Francis’s friend in the jungle was a man in his sixties named Andy, who had admitted to Francis in the boxcar in which they both traveled to Albany that people used to call him Andy Which One, a name that derived from his inability, until he was nearly twenty, to tell his left hand from his right, a challenge he still faced in certain stressful moments. Francis found Andy Which One instantly sympathetic, shared the wealth of cigarettes and food he was carrying, and thought instantly of him again when Annie handed him two turkey sandwiches and Peg slipped him a hefty slice of plum pudding, all three items wrapped in waxed paper and intact now in the pockets of his 1916 suitcoat.
But Francis had not seriously thought of sharing the food with Andy until Rudy had begun singing of the jungle. On top of that, Francis almost suffocated seeing his own early venom and self-destructive arrogance reembodied in Little Red, and the conjunction of events impelled him to quit the flop and seek out something he could value; for above all now, Francis needed to believe in simple solutions. And Andy Which One, a man confused by the names of his own hands, but who survived to dwell in the city of useless penitence and be grateful for it, seemed to Francis a creature worthy of scrutiny. Francis found him easily when Old Shoes parked the car on the dirt road that bordered the jungle. He roused Andy from shallow sleep in front of a fading fire, and handed him the whiskey bottle.
“Have a drink, pal. Lubricate your soul.”
“Hey, old Francis. How you makin’ out there, buddy?”
“Puttin’ one foot in front of the other and hopin’ they go somewheres,” Francis said. “The hotel open here? I brought a couple of bums along with me. Old Shoes here, he says he ain’t a bum no more, but that’s just what he says. And Rudy the Cootie, a good ol’ fella.”
“Hey,” said Andy, “just settle in. Musta known you was comin’. Fire’s still goin’, and the stars are out. Little chilly in this joint. Lemme turn up the heat.”
They all sat down around the fire while Andy stoked it with twigs and scraps of lumber, and soon the flames were trying to climb to those reaches of the sky that are the domain of all fire. The flames gave vivid life to the cold night, and the men warmed their hands by them.
A figure hovered behind Andy and when he felt its presence he turned and welcomed Michigan Mac to the primal scene.
“Glad to meet ya,” Francis said to Mac. “I heard you fell through a hole the other night.”
“Coulda broke my neck,” Mac said.
“Did you break it?” Francis asked.
“If I’da broke my neck I’d be dead.”
“Oh, so you’re livin’, is that it? You ain’t dead?”
“Who’s this guy?” Mac asked Andy.
“He’s an all-right guy I met on the train,” Andy said.
“We’re all all right,” Francis said. “I never met a bum I didn’t like.”
“Will Rogers said that,” Rudy said.
“He did like hell,” Francis said. “I said it.”
“All I know. That’s what he said. All I know is what I read in the newspapers,” Rudy said.
“I didn’t know you could read,” said Francis.
“James Watt invented the steam engine,” Rudy said. “And he was only twenty-nine years old.”
“He was a wizard,” Francis said.
“Right. Charles Darwin was a very great man, master of botany. Died in nineteen-thirty-six.”
“What’s he talkin’ about?” Mac asked.
“He ain’t talkin’ about nothin’,” Francis said. “He’s just talkin’.”
“Sir Isaac Newton. You know what he did with the apple?”
“I know that one,” Old Shoes said. “He discovered gravity.”
“Right. You know when that was? Nineteen-thirty-six. He was born of two midwives.”
“You got a pretty good background on these wizards,” Francis said.
“God loves a thief,” Rudy said. “I’m a thief.”
“We’re all thieves,” Francis said. “What’d you steal?”
“I stole my wife’s heart,” Rudy said.
“What’d you do with it?”
“I gave it back. Wasn’t worth keepin’. You know where the Milky Way is?”
“Up there somewheres,” Francis said, looking up at the sky, which was as full of stars as he’d ever seen it.
“Damn, I’m hungry,” Michigan Mac said.
“Here,” said Andy. “Have a bite.” And from a coat pocket he took a large raw onion.
“That’s an onion,” Mac said.
“Another wizard,” Francis said.
Mac took the onion and looked at it, then handed it back to Andy, who took a bite out of it and put it back in his pocket.
“Got it at a grocery,” Andy said. “Mister, I told the guy, I’m starvin’, I gotta have somethin’. And he gave me two onions.”
“You had money,” Mac said. “I told ya, get a loaf of bread, but you got a pint of wine.”
“Can’t have wine and bread too,” Andy said. “What are you, a Frenchman?”
“You wanna buy food and drink,” said Francis, “you oughta get a job.”
“I caddied all last week,” Mac said, “but that don’t pay, that shit. You slide down them hills. Them golf guys got spikes on their shoes. Then they tell ya: Go to work, ya bum. I like to, but I can’t. Get five, six bucks and get on the next train. I’m no bum, I’m a hobo.”
“You movin’ around too much,” Francis said. “That’s why you fell through that hole.”
“Yeah,” said Mac, “but I ain’t goin’ back to that joint. I hear the cops are pickin’ the boys outa there every night. That pot is hot. Travel on, Avalon.”
“Cops were here tonight earlier, shinin’ their lights,” Andy said. “But they didn’t pick up anybody.”
Rudy raised up his head and looked over all the faces in front of the fire. Then he looked skyward and talked to the stars. “On the outskirts,” he said, “I’m a restless person, a traveler.”
o o o
They passed the wine among them and Andy restoked the fire with wood he had stored in his lean-to. Francis thought of Billy getting dressed up in his suit, topcoat, and hat, and standing before Francis for inspection. You like the hat? he asked. I like it, Francis said. It’s got style. Lost the other one, Billy said. First time I ever wore this one. It look all right? It looks mighty stylish, Francis said. All right, gotta get downtown, Billy said. Sure, said Francis. We’ll see you again, Billy said. No doubt about it, Francis said. You hangin’ around Albany or movin’ on? Billy asked. Couldn’t say for sure, said Francis. Lotta things that need figurin’ out. Always is, said Billy, and then they shook hands and said no more words to each other.
When he himself left an hour and a little bit later, Francis shook hands also with George Quinn, a quirky little guy as dapper as always, who told bad jokes (Let’s all eat tomatoes and catch up) that made everybody laugh, and Peg threw her arms around her father and kissed him on the cheek, which was a million-dollar kiss, all right, all right, and then Annie said when she took his hand in both of hers: You must come again. Sure, said Francis. No, said Annie, I mean that you must come so that we can talk about the things you ought to know, things about the children and about the family. There’s a cot we could set up in Danny’s room if you wanted to stay over next time. And then she kissed him ever so lightly on the lips.
“Hey Mac,” Francis said, “you really hungry or you just mouthin’ off for somethin’ to say?”
“I’m hungry,” Mac said. “I ain’t et since noon. Goin’ on thirteen, fourteen hours, whatever it is.”