Sugar House (9780991192519) (32 page)

"I know Cappie, but you didn't see nothing
except me coming back with an empty boat and a couple of bullet
holes in the sides."

"Try not to worry, Joe. Charlie likes you and
he sure hates dagos… I'm sure it'll work out. See you Friday. Say
hello to your mama for me." Cappie had met Joe's mother once in the
spring when he'd picked him up at his house. He had commented that
she looked very young for her age. Joe shook his head at Cappie as
they parted ways.

Dressed as he was in fisherman's clothing, he
passed without notice among the people on the street. Joe jumped on
a streetcar, paid the fare and found an empty seat. Two young women
sitting across the aisle observed his poor clothing and twittered
and laughed at him to each other. Rolling his eyes at their
stupidity, he turned around in his seat and looked out the
window.

Beat cops walked down the sidewalk,
apparently oblivious to the reverberating jazz music that poured
out onto the street from saloons and taverns. Men dressed in the
finest suits held doors for women in flimsy short dresses. Bare
arms, bobbed hair, and low-cut dresses appeared to be the fashion
on a hot summer day for the newborn flappers, as the newspapers
called them. Lights and signs flashed from every building, adding
heat to the sizzling metropolis. Shiny dark Packards, Chevrolets,
Lincolns, and Fords loaded with well-dressed young couples flew
past the streetcar honking and weaving their way through
traffic.

Getting off the streetcar near his
neighborhood he watched two young ladies in short dresses and
fashionable boyish caps helping an elderly lady dressed in old
world clothing carry her groceries down the sidewalk. The small
grocery store on the corner now advertised in both Polish and
English, and a little Negro boy manned a shoeshine box near the
front door. The sidewalk radiated a heat that felt like a hundred
and twenty degrees, and the smell of sweat and body odor
overwhelmed his senses. Gratefully, he turned onto his quiet tree
lined street and hurried home.

"Joe! Oh my Joe, your home!" Matka dropped the pastry
crust she was preparing at the kitchen counter and pulled Joe into
her arms. Her pretty face had filled out again, and she was wearing
a white apron over a new bright blue dress cut at the knees. "Joe,
I never expected you in the middle of the week! I'm so glad to see
you. Is everything OK?"

"Yes Matka, just got a few days off. Even a
working man needs a couple days of rest and fun now and then." Joe
smiled down at Matka, noticing with glee that he had passed her in
height. "What's for supper?"

Joe played with his brothers after supper.
Matka drew Joe a bath in the new upstairs bathroom. Joe had tried
convincing his mother to move to a newer, more modern home; but she
had refused, insisting on staying in the house she shared with her
sister-in-law. She was comfortable in their neighborhood and felt
that was where she belonged. So the year before, Joe paid to have
the old house updated with electricity and indoor plumbing. Despite
his mother's protests that the updates were not necessary, he found
her smiling when she ran the kitchen faucet or turned on the table
lamp in the living room. He had already found a fancy new icebox at
Hudson's that he was going to buy her for Christmas.

As he lay in the tub of cool water he
wondered who Charlie had sent out to St. Clair to retrieve the
hijacked load. Hopefully, it was one of the more honest guys… one
of the boys could find Joe's cargo, take it for himself, tell
Charlie he hadn't found anything, and sell it. Of course, if the
Sugar House bosses found out, the traitor would be beaten to a pulp
and hospitalized or worse. Or maybe Cammarato had outsmarted Joe
and taken the load somewhere else. Or maybe they'd landed it at St.
Clair and some other gang nabbed it from them.

Joe explored different possibilities in his
head until his fingers were as wrinkled as a prune. He toweled off,
slipped on a pair of clean underwear that his mother had laid on
the sink, and walked across the hall to his room. The sun still
hung in the sky; and he could hear his brothers playing on the
front porch with Matka, Aunt Hattie, and Emilia, when he fell into
an uneasy sleep.

He woke around ten the following morning
feeling rested and less anxious then the night before. Whatever was
to occur regarding the hijacked load was to be and worrying wasn't
going to help anything. Prayer? That was another thing altogether.
He knelt next to the bed, hands clasped, and prayed for God's
intercession on his behalf. Finishing, he looked around the bare
room and noted that his brothers hadn't slept there.

"Where did Frank and Stephan sleep last
night?" he asked, entering the kitchen in only a pair of pants and
undershirt.

"They slept with me so you could rest," Matka
replied. "Would you like some eggs and bacon?"

"Do you have any cereal? It's too hot to
cook, Matka."

"Yes, Frank asked me to get some Kellogg's
Toasted Corn Flakes; it's in the cupboard. I'll get you some milk."
Matka pulled the milk from the old icebox, and Joe noted that all
the ice had melted from the heat.

"There's no ice, Matka. What time does the
iceman get here?"

"Pretty soon, he's usually here already. What
else can I get you? I have sliced ham in the icebox, or would you
like some coffee?" Matka bustled around the kitchen, happy to have
her eldest son home to take care of for a while.

"Cereal is enough… that's all we usually eat
for breakfast at the house. Cappie and I usually only cook dinner
and then eat that for supper too. Hey, I have an idea… it's too hot
to cook. Why don't I take you and the boys out to a nice supper
tonight?"

Matka blushed and her hands flew to her
cheeks, "No, Joe, you do enough for us. I'll cook you something
nice for supper. I can get a nice chicken from the butcher."

"No, I have to sleep in this house tonight
too, and if you cook in here all day it'll be hotter than Hades.
It's decided. Find something pretty to wear, because I'm taking you
out for a nice meal."

Matka put the milk back in the icebox and
smiled at Joe. "All right, but if I'm getting dressed up I think
you should at least get a haircut. You look like a lumberjack." She
walked over to the table and tousled his blonde hair. Joe picked up
the bowl and slurped down the remaining milk before remembering
where he was.

"Sorry, Matka, guess I've been eating with
Cappie for too long." He put the bowl back down on the table.

"I hope you don't eat like a wild man when
you take us out tonight."

"I'll be on my best behavior, Mrs.
Jopolowksi. I'll pick you and the boys up at five o'clock."

Joe stopped at the cabbie dispatch to secure
a hired car to pick up his family that afternoon. Then he meandered
down the street looking for a barber shop. A spinning red-and-white
striped barber pole beckoned him not far from the dispatch office.
An elderly black man was shaving a customer in a barber chair near
the front window. Two empty barber chairs sat along the wall, and
there were no other customers in the shop.

"Hello, young man." A small bell hanging in
the doorway jingled as the door shut behind him. "Have a seat, and
I'll be with you in jiffy." It was slightly cooler in the shop than
on the street , but not much. Joe watched the barber scraping the
man's beard off with the long blade. He rubbed his chin and cheeks
with one hand feeling for any sign of scruff.

"Needing a shave?" the barber asked,
observing Joe's not so subtle search for signs of manhood.

"Yeah. Yeah… a shave and a haircut," he
responded, unable to hide a smile from the old man. The barber
finished with his customer and gestured for Joe to take the
seat.

"Slow day?" Joe asked as the barber began to
cut his hair.

"Slow every day," he replied. "You're the
first white man I've had come in here in a month."

"Why's that? This is a white
neighborhood."

"Sure is, sir," the old man replied. "Been
here thirty years or so… name's Henry Wade Robbins. I always done a
good business, but lately they're trying to push me out. Haven't
you seen all the help wanted signs that say "White Only" hanging in
the barber shop windows around the city?"

"I've been out of town for a few months… is
this your store?"

"Yes sir. Owned and operated by yours
personally for three decades, but I don't know for how much longer.
I'm looking to rent a space in Black Bottom. White men won't come
in here anymore, and I need to make a living. Don't make no sense.
I've given some of the biggest and most powerful men of this city
their first shaves. They'd come in here every day, and now they
pass by and don't even look in my window. I've listened about their
families, their jobs, and the women they want and the women they
got for thirty years, and they look right through me now." The old
man shook his head and tilted Joe's head slightly so he could trim
near his ear without cutting him.

"I thought most barbers were colored," Joe
responded.

"Used to be… now everybody wants to go to
fancy barbershops in the hotels and the train station. Don't help
King Gillette invented that safety razor and any old chump can give
a shave. Nobody appreciates a close shave anymore. I'm the last
Negro-owned shop that's not in Black Bottom. Ha! I thought the
Fifteenth Amendment was gonna change my life. Boy was I right… just
not how I thought." Henry finished Joe's haircut and grabbed a hot
towel. Laying the chair back he placed it on Joe's face. The moist
heat warmed Joe skin, and he relaxed into the chair. Henry whipped
the towel off and started foaming up Joe's face.

"First shave?" Henry asked with a twinkle in
his eye.

"Yes," Joe responded, slightly
embarrassed.

"Well, by the looks of it you couldn't have
waited another day." Henry was stroking Joe's fifteen-year-old
psyche, and Joe knew Henry was just being kind. But he appreciated
the comment.

"Henry… you remember when they ratified the
Fifteenth Amendment? How old are you?" Joe asked, enjoying the feel
of the cool razor on his young skin.

"Not sure. I was born on a plantation down
south. Got sold when I was just a toddler to another master, and I
hitched a ride on the underground railroad to Detroit when I was
just about your age. I figure I'm somewhere in my late seventies."
Henry patted Joe's cheeks with a cooling liquid and sat him back up
in the chair. "All done, sir. That'll be a dollar for the haircut
and fifty cents for the shave." Joe handed Henry three dollars and
thanked him.

"Best shave I ever had, Henry," he said as he
exited the barbershop. Joe's eyes now opened from his conversation
with Henry, he noted a Whites Only sign that hung in a retail shop
window on his walk back home. How had he missed that, he
wondered.

The car arrived in front of their house at
the appointed time. Joe held the door open for his mother as his
brothers pushed past, excited for a ride in a private car. They
drove to the thirteen-story Penobscot building, and a black doorman
opened the door for his mother when they pulled up to the curb.
Matka had worn a pretty lavender dress and her hair was pulled up
high on her head. Joe's brothers wore their best suits and had been
warned several times that they must be on their best behavior. The
Penobscot was one of the first restaurants in the city to have
"cold washed air" blown into its dining room. Slabs of ice were
placed near the windows, and fans pushed air over the top, cooling
the room.

"I wish I'd brought my shawl," Matka teased
Joe. Joe laughed, picked up Stephan, and followed the hostess to
their table.

They dined on green sea turtle soup, roast
veal, halibut, and lobster. Matka tried to argue that the menu was
too expensive, but Joe ordered for the table when the waiter came,
ending her protests. He also ordered Yoo-Hoos for Frank and
Stephan, a beer for himself, and a raspberry fizz for his mother.
When she took a sip of her drink her eyes widened, and she looked
around the restaurant.

"Joe, this has vodka in it!" she
whispered.

"It's all right, Matka. Look. That lady at
the next table is drinking one too. The cops won't bust up a fancy
joint like this." He ordered bananas with cream and chocolate cake
for dessert and drank another beer while Matka sipped coffee from a
fine china cup. The cool air felt incredible after the heat of the
day and they lingered to avoid going back out into the heat. Matka
sent the little boys to the lobby to play with a small toy car
Frank had brought in his pocket, while they finished their after
dinner drinks.

"Matka," Joe began, "I've been meaning to
bring up something for a while now and I hope you'll agree to
it."

"Yes Joe?" Matka leaned forward in her chair,
giving him her undivided attention. Her cheeks were flushed pink
from the raspberry fizz and she looked very pretty in the
candlelight.

"I've been thinking about your sister in
Poland lately. Whenever I get home to see Frank and Stephan I think
how lucky I am to have brothers… especially with Ojciec gone."

Tears began to brim in Matka's eyes and Joe
worried he had ruined the perfect evening but he pushed forward
with his idea. "I've save up quite a bit of money in the last year,
and I think it's time we go and look for your sister. The war is
over and you still haven't heard from her, and now we have the
funds to go and find her and bring her back."

"Oh Joe, I don't know… would you leave your
job? And I can't leave your brothers for such a long time and I
don't know how safe it would be for a woman to travel that far by
herself." Matka took another sip of coffee, and Joe noticed her
hand trembling slightly. "Not that I wouldn't give my right arm to
go and find her. Perhaps I could ask Aunt Hattie if she would take
care of the boys…"