Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [171]
A novel takes the courage of a marathon runner, and as long as you have to run, you might as well be a winning marathon runner. Serendipity and blind faith in yourself won’t hurt a thing. All the bastards in the world will snicker and sneer because they haven’t the talent to zip up their flies by themselves. To hell with them, particularly the critics. Stand in there, son, no matter how badly you are battered and hurt. I hope to hear of your success someday.
Your friend,
Papa Hemingway
Gideon entered the kitchen, tossed his books on the oilcloth-covered table, and sampled the icebox. It was mostly empty, as usual. A few lingering packages of sandwich meat looked unappetizing. There was the standard note from Leah pinned to the bulletin board. It read that Momma had to go out on business and wouldn’t be home that night. Molly could fix him a deviled egg sandwich. There was also an apple. Momma loved him very much.
Leah was getting bolder in her outside forays. Gideon shrugged and was turning to his homework when he looked up and saw Molly in the doorway. She looked absolutely awful.
“Hi,” Gideon said. “What’s the matter? You sick?”
“Have you seen a newspaper or listened to the radio today?”
“No.”
“Get a grip on yourself, Gideon.”
“Hey, what’s the matter, anyhow?”
Molly set the afternoon Ledger Dispatch on the table, put her hands in her face, and wept. Gideon stared at the headline.
NORFOLK AVIATRIX KILLED IN SPAIN
Abigail Winters, daughter of WW I Ace, shot down in dogfight
Abigail Winters’s death was the most crushing and tragic experience of young Gideon’s life. For days he was in a stupor, barely eating, barely sleeping. He spent hours on end in the garage loft that held his “office.” Then came a final thunderclap, the news that his mother was going to take him from Norfolk. He all but refused to leave the loft, spending the days and half the nights curled up in a ball, staring blankly at nothing.
Molly came to him often, virtually force-feeding him, demanding he open up with a word or two.
“Are you angry with me?” she’d ask.
“No.”
“Momma probably made the decision to go to Baltimore a long time ago. She was just waiting for an opportunity for Dad to be out of town. I’ve done everything I could, but I can’t change her mind.”
Suddenly Gideon burst out, “I don’t want to leave Norfolk! I’ve got all my pals here. They just made me captain of the baseball team. I hit over three hundred. Some guy wanted to pick a fight with me and four of the kids from the Turney Home jumped him. I’m writing another play for them. Abigail’s dad has taken me flying and wants to teach me how. He treats me like I was his own son, and he really needs me.”
“Gideon darling, it’s not going to be that bad. You’ve got a dozen swell cousins around your age and you know how Uncle Lazar and Uncle Dominick love you.”
“I don’t want to live in that house on Monroe Street. It’s got rats all over and the schoolyards are all made of concrete.”
Tears came to Molly.
“Don’t cry, Molly.”
“I’m so sorry I won’t be with you to take care of you,” Molly wept, “but Bubba loves you so. ...”
“Sure ... sure. ...”
“Honey, I’m nineteen years old. I should have graduated high school a year and a half ago. Every time we moved I got put back a class. I made some of them up, but if I go to Baltimore, they’ll put me back another term. I’m staying here in Norfolk so I can graduate with my class. As soon as I’m out of school, I’ll be able to get a decent job and send for you or come to you.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets and clenched his teeth.
“Okay, baby? Tell me it’s okay.”
“Sure, I understand. I really do. It would be just plain selfish of me.”
Molly put her hands on her brother’s shoulders and looked at him with a half smile. “Hi, blue eyes.”
Gideon stiffened and fought for courage. “God always makes writers suffer. God’s always testing to see if we can take it. He wants tough writers.”
“There’s something else