is where you transfer, young man. Come with me. I'll put you on the right car."
"Okay." Billy, slid off the high seat, and it being spring loaded, snapped up into place with a loud bang. Billy jumped, then blushed. The conductor, smiling, took him by the hand and led him to a row of street cars waiting their turn to be dispatched. They passed several cars before the conductor called into a car standing with its doors open. "Hi there, Gus. This young fellow needs to be let off on 30th street. His Grandmother is meeting him there." A short, friendly exchange took place between the two men before the one helping Billy bent down, picked him up under the arm-pits, and set him inside the doorway. "There you go. Maybe I'll see ya on your way back. Old Gus here'll take good care of ya. Bye."
Billy said good-bye, then sat in the front seat across from the conductor, looking out the front of the car and watching the street signs as they grew larger in number. "There she is, "exclaimed Billy upon seeing his "Mums" standing on the corner of 30th Street.
"Okay, Sonny. Be careful getting off. Have a good time." The doors folded open and the step dropped down into place. "Bye," said Billy.
The doors closed behind him. "Clang, clang, clang." The dull ringing of the street car's incessant bell announced its departure.
"Hi, Mums." Billy called out aloud before his feet hit the pavement, then made a dash to where she stood and threw his arms about her waist in a spontaneous display of his love.
"Hey, easy there. You almost knocked your Mums down." She bent over, lovingly holding him close to her, then kissed him on the top of his head.
"Gee, I'm sorry." He squeezed her hard.
"Oh, don't you be sorry. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be knocked down by." She kissed him on the cheek and took hold of his hand. The loneliness for her grandson was displayed by the onrushing love they shared, Together, hand in hand, they walked down the street toward the center of the first block where Grandmother Munroe was now living. This was the second time Billy had been allowed to visit since her move to Oakland. "Did you have trouble transferring? I was really quite worried?"
"No. The conductor took me to the other street car. He was nice." Billy continued. "And, ya know, he knew the policeman that got killed. Did you know he was killed?" While Mums had stood waiting on the corner, she had heard a newspaper boy shouting the Post Enquirer Extra edition headlines,
"Policeman killed by burglar. Get your paper. Hey, read all about it. Policeman killed by burglar." At the time she had thought how it seemed that newspapers would make an extra edition of anything, if it would sell papers. The newspaper boys were forever in the streets shouting, "Extra, extra, this thing or that," enticing people to spend their hard-earned money for an over exaggerated story. Perhaps, she had reasoned, the killing of a policeman deserved an extra edition. Now, with Billy announcing he knew of the incident, she felt glad to have also been aware. "Yes. I heard the newsboy shouting the headlines. It is a terrible thing. His poor wife and children must. ...." Billy interrupted.
"He didn't have any children Mums."
"Oh, did the conductor tell you that?"
"No, Mums. I knew him." Billy's mood seemed to change. He lowered his head, but continued to talk. "He used to push my wagon, and he told me he didn't have any children."
Mums wasn't quite sure what to do with the conversation. She was inquisitive and wanted to hear more of Billy's knowledge about the policeman, yet she had become aware of Billy's deepening mood and thought it best to change the subject. She was about to speak when Billy began to explain how he would ride his wagon down the sidewalk and the policeman would come down from his porch to talk to him and give him a starting push back up the hill.
Billy did not like telling the story. It hurt. He wanted to cry. He let go of his Mum's hand and ran toward the gate where Mums was living. Mums raced after him. Reaching him, she knelt and folded Billy into her arms. He cried. His body heaved in great emotional surges, the tears streaming down his face. He buried his head against Mum's breasts, clinging to her in desperation.
"There, there." She consoled him, feeling the emotional convulsions which were raking his young body. "You've lost a friend. It is not easy to lose a friend nor to understand God's taking of him. You must always remember the kindness of your friend, Billy. Always remember the love he had for you. I am sure he loved you just as God does and as I do." She held him close, stroking his head and sharing in his deep felt grief. "Come into the house. We can talk about it there."
Billy tried to choke back the tears and the welled-up feelings struggling to escape from him. He took his grandmother's hand, and together they entered the house.
"God is mean, Mums." Billy spoke in a choked-up voice barely audible through the uncontrolled sniffling and sobbing.
"Yes, darling, sometimes God is mean. But I believe we tend to make Him that way. God wants us to be good people, to live by His word and to reward us with life hereafter. I am sure your friend is in God's hands."
"You think he went to Heaven?" Billy asked his question through sniffles and the wiping away of tears.
"Yes, I am sure he did."
"Mrs. Blair says I'll go to the Devil." He cried harder. His body contracted in spasms of uncontrolled grief and passions of fear. Death and Hell had come into Billy's life. Billy stayed two days with his Mums. They played games, went to the park and together they drove the highway from Oakland to Carmel and back, crossing all the bridges, and remembering their names.
They talked about God, the policeman, and why God chose to take the policeman. Billy loved his Mums and often told her so. She loved her grandson and often told him so. They talked of his father and how his father loved Billy. Billy enjoyed the days with his Mums.
Now, it was time for Billy to leave. "I hate Mrs. Blair, Mums." His words were truthfully spoken. A matter-of-fact statement made by an innocent child. Mums mentally staggered with the boldness and sincerity of Billy's pronouncement. She wanted to cast away the comment, to pretend it wasn't said, to reach through the cloak of hatred which was enveloping her loving grandson and dispel forever all visions and reflections of Mrs. Blair. She knew harm would come to him if he was to remain at the Blair's, but what could she do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, other than to pray for God's guidance, and protection.
"Why, oh why," she asked herself, "must a child suffer for the wrongs of his parents?" She brought Billy close to her, then said, "You must not hate, Billy. Mrs. Blair is doing what she believes is right. She is a religious person, Billy. We all see God in different ways, and because one person believes differently than another is no reason to hate them. She reached down, placing her hand gently under his chin and raising his face to hers. "I want you to remember these words, Billy." Then ever so tenderly, with love she felt for her troubled grandson, she said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
"What's it mean?"
"It means you should treat people the way you want them to treat you."
Billy replied, "Mrs. Blair doesn't do that."
"It may be that she doesn't, but you must try to. So will you promise that?"
"Yes, Mums. I promise."
Together, hand in hand, they walked to the corner to wait for the street car which would take Billy back to where neither of them wanted him to go. Mums waved for the approaching street car to stop. Billy climbed onto the stopped car, still holding his Mums' hand. She stood in the street. Billy turned, squared
