Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [165]
“Well, I must go, toodle-oo, darlings,” Leah said, folding the check and plunking it into her purse. “It’s a very nice story, no matter what the grim reaper says. When was the last time you went to an opera, a play, Mr. Know-it-all? These children would be culturally starved without their mother. Good night. Oh, Molly, fix Gideon something from the icebox. There’s American cheese and baloney. But no peanut butter. He’s allergic.”
Nathan did not skip a beat as his wife left. “Someday you will realize that with Yiddish, which is an international language, you can express real emotions, not like this hotsy-totsy English. Yiddish, mind you, is becoming the most important international language in the world.”
“For immigrants,” Gideon mumbled inaudibly.
“It’s a crying pity that a boy going on twelve years can’t yet read the Freiheit. Look, J. J. Frumer, the poet laureate of the Yiddish language. Now, he is an important writer!”
When Mother and Father had departed for their respective meetings, Molly comforted her brother.
“I don’t understand why Dad can’t understand,” Gideon said. “I think most kids of my age play out make-believe baseball and football games. It’s fun because you can do anything in fantasy. I honestly feel that a lot of grown men play sports games out in their heads, in which they are always a superhero. That’s the only way they can accomplish what they can’t do in real life. Fantasy is very important for a writer.”
“I understand the story very clearly, honey,” Molly said. “You just keep on thinking inside other people’s heads. That will help make you a writer.”
“I am already a writer,” he answered, taking the story from her. “Only I’m not renowned yet.”
Danny Shapiro, who was fast becoming Molly’s steady beau, knocked and entered with the grin on his face that he always wore when he set eyes on her. Danny saw their bitter mood. Molly winked quickly. “Danny promised me he’d buy you a chocolate banana split if you won a prize in the contest. Didn’t you, Danny?”
Danny, who was not very fast with a buck, gulped, then nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I’m a guy who pays off his debts.” What the hell, he thought, twenty cents would win another round in the battle for Molly’s heart. He forked over two bits to Gideon, hiding his pain.
“Thanks anyhow,” Gideon said; “I’m allergic to chocolate, bananas, nuts, cherries, and whipped cream.”
THE DREADED DAY had arrived. The school term was over. Gideon helped Miss Abigail pack up her personal books and clean her desk. She went to the bookshelf behind her desk and took down a half-dozen volumes.
“These should take care of some of your summer reading,” she said. Gideon beamed. “What else do you plan to do?”
“I’ve got a gang of guys I’m starting to hang out with. We’re going to do a lot of stuff. I also plan to write a three-act musical play about the fall of Ethiopia to the fascists.”
“I’ll be keen to see it,” she said. “Before we call it quits, I’ve a little surprise for you. I’d like to take you flying with me.”
“Jeeze.”
“Get a note giving permission from one of your parents.”
His spirits plummeted. His father would never give permission. As for Momma, she did not like Miss Winters. The two had met during the school year. Leah was aware of how deeply influenced her son had become by his teacher.
“She has a terrible body odor,” Leah remarked, sniffing the air after their first meeting. “I know that woman has lice in her hair.” Leah had even discussed with a doctor the possibility that Gideon was allergic to Miss Abigail and ought to change classes.
It was much the same with Molly’s friends. The suggestion of a dangerous and highly contagious social disease (that one does not mention by name) generally followed Molly’s second date with the same boy.
“It’s really neat of you to offer me a plane ride, but I’d never get permission.”
Miss Abigail became downright morose. “Do you