Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [64]
So here I was, at long last, the wandering writer in Apache country, with a basketball-sized hip and the exhilaration of the parachute jump knocked out of me. Out here in Moses’ bailiwick with the Lions. How romantic. The numbness was wearing off and pain was ascending.
Where were Valerie and my daughters? And Natasha? She was probably at the Prime Minister’s office, drawn and strained, waiting for word that the para drop had succeeded. Some triangle I had created. Oh shit, man, the pain was really coming on. I’d been enough of a hero for one day.
“Shlomo?”
“Yes?”
“It’s starting to hurt like hell, buddy. Soon as Doc Schwartz is free, maybe he can give me something.”
“Something” turned out to be a shot of morphine. Merciful stuff. It took over in minutes. Time began to pass in irregular flights ... I dozed and woke up fuzzy to the sounds of low-flying aircraft. Supplies were being parachuted in.
“How’s it going?” someone asked.
It was impossible for me to focus. “That you, Shlomo?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on queer street. Actually, it feels pretty wild. What’s happening?”
“Battalion has reached the Parker Monument. The Egyptians sent out a patrol for a look. We drove them back into the Pass. Well, everyone in Cairo knows we’ve arrived.”
He helped me to a sitting position and I luxuriated on a few sips of water.
“You might as well go back to sleep,” Shlomo said, “they aren’t scheduled to drop the jeeps for at least a couple of hours.” His voice sounded hollow and far away. ... I leaned back on a pile of rolled-up parachutes ... soft, lovely ... all things had become hazy ... really weird ... hey, Penny, how about Daddy reading you The Little Engine That Could ... I could feel her sweet soft little cheek against mine ...
...why, Roxanne old bean ...you’re getting to be a woman ...Girl Scouts having a slumber party, giggling and shouting from the guest cottage ...there were three little bras in the freezer, some joke ...
Roxanne wants a formal gown? She’s barely twelve! Well, Dad’s going to the dress shop with you. I don’t want anything risqué ...
...you see, I never got my tuxedo but by God, my girls are going to have the most beautiful gowns money can buy! Gideon’s daughters are knockouts! I never did get to the prom—wonder what happened to the girl who invited me? What was her name? Phoebe. Yeah, Phoebe. I loved to dance with her; she’d make all the guys have hard-ons in two minutes—they’d limp off the dance floor ...
...sorry, Phoebe, I won’t be able to take you to the prom, but thanks for inviting me, huh ...
... I read that letter so many times, I knew it by heart. Why did I keep it in a top drawer and read it again and again?
Philadelphia, March 10, 1940
My Dear Son Gideon,
Finally I received from you a letter after a week of an empty mailbox. Do you know what that can do to a father, especially a sensitive, loving father like myself?
You have demanded of me that I supply you with a T-U-X.
Before I knew what T-U-X means, I had to find out. I had a hard time because all my friends are working people who likewise have no knowledge of a T-U-X.
When it was finally explained I was horrified, shocked at your ideas of grandeur. I don’t know whether you mean to get a job as a hotel porter or a servant for a millionaire family or become a music hall entertainer or work in a nite club. For what purpose do you strive for a T-U-X? To become a Charlie McCarthy dummy?
Anyhow, it is not something you should become involved with and I am sorry that I have to refuse you. It sounds to me like you are intending to go every night to a party.
Gideon, my sonny boy! You may think that I am old-fashioned, but I am not. I am an advanced modern thinker. I know the desires and moods of a young man but there is a limit to everything.
I never refused you a school ring, and I should have ...but, the reason for the delay is that I am again financially tied up and second, I inquired the price of such a ring and it should not—definitely