For Thine is the Power

Sometimes in the summer it was so hot upstairs that Will could hardly stand it on the top bunk, lying on his back in his pajama bottoms, hands clasped behind his head. He had to go to bed when it was still light out if Ma said so, but he could listen to cars driving by on Main Street – driving home, driving to a movie, driving to Seaside, Will wondered.

When a car went by, he’d watch the headlights on the ceiling move along the same diagonal path, right to left, with a shadow in between. By dark if he was still awake, the way the lights moved above him could be hypnotizing and helped him go to sleep.

But on those really hot nights when he couldn’t sleep at all, sometimes he’d get up to stand at the window and breathe the summer air.

He often saw the upstairs light on next door in the room he knew to be Paulie’s room and if his window was open, too, he’d holler hello and Paulie would come to the window and wave.

Paulie’s house was identical to theirs but Paulie had a whole room to himself and so did his big brother Francis, who was called Sonny.

Paulie and Will were friends because they were almost the same age and lived next door to each other but Will spent more time with his brothers, John and Stevie, than the neighbors. Will and Paulie kind of looked alike, though, and when they walked around town people thought they were brothers, or “Irish twins,” as Mr. Carey at Carey’s market said.

They were both the same height, about four foot five, which they checked often by standing back-to-back to see if either one had gotten taller. Will had brown hair and Paulie had red hair, but they both got it cut the same way, short in back and long in front, with bangs that usually hung in their eyes.

They wore their dungarees and tee shirts until the fabric was beyond repair; they both got most of their clothes from their older brothers. They had button downs for school but Paulie had even better clothes, slacks, a jacket, and a tie that he wore on Sundays when he went to church.

The two houses were both brown, two-story frames on Main Street in Riverton. Will’s had a swing set in a small backyard and a 56 Woodie in the driveway that looked to be in good shape even though the house always looked like it needed repair. Paulie’s had green shrubs between the house and the road.

The houses were two of eight in a row that were built in the early 20th Century as housing for the bosses at the car parts factory which used to be the carriage factory. Both were the main sources for employment since 1887 when Riverton incorporated itself as a town in an act of defiance against Millton, the next town over.

Riverton split from Millton and built its own carriage factory when the owners of the big factory in Milton, two brothers who had come from Germany seeking fortune, made the decision to sacrifice quality for profits and installed machinery to do work that had until then been done by hand.

Half of the company’s Board of Directors were so angry at the German brothers for unilaterally making this move that they resigned and built a smaller factory just up the river and outfitted it for the more careful handwork constructing carriages. And shortly after that, they incorporated Riverton.

There was soon no call for hand-crafted carriages and the Riverton factory tried switching to car parts, but it wasn’t long before car manufacturers were not interested in the handcraft either, and they weren’t looking to New England for parts anyway.

During the feud that resulted in the split into two towns, an elaborate Catholic church was constructed in Riverton to entice the Irish laborers away from the Millton factory. Big Victorian-style houses overlooking the river were built then, too, for the owners, as well as tenements within walking distance of the factory.

At the start of the 1900s, decent single-family houses along what was called Main Street were built for the bosses, and Will’s and Paulie’s houses were those.

Will’s house had a big bright kitchen with a window over the sink looking out to the back yard and a tiled counter next to the sink. When the house was new, that kitchen was its best feature, with its modern appliances and gleaming tiles, and a linoleum counter beneath tall pine cabinets.

The top shelves of the cabinets were out of reach for the person who now, fifty years later, was most frequently in the kitchen, Will’s mother Mabel. The linoleum was coming up at the corner, the tiles next to the sink were mostly cracked, and the appliances were on their last legs.

Mabel somehow put a meal on the table every day for her seven children and herself anyway and did her best with the drafty window and the Frigidaire that kept breaking down. The house had a living room with a brown carpet and dark red tufted upholstery on the chair and sofa, with a Phillips TV console on one wall and an RCA radio and record player in the corner. 

Upstairs, the room Will shared with his brothers was the same size as his sisters’ room but seemed bigger because it had only one bed, which was John’s, and the bunk beds, which were his and Stevie’s. There was a small mirror on the wall above a bureau, its three drawers rarely closed.

Usually, a math book laid open upside down on the floor, a coloring book with crayons nearby, and some paperbacks on the floor at the end of the bunk beds. A hockey stick leaned in the corner, the grip taped over and over with black tape, the wooden blade worn to a toothy edge, and pictures from the newspaper of Bruins and Red Sox players were thumb-tacked to the walls.

The closet door always stood open; there were three hooks on the inside of the door, and each hook had so many shirts and jackets one over another that whatever was actually on the hook was probably too small now even for Stevie.

Inside the closet, two shirts were on hangers, and the shelf above had ice skates, a first base mitt, two gym bags, and a stack of games: Clue, checkers, Risk, and Monopoly.

Because Will was the middle brother he’d sometimes side with one against the other in an argument, and if it got loud they’d get yelled at either by an older sister or by Mabel. Mostly they got along, though; they talked about sports teams and their neighborhood games, going over past ones and planning for the next ones.

Sometimes they all kept to themselves, Stevie coloring and John doing homework, Will reading Sherlock Holmes or Zane Grey, stories he’d later tell to John and Stevie. 

The girls’ bedroom had bunk beds with ruffled bed skirts where Janet and Joannie slept, and along the other walls were two narrow beds with small nightstands next to them, for Arlene and Judy who were older.

The closet door just cleared the edge of Arlene’s bed and the bureau stood next to the bunk beds, the kind with a big mirror attached above. The top of the bureau was scattered with ticket stubs, matchbooks, hair bands and bobby pins, folded notes and pencils with worn down erasers, and Judy’s lipsticks.Their mother had the third room which was off limits.

All seven kids at one time or another wished their family was like Paulie and Sonny’s because they had their own rooms; except Paulie and Sonny were Catholic. Will’s mother Mabel said she used to be Catholic, too, but didn’t bring up the kids that way.

Will remembered when he was really small, even before Janet and Stevie, the priest would come to their house in his long black clothes and bright white collar.

One time, Will remembered so clearly, he was on the swingset in the backyard when the priest came, and the priest walked right to the kitchen door in the back and was surprised by Will, who was scuffing his feet in the sand and holding the rusty chains.

Will looked up at him and said “Hi,” and the priest looked startled, then barely glanced at him, but just that little glance made Will feel creepy.

Will didn’t know why the priest was coming to see his mother anyway, but that same day he tried to listen and the priest’s voice was a low murmur, so Will couldn’t hear. But he did hear his mother raise her voice and say, “No, Father, in my heart of hearts I can’t. I can’t bring them up in the Church.  When Walter comes home, he’d give me – he’d be angry. His people are Protestant.”

Will didn’t know what Protestant meant but he knew what angry meant. His father, Walter, didn’t come home often, in fact he hadn’t been home that whole summer, but when he did, he always got angry and argued with his mother.

She said she didn’t believe him when he said he was that close to one big thing, and he’d hit the jackpot. And she would yell about needing help with the kids, then they’d both start yelling, and Walter would leave again.

It seemed to Will that everyone else was Catholic but them. In school, all the kids folded their hands in the morning, looked down, and said the prayer that started, “Our father who art in heaven…” before standing up next to their desks to say the pledge of allegiance with their hands over their hearts.

On Fridays the cafeteria only had fish sticks. And on a Wednesday in spring, it seemed to Will he was the only one in his class without that dirty smudge on his forehead.    

It didn’t matter one way or another to Will that Paulie and Sonny were Catholic. Will was just glad Paulie and Sonny lived next door when they were making teams (sometimes Will’s sister Joannie would play so there’d be an even number), plus they could run to each other’s houses to go in for a glass of water or a band-aid.

Paulie and Sonny’s mother, Mrs. Murphy was nice to Will and John, and especially nice to Stevie. She sometimes sent a casserole over to Mabel.

When Will and Paulie were about ten, Paulie was over at Will’s a lot more. It seemed like he never wanted to go home.

He was always there in the morning before school, sitting on the counter stool, watching the ballet of girls, braiding, zipping, tucking in, gulping milk, sorting schoolbooks, and Judy, the oldest, getting ready for high school, checking her pocketbook, and stepping into her kitten heels, then crowding into a car with friends.

The other girls would let the screen door bang when they left to walk the three blocks to school, Janet skipping behind Arlene and Joannie to keep pace.

Stevie wasn’t in school yet, and John, Will, and Paulie would take their time getting ready so they didn’t have to walk with the girls, even though Will knew Paulie was in love with Joannie.

Will also suspected that Paulie practiced kissing with Janet but never brought it up with him.  When they left for school, Stevie always sat at the kitchen table finishing everyone’s milk from the cereal bowls, until Mabel was ready to walk him to nursery school.

Afternoons, they’d all run in, change their clothes, and run out again. Sometimes that same priest that had come to Will’s house to see his mother when he was little was at Paulie and Sonny’s. The priest would be sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea while Mrs. Murphy stood at the stove cooking.

Once, when Will and Paulie heard the ice cream man not far away, they ran to Mrs. Murphy’s kitchen for a dime, and to call Sonny. Sonny was upstairs and called back that he didn’t want to come down. The priest was at the kitchen table in his undershirt, bringing his teacup to his lips and looking at the two of them over his glasses.  

“Say hello to Father,” Mrs. Murphy said as she snapped closed her change purse after giving them the dimes.

“Hello Father,” Paulie said, his eyes on the floor.

Then Will said, “Hello, Father.”

When the ice cream man’s tinny “Little Brown Jug” was in the distance, there had been a game of capture the flag going and Paulie had been having fun, running and dodging, laughing and pushing his bangs from his sweaty brow.

John had called for time-out when he heard the ice cream truck and went with Stevie to ask Mabel for their dimes because their team was closer to their house. Since Sonny wasn’t playing, the teams were even and they didn’t need Joannie but in the house she asked if she could play and John said no, but she came out to watch anyway.

When everyone finished their popsicles and Drumsticks and went back to playing, Paulie’s mood was different. He shoved everyone too hard and wouldn’t follow the rules. Joannie saw her chance and said, “Paulie, let me play. You can sit down.”

Paulie said, “Forget it, Joannie,” in such a mean voice that John told him to take a time out. Paulie shook his head hard and said, “I’m not going back in there.”

Will took a time out anyway to run into Murphy’s house for a drink of water, and “Father” was still there in the kitchen. Will knew Paulie was getting thirsty, too, and called him to come in but he wouldn’t. He just kept getting thirsty and dirty.

***

The big Catholic church, St. Germaine’s, was six blocks away from Will’s house. On Sundays, the Murphys and all the other families in the neighborhood would parade around the playground and through the town square to get there, crossing streets as cars waited for them to pass by.

Will would open his bedroom window and lean his chin on his hands on the windowsill. When he watched them, he always thought they looked like a little city. In each family, the girls would be in front with triangles of white lace bobby-pinned to their heads, the boys would be next in slacks with their hair slicked back, and then the grownups in back, silent.

Someone might say “Don’t dawdle, Molly,” or “Tuck in your shirt, Jamie,” but besides that, Will could only hear the birds.

When Will and Paulie were starting the sixth grade, Stevie started first so he would walk along with them. John was starting Junior High and had to leave earlier to get the bus like Sonny did.  On Friday morning of the first week of school, Will grinned and said to Paulie, “Let’s run ahead.”

“No, Will.  We’re staying with him,” Paulie said and took Stevie’s hand. “We’re staying right with him.”

“I was only teasing,” said Will, but he saw Paulie was serious.

That day at recess, Paulie waved Will over behind the school and leaned on the chain link fence to sneak a smoke, like the sixth graders had always done.

“Hey Will,” Paulie said. “You wanna go to church with us Sunday?”

Will always wondered what went on there, what was the power that “Father” had, to quiet the spirits of all those kids in the Sunday parade.

“I’ll ask Ma,” Will said.

That Sunday he got up and put on a good shirt and looked in the mirror to comb his hair.

“Can I come?” asked John.

“He asked me,” said Will.

“Can I come, Will?” asked Stevie.

“I’ll tell you guys about it afterwards,” Will said.  

He joined the parade with the Murphys. They were in front of the O’Brian’s, Matthew, Patrick, and Molly, and behind the Halligans, Mary, Margaret, and Maureen, the girls with the prettiest strawberry blonde hair.

When they got to the church and slid into a pew, Will looked around and saw just about every kid he knew. Some of the boys were up on the stage in robes, altar boys Paulie had told him.

Then Father was up on the stage, too, doing Will didn’t know what, and talking in this melodious voice saying stuff Will couldn’t understand. It was like magic, though: he swung a smokey lantern from side to side and raised up his arms, and all kinds of things.

At one point everyone stood up so Will started to stand up, too, but Paulie put his hand on Will’s shoulder and pushed him back down.

“You can’t come up for this part,” said Paulie.

“How come?” whispered Will.

“This is where you take the body on the tongue.”

Will watched everyone get in line in the aisle and when they got to the front, they’d kneel with their mouths open. He saw Sonny do it, then Paulie.

When church was over, Paulie hit Will on the arm with the back of his hand and cocked his head toward the cemetery. They ran up the hill between the gravestones and sat with their backs against a tree at the top of the hill and lit their smokes.

Will waited for Paulie to say something but he didn’t, so Will said, “That was pretty cool.”

“I hate it,” said Paulie. That was the only time Paulie asked Will to go to church with him.

By the time the sixth grade was over, Paulie had grown a good two inches taller than Will.

When the next school year started, Paulie stood with his brother Sonny at the bus stop. He didn’t stand with Will and John, and soon he didn’t talk to them at recess or lunch either. He started hanging around after school with Sonny and some older boys who rolled up their tee shirt sleeves to show their muscles and slicked their hair back with Brylcreem.

Paulie started rolling his sleeves and slicking his hair that way too, and then it was as if the Murphy boys didn’t even know Will and John.

Will didn’t know Paulie anymore, either. He didn’t know this big boy with the angry face, the face that Will first saw that day they played capture the flag, the day Paulie wouldn’t go inside his own house and his big brother wouldn’t even leave his room to come down and play. They didn’t want to have to say “hello Father” to the priest in their kitchen, or do what he told them to anymore.

But now and then, when Will saw Paulie in school or in Carey’s getting smokes or somewhere, for a fleeting moment, he’d remember the kid who played tag and Red Rover with them, and ran with them when they heard the ice cream man, and waved to him from his bedroom window with that funny grin on a warm summer night.

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• A Sighting – Nature Fiction
• Wolfskin – Science-Fantasy Fiction