They didn’t answer.
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Why does his breath stink?” “He drinks.” We got into the Model-T and drove over to see my Grandfather Leonard.As we drove up and stopped he was standing on the porch of his house.He was old but he stood very straight. He had been an army officer inGermany and had come to America when he heard that the streets werepaved with gold. They weren't, so he became the head of a constructionfirm. The other people didn’t get out of the car. Grandfather wiggled a fingerat me. Somebody opened a door and I climbed out and walked towardhim. His hair was pure white and long and his beard was pure white andlong, and as I got closer I saw that his eyes were brilliant, like blue lightswatching me. I stopped a little distance away from him. “Henry,” he said, “you and I, we know each other. Come into the house.” He held out his hand. As I got closer I could smell the stink of his breath.It was very strong but he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen andI wasn’t afraid. I went into his house with him. He led me to a chair. “Sit down, please. I’m very happy to see you.” He went into another room. Then he came out with a little tin box. “It’s for you. Open it.” I had trouble with the lid, I couldn’t open the box. “Here,” he said, “let me have it.” He loosened the lid and handed the tin box back to me. I lifted the lidand here was this cross, a German cross with a ribbon. “Oh no,” I said, “you keep it.” “It’s yours,” he said, “it’s just a gummy badge.” “Thank you.” “You better go now. They will be worried.” “All right. Goodbye.” “Goodbye, Henry. No, wait...” I stopped. He reached into a small front pocket of his pants with a coupleof fingers, and tugged at a long gold chain with his other hand. Then hehanded me his gold pocket watch, with the chain. 11 “Thank you, Grandfather...” They were waiting outside and I got into the Model-T and we drove off.They all talked about many things as we drove along. They were alwaystalking, and they talked all the way back to my grandmother’s house. Theyspoke of many things but never, once, of my grandfather. 12 Iremember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly,and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father hadto fit the hand-crank into the front of the engine and crank it many timesin order to start the car. “A man can get a broken arm doing this. It kicks back like a horse.” We went for Sunday rides in the Model-T when grandmother didn’tvisit. My parents liked the orange groves, miles and miles of orange treesalways either in blossom or full of oranges. My parents had a picnic basketand a metal chest. In the metal chest were frozen cans of fruit on dry ice,and in the picnic basket were weenie and liverwurst and salami sandwiches,potato chips, bananas and soda-pop. The soda-pop was shifted continuallyback and forth between the metal box and the picnic basket. It froze quickly,and then had to be thawed. My father smoked Camel cigarettes and he knew many tricks and gameswhich he showed us with the packages of Camel cigarettes. How manypyramids were there? Count them. We would count them and then hewould show us more of them. There were also tricks about the humps on the camels and about thewritten words on the package. Camel cigarettes were magic cigarettes. There was a particular Sunday I can recall. The picnic basket was empty.Yet we still drove along through the orange groves, 13 further and further away from where we lived. “Daddy,” my mother asked, “aren’t we going to run out of gas?” “No, there’s plenty of god-damned gas.” “Where are we going?” “l’m going to get me some god-damned oranges!” My mother sat very still as we drove along. My father pulled up alongsidethe road, parked near a wire fence and we sat there, listening. Then myfather kicked the door open and got out. “Bring the basket.”
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