God I love your characterizations so much especially of Arthur and Alfred. I saw you write somewhere that they are just too sentimental. We love sentimental in this house tho. Do you have any soft hurt/comfort for them post revolution? U know like where they actually display at least a semblance of real affection for each other? Surely there must have been at least a few such moments?
I appreciate it 💘 Like father like son, they both are borderline hoarders when it comes to items that they have sentimental attachment to.
It wasn't until after the Great War did the begin trying to fix their relationship but it's still a long way off to where they are today. That wouldn't be until after and a bit during World War II did things really begin to patch up properly.
In between the two wars, was interesting to say the least.
Alfred, I'll be real, was obnoxious in the 20's. Between throwing grand, extravagant parties akin more to the ones of Versailles than Victorian grandeur and him going on his European Grand Tour, he was really trying to make a name for himself after the recognition he got for his services in the Great War. He was really trying to be seen as a grown, educated, mature adult. He attempted to write novels, be philosophical, got really into art, and tried finding a greater meaning of love and life. Francis adored him having this phase while Arthur, and even Matthew to an extent, were scoffing in annoyance.
Cut to the next decade and Alfred went a full one-eighty. The Great Depression hit him hard. In all the years Arthur had known his boy, he had never seen Alfred act like this. He was solemn, quiet, hid out west, really, he was acting a little too much like Matthew and that was worrying.
The most concerning rumor he heard was how Alfred would volunteer for stunts in Hollywood films for the risk taking and actually died on film on more than one occasion.
And so, Arthur takes a trip across the pond autumn of 1935. In hindsight, it wasn't his brightest idea. He should have just asked Matthew, but Arthur was having his own troubles at home and maybe actually seeing the other half of his eldest's country wouldn't be so bad a holiday to step away from his own economic problems.
Arthur steps off the boat in New York and realizes he hadn’t stepped a foot here in over a hundred years, and the last time he was here he certainly wasn’t sightseeing. He appreciates the city for a moment, how much its grown in that short span of time. The first smell he gets once he’s away from the docks, away from the tar and spices and sea, is that of roasted chestnuts. He’s staring at the bright red cart, his stomach grumbling and there’s suddenly a white, paper bag in his hand as he’s making his way to Grand Central. It’s a grand building- a real spectacle of architecture with lofty arches and elegant marble.
He’s nearly late catching his train to Chicago.
His suitcase is as much filled with novels as it was with clothes.
He chose to bring along ‘Murder on the Orient Express,’ ‘The Waves,’ and ‘Cold Comfort Farm’ to name a few of the things he hopes to pass the time with.
Chicago is a miserably windy and cold city. The accent catches Arthur off guard and he doesn’t spend much time here. He’s got another train to catch: the Santa Fe.
The books being sold in the little shop at the station there catch his eye. He knew Alfred had been boasting about his authors for a while but he had yet to bother really looking into any. He thumbs through several and walks away with enough to last the journey out west and back.
‘The Postman Always Rings Twice,’ ‘As I Lay Dying,’ and ‘Tender is the Night’ are additions to his collection.
He’s reading the paper as he settles in his compartment. It’s all depressing business. There’s a serial killer lose in Detroit, leaving behind headless corpses of vagrants all over the city with not a single lead. Crops are doing poorly as people are forced to leave their farms after the black blizzards across the Great Plains from Canada to south Texas (which explained Matthew sounding poorly over the phone; he planned on seeing him shortly after this visit). Unemployment is at 20.1% which was a slight improvement over the previous year.
The train ride is pleasant, the food is some of the best he’s had in years, and he’s comfortable looking out at the scenery. He never got to see the country past the Appalachians and sure, it’s a lot of flat land and tall grass but it feels like his son.
His nerves don’t start acting up until he’s actually in California, staring back and forth between the paper where the address had been scrawled and the plaque by the garage door. He knew this was his son’s house. Escaped to the seaside in Santa Monica to cure an ailed heart of woe.
When Alfred answers the door, he’s furious, but Arthur can tell there’s some of his usual spit and fire missing. He’s shoving his way inside, commenting loudly on how crowded everything is for such a big country and how loud the passengers on the train were and how every other person simply had to comment about his accent. Alfred is trying to ask him why he’s even here to begin with while trying to push him back in the direction of the door. Is the old man there to laugh at his misfortune? To gloat how well his country is doing over the mess the United States got themselves into?
Arthur is making mental notes as he walks the downstairs. Not one light is on, all the windows are open, he can only hear the ocean and no hums of electricity. He opens the Freon to find it mostly empty and Alfred nearly slams Arthur’s hand in the door.
Up close Arthur can see how dry Alfred’s lips are, cracked and a freshly healed cut on the bottom left. He can see that his clothes aren’t fitting him well. They’re lose, suspenders tighter than they used to be. Even his cheeks had thinned; all Arthur could think about how round and soft they had always been even in the War. The shouts and arguments lose their merit when they’re constantly interrupted by fits of horrible, dry coughs.
Arthur is going through the cabinets until he finds glasses and gives the man water from the tap, which, he accepts with only mild protest.
It’s finally quiet and Arthur gives a pseudo apology for dropping by unexpectedly. He swears there’s no malice in his visit, just needed a holiday far, far from home and the mess Europe was in.
‘It’s not, it’s just further away and Matthew just so happened to mention you were in California. You know that I fancy the seaside.’
‘Go to him next time, sounds like you gave him more notice on you coming to my place than me.’
Matthew doesn’t know Arthur is even in North America.
They sit on the back deck together, sip water because he doesn’t keep tea in the house, and watch as people enjoy the last month of summer however they can on tight budgets. There’s a mother and daughter gathering bottles of saltwater to make salt and Alfred mentions he’s bought several from them and that Arthur should bring some home.
Arthur tries offering to treat Alfred to dinner to make up for the surprise visit but the man declines, saying it’ll just be a waste. He hasn’t been keeping food down well.
Arthur recalls his country’s own periods of starvation. How even though he felt as though his stomach was eating itself, he couldn’t keep food down or at the very least, keep hunger at bay for long.
Even just three years ago, he understood the feeling far too greatly.
Arthur takes this time to teach Alfred, how to make the most of his food, what he can make to mimic feeling full without spending much or eating all that much really, how to grow a variety of vegetables, and how to sew properly. Things that he hadn’t seen as ever teaching him as important as a young boy but were vital tools now. Alfred’s got all the right ideas, he wasn’t exactly being wasteful the past five years after all. He had developed his own methods and Arthur was only adding or improving. They fought and spat but with both of their economies tanked, neither one of them had enough energy for a real fight.
Arthur makes sure the boy has enough to eat, cooks him light meals and gives him tea instead of coffee to keep his caffeinated nerves at bay at least for a while. He’s by no means dotting on Alfred like he’s a young boy but it’s the most he’s been in “parent mode” for some time.
At the end of the week, Alfred had noticed a couple of things in Arthur’s bag that were souvenirs of the places he had stopped on his way out here. Arthur made a quiet remark that his trip wasn’t terrible and had a pleasant time all things considered. Alfred drives him down to Los Angeles, it’s a long way up to Vancouver but Arthur is looking forward to taking the Daylight Limited up the California coast followed a handful of other trains up to Washington state then lastly up into Vancouver by the Canadian on the Great Northern line.
He still doesn’t like flying and it’s an expensive mess anyway.
The parting at Union Station is a little rough but still, one of the better ones they’ve had in years. A handshake, a pat on the shoulder, a keep your chin up and you’ll be fine. Alfred has lent him a few books to read on his way to Matt’s and actually says thank you for coming but please don’t do something like this again.
Arthur leaves in slightly good spirits and plays tourist in a few cities on his way up the Pacific coast.
He actually sends Alfred postcards, which, the man has held onto to this very day.
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