The Game of Love and Death(61)

Ethan sucked in his breath, and Henry felt sorrier for him than he did for himself.

“I understand,” Henry said. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Thorne lifted his cigar from the crystal ashtray whose edges gleamed like liquid in the soft library light. “You’re welcome,” he said, extending his other hand. “Stay out of trouble. And good luck.”



Ethan followed him upstairs. “Henry, you have to reconsider.”

“Reconsider?” Henry scanned the room to see what he should pack. Not much. A few items of clothing. Photographs of his parents and sister. His bass, which was still out in the carriage house. “There’s not a chance of that. Could I trouble you for a ride, though?”

“A ride? Where will you go?” Ethan closed the door behind him. “Henry, this is insanity. If you take that job working the press, it’s a dead end. You’ll never get out. You’ll never be able to afford a home, you’ll —”

“It’s not the only thing I’ll be doing,” he said. He opened a drawer and removed a small stack of folded undershirts, which he placed on the bed. “There’s the Domino. Flora’s asked me to join the band, and I said yes.”

“But that’s — beg for a second chance,” Ethan said. His voice sounded strained, not like his own. “Promise you’ll stay away from Flora and the Domino. Give up the music altogether. There’s no security in that. You know it, I know it. It’s time to face that.”

Henry opened another drawer and pulled out his pants. The school uniform ones, he could leave behind. A good thing. They were itchy. He turned to look at his friend. “Ethan, I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of your mouth. Weren’t you the one telling me to seize the day? Live the life I dreamed of living?”

“I know, I know,” Ethan said quietly. He took the undershirts off the bed and moved to put them back in the drawer, but Henry blocked him. “And I still believe it, I suppose, in the abstract. But this … finding a rented room in a boarding house somewhere, and working inside a noisy pressroom until your hands are permanently stained black and you’re crippled and deaf? I’ve seen those pressmen. I know what happens. And how can you possibly do that and then play music at night? Can’t you please just see if there’s a way for you to finish school? Graduate? You’re days away from it, and I — I’ll —”

“A diploma isn’t going to get me where I want to be,” Henry said. “And this job, it’s a place to start.” He held out his hands for the undershirts. Ethan relinquished them, and Henry set them on top of his bureau and pulled his father’s old suitcase from beneath his bed. It still bore stickers of his travels. Italy, France, England, Brazil — all places that seemed forever out of reach.

He walked to his closet for his one suit. “Don’t count me out just yet,” he said. “Though I don’t have any money for a room. I spent all but twelve cents on bail. What if I look up James in Hooverville? Do you suppose he’d help?” Ethan’s face reddened as he nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Henry said. “Just until the first paycheck comes in. How’s that story coming, by the way? Do you need my help with the writing yet? And what did James think of the music? We never had a chance to talk about it.”


“No — it’s fine, I — here, let me at least make myself useful.” He wrapped the photographs of Henry’s family in a wool sweater and laid them across the top of all the other items in the case. Then he walked to the closet for the borrowed tuxedo Henry had been wearing to the Domino. “You’re going to need this,” he said. “And I’ll give you a ride if you’d like. Of course.”

“I’m not taking that,” Henry said, looking at the tuxedo. “It’s your father’s.”

As he folded his life into a suitcase, he felt as he sometimes did in dreams, wanting to run but feeling as though his legs had turned to cement. But maybe that was what it meant to grow up and have the seemingly infinite possibility of childhood vanish in an instant. You had to press on, no matter how dark and narrow the path ahead seemed.

Ethan slipped the tuxedo and white shirt off the hanger. “Look, I want you to stay. To ask my parents for one more chance. You just can’t leave now. You can’t.” He put the clothing down and sat on Henry’s desk, resting his forehead on his palm. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Henry.”

“We’ll still see each other,” Henry said. “Your parents haven’t forbidden that. And once you’re running the newspaper, you can give me a promotion.”

Ethan laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Here this is your misfortune, and I’m making it seem as though it’s mine. I’m sorry. You and I both know I’m doomed when it comes to the paper. It’s just a matter of time before my father learns the truth. I knew it was coming eventually.”

“I can still help,” Henry said. “Let’s write that Hooverville story together.”

“I can’t.” Ethan paused to catch his breath. “If I can’t read and write competently on my own, I have no business running the paper. It’s strange, but I used to think that was the worst thing in the world. Now I know it isn’t, and I’m almost eager for the inevitable. I might be asking you for a spot on the floor of your new place once you’ve got one.”