Boys & Girls Together by William Goldman Page A

Grandfather?”
    “Belinda has gotten out. Have you seen her?”
    “No. I’m sorry but I haven’t.”
    “Well, she has gotten out and it is too cold for her. It is very cold today, yes?”
    Walt ignored the perspiration on his face. “Yes,” he said. “Very cold.”
    “Belinda is dead,” the old man said then, waving a hand. He shook his head and smiled. “I just remembered that. She is dead, Belinda. Sometimes I forget. It comes and it goes. Everything.” He began to mutter at the windowpane. “Everything comes, everything goes, yes?”
    “Grandfather?”
    No response.
    “Grandfather, I’d like you to meet somebody.” He gestured for Gino, who crept forward till he was even with Walt.” This is Gino Caruso.”
    The old man turned suddenly, wet eyes wide. “The great singer?”
    “No,” Gino said.
    “No.” The old man nodded. “He was taller than you. Not so young.”
    “Yes,” Gino said.
    “You sing? I sing. I was a great singer. Not so great as my son. But I was great.”
    “That’s wonderful, Mr. Kirkaby,” Gino said.
    “Sing for me, Caruso.”
    “I’m not so good, Mr. Kirkaby.”
    “Do you know ‘Blessed Assurance’?”
    “No. I’m sorry, I don’t.”
    And then the old man was singing. Sitting on a dying chair by a wet window, in a room filled with ruins, the torn blanket held tight, he sang, his voice old, unsteady, dry. “ ‘This is my story, this is my song; praising my Savior all the day long.’ ” He paused. “You remember it now?”
    “No, but it’s very pretty, Mr. Kirkaby.”
    “Yes,” Walt echoed.
    “All together now. A trio. ‘This is my sto—’ Don’t be shy. Come. A trio. Now. ‘This is my story ... ’ ”
    “ ‘This is my song,’ ” Walt sang.
    “ ‘This is my song,’ ” Gino sang.
    “ ‘Praising my Savior all the day long.’ ” The old man nodded. “That was all right. This time we do better. Now; one, two, three,” and they all sang, “ ‘This is my story, this is my song; praising my Savior all the day long.’ ”
    “Do you know ‘Rock of Ages’?” Gino asked.
    “Of course.” And they all sang “ ‘Rock of ages cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee.’ ” They sounded better on “Rock of Ages” than they had on “Blessed Assurance,” but “Shall We Gather at the River” was the best yet, although “The First Noel” topped it by a mile because they were beginning to feel each other now, Gino’s voice soaring high in makeshift harmony, the old man growing stronger, his voice beginning to swell. The rain stopped but they didn’t, segueing into “Silent Night,” then “We Three Kings,” which was followed by seven of the “Twelve Days of Christmas” and “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly,” really rolling now, demolishing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” pulverizing “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” bringing new life to “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” etching “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” so that you could almost see it, and when they finished with “Joy to the World” there was joy.
    P.T. ended all that.
    P.T. or the rain; either way it ended. He had been golfing but the rain had stopped that, so he got home early. Walt never heard him but there he was suddenly, standing in the doorway.
    “What’s all this?” P.T. said.
    “We’re just singing,” Walt told him.
    “Well, I think the old man’s tired.” (He did not mean father, not the way he said it; he meant the man who is old.)
    “No,” the old man said. “Come sing.”
    P.T. snapped his fingers.
    “This is Gino Caruso,” Walt said.
    “Hello,” Gino said.
    P.T. snapped his fingers.
    Walt nodded and he and Gino left the room.
    That night Walt and his father had a talk. Walt had been expecting it, more or less—the old man probably was tired; maybe they had excited him, although Walt didn’t think so. Still, he prepared an apology so that when P.T. called him into his study after dinner he thought he was ready.
    “I’m