“I was discovered spying for the Japs,” Thomas said placidly.
“Oh, boy, you’re smart,” Rudolph said, and they walked the rest of the way to the bus station in silence.
They got off the bus at Grafton near the railroad station and Thomas sat under a tree in a little park across the square from the station while Rudolph went in to see about Thomas’s ticket. The next train to Albany was in fifteen minutes and Rudolph bought the ticket from the wizened man with a green eyeshade behind the wicket. He didn’t buy the ticket for the connection to Cleveland. His father had told him he didn’t want anybody to know Thomas’s final destination, so Thomas was going to have to buy the ticket himself at the station in Albany.
As he took the change, Rudolph had an impulse to buy another ticket for himself. In the opposite direction. To New York. Why should Thomas be the first one to escape? But of course, he didn’t buy any ticket to New York. He went out of the station and past the dozing drivers waiting in their 1939 taxis for the arrival of the next train. Thomas was sitting on a bench under a tree, his legs sprawled out in a V, his heels dug into the scrubby lawn. He looked unhurried and peaceful, as though nothing was happening to him.
Rudolph glanced around to make sure nobody was watching them. “Here’s your ticket,” he said, handing it to Thomas, who looked at it lazily. “Put it away, put it away,” Rudolph said. “And here’s the change for the fifty dollars. Forty-two fifty. For your ticket from Albany. You’ll have a lot left over, the way I figure it.”
Thomas pocketed the money without counting it. “The old man must have shit blood,” Thomas said, “when he took it out from wherever he hides his dough. Did you see where he keeps it?”
“No.”
“Too bad. I could come back some dark night and lift it. Although I don’t suppose you’d tell me, even if you knew. Not my brother Rudolph.”
They watched a roadster drive up with a girl at the wheel and a lieutenant in the Air Force beside her. They got out of the car and went into the shade of the tiled overhang of the depot. Then they stopped and kissed. The girl was wearing a pale-blue dress and the summery wind twirled it around her legs. The lieutenant was tall and very tan, as though he had been in the desert. He had medals and wings on his green Eisenhower jacket and he was carrying a stuffed flight bag. Rudolph heard the roar of a thousand engines in foreign skies as he watched the couple. Again, he felt the pang because he had been born too late and missed the war.
“Kiss me, darling,” Thomas said, “I bombed Tokyo.”
“What the hell are you proving?” Rudolph said.
“You ever get laid?” Thomas asked.
The echo of his father’s question the day Jordache hit Miss Lenaut disturbed Rudolph. “What’s it to you?”
Thomas shrugged, watching the two people go through the open door of the station. “Nothing. I just thought I’m going to be away a long time, maybe we ought to have a heart-to-heart talk.”
“Well, if you must know, I haven’t,” Rudolph said stiffly.
“I was sure of it,” Thomas said. “There’s a place called Alice’s in town on McKinley, you can get a good piece of tail for five bucks. Tell them your brother sent you.”
“I’ll take care of myself my own way,” Rudolph said. Although he was a year older than Thomas, Thomas was making him feel like a kid.
“Our loving sister is getting hers regularly,” Thomas said. “Did you know that?”
“That’s her business.” But Rudolph was shocked. Gretchen was so clean and neat and politely spoken. He couldn’t imagine her in the sweaty tangle of sex.
“Do you want to know who with?”
“No.”
“Theodore Boylan,” Thomas said. “How do you like that for class?”
“How do you know?” Rudolph was sure that Thomas was lying.
“I went up and watched through the window,” Thomas said. “He came down into the living room bare-assed, with his thing hanging down to his knees, he’s a regular horse, and made two whiskies and called up the stairs, ‘Gretchen, do you want your drink up there or do you want to come down for it?’” Thomas simpered as he imitated Bolyan.
“Did she come down?” Rudolph didn’t want to hear the rest of the story.
“No. I guess she was having too good a time where she was.”
“So you didn’t see whoever it was.” Rudolph fell back on logic to preserve his sister. “It might have been anybody up there.”
“How many Gretchens you know in Port Philip?” Thomas said. “Anyway, Claude Tinker saw them drive up the hill together in Boylan’s car. She meets him in front of Bernstein’s when she’s supposed to be at the hospital. Maybe Boylan got wounded in a war, too. The Spanish-American War.”
“Jesus,” Rudolph said. “With an ugly old man like Boylan.” If it had been with someone like the young lieutenant who had just gone into the station, she would still have remained his sister.
“She must be getting something out of it,” Thomas said carelessly. “Ask her.”
“You ever tell her you knew?”
“Nah. Let her screw in peace. It’s not my cock. I just went up there for laughs,” Thomas said. “She don’t mean anything to me. La-di-da, la-di-da, where do babies come from, Mummy?”
Rudolph wondered how his brother could have perfected his hatred so young.
“If we were Italians or something,” Thomas said, “or Southern gentlemen, we’d go up that hill and avenge the honor of the family. Cut off his balls or shoot him or something. I’m busy this year, but if you want to do it, I give you permission.”
“Maybe you’ll be surprised,” Rudolph said. “Maybe I will do something.”
“I bet,” Thomas said. “Anyway, just for your information, I’ve already done something.”
“What?”
Thomas looked consideringly at Rudolph. “Ask your father,” he said, “he knows.” He stood up. “Well, I better be getting along. The train’s due.”
They went out onto the platform. The lieutenant and the girl were kissing again. He might never come back, this might be the last kiss, Rudolph thought; after all, they were still fighting out in the Pacific, there were still the Japanese. The girl was weeping as she kissed the lieutenant and he was patting her back with one hand to comfort her. Rudolph wondered if there ever would be a girl who would cry on a station platform because he had to leave her.
The train came in with a whoosh of country dust. Thomas swung up onto the steps.
“Look,” Rudolph said, “if there’s anything you want from the house, write me. I’ll get it to you somehow.”
“There’s nothing I want from that house,” Thomas said. His rebellion was pure and complete. The undeveloped, childish face seemed merry, as if he were going to a circus.
“Well,” Rudolph said lamely. “Good luck.” After all, he was his brother and God knew when they would ever see each other again.
“Congratulations,” Thomas said. “Now you got the whole bed to yourself. You don’t have to worry about my smelling like a wild animal. Don’t forget to wear your pajamas.”
Giving nothing, right up to the last moment, he went into the vestibule and into the car without looking back. The train started and Rudolph could see the lieutenant standing at an open window waving to the girl, who was running along the platform.
The train gathered speed and the girl stopped running. She became conscious of Rudolph looking at her and her face closed down, erasing public sorrow, public love. She wheeled and hurried off, the wind whipping her dress about her body. Warrior’s woman.
Rudolph went back to the park and sat on the bench again and waited for the bus back to Port Philip.
What a goddamn birthday.
IX
Gretchen was packing a bag. It was a big, frayed, yellow-stippled, cardboardish rectangle, studded with brass knobs, that had held her mother’s bridal trousseau when she arrived in Port Philip. Gretchen had never spent a night away from home in her whole life so she had never had a valise of her own. When she had made her decision, after her father had come up from the conference with Thomas and the Tinkers, to announce that Thomas was going away for a long time, Gretchen had climbed to the narrow little attic where the few things that the Jordaches had collected and had no further use for were stored. She had found the bag and brought it down to her own room. Her mother had seen her with the bag and must have guessed what it meant, but had said nothing. Her mother hadn’t talked to her in weeks, ever since the night she had come in at dawn after the trip to New York with Boylan. It was as though she felt that conversation between them brought with it the contagion of Gretchen’s rank corruption.