Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(69)

“People can accept you having him work in the store,” Archie said, “but the bottom line is they don’t want coloreds living in their neighborhood.”

“Well, I guess they’ll do what they have to do,” Sid replied. “But I’m not going to ask Benjamin to leave. He’s had enough hardships and—”

“He’s in for more if he stays,” Archie cut in. “The anger Darlene is stirring up is ugly. Yesterday she was bringing around the newspaper clipping that shows Tommy with a knife sticking out of his chest.”

“Is that true?”

Archie nodded. “It isn’t like you can’t fix this,” he suggested. “I know for a fact Willie Schumann has a furnished room over the garage and needs a man for the night shift. If Benjamin’s handy as you’ve been telling me, I bet Willie would let him stay there just for helping out a few hours in the evening.”

“That garage is on the far side of town, right next to the highway.”

“Yeah.” Archie nodded. “That’s why nobody’s gonna object to him living there.”

“Benjamin’s got a son, an eleven-year-old boy. There’s no place to play, no school—”

Archie gave another shrug. “He could go to Claremont.”

“That school’s over twenty miles away!”

“But Willie’s place is safer than here.”

“We’ve got sixteen houses on Bloom Street,” Sid said. “How much danger can there be from a handful of working people and a few widows?”

“Maybe not much from these people, but anger spreads. Sometimes people get mad at life, and they start looking for something to take their mad out on.”

The mugs of coffee sat there and grew cold as they continued to talk in that same hushed voice. It was near eleven when Archie stood to leave.

“Whatever you decide,” he said, “I’ll be there to back you up; the decision is yours.”

Archie, a bear of a man with a bald head and round belly, reached out and wrapped his arms around Sid. “Call if you need me,” he said and walked out.

There was no mention of the screwdriver he’d come to borrow.





Long after everyone else had gone to bed, Sidney sat in the darkened living room wondering what to do, wondering whether this was this how it started. He thought back on the last time he’d seen his cousin, Ezra Klaussner. It was in 1920, almost forty years ago. Ezra, his mama, papa, and a baby sister they called Tootie crossed the Atlantic in a steamship to come for a month-long visit. Ezra was fourteen at the time, two years younger than Sidney. They’d played together, tossed a football back and forth, swam in the river, and eyed the pretty girls down on Main Street.

At the end of their month-long stay Ezra and his family returned to Germany, but for nearly twenty years they had remained in touch. Just a letter now and then; an announcement of Ezra’s marriage to Margot, and then the birth of their daughters along with black and white snapshots showing the happy family.

Now they were all dead. Or supposedly dead. No one ever knew exactly what became of all those people. They were whooshed away in the dark of night and never heard from again. Ezra’s letters stopped coming in 1941.

Sidney thought about that last letter he’d received. It was in the early years of Hitler’s regime. “A bit of ugliness, certain to pass,” Ezra wrote. “Nothing to be concerned over. The people of this town are our friends; no harm can come to us here. I am certain it is safe to stay.”

He closed his eyes and could still see the slant of Ezra’s handwriting. Had he not seen the danger when he wrote those words?

Sidney’s eyes filled with tears. Did each man have to make his own decision, or were we in fact our brother’s keeper? Perhaps, Sidney thought, it’s a bit of both.

It was nearing dawn when he crawled into bed and snuggled close to Carmella, feeling the warmth of her body and breathing in the sweetness of her scent.

In the coming days he would warn Benjamin, but first he had to talk to Martin.





Sidney





You think you know people; you think these are your friends, they can’t possibly turn against you. And then something like this happens.

I can’t help believing this is how it was with Ezra. I know for a fact he felt safe in Fulda. He knew of the hatred but didn’t see the danger. If he had he would have taken his family and fled. Any man would. What good are possessions if you lose those you love?

The shittiest part of all this is that I truly like Benjamin. He’s a man I’d be proud to have as a neighbor. But the bottom line is that this isn’t about what I want, it’s about what’s best for Benjamin and Isaac. Like it or not, I’ve got to consider their safety. People you might normally think sane do crazy things when they get riled up.

Personally I don’t give a rat’s ass what these neighbors think, and I’m certainly not going to ask Benjamin to leave. I couldn’t do it. He deserves better.

What I want to do is help him find a better life somewhere else. Hopefully a place where a bunch of opinionated idiots don’t have a ramrod stuck up their butt. I’m counting on Marty to make it happen.

After hearing what Archie said, it honestly makes me wonder if I want my own family to live here on Bloom Street.