Jump City: Apprentice Page 34

  “Newspaper stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “I used to work for a paper in… Colorado.”

  “How are things there?”

  “Dusty.”

  He laughed despite himself. “Alright, tell you what, I’ll give you a try. Sit down here and give me five hundred words…”

  “Sit down where?”

  “At the typewriter.”

  I’d seen pictures of these, and the one in Kaiser Wayne’s office, though I had never actually used one. It was a keyboard at least. I tested the tension of the keys; they took some effort to push. I turned a chattering knob and tried what few levers I could. A bell dinged in response. Woods watched me struggle for a moment, then impatiently fed a sheet of paper into the machine with his ink stained hands. I was happy enough that all the characters were in the right place. Hmm, no control key, no delete key… oh wait, backspace…

  “What am I writing about?”

  “Write about the Blackwater Quarry… and why it should be shut down.”

  “Shut down?” I asked, surprised.

  Carter Woods nodded with a smile.

  “I’m not so sure it should be shut down.”

  “Really now? Write that then.”

  “I’ve got a question first.”

  “What?”

  “Is there a canal?”

  “Still being dug.”

  “Are there any jetties?”

  “Jetties? What are you talking about?”

  “Along Middle Cove, or at South Beach…”

  “No jetties. Get to work. Your time’s running out.”

  I clacked out a story as quickly as I could. It was as painful for me as it was for Carter Woods it seemed.

  “Not bad, not bad at all…” Carter said and leaned back in his wooden chair. It squeaked in response. “You’ve done this before, I can tell. Still, your style is a little snazzy…” He swiveled from side to side. “Took a pretty strange perspective on this… a long term view— and I’ll admit I never looked at the quarry that way before… Clever and fairly persuasive… I especially like the bit about the swimming hole…” He took out a blue pen from his breast pocket and started marking up the page. “You’re not a very good typist though.” I watched him feverishly cross things out and add a few handwritten comments. “What’s your name?”

  “Patrick Jardel.”

  “Is that two L’s or one?”

  “One.”

  “Consider this your first byline for the Chronicle. Carter rose and opened a swinging gate to the back room. “Follow me…”

  “Wasn’t this building an old hotel?” I asked idly, looking at various pieces of black metal equipment shoved against the walls, all of which were completely baffling to me. Only the fan was recognizable and it looked as if it would take your hand off if you got too close.

  “I bought this place about ten years ago. Used to be an old Captain’s house. One floor and a basement, oh, and the attic— still not sure what to do with that.” He turned to me. “There’s a room up there I could rent you.”

  “I already found a place.”

  “Lovely or Moriches?”

  “Oh, Mrs Moriches.”

  “Ha, she charges extra for privileges. Say… didn’t Sheriff Durbin tell me about you?”

  “Couldn’t say.”

  “No, I guess not.” Carter eyed me again. “Well, whoever you are, Mr Jardel, your timing is damn near perfect. With my wife expecting any day now… I could use some help for a couple weeks. Tell you what, I’ll pay ninety cents a story.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was equitable but nodded an affirmative.

  “I had to let go my staff. Couldn’t sustain a daily edition… We’ve been a weekly for the last three years or so…” Woods rambled on. He pointed out various primitive machines, naming them, though I took little notice. We walked over to his workbench. The light was still on.

  “What are you carving here?”

  Carter laughed. “A new masthead… Changing Fair Oaks to Sand City— not that I want to, but I promised my friend that I would.”

  “The Sand City Chronicle. Has a nice ring to it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely.”

  “What else can you do, Mr Jardel, besides write?”

  “I’m a good photographer.”

  “Do you have a camera?

  “I can buy one.”

  “You have money for that?”

  “Probably… how much is a camera these days?”

  “These days?” He paused to glance at me. “If you have enough money for that, then why do you need a job?”

  I didn’t have an answer for him. “I know my way around a darkroom.”

  “Do you now? Well, that might come in handy… not that I print many pictures lately, the rotogravure is on the fritz.”

  We were interrupted by someone coming up the stairs, a boy not much more than twelve stopped on the landing and seemed surprised by the sight of me.

  “This is my son, Edward, working the Heidelberg we’ve got downstairs.” Carter paused to chuckle, “Printing up a new batch of money— right, Eddie?”

  “Funny, Dad…” His son looked embarrassed rather than guilty.

  “Eddie, this is Mr Jardel. He’s going to be writing some stories for us, and maybe taking a few pictures.”

  “Hi there… I hear you’re about to become a brother.”

  He looked at me slightly astonished. Woods laughed at his son’s expression.

  “What are you going to name the baby?” I turned and asked his father.

  “If it’s a boy, Franklin, if it’s a girl, Eleanor.”

  “Of course… I’m betting on a girl,” I said and smiled.

  Carter gave me an odd glance. I was instructed to return the next day at ten am promptly, to receive my first assignment. On my way out, Carter Woods asked a final question: “Why are you dressed like that, Mr Jardel?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you just came from the quarry.”

  “Well, I did, sort of.”

  ***

  I passed the Depot building again on the way back to the rooming house and came upon Elsie and presumably her sister. They were struggling with a large wooden crate. Elsie looked nothing like her. It was hard to believe they were even related, though she was also as cute as a bug’s ear, to quote Sheriff Durbin.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” I called out.

  “Mr Jardel, just the man I need.” Elsie looked down at my ankle and then my cane. “Well, maybe not…” She laughed. “Patrick, this is my sister, Daisy. She works at the telephone exchange.”

  “Pleasure…” I smiled and shook her hand. “You must know everything that goes on in town.”

  Daisy looked to the ground rather shyly. Elsie laughed. “She does, and so do I, since she tells me everything.” Elsie took my hand briefly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks. And… I have a job and a place to live— temporarily at least.”

  A huge smile swept across Elsie’s face. “That’s wonderful news, Patrick. Tell me more.”

  “I’m the new reporter for the Chronicle.”

  “Well, well, that was quick. Congratulations.”

  “Mrs Woods is due any day now,” Daisy cut in. “I’m sure Mr Woods is happy you showed up.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “And where are you staying?”

  “At Mrs Moriches.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” Elsie said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, Daisy and I live next door, at Mr Lovely’s, but Mrs Moriches does not allow visitors.” She paused. “You’ll just have to visit us, I guess… Are you going there now?”

  “I am.” I looked down at the heavy wooden crate. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, probably some more old books from my Aunt Lilian… arrived at the train station. I don’t know why she didn’t just mail them.”

  “Ever sinc
e Uncle Wilfrid died, she keeps sending us books,” Daisy explained. “We’ve already donated so many of them to the library but… well, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

  “I did. That’s terrible news, losing a library.”

  “Oh well, we’ll probably send these on to our cousin,” Daisy said. “Anything to avoid the unwanted advances of Mr Mears.” She giggled slightly.

  “Mr Mears?”

  “He seems to be especially fond of old books,” Elsie said.

  We made our way up Fourth Street, sharing the burden of the heavy crate between us. Little Caesar Moriches was still in his yard playing knucklebones. He watched us pass with great interest but said nothing. I helped Elsie and Daisy get the box upstairs to their room, and with a hammer, I was able to pry the lid off. Packed with meticulous care was a single book, and a very odd one at that, like nothing I’d ever seen.

  “I’ll go downstairs and get us all some lemonade,” Daisy announced and then whispered in her sister’s ear before disappearing. I smiled.

  “She says you look handsome even without a hat,” Elsie explained with a chuckle.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Of course I agree with her, hat or not,” she said coyly and came over close to examine the contents of the crate.

  “I’m no expert, but this book is really old… medieval, I’d guess. Might be worth a fortune.”

  “Really?” Elsie asked as her eyes lit up. “Maybe I should talk to Mr Mears after all.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Patrick. He might fetch me a good price.”

  “Oh…”

  “Well… I’ve said nothing to him yet. I’d rather keep them in the family.”

  “Mind if I look it over?”

  “Help yourself. I have two others just like it on the shelf here.” Elsie gathered the other two volumes and stacked them on the small table. I gingerly opened one to examine it. Elsie leaned in close, looking over my shoulder, touching me softly. The book was ancient, handwritten, and painstakingly printed in a curious brown ink, something akin to a sloppy illuminated manuscript. The pages did not feel exactly like paper either.

  “Is that Latin?” she asked.

  “No idea. I bet my friend could read it though.”

  “Who?”

  “Inspector Fynn. He speaks many languages.”

  “I’d love to meet him.”

  “Maybe you will…”

  This first volume seemed to be a botanical text book from another planet. Not a single word was recognizable, nor a number, except for on the corner of the pages— and it seemed to me those might have been added later. Along with the text were poorly rendered watercolor drawings of plants from a different world, or at least a far-off continent. Not a leaf, a flower or root was familiar to either Elsie or I.

  The next volume seemed to deal with astrology. If I didn’t know better, it looked like one of Fynn’s astronomy books that I had never read very thoroughly. There were numerous circular charts and perhaps some sort of unknown zodiac, illustrated in a cartoonish style. Halfway through, the flavor of the book changed, the pictures at least, as there were drawings of women in the process of unintelligible actions— bathing was my only guess.

  The final volume looked like an architect’s plan perhaps. There were crude renderings of circular buildings, all with precise measurements, though I could not begin to discern what units they were, nor what strange numbering system was employed. There was also a section on geography, but I could recognize no place on any of the maps.

  Daisy called out from the bottom of the stairs. She had a pitcher of lemonade waiting in the parlor.

  “Um, what are you doing for dinner?” I asked a little awkwardly, not even knowing where I was going to eat myself.

  “Is that an invitation, Patrick?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “Well, I’m working anyway. The night nurse, remember?”

  “Don’t you get a day off?”

  “Yes, Saturdays. Why?”

  “What about that movie you promised?”

  “Oh, you mean the picture show.”

  “I do.”

  “That’s what every girl wants to hear,” Elsie said and laughed.

  “What?”

  “I do,” she repeated.

  I managed a smile at least. “Did you find out what’s playing?”

  “A double feature, Busby Berkeley’s Gold Diggers and King Kong.”

  “Huh, a chick-flick and a sci-fi— that’s a strange combo.”

  “Honestly, Patrick, sometimes I’m not sure we speak the same language,” she said and smiled.

  “Sorry, that’s my New York slang. It leaks out sometimes.”

  * * *

  chapter twenty-four

  progress

  It was a blissful few days, no doubt about it. Sand City, albeit a bit primitive, was tranquil and soothing. I knew in the back of my mind, the whole world was just passing me by, and that was a good thing. At least for now. Living next door to Elsie and her sister also proved entertaining. While Mrs Moriches didn’t allow visitors, Mr and Mrs Lovely certainly did, and proved to be the most gracious of hosts. I frequently spent time there and even had a meal or two. They constantly tried to lure me into their card games. “Pinochle, hearts, bridge?” they would ask, though I knew how to play none of them. Far different from Mrs Moriches who spent her days playing solitaire in her own parlor.

  Most mornings I’d wake at dawn, skip breakfast, and limp towards Saint Albans. Along the way I’d meet up with Elsie returning from her shift on a bicycle. She’d stop and we’d walk home together.

  “Which picture did you like best?” Elsie asked, though she probably guessed the answer.

  I hedged a little.

  “You’re a funny one. You like music but you don’t like musicals.”

  “No, it was good— great camera shots.”

  “And dancing...” she added.

  “I’m going to say the cartoon was my favorite… Cab Calloway singing The St James Infirmary Blues. That was absolutely amazing. I wish I could see it again.”

  “You didn’t like King Kong?”

  “I think I’ve seen it before…”

  “Some people tell me I look like Fay Ray…”

  “You’re much prettier. And I’m not sure she had red hair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hard to tell in black and white… if the movie was in color…”

  “Color? A color movie? Patrick, you say the strangest things... Next, you’ll tell me I look like Betty Boop.”

  ***

  On Sunday, I strolled over to meet Elsie at the Lovely’s rooming house. It was not her usual day off. She led me upstairs.

  “I’m afraid to say I had to borrow my sister’s dress… might be one size too small. Can you help me button the back?” It accentuated her narrow waist and wide hips, and fell to mid-calf. “Are you ready for the jamboree?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Things get started this afternoon and go until all hours… It’s off Shore Road, someone has a shack on the dunes, I’m told he’s a famous beachcomber.”

  “Really?”

  “Should be oodles of fun… a big bonfire, plenty of food, music, even dancing… half the town will be there.”

  “How do we…?”

  “Oh, I’ve borrowed Mr Lovely’s bicycle for you.” She looked down at my foot. “That is, if your ankle is up to it.”

  “Sure, it’s feeling a lot better. The cane is just for show.”

  Elsie looked at me not sure if I was joking, then burst out laughing and threw her arms around my shoulders. “I do like you, Patrick, so very much.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Elsie put on a funny hat, a bit like a sailor’s cap turned down, a bowl shape made of fabric. Her crazy red hair flew out from all sides. We bicycled over to the ocean along small dirt roads and there was already quite a crowd by the time we arrived, as well as an enormou
s bonfire. I could hear music too: an impromptu band… a fiddle player, an accordion and a banjo. I didn’t recognize a single tune, though they were quite lively. Doctor Valenti was not appearing today. As we walked up the beach towards the crowd, I felt Elsie’s soft hand slip into mine. I gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Elsie didn’t seem to know a lot of people. She smiled and nodded to some, but introduced me to far fewer. Everyone was open and friendly though. Spirits were high, people were dancing and a feast was served: clams, mussels, crabs and lobsters, all steamed together with potatoes and corn on the cob. We sat on a giant piece of driftwood near the bonfire and devoured the offering. I can’t remember anything so delicious. As we finished, two old, skeletal-looking guys with dark eyes in deep sockets came up to our branch and sat on either side. They were hairless under their identical floppy caps, but both had bright smiles that flickered in the bonfire’s light. They seemed to know Elsie.

  “Not bad for a couple of guys from Texas,” she said and laughed.

  “Texas?” I asked aloud, not meaning to.

  “Just goes to show, you don’t have to be a damn yankee to whip up a good clambake.”

  “Oh, this is my friend, Patrick… this is Vernon and Victor. They work at the hospital.”

  One of them offered us some homemade cider, served from a jug into a communal cup. The other twin had some harder stuff. We tried them both and drank more than our fair share.

  “You know those guys?” I asked Elsie later.

  “Of course, from the hospital… the twins… they’re the cooks.”

  “Oh.”

  “And both of them have sons who work as orderlies.”

  “Both of them?”

  “It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Kind of spooky, I’d say. I think I met one of them.”

  “Really? Was it Ray or Roy?”

  “Not sure…”

  Neither of us were in any condition to ride home in the dark… and luckily Elsie had brought a blanket with her.

  ***

  I wasn’t early to the Chronicle office Monday morning, but it was still dark inside. I could hear none of the machines were rattling, and the door was locked. It took me by complete surprise until I considered that this might be the very day that Eleanor was born. I smiled to myself— though, I’ll admit the thought was very unsettling. I tried my old key on the door and was in. This might be an opportunity to sift through back issues. With the timeline completely askew I needed more context to understand the differences. But first, I had a story to type, a task I now dreaded.