dragged him into a bar and begged them to give him some brandy to revive him. The poor fool brought it, and you know what Izzy says then? ‘Dere’s sa-ad news!’”
“Why’d he say that?” asked someone in a puzzled voice.
“Mo and Izzy always say that, when they bust someone,” she explained, laughing. “I told you, those guys are devils!”
Clem gave a drowsy giggle. “Dere’s sa-ad news,” he repeated. Minutes later he was asleep on Grace’s lap.
Someone started to play a guitar in a style and rhythm I have never ever heard before and an old man began to sing in a cracked growly voice. I can’t explain why it was so beautiful. It was raw and filled with human pain. But it wasn’t like the singer was just bellyaching about his own personal troubles. It was like he was singing for every human on Earth who’d ever suffered.
I found myself picturing all the faces I’d seen since I’d been in America: Cissie baking cookies with Clem, Grace watching her children’s sleeping faces the night their father died, the yearning eyes of the woman in the hobo town by the railway tracks, and old Isaac rocking in his chair.
I saw Honesty watching intently. There was a new softness in her face and I knew that for just a moment, the pain and suffering in the old blues singer’s voice had reached her too.
It was past midnight when the last customer left. Peaches gave the family some clean flour sacks for blankets, then she and Nathan went home.
Grace and her girls spread their sacks on the floor and were fast asleep in minutes. And I thought, how come an illegal speakeasy in the middle of the woods feels so safe and peaceful?
We made good progress over the next few days, travelling up through Alabama and Mississippi and into Arkansas. The Angel Academy began to seem like a far-off dream. I occasionally wondered what Lola and Reuben were getting up to, but I only wondered in a detached sort of way. I was starting to feel as if I’d been travelling across the United States of America for ever.
One morning a farmer dropped us off at a town called Freshwater.
Grace and her children went into the drugstore to buy breakfast. And standing at the counter, buying about a zillion cups of coffee, was Lenny!
The Bloomfield family had a highly emotional reunion. Even Honesty gave her brother a wintry little hug.
“So have you gone into the coffee business now?” Rose teased him.
But Lenny proudly insisted that he was in the movie business. “I might be fetching and carrying at present, but eventually it will lead to bigger things. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to the crew.”
We found the film people in their truck, waiting morosely for their morning caffeine fix. The director seemed to be having a major temper tantrum about their sloppy attitudes or whatever. He caught sight of us, and his expression changed so dramatically I thought he was going to have a stroke.
“Mr Mantovani, are you OK?” Lenny faltered.
The director got out of the truck. He was gazing at Rose as if he was in some kind of trance. He held up his hands, forming an imaginary camera lens, panning this way and that, peering at her startled face. “What’s your name, doll?” he barked suddenly.
Rose looked annoyed. “Rose Bloomfield.”
He shook his head. “Sounds like a firm of hick florists. Suppose we call you Rosa Bloom? Now that’s classy.”
“Maybe, but I’m happy with the name I’ve got,” said Rose.
Without a word, Mr Mantovani reached out and removed Rose’s little owl glasses.
“Hey!” she protested.
“I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “Under those hideous spectacles, you have the face of an angel. I promise you, with make-up and fancy clothes, you’ll be sensational!”
Omigosh , I thought. She’s been discovered!
I looked at her with new interest and I thought the director had a point. Honesty’s sister only needed a string of beads to twirl and she could have been one of those enigmatic ‘It’
“Why’d he say that?” asked someone in a puzzled voice.
“Mo and Izzy always say that, when they bust someone,” she explained, laughing. “I told you, those guys are devils!”
Clem gave a drowsy giggle. “Dere’s sa-ad news,” he repeated. Minutes later he was asleep on Grace’s lap.
Someone started to play a guitar in a style and rhythm I have never ever heard before and an old man began to sing in a cracked growly voice. I can’t explain why it was so beautiful. It was raw and filled with human pain. But it wasn’t like the singer was just bellyaching about his own personal troubles. It was like he was singing for every human on Earth who’d ever suffered.
I found myself picturing all the faces I’d seen since I’d been in America: Cissie baking cookies with Clem, Grace watching her children’s sleeping faces the night their father died, the yearning eyes of the woman in the hobo town by the railway tracks, and old Isaac rocking in his chair.
I saw Honesty watching intently. There was a new softness in her face and I knew that for just a moment, the pain and suffering in the old blues singer’s voice had reached her too.
It was past midnight when the last customer left. Peaches gave the family some clean flour sacks for blankets, then she and Nathan went home.
Grace and her girls spread their sacks on the floor and were fast asleep in minutes. And I thought, how come an illegal speakeasy in the middle of the woods feels so safe and peaceful?
We made good progress over the next few days, travelling up through Alabama and Mississippi and into Arkansas. The Angel Academy began to seem like a far-off dream. I occasionally wondered what Lola and Reuben were getting up to, but I only wondered in a detached sort of way. I was starting to feel as if I’d been travelling across the United States of America for ever.
One morning a farmer dropped us off at a town called Freshwater.
Grace and her children went into the drugstore to buy breakfast. And standing at the counter, buying about a zillion cups of coffee, was Lenny!
The Bloomfield family had a highly emotional reunion. Even Honesty gave her brother a wintry little hug.
“So have you gone into the coffee business now?” Rose teased him.
But Lenny proudly insisted that he was in the movie business. “I might be fetching and carrying at present, but eventually it will lead to bigger things. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to the crew.”
We found the film people in their truck, waiting morosely for their morning caffeine fix. The director seemed to be having a major temper tantrum about their sloppy attitudes or whatever. He caught sight of us, and his expression changed so dramatically I thought he was going to have a stroke.
“Mr Mantovani, are you OK?” Lenny faltered.
The director got out of the truck. He was gazing at Rose as if he was in some kind of trance. He held up his hands, forming an imaginary camera lens, panning this way and that, peering at her startled face. “What’s your name, doll?” he barked suddenly.
Rose looked annoyed. “Rose Bloomfield.”
He shook his head. “Sounds like a firm of hick florists. Suppose we call you Rosa Bloom? Now that’s classy.”
“Maybe, but I’m happy with the name I’ve got,” said Rose.
Without a word, Mr Mantovani reached out and removed Rose’s little owl glasses.
“Hey!” she protested.
“I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “Under those hideous spectacles, you have the face of an angel. I promise you, with make-up and fancy clothes, you’ll be sensational!”
Omigosh , I thought. She’s been discovered!
I looked at her with new interest and I thought the director had a point. Honesty’s sister only needed a string of beads to twirl and she could have been one of those enigmatic ‘It’
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