House of Rougeaux(29)
What she isn’t telling anyone outside the family is that she is about to accompany her mother and brother on a journey to Canada, just after classes begin. It won’t do for Momma, what with her pains, to travel back alone. Loretta will look after Daddy, just to put their mother at ease. He could survive if he had to though, on steak sandwiches and coffee and the Philadelphia Tribune.
Last Friday night when they were all assembled at the table Momma declared her intentions. Daddy, as a formality, reminded them of the other considerations, and everyone else stayed quiet, including Junior. Finally Lionel Senior turned toward Junior, and said, “What do you have to say, Son?” This was his life after all, and he was a man now.
Junior looked around the table, then down at his hands, and said with soft-spoken finality: “I don’t want to kill nobody.”
* * *
Rosalie hovers anxiously at her bureau, opening one drawer and then another, not knowing what to pack. Half an hour goes by and all she has in her suitcase is a nightgown and a hairbrush. If anyone on the train asks, they are headed to Montreal for a cousin’s wedding. Junior will bring only a few items of clothing, a photograph of the family, his father’s silver wrist watch, and what cash they can get together. The train fare is terribly expensive. Rosalie can get what school assignments she’s missed upon her return, as she’ll be out of school a week or so. No one is too worried about that for a change.
It’s four a.m. when they board the train at Pennsylvania Station on 30th Street, and they catch the sunrise over New York City. Rosalie and her mother do, anyway. Junior is asleep. Up through the Hudson River Valley, they spend the long hours playing pinochle, napping, walking up and down the aisles, gazing at the passing landscape and cracking sunflower seeds. Momma busies herself with her knitting bag, making a muffler and stocking cap for Junior out of balls of soft, gray wool. The Montreal winters are so bitter. Rosalie reads the new Steinbeck memoir, recommended by her English teacher. Junior has a copy of You Only Live Twice. George Stewart gave it to him the night before they left, and has written on the inside cover:
Junior, you candyass. As soon as my number comes up I’m heading up there too. I’m going to steal your girlfriend, so make sure she’s pretty. I’ll miss you a lot. GS.
A few times Rosalie takes out the French textbook she was just issued at school. French class suddenly seems a lot more relevant, in light of recent events. Her mother has explained that their family in Montreal belongs to a largely English-speaking community, but that the city and province speak mostly French. She tries out a number of phrases, tries to interest Junior. He humors her with a few bonjours and mercis, but then drifts purposefully away.
Later on they put in another chapter of their long-standing critique of the songs of the day. For Junior, musicians and their music fall generally into three categories: cool, Mack Daddy, and fruity. Little Richard, The Beatles, and The Kinks are cool. The Four Seasons and The Beach Boys are fruity. Coltrane is Mack Daddy. Rosalie agrees on what’s cool, and gets Junior to admit he likes “Dancing in the Street.” That Martha can sing. Junior calls her choice, as he does all three Ronettes and all four Crystals, which pretty much means he’d marry them all. If they’d have him.
Rosalie likes those syrupy love songs like “Walking in the Rain” and “Cry Baby,” that Junior doesn’t go in for. She harbors a sensible but romantic heart. She has never been on a date, but there have been three or four boys from school or the neighborhood who have caught her attention, and starred in more than a few soft-focus daydreams.
They glimpse the Catskills and the Adirondacks, and the lush pastures and changing forest along Lake Champlain, with its wide expanses of water and snowy peaks that sometimes appear in the distance. Virginia has packed far more lunch than they need, and three tired-looking men traveling to Utica gratefully relieve them of some of the extra hard boiled eggs, pickles, bread rolls with cheese, and green apples. One of the three men lets out a whistle. “Holy Jesus, potato chips too.”
Late in the day, at a place called Plattsburgh, the conductor comes through the car joined by a uniformed officer with a cap bearing a crest and “Canada Customs” in gold letters. Virginia grows more and more nervous as he comes closer, checking tickets and asking passengers if they are carrying fresh fruit. Rosalie looks over at Junior, who puts his finger to his lips.
“American citizens?” asks the officer.
“Yes sir!” Virginia blurts out. “We’re going to Montreal to my baby cousin’s wedding.” She hands them their tickets. “It’s going to be beautiful, you know, she has the dress all picked out and everything!”
The officer nods, and moves on.
“My, oh my…” breathes Virginia, sliding down in her seat. Junior mouths, “smooth” and Rosalie giggles with relief.
Not two hours later they arrive at Windsor Station, grand stone archways and all, in the heart of their destination, the city of Montreal. Cousin Martine’s son Marc-Pierre, forty-five years old and balding, but otherwise the picture of his mother, picks them easily out of the crowd. He shakes hands warmly with everyone and directs them outside to his blue and white Edsel, where he hefts their three suitcases into the trunk. A short drive later they arrive at a block of familiar-looking brick row houses. Flower boxes overflowing with pink and purple blooms perch on the stoop of number six. Dusk is taking over and the buildings and walkways stand in shadow. A few moments after ringing the bell, Martine is waving them inside, exclaiming “It’s them!” to the other sister, making her way heavily up the hall. Cousin Martine, in a neat green dress and grey hair held back with combs, looks them over between embraces and further exclamations. Cousin Elodie, or Didi, is decidedly older and stouter, and dressed in navy. What’s left of her white hair clings to her scalp in thin plaits, but this does nothing to diminish the air of authority about her that is immediately evident. The children will call them Auntie. Marc-Pierre apologizes for having to leave right away, but says he’ll see them again soon.