Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
asked his question through sniffles and the wiping away of tears.
"Yes, I am sure he did."
"Mrs. Blair says I'll go to the Devil." He cried harder. His body contracted in spasms of uncontrolled grief and passions of fear. Death and Hell had come into Billy's life. Billy stayed two days with his Mums. They played games, went to the park and together they drove the highway from Oakland to Carmel and back, crossing all the bridges, and remembering their names.
They talked about God, the policeman, and why God chose to take the policeman. Billy loved his Mums and often told her so. She loved her grandson and often told him so. They talked of his father and how his father loved Billy. Billy enjoyed the days with his Mums.
Now, it was time for Billy to leave. "I hate Mrs. Blair, Mums." His words were truthfully spoken. A matter-of-fact statement made by an innocent child. Mums mentally staggered with the boldness and sincerity of Billy's pronouncement. She wanted to cast away the comment, to pretend it wasn't said, to reach through the cloak of hatred which was enveloping her loving grandson and dispel forever all visions and reflections of Mrs. Blair. She knew harm would come to him if he was to remain at the Blair's, but what could she do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, other than to pray for God's guidance, and protection.
"Why, oh why," she asked herself, "must a child suffer for the wrongs of his parents?" She brought Billy close to her, then said, "You must not hate, Billy. Mrs. Blair is doing what she believes is right. She is a religious person, Billy. We all see God in different ways, and because one person believes differently than another is no reason to hate them. She reached down, placing her hand gently under his chin and raising his face to hers. "I want you to remember these words, Billy." Then ever so tenderly, with love she felt for her troubled grandson, she said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
"What's it mean?"
"It means you should treat people the way you want them to treat you."
Billy replied, "Mrs. Blair doesn't do that."
"It may be that she doesn't, but you must try to. So will you promise that?"
"Yes, Mums. I promise."
Together, hand in hand, they walked to the corner to wait for the street car which would take Billy back to where neither of them wanted him to go. Mums waved for the approaching street car to stop. Billy climbed onto the stopped car, still holding his Mums' hand. She stood in the street. Billy turned, squared his shoulders and released his grandmother's hand. "I love you, Mums. Bye."
"I love you too, Billy. You are a good boy, sweetheart. Remember that."
The doors closed. The street car moved away. Mums turned to walk back to her house. Her eyes were filled with tears. Her heart was sad. Billy wanted to be a good boy.
CHAPTER SIX
Lyon Avenue was nearly level in front of the Blair's house, but from there it began an ever-increasing downward slope becoming quite steep in its final plunge to meet High Street. Billy piled the gunnysacks in the bottom of his wagon, making a place to rest his left knee. Then, pushing with his right foot and steering the wagon with his left hand, he started down the street. As his speed increased he sat in the wagon, riding it down the hill to the top of the steep descent to High Street. There he stuck out his right foot, and by dragging his toe he brought the wagon to a stop and got out. From there to the bottom of Lyon Avenue he held the handle and let the wagon lead the way down the hill. At the bottom and on High Street, he pedaled the wagon to the High Street Market on the corner of Congress Avenue.
"Wat’cha you step, Billy," cautioned Mr. Prezzolinni. "I no finish yet."
Billy stepped carefully across the smooth finished concrete floor made slippery by its covering of discarded lettuce leaves, and trimmings from the early morning delivery of fresh produce. It was Monday, the day nearby stores on High Street threw out their spoiled produce and restocked with fresh vegetables and fruits.
"You come-a early today, eh, Piazanno." Mr. Prezzolinni stripped the outer leaves from a head of lettuce, let them fall to the pile at his feet, and then tossed the head into the partially filled crate of trimmed lettuce heads ready for the stacking on the display racks.
"Yeah. I'm going to the show tonight with my Dad."
"That's-a...nice, but you no say, 'yeah.' You say,'Yes, Mr. Prezzolinni.'''
"Yes, Mr. Prezzolinni."
"That's-a better. I got lots'a nice greens for ya chickens." He stripped away the outer leaves of another head, continuing," and I put da spoiled stuff in that there crate for ya." He gestured to where the crate of discarded lettuce heads and spoiled vegetables sat.
"Gee, that's good. I won't have to go to Safeway, too." One of Billy's weekly chores was to take his wagon to the local markets to collect greens for the chickens. Usually it took stops at both the High Street Market and the Safeway, three blocks further east at the corner of High Street and Brookdale, to get a wagon full. Today, he'd save the trip to Safeway and the time he needed to meet his Dad.
"I'll pull my wagon up here." Billy returned with the wagon, stopping on the dock outside the produce preparation area. There he turned around, pushing the wagon by its handle while imitating the noise of a make-believe truck backing into a spot against the wall out of the way of Mr. Prezzolinni.
"You gon’na be a truck driver, Billy. A good truck driver." He put his hand on top of Billy's head giving him an affectionate rub.
."Maybe I can drive one of Mr. Caravacci's garbage trucks." Billy responded, proud of Mr. Prezzolinni's praise. The Caravacci family lived across the street from the Blair’s and owned the Caravacci Garbage Company which serviced the local markets. It was through Mr. Caravacci that Mrs. Blair had made the arrangements for the two local stores to set aside their fresh produce trimmings and spoiled produce for Billy to pick up.
"You no wan’na be garbageman. You got’ta be Italiano to be garbageman. You-a-be doctor or lawyer. You-a make-a-da big money." The sternness of Mr. Prezzolinni's voice and the rejection of Billy's suggestion altered his mood.
He removed a gunnysack from the wagon and began filling it with the lettuce leaves Mr. Prezzolinni had pushed into a pile. The leaves were cool and damp. They felt good, and the scent of the fresh vegetables and fruit was pleasing to Billy's senses. He liked this part of the chore. He remained silent as he went about filling the gunnysacks with the trimmings Mr. Prezzolinni was now tossing in his direction. When the sack became full Billy leaned it against the wall, stood on a crate and stepped into the sack, crushing the leaves to make room for more. Mr. Prezzolinni tossed the last head of lettuce into the crate waiting to be carried inside the store. "Terminado." announced Mr. Prezzolinni, wiping his hands on the long green apron covering his front. He pointed toward the wooden crate heaped with discarded fruits and vegetables of the previous week, "You no forget-a tat." Then he bent down, picked up the crate of of new fresh lettuce heads and disappeared into the store.
Billy eyed the crate of discarded produce, and the swarm of gnats feeding on the spoiling vegetables. He bent over, partially raised the crate and judged it to be too heavy and too large for his small wagon. He rejected the pungent stench of the rotting produce. Mentally he rebelled against the swarming gnats which he knew would infiltrate his ears and find their way into his mouth. He considered leaving the crate of spoiled produce behind as he had done once before. On that occasion Mr. Prezzolinni had scolded him profusely on his return trip, explaining that if Billy wanted the fresh trimmings he was obligated to take the spoiled produce as well. "You no take-a da bad, you no-a-get do bueno." Billy recalled the words. All the gunnysacks were full. Billy carried them to where he had parked the wagon and tied their tops closed with pieces of twine he found lying on the floor. He then entered the store to determine the whereabouts of Mr. Prezzolinni and, if the situation was to his advantage, to take a candy bar.
Mr. Prezzolinni was holding the crate between himself and the vegetable display bin where he was stacking the lettuce, totally involved in his work. Billy moved quickly behind the first aisle separating himself from the man, a friend who Billy now saw as his adversary. The candy section was