Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [91]
“You said you figured about two semesters to go on your Ph.D. Are you planning to go back to Cal?”
“Yes.”
And then Momma asked Sean if he had given any thought to starting a family, and Sean said yes, he had given it a lot of thought.
Patrick O’Sullivan kept his peace during dinner, for now it was Momma’s moment to speak of grandchildren and ask what he ate and where he lived in Germany and how he was taking care of himself.
“Goodness no, Sean! I won’t hear of you wiping dishes. It’s not a fit job for a major in the United States Army. You and Pat go on into the living room. I’ll be in shortly.”
Pat set his rocker into motion. Much of the trembling in his hand subsided. Where to begin? What to say?
“How do you spend your days, Poppa?”
“Well, I’ve still the best collection of John McCormack records in the Mission. And there’s the radio. Mother goes up to the church at least once a day ...”
“Are you able to get around at all?”
“Enough. We sleep downstairs. That saves me the steps. On the sunny days I walk up to Dolores Street or to the church. And thank God, the old eyes are as sound as a dollar. I like to read. I read most of the time since the last attack. There is so much to be learned.”
“Poppa, I’ve been thinking. It would be nice for you and Momma to have one of those pretty little houses on Lincoln Way just across from the park. They’re a lot brighter and you would have the park to walk in or just sit in and read ...”
“Come now, Sean. Mother and I wouldn’t know how to live anywhere else. This tired old house may be depressing to you because you’re young and have ambitions and that is how it should be. To us, it’s comfortable like an old shoe. We’ve been here nearly thirty years. All of you boys were born here ...”
“But ... if I should study at Cal I’d want you nearby so we could be together ...”
“You’re worrying too much about us. That’s why you’ve come home, because you’re worried about us.”
The visitors started arriving. Only a few close friends they knew Sean would want to see. And when they had gone the three of them talked far into the night. And remembering and speaking Tim and Liam’s names was not so painful as he believed it would be. When you have become very, very old like Momma and Poppa, memories are a sweet drug to soothe the long hours... .
The next morning Eileen O’Sullivan awoke at an ungodly hour to bake more pies and cookies than any one human could possibly eat in a week. And, while his father took an early afternoon nap, Sean strolled around the neighborhood.
... Mission High on Dolores Street. Room 28. Mr. Whitehurst’s class. That is where he had first caught the fever of political science.
... The Coliseum ... the old “bucket of blood” fight club ... “Introducing! In the red corner wearing green trunks, at one hundred seventy-five and a half, from San Francisco’s rough, tough Mission ... the dancing master ... Schoolboy O’Sullivan!”
Stick him and run, jab and go ... don’t get hit ... don’t let Momma see you with a busted-up face ... jab run, jab run.
... The boys still hung around the ice-cream parlor at Eighteenth and Dolores. Some were inside playing the pin-ball machine, others outside looking over the quail.
... Buy at Lachman’s Furniture. 17 Reasons Why! The neon light blinked off and on ... 17 Reasons Why.
... Bunch of kids on the corner waiting for the Call-Bulletin car to drop off their papers, pitching pennies against the wall.
“Hey taxi!” Sean called on an impulse.
“Where to, general?”
“Run me out to the beach ... Cliff House.”
There were no seals on Seal Rock. The gulls owned it for now. Sean walked past a monstrous structure housing the Sutro Baths, a relic from before the turn of the century. It held a half-dozen pools of varied temperatures, an ice rink, a collection of junk, curios, old autos, pre-earthquake pictures, a hundred rattly-bang music boxes, Tom Thumb’s clothing, penny movies, all in this mammoth hole along with talking birds, mummies, miniature towns made out of matchsticks, bowling games, voice-recording