Going Home: A Novel

By Raymond Lescault

Going Home is a story of lost and found, a story of a family torn apart by the depression and poverty of the 1930s. It tells of their struggle to survive and find a place in a new world of dust and despair. This family travels a lifetime to find the home they once knew. In the end death brings them together once more and points them to the road that was always there all along. This is a story the author knows well because he was one of that lost generation.

(Authors note)

I thought of many titles for this novel before I decided on Going Home. I believe that sometime in our lives we have all wished that we could go home to a simple, uncomplicated, warm and loving place we once knew or always hoped to find. I believe that the two words in this title are both a hope and a prayer; it speaks of a universal desire that lives in all of us. Thomas Wolfe looked into his half full glass and remarked, You cant go home again, but even if this is true, hope still lives. No matter where we go in the world we all long to see home again. Truly, in our hearts we are always going home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480814691

Raymond Lescault

Raymond Lescault was adopted and raised during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl days. He attended Oklahoma A&M College until the Korean War interrupted his journalism studies. Raymond later attended Virginia Commonwealth University and the University of Richmond. He now lives with his wife, Linda, in Midlothian, Virginia.

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Copyright © 2015 Raymond Lescault.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-1468-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1469-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900038

Archway Publishing rev. date: 1/27/2015

Contents

CHAPTER 1    From the Beginning

CHAPTER 2    Like Mother, Like Daughter

CHAPTER 3    Lil

CHAPTER 4    Good Times

CHAPTER 5    I Thought I Saw an Angel

CHAPTER 6    The Danger Zone

CHAPTER 7    The Usual Lies

CHAPTER 8    Everything’s Jake

CHAPTER 9    Farm Life

CHAPTER 10    Frank

CHAPTER 11    Going Back

CHAPTER 12    On the Road Again

CHAPTER 13    Wild Bill

CHAPTER 14    Sweetwater

CHAPTER 15    The Old Campground

CHAPTER 16    Born Again

CHAPTER 17    Pretty Boy

CHAPTER 18    Run for the Border

CHAPTER 19    Walking across Texas

CHAPTER 20    The Odd Couple

CHAPTER 21    Buster

CHAPTER 22    Secrets

CHAPTER 23    Madness

CHAPTER 24    Fire

CHAPTER 25    How the Other Half Lives

CHAPTER 26    Old Wounds

CHAPTER 27    The Diner

CHAPTER 28    The Junkyard on John Paul Road

CHAPTER 29    In the Lion’s Den with Daniel

CHAPTER 30    The End

Epilogue

For

Linda—

She came running.

CHAPTER 1

From the Beginning

Muskogee, Oklahoma—August 1931

Long before my father was arrested for killing that woman and her son, I was just a dumb little kid sitting on my front porch. That day I had just turned eight years old, but I paid no particular attention. Birthdays had never carried any special meaning in my family. The first day of my eighth year started just like any other summer day. It was a day to be lazy. I was sitting on my front porch with Max Smith, my dad’s boss, whittling and watching a gang of gnats doing their rolling, turning dance just beyond the shade of the house.

Max seemed to be uneasy as he worried a hand-sized piece of cedar with his knife. The small blade pulled long strips of shavings form the hard wood as Max went about coaxing a horse’s head from its hiding place.

I was not so talented. I was putting the finishing touches on a small bamboo whistle while I watched the master carver from the corner of my eye.

My belief that this day would be like any other summer day was shattered when Max spoke.

How does it feel to be eight years old, Rusty? he asked.

My real name is not Rusty. It’s Jack, but everybody calls me Rusty because of my rust-colored hair.

I was surprised that Max would speak while we whittled. The code of the true whittler, as Max had told me, demanded that few words be exchanged. Early on Max had said that it was all right to whistle some old railroad songs or occasionally ask someone to hand me that, but a regular conversation? Never!

I replied in a casual manner. Don’t feel any different than yesterday, Max. Are we supposed to?

Max, pushing another long sliver of shavings ahead of his knife, looked up at me through shaggy eyebrows. Don’t know about you, sonny boy, but every time I have a birthday, seems like things are different right away.

How are they different, Max?

Well, for one thing it seems to me that gray hairs sprout overnight. The cussed things show up in places hairs never grew before. It seems like every morning when I look in my mirror, I look more and more like my daddy the day we put him away.

I squinted up at Max. Maybe that’s how real old people feel, but I don’t think I’ll feel any different until I get as old as AJ or Dan. That’s really old, ya know? My brothers turned fifteen just last month, I said.

Humph, really old, huh? Max said. But then you’re probably right. Those twin brothers of yours will probably start sprouting gray hairs from odd places any day now.

Max Smith had been around the house a lot lately. He had given my dad a job in his painting business just a few months ago. He was always talking to Daddy about the work they were doing or the work they were trying to get.

We didn’t have a car or much of anything else, so I thought that Max must be very rich. He had his very own truck with his name painted on its doors.

AJ said that Max must be a poet. The evidence, he said, was there on both sides of his truck. It read, Max Smith, Painting Contractor—no job too big or too small. Call Max. I do it all.

Max was not a handsome man by any standard. Daddy was a full foot taller than Max, and Max’s shoulders sloped so sharply from his thick neck that I wondered how he managed to keep his overalls from falling off.

Soft yellow flesh drooped around Max’s bloodshot eyes, and dirty brown hair hung down over his protruding ears. Scars of early acne damage partially covered by a two-day stubble of a beard accented his ruddy complexion. That beard was a wonder in itself. I’ve seen Max nearly every day for the past six months, but he was never clean shaven. I had never seen Max clean shaven. He always had a two-day beard. It was a wonder because each time his beard was never longer or shorter. It was a mystery that I had never been able to solve.

The nose that dominated Max’s face was his most remarkable characteristic. It lounged there, red-and purple-lined like a cabbage in a lettuce patch. It was skewed slightly toward his right ear. Several small, broken blood vessels provided a latticework of narrow purple lines from its tip back along the ridge of his cheekbones. In my imagination I saw Max as a child with his nose pressed up against some candy store windowpane for such a long time that his nose had permanently assumed that twisted attitude.

I was aware that Max was unnaturally fond of that nose because he tended it with such loving care.

When he stopped by to see us, he always found a reason to pull a large red handkerchief out of his pocket and blow or tend to his magnificent nose in some other manner. Each time he blew into the handkerchief, a deep musical sound was created. The sound made the air around Max vibrate in a low, mellow tone.

According to AJ, Max had once blown his nose with such force and produced a sound so charming that geese were diverted from their flight paths from Louisiana to Texas just to assemble around Max’s house, looking for the holy granddaddy of all geese.

No one would argue that Max was not a strange-looking little man, but up to that very day in August I had considered him to be a true friend.

When I first met Max, he gave me a wondrous pocketknife. Right away it became my most prized possession. The knife was crafted with such exactness that every tool that was concealed in the handle unfolded effortlessly like a blossom opening to the sun. The blades were honed to such razor sharpness that any one of them could glide through oak or hickory with ease.

The ivory handle of the knife was smooth and warm to the touch. Each side featured a small gold eagle with wings outstretched flying in a yellow-white sky. Besides the one large and two small blades on top of the knife, there was a file, a bottle opener, a small pair of scissors, and a tiny screwdriver. I had found one occasion to use the bottle opener, but the other implements had never been used. Just to know that the other tools were there if needed somehow gave me a sense of power.

Since I knew my brothers coveted my knife, I never let it out of my sight. It was the sacred totem that bound me forever to the clan of the wood-carvers. The very same day I received the knife, I made a solemn pledge that I would keep it out of the hands of the uninitiated.

That day when Max said that he was old, I really looked at him as if for the first time. I knew how old my dad was, and Max was not much older. The comparison had never occurred to me before, but at that moment I really studied Max. He was just this side of ugly, while my dad was possibly the most handsome man in Muskogee, Oklahoma. Daddy was fairly well educated for the times as well. He had attended college on a football scholarship for a short time and had once owned his own business. Max, on the other hand, had not finished high school. He chose instead to work hard to become one of the best carpenters and painting contractors in the area.

Max was going on about his whittling project, but I wasn’t really listing. I had become painfully aware of the sound of my parents shouting at each other from the back of the house. Each time one said something the other would answer back with a voice honed to a sharper edge. It was as if each voice was made more hurtful by scraping against the ever-increasing hardness of the other.

To me, the painful sounds were like fingernails violating a blackboard. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone of the voices made me feel cold. I shivered as I stood up.

As I got up from the porch steps and started in the direction of the front door, Max reached out a large, freckled hand and held me back. I think it will be over in just a few minutes, son, he said. Why don’t you just sit back down here with me and wait a bit longer?

Unsure of what to do, I stood listening for another moment before I sat down. Still unsure, I quietly pulled my knife through the bamboo and strained to hear what was being said in the back room.

Max didn’t seem upset as he held his work up to his face. He whistled softy. He sighted along the piece of cedar and nodded his head in approval as he saw the emerging horse’s nostrils, brow, and ears coming into view. The only sign that he was in the least concerned was a slight trembling of his hand.

The sound of a slap followed by a muffled cry caused both of us to come to our feet at the same time. Max folded his knife as he ran toward his truck. I couldn’t believe it. I stood for a moment, looking after him in amazement. Wait, Max, was all I could say before the truck’s tires kicked gravel into the yard.

Looks like we may need some help after all, Max shouted as he drove away. I’m going to bring the law!

I couldn’t believe that Max was actually running away when the situation obviously required the wisdom of an adult.

As Max’s truck faded into the distance, I heard my mother scream. With a pounding heart I ran through the house toward the back bedroom.

Before that day I had never heard my mother cry. As I ran toward the sound, I heard AJ calling to Dan from the tree house in the backyard.

Wasn’t that Mama’s voice?

I didn’t hear anything. Maybe she was just singing. She gets pretty loud sometimes, ya know, Dan replied.

I don’t think so. I’m getting down, AJ said.

Okay, but if you get down, I win the game.

Screw the game, you idiot. I think Mama is in real trouble.

I met my two older brothers at the doorway to our parent’s bedroom. We all stood looking in wonder at Mother lying on the floor. She pulled herself up and sat there cowering while Daddy stood over her with his fists clenched.

Seeing us standing in the doorway, she sobbed, The children, Frank. Not in front of the children.

Daddy ignored her plea as if he had not heard her.

Why, Mary? Why? he moaned.

Don’t hit me again, Frank. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t know any other way to handle this, she cried. "Can’t you see that this isn’t about you or about me either? It’s just us that’s not working."

Trying to make herself as small as possible, Mother pulled her legs up against her chest. I just can’t take this life any longer. I just can’t, she said, sobbing.

What in God’s name do you mean by that, woman? Daddy cried as he paced back and forth in front of her. Do you honestly believe that any of us want to live like this? Hell no! We don’t! This is just all we got until things get better. Little bits of his saliva pelted Mother’s tearful face as he shouted.

Please try to understand, Frank, Mother said.

With his fists clenched, AJ stepped into the room. Don’t you hurt my mother, he shouted.

Please go away, boys, Mother said. I don’t want you to see this.

No, Mary, they should see what you are doing to me, to them. They will stay, Daddy said.

Please don’t, Frank, Momma said. They won’t understand any more than you do.

God knows I’m trying to understand. Help me, Mary. Won’t you tell me why you have to do this thing? Daddy cried.

I’m so sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you, but he says he loves me. He says he wants to give me all the things that I’ve always dreamed about having. Max and I are going to have a real home in California.

Are you leaving, Momma? AJ said.

She must not have been ready for that, yet so she didn’t respond.

As her words finally worked their way through his grief, Daddy’s eyes grew wide. Falling to his knees in front of her, he cried out in disbelief, Max? Oh, God, Mary, don’t tell me that I’m losing you to Max. Not Max! Just tell me that you don’t mean that ugly little bastard I work for! Jesus Christ, Mary, how could it be Max?

Max is a good man, Frank, Mother said.

Shocked by Mama’s plea, Daddy put his hands over his ears and mumbled, We live, Mary … as best we can. The times are hard. You know that I try. I really try—

You drink, Frank! And you run away from life. I would bet you didn’t even know that all three of your children have been wearing cardboard in their shoes for the past six months to keep out the wet, Mother cried.

Shoes? Is this about shoes? Damn, woman, I been doing that same thing for going on a year now. Would you rather they went barefoot or starve to death? I had some choices to make, Mary. I know more about what goes on around here than you think.

No, you didn’t know about their shoes for over a year. That devil drink kept you from paying any attention to any of us. Was that one of the choices you made? Not to touch me ever again? Was that one? It’s been so long now I can’t even remember the last time we made love.

You know I been working hard just trying to keep even these past few months. Hell, woman, I come home tired. Anyway, you’re always asleep when I get in, Daddy said.

I’m not always asleep, and you know it, Mother said. And it’s not the hard work that made you lose interest. It’s the drinking, Frank. I wanted you. I needed you, and you pushed me away.

Suddenly Daddy grabbed Mother’s hair and pulled her close to him. I guess I’m just slow, but now I think I’m finally getting the picture, he shouted in her face. "That ugly little bastard seduced you, didn’t he? He promised to buy you things and take you to California, didn’t he? All the while that son of a bitch was sending me clear across town. He was slipping back here—and into you—while I was out there busting by ass for him … and you. Is that it, Mary?

Max has never touched me, Frank. I swear, Mother said. And even if he had, I don’t see why you would care. It’s not as if you had been absolutely true to our wedding vows.

That’s different, and you know it.

Daddy pulled away from Mother and looked up at the ceiling. As he shook his head as if to make the whole thing go away, he released his hold and cried. As quickly as his fury had taken form, it seemed to melt into an empty, lost expression. He gently wiped a little trickle of blood from the corner of Mother’s mouth and held her close to him. Cradling her in his arms, he gently smoothed down her tangled hair.

After I made a little noise in my throat, I quietly asked, Mama? What was that Daddy said about you and Max?

Daddy finally relented and turned his flushed, tear-streaked face to us. You boys go on back out in the yard and play, he said as he pulled Mother back down. There’s nothing to see here. You kids get on out. This is between your mother and me.

Ignoring the instructions, AJ stepped into the room with his fists clenched. You hit Mama, didn’t you? he said. You’d better not hit her again or … or—

Daddy ran a hand over his fevered face and reached out to AJ with the other. Or what, son? You gonna slug your old man? Did you hear what your mama said about going to California with Max? I don’t think she plans to take you boys along with her either. But you’re right about one thing, AJ. I did hit her, and I’m sorry for that. I was sorry the minute I did it. The truth is that for a minute there I thought I could kill her and Max too. But now … now I just feel tired. Awful tired. I wish to God that this—all of this—would just go away.

Mary, you know that I didn’t want none of this to happen, Daddy said as he turned away from her. I wish— I wish— I’m sorry, Mary.

He pushed past us and headed for the back door. You boys can do whatever the hell you want to do. I’m getting the hell out of here.

As the back door slammed shut, the three of us turned to Mother with questions in our eyes.

When Daddy was screaming at Momma, she had a determined, defiant look in her eyes, but now as she turned to us, I saw real fear there.

AJ pushed past me and rushed to mother’s side. Tears ran down his cheeks as he knelt down next to her. What about what Daddy said? We are all going to go with you to California, ain’t we, Mama?

Of course we will be together, Mama said. The only question is when. Max has plans that just don’t include children right now. But it won’t be for long. I promise.

I want you boys to look after your father for a little while, she said as she stroked AJ’s hair. I know he has really tried to do the best he can. He really has. I’ve heard him crying at night because he couldn’t get work. He thought that we were all asleep, so I never said anything about it. Your father wanted so much to do better by us. He always had such great plans, but it seems like the whole world just turned against him. I think he never could get over being so down he couldn’t take care of us like he thought he should.

I joined AJ beside Momma and asked, But what about what Daddy said? Do you really want to go with Max?

Yeah, Momma, AJ said. Don’t you love our Daddy anymore?

Oh, no, AJ, Mary said. Don’t you think that way. I want you all to know that I’m not doing this because I don’t love your father. I’m doing it because I love my sons more. All you boys will be able to join Max and me real soon, and then things will be better for all of us. Maybe even better for your daddy. I promise.

But when, Mama? AJ cried.

"Oh, soon, really soon. I promise things will be wonderful then. You’ll see. Just for now, all you boys will stay and look after your daddy. I can’t stay another day. I just can’t mend any more clothes, and I can’t find another way to cook beans. I can’t answer the door anymore because I’m afraid that someone else is coming to take away more of what we have. The little bit of work Max has given to your daddy has just not been enough to keep those people away. I don’t want to keep wearing the same dress day after day for the rest of my life. I just won’t do it anymore! If other folks can have iceboxes, washing machines, and radios, why can’t we? Why can’t I?"

In the middle of my mother’s complaints she paused when AJ let go of her hand and joined Dan and me in the doorway. He already knew about Mother’s long list of grievances. He had heard them all before. He held his hands in front of his face as if to escape her torrent of need. Raising his voice to speak over his mother’s sobs, he said, All I hear is you talking about you and what you want and what you need. I still don’t see where we fit in.

I know it’s hard, but one day you will understand, Momma said. I’m leaving so I can build a better life for all of us. I … I still love you all very much.

I stood in the doorway with wide, wet eyes. AJ was crying too, but he was looking in the direction Daddy had taken. Next to me Dan stood in the doorway with a slight sneer on his face. His manner was more of contempt than understanding.

He was the first to turn and go in the direction Daddy had taken. He left without saying another word to Mother. AJ looked around to find something to hold onto, just some small hope to cling to. When he found nothing, he, too, turned away and followed Dan. He couldn’t look at Mother as he spoke. Good-bye, Momma. Please don’t forget us.

Before she could reply, AJ was gone.

I still stood silently in the doorway, looking first at Momma and then back toward the railroad tracks.

Momma could not hold back the greatest part of her sorrow any longer. Her tears came in torrents as she covered her face with her hands and surrendered to her emotions. She cried as if her heart was broken. She hadn’t cried like that when Daddy lost his business or when the men came to take away most of the remainder of our furniture two months ago. I remembered that she had not even cried like that when she lost the baby two years ago, but now it was if the high dam she had built to hold back these troubles had broken and all of that pain came pouring out.

Until that day I had not heard my mother cry like that. As the deep, heaving sobs swept over her, I could only stand and watch. It seemed like this final sorrow was draining her of all her strength. As she lay helpless before its final onslaught, her hands fell to her sides and lay twitching on the bare floor like two wounded doves. I resisted the urge to go to her and offer comfort because she had already said that she would go no matter what we thought. She had made a choice, and I knew of no way to change it. Before I ran to join my brothers, I whispered, I’ll always love you, Momma.

Thank you, dear. I really needed to hear you say that, Rusty, Momma said when she had regained enough strength to look up again.

Baby? Over my shoulder I saw her holding out her arms to me, but it was too late. I could not go back.

I found Dad and my brothers almost as soon as I left the house. I recognized the smell of alcohol in the air, but Dad wasn’t drunk yet. He was just sitting on the railroad tracks, throwing rocks at the far embankment and talking to no one in particular. I sat down silently and joined the others as we chucked rocks at the railroad cut for the better part of an hour.

We all looked over the side of the railroad cut as Max’s pulled up to the house. Max waited until Marry opened the door before he ventured into the house.

Speaking low, almost inaudibly, Dad was the first to break the silence. She will need her clothes, he said.

Brightening, AJ said, "Maybe Mama won’t go through with this after all. Maybe she was just