Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [18]
Oh, that little bastard was deceptive. He pinned three Portuguese sailors, all twice his size, and scooped up fifteen dollars from the bar.
I had access to a girlfriend’s car, which was in drydock most of the time because of the gas rationing until Gideon came along. He hustled enough ration stamps to keep the tank full. We got outside and I knew I’d have to give him some kind of answer.
“Let’s drive to someplace quiet,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
With all his bravado, Gideon had scarcely touched me. I felt very comfortable about being alone with him. I drove up to Twin Peaks. It was a rare night without fog and we could see the entire Bay area and bridges.
“Taken many poor sailors up here?”
“Oh, quite a few, but you’re my very first Marine Jew.”
He didn’t kiss me. I learned later that was all a part of the bastard’s strategy. He opened a large manila envelope and took out a small stack of pages.
“What’s that?”
“The first chapter of my novel. I’d like to read it to you.”
I found myself shaking. Everything was twinkling out there and an eager young man was sitting opposite me ready to throw down the gauntlet and challenge the world.
“What do you call it?”
“Of Men in Battle.”
When he finished reading, I just came apart and wept uncontrollably. It was so beautiful. I looked at Gideon Zadok, hard. Lord, what was this all about!
“Oh buddy,” I cried, “you’ve got me going.”
Gideon reached out and touched my cheek and told me not to cry. I never felt anything like his hand before. No one has ever touched me that way since, but him.
In that small cafe,
The park across the way,
The children’s carrousel.
The chestnut trees,
The wishing well,
I’ll be seeing you,
In every lovely summer’s day ...
“I love you, Gideon.”
“Me too, Val. And you’re going to live to see them all standing up and applauding when I enter the room. Even the Admiral.”
TEA WITH MOTHER at the stroke of four, Garden Court, Palace Hotel, and “try not to be late, dear.” Afternoon tea, gentle music under a high glass roof, amid flowers, potted trees, and fountain. Jane Ballard belonged in the Garden Court. She was pure Renoir in a frilly French collar and one of her smashing straw hats. Mother was a pale beauty, born to wear lavender and long strings of pearls.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, darling.”
A catch-up on the news. Father had been given the temporary rank of vice admiral and now commanded a task force, hundreds of ships. It was a monstrous-sized command, a fitting climax in the closing days of the war, to end a distinguished career.
Sweet Sister Ellen’s drinking problem had oozed out of the closet. Fred had been overseas for two years now and Sweet Sister Ellen was apparently doing a little of this and a little of that on the side. Thank God Ellen had Mom. But she’d always had Mom. It was Ellen’s deliberate pissant decision. I was envious, no doubt. It stuck in my craw.
Tom’s Peruvian wife was about to have their fourth child. Would we ever get to see them? Maybe, after the war. That wasn’t just idle talk. The Admiral had softened up a bit. He was corresponding regularly with Tom. Really! Bulldog Ballard relenting!
The evening before, Gideon and I had pooled our resources and taken Mother out to Shadows Restaurant on Telegraph Hill and he’d unleashed his charms on her.
“What do you think of him, Mom?”
“Oh, he’s a charmer, all right. Very clever boy.”
“I’m crazy about him.”
“That’s rather obvious. How far is this thing going to go?”
Silence. The orchestra switched to a medley of sentimental British war tunes ... “The White Cliffs of Dover”... “When the Lights Go On Again.” Tea arrived with “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.” Mother lit her long thin cigarette with a gold lighter embossed with a Navy ensign. Twenty-fifth anniversary present from Sweet Sister Ellen and Fred.
“Waiter,” Mom said, breaking the growing awkwardness.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take this damned stuff away. I’d like a bourbon on the rocks, a double.”
I had an aversion to drinking. Mother and the