The Long November by James Benson Nablo

Author:James Benson Nablo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phocion Publishing
Published: 2019-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Remember Auld Lang Syne, Joe? Remember that drunken old faker? Whatever became of him? He used to be around peddling his phony “good-neighbor-policy,” but his business hasn’t been so good since the New Year’s of ‘38-’39. Remember that New Year’s Eve, Joe, standing with your arm around Steffie’s lovely middle, waiting for the hands of the clock to point to heaven so you could kiss her? Yes, and I remember the next one, too. Lying drunk and puking under the table in that dive in Soho. And when I looked up I could see something Bill Preston hadn’t found out yet...his girl had long underwear on. What a horror she was, eh, Joe? Shifting her bargain-basement teeth, while Preston kept telling her she was beautiful.

They’ve all been like that since ‘38-’39. I’ve been drunk somewhere...with someone I didn’t want, and I’ve gagged on the sour taste of my loneliness. But that last one with Steffie? When you held her and she whispered, “We’ll have every New Year’s Eve together, Joe, darling, every one as long as we live”...and you really thought you would. Remember kissing Rebecca and Sis? And rubbing BF’s head for good luck, and shaking hands with Dick; and how everyone said what a hell of a big year ‘39 was going to be? Well, it was. A befuddled old man flew all over hell’s-half-acre on his twin-engined umbrella and mouthed a lot of mumbo jumbo about “peace-in-our-time.” Don’t blame the old man, Joe, he just didn’t know the league he was batting in and that’s happened to lots smarter guys than him. This is another November, and in a few weeks it’ll be another New Year’s Eve...have you decided where you’ll spend this one, Private Mack? You’re damned right I have. If I’m not whirling a motionless waltz in a winding sheet, I’ll be dancing somewhere with Steffie...it’ll be one or the other, bub, and you can sing that in high “c.”

It was a year to make the heart of every man pause a beat or two; it was the worst year in man’s history; and it was a year that broke Joe Mack’s heart. I guess it was a year that broke many men’s hearts, but I broke mine on my “plan.” I dreamed a great dream in which a town would rise on the site of the Sleeping Squaw claims and it would be named Millerville. It would be a town in which the decency of Freddie Miller would find a haven. It would be a model town with fine homes, hospitals, and churches all rising above the safest mine in Canada. In the homes healthy, rosy-cheeked children would play on the floors, while die miners’ bank accounts would grow fatter from the golden stopes they worked. And they’d all get home each night...for they’d be as safe in a stope or a drift as they’d be in their beds. And if gold had to be mined in our world, then it would benefit those who mined it.

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