“He went out in the back yard,” Bob said. “Mom, was he always like this? Why does he act so funny? It isn’t some kind of war psychosis he got in the Philippines, is it? In the First World War they called it shell shock, but now they know it’s a form of war psychosis. Is it something like that?”
“Eat your food,” Liz said, red spots of anger burning in her cheeks. She shook her head. “Darn that man. I just can’t imagine –”
The boys ate their food.
It was dark out in the back yard. The sun had set and the air was cool and thin, filled with dancing specks of night insects. In the next yard Joe Hunt was working, raking leaves from under his cherry tree. He nodded to Elwood.
Elwood walked slowly down the path, across the yard towards the garage. He stopped, his hands in his pockets. By the garage something immense and white loomed up, a vast pale shape in the evening gloom. As he stood gazing at it a kind of warmth began to glow inside him. It was a strange warmth, something like pride, a little pleasure mixed in, and — and excitement. Looking at the boat always made him excited. Even when he was first starting on it he had felt the sudden race of his heart, the shaking of his hands, sweat on his face.
His boat. He grinned, walking closer. He reached up and thumped the solid side. What a fine boat it was, and coming along damn well. Almost done. A lot of work had gone into that, a lot of work and time. Afternoons off from work, Sundays, and even sometimes early in the morning before work.
That was best, early in the morning, with the bright sun shining down and the air good-smelling and fresh, and everything wet and sparkling. He liked that time best of all, and there was no one else up to bother him and ask him questions. He thumped the solid side again. A lot of work and material, all right. Lumber and nails, sawing and hammering and bending. Of course, Toddy had helped him. He certainly couldn’t have done it alone; no doubt of that. If Toddy hadn’t drawn the lines on the board and —
“Hey,” Joe Hunt said.
Elwood started, turning. Joe was leaning on the fence, looking at him. “Sorry,” Elwood said. “What did you say?”
“Your mind was a million miles away,” Hunt said. He took a puff on his cigar. “Nice night.”
“Yes.”
“That’s some boat you got there, Elwood.”
“Thanks,” Elwood murmured. He walked away from it, back towards the house. “Goodnight, Joe.”
“How long is it you’ve been working on that boat?” Hunt reflected. “Seems like about a year in all, doesn’t it? About twelve months. You sure put a lot of time and effort into it. Seems like every time I see you you’re carting lumber back here and sawing and hammering away.”
Elwood nodded, moving towards the back door.
“You even got your kids working. At least, the little tyke. Yes, it’s quite a boat.” Hunt paused. “You sure must be going to go quite a way with it, by the size of it. Now just exactly where was it you told me you’re going? I forget.”
There was silence.
“I can’t hear you, Elwood,” Hunt said. “Speak up. A boat that big, you must be –”
“Layoff.”
Hunt laughed easily. “What’s the matter, Elwood? I’m just having a little harmless fun, pulling your leg. But seriously, where are you going with that? You going to drag it down to the beach and float it? I know a guy has a little sail-boat he fits on to a trailer cart, hooks it up to his car. He drives down to the yacht harbor every week or so. But my God, you can’t get that big thing on a trailer. You know, I heard about a guy built a boat in his cellar. Well, he got done and you know what he discovered? He discovered that the boat was so big when he tried to get it out the door –”
Liz Elwood came to the back door, snapping on the kitchen light and pushing the door open. She stepped out on to the grass, her arms folded.
“Good evening, Mrs. Elwood,” Hunt said, touching his hat. “Sure a nice night.”
“Good evening.” Liz turned to E.J. “For heaven’s sake, are you going to come in?” Her voice was low and hard.
“Sure.” Elwood reached out listlessly for the door. “I’m coming in. Goodnight, Joe.”
“Goodnight,” Hunt said. He watched the two of them go inside. The door closed, the light went off. Hunt shook his head. “Funny guy,” he murmured. “Getting funnier all the time. Like he’s in a different world. Him and his boat!”
He went indoors.
“She was just eighteen,” Jack Fredericks said, “but she sure knew what it was all about.”
“Those southern girls are that way,” Charlie said. “It’s like fruit, nice soft, ripe, slightly damp fruit.”
“There’s a passage in Hemingway like that,” Ann Pike said. “I can’t remember what it’s from. He compares a –”
“But the way they talk,” Charlie said. “Who can stand the way those southern girls talk?”
“What’s the matter with the way they talk?” Jack demanded. “They talk different, but you get used to it.”
“Why can’t they talk right?”
“What do you mean?”
“They talk like — colored people.”
“It’s because they all come from the same region,” Ann said.
“Are you saying this girl was colored?” Jack said.
“No, of course not. Finish your pie.” Charlie looked at his wristwatch. “Almost one. We have to be getting on back to the office.”
“I’m not finished eating,” Jack said. “Hold on!”
“You know, there’s a lot of colored people moving into my area,” Ann said. “There’s a real estate sign up on a house about a block from me. ‘All races welcomed.’ I almost fell over dead when I saw it.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. What can we do?”
“You know, if you work for the Government they can put a colored man or a Chinese next to you,” Jack said, “and you can’t do anything about it.”
“Except quit.”
“It interferes with your right to work,” Charlie said. “How can you work like that? Answer me.”
“There’s too many pinks in the Government,” Jack said. “That’s how they got that, about hiring people for Government jobs without looking to see what race they belong to. During WPA days, when Harry Hopkins was in.”
“You know where Harry Hopkins was born?” Ann said. “He was born in Russia.”
“That was Sidney Hillman,” Jack said.
“It’s all the same,” Charlie said. “They all ought to be sent back there.”
Ann looked curiously at Ernest Elwood. He was sitting quietly, reading his newspaper, not saying anything. The cafeteria was alive with movement and noise. Everyone was eating and talking, coming and going, back and forth.
“E.J., are you all right?” Ann said.
“Yes.”
“He’s reading about the White Sox,” Charlie said. “He has that intent look. Say, you know, I took my kids to the game the other night, and –”
“Come on,” Jack said, standing up. “We have to get back.”
They all rose. Elwood folded his newspaper up silently, putting it into his pocket.
“Say, you’re not talking much,” Charlie said to him as they went up the aisle. Elwood glanced up.
“Sorry.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Do you want to come over Saturday night for a little game? You haven’t played with us for a hell of a long time.”
“Don’t ask him,” Jack said, paying for his meal at the cash register. “He always wants to play queer games like deuces wild, baseball, spit in the ocean –”
“Straight poker for me,” Charlie said. “Come on, Elwood. The more the better. Have a couple of beers, chew the fat, get away from the wife, eh?” He grinned.
“One of these days we’re going to have a good old stag party,” Jack said, pocketing his change. He winked at Elwood. “You know the kind I mean? We get some gals together, have a little show –” He made a motion with his hand.
Elwood moved off. “Maybe. I’ll think it over.” He paid for his lunch. Then he went outside, out on to the bright pavement. The others were still inside, waiting for Ann. She had gone into the powder room.
Suddenly Elwood turned and walked hurriedly down the pavement, away from the cafeteria. He turned the corner quickly and found himself on Cedar Street, in front of a television store. Shoppers and clerks out on their lunch hour pushed and crowded past him, laughing and talking, bits of their conversations rising and falling around him like waves of the sea. He stepped into the doorway of the television shop and stood, his hands in his pockets, like a man hiding from the rain.