Summer 1935
Buffalo
Alfred F Jones relished himself in the tranquility of the darkroom. Was he to be called eerie if he enjoyed the suffocating darkness? Alfred set the timer and waited patiently for the chemicals to do their work on the negatives. He thought long and hard about his future, pleasing himself with visions.
Alfred was interested of the journalist's line of work. How happy he shall be to report daily to the town of Buffalo, then, every citizen would recognize his name. He would be praised for his honest, informed reports which had nice pictures to complement them.
And today, Alfred decided, was the time to seek permission from his family. Alfred came from an old elite family of the town Buffalo. As a single child, the family had a thumb over his life. Especially his Grampa, Victor Jones. Elite by birth, the old men had thought their live to be privileged and needed achievements to prove their difference. His Grampa was a man who insisted that their lives should be grand and accomplished, and the sole purpose for this is to be a constant reminder to of their superiority. It was the sole mindset, Alfred thought, which molded his Grampa's principle.
Despite Victor's snobbish façade, Alfred loved his Grampa from the bottom of his heart. The old man spoiled the child Alfred tremendously, and until he realized how he treated those of the lower classes, Alfred couldn't bring himself to hate his grandfather no matter how reality stung. Though, Alfred no longer worshiped and respected the old man as he used to. Instead, his new role model was his mother, Camellia, a journalist, the very person who inspired him to follow the career. As Camellia's father was once their family chauffer, and that she came from a modest background, his parents' marriage invoked strong opposition from Victor. The couple somehow gained a final approval. Alfred wondered if it was his mother's charm that did the work.
Mrs Jones, Camellia, was an independent women, she took part in local politics and was a feminist, an active suffragist. It was her wits and that won Alfred's father heart rather than beauty. Someday, Alfred hoped to marry a woman like his mother, seducing him with cleverness and an independent spirit. He wondered if he can ever find his Mrs Right with the high standards he set.
Alfred did not need to busy himself with the matter of a girl now for he was occupied enough. His life was distracted mainly by journalism, photography, his studies and volunteer work.
Alfred was a bright student in his school despite everyone thought otherwise. He was ahead in his class in both science and modern language, he was well equipped with knowledge of books much to his teachers surprise. But, Alfred was slow on the uptake and had bad judge of the atmosphere, though, that did not stop others from being charmed by his casual attitude in contrast of his family background and the strong sense of justice that was the greatest attribute of his character.
Occasionally, Alfred dedicated his time to help the poor and sick. His help ranged from offering help at the metal factory, helping the illiterate to write letters, paying for the doctor's fee, taking family portraits of those who cannot afford them... He had proven himself to be a part of the common community.
People were discreet enough not to tell his secrets, knowing that his elite family did not like him to socialize with inferior classes. Of course, it was not easy in reality, Buffalo was a small town and his elite friends kept track of his activities. Alfred always found himself in trouble when Victor Jones happened to hear a rumour or two. But, it was not sufficient to stop him from doing what he thought was right.
Alfred was then trying to cross the line again, for that morning, he had plans to tell his grandfather about his ambition.
He needed a boost of confidence regarding the reveal, and sought support from Camellia beforehand. He rehearsed possible arguments and had prepared a trump card.
Alfred woke up early in the state soldiers have when they ready themselves for battle, he even felt the loud thumping of his heart as he walked to the bathroom. With a glance at the window, Alfred saw the sun peeking from the horizon, but it was still too early before their breakfast. Breakfast was served exactly at eight.
Alfred had chosen the date of that day because his father, Carter Jones will not be present. Carter Jones was away to Berlin, Germany as a delegate. He knew more and less that his father will share Victor Jones's view if he told them he wanted to be a Journalist. His father wanted him to take up politics like he did.
"You need to set your sights higher son."
Alfred mimicked his father's solemn and deep voice as he said that.
Alfred decided politics was not the only way to help his country. He believed words carried an equal weight as political power did. Sure he was allured by the prospects of a political career, but he too acknowledges the dark side of the elaborate theatrical play. Alfred had a secret fear of being corrupted by powerful figures like everyone else in that circle was. His father was an example and Alfred gladly took it. He preferred to be called a head-strong fool instead of joining his father in the political world.
The timer rang and Arthur carried out the next steps in developing the negatives. Alfred heard a knock at the door.
He recognized the familiar knock. "Alfred. May I come in?" It was his mother's voice.
"Please do, ma." Alfred wanted to show his mother the photos.
The darkroom was his mother's. Carter Jones readied it for her to develop and print her photos for her magazines. When Alfred was fifteen, he was honoured to be the first person allowed the privilege to enter and use this room as he pleases. Not that his Grampa or father had any reason use the room. But it was still an honour he cherished.
He listened hard when his mother taught him about the delicate process of handling the film or when she lectured him about watching the temperature of the chemicals. Alfred was not someone who did things carefully. He messed up for the first few tries, unknown to his mother, and he still refuse to reveal. But after persistent efforts, Alfred mastered the art of it. He indulged in his mother's praise. By the age of eighteen, Alfred had long since familiar to the procedure, his photos were sharp and clear. He was proud to declare he was one of the few in his school's literature club that can produce a photo without help from their advisor, a French teacher named Francis.
"These are nice. I can see your improvement." Alfred's mother selected a few from the black and white photos.
"Thanks ma."
"You will make a great journalist." Camille's natural tone suggested none of the importance her reassurance was to Alfred.
"Well, there's still Grampa." Alfred managed to mutter while his brain was in a state of fleeting euphoria. "And father too."
"I believe your abilities to persuade the old dear." Camille referred to her father in law fondly. "You're his favourite.
"Uh. Sure." Alfred was anything but sure.
Camille adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. She was prone to do that when she wanted to show him her support on something. Alfred realized how tall he had grown when his mother struggled to reach his face. He smiled and bent down so she could do so easier.
"Love you ma." He heard himself say.
"Good morning, Grampa," Alfred said as casually as he could, hoping that his voice did not shake under the anticipation.
"Mornin' my boy." Victor Jones hinted nothing about a shaky voice.
"Good morning father."
"You too Cam, dear."
Alfred's heart was beating heart against his chest when he reached for his seat. Their familiar exchanges did not calm him at all, in fact he felt more nervous when he was reminded that he was to do something out of the usual.
"I say, Alfred, why aren't you like your peeps? Vargas said you did not attend his sons' party, again. Young Feliciano was very upset." The Vargas was a respectable family and the Vargas twins were Alfred closest friend.
Dating three generations back, the great grandfather of the Vargas twins, an Italian immigrant, had started an olive oil business in the Promised Land. The Vargas had close ties with the Jones.
"Well, something came up."
"You always say that boy. I wonder why." Victor chuckled lightly but it was without malice. Alfred thanked Victor's sense of humour.
Victor asked the Negro maid, Martha for the morning paper. Camille raised an eyebrow at Alfred knowingly and he took the cue.
"Grampa what's for the front page?" Alfred inquired innocently. Alfred waited for his turn for the news on most days, but he did not wanted stall any longer.
"I am sensing something here. What are you up to?"
"Nothing."
Camille expression stirred at his weak justification despite her accustomed neutral mask to even the most important matters. Alfred was somehow glad that his mother was capable to worry this much on behalf of him.
The trump card was out. It was a sink or swim situation.
Five days ago, Alfred submitted an article on an interview as related to a demonstration of the metal factory workers. They raised signboards and shouted slogans as they marched on the street in protest of their Russian boss, Ivan Braginski. They demanded a raise but was refused because Ivan needed money to mend his loss suffered in the Great Depression.
The Braginski family is a Russian gangster of sorts. They owned some of the red light districts in downtown New York, rumored bootleggers who imported wine during Prohibition, and they would resort to violence if circumstances did not suit them
Alfred, having heard from Feliciano, knew of the meeting between the twins' grandfather, Roma Vargas, and Ivan Braginski. Roma Vargas was a retired businessman who was also a respected veteran of the workers' union, and obviously, he intended to argue the workers' right with Braginski.
Alfred stated his interest of an interview and Roma Vargas accepted him as a witness for their discussion. He gave permission for Alfred to take photos for the occasion too as long as the other side would not mind.
"Boy, I will ferret that tyrant's wrongdoing out so you can have a great time writing your article."
"You seemed confident sir." Alfred blurted but regretted as he had shown his doubt of the old man.
Ivan Braginski was notorious for his silent threats and ruthlessness. As if he would give in from a little pressure from the Union.
"Don't worry boy. I believed in justice." It was a reassuring reply.
Alfred liked Roma instantly. It was not surprising to see the Vargas's olive business prosper under a man with such charisma.
Ivan was a member of the Yatch Club. Alfred thought of it as another club the elites prided themselves to be member of. He wondered how Ivan got his membership.
"Ivan, this is the Jones's boy, Alfred. Alfred, Ivan Braginski."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vargas. Alfred Jones." Ivan's English was thickly accented, signifying his Russian ancestry. His voice was unexpectedly soft and polite, but it failed to hide the cold and impassionate attitude.
Both parties shook hands. Alfred was surprised to get a handshake too. Ivan grasps was powerful and intimating. Alfred disliked his cold demeanor and courtesy he regarded them with.
"Pleasure's mine." Roma was being distinctly curt.
They entered the dining room of the club. Ivan led them to a table with a view of the beach. A Chinese waiter took their orders.
"Is that all sirs?"
"Yes thank you, Yao." Braginski was fast to reply.
Alfred noted that Ivan knew the waiter's name. He must dine here more often than he thought.
Alfred helped himself with his steak. He clasped the juicy meat between the round German bread from the basket on the table, which he cut into two halves with the knife. In addition to the flavour, Alfred grabbed the pepper bottle and shook its contents, then, he tucked tomatoes and cabbage on his plate between the bread.
"You have an unusual way of eating young man," commented Roma.
"Convenient sir."
"Might as well have a sandwich."
Alfred watched as the two important figures ate their lunch, Ivan had a borsch and Roma ordered spaghetti. When the plates are empty, the Chinese waiter called Yao cleared the table and brought out Roma's wine and Ivan's vodka.
Alfred listened closely to how Roma raised his point with the ill effects of a strike, which will eventually happen if the workers didn't get enough payment. He did not however, appeal to Ivan by telling how the workers too, suffered from the Great Depression as Alfred expected. He guessed the tactic would not work on the uncompassionate Russian. Roma instead, advised him on the matter practically. He proposed an offer to raise the payment by half the sum the workers requested. Alfred thought the tactic was simple but wise, Roma did not ask his opponent to back down but won something from it.
Alfred studied the Ivan's face. He was indifferent and even looked distracted. Alfred had felt angry enough to punch at the Russian's protruding nose but resisted the notion.
The problem came to a satisfactory disclosure as Ivan accepted the proposal. Alfred felt proud after looking at the long notes he took. He asked a photo and Ivan agreed.
Alfred spent the remaining day writing and improvising his article, printing the photos. Then he submitted them to a local newspaper, Buffalo Dailies, by handling them to his teacher, Francis Bunnofey who was a close friend to the chief editor.
"Why. The demonstration is a hot topic. Nice to have some insight about it." Francis winked. "I will make sure it works its way to the front page."
"Why there's nothing interesting on the front page."
"Are you sure Grampa."
"It's a movie star's scandal for god sake. Tell me if I mistook you your meaning of interesting,"
"No. Grampa. You didn't." The situation was getting awkward.
Maybe he was expecting too much. Even though it was an interview of two prominent local figures, the editor might think it did not pique people's interest enough. He had predicted this to happen. After all, Francis was just attempting on a flatter like he always did.
"Try the politics section" he suggested.
"President's Whitehouse party guests, British appeasing policies, rising Facist. Well, there's nothing much here."
Alfred felt a sudden disappointment. He retreated to his room while struggling to look passive. When he thought of it, his plan was an utter joke.
"Alfred." Camille Jones caught up on him.
"Hey ma. I messed up."
"I am sorry about it."
"I know ma. I am not good enough. "
"It's not your fault Alfred." Camille paused as if she had something to say but was hesitating about it.
"I just thought he would finally recognize my abilities if I published that article." Alfred ignored his mother consolation and was in a state of self deprecation.
"Alfred listend to me."
"I am tired ma'. Give it a rest."
"Alfred there is something that I feel bad to tell you about. But I guess this left me no choice." Camille closed her eyes, biting at her thick lips, breathing hitched. "I had long since suspected father to pull some strings behind your back."
"What?" Alfred landed worked on the interpretation, he felt an unquestionable rage dawning.
"He knew, Alfred. He told the editors not to publish any articles by you."Camille voice was hurt, she nodded her head as to say it was a fact she confirmed but wanted to deny.
"I—"Alfred was struck speechless. How could his grandfather do that to him? "Journalism is a great, respectable job. I don't know why he opposes to it."
Alfred knew. He was not stupid. His Grampa wanted him to be a politician like he and his father did. He felt sour of the unfairness. He felt sour of how Grampa feigned ignorance of what he really wanted, taking further steps to suppress them, as if his dreams will eventually be forgotten if he persisted.
Camille said: "Give me time to talk him out of it."
For that moment, Alfred felt that his mother was the only person who understood him.
"Thank you ma." He didn't want to be angry in front of his mother. Camille heard the dismissal tone in his voice. "Okay. I will leave you to think about it. Don't do anything stupid will you."
"Kay ma."
Camille left.