Notes: So long since last update. So very long. *hides*
Shout-outs next chapter. Must go now. *runs to get ready for work*
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After the strike, Jack and David became even closer. My parents had already loved Jack, but he became like another son to them then. They welcomed him into the home whenever he wanted. Even to me it was obvious that Jack was happy, truly happy in a way I had never seen in him before. He talked about escaping to Santa Fe less and less, and we eventually heard some of the mysterious details of his past, although I doubt anyone but Jack, and possibly David, will ever know the complete truth. I was ecstatic; my hero was now practically a brother. A brother who always had time to listen to my stories.
Jack and Sarah had a brief flirtation after the strike, and for a while it seemed they would stay together. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, they would have, but several months after the strike they ended whatever relationship they had. I was ten by then, but still had no real interest in those things, so it didn't make a big impression on me. I don't think it was an angry or uncomfortable ending, though; maybe inevitable would be a good word to describe it.
If I had to pick a time I think David and Jack actually came together, I think it would be then. Nothing in either of their personalities would have allowed it sooner, even if they had come to accept their feelings before then. I believe they both respected Sarah too much; David was protective of both of us, even if Sarah was older, and Jack wouldn't lead her on in something like that. It was also unlikely that David would agree to a relationship that had overtones of a sordid affair. If he was in love, and there's no doubt in my mind that he was-- no one could make the decision he did without being in love-- then he would expect fully the same from the other. And, from what I've gathered about Jack's past, I'd say a solid relationship, with no fear of the other leaving, would be important to him as well.
Time passed quickly for me in those happy days. A full year passed without anything of significance happening. There were no obvious signs of their relationship that I remember, beyond all the time they spent together. David was happier during that time than I'd seen him for years. My parents commented on it occasionally, happily proclaiming that Jack was a godsend, making their boy so happy with his friendship. Jack's reaction was typical to him. He simply laughed, shrugged, and said:
"Dave's got lotsa friends. I ain't any better than the others."
It was true that David had many friends from school and around the neighborhood before he met Jack and the newsies, but there was a new animation about him that wasn't hard to notice; the contrast was remarkable. This is not to say that life was perfect or idyllic in any way. Life went on as usual for the newsies, including Jack; it was harsh, difficult, and demanding. My father eventually got his job back, and David and I returned to school, but life in the tenements remained the same. David continued selling papers, though, on the weekends and sometimes after school. Despite the harshness of life, we were content.
The second year began and continued in much the same way. There were no sudden reversals of fortune, just small signs that I only realized the significance of years down the road.
Homosexuality was much less accepted in those days than it is now, and my family was no different in those beliefs. We were raised as upright, God-fearing Jewish children, with no interest in dealing with that kind of immorality. How hard it must have been for my brother to realize that he was love with a boy, was committing a sin against his faith. For Jack it must have been difficult as well; street children had little tolerance for gay men also, and would have dealt harshly with anyone they considered a queer or faggot. It pains me now to think of the hurt his own family caused David, although the things we said were common enough. A particular instance still remains with me.
One night, after dinner, Papa was discussing a neighbor down the hall with Mama. I was playing with some toy or other, and they were speaking quietly, so I didn't catch most of the conversation, but I do remember part of it.
". . . and he was always having men visit at night," Papa said. I had wondered what could be so wrong with that, until he continued, in a tone of quiet satisfaction. "I heard that Abe and Daniel got the queer to move, so we won't have to worry about him."
Mama nodded, her lips pursed in concern. "Good. I hate to think about him being around our children."
I happened to be looking in David's direction as she said this. He was sitting at the table, studying for school, books and papers spread out in front of him. Instead of looking at the pages, though, he was staring blankly at the wall, shoulders tense and jaw tight. I remember his look of anger and hurt because it reminded me of another time I had seen it; when he had hurried me past a group of taunting boys who yelled "stupid kikes" at our backs. I was eight years old when that happened, and hadn't understood what they were saying, just like, several years later, I didn't understand why David would be angry at something our parents said.
There were other times like that; at temple, at home, with the newsies. Casually worded comments made by friends. Overheard bits of gossip between neighbors, parents, even shopkeepers. The scandal later in the year over one of Medda's dancers. On all sides, Jack and David were surrounded by reminders of what they had to lose, what would happen if something that brought them such happiness was to be discovered. I contributed to it myself, to my shame all these years later. At the time, when David fiercely shushed me for calling someone a faggot, I thought he was angry at me for saying a dirty word. My biggest worry was that he would tell Mama. Little did I know.