Cal said quietly, “Aren’t you making a fuss about nothing? You must be slipping. You’d think from your tone that I’d killed somebody. Come off it, Lee. Come off it.”

It was silent in the room. After a moment Cal turned from his desk and the room was empty. A cup of coffee on the bureau top sent up a plume of vapor. Cal drank the coffee scalding as it was and went into the living room.

His father looked up apologetically at him.

Cal said, “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know how you felt about it.” He took the package of money from where it lay on the mantel and put it in the inside pocket of his coat where it had been before. “I’ll see what I can do about this.” He said casually, “Where are the others?”

“Oh, Abra had to go. Aron walked with her. Lee went out.”

“I guess I’ll go for a walk,” said Cal.

4

The November night was well fallen. Cal opened the front door a crack and saw Lee’s shoulders and head outlined against the white wall of the French Laundry across the street. Lee was sitting on the steps, and he looked lumpy in his heavy coat.

Cal closed the door quietly and went back through the living room. “Champagne makes you thirsty,” he said. His father didn’t look up.

Cal slipped out the kitchen door and moved through Lee’s waning kitchen garden. He climbed the high fence, found the two-by-twelve plank that served as a bridge across the slough of dark water, and came out between Lang’s Bakery and the tinsmith’s shop on Castroville Street.

He walked to Stone Street where the Catholic church is and turned left, went past the Carriaga house, the Wilson house, the Zabala house, and turned left on Central Avenue at the Steinbeck house. Two blocks out Central he turned left past the West End School.

The poplar trees in front of the schoolyard were nearly bare, but in the evening wind a few yellowed leaves still twisted down.

Cal’s mind was numb. He did not even know that the air was cold with frost slipping down from the mountains. Three blocks ahead he saw his brother cross under a streetlight, coming toward him. He knew it was his brother by stride and posture and because he knew it.

Cal slowed his steps, and when Aron was close he said, “Hi. I came looking for you.”

Aron said, “I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

“You couldn’t help it—forget it.” He turned and the two walked side by side. “I want you to come with me,” Cal said. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s a surprise. But it’s very interesting. You’ll be interested.”

“Well, will it take long?”

“No, not very long. Not very long at all.”

They walked past Central Avenue toward Castroville Street.

5

Sergeant Axel Dane ordinarily opened the San Jose recruiting office at eight o’clock, but if he was a little late Corporal Kemp opened it, and Kemp was not likely to complain. Axel was not an unusual case. A hitch in the U.S. Army in the time of peace between the Spanish war and the German war had unfitted him for the cold, unordered life of a civilian. One month between hitches convinced him of that. Two hitches in the peacetime army completely unfitted him for war, and he had learned enough method to get out of it. The San Jose recruiting station proved he knew his way about. He was dallying with the youngest Ricci girl and she lived in San Jose.

Kemp hadn’t the time in, but he was learning the basic rule. Get along with the topkick and avoid all officers when possible. He didn’t mind the gentle riding Sergent Dane handed out.

At eight-thirty Dane entered the office to find Corporal Kemp asleep at his desk and a tired-looking kid sat waiting. Dane glanced at the boy and then went in back of the rail and put his hand on Kemp’s shoulder.

“Darling,” he said, “the skylarks are singing and a new dawn is here.”

Kemp raised his head from his arms, wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and sneezed. “That’s my sweet,” the sergeant said. “Arise, we have a customer.”

Kemp squinted his crusted eyes. “The war will wait,” he said.

Dane looked more closely at the boy. “God! he’s beautiful. I hope they take good care of him. Corporal, you may think that he wants to bear arms against the foe, but I think he’s running away from love.”

Kemp was relieved that the sergeant wasn’t quite sober. “You think some dame hurt him?” He played any game his sergeant wished. “You think it’s the Foreign Legion?”

“Maybe he’s running away from himself.”

Kemp said, “I saw that picture. There’s one mean son of a bitch of a sergeant in it.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Dane. “Step up, young man. Eighteen, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dane turned to his man. “What do you think?”

“Hell!” said Kemp. “I say if they’re big enough, they’re old enough.”

The sergeant said, “Let’s say you’re eighteen. And we’ll stick to it, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You just take this form and fill it out. Now you figure out what year you were born, and you put it down right here, and you remember it.”

Chapter 50

1

Joe didn’t like for Kate to sit still and stare straight ahead—hour after hour. That meant she was thinking, and since her face had no expression Joe had no access to her thoughts. It made him uneasy. He didn’t want his first real good break to get away from him.