The building was solid with a horizontal line of fluted columns in the style of Beaux Arts that Nick had read about, but to him it didn’t appear to be a French palace set in California but rather a faraway Egyptian temple waiting for him to climb his way up. He wandered around the European paintings for awhile with no specific artist in mind, then sat on a bench and looked up in surprise at Fra Angelico’s The Meeting of Saint Francis and Saint Dominic, a painter whom his Jesuit English teacher raved about in class. Nick was pleased that an Italian did the work and no one was about to take it away. From the corner of his eye he saw that there was another guy sitting at the other end, sketching profiles with a graphic pencil. Nick slid over about half way to get a better look and liked what he saw but didn’t comment. Someone might be watching them and he didn’t want to be taken for a queer. He could hear his friends from North Beach razzing him for being a finocchio. Nick thought chi minchia, what the fuck, and spoke up.
“You some kind of artist?”
“Nah, just copying from the experts,” the young man said without looking up.
“Anyway, you’re good at it.” The young man kept working. “I bet you could do comic strips, like The Phantom or Prince Valiant.”
Nathan jerked his head up, eyes sparkling. “I’d sure get my kicks out of that. On the up and up, I’d love to be good enough to do woodcuts someday. Even better, a wordless novel like Lynd Ward’s.”
“Never heard of him!”
“You’re missing out on something. Get a copy of God’s Man from the library. Each page comes alive without a single word, telling this swell story.”
“Sounds hep.”
“You a hep cat?”
“Love jazz—swing style.”
The young man continued sketching, while Nick scrutinized the painting. A few minutes later, the young man turned to Nick. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Nicolo Spataro, but you can call me Nick.”
They shook hands. “I’m Nathan Fein. Nate for short. So what are you doing here, Nick? Homework assignment?”
“Art’s in my blood—I’m Italian.”
Nathan chuckled.
“You laughing at me? Got enough problems with my friends ragging me for coming here.”
“I’m not laughing because you’re Italian. Come on, I’m Jewish.” He shaded in some background and then looked up again. “My pop’s from Germany. Warned me about talking to strangers.”
Nick laughed. “Just like my mom. They worry a lot about that stuff.”
“They mean well but we’re not kiddos anymore. You got any brothers or sisters?”
“Nah, only child.”
“An Italian family!”
“That’s why my friends think I’m a little pazzu.” Nathan had a blank look. “Crazy. What about you?”
“Pazzu!” Nathan laughed and Nick joined in.
“You’re a bit of joker. Like my cousin Paul, but smarter.” Nick’s eyes widened. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
“Mums the word.”
“So, any brothers, sisters?”
“Got a kid sister, Deborah. She’s sixteen and cute but a pain in the butt.” Nathan closed his pad. “You know, I’ve been sketching all morning. Wanna get a Coke in the cafeteria?”
“Sure.”
As they moved along the line, they picked up a bunch of cupcakes and some soda, paid and bolted to eat outside since the weather was mild for January. Nathan placed the tray on the table and they wolfed down the food. Nick thought what a great park to be in—grass and trees all around contrasted by the city skyline. He recalled all those views coming in on his bike—the green sea that changes to blue or gray depending on the day, Sausalito’s wooded hillside, evergreen and deciduous, and the Golden Gate Bridge not gold at all but that distinctive orange. Like all the evolving colors he rode by, Nick discovered a new friend who was different, yet seemed much like him. Maybe it was their Mediterranean looks or just two Americani in some random moment.
“I think we made a mistake mixing coke with cupcakes. Should have been milk, Nate.”
“It wouldn’t look good.” They finished the few pieces left. “My father always reminds me we have to make sacrifices in life.” He noticed that Nick winced when he mentioned the word “father”.
“Everything okay?”
“Nothing!”
“Your eyes drooped when I mentioned my father.”
“Nah, it’s nothing to do with your pop.”
“I didn’t mean to monkey into your business.”
“Not a problem, Nate. It’s just…”
“What?”
“I really shouldn’t be spilling my guts out.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s my Papà.” Nick’s eyes reddened. “The G-men took him away in the middle of the night.”
“What the hell for?”
“I don’t know. He’s Italian born, Sicilianu. Didn’t get his papers straightened out, or something like that.” Nick squeezed his napkin into a ball.
“My neighborhood is right next to Japantown.” Nick wiped his eyes with the napkin. “Just the other day, I saw with my own eyes, a long line of confused Japanese Americans standing next to a building on Bush Street. It didn’t look like they were going on any holiday trip.” Nick recalled Giuseppina’s secret, while Nathan stacked the plates and glasses on the tray.
“I guess everybody’s just jumpy,” Nick said. “They arrest people who never hurt a fly. My pop’s bonu come il pane.” Nathan raised his eyebrows in a quick flash. “It means as a good as bread.”
“Good as gold.”
“I suppose that’s close enough for around here. But I’m talking about a staple of life.”
“You Christians would say, ‘the salt of the earth,’ Gospel According to Matthew.”
“New Testament and you’re Jewish. And I thought I was so smart going to a Jesuit school.” Nathan laughed aloud. “How’d you get here anyway, Nate?”
“By bike.”
“That’s swell. We can ride back part of the way. But we’ll have to go fast. I’m already late for Sunday dinner.”
Nathan entered his family home acting like a rabbi contemplating a passage from the Torah. He wanted to fool his mother, so she wouldn’t kvetch about where he had been all Sunday, not attending to his chores around the house.
“You’re late! Put the paper away and eat your dinner before it gets cold,” his mother, Rebecca, said shaking her head.
“Where’s Father?”
“He had to work overtime today. Insisted I shouldn’t hold up supper for him. He should only know that you weren’t here either. Wash your hands first. Your sister’s still playing with her food at the dining room table. Waiting for you, of course.”