Beneath the Apple Leaves(76)
“You insult the great Babija!” The man recoiled painfully, his face stretching in shock. “It’s emerald! I make an oath.” With that, he put his hand on his heart and bowed.
“Nice try.” Andrew grinned and put the stone back in its space, began to turn away. “Thanks for your time.”
“Wait! Wait!” the man beseeched, bustled around the front of the table. “All right, maybe not an emerald, but it’s pretty, no?” The accent vanished. The glue under the man’s mustache glistened in the sunshine.
Andrew inspected the stone again, the color curving his lips into a smile. He rubbed the smooth edge of the gem. “Okay, I’ll take it.”
Pieter Mueller snaked through the crowd, plowed forward and grabbed Andrew’s elbow. “Come on.” The young German’s face was resolute, stern. Together, they flowed into a stream of other men until the confines grew a current unto themselves and carried them all to the edge of the market square.
A young man in flannel shirt and dropped suspenders pulled up an empty produce crate and stood on top, stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly, then waved his hands for silence. “Listen up!” he hollered. “It was just announced that the second draft registration is on June fifth. All men who turned twenty-one since last year’s draft are required to sign up.”
A hush settled over the previously distracted men, the words descending like a fine mist upon the crowd. Pieter stiffened. He turned twenty-one two weeks ago.
“The generous people of Pittsburgh have opened their wallets to the cause, sent the best nurses and doctors to help our brothers overseas,” the man droned. “But it’s not enough. We need men. And as everyone knows, the bravest, strongest men live right here in this city!” He clapped his hands and the men followed, the tenor of applause growing and competing with the speaker. “It’s time we teach those Germans a lesson, eh?” he shouted. “Show the Kaiser and his baby killers you don’t mess with America! You don’t mess with Pittsburgh!” Men cheered; some whistled and hooted. Furtive glances shot to those who stayed silent.
“But!” The man on the crate raised a pointed finger, paused for silence. “But you don’t need to wait to June fifth to show your loyalty. You can do what the rest of us just did and sign up now!” The young men roared again. And the joy of war sapped the strength, left the body dense like a scourge, played out in a way that could not be stopped.
Pieter had black in his eyes. “I’m packing up.”
“Market doesn’t close for another four hours,” Andrew said.
Pieter drew daggers at the men handing out sheets of propaganda to the patrons, his shift in demeanor a storm cloud over the sun. “I’m packing up, and if you’re smart you’ll do the same.”
The edge seeped into the crowd and spread. Men walked harder now, shoulders stooped forward. Children raised worried eyes to adults speaking loudly, looked to mothers who had turned away from the talk. Andrew trusted Pieter, had never heard this tone in his friend’s voice before. “I’m going to find Will and Edgar.”
Andrew weaved through the bodies toward the sweet stands, which meant crossing through the line of young men handing out flyers. The speaker stood on level ground again, spoke to whichever ear was close enough to blabber in.
As Andrew passed, a man tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey,” he said amiably. “Joinin’ us against the Germans, brother?” But then Andrew turned and the young man saw the other half of his body. “Sorry.” He turned his eyes away. “Well, guess you can be there in spirit, eh?”
Andrew blocked out the reference, pushed past the papers in his face and scanned the crowd for his cousins. His neck muscles stiffened as his vision filtered over the swarm of people and the little heads could not be seen. He pushed through the flood of men to the vendors, finally finding the children huddled between stands. Will’s fingers clutched Edgar’s brown hair.
“Ow!” Edgar screamed.
Andrew knelt down, tried to figure out who was tangled into whom. Will pulled again and sent Edgar whining. “Will got taffy in my hair!”
Will looked desperate, held out his hands, his fingers latticed and joined together with stringy strands of pink taffy and brown hair. A wad had lodged in Edgar’s hair, and the harder Will tried to pull it out the louder Edgar screamed.
“Just hold on a sec.” Andrew inspected the pink-globbed hair and tried not to laugh. “Going to have to cut it out. Have to wait till we get back home, I reckon.”
Will licked at his fingers, chewed the sticky remnants. “And you,” Andrew directed, “don’t touch anything till we get those hands washed.” He plucked the boy’s fingers from his mouth. “And don’t eat it, either. Got more hair and grass there than taffy.”
The boys nodded, forlorn and in despair with having half their candy wasted. As they followed Andrew back to the stand, Edgar snarled jealously at Will as he continued to lick the dirty candy from between his fingers.
The crowd mutated to tentacles, the lines branching off in different directions, some darker than others. Andrew slowed his steps, motioned for the boys to stay behind him. A group had formed at the Kiser stand. “Look.” Will pointed. “We got a line of customers waiting.”
But they weren’t buying eggs. Andrew felt the tension in the crowd, taut as sinew as he approached. And they moved for his entrance, fanned and parted with downcast eyes. Directly in front, there were three young men. A burly one with soiled overalls that rose past his ankles took a handful of eggs. His steely eyes did not leave Wilhelm’s face. He raised the eggs in his palm, stretched his arm to the sky and watched Wilhelm’s gaze for any trace of defense. As if satisfied, he smashed the eggs to the ground, one by one.