Still, he loves the tunnels, moving from the darkness into the bright yellow light of the stations, the slow roll into blackness once more, the screech of steel on steel, the workers shining flashlights, the elation of being slammed along on a mid-morning express, commuters shuffling their feet on platforms as he whizzes by.
On weekends he takes Clarence with him and is greeted with stares from passengers looking at the curious paler skin of his teenage child. Clarence is tall enough to have to bend at the window to see along the tunnels. He has the beginnings of a mustache around his lips but is still too embarrassed to start shaving. He stands in silence, looking out the window, his father’s hand on his shoulder.
Sometimes Walker rides all the way downtown and meets up with Vannucci and Power on the Manhattan side of the water.
The men race their pigeons back and forth across the East River. Vannucci has taken on new colors for his birds: red and white and green. In a moment of drunkenness, Power has drawn fifty tiny blue stars on one of his favorite pigeons. The men sit at the waterside and share bottles — Kentucky bourbon and grappa — palming them around in sweat-wrinkled brown bags.
As they wait for the pigeons to return, the men remember themselves when young, diving down into the alcohol with happiness and regret.
“Pass me the slop!” shouts Power. “Gotta keep on sloppin’. Sloppin’ till the end of time.”
“’Member the time me and El dunked them pigeons?” says Walker.
“I shoulda kicked your ugly black ass.”
“Those were the days, huh?” says Walker.
“Weren’t they just? How’s that fortune-teller of yours, Nathan?”
“She says y’all’ll be sloppin’ till the end of time.”
“Fine by me, buddy.” Power claps his hands. “I bet that woman could suck the chrome off my fender.”
“Excepting you don’t have a car!”
“That’s exactly right.”
“What is the meaning, the chrome?” asks Vannucci.
“Ask your wife, Ruby. And Ruby—”
“What?”
“Don’t forget to ask her about the custard.”
“I do not understand.”
“Pass me the bottle and I’ll show ya!”
One afternoon they take the subway under the East River. They sit in the front carriage and ask the driver to stop the train for a moment. The driver curls his upper lip and shakes his head. “No.” “Come on, bud.” “No.” “A dollar?” “No.” “Dollar and a half?” “No.” “A thick jaw?” “Come on, you guys, quit kiddin’, I said no.”
And then Power flashes his union card, along with a pair of dollar bills. The driver nods and the train comes to a halt. They crowd into the driver’s cabin and spread open the sports page of the newspaper. Power leans out the window and reads Con O’Leary the baseball reports: It is June 1950 and the Brooklyn Dodgers have just gone into first place in the National League by beating the Cincinnati Reds 8–2 at Ebbets Field, Gil Hodges landing a grand slam homer in the upper deck in the third inning. “Yessir, Mister Big Gil himself,” says Power. And then Walker leans over the top of his colleague and says, “And ol’ Jackie Robinson got a double, buddyblue.”
The driver grows nervous and mashes his hands together as the men shout other scores at the ceiling of the tunnel.
The afternoon surrenders control to the bottles. They switch trains back and forth between the two stations, and they grow loud and raucous until they are kicked off a train and Power shouts, “You can’t kick us off, we’re the Resurrection Men!”
* * *
Eleanor stands in the doorway and leans her head against the frame. Halfway across the room toward her, Walker sees that she is weeping. And then he realizes that Eleanor doesn’t want to cross the threshold, as if something has pinned her there.
* * *
“I was sitting in the warehouse, Nathan. Sewing the hem on a pair of trousers. We all sit in a big long line, the Singer machines in front of us. I don’t know what happened to me, Nathan. It was terrible. He was coming from school. He had his report card. He got himself an A in science. I guess he just wanted to tell me that. I guess he just wanted to tell his momma that he was doing good in school. And the other women, Nathan, they don’t know a thing about me. All they know is that I live uptown. They don’t even know where uptown. They don’t know anything about you or the kids. It’s just that — well, it’s just — I don’t know what it is. I’m not ashamed. It ain’t that. I suppose I just didn’t want them to know about me. Just to keep us all safe, you know?”
“Take it easy, El.”
“’Member I told you that the boss’s name is O’Leary? Well, I told him — when I first got the job — I told him my maiden name is O’Leary too. I didn’t say nothing about being a Walker. And, seeing how I’m an O’Leary, he’s nice to me, doesn’t shout at me if I spend too long at coffee break and all, seeing how I’m Irish. He likes me — not in that way — but he likes me. Anyway, I’m sewing the hem on those trousers when I look up and there’s our Clarence up at the door of the warehouse. He’s pointing at me. I put my head down, Nathan, I don’t know why. I was trembling. I pretended I was concentrating on the hem, being very careful with it. I could hear the footsteps. They’re the loudest footsteps I ever heard. And when I looked up again, they were both standing in front of me.”
“Don’t cry, hon.”
“And O’Leary says to me, ‘This here boy says that he wants to see his momma.’”
“Oh, no.”
“I don’t know what happened to me. All of a sudden I let go of the trousers and the hem zigzagged across. You wouldn’t believe how quiet that place was. Everyone was looking at me, all the other seamstresses, silent as could be. I just said, ‘Pardon me?’ And the boss he says, ‘This here boy says that he wants to see his mother.’ Real insistent, the boss, he’s real insistent. And I just let out this nervous giggle, Nathan, I’m just sitting there giving a nervous giggle. And I said, ‘Oh, that’s just a term of speech, I know his momma very well.’”
“Oh, El. You didn’t? You couldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Eleanor.”
“And O’Leary was staring at me and his eyes all wide. And Clarence he’s just staring too. Clarence has got this report card in his hand. I looked at the boss and I said it again, ‘It’s just a term of speech, you know how people talk.’ And Clarence, he’s got this look on his face like the whole world has just tumbled in on him. Like something went in and just collapsed his face right down. He says to me, ‘Momma.’ I think I’m gonna hear that word forever, the way he said it. Momma. Momma. Momma. Like it’s just the most important thing he ever said. But I just looked around the warehouse and everybody was staring at me. ‘His momma is a friend of mine, his momma lives local to me’—that’s what I said. And O’Leary, he takes Clarence by the scruff of the neck. ‘What’re you wasting this lady’s time for?’ he says. And Clarence says, ‘I just wanted to tell her that I got an A in science.’ And O’Leary he swells up real big like and he coughs and he looks around the warehouse. ‘An A in science!’ he shouts. ‘It musta been in evolution!’”
“The sonofabitch.”
“And Clarence was there and he was crying.”
“I can’t believe it, El.”
“He’s got these big tears coming down his face. And he says to me again, ‘Momma.’ And I didn’t say a word to him. I just didn’t say a word. I didn’t even say well done. Well done for the A in science. I was just dumbstruck and I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean to be that way; it just happened to me, Nathan, I swear I didn’t mean it; oh, God in heaven, believe me that I never meant to ignore him like that. I just sat there and watched O’Leary drag Clarence out of the warehouse, and I’ve never felt a sorrier thing ever in my life. I turned and looked at the other seamstresses and — oh, God, Nathan, I just got up and I pushed my way past O’Leary and grabbed my coat and ran and went to look for Clarence. But he was nowhere around. I looked and looked but he was gone. I know I’ve lost my job, but I don’t care. I just ran and ran but I couldn’t find him.”