noticed a new flower shoot out of the ground during his daily
trek he would smile to himself; grateful that Lent was soon to be
over. His mother in her devout Catholicism had implemented a strict
rule of fasting for the family during the last forty days. She
believed if their family fasted as the Catholic Church decreed,
their sacrifice would assist in Ojciec's safe return. She had
prepared only fish, cabbage, kasha, and potato dishes for the last
month, and Joe was craving meat. The delicious smells of smoked
kielbasa and ham that poured out of less devout homes made his
mouth water. But he didn't succumb to his taste buds, believing
that God would take special watch over Ojciec in exchange for his
sacrifice.

Matka and Aunt Hattie began to prepare the
traditional fluffy baba and nut mazurek cakes. Uncle Alexy bought
kielbasa and ham for Easter breakfast. Joe collected the eggs from
the chickens and kept them in the icebox. Marya and Pauline had the
chore of laundering the sheets, curtains, tablecloths, and napkins
to prepare for the holiday. The only thing that was missing was
Ojciec, but the family would say many prayers for his quick return
at Easter Mass.

On Holy Thursday, Joe and Frank were in the
kitchen trying to wash the walls and the floor, while Stephan was
doing his best to tip the bucket of water over, when they heard a
scream come from Aunt Hattie's house. Joe told Frank to watch their
little brother and ran next door. Joe pushed past two tall men in
the doorway towards where his Aunt Hattie was kneeling on the floor
of the foyer. Her skirt had risen above her knees and her knees and
thighs were exposed revealing her pasty white cellulite skin.
Did these men hurt my aunt?
he thought. He turned from her
to face the men and prepared to defend his ground. Fists clenched
he reeled up and suddenly stopped mid-flight. Both men were dressed
in army uniforms.

"It's ok, young man," said the taller one,
who had lieutenant bars. "She's just had a bit of a shock. Why
don't you fetch her a glass of water?" Joe went to the kitchen and
retrieved a small glass of water and handed it to his aunt, who was
still kneeling on the floor and sobbing. "Oh Joe," she cried, as
she grasped the glass with shaking hands.

"What is it, Aunt Hattie? Why are these
soldiers here?"

"Oh Joe…" but she couldn't finish. She began
to moan and cry again. She accidently tipped the glass of water
onto the floor at her knees.

"What is it?" he asked, looking up at the
army lieutenant. "Why is my Aunt Hattie crying?"

"I'm sorry to tell you son but your uncle has
died. Your aunt is obviously quite devastated. Can you go get your
mother? We could use her help in calming her down."