Sugar House (9780991192519) (26 page)

The day was gray and windy. Low clouds
traveled swiftly toward Canada as Canadian geese headed in the
opposite direction. Joe looked around but saw no one who appeared
to be alone or searching for him. The train was boarding passengers
for the return trip and soon pulled out of the small station. He
sat there for half an hour thinking about the train ride and
remembering how he'd dreamed of steering a mighty locomotive down
the tracks the Christmas his Uncle Feliks had given him the wind-up
train. Feeling conspicuous, he headed down the embankment to sit by
the water and think of his next move. The grass was tall here, and
an old tree lay where it had fallen, providing a seat for him. The
embankment gave some relief from the gusty day.

"Thought you'd never walk down here." A thick
Hungarian-accented voice startled him. A man, broad and tall,
walked over to where Joe was sitting on the old tree. His cap was
pulled down low, almost covering his eyes, and a thick brown beard
hung raggedly off the sides of his face. Instinctively, Joe put his
hand on his pocket where the cash was and then, realizing his
mistake, quickly removed it. "What are you so nervous for?" the man
continued stepping closer. "You're Joe, aren't ya? My little boy
that's come to visit?" He laughed at Joe's frightened face.

"Yes sir, I'm Joe." His shoulders relaxed
slightly as he watched the large, bearded man step over a branch
and over several dead fish as he approached.

"Didn't want to meet you at the station—just
in case the ticket agent was paying any mind to the passengers.
Figured if I was a boy I'd wander down here by the water, so I've
been just waiting here for you to do that very thing. And here you
are. You're a little taller than I pictured, but you'll do I guess.
Ready for a boat ride, Joe?"

"All right, but first I'd like to know one
thing. What's your name?" Joe said, standing up, reaching his hand
out to shake.

"You can call me Cappie." The man shook Joe's
hand. "Well, now that we've been properly introduced," he said with
a smirk, "grab your case. We've got a little walk ahead of us." Joe
picked up the old suitcase from the dirt and followed Cappie up the
embankment.

"Where we going?" he asked.

"I've got the boat tied up at the south end
of the island. It's about a mile and a half from here. A little
windy but whatcha gonna do?"

They climbed to the top of the embankment and
headed down the dirt road next to the river. Joe walked beside
Cappie, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He didn't think the
combination of the wind and waves made for good boating weather,
but he didn't say anything to Cappie.

"Trees sure are pretty this time of year,"
Joe said, making small talk to get his mind off the flips his
stomach was performing.

"Yep, all sorts of colors—red, yellow,
orange, purple; you should see them on a sunny day. And the
squirrels and chipmunks playing in the trees and deer walking right
on by you like they ain't afraid of nothing. It's a pretty island
in the daylight, but it's a whole different story at night."

"Why? Are there bears or cougars?" Joe
asked.

"Well, they say there were at one time—some
say there still are, but I've never heard or seen one. I just meant
you never know who you'll have the luck of running into in the
dark," Cappie replied.

Joe wasn't concerned about who wandered
around the island at night. By that time he would be safely back in
his bed in the city.

"Do you live on the island," Joe asked.

"One thing you should know by now boy is not
to be asking too many questions. Specially ones like where somebody
lives. Won't nobody tell you the truth anyways, so it's better not
to look like you're putting your nose where it don't belong."
Cappie looked down at Joe as he spoke. "Relax boy. I'm just giving
you a little friendly advice. I will tell you that I caught a
fifteen-pound bass on the other side of the island once though.
Course that was before these waters got so polluted from the city
dumping sewage into it."

Gradually the light of recognition crept into
Joe's brain and he realized Cappie was Vic Starboli, the man who'd
pointed out landmarks as his family had ridden on the
Columbia
to Boblo Island. Surprised at the chance meeting,
he remained silent for a few minutes, processing the information.
He looked up at Cappie's eyes again, this time identifying the soft
brown color with the young man he'd met years before. The memory
calmed him, and his anxiety decreased even more as they continued
down the gravel road. Joe had grown many inches taller since that
day aboard the
Columbia,
and the illness had taken the baby
fat from his cheeks, altering his appearance even more. Not many
would have recognized him all these years later.

"What kind of boat do you have, Cappie?" Joe
asked.

"I started with just a rowboat earlier this
year but I've already cleared enough to buy a power boat and it's a
lot easier on the arms," he replied. "Pretty fast one too."

"And I bet it makes it easier to get away
from the cops."

"Ha! Not much Coast Guard around here, Joe.
And they don't go out when the weather's bad, so if a boat can
handle a little tossing around, you're pretty much guaranteed to
get to the other side. Now when that Volstead Act is finalized next
year, the federal government is supposed to get involved. Things
might get a little hairy, but I'm not too worried. In the meantime,
we just run across the water like we was running across the street
to get some groceries." Cappie smiled down at Joe and clapped him
on the back. "You wasn't worried about getting caught, were you,
boy?"

"Nah," Joe replied, knowing Cappie could see
differently. They'd reached the end of the dirt road and had
started down a small path in the woods. The path was new, and they
had to push limbs and weeds back to make their way. The wind was
mitigated by the trees here, and Joe was thankful for the break
from the chilly air.

"Just a little farther," Cappie said when
they reached a deep, narrow canal. They turned and walked alongside
the canal toward the center of the island. "Let's see… it's about
two o'clock, so we should get started right when we get to the
boat. That'll give us time to load up and everything. Are you
hungry?"

"I could eat" Joe replied.

"I've got sandwiches in the boat and some
canned peaches. All right, here we are," he said, as they walked up
to a small white house on the side of the canal. Tall trees and
brush surrounded the little cottage, and no other houses were in
sight. The house was new, as was the small wooden dock where a
large speedboat was tied. Cappie disregarded the house and walked
down to the dock. Joe followed. He jumped in the boat and told Joe
to untie the ropes that were holding it to the dock. "You ever ride
in a boat, Joe?" he asked.

"One time," Joe said, smiling to himself, his
face turned away from Cappie as he worked at the knots.

"Good. Then you already got your sea
legs."

Joe threw the ropes into the boat and
clambered ungracefully down into the vessel. Cappie started the
engine with a roar, startling birds from their roosts. "I been
trying to figure out how to quiet that damn exhaust. Might as well
shine a light up to the sky saying here I am with all this booze,
but I can't get it any quieter. Good thing nobody really cares." He
piloted the boat slowly down the canal toward the river.

Cappie pointed Joe to where some sandwiches
were in a brown paper bag on the floor of the boat. Joe grabbed one
and took a bite. Peanut butter! He'd never eaten a peanut butter
sandwich before, and the stickiness in his mouth caught him off
guard. Working for the Sugar House for the last year, his mother
had packed him a lunch every day. He'd carried it in a small metal
pail he'd had when he was attending school at St. Josaphat's. He
opened the jar of peaches and grabbed the fruit with his fingers,
drinking down the syrup when they were gone. Feeling better with a
little food in his stomach, he turned his attention back to his
surroundings. They had left the shelter of the trees and were
heading out into open water now.

The wind picked up immediately, and Joe
pulled his cap down further on his head to cover his ears. "It sure
is a lot colder on the water," he yelled above the roar of the
engine.

"Sure is," Cappie replied. "Next time you
should wear a heavier coat… but don't go getting long pants yet.
You want to look younger than you are for as long as you can."
Next time?
Joe thought. Was this going to be his new role
for the Sugar House? Charlie hadn't said anything to him about a
next time. Cappie turned the boat south, and they headed out into
Lake Erie. The waves were crashing against the front of the boat,
and it felt to Joe as if they would tear it apart. Joe sat down on
the bottom to get out of the fierce wind but the waves made him
bounce from one side to the other. "It's better if you stand up
here with me," Cappie advised. Joe pulled himself up and held onto
the wooden side rail. The wind whipped at his face and stung, but
he could control his body better as he watched the waves
approaching the boat.

"Sure is rough," he yelled.

"It's really not that bad today," Cappie
replied. "Gets lots worse than this… course sometimes it's smooth
as glass too." A boat was approaching from ahead, and Cappie slowed
the engine. "Don't worry, Joe. This a friend of mine." A gray speed
boat pulled up alongside of theirs and a man threw a rope for Joe
to grab. "How's it going, Hatch?" Cappie called to the man.

"Busy day, Cappie. Trying for two runs today.
This here's my first… lotta thirsty people over on your side of the
river." Hatch smiled.

"No doubt about that," Cappie replied. "Safe
sailing, Hatch. Gotta get my boy and me going. Promised him some
fishing this afternoon."

"Fishing for whiskey is all you two are
fishing for. Not a bad idea, Cappie. Maybe I should get a boy of my
own to take fishing."

"Now Hatch, you can't be stealing
all
my ideas. If every bootlegger suddenly shows up with a boy in his
boat, the coast guard is gonna be all over us."

"I wouldn't double-cross you like that,
Cappie. I'm just playing with you. Plenty of business for everyone,
I always say. Besides, I couldn't stand dragging a ragamuffin like
that across the water every day." Hatch pulled the rope from Joe's
hands and waved to Cappie as he accelerated away.

Cappie gunned the engine and headed toward
Canada.
Ragamuffin!
Joe thought.
I just bought these
clothes last month at Kresge's. They cost me seven dollars not
including shoes. Besides, Cappie and Hatch are both dressed in old
fishing coats and hats, and who knows when was the last time Cappie
went to a barber.

"Oh don't worry about him, Joe" Cappie said
when he saw Joe looking down at his clothes. "He's just razzing
you. Hatch is on the up and up."

Cappie pulled the boat into a small inlet and
slowed down. A large wharf with a factory rising behind it teemed
with activity, as boats pulled in and out of the area in an
organized procession. A long chute carried the cargo out of the
factory onto the dock, and men grabbed boxes of bottles and carried
them to the boats.

"Almost forgot! I need the lettuce." Cappie
looked at Joe. Joe stared blankly back at him. "The cabbage Joe. I
can't have a boy paying for the hooch, can I?" It took a minute
until Joe understood Cappie was talking about the money he'd
brought with him. Joe reached deep into his pocket and handed the
roll to him. Cappie held up his hand with all fingers extended
indicating that Joe had given him five hundred dollars. Joe nodded
yes, and Cappie put the roll in his front coat pocket. They waited
their turn for a few minutes and pulled the speedboat next to the
dock.

"Where you headed?" a short man with a
clipboard asked Cappie, as they tied the boat to the side of the
pier.

"Mexico," Cappie responded.

"How much?" clipboard man asked.

"Five alive," Cappie answered. The dispatcher
indicated to the men standing on the dock to start loading the
boat, and Cappie handed box after box labeled Pioneer Distillery to
Joe to put into the cutter. It took twenty minutes to load all the
whisky inside. Cappie signed for the liquor—using what name Joe
didn't know—and they turned back toward Lake Erie.

"How'd you like Amherstburg, Joe?" Cappie
yelled over the noise of the wind and the engine when they left
Lake Erie and headed back up the river.

"Didn't see enough to know, Cappie," he
responded.

"That's all I've seen of it myself, Joe." He
laughed. "Pick up that fishing pole, and throw a line over the back
of the boat," he said as they neared Grosse Ile. Joe grabbed a pole
that had been near the sandwiches and threw the lure on the end of
the line over the back end. He held the pole tight and waved at a
couple other boats that passed near them. He was shivering, and his
hands felt like blocks of ice. The sun was setting behind the
island. They pulled into the canal as the last rays fell behind the
trees. Joe slapped at a bug that landed on his cheek. "Pull your
line in, Joe. There's nobody back in here."

Joe put the fishing pole back on the floor,
disappointed that he hadn't accidently caught a fish, and grabbed
the ropes to help tie the boat to the dock.

It took a great deal longer to unload the
boat then it had loading it. Joe handed the boxes to Cappie, and he
placed them on the dock. Then they carried each box to a set of
steps that led to a cellar door below the house and stacked them in
the corner of the basement.

"Let's cook up something to eat. Being on the
water makes a man ravenous," Cappie said, when they had stacked the
last box. Darkness blanketed the night when they emerged from the
cellar. Cappie bolted the door. They went around to the front of
the house and went in. The older man lit a lamp hanging by the
door, and Joe could see the interior of the one-room cottage. A
wood-burning stove and a stack of logs sat on the wall closest to
him. The house had no kitchen per se, but a table and three chairs
sat near the stove and a small icebox was pushed up against the
opposite wall. There was a small wooden cupboard with a few dishes
and cups. A metal bed sat in the corner. Conspicuously feminine
flowered curtains hung from the windows.