Miles To Go

5. Toronto 1938

5

Toronto 1938

Seventeen and my beard had begun to grow in. Miryam and I met at Rusholme Park on Shabbos afternoon. My excuse? I took my little brother, Eli, to the swings so he could play. Miryam snuck off for half an hour while her parents napped before dinner. We weren’t permitted to be in the same room alone together. No touching or holding of hands allowed. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to her. Insanity. The rules chafed. So, we got around them. I knew Miryam’s family would blame me if ever we’d been caught. I would be the corrupter. But she instigated all the way down the line.

I kept my eye on Eli once we arrived at the park. He did his ape routine swinging from the monkey bars, grunting and beating his chest. It scared off most of the other little kids and their parents.

“Your brother is energetic,” Miryam said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” I replied.

She laughed, full-throated, without concern. I kept my eyes peeled for the enemy.

“One day, they’ll catch us.”

“I’ve always liked your positive attitude,” she chided.

“Yeah, well. Law of averages, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care.”

“You should,” I said. “The consequences….” I left it hanging. Religious parents weren’t reasonable when it came to their daughters, their collective reputation and chastity. My father couldn’t care less. He was on some job in New Jersey, smuggling, gun-running, booze, who knew? But my mother suffered through it all. We’d been living in Kensington Market the longest we’d been anywhere; all of eight months. It was hard not to notice Miryam even though she was continually dogged by her older brother; a skinny, pimply geek with black hair, pale skin but the same intense, dark eyes. Her self-appointed protector. We loathed each other on sight. I didn’t wear a hat. I didn’t go to schul. I didn’t wear fringes. I didn’t pray. I wore open-necked shirts. I smoked. And drank when I could get my hands on something. Bad influence all the way round. That’s what Miryam liked. What she wanted. A release from her daily suffocation. She wanted to breathe.

Miryam stroked my face. In public. Forbidden act. Eli ran up, grabbed my hand, yanked on my arm. His timing was impeccable.

“Come on, come on,” he said. “We’d better get outta here.”

I looked down at him. Even at eight years old, he looked the spitting image of Jake. “Why?” Tried to wear his hair in a ducktail, too.

“Look,” he pointed.

I saw two men with angry expressions. Working men, sleeves rolled up, some heft to them, sunburn on their cheeks and foreheads. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Miryam said.

I glanced over. The two men headed our way.

I squeezed Eli’s arm. “What’d you do?”

He flinched. “Yeow. Okay, so maybe one or two of those kids fell off the jungle gym or something. I dunno. They were in my way.”

“I should smack you,” I said.

“But you won’t,” Eli smirked. Family and the buttons they pushed.

“Miryam, you take Eli and start home.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What I always do,” I muttered. “Take care of it. Now get going. I’ll see you later.”

“Mo…”

“Just take him, please, before he starts a riot.”

Miryam nodded. She took Eli’s hand and yanked him along.

“I wanna stay and watch,” he wailed. Miryam yanked him harder.

A kid’s pint-sized baseball bat lay in the dirt. I picked it up and smacked it into my palm. Small but had a little bit of spring to it. The two men strode toward me. One pale and large, with thinning blonde hair and the other, shorter but heavy set. He wheezed just walking up the slight incline. They stopped about five feet away.

The pale one pointed in Eli’s direction. “That kid’s a freakin’ menace. You need to do something about him. He pushed our kids off the jungle gym.”

I nodded. “I know.”

The other one piped up. “They might’ve broken somethin’.”

“My apologies. He’s a bit reckless. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

“That’s it?”, the pale one said. “We’re supposed to believe you and let it go? Just like that?”

I realized the cause of the flushed faces wasn’t only because of the sun. They’d downed a few beers too. One thing about having a father as a shyster who hung out with shyster friends. You learned the rules of combat early on. You learned to take care of yourself.

“That’s right,” I said. “That’s it. I apologized. It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

The dark one grinned and stepped forward. A happy glint lit up his face. “You people think you can get away with anything, huh? Do whatever you want?”

It had only been a few years since the Christie Pits riot where Nazi bully boys took on local Jews in a smashing dust-up. Jake had been there and loved every second of the head bashing and shin cracking that took place that day. So, when the guy said, ‘you people’ I understood exactly what he meant.

I had turned to go but swiveled back. They both looked a bit happier now.

“Take your shot, fatso.”

His eyebrows popped up in surprise. He let out a bellow and charged like a bull. I waited for him, then side-stepped and cracked him behind the ear with the bat. He went down face first in the dirt. Miraculously, the bat didn’t split. I turned to face the other guy who approached a bit more cautiously, inching in with his fists up.

“You’re not gonna trick me, Jewboy, you hear?”

“I hear you. And I can see you’re just as stupid and slow as your friend, sleeping beauty, over there.”

He threw an overhand punch. I ducked out of the way slamming the handle of the bat into his gut. He bent over making an ‘oooff’ sound but straightened up quickly. “Lucky,” he wheezed.

“Sure.”

He feinted with his left, then snapped out a right. It caught me in the side of the head and I stumbled backward. They guy laughed. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.

I found my feet and waited for him. He stepped forward in a crouch, a kind of mauling stance. His arms looked thick and meaty and I figured he’d love to get me in a headlock. He snatched at me. I rapped the bat across his knuckles. That brought tears to his eyes. He came for me again leaving his head exposed. I reached back ready to hit one out of the park. The bat wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. I glanced back and saw a massive fist enveloping it. I glanced back at the blond man. He’d straightened up dropping his arms to his sides, a sheepish expression on his doughy face.

“What mischief is this then, on such a lovely day?” I let go of the bat. It now lay in the possession of a stocky police constable. He’d removed his helmet and examined the small bat thoughtfully. “Just playing around, were you?” he asked. I could hear a bit of a lilt in his speech. An Irishman--sworn enemy of the Jew.

“Something like that,” I mumbled.

“And him?” The constable pointed the bat handle at the dark-haired man sprawled in the dirt.

“Taking a nap,” I replied. “No harm in that, is there, officer?”

The constable nudged the man with his foot, who groaned but began to stir. “Must be a heavy sleeper at that,” he said. “And you helped him along a little bit, I’m thinking?”

“Maybe a little.”

Now he pointed the bat at the blond man. “And you, you thought you and your friend would double up on this young lad here, is that it?”

“Well, I, uh, no, no, it wasn’t like that….”, he stammered.

“You want to make a complaint?” the constable asked me.

“About what?” I replied. “Just a bit of fun, is all.”

The constable considered this, then nodded. “All right then. No harm done for the moment. But I won’t have this sort of behavior on my beat, is that understood? Next time, I’ll run you all into the station and you’ll cool your heels in a cell for the night. Do you get me?”

The blond man nodded vigorously. He bent down to help his friend up. The two of them staggered back the way they came. We watched them go.

“You handled yourself all right there, young fella,” the constable said.

“I manage.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit of fighting in public, if I were you.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mo Gold. You?”

“Callaway. Constable Callaway to you sonny.”

I grinned. “Sure.”

We shook hands. The constable sighed and replaced his helmet. “I hate a spot of bother on such a lovely day. I’m going to finish my rounds. You stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, I will, Constable Callaway.”

“See you around.” He trundled off, whistling under his breath.