I was getting worried. I stopped at my house on the way to
Jimmy’s. Blanche sat in the kitchen,
cutting up potatoes for tomorrow’s dinner.
She often spent all of Saturday afternoon cooking and baking for Sunday
dinner. She always loved being in the
kitchen and said she thanked her lucky stars for having a house, food, a good
cook stove and a family to serve a meal to.
She said those words to Father Flaherty on one of the few occasions she
spoke to him. He told Blanche, a
Presbyterian, she should thank the
Blessed Mother, the Mother of God, who he believed to be the ultimate housewife
to Joseph and Jesus. Blanche told him
her God didn’t need a mother.
“Mary,” Blanche said when I came in the side
door, “Jimmy called. He didn’t sound good.”
”What do you mean?
Where is he?” I said.
Just then she was putting the filled bread tins in
the oven. I unbuttoned my coat. I could hear the coal crackle on the grate
inside the stove. Blanches’ cooking had
made the kitchen quite warm.
“He was home,
if he knew what he was saying,” Blanche said.
“He sounded drunk, slurring his words. He said they were surrounding his
house.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t say. You know how he imagines things,” she said,
but this time Blanche seemed afraid.
“What time did he call?” I said.
“More than an hour ago,” she said.
I stood and
buttoned my coat. “I’m going up to his
house.”
“Mary, wait for your Pa to come back. He’s just gone down the block for his tobacco
from the drug store.”
“Don’t worry, Blanche. Jimmy needs help.”
I left and
headed for Jimmy’s flat, about six blocks away. I didn’t want Pa to see Jimmy
if he was drunk or acting like it. I
ran, then slowed down to a walk when I was out of breath. No one was with him. He thought “they” were outside and trying to
get in to harm him. Oh, Jimmy, I
thought. Wait for me, Jimmy. I was so worried the police would be called
again and then he would wind up in jail. Don’t do
anything, Jimmy, I thought. Please
don’t. Oh, please wait for me.
I’ve sat here in this nursing home thinking of that
day for the first time in many years.
I’ve always tried to put it out of my mind. But today for some reason the memory has come
back and my heart wrenches almost as badly as the day it happened over sixty
years ago.
I ran up the back stairway to the Bean’s second
floor flat on Square Street and pounded on the door. I twisted the knob but the door was locked
from the inside.
”Jimmy?
Jimmy? Oh, Jimmy, let me in. It’ll be OK.
Jimmy, let me in!’
For the first time I felt a deep fear inside me for
his life. The doctor had said he might
hurt himself. I began to shake. I couldn’t stop myself, I was so afraid. If I had a key I would not have been able to
use it, my hands were shaking so.
