The Gravedigger

By Rath Dalton

Dirk Armen Bohler, a German boy growing up in a French-Canadian neighborhood, makes his way through youth during the depression years. Squeezed between poverty and a failed father figure, he struggles to find his place. Short story, Coming of age

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rath Dalton
• Release date: Nov 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370772742

Rath Dalton

Hello, I’m Rath Dalton. Yes, Mom was a Basil Rathbone fan so that explains the name. I hope you enjoy my work here on Smashwords. I can’t stop writing anyway, so if you keep coming back there should always be something new. By the way, thanks; it is an honor to be allowed to have some measure of access to the controls on the entertainment system in your life. I will try not to let you down. Different authors have different takes on writing. I see it as a process where the writer needs to touch and tickle stored memories in the reader’s head, memories that bring out emotions and feelings that turn a shopping list of incidents into something real. It is a multi-tasking process that can go easily awry. I liken it to driving a bus and doing pantomime at the same time except the driver never knows for sure if he got his point across. At best, he knows that some people went for a ride. Occasionally there is positive feedback and that’s fuel in the tank. So hop aboard, let’s go on a trip. There should be interesting stops along the way. If you like what you read, write a positive review here on Smahswords and if you wonder why I was flapping my arm as we rolled around that last bend, ask me about it at [e-mail]. Rath

Book preview

The Gravedigger

By Rath Dalton

Based on events as related to the author

Copyright 2014 Rath Dalton

Smashwords Edition

It was nineteen forty-one and the clock spring of the world was wound up with a tension that could only be released in war. Germany had invaded France and was now eyeing Britain. Japan would soon attack Pearl Harbor. The debate over our own country entering the war would soon be over.

My mother and I weren’t debating the war, though. We were trying to earn enough money to cover food and rent. It was a common problem during the depression years. As hard as it was, things would soon get worse. Looking back, I can’t say I would wish those troubles away. Troubles make us who we are.

We lived in a third-floor walkup in Lawrence. I was working at Durette’s for twenty cents an hour, after school. My mother was cleaning offices at night for the better part of our income. Durette stood behind his deli counter that day, a fairly progressive addition to a dry goods store in that era. He tinkered with his scale, using a weight stamped ’16 oz.’ but he dialed the marker up to 19.

What are you looking at, kid? he asked, noticing me watching.

Nothing. I looked back down at my sweeping. There were gaps between the wooden floor boards that had collected dirt.

You know, he said, putting his weights away, Eugene Paquet and I are good friends. He was referring to my mother’s boss. Your mother is lucky to have that job.

She is, I said. The dirt in the cracks wouldn’t come out no matter how hard I swept.

Six women applied for that job. Any one of them would be happy to have it.

Yes, sir. I was half way up the aisle, making certain to sweep close to the edges.

Be a shame if something you did here reflected on her work there. He watched me carefully. Eugene and I, we talk all the time. I tell him how you’re doing.

The door jingled as a customer came in; a lady in heels and a hat. Her coat looked new and a bit heavy for the weather.

Good afternoon Mrs. Alard, Durette said with a smile. That’s a wonderful coat you’ve got there.

Oh, I just love it. It was on sale at Martingale’s. She stepped to the deli. It’s so exciting to get something nice at a good price.

Isn’t that the truth. What can I get you today?

I’d like a pound of potato salad and a pound of pastrami.

And that you’ll have.

The woman turned and regarded me as Durette went about filling her order. I felt like I was being inspected for fleas.

You’re Edeline Bohler’s boy, aren’t you?

Yes ma’am.

She nodded. I think it’s wonderful, you helping your mother this way. Isn’t he wonderful Olivier?

He’s an angel.

How old are you?

Twelve, ma’am.

She shook her head in wonder and made a ‘tsk’ sound. I admire your mother so much, raising a child alone.

She continued to gaze at me as though I were exhibit ‘A.’

You’re so wonderful to give him work here, Olly.

We’re all in this together. Durette looked at me over the counter. There was a nice pile of dirt now so I scooted the dust pan over and began to sweep it in.

What’s your name? Mrs. Alard