"To the heart that has become purified, all is changed. Transformation of character is the testimony to the world of an indwelling Christ. The Spirit of God produces a new life in the soul, bringing the thoughts and desires into obedience to the will of Christ; and the inward man is renewed in the image of God. Weak and erring men and women show to the world that the redeeming power of grace can cause the faulty character to develop into symmetry and abundant fruitfulness." 8
Blanch was angry. Stomping around the apartment,
shivering in the cold, she cursed the Landlord who refused to
turn on the heat, thus forcing her to use the oven for warmth.
She was even angrier, and more frightened, concerning a report
she heard on the local morning news that her welfare check would
be late this month. This terrified Blanch, for they were almost
out of food, school would begin in two weeks, Celeste needed new
clothes, the cable television bill was due, and she didn’t
have any money.
She would not admit it even to herself,
but her greatest fear, her most anxiety producing moments came
when she realized that even the chocolate iced milk she so much
enjoyed was now financially out of reach, at least for the weekend.
How would she cope without her favorite food. This wasn’t
any laughing matter. Blanch pondered the chocolate less weekend,
staring out of the window at the drizzle that had begun earlier
that morning, rendering her apartment even more unpleasant. She
needed this refreshment to strengthen her tired feet, and calm
her nerves. Chocolate seemed to act like a drug, therefore, it
became as import as her bladder medication.
Blanch clutched her hands nervously, twisting
and untwisting a moist red handkerchief. Pacing back and fourth
across the well worn cream colored carpet now turned a dirty brown,
she contemplated the coming weekend with something akin to dread.
She recalled the exact words of the announcer
as he described, to her horror, the very real probability that
the state of Illinois would be unable to meet its welfare obligations.
Something about a financial shortfall in the welfare budget, the
inability of the state to meet its own payroll. She cared less
if politicians and government workers were paid. There were also
comments about cutting back on health benefits, which sent shivers
of fear down her spine. How could she afford the doctor bills
and medications for her bladder infection if the state refused
to pay, she lamented with bitterness?
Blanch wasn’t a religious women, although
she thought of herself as such. Didn’t she attend church
every Sunday morning and every Wednesday, at least when it was
hot and the air conditioning was working. She even had a Bible,
somewhere, and occasionally read it, but her comprehension of
religious matters was void of understanding, at least so far as
it touched her heart and mind.
Her feelings were the only thing that mattered
to Blanch and, right now, her feelings were in a tizzy. No chocolate
ice cream, no medication for her infection, no school clothes
for Celeste, how could she manage, she muttered, twisting and
untwisting the red handkerchief? Worry, perplexity, anxiety, fear,
foreboding, apprehension vied with each other for the supremacy,
but anger finally won out.
How could those politicians at city hall
allow this to happen, she fairly screamed in rising anger and
resentment. Their criminal neglect of the poor, their obligations
to her and her daughter, her need for antibiotics and school clothes,
and chocolate ice cream. Something had to be done to let them
know that, she, Blanch Fonteneau, was angry. They must feel her
ire, must realize she needed, no required her welfare check to
be on time, otherwise, she could not cope with the rising costs
of food and medicine, and chocolate ice cream.
Standing in her living room, she resolved
to do something, do something to call attention to the plight
of the poor and homeless. After all, weren’t the homeless
and welfare mothers in other states receiving attention for their
activism and weren’t their entitlements arriving on time.
That’s it, Blanch reasoned, she and Celeste were entitled
to a welfare check, weren’t they poor and didn’t they
need the money. There was lots of money to go around and she needed
some of it for her family.
Thus Blanch reasoned, and thus Blanch acted.
* * *
Bruno sat in front of the television watching
cartoon shows. His favorite character was Cow Puncher, a tall,
lanky cowboy with chaps, ten galleon hat, whiskers that twitched
when he was excited, and a gravely voice, and his side kick, Rat
Chaser who was a crime fighting donkey. Cow Puncher and Rat Chaser
were currently on the trail of Big Toes, a notorious robber of
banks and stealer of hearts of lovely damsels.
Bruno watched in bored silence for several
moments, then switched off the television in disgust. Cow Puncher
and Rat Chaser were just too juvenile for his maturing tastes,
the nine year old boy thought.
He was bored. The heavy rains and storm
damage, from the remnants of the hurricane, had given him several
days of excitement. Watching trees falling, trash cans rolling
about the street, people dashing around, trying to avoid getting
drenched, that was exciting. When the electricity went off, life
gained some momentary interest, but even this palled after several
hours of walking about with flashlights and candles. He couldn’t
watch television with a flashlight, he discovered, much to his
disgust. The beginning of school would, at least, afford a break
from the monotony and boredom of a lonely house with no one to
play with and nothing to do, but school wouldn’t begin for
two weeks.
Stocky or pudgy, Bruno looked like a heavy
weight boxer without the bulging muscles. Cocky, he loved to tease
lesser boys, and tousled girl’s hair, laughing at their squeals
and angry looks. He would nonchalantly stroll through the lunch
room at school steeling a sack of potato chips here or chocolate
milk there, daring the victim to object, which they seldom did.
He was a terror to the second graders, and a perplexity to the
teachers who vainly endeavored to reprimand him for his errant
ways, but he would have none of their remonstrances.
In a perpetual slouch, shoulders slumped
with head drawn downward, a perpetual scowl and a dare me attitude
on his face, he was forever looking for trouble and finding it.
His black eyes, wavy black hair, and dark complexion lent a certain
Latin air about him which would have attracted the girls had they
not feared him. Quick tempered, ready with a shove or fist for
the smaller boys, and a smirk for the girls, he radiated defiance
with every step, the quintessential play ground bully. He relished
the role and the fear it engendered.
He glanced about the careworn room for something
to do. Several baskets of smelly, unwashed laundry occupied a
corner of the frayed couch, dirty ashtrays and a bunch of last
weeks newspapers were scattered about the room, while a faded
picture of an Arizona sunset was the only aesthetic touch in evidence.
His eye lit upon the gold fish bowl belonging
to his brother. Two gold fish swam purposelessly around and around
their bowl going no where in a leisurely fashion. Rising from
his prone position on the torn, brown, linoleum floor, Bruno wondered
over to the bowl and tapped on the rim to see if the fish would
take note. They didn’t, so he rapped again.
The cat wondered in through the broken screen
door, brushed against his trouser leg, and eyed the bowel perched
just out of reach upon an empty bookcase. He was tempted to kick
the cat, as was his custom but he had a better idea. Bruno glanced
from cat to bowl, then back again.
“Are you hungry,” he asked the
cat, who affirmed that, indeed, he was hungry and wouldn’t
object to a gold fish snack.
Reaching into the bowl, he pinched a wiggly
fish between his fingers, held it just beyond the reach of the
pawing cat, then dropped it into his open mouth. The cat purred
contentedly and begged for more. Bruno obliged.
When the cat craved a third morsel,
Bruno replied to the unspoken desire, “Sorry, old puss, there
ain’t any more.
The cat licked its lips, purred with satisfaction
and went in search of a mouse.
Tanned from weeks of playing in the sun
over summer vacation, Bruno had grown nearly an inch in the last
three months. Nevertheless, he was dissatisfied with his newly
acquired stature as with everything else in his immature life.
Wondering into the kitchen in search of something to eat, he looked
disgustedly at a sink full of dirty dishes. Before leaving for
work that morning, his mother had demanded that he do something
about them.
Listlessly, he scraped dried food off several
plates and ran them under a drizzle of water from the faucet,
then tossed them into a dish rack.
“This ain’t any fun,” he
said to himself.
Glancing at the refrigerator, he wondered
if his brother had finished the strawberry ice cream before leaving
for the school playground, but ice cream didn’t interest
him, either, so he wondered back into the living room to watch
more television.
The Scarpello home lacked certain aesthetic
qualities of appearance, unless one counted the Arizona sunset
or the scraggly, unkempt rose bush in the corner of the porch.
Peeling white pain, splintered railing, missing floor boards,
several hanging flower baskets with withered or dead plants were
indicative of the character of both the house and its occupants.
With a wistful look in his eyes, Bruno recalled
a conversation with his father before he left on his latest trip.
“Can I go with ya Dad. I want to honk
the air horn, and watch motorists scamper out of the way of your
eighteen wheeler.
His father scowled. “Can’t, the
insurance won’t cover you.”
Bruno kicked the cat who was sunning itself
on the porch, knowing the real reason for his father’s refusal,
or thought he did, something about women and drugs, but he wasn’t
sure what they had in common. Bruno wasn’t sure of a lot
of things, although he pretended, especially to his brother, that
his worldly knowledge was, indeed, profound.
The door slammed.
“That you, Gino,” Bruno shouted.
Gino plumped down beside his brother.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, the older boy responded.
They watched Cow Puncher roping a bank robber
in mild amusement, then Bruno yawned, rolled over on his back,
kicked his legs in the air, and asked his brother, “wanna
play in them abandoned rail road cars?”
Gino looked mildly interested. “Smaller
then his older brother, long hair, a perpetual smirk on his face,
Gino and his brother Bruno loved to scrap on the playground and
sought out trouble wherever and whenever they could find it. They
were heartily disliked by the other children in the neighborhood
and a thorn in the side of school officials and police alike.
Their mischief never went far enough to warrant expulsion from
school or appearances in juvenile court. They were, nevertheless,
headed in that direction, waiting only the development of sufficient
physical strength to graduate to larger acts of mischief. Their
combined 162 pounds of brawn, weren’t sufficient to cause
real damage, not yet, at least.
“We been over there yesterday,”
Gino replied to his brother, “what more’s there to do?”
Bruno sat up, “we can play train wreck.
Maybe see if the breaks on them cars can be jimmied, maybe we
can push them on to the tracks and have a real train wreck.”
His younger brother laughed. “We ain’t
strong enough.”
Bruno objected. “It don’t take
strength to move them box cars,” he said with an assurance
he didn’t feel, “their parked on an incline, iffen we
can unlock their breaks, they might just roll down hill all by
themselves.”
Gino looked interested..
“Lets try,” Bruno coaxed, knowing
his brother was just as eager for mischief as he, although less
inventive.
Gino shouted, “I’m the train engineer.”
“No you ain’t, I am,” Bruno
yelled back as they slammed through the screen door, frightening
the cat who was snoozing in the sun, on their way to a siding
several blocks from their house.
Choked with weeds, rusted from disuse, surrounded
by abandoned sheds and warehouses, the three empty freight cars,
sitting on an abandoned siding, rusty orange in appearance, doors
gapping open, provided endless hours of fun for the more adventuresome
boys in the neighborhood.
Walking along the gravel bed of the railway
tracks, Bruno eyed the rusty hinge and break of the first car
while listlessly kicking a tin can. Gino followed his brother’s
lead, as they scrambled into the musty interior of the second
car. Empty boxes, beer bottles, old magazines and newspapers,
soiled garments, and paper candy wrappers were its only freight.
The brothers sat on either side of the open
door, dangling their short legs over the edge of the sill imaging
exploits or audacious adventures much in the fashion of Huckleberry
Finn or Tom Sawyer, neither of whom they knew intimately through
an acquaintance with their respective books, but, rather, through
cartoon shows.
They listened to the whistle of a distant
freight on the main line, imaging its destination and speculating
upon its cargo.
“Its carrying ammunition for the army,”
Gino speculated.
“No it ain’t,” Bruno chided,
“the army has its own ammunition trains. I seen one in that
war movie about Nam last week.”
“Well, then, maybe its carrying spy
satellites for NISA or Russia.”
“That’s NAZZA,” Bruno replied
sarcastically, indigent over his brother’s ignorance of such
things.
Gino thought again. “Well, then, maybe
its carrying baby food,” he offered hopefully.
Bruno shrugged. “Perhaps,” he
conceded.
“Well, what do you think its carrying,”
Gino challenged as the freight rumbled by several hundred feet
from their perch sending vibrations through the box cars.
Bruno peered out of the door at a long string
of tanker cars. “Their hauling some exotic nerve or muscle
gas for some super secret space scientist whose going to take
over the world Friday evening.’
Gino scoffed. “Sure, and his name’s
Kasper, the mad scientist.
Bruno laughed. “Where did you get that
name from?”
“I thought it up all by myself,”
his brother replied, heatedly.
They sat in silence for a long moment. “You
ever seen a naked woman,” Gino asked.
Bruno shrugged. “Seen that Spanish
woman next door when she’s taking her shower.”
“You can’t either,” Gino
said indignantly, “she always pulls that shower curtain.
Can’t see through it, besides, I’ve tried.”
“They got nude magazines at the drug
store. Wanna try to get one,” Bruno asked. “Maybe we
can sneak it past old eagle eyes when he ain’t looking, like
the fifth graders do.”
“Na,” Gino replied, “That
guy’s got cameras all over the place and mirrors. If we get
caught, he says he’ll send us to juvenile home.”
Bruno snickered. “I know a boy who
says that place ain’t so bad, just like a summer camp. They
even do arts and crafts.”
Gino laughed, “like maybe making rag
dolls.”
“Well, they certainly don’t make
knives,” his brother retorted. “Real criminals, in the
big house, they make license places and stuff like that. The guards
watch them, and handcuff them, and order them around.”
“Where’d you hear about that,”
Gino inquired skeptically.
“Saw it on that crime show last week.”
“Really,” his brother replied
skeptically. “Do they get to work in the wood shop like the
sixth graders. That sounds like fun.”
Bruno shrugged. He didn’t really know
if prisoners in jails actually worked in the wood shop, but he
wasn’t about to show his ignorance to his brother.
“Got a smoke,” Gino inquired.
Bruno fished in his pocket and came up empty.
“Smoked the last one yesterday that I filched from Dad’s
stash he keeps in the closet.”
Gino looked disgusted. He didn’t like
the taste or smell of cigarettes, but when he held one in his
hand and took several puffs, it made him feel real grown up.
“Herbert’s got some nude magazines,
wanna go to his house,” Bruno offered after a moment of bored
silence, pirate ships having eluded the brothers.
“Ya, lets do it,” Gino replied
enthusiastically. He had never actually seen any nudes, as he
suspected his brother hadn’t either, but he was just as interested
in furthering his education.
The boys jumped down from their perch. Gino
stumbled and fell on the gravel, scrapping his knee, the door
was still too high for his stature, but he refused to cry with
the pain, fearing his brother’s ridicule. Jumping to his
feet, he limped after Bruno who was in search of adult maturity,
but couldn’t quite attain unto it, at least not yet.
