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Back The Hiawatha Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. Dedication
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. PART TWO
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. PART THREE
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. PART FOUR
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. Also by DAVID TREUER
  46. Copyright

“I gotta work tomorrow. We’re patchin the Mendota Bridge. Damn builders skimped on the cement and it’s all flaking off.”

They both stood and walked to the front door.

“You come anytime to eat. Okay? You come anytime. Watch out for my boys, but leave the decisions to me.”

One-Two nodded and ducked out into the cool September air.

Betty closed the door and shivered again, this time for real.

PART TWO

9

Simon has been out of jail for three months when he sees Vera leaving a jewelry store on Washington Avenue. After three months of nosing around Southside, of searching out only those men he knew from jail, of enduring the lasting craziness of the only two he’s been able to find, Split and T-Man (one without toes and the other without a brain), he is suddenly confronted with Vera.

At first he is not sure, he has to look twice. Her shoulders are more rounded, her legs like wrinkled hams under her too-short skirt. Blond, permed curls erupt away from her face. It is May and warm. The blush on her pasty skin makes her look like a doll set to life as she walks mechanically up Washington. Simon follows her, spring exploding around him like a spilled secret.

He is startled to see her. The years, perhaps. It’s been eleven years since he saw her, since he sobbed against her breasts, already beginning to swell, his brother’s brains sliding from the top of his skull. And all of the time in between. Her child. He moves toward her, his hand frozen in a half-wave. She doesn’t look. Instead of shouting over the urban bustle, he walks on the sidewalk opposite.

Her chin is tucked in the folds of her thin raincoat, and her dress and high heels transform her stride into a metronomic click. She is twenty-eight now, he thinks, twenty-eight and she looks forty. This is what memories do: a murdered lover, an abandoned child, and her body sagging from the sheer weight of it.

This is not the way he has thought of her. Her sloe-eyed looks, legs curled underneath as she sat on the couch with his brother. She is both rounder and harder now. The years did not open her up, did not make her more of what she was then. A girl. Pretty. Unsure of herself but hungry at seventeen. But then, he is not the same either. After he takes in Vera’s changed body he cannot help looking up toward the higher reaches of the city.