Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [10]
“Might as well let me have it,” he said.
“Maybe you ought to save it till after dinner.”
He took the envelope from her pocket and held it as one would handle a box with an unexploded bomb inside, sighed, and tore it open. “Want me to read it?” she asked. “Yeah.”
My Dear Son,
I am still trying to get used to being deprived of your weekly letter, which I came to depend on when you were home in California. Now I come home to the usually empty mailbox. Am I to blame for having the blues?
Val sighed. “Honey, you really don’t need this,” she said.
“Go on, finish it.”
“As you wish. Let’s see ... ‘blame for having the blues?’”
Son! I am getting nasty letters from the relatives in Israel that you are boycotting their homes. I am having terrible difficulty to convince them that Gideon is not a snob. Son, I beg of you. It wouldn’t hurt a thing to drop in for a meal once in a while. You still like gefilte fish! Even though Valerie doesn’t know how to make such dishes and seems reluctant to learn.
However, that is not the point. Especially you should every so often see my brother, Mordechai, who suffered so brutally at the hands of the Nazis. He pleads with me for you to read his essays, which are world-famous in some circles, a highly respected scholar. You could easily, with a letter or two to your famous friends, get him published in America. It would do miracles for his health (ruined by the Nazis) if you could accomplish this small favor. Or maybe I’m asking too much.
Also, to visit my sister (your aunt) Rifka, who sits in a dark room all day grieving for my beloved mother (your grandmother), who was murdered at Treblinka. She is not a well person, mentally speaking, and it is my firm belief and honest opinion that a visit from you would make her well. Thank you, son, for not ignoring the relatives.
How are Valerie and my beautiful eynikles? Ah laben auf dier kups. I love them all! I embrace them. I kiss them. Perhaps you could convince Valerie to drop the old man a few sentences, a post card. It would be nice to get from her regular mail IF IT’S NOT TOO PAINFUL FOR HER. Also, is there a reason that Roxanne and Penny should be ashamed of their zayde? I have for each of them a little Channukah gelt in exchange for a letter. Please, so they shouldn’t forget, have them write regularly. It would also alleviate my loneliness.
Now, let me address you on a very serious matter. I am not no literary expert, although I have read all the classics in a number of languages. I am only a humble worker, but you must listen to what I have to tell you. Menachem Begin and his crowd are nothing but fascists. Don’t let them convince you they are Hollywood heroes. The Jewish people will never forgive you if you glorify, in your book, these thugs and hoodlums. God forbid I should tell you what to write. I am only offering a suggestion that should be carefully followed, FOR YOUR SAKE.
I miss you. I long to see you. I embrace you. I plead with you, don’t take chances and also MOST IMPORTANTLY to write. Lena sends love.
Your loving,
Dad
P.S. We are okay for old folks. Nothing happens new in Philly except to wait to die.
The letter sent Gideon directly to the liquor cupboard over the sink.
“He gets better with age,” Val said.
“Shit!” They had finished up the Scotch last night. Gideon took down a bottle of Israeli brandy and glared at it as though it were an adversary. A few ice cubes, without integrity, were scraped from the tray. He poured a brandy and diluted it with soda water. The ice cubes vanished on contact. The first swallow was the worst.
Kol Israel radio beeped out its signal. Gideon turned up the sound. Syria and Jordan were meeting with Egypt to form a joint military command. Val watched her husband tense up. His back and neck would be as hard as a billiard table tonight.
More news. A fedayeen raid from Jordan. The marauders caught a girl from the kibbutz, raped her, and stabbed her to death. The Arab Legion fired into West Jerusalem