“Put some more tape on it. It’s coming apart. Maybe you can find some big-time ball scout to come watch you, sign you to some big deal with the Yankees. I bet they don’t wrap their balls with tape.”
* * *
—
“Hand me the yardstick. And thanks for helping me out.”
Russo held it up to him. “Hey, I threw the ball. I’m a little bit to blame. You get all the busted glass outta there?”
Biggs scanned the edge of the window frame. “Yeah, best as I can tell. Okay, it’s…sixteen by…twenty. But we gotta tack it on over the whole thing, so let’s cut the board four inches bigger each way.”
“You’re the boss, Tommy.”
He stepped down from the makeshift ladder, an old wooden crate. “I ain’t the boss of much of nothing. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Tried to get a job over at the hardware store. Nothing there. I could sweep the floor at the damn barber shop. No pay, just a free haircut. My father lets me know every damn day how much work he has to do to feed us. Mostly me. I’m stuck, Ray. No other word for it.”
Russo drew a pencil line on the old piece of clapboard, picked up the rusty hand saw, hesitated. Biggs reached for the saw, said, “You want me to cut it? It oughta be my job anyway.”
Russo handed him the saw, said, “I got something to tell you. Kinda important. I was gonna tell you after the game today. I wanted you to know before any of the others.” He paused. “I joined the navy.”
Biggs waited for the joke, but Russo’s expression didn’t change.
“The United States Navy? You mean like, the ocean and stuff?”
Russo smiled now. “That’s the one. There was a recruiter set up in the city, at the post office. I got on the pay phone to my dad, talked it over. He said to go ahead. He said it made him proud. You know, he was a sailor back in the Great War. Said he fired those big damn guns. He talked about all that when I was a kid. I never give it much thought until I tried finding work, just like you. There’s nothing around here, Tommy. Nothing at all. But now, I’m set to make twenty-one bucks a month, guaranteed. Think what you could buy with that.”
Biggs stared at his friend, said, “What the hell? You mean all this? You really leaving? When?”
Russo seemed to inflate, pride on his face. “I damn sure do mean it. They say I’ll take the train out of Jacksonville, heading up to some place in Illinois, north of Chicago. I leave in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? Jesus, Ray.”
“I gotta tell you, Tommy, I went home, took the papers in so my dad could see ’em, and my mama, she starts bawling, Oh Raphaele, Raphaele, stai attento. She’s always thinking I’m gonna step in something bad, always telling me to be careful. The more upset she gets, the more Italian she speaks. My dad’s not like that, not at all. He wants me to do good, any way I can. He can’t hardly work no more since he cracked his skull at that construction site, and I know that both of ’em need all the help I can give ’em. The navy’s the way. Promise you that.”
“Why the navy? Just ’cause of your dad?”
“Well, maybe one more thing. Doris is moving away. Her parents are heading up to Chicago. Her dad got a job with some hotshot somebody, and he’s taking advantage.”
Biggs wasn’t sure how to respond. “You been dating her for more than a year.”
“Year and a half. Hurts like hell, but she’s gotta go with ’em. She’s only seventeen. Can’t blame her. She cried and all that, but I could tell she’s excited to see the big city. Not too many are bigger than Chicago.”
“Wow. I always figured you two to get married. You gave me hope.” Biggs laughed. “I ain’t had a steady girl since Jane, and hell, that was two years ago. There hasn’t been anybody around here that’s done anything for me. The good ones all run off to Jacksonville or Miami and find some jerk who wears a suit.” He paused, could see how serious Russo was, none of his usual playfulness. “Jesus, Ray. The navy. Why not the army? That could be good too.”
Russo smiled. “It’s the right thing to do, Tommy. But I tell you what. Monday, let’s take the bus into the city, and you can talk to this fella, this recruiter. He’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Biggs took the hand saw, leaned low, perched the teeth on the edge of the board, eyed the pencil mark, his brain swirling with a strange energy. He started to cut, the saw grinding back and forth through the thin board. Russo leaned down, adding weight, steadying the board, and Biggs stopped now, looked at his friend, said, “Yeah, I’ll go. Got nothing else to do. Guess it can’t hurt.”
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA—MONDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1940
He loved the big buildings, couldn’t help staring upward at the massive banks, Barnett, Atlantic, and a huge sign across the street, Walgreens, a parade of people flowing in and out. Russo tugged at his sleeve.
“Come on. No time for sightseeing. That recruiter said he’d only be here until four.”
Biggs’s eyes stayed on the banks, fat buildings in every direction. “Guess it’s easy to see where all the money is, huh?”
Russo ignored him, led the way across a wide street, cars halted at a red light to let them pass.
Biggs stared at the cars. “I’d like to drive one of those things one day. My pop says we’ll never be able to afford one.”
“Will you hurry? Don’t matter how big a building is, it’s just a pile of brick and stone. Cars are just hunks of tin with a motor. You sound like you’re wandering in from the Okefenokee Swamp. You can see every building in Palatka from your back porch.”
“Don’t have a back porch.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, from my back porch.”
“Your back porch is two boards set up on concrete blocks.”
“It’s better than yours.” Russo pointed down the street. “There. Look, the post office. Christ, they got a Christmas tree. But the navy sign’s still there. He’s set up inside.”
Biggs felt a rumbling discomfort, thought of his parents. You should have told them, at least mentioned where you were going. But he knew to expect the worst, even a scolding for the quarter he wasted on the bus fare. He could predict the anger, just didn’t want to hear it every day. It was a sickening pattern, the best reason he knew for telling them nothing at all. And if there was something here, something to excite him, the way it had excited his friend? What would that do? How would he tell them?
He stopped on the sidewalk, felt a chilly breeze, pulled at his light jacket, couldn’t avoid a shiver. All around him, above him, were signs of the coming holiday, lights above the store windows, paper images of Santa Claus, Christmas carols, what he could only imagine was a shopkeeper’s offer of good cheer, encouraging customers to spend their money. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, and said, “I don’t know, Ray. This sounds like a waste of time. It’s all right for you—your pop knows all about ships and stuff. But I don’t think this is gonna work out in my house.”