Little Man

December, 1938 was colder than usual. Rudy marched behind his father, trudging through deep snow, his small, 8-year-old head held high. His brown eyes twinkled with pride just thinking about the $5 bill in his pocket. It was Christmas break and he had spent the entire week working in the woods with his father.

He remembered his father’s words, “if you’re coming to work with me,” his brown eyes narrow with sternness, “you got to work like a man. No fooling, no complaining, keep up or keep out.” And for the entire week, he did it, he worked alongside the men and kept up.

He was a bit disappointed at first that he didn’t get to cut down any trees, but he was surprisingly good at stripping the logs of their bark. He spent most of his days doing that. His little arms ached after each day, but the joy he felt being included by the men more than made up for the pain.

“Slow down, young fella,” they’d say to him, “you’re strippin’ faster than we can cut!” He knew that wasn't really true, his task was to strip the large pile of logs that were already there. But he reveled in the glory. He wasn’t often praised so when accolades came around, he basked in them. And best of all, today, payday, he received the best and most elusive approval of all, his father’s.

Reuben Senior was a man of few words, but when they came, people listened. At the end of the day as Mr. Hawthorne handed out the weeks’ wages to the men, $5 each. It wasn’t great money, but as young Rudy understood from hearing the adults talking, any money was good money. Times were tough.

Everyone got their pay, and then Mr. Hawthorne approached Rudy and patted him on the head with his fat hand. “You’re one hell of a worker, son,” he smiled down at him, “here’s a dollar for ya.”

Rudy's heart sank. Although $1 was a lot of money for an 8-year-old boy, he was told he'd be rewarded like the men if he worked like the men. He shoved back the tears welling up behind his eyes and swallowed hard. Men didn’t cry. He opened his mouth to protest then stopped. He wasn’t supposed to talk back to grown folks. He took a handful of steps, getting himself far enough away from the others to allow the tears to roll down his cheeks.

He stood by the pond, fixing his sorrowful eyes frirmly on the frozen surface, willing himself to be able to chill his sadness as easily as the air chilled the water into a solid, unyielding chunk. There was something so beautiful, almost magical about it. During the summer, the pond was flexible, soft, just sort of there, flowing back and forth which ever way the wind blew it. Now it was rigid, unyielding. It was hard and strong, unmoveable. But looking down at the still, glass-like surface gleaming in the dwindling sunlight seemed to have the opposite effect on the child. The splendor of the sight only served to intesify his confused disappointment as he wondered why in a world where things could be so pretty, did some people have to be so ugly?

Reuben Senior, the boy’s namesake spoke up at that moment, “Mr. Hawthorne, Sir,” he began respectfully, “we agreed, the boy works ‘longside the men , he gets the same wages.”

Mr. Hawthorne chuckled a slightly sinister and dismissive cackle, “$1 is a lot of money for a boy,” he replied, “anyway, I don’t hear him complaining.”

The other men began to mumble behind Reuben, whose caramel - coloured cheeks reddened with a mix of anger and cold weather. They agreed with him, the boy worked damn hard, without complaint, for 6 long days.

George Jenkins, a wiry man with a birdlike beak of a nose spoke up, “Johnson’s right, Hoawthorne, you agreed!”

Mr. Hawthorne waved his hand at the group, “tell ya what,” he said to the four men, now standing behind Reuben, “each of you give up $1 and then the boy has his 5.” He laughed loudly, knowing that would silence them. They couldn't afford to give up even a penny of their money. Then, twisting the knife a little further, he added, “anyway, Johnson’s going home with $1 more than you, he’s got $6, counting the kid’s money, you all have $5. $5 for your families, while he has $6, how’s that fair?” He turned his back, supremely satisfied with himself.

Reuben stepped toward the boss, “Sir,” he said loudly.

Mr. Hawthorne turned around, stepped toward him and warned, “watch what you say now…”

Rudy quickly whipped himself around, fearful there’d be trouble. He knew his father, a former boxer of some local notoriety, and the only thing quicker than his fists was his temper. “It’s fine,” he called out from the pond, breathlessly, “$1 is just fine, honest!”

Reuben took a step toward Mr. Hawthorne so that the pair were toe to toe. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly and deliberately through tightly gripped teeth, “I’m sayin’ this once more, Sir,” he began, “we agreed. The boy works a man’s week, he gets a man’s pay."

Hawthorne started to protest, his fat body visibly shaking, all the colour drained from his face, “listen, now…”

Reuben grabbed the man’s jacket, “we’re gonna do this one of two ways,” he warned, his voice becoming louder, “you pay the boy what he’s due,” he paused, “or I take it outta yer hide!”

Mr. Hawthorne shook free and straightened himself up, his face red with a mix of fear and embarrassment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a $5 bill. He called to the young lad, his arm stretched out in front of him, holing the money, “I was only teasin’ son, I was never gonna let you leave here without your full pay.” He held the money out to him, “whaddya say we trade?” he stammered.

Rudy approached gingerly and looked up at the man he was named for. Reuben nodded quietly and the youngster accepted the trade. “Thank you, Sir,” he smiled meekly.

That was that. The only other thing his father said to him on the walk home was a warning that he wasn’t to tell his mother about the earlier trouble. He never said he was proud of him or that he did a good job, but he didn’t have to. Rudy knew, for this first time in his life, he knew his father was proud of him.

Arriving back at the small clapboard house he shared with his family, Rudy bounced inside, full of energetic pride that defied his tired body. He kicked off his boots, ripped off his hat, coat and gloves, tossed them on the floor, and presented his mother with his earnings, “here, Mama,” he announced, his brown eyes wide with youthful excitement, "for you!”

Thea smiled down at her eldest son and patted his cheek, “thank you, Rudy, that’ll be a big help, especially with Christmas coming.” Then she turned to the doorway and her son’s pile of clothes, “but is that how a working man leaves his things?”

The young boy shook his head, “no, ma’am,” he knew the question wasn’t a question at all. “I'll clean it up now.”

Rudy’s always so messy!” Althea chirped, already seated at the kitchen table along with Rudy’s other siblings, Enid, Bobby, David, and Jimmy. She was the eldest of the Johnson children, almost 3 years Rudy’s senior and, in most ways, his polar opposite. She was tidy, studious, and well - mannered. The younger children chimed in, agreeing with their older sister.

Thea turned to her brood, heavily pregnant again, and in no mood, “Althea Jesse, set the table, please!” Her tone was enough for the pre-teen to understand that she was to say no more.

Althea rose to do as she was told, “yes, Mama,” she said remorsefully, “I’ll do it now.”

Thea nodded and then turned to her son, “go get washed up.”

Rudy smiled, “okay,” then asked, “what’s for supper?”

She giggled, teasing the child, “what do you think’s for supper?”

Rudy knew what was for supper, homemade baked beans and fresh baked bread. It was the same thing every Saturday night, without fail. It was something of a tradition. Everyone he knew had beans on Saturdays. In fact, he was pretty sure everyone in the world had beans on Saturdays.

As the family gathered around the table, young Rudy looked at his family. He was filled with a rare sense of self worth. He sat a little taller in his chair, looking at his brothers and sisters, Althea, tall, thin and proper, Enid, tiny and cute, Bobby, handsome with a quick smile. Then there was David, he was barely a toddler, but he “had the devil right in him,” according to his mother. He was devilish from the start, and had a twinkle in his eye that made you think he was up to something. And then there was baby Jimmy in the highchair. Rudy wondered what the next baby would be like.

He turned to his father, who was sitting quietly, sipping a drink in a cup. Rudy knew it was whiskey, even though the cup was supposed to conceal that fact. Then, he looked up at his mother as she began dishing out the evening meal. As she approached, he looked back at his father and like clockwork, the man of the house shoved his chair back slightly from the table and folded his arms. It was a common practice. Every night, Reuben Senior would do the same thing, work weary and probably ravenous, he quietly sipped his whiskey, and refused to eat until the children and his wife had their fill. When there wasn't enough to go around, it would be him to go without, not his family.

Thea served Althea and came to Rudy. He smiled at his father and pushed his chair back from the table, folding his arms in the same deliberate fashion. It was nearly impossible to do. He had been dreaming about gobbling up his supper all day. “Feed the children first, Mama,” he nodded in that solmen, matter - of - fact sort of way he'd seen his father do.

Thea sighed, exasperated, “Reuben Edward, you may work like a man, but you’re a growing boy.” She rose her voice slightly, “I'll not have this foolishness!”

Althea chimed in again, scoffing, “imagine, little Rudy thinks he’s a man!” The absurdity of it struck her as one of the funniest things she’d ever heard. She felt almost indignant at the very thought of it, after all, she at 11 years old, was much closer to adulthood than her younger brother.

“Little Rudy, little Rudy,” the others chimed in, turning their sister’s comment into a little song.

Reuben slammed his fist onto the table, hard, “enough!” he commanded. The kitchen fell silent. Nobody moved, they didn’t dare. He stood up and walked around the table to his oldest son and stood beside him. Rudy felt a shot of fear run up his spine and settle in his stomach. He worried he may have gone too far and was about to get it good.

He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, squeezing firmly, rocking him back and forth slightly. He looked around at his other children, then to his wife, still standing with the pot of beans and said, "Thea, serve the rest of the children. Rudy worked like a man, we’ll treat him like a man.” He smiled down at him, almost able to feel the glow emanating from the child’s heart, “my little man wants to wait, he waits.”

Thea nodded, deferring to her husband. She served herself a small portion, and sat down. And there was plenty left for both “men".