Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant

“Over there by the steps,” Cody said.

“Ah.”

Beck set off jauntily, running a hand through his crest of hair. Jenny and Cody gazed after him.

“If I just saw him on the street,” Jenny said, “I would have passed him by.”

“We are just seeing him on the street,” Cody told her.

“Well. Yes.”

They watched Beck arrive before Ezra with a bounce, like a child presenting some accomplishment. Ezra bent his head courteously to hear Beck’s words, then gave him a mild smile and shook his hand.

“Imagine!” they heard Beck say. “Look at you! Both my sons are bigger than I am.”

“Dinner is at my restaurant,” Ezra told him calmly.

Beck’s expression faltered once again, but recovered itself. “Wonderful!” he said. He moved toward the teen-agers, who had got wind of what was going on and stood in a clump nearby — silent, staring, hostile as usual. Beck seemed not to notice. “I’m your grandpa,” he told them. “Your Grandpa Tull. Ever heard of me?” Probably they hadn’t, unless they’d thought to inquire. He moved down the line, beaming. “I’m your long-lost grandpa. And you are—? What a handsome young fellow!”

He pumped the hand of the tallest teen-ager, who unfortunately was not a grandson at all but one of Ezra’s salad boys.

Cody and Ruth and Jenny led the way to the restaurant on foot. The others lagged behind untidily. The first group turned onto St. Paul Street and passed various bustling little buildings — a dry cleaner’s and a drugstore and a florist. All the other pedestrians were black; most held jangling radios to their ears, so that scraps of songs about love and jealousy and hardhearted women kept approaching and fading away. Then Ezra’s wooden sign swung overhead, and the three of them climbed the steps and walked in.

In the chilly light from the windows, the restaurant seemed glaringly empty. One long table was covered with white linen, set with crystal and china. Thirteen places, Cody counted; for Jenny’s Joe would be bringing more children, those too small to have sat through the service. A sweet-faced, plump waitress in a calico smock was drawing up a high chair for the baby. When she saw them come in, she stopped to give Jenny a hug. “I’m so sorry for your trouble,” she said. “You and all your family, hear?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Jenny said. “Do you know my brother Cody? And this is Ruth, his wife.”

Mrs. Potter clicked her tongue. “It’s a terrible day for you,” she said.

Cody turned toward the door in time to see Beck and Ezra enter, trailed by teen-agers. Ezra had obviously relaxed and grown talkative; he never could be cool to anyone for long. “So I tore out that wall there …” he was saying.

“Very nice. Very classy,” said Beck.

“Stripped down these floors …”

“I hope you don’t serve that kind of food a fellow can’t identify.”

“Oh, no.”

“A mishmash of food, one thing not separate from another.”

“No, never,” Ezra said.

Cody watched with interest. (Ezra very often served such food.) Ezra led Beck through the room, waving an arm here and there. “See, these tables can be moved together if anyone should … and this is the kitchen … and these are two of my cooks, Sam and Myron. They’ve come in especially for our dinner. At night I have three more: Josiah, Chenille, and Mohammad.”

“Quite an operation,” said Beck.

The others, meanwhile, hung around their table. No one took a seat. Cody’s son, Luke, and Jenny’s son Peter — both unnaturally formal in white shirts and ties — wrestled together in an aimless, self-conscious way, tossing hidden glances at Beck. Probably these children saw him as a brand-new chance — a fresh start, someone to appreciate them at last. Yet when they finally sat down, no one chose a place near Beck. It was shyness, maybe. Even Ezra settled some distance away. Since Joe and the younger ones had still not arrived, this meant that Beck found himself flanked by several empty chairs. He didn’t seem to notice. Kinglike, he sat alone, folding his hands before his plate and beaming around at the others. A tracery of red veins, distinct as mapped rivers and tributaries, showed in his cheeks. “So,” he said. “My son owns a fancy restaurant.”

Ezra looked pleased and embarrassed.

“And my daughter’s a doctor,” said Beck. “But Cody? What about you?”

Cody said, “Why, you know: I’m an efficiency consultant.”

“A, how’s that?”

Cody didn’t answer. Ezra said, “He checks out factories. He tells them how to do things more efficiently.”

“Ah! A time-study man.”

“He’s one of the very best,” said Ezra. “He’s always getting written up in articles.”

“Is that so. Well, I sure am proud of you, son.”

Cody had a sudden intimation that tomorrow, it would be more than he could manage to drag himself off to work. His success had finally filled its purpose. Was this all he had been striving for — this one brief moment of respect flitting across his father’s face?

“I often wondered about you, Cody,” Beck said, leaning toward him. “I often thought about you after I went away.”

“Oh?” said Cody, politely. “Have you been away?”

His father sat back.

“Any how,” Ezra said. He cleared his throat. “Well. Dad. Are you still working for the Tanner Corporation?”

“No, no, I’m retired. Retired in sixty-five. They gave me a wonderful banquet and a sterling silver pen-and- pencil set. Forty-two years of service I put in.”

Ruth murmured — an admiring, womanly sound. He turned to her and said, “To tell you the truth, I kind of miss it. Miss the contacts, miss the life … A salesman’s life has a lot of action, know what I mean? Lot of activity. Oftentimes now it doesn’t seem there’s quite enough to keep me busy. But I do a bit of socializing, cardplaying. Got a few buddies at my hotel. Got a lady friend I see.” He peeked around at the others from under his tufted eyebrows. “I bet you think I’m too old for such things,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking! But this is a really fine lady; she puts a lot of stock in me. And you understand I mean no disrespect to your mother, but now that she’s gone and I’m free to remarry …”

Somehow, it had never occurred to Cody that his parents were still married. Jenny and Ezra, too, blinked and drew back slightly.

“Only trouble is this lady’s daughter,” Beck told them. “She’s got this daughter, no-good daughter, thirty-five years old if she’s a day but still residing at home. Eustacia Lee. No good whatsoever. Lost two fingers in a drill press years ago and never worked since, spent her compensation money on a snowmobile. I’m not too sure I want to live with her.”

No one seemed able to think of any comment.

Then Joe arrived. He burst through the door, traveling in an envelope of fresh-smelling air, carrying the baby and towing a whole raft of children. Really there were only three, but it seemed like more; they were so chattery and jumbled. “Mrs. Nesbitt almost didn’t let me out of school,” and “You’ll never guess what the baby ate,” and “Phoebe had to stay in for being prejudiced in math.” “Who’s this?” a child asked, facing Beck.

“Your Grandpa Tull.”

“Oh,” she said, taking a seat. “Do us kids get wine?”

“Joe, I’d like you to meet my father,” Jenny said.

“Really?” said Joe. “Gosh.” But then he had to figure out the high-chair strap.

The last two children slipped into the empty chairs on either side of Beck. They twined their feet through the rungs, set pointy elbows on the table. Surrounded, Beck gazed first to his left and then to his right. “Will you look at this!” he said.

“Pardon?” Jenny asked.

“This group. This gathering. This … assemblage!”