The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [277]
Are you sure, Son, it won't be a wanton extravagance?
I really need it, Pop. I'll even work summers to pay you back.
It's not a question of that, although I think you oughter to keep you from getting spoiled. I tell you what, I'll just talk it over with Mother.
The victory is his and he grins. Far back in his head, quite beneath the surface of his sincerity in this conversation, is the memory of many others. (The youths talking in the locker room after gym period, the profound discussions in the cellars converted to club-rooms. )
Folklore: If you want to make a girl, you got to have a car.
His senior year is fun. He is a member of SG (Student Government) and he manages the School Dance. There are all the dates on Saturday night at the Crown Theatre and once or twice in the road-house out of town. There are the parties on Friday night at the girls' houses. He even goes steady for a part of the year.
And always the cheer leading. He squats, does knee-bends in the white flannel pants, the rough white sweater not quite warm enough in the fall winds. Before him the one thousand kids are yelling, the girls in their green plaid skirts jumping up and down, their knees red from the cold.
Let's give a Cardley for the team, he shouts, running up and down with the megaphone. There is the pause, the respectful hush while he extends one arm, swings it over his head, and brings it down.
CARDLEY HIGH. . . CARDLEY HIGH.
HIIIIIIIIIII SCORE HIIIIIIII SCHOOOOOL
YAAAAAAAAY TEAM!
And the kids are yelling, watching him as he does a cartwheel, comes up clapping his hands, his body turned toward the playing field in an attitude of devotion, of pleading. It's all his. One thousand kids awaiting on him.
One of the glory moments that you pull out later.
In the lag between basketball season and baseball, he takes his car apart, installs a muffler (he is tired of the sound of the exhaust) greases the gear housing, and paints the chassis a pale green.
There are important conversations with his father.
We have to be thinking seriously of what you want to do, Willie.
I've kinda set my mind on engineering, Pop. (This is no surprise. They've talked of it many times, but this occasion there's the tacit understanding that it's Serious.)
Well, now, I'm glad to hear that, Willie. I don't want to say I've ever tried to form your opinion for you, but I couldn't ask for anything better.
I really like machinery.
I've noticed that, Son. (The pause) It's aeronautical engineering that interests you?
I think it's gonna be the field.
It is, Son, I think it's a good choice. That's an up-and-coming business. His father claps him on the shoulder. I want to mention one thing though, Willie. I noticed you been getting a little cocky, nothing to speak about, and you keep your manners with us, but it's not a good policy, Son. It's perfectly all right to know that you can do something better'n the next man, but it isn't good sense to let the other man know it.
Never thought of it that way. He shakes his head. Listen, Pop, it's nothin' serious, but I'll watch it from now on. (An insight) Really learned something from you there.
The father chuckles, quite pleased. Sure, Willie, the old man can still tell you a thing or two.
You're a swell guy, Pop. The whole thing is warm between them. He feels himself coming of age, the equal ready to talk to his father as a friend.
That summer he works at the Crown Theatre as an usher. It's a pleasant job. He knows at least half the people who come there, and he can talk to them for a few minutes before he shows them a seat. (It's a good idea to be friends with everybody; you never can tell when you'll want a favor from a man.)
Indeed, the only dull times are in the afternoons when hardly anyone is there. Usually there's a few girls to talk to, but since he has broken up with his senior year sweetheart he is not interested. I don't want any wedding bells, he always wisecracks.