Cemetery Street - John Zunski (good novels to read in english .txt) 📗

king about?’ Manson struggled.”
“You have balls.’ The old man kicked Manson in the balls. ‘If you want to rape little girls, you got two choices, take your lumps and leave town or we’ll drop a dime on you,’ Mr. Smith said. “Cons hate cho-mos. Forty-eight hours or you get your date with Bubba!’ Mr. Smith and the old man landed a couple of kicks. ‘If you go to the cops, explain why you rape little girls. Understand?’”
Manson nodded.
“Forty-eight hours,’ the old man said. ‘Forty-eight hours.’”
Count finished his bottle and again whipped it in a high arc. It shattered somewhere in the junkyard. Duke again barked. “You know what’s funny?” Count asked.
“No?” I asked climbing out of the tree.
“If it wasn’t for Manson doing what he did, I wouldn’t be going into the Army.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well,” Count said as he reached the ground. “Manson raped Shannie, we persuade Manson to leave town. You moved into Manson’s house, and because you moved in I met your Grandfather. If I hadn’t met your Grandfather, I wouldn’t be going into the Army. Go figure.”
“Go figure.”


Chapter 6 An Eagle

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS?” my mother screamed, jarring me from sleep. “Not again,” I mumbled into my pillow. Her voice sent shivers down my spine. Between my mother’s shouts, I couldn’t hear my father’s composed voice.
“EVERY TIME JOE! EVERY TIME YOU DO THIS! WHY? WHY? CAN’T YOU TELL ME WHY?”
I strained to hear his reply.
“DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME! GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!
My father climbed the steps. “YOU BASTARD! YOU INSENSITIVE PRICK!” she yelled after him. He knocked on my door. “James. Get up. If you want to go to the airport, you have ten minutes.” I was ready in five.
“Why do you and mom always fight?” I asked as we battled traffic on the Schuylkill Expressway.
“We don’t fight. I refuse to,” he answered.
“What do you call this morning?”
“Your mother had a tantrum.”
“You had to do something to piss her off.” He starred at the traffic. “When she throws a seven at me, I’ve pissed her off.”
“If anybody should be pissed off, it’s me,” he sighed.
I pictured him floating in a lifeboat across the Sea of Mary; exhausted, lying on his back; hands dragging in shark infested waters. I changed the subject: “What time is his flight coming in?”
His mood lightened as we made our way to the terminal. Philadelphia International Airport, despite perpetual construction seemed ghetto. When I mentioned this to Shannie, she said I sound like a true Negadelphian. “Whatever, that airport still sucks,” I replied.
We watched incoming flights and bet on which was his. We were both wrong. We grabbed seats in the front row of his arrival gate and were talking about the Forty-Niner’s chances when I asked: “Dad, why are you still with her?”
He looked like I punched him in the stomach. He stared at Grandfather’s airplane. “Good question, I don’t know.”
Bullshit, I thought watching the plane taxi to the gate.
“You know, for better or for worse,” he said.
I got up and walked to the ramp. Father followed and placed his arm around me. I fought back tears. I took a deep breath and composed myself. I rested my head against his side.
“There he is,” I ran to the top of the ramp. Grandfather stepped from the jetway. “Hey Punk,” he howled extending his arms. Weaving in and out of the unloading passengers, I ran towards him. My grandfather looked more like a forty-something hippie than a sixty-something retiree. His long silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail framing a pair of granny glasses resting atop a once broken nose. He wore an army jacket. On its right shoulder was a screaming eagle patch, telling anyone who cared he was a combat veteran.
“Granddad,” I yelled lunging into his arms.
“How are you?” He smothered me with a hug. His jacket’s smoky smell reminded me of California. When I was little, he would whip me into the air and spin me around. Until a couple of years ago he would give me parachute rides; our personal ritual – He would pick me up and raise me above his shoulders and lower me twice before throwing me into the air and catching me. Now I was content with bear hugs.
“Granddad?” a flight attendant asked as she passed.
“Didn’t believe me?” he laughed.
“I would have never guessed. Nice meeting you Stan, enjoy your stay.”
“I will. Thank you. Enjoy your holiday,” he smiled.
“Did you get her number?” I asked. He stood with his arm around me as we watched her sashay up the ramp.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. I hear your not doing to bad yourself.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t be coy. What about that neighbor of yours?”
“Oh, Shannie. We’re just friends.”
“They’re the best kind. Take care of them my boy, take care of them.” He flung his carryon over his shoulder. “Where’s the son-in-law?” I pointed to the top of the ramp. “Hey Son-in-law, you going to welcome an old man to this pigsty or are you going to stand there with a thumb up your ass?”
I couldn’t wait to show him off.
Grandfather’s presence even effected dad. The car was alive with conversation. My father hadn’t laughed this much since we moved to Pennsylvania.
“Where’s a good florist?” Grandfather asked before we reached Beyford. “I have to get that daughter of mine some roses or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
We stopped at JD’s tavern for some “spirits” and a watered down coke. Next we visited the flower shop where Grandfather bought a dozen roses for my mother. He also bought a long stem rose, had it wrapped and presented it to the lady who sold it to him. She blushed; he smiled.
The sun briefly broke through the clouds as we turned into our driveway. Grandfather looked at the Ortolan’s house and then after a long moment glanced into the cemetery taking in the tombstones and obelisks. “Punk, is this what had you scared?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s spooky.”
“It’s nothing really.”
“If you say.”
“I was more scared before we moved,” I chirped.
My mother stood on the front porch, a hand massaging her stomach. Leaving us to handle his luggage, Grandfather climbed the stairs, “Hi precious.”
“Hi Daddy,” He hugged her and kissed her cheek.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said as Grandfather gave her the roses.
“Nonsense.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” she said.
I understood how she was mistaken for his sister; the comparison drove her crazy. He looked down at her bulging belly: “Damn it girl, how many times must I tell you about drinking those expensive imported beers. They lay in your stomach like rocks. Stick to light beers. Look at me,” He patted his belly. “Years of drinking and nothing to show for it.”
If Mrs. Miller was peering out from behind her curtains, she would have told her bridge club that loud Mary looked tense. Even though mother was glad grandfather was here, she had an edge. “One of those imports would taste good about now,” she said. The sun dipped behind the clouds again. A cool wind swirled leaves across the yard and onto the street.
After grandfather settled in, the four of us sat around the kitchen table talking the afternoon away. The day seemed perfect, like California without palm trees. Later, mother excused herself, saying she needed a nap. As the afternoon turned to evening, Grandfather asked, “So Casanova, when am I going to meet this girlfriend of yours?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I objected. Looking to my father for support I noticed his head hung low as he played with his beer bottle’s label.
“Rumor has it you’re quite an item.”
“Rumor is full of shit.”
“James, knock off the language,” father lamented.
“Son-in-law let the boy go. He’s twelve - he’s got to learn sometime.”
“If your daughter hears him, we’ll all have hell to pay.”
“My daughter needs to kill the bug that crawled up her ass.” He paused. “You didn’t hear me say that. I don’t want her wrath. I’ve been through one war; I don’t want to go through another.” He sipped his beer. “As for the cussing, I don’t give a shit. How cool’s that?”
“Cool, very cool,” I said.
“The correct answer is Fucking A.”
“Fucking A,” I repeated. My father shook his head.
A gust of wind slammed against the house, rattling the windows. Grandfather jumped. “Oh shit,” he said. “She heard us - we’re in for it now.”
I laughed. “It’s the wind dumb ass.”
“James, listen up - just because I don’t care if you cuss in front of me doesn’t mean you have permission to be a dumb ass in front of your mother. Respect her wishes; don’t cuss in front of her. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Now tell me about that girlfriend of yours?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I sighed.
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Why should I, she can tell you herself?”
“Deal. Call her – get her over here. I want to meet her.”
“She’s only thirteen. She’s a little young for you,” I said.
“Yeah, but I hear her mother’s available. We could double date.”
My father laughed. “That’ll bring the wrath of Mary.”
“You two could join us.”
“We could sell tickets to that cat fight.”
“Son-in-law,” he waxed: “You only live once.”
“You don’t want Mom and Diane in the same room,” I said. My grandfather chuckled. “Since day one they mixed like oil and water.”
“The best laid plans,” Grandfather said. “Now invite that little friend of yours over.”
“Who mixes like oil and water? And no, don’t invite that little friend of yours over.” Mother waddled into the kitchen.
“Why not?” Grandfather asked facing my mother.
“Because I said so. Who mixes like oil and water?” She asked.
“You and Diane,” I blurted.
“Dear God what have I done to deserve this? Can’t one day, just one blessed day pass without me having to deal with that wanton woman and her demon daughter? And you,” she said to grandfather. “What are you scheming now?”
“I want to meet James’s girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
“Wouldn’t it be neighborly for all of us to go out to dinner.”
“Over my dead body!” Mother lamented.
“What did she ever do to you?” grandfather asked.
“I don’t believe you! Using your grandson to help you get laid. If you want it that bad, knock on the wench’s door. She’ll welcome you with open legs.”
Dad and I looked at each other and shrugged. I think he was thankful someone else was on the hot seat.
“You’re unbelievable,” Grandfather rebutted. “You piss and moan about the boy’s language and you disrespect your father in front of him, shame on you. No wonder the boy has a mouth like a sailor; he gets it from his mother. If you weren’t in such a condition I’d be of mind to bend you over my knee and give you what you deserve.”
Dad winked at me.
“Just because I’m an old man doesn’t mean you can talk down to me. I haven’t lost my mind yet. If you do it again, I’ll be on a plane back to California. I didn’t come all this way for abuse.”
“I’m sorry daddy.” Mother hung her head.
Grandfather stood and hugged her. “It’s okay Precious. Don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t,” she whispered.
“Good. Good,” He stroked her hair. “Now what’s for dinner?”
After dinner I invited Shannie over. “I have to finish my homework,” she said. Grandfather was finishing the dishes when she knocked. “You’ll have to excuse me,” Mother waddled out