Works and Days

 The Works of Our Hands

2

“And then you started bellowing, ‘Drink some more fuckin’ wine! Drink some more fuckin’ wine!’”

“Oh, my God,” Abby put a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” Jackie told her as they adjusted her new painting to the gallery wall.

“I really do need to pay more attention to the cheese than the wine at these exhibitions,” Abigail said. “By the way, my father was positively smitten by your mother, Jaclyn.”   

“Mother can be quite...” Jackie sought for the word, “smiting.”

“He wanted me to find out where she lives.”

“You know she lives in Fort Atkins.”

“I know that,” Abby said, “but he wants a phone number, too.”

“Oh, my God—”

“That’s right,” Abby elbowed Jaclyn, “your mama’s on the market!”

 

“How’s it hanging, Lewis?” Russell felt a thump on his back and turned around to shout, “Alright,” although the other boy was gone all the way down the hall before he recognized that it had been Nick Ballantine.

After history class, Jeff Cordino called Russell to his desk, as he himself was stuffing all of his things into a briefcase and moving to his next classroom.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re actually coming to class,” Jeff said.

“I could stop,” Russell suggested.

“No,” Jeff laughed. “No. It’s good. I was just going to say, things are better at home now?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And at school?”

“Yes,” Russell said, then added, “Lots.”

“Well, if any of us can help—”

“Mr. Cordino,” Russell interrupted his teacher.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say thanks. For everything. When the year started it was so bad, and you were—you’ve been really good. So, thank you.”

Jeff Cordino turned from Russell, and the student could see that the teacher was blushing a little.

“It sure will be good when the snow clears up,” Jeff said.

“Yeah.”

“Lent’s not too far off,” Jeff said. “Wow, then I get Confirmed.”

The new students for the next class were coming in.

“Mr. Cordino, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Alright, I guess.”

“Why do people get Confirmed?”

“That’s right,” Jeff remembered. “Your Dad said you never took the plunge.”

“The plunge,” Russell remarked. “Never heard it called that before. I mean,” Russell spoke confidentially now as he and Jeff left the classroom, “Why didn’t you do it when you were my age and all?”

“I was in public school. We didn’t have CCD or anything like that. So, I guess, now that I’m twenty-five and I know a little about my religion I really want to be a part of it. So this is how I say I take it seriously. I know that’s not a good answer, but...”

“No, it’s a fine answer, Mr. Cordino.”

The talk had not kept Russell from any of his classes. Now was lunch hour. He got his sack lunch out of the locker and was heading downstairs. He was approaching the ground floor and could see the sophomores filling up the cafeteria when he realized he did not want to go and started back upstairs. Something in him said he didn’t want to take the cafeteria anymore. He passed the landing with its statue of our Lady of Fatima, and went past the second floor, the third floor and its cafeteria for the juniors and seniors and up to the fourth floor with the band room and the choir room, the equipment rooms and the miscellany of Our Lady of Mercy High School.

He’d never been up here. This long quiet corridor was filled with sunlight and in the center of it were two large, polished wooden doors, and when Russell went in he found the chapel.

It was a surprise because, though Russell knew there was a chapel, he never knew exactly where it was. The school, when there were school Masses, conducted them in the gymnasium, for the chapel was not large enough to contain seven hundred young men.

But it was large, though. In the center of it was a dome painted with clouds and a cross at the center, and a circle of windows holding the dome up let light in over the two long rows of mahogany pews through which a blue carpeted aisle went to the altar which still had rails, and over the altar was an arch painted with saints who met in the center before Jesus looking on the whole scene. The chapel smelled of old incense and snuffed out candles, and all and all, Russell decided it wouldn’t be a bad place to eat.

He didn’t look around. He didn’t really pray. He just ate the ham sandwich and thought about nothing in particular. Russell washed it all down with his juice box, and looked at his watch, realizing it was time for gym class. Regretfully he balled up his paper bag and baggies and was heading out when he was surprised by the doors swinging open and Gilead Story entering.

“Gilead!”

“Lewis,” the junior smiled. “So I see you’ve found my hiding place.”

“You’re hiding—”

“Who wants to eat in the caf!” Gilead said.

“Do you mind if I’m eating here on your times... some days?” Russell asked.

“Not at all, Lewis. You’re good people.”

“Is that why you looked out for me the other day?”

“I looked out for you because we need to look out for each other,” said Gilead. “We need to be friends.”

“Mark Young seems to think so too.”

“Mark Young?” a strange look passed over Gilead’s face, a look, Russell thought, that was a lot like someone trying to hide something, though Russell could not begin to say what.

“You know Mark Young?”

“Not really,” Russell said. “He sounded like your friend. You all are in the same class.”

“True,” Gilead said, “but I’ve hardly ever spoken to him.”

“He seems to really admire you.”

“Oh,” Gilead said. “Well then he should tell me himself.”

Russell burst out laughing, and Gilead laughed too.

“Well,” said Russell, “Gilead Story, you may be my first friend in high school.”

Kathleen Lewis was doing stretches in a black leotard when the phone rang and she grunted, “Aw shit!” and went to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Is this Kathleen Lewis?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s that British accent.”

“Dawling!” Kathleen said, switching, and then said, “Can I help you?”

“We met the other night. I’m Mason Devalara.”

“I know the name. It’s a good Irish one. I—”

“I gave you wine and cheese.”

“Mason! Abigail’s father. Yes, I’m such a fool. You were quite the charmer.” Kathleen wrapped the phone cord around her finger. “How are ya, Mason?”

“Your British accent’s gone again.”

“It’s optional. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Kathleen, I’ll be blunt.”

“Please do.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“I agree—I mean, I think you’re beautiful too. I mean—”

“When are you free to go out?”

“Out? Out? Out! Am I? Yes, I am.”

“When?”

“Yesterday. I mean any day. Today. I mean—when is good for you?”

“Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

“I’m old, that’s almost my bed time. What about seven?”

“Seven. Yes. I’ll pick you up?”

“Wonderful.”

Mason hung up the phone and Kathleen, smiling at the receiver went back to her workout. She was in the middle of lifting a barbell when she realized something and went to stand guard at the telephone.

It rang.

“Mason?”

“Yes. Kathleen. I forgot to ask—”

“8411 Lauren.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mason. See you tonight.”