Going Home Pete Hamill

They were going to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. There were six of them, three boys and three girls, and they got on the bus at 34 th Street, carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags. They were dreaming of golden beaches and tides of the sea as the gray, cold spring of New York vanished behind them. Vingo was on the bus from the beginning. As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice that Vingo never moved. He sat in front of the young people, his dusty face masking his age, dressed in a plain brown suit that did not fit him. His fingers were stained from cigarettes. He sat in complete silence.

Deep into the night, the bus pulled into a Howard Johnsons restaurant and everybody got off the bus except Vingo. The young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life; perhaps he was a sea captain; maybe he had run away from his wife; he could be old solder going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.

Were going to Florida, the girl said brightly. You going that far? I dont know, Vingo said. Ive never been there, she said. I hear its beautiful. It is, he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tries to forget. You live there? I was there in the Navy, Jacksonville Want some wine? she said. He smiled and took a swig from the bottle. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. In the morning they awoke outside another Howard Johnsons and this time Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously. When they went back on the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again. After a while, slowly and painfully, he began to tell his story.

He had been in jail in New York for the last four years, and now he was going home. Are you married? I dont know. You dont know? she said. Well, when I was in jail I wrote to my wife. I said, Martha, I understand if you cant stay married to me. I said I was gonna be away a long time, and that if she couldnt stand it, if the kids kept askin questions, if it hurt her too much, well, she could just forget me. Get a new guy – shes a wonderful woman, really something – and forget about me. I told her she didnt have to write me or nothing, and she didnt And youre going home now, not knowing?

Yeah, he said shyly. Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through I wrote her. I told her that if she had a new guy, I understood. But, if she didnt, if she would take me back she should let me know. We used to live in this town, Brunswick, and theres a great big oak tree just as you come into town. I told her if she would take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I would get off and come home. If she didnt want me, forget; no handkerchief and Id keep going on through. The girl told the others. Vingo showed them pictures of his wife and three children. Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and young people were waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. Then it was 10 miles, and then 5, and the bus became very quiet. Yeah, he said shyly. Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through I wrote her. I told her that if she had a new guy, I understood. But, if she didnt, if she would take me back she should let me know. We used to live in this town, Brunswick, and theres a great big oak tree just as you come into town. I told her if she would take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I would get off and come home. If she didnt want me, forget; no handkerchief and Id keep going on through. The girl told the others. Vingo showed them pictures of his wife and three children. Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and young people were waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. Then it was 10 miles, and then 5, and the bus became very quiet.

Then suddenly all of the young people were up out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances. All except Vingo. Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was cowered with yellow handkerchiefs, 20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome, blowing and billowing in the wind. As the young people shouted, the old con slowly rose from his seat, holding himself tightly and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.