lines to places others hadn't visited.
My own face, I knew, was etched with a singular, preordained route.
"More coffee?" she asked.
I nodded, smiled.
A fellow's got to do something with his spare time.
I walked the streets.
Around noon, my legs told me it was time to stop. I was exploring a sturdy little industrial community, invaded by franchises and brand names.
In a drug store, I bought a paperback novel—the new Robert Daley cop thriller, The Dangerous Edge. I'd read Year of the Dragon and Prince of the City. It was exactly what I wanted. The all-you-can-eat breakfast was still with me, so I contented myself with a can of Coke and found a shaded bench, in the spacious park back of the library, on which to sit and read for a while.
The park was flat and grassy, with the exception of three protruberant mounds, about ten feet in height, a hundred feet or so off to my left. I focused on their geometric incongruity, wondering if they had any meaning, in a world of incongruities.
High up in the elms, the heat bugs whined.
Later that day, just inside the public library, I dialed the phone again.
In Toronto, my father answered.
I waited to hear it.
"Mail brought another one."
I was beyond surprise. I had almost expected it. "Read it to me."
He cleared his throat. "It's dated August twenty-first, nineteen thirty-four."
"Mom's birthday."
"That's right."
Dear Margaret:
This will reach you after your birthday, so I apologize for that. But as you can see, I didn't really forget it, I just didn't get organized. Knowing me, I'm sure you can appreciate that. So Happy 25th! Where does the time got
Things are going swell for me down here. I'm making pretty good money, and making some good friends, too. Maybe I'll be able to treat everyone back home soon to something nice. I'd like to have enough to send the kids something from the States for Xmas.
I've been to the movies a lot here. The Paramount's almost right beside me. The folks around here tell me it was built in 1930 using a design that Paramount Pictures used for their model theater at the Chicago World's Fair two years ago. Gee, Marg it's beautiful. You'd love it. Last week I went and saw James Cagney in "Public Enemy," and this week I saw "I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang " with Paul Muni. A really funny thing happened at the movies this week. You know how they get someone to come up on stage before the movie starts and draw ticket stubs for prizes? Well, would you believe it—they drew my ticket as one of them, and I won a free hairdo at a local beauty salon. Everybody laughed when I went up to collect the prize. I must admit, it was pretty funny and I laughed, too. I didn't know what to do with the prize, so I gave it to the lady who owns the Scott Hotel.
The Paul Muni film was very moving, Marg. See it up there, if you and Tommy get the chance. I still don't have Father's address. Is he well?
Write me when you get a chance, okay?
"Gotta" go and take some pictures. You know how it is.
Say "hello" to everyone for me.
Love,
Jack
2
Mid-afternoon, I stood facing the cliffs on the opposite shore, watching barges filled with iron ore and petroleum wend their way up the Ohio to Cincinnati. I was struck by the width of the river, the distance to the Ohio side. Like everything else, the closer you got to it, the greater it seemed.
About four o'clock, I returned to the hotel and went up to my room. Tired, I lay back on the bed and let events and information sift together in my head, wondering what to do next. I heard the front door open and close as somebody left the building. Going to the window, I looked down and saw Stanley Matusik heading off, slowly, down the street.
Even after he had reached the corner and disappeared from sight, I stayed there, leaning on the ledge.
I knocked gently on the Matusiks’ door.
Teresa Matusik opened it. "Mr. Nolan," she said.
"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Matusik."
"Stanley went
My own face, I knew, was etched with a singular, preordained route.
"More coffee?" she asked.
I nodded, smiled.
A fellow's got to do something with his spare time.
I walked the streets.
Around noon, my legs told me it was time to stop. I was exploring a sturdy little industrial community, invaded by franchises and brand names.
In a drug store, I bought a paperback novel—the new Robert Daley cop thriller, The Dangerous Edge. I'd read Year of the Dragon and Prince of the City. It was exactly what I wanted. The all-you-can-eat breakfast was still with me, so I contented myself with a can of Coke and found a shaded bench, in the spacious park back of the library, on which to sit and read for a while.
The park was flat and grassy, with the exception of three protruberant mounds, about ten feet in height, a hundred feet or so off to my left. I focused on their geometric incongruity, wondering if they had any meaning, in a world of incongruities.
High up in the elms, the heat bugs whined.
Later that day, just inside the public library, I dialed the phone again.
In Toronto, my father answered.
I waited to hear it.
"Mail brought another one."
I was beyond surprise. I had almost expected it. "Read it to me."
He cleared his throat. "It's dated August twenty-first, nineteen thirty-four."
"Mom's birthday."
"That's right."
Dear Margaret:
This will reach you after your birthday, so I apologize for that. But as you can see, I didn't really forget it, I just didn't get organized. Knowing me, I'm sure you can appreciate that. So Happy 25th! Where does the time got
Things are going swell for me down here. I'm making pretty good money, and making some good friends, too. Maybe I'll be able to treat everyone back home soon to something nice. I'd like to have enough to send the kids something from the States for Xmas.
I've been to the movies a lot here. The Paramount's almost right beside me. The folks around here tell me it was built in 1930 using a design that Paramount Pictures used for their model theater at the Chicago World's Fair two years ago. Gee, Marg it's beautiful. You'd love it. Last week I went and saw James Cagney in "Public Enemy," and this week I saw "I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang " with Paul Muni. A really funny thing happened at the movies this week. You know how they get someone to come up on stage before the movie starts and draw ticket stubs for prizes? Well, would you believe it—they drew my ticket as one of them, and I won a free hairdo at a local beauty salon. Everybody laughed when I went up to collect the prize. I must admit, it was pretty funny and I laughed, too. I didn't know what to do with the prize, so I gave it to the lady who owns the Scott Hotel.
The Paul Muni film was very moving, Marg. See it up there, if you and Tommy get the chance. I still don't have Father's address. Is he well?
Write me when you get a chance, okay?
"Gotta" go and take some pictures. You know how it is.
Say "hello" to everyone for me.
Love,
Jack
2
Mid-afternoon, I stood facing the cliffs on the opposite shore, watching barges filled with iron ore and petroleum wend their way up the Ohio to Cincinnati. I was struck by the width of the river, the distance to the Ohio side. Like everything else, the closer you got to it, the greater it seemed.
About four o'clock, I returned to the hotel and went up to my room. Tired, I lay back on the bed and let events and information sift together in my head, wondering what to do next. I heard the front door open and close as somebody left the building. Going to the window, I looked down and saw Stanley Matusik heading off, slowly, down the street.
Even after he had reached the corner and disappeared from sight, I stayed there, leaning on the ledge.
I knocked gently on the Matusiks’ door.
Teresa Matusik opened it. "Mr. Nolan," she said.
"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Matusik."
"Stanley went
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