Pa and the Sad Turkeys

HARRY MARK PETRAKIS

SOME damn fool once said that all a Greek had to do to make money in a restaurant was to enter partnership with another Greek and watch the cash register. The guy that started that rumor better stay away from my Pa.

Our place wasn’t classy enough to be called a restaurant. It was a drab lunchroom in a factory district near the railroad yards. We had six tables and twenty-six stools. They were all filled for an hour over lunch, and the rest of the day and night a customer might think the place was a graveyard.

There were three of us as partners, and that was a mistake. Pa and Uncle Louie had been partners for a number of years. When the army drafted me, Pa forgave me for having left college after one year, and, in a flurry of patriotism, he and Uncle Louie cut me in for an equal share of the business. They wanted me to have something to come back to a few years later. When I returned in a month with a medical discharge for a bad knee, Pa was sorry, but by then the papers had been signed.

Not that I wanted to stay in the lunchroom forever, but I was still developing my character and had nothing special that I wanted to do yet besides make a fortune playing the horses. The lunchroom was near a reputable bookie, and I had to spend the time between races somewhere. I worked out in front as a waiter, and Pa and Uncle Louie worked in the kitchen as chefs, dishwashers, butchers, and anything else that came up.

Business was terrible and getting worse. About three in the afternoon, when we hadn’t seen a customer in two hours, Pa would stamp out of the kitchen and begin. “ May the fiend that sold us this place fall in a sewer,” Pa said. “ May his back swell with boils and his lying tongue turn black.”

“Take it easy, Pa,” I said. “That won’t bring in any business.”

Uncle Louie came to stand smiling in the kitchen doorway. He and Pa were brothers, but they weren’t a bit alike. Pa was big with a barrel back and the thick neck of a bull. A heavy head of hair, iron-gray at the temples, came down over his forehead until it almost merged with his bushy eyebrows. I loved him, but I had to admit he resembled a gorilla, with a disposition to match.

Uncle Louie was an amiable idiot. I don’t say that with any intended disrespect. I loved him too. He was a good-natured gentle little man who always smiled. That might seem commendable except that Uncle Louie carried smiling too far. Tell him about a terrible auto accident with the occupants smashed and bleeding, and Uncle Louie would listen carefully and smile and shake his head. Working with Pa in the kitchen would have driven a normal man crazy. Uncle Louie was insulated.

Pa fixed me with a baleful eye. “ Lucky for me you went one year to college,” he said. “Tell me, how did you manage four years of education in that one year?”

Uncle Louie smiled broadly.

“ Cut it out, Pa,” I said.

“ Sure,” he said and shook his head violently.

“ I will cut it out when you stop playing the horses and start thinking of a way to save us. This place is a graveyard. You hear me, hoodlum, a graveyard, and you are standing around with a shovel.”

“Shut up, Pa,” I said. “Here comes a customer.”

Pa stared in disbelief as a leather-jacketed baggage handler shuffled in the door and sat down at the counter. Uncle Louie scurried back to the kitchen.

I brought the customer a glass of water. Pa elbowed me aside and handed him a menu.

“Coffee,” the man said.

For a moment Pa’s face twisted in a silent snarl.

“ With or without a toothpick?” Pa asked, and he stood above the man with his hairy arms spread wide on his hips. The man looked up as if suspecting a joke, but Pa was grim.

“ Have you had lunch?” Pa asked.

The man gaped at Pa for a moment and then numbly shook his head.

“What are you waiting for?” Pa said. “By skipping a meal you do injury to your stomach. Regular eating habits assure a sound body.” He shook his head sadly. “Your appearance is unhealthy. When did you last see a doctor?

The man nearly fell off his stool in shock and outrage. He stumbled to the door and, with his hand on the knob, turned and spoke in choked indignation. “You must be nuts!”

The door slammed behind him.

“Nice going, Pa,” I said. “That should help pick up business.”

Uncle Louie stuck his head out the kitchen door. “Thomas,” he said to Pa. “I was waiting to hear an order. Where is the patron?”

“Coffee!” Pa said. “At a time when I am faced with eviction for nonpayment of rent, that lout comes in and orders coffee.”

“He doesn’t care about our troubles,” I said.

“ Who does?” Pa said and laughed in a show of frivolity. “Does my horse-playing son care? My educated son who spent one hard year in college and got a degree in the Daily Triple.”

“The Daily Double, Pa,” I said patiently. “Get it right.”

“Thank you,” Pa said. “I am happy you are around to correct me. I am so happy I wish I could die now in the middle of my joy.”

“Don’t expire yet, Pa,”I said. “The Oscar Mayer man is due in for the meat order for next week.”

“No order,” Pa said somberly. “They have refused us further credit unless we put up cash. Not a bone without money.”

“I’m sorry, Pa,” I said. “I’m broke.”

Uncle Louie ducked into the kitchen. He might have been simple, but he knew when to disappear. Not that he had any money either, but he didn’t want to put Pa to the trouble of asking.

Pa laughed again without mirth. “In this way does it end,” he said. “Next week my doors will close for good. People will whisper all across the city that Thomas Lanaras has failed. The icebox has nothing left but three small pork chops.”

“One chop left, Pa,” I said apologetically. “I got hungry late last night.”

He fixed cold furious eyes on me.

“ Can’t we have a macaroni and spaghetti festival next week?” I asked.

“Do me a favor,” he said slowly. “ Don’t think. Don’t talk. Don’t make a suggestion.” He walked stiffly to the kitchen. In a moment I heard him wailing to Uncle Louie.

SAM ANASTIS came in about four thirty. He was a renegade wholesale meatman specializing in animals that died natural deaths. He had the wide hot smile of a professional con man, a high-pitched shrill voice, and he always looked back over his shoulder at intervals as if afraid he was being followed. He carried a brown bag that he held tightly as if it contained some peerless treasure.

I lifted my nose out of the racing form. “Pa,” I called out. “Sam Anastis is here.”

“Tell him to drop dead,” Pa shouted from the kitchen.

Sam Anastis laughed heartily. “What a sense of humor that man has,” he said brightly.

“He’s a riot all right,” I said.

Sam Anastis walked on small quick feet to the swinging door and opened it a little. “Mr. Lanaras,” he called out gaily. “ It is me, Sam Anastis.

I want to talk to you.”

“Go to hell, Sam Anastis!” Pa roared.

Sam Anastis laughed shrilly. When he could catch his breath he shook his head at me. “What a man,” he said. “Always kidding.

He opened the door slightly again. “Mr. Lanaras, please come out now,” he said. “Sam Anastis has something for you at a price. I could have sold to any of a hundred restaurants, but when this golden opportunity came my way, I thought of you.”

Pa said something shocking in Greek that called in question the parentage of Sam Anastis.

“All right, sir,” Sam Anastis grinned slyly. “All right. I’ll have to take my proposition to Mr. Botilakis. How he will laugh when I tell him I offered it to you first.”

He finished and stepped back quickly. A momeat later Pa came violently through the swinging door. Uncle Louie followed smiling behind him. If there was anything could set Pa’s teeth on edge, it was mention of our archcompetitor, the Olympia Lunchroom on 15th Street, run by that blackhearted Macedonian, Antonio Botilakis.

Pa pointed a big warning finger at Sam Anastis. “ I give you thirty seconds,” he said. “ At the end of that time I personally will kick you from here into the gutter. Begin!”

Sam Anastis wasted ten seconds trying to decide whether Pa was serious. When he realized Pa was, he hastily opened the bag he carried and drew out something long and scrawny. “Look!” he said triumphantly. “Look!”

“In God’s name, what is it?” Pa asked.

Sam Anastis looked hurt. He appealed to Uncle Louie. “You know what it is, of course.”

Uncle Louie furrowed his brow. He smiled pleasantly and sympathetically at Sam Anastis. “ It looks familiar,” Uncle Louie said brightly.

Sam Anastis looked heartbroken. “It is a turkey,” he said. “A genuine milk-fed purebred turkey. A wonderful specimen.”

“Of course,” Uncle Louie said. “A turkey.”

Pa looked incredulous.

“That is a turkey?” he asked.

“It is some kind of bird all right,” I said. “I think I can make out a wing.”

Sam Anastis laughed, and Uncle Louie laughed with him.

“Like father like son,” Sam Anastis said. “Both always clowning.”

“If that is a turkey,” Pa said somberly, “it has been hit by a truck.”

“No!” Sam Anastis exploded in protest.

“Why is it so dark?” I asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Sam Anastis said. “ This turkey was raised on a farm in Florida. Healthy sunshine all year round.”

He made off to hand the bird to me.

“I don’t want to touch it,” I said. “I don’t want to catch whatever it was that killed it.”

“ I was in Florida once,” Uncle Louie said.

“Sam Anastis,” Pa said, “ I have known you for ten years. I knew your father. In the old country he was arrested three times for trying to sell the Parthenon to tourists. For you to come in here and suggest I buy that bird is an action so arrogant even he would not have dared.”

“What is the matter with this turkey?” Sam Anastis asked in a grieved voice.

“What did the autopsy show?” I asked.

“In Florida it was very pleasant,” Uncle Louie said. “I spent much time on the beach.”

“Get out,” Pa said, and he waved his big fist toward the door. “Go sell that abomination to Botilakis.”

Sam Anastis backed toward the door still dangling the turkey.

“You are making a terrible mistake,” he said shrilly. “ I have a crate of these fine birds. You can have them for twelve cents a pound. At twelve cents a pound your profit will be enormous.”

Pa stopped short. “Twelve cents a pound?” he asked.

“We stayed at a big hotel,” Uncle Louie said. He smiled warmly. “ The windows looked out on the water.”

“Pa,” I said warningly. “Forget it. Serve those birds and the police will put us away for life.”

Sam Anastis took a step forward.

“Any chef can fix an attractive bird,” he whined eagerly. “These birds are a real test. A lot of boiling to tenderize the meat. Plenty of seasoning to lend aroma. A good thick gravy. Believe me, these birds are a challenge I would be proud to accept if I were a chef.”

“Get out, Sam Anastis,” I said. “I’m only a sad horse player, not a murderer.”

“Wait,” Pa said. “Let me examine that bird more closely.”

“A turkey,” Uncle Louie said. “ Of course.”

Pa took the bird and turned his nose away. He pressed the bony thigh. “There is meat there,” he said. “And there. And there. There is considerable meat on it.”

“What did I say?” Sam Anastis shrieked. “A lovely bird and for the price a steal. I make nothing on the sale, but I hope to keep you as friends always.”

“How much will the crate come to?” Pa asked.

“ Eighty pounds,” Sam Anastis said quickly. “Exactly nine dollars and sixty cents.”

“ I’ll give you seven fifty,” Pa said.

“ I contracted for twelve cents a pound,” Sam Anastis said, outraged. “ I gave you the best possible price. I saved them for you. Now you make a ridiculous offer.”

Pa shrugged. “Forget it,” he said and turned away.

“Wait!” Sam Anastis cried. “ It has been a longday. My feet hurt. I’ll take it.”

He started quickly to his car to get the turkeys before Pa changed his mind.

“Pa,” I said. “You must be nuts. Poisoningpeople is no joke.”

“Shut your face about poison,” Pa said. “This is a miracle which has been provided to save us from bankruptcy and disgrace.”

“Maybe they will let you work in the prison kitchen,” I said.

“Zipper your mouth!” Pa said. “You have no faith. Uncle Louie and I will fix those birds. We will fix them so they would be fit to serve on the table of a king.”

Sam Anastis came in struggling with the crate.

“Where?” he gasped.

“In the kitchen,” Pa said, and there was a wild gleam in his eyes.

THAT night after closing, the lights blazed in our kitchen. Pa and Uncle Louie placed great pots of water to boil on the stoves. When the kitchen was shrouded in steam, they threw in the turkeys. They boiled them all night, the two of them fretting around the pots like a pair of mad chefs. The smell was awful.

On Saturday morning it was hard to get an order out of the kitchen because Pa and Uncle Louie were working frantically over those birds. Some of the smell from the night before still lingered, and when customers wrinkled up their noses and complained, I told them a gas line had broken.

We did a light lunch business because it was Saturday, and then the place emptied again. By sometime that afternoon the first batch of turkeys had been out of the ovens a couple of hours and the second batch was in. Pa came out and sat at one of the tables with a pad of paper and a pencil, mumbling to himself as he figured out the menus for the coming week.

“ Monday will be roast young tom turkey,” Pa said. “ Tuesday, turkey and noodles. Wednesday, hot turkey sandwich. Thursday, chicken à la king. Friday, turkey hash.” He finished pleased at his sagacity.

“ You forgot chicken croquettes,” I said.

“ Shut up,” Pa said.

I buried my head back in the racing form and wondered how I might sneak out to make a bet in the fifth race at Tropical Park.

Everything was quiet. No other sound than Pa mumbling and a mail truck rumbling past in the street outside. I heard the swinging door from the kitchen, and I looked up.

“Pa, look!” I said. “Look!”

Uncle Louie stood in the doorway. For the first time I could remember he wasn’t smiling. There was a look of some incredible distress on his face, and he held his hand across his stomach.

“ Louie, what is the matter?” Pa asked.

Uncle Louie tried to speak, but no sound came. Before our eyes his face seemed to darken and his cheeks seemed to swell. He made another valiant effort to speak, and only a deep mournful croak came out.

“Louie!” Pa hollered. “In God’s name, what has happened?”

“ Pa!” I shouted. “ I bet he ate some turkey!”

When he heard the word“ turkey,” Uncle Louie stiffened as if he had been shot. Then he stepped forward, placing one foot down carefully, and followed it slowly with the other. He made one final mighty effort to smile. When that failed he spun around like a top, once, twice, propelled by some relentless force, and then he collapsed on the floor flat on his back.

“He is dead!” Pa wailed and ran to him. “Louie is dead!”

“A stomach pump!” I shouted. “His stomach must be emptied!” I rushed to the phone.

Pa knelt weeping beside Uncle Louie. “Speak to me, my beloved brother,” Pa beseeched him. “Speak to me, companion of my youth. Speak!”

Uncle Louie stared in anguish at the ceiling.

I got Doctor Samyotis, who had a little office on the boulevard about a block away, and he promised to come at once. I rushed over to where Pa cradled Uncle Louie’s head just in time to hear a terrible rattle rise out of Uncle Louie’s throat.

“His death cry!” Pa shouted. “Get a priest!”

“Take it easy, Pa,” I said. “The doctor will be here in a minute.”

“Too late,” Pa wailed. “My brother will be gone.”

“ Don’t give up hope, Pa,” I said. I opened Uncle Louie’s collar. He sure looked awful.

The door banged open, and Doctor Samyotis came in. He took one look at Louie. “In the kitchen,” he snapped. “Carry him back there.”

Pa and I picked up Uncle Louie and carried him into the kitchen.

“Put him on the table,” Doctor Samyotis said. “Get a pail. The ambulance is coming.”

We set him down, and I felt a little sick myself. I left Pa to help the doctor and walked back to the front. A truck driver had come in and was nonchalantly sitting at the counter.

“We are closed,” I said.

“ I just want a bowl of soup,” he said.

“We are closed,” I said. “Get out.”

“ Whadyumean closed?” he said. “ I just want a bowl of soup.”

From the kitchen Uncle Louie wailed a terrible cry of anguish and doom.

The guy made it to the door in a single leap. I locked up and sat down to wait. I was worn out.

In a few moments the ambulance pulled up in front of the store. I unlocked the door, and two white-coated guys came in with a collapsible stretcher. I waved them into the kitchen.

In another few moments they came out carrying Uncle Louie. He was covered with a blanket to his throat, and a towel was wrapped around his head. All that showed was his mouth, and poor Uncle Louie wasn’t smiling.

Pa came out with Doctor Samyotis.

“Doc,” I asked, “will Uncle Louie be all right?”

“He will be all right,” Doctor Samyotis said. “Just sick for a while.”

The attendants loaded Uncle Louie in the ambulance. A small crowd of railroad workers gathered around outside and peered in through the plateglass window.

Pa started to get his coat. Doctor Samyotis stopped him. “You stay here!” he barked. “Go bury those turkeys!”

Pa stared shamefaced at the door.

The doctor walked out and slammed the door. The ambulance pulled away.

A FEW guys still stared through the window. Pa made a fierce face through the glass, and they scattered. He came back and sat despondently at one of the tables.

“What have I done?” Pa said, and he rocked back and forth like a mourner. “ What have I done?”

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, Pa,” I said.

He shook his head somberly. “He might have died,” he said. “Poor Louie might have died.”

“It would have been worse if it was a customer,” I said. “We might have gotten sued.”

“Shut up!” Pa said. “You have no family feeling.”

I didn’t say anything more because I knew how stricken he was about Uncle Louie.

At that moment the front door opened and Sam Anastis came in as if he had sprung out of the earth. He stood beaming his hot wide smile at us. I was afraid to look at Pa.

“Greetings,” Sam Anastis glowed. “I was passing by and thought I would stop and inquire how went the turkeys? Are they roasted yet?”

I finally looked at Pa, and his face was impassive, but there was a blue vein swelling on his forehead and his cheeks were gathering red with blood.

“Welcome, Sam Anastis,” Pa said in a strangely gentle voice. “What a friend you were to bring those turkeys to me.”

“ What did I tell you? Sam Anastis trumpeted. “I made nothing on that sale, but for friends like you I don’t care.”

He saw Pa approaching. For a moment a cloud of uneasiness swept his face. Then it was too late. Pa reached him, and I held my breath. But Pa just clapped him softly on the shoulder.

Seeing Pa close enough to feel the heat shaking off his cheeks made Sam Anastis realize something was wrong. He tried to smile away his fear, but by that time Pa had his arm and began to walk him back to the kitchen.

“ Gome and see the turkeys, Sam Anastis,” Pa said. “I will make you a little sandwich.”

Sam Anastis looked shocked. He had an ironclad rule against eating anything he sold. “I have just eaten,” he laughed weakly. “ I am not a bit hungry. I never eat this time of day.”

By the time they got to the kitchen door, Sam Anastis was dragging his heels. Pa graciously all but lifted him through the door and turned back to me. “You!” he barked. “Call Doctor Samyotis!”

I went quickly to the phone and dialed the doctor’s office. He wasn’t back yet, and I left urgent word with the nurse for him to come. For Pa’s sake, I hoped he would make it in time.

As I hung up, a terrible cry of lament and despair sounded from the kitchen. I got my coat and hurried out the door. I didn’t want to go all through that again. Besides, if I hurried, I might still get a bet down in the last race at Jamaica.