The ringleader sent several of his boys over. The one with the ball walked up to Nathan. “Take it from me.”
“Look, we’re not looking for any trouble. Just give up the ball.” Nick went to Nathan’s side as the boys circled them.
“Yeah, just be a sport and return the ball,” Nick said.
The boy with the ball shouted to the ringleader: “Hey Paddy, I think one of them is a kike.” He pointed at Nick. “And this one here is definitely a dago.” As soon as the boy turned around, Nathan pummeled his face, while Nick tackled another one to the ground. The big mouth was bleeding from his lips, lying dazed on the ground. Nick had a lock hold around the guy’s neck, his legs twitching. In the meantime, the third guy began punching Nick in the back. Nathan pulled the guy away from Nick and when the kid turned around, Nathan left-jabbed him in the solar plexus and a right to the face. Down he went with the wind knocked out of him. The ringleader came running with his remaining friend. Nick released the guy who was gasping for breath and stood up to face the last two with Nathan.
Paul had taken in the action as he hiked out of an overgrown trail. He flew over to the scene, curve punched the ringleader on the side of his head and watched him tumble to the ground. His sidekick picked up the ringleader and they both ran away, the rest of the gang following, while the trio watched their every move as they fled. When they all caught up with the ringleader, he yelled from a safe distance: “Youse guys are goin’ to get it later.” They trotted back in the direction they came from. Nathan grabbed his glove and ball off the ground, tossed the ball up high and held his glove out until it popped in.
Nick shook his head. “Where the hell did you learn to box like that, Nate?”
“Right in the kisser!” Paul added, as he mimicked a crouched boxer.
“My track coach taught me after I took a licking from some punks. You guys weren’t so bad either.”
“Oh, this is my cuginu, Paul,” Nick said, as they shook hands.
“Heard all about you.”
“Hope it was somethin’ good.”
“Nick said you’re a sharp guy.” Paul eyed his cousin.
“What you say we scram,” Nick advised. “I’ve seen these mugs before. Better believe they’ll be back like a vendetta.”
“My cuginu’s right,” Paul said. “We were lucky this time.”
“I know a fast way out of the park. We can hop a bus there before those palookas find us,” Nathan said.
When they got on the bus, they stood in the back hanging onto the leather straps and remained quiet along the circuitous route until Nathan said: “Want to listen to some jazz at my house? We’re almost there.”
“I’m headin’ back to the guys on the corner,” Paul answered.
“What about you, Nick?”
“I don’t know.”
“My mom is a great baker.”
“Okay, you won me over.”
When they got to the house, Nathan’s parents had already gone out for a walk. They sat around the kitchen table munching hunks of chocolate, blackout cake with glasses of milk. Deborah joined them but sat quietly. Nathan noticed his sister staring at Nick, who was busy eating.
“This cake is really good.”
“I told you she could bake.”
“It’s true what my brother says.”
“Oh Nick, this is my kid sister, Deborah.” Nick stopped eating to look at her.
“I told my mom she should open a store. But she just laughs. Says working as a dressmaker suits her fine.”
“Let’s listen to my favorite jazz records before my parents get home. They get annoyed when I play the music loud.” Nathan brought Nick into his room to show his collection, while Deborah leaned against the door.
“Wow, you have a lot of 78s!”
“Can I stay and listen, too?”
“Sure, Sis, but don’t be a pest?” Deborah wrinkled her face at Nathan.
“Nick, how about Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’?”
“Swing away, Nate.”
At dusk the door lock snapped open and Nathan lowered the volume before his parents entered.
“Father! Mother! Meet my friend Nick. You know, the one I told you about from the museum.” His parents shook hands with him.
“Would you like to stay for supper, young man?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Fein, my mother is expecting me home. I’m not allowed to miss meals with my family, unless it’s some kind of emergency.”
“Another time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the door closed, Ernst said: “Nice Italian boy. It’s good for you to have friends who are not Jewish. But never drop your guard, Nathan.”
“Father, he’s my friend.”
“Yes and he’s a dreamboat.” Ernst stared at his daughter but said nothing.
In the beginning Deborah tagged along with Nick and her brother on the days when they weren’t playing baseball with Paul. For Nick it started with her strawberry blond hair, curly and long. He sensed she was interested in him by the way her eyes followed his movement. This was a distraction that he needed, so he wouldn’t have to think about what was going to happen next to his father, and then it turned into an attraction that Nick wasn’t able to resist. Deborah was a girl Nick wanted to embrace and much more, after each tryst they managed to pull off.
Nathan had suspected all along and felt that Nick counted on ‘mum’s the word’ from his buddy, but he was concerned about the consequences—losing his friend was not an option no matter what his father said. Nathan questioned his own Jewishness because he wanted to be a mainstream American, and Nick wished he were born Jewish, better yet an Italian Jew, when he considered what Mr. Fein would think if he knew his daughter was dating him, an Italian American and definitely not Jewish.
Nick and Deborah’s favorite place was the San Francisco Botanical Garden in Golden Gate Park. One time after school, in early spring, they bypassed the Great Meadow while holding hands and followed a trail of various types of magnolia trees, the petals forming cumulus shapes, some pink, others white. They worked their way back to the Great Meadow and crossed through to a garden where the azaleas were changing from red to pink dots. When she let go of his hand to get a closer look, it reminded Nick of an impressionist painting with Deborah in the foreground. These images were stored in his memory bank to fall back on when he worried about his father.
“Deb, there are more private benches by the rhododendrons. Why don’t we go there?” Deborah nodded yes. They sat behind a red-pink one, taller than Nick who hushed Deborah. “Sa-wee, sa-sew. Did you hear that song?”
“No, where is it?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a branch of a nearby tree but the bird wasn’t visible. “Do you hear it now?”
“Sa-wee, sa-sew.”
“There’s another somewhere behind us.”
“Oh, yes. It’s so beautiful. What type of bird is it?”
“A black phoebe. Look, he flew over our heads.”
“Sa-wee, sa-sew. Sa-wee, sa-sew.”
“I think he found his mate, Deb.”
“When did you become such a bird lover?”
“Rainy days at the library. I used to page through the colored plates of Audubon. Been tracking birds since grade school.”
They shared some of her mother’s rugelach. When they finished off the last piece, Deborah stroked the hair on Nick’s forearm.
“Are you sure everything’s okay with your father?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about him. He used to be a socialist, you know.” She patted his face. “You really are special, Nicky. I knew it from the moment I first saw you.”
“You’re like a principessa to me.” He looked down at his shoes. “I think I’m stuck on you.”