Memories of Another Day (3 page)

I knew what he meant. He had been after me to do the same thing. First Harvard Law, then the Business School. He had had it all figured out. Everything except that I wasn't about to be pushed. I wiped up the last bit of gravy on my plate with a piece of bread.

Mamie stood over my empty plate. "'More?"

I shook my head.

She picked up the plate. '' 'Nough salt?"

^'Perfect."

She laughed and put the coffee down in front of me. *'Jus' like your pappy. Fust complainin' there's not enough salt, then lovin' it 'thout my having to add any."

I looked at Jack. "Exactly what's happening tomorrow?"

*The executive committee is supposed to appomt Dan acting president until the next general election. That's nine months away, next spring. By then we expect to have everything under control."

I nodded. If my father had planned it, it would woric. Father's plans always worked.

Jack finished his coffee and got to his feet. *'Would you explain to your mother why I left and tell her that I'll call her in the morning?"

I looked up at him. *'Okay."

* Thanks," he said, startmg for the door. A few minutes later I heard a car door slam out in the driveway. I went over to the window and looked out. The

big black Cadillac limousine was just moving off. I watched until its red lights turned into the street. Then I went upstairs and stood outside my mother's door. There was still nothing but silence.

I turned the doorknob softly and looked into the room. In the fading light of the day, I could make out her outline on the bed. Quietly I walked into the room and looked down at her.

There was something pale and helpless about her asleep that I had never seen in her awake. Gently I straightened the sheet around her. She didn't move.

I tiptoed out of the room and went down the hall. I pulled my knapsack out of the closet and began to pack. I was finished in ten minutes. There wasnH very much I had to take.

I awoke one minute before the alarm went off. I reached out and turned it off. No point in waking the whole house. I dressed quickly and went downstairs.

The halls were dark, but the kitchen, facing east, caught the first morning light. I turned the switch on the percolator. As usual, Mamie had everything ready.

My father had been an early riser. He would come downstairs alone in the morning and sit and drink coffee until the rest of the house was awake. Those were his thinking hours, he used to say. The alone time. And whatever his problem was, big or little, by the time the rest of the house was awake he had thought it through until it was no longer a problem, but just a task to be done.

I went back to my room and took down the backpack. The study door was open, and on an impulse I went into the room and pulled open the drawer. ^The pistol was still there. They had missed the false bottom. I took it out and looked at it. It was well oiled and held a full clip. It still didn't make sense. Guns were for frightened people, and my father hadn't known the meaning of fear.

I pulled open a flap of the pack and shoved the gun inside between my underwear and my shirts. I pushed the drawer shut with my knee. The coffee should be about ready by now.

"Jonathan." My mother was standing in the doorway. ''What are you doing?"

''Nothing." The classic answer of a child whose parents have caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. I wondered how long she had been standing there.

She came into the study. "I can still smell his cigars," she said, almost to herself.

" Airwickll get rid of it, if you can believe the commercials," I said.

She turned to me. "Will it be that easy?"

I took a long moment. "No. Not until they make one that can air out the inside of your head."

She noticed the pack. "You're leaving, so soon?"

"There's nothing to hang around for," I said. "And only seven weeks left of the summer."

"Can't you wait a little while?" she asked. "There's so much we have to talk about."

"Like what?"

"School. What college you want to go to, what you're going to do with your life."

I laughed. "Small choice. My draft board will tell me.

"Your father says ..." She corrected herself. "Your father said that you wouldn't be drafted."

"Sure. He had it fixed. Like he did with everything else."

"Isn't it time you stopped fighting him, Jonathan? He's dead now and there's nothing he can do." Her voice broke.

"What about you?" I asked. "You don't believe that any more than I do. He provided for everything. Even death."

She still didn't speak, but just stood there with the tears running silently down her cheeks. I walked over

to her and awkwardly put my arms around her shoulders. She buried her face against my chest. ''Jonathan, Jonathan."

''Take it easy, Mother,*' I said, stroking her hair. "It's over."

"I feel so guilty." Her voice was muffled against my shirt. "I never loved him. I worshiped him, but I never loved him. Can you understand that?"

"Then why did you marry him?" I asked.

"Because of you."

"Me? I wasn't bom yet."

"I was seventeen and pregnant," she whispered.

"Even in those days you could have done something about it," I said.

She slipped out of my arms. "Give me a cigarette."

I lit the cigarette for her. "Did you turn on the coffee?" she asked.

I nodded and followed her into the kitchen. She filled two mugs and we sat down at the table.

"You didn't answer my question. You didn't have to marry him."

"He wouldn't hear of it. He wanted a son, he said."

"Why? He akeady had one."

"Dan was not enough for him. He knew it, and sometimes I think even Dan knew it. That's why he always tried so hard to please his father. But Dan was soft, and your father was not." Even Mother no longer called him D.J. "Your father got what he wanted. Whether you like it or not, you're exactly like him."

I got to my feet and brought the percolator over to the table. "More coffee?"

She shook her head. I refilled my cup. "You drink too much coffee," she said.

I laughed. "Think it will stunt my growth?" I stood just over six feet. Even she had to smile. "You know. Mother, you're a very pretty lady."

She shook her head. "I don't feel like one just now."

*'Give yourself time," I said. *'You will."

She hesitated a moment; then l^r eyes met mine. '' You know about Jack and me ?"

I nodded.

''I thought you did," she said. "But you never said anything."

"Not my place."

"Now he wants to get married," she said. "But I don't know."

"You don't have to rush," I said, "Nobody's pressing this time."

A shade of wonder came into her eye^. "You looked just like your father when you said that."

I laughed. "I couldn't have. If I were my father I couldn't understand why you wouldn't join me on the funeral pyre."

"That's horrible," she said.

"I always get horrible when I'm hungry," I said. "Is that like him too?"

"Exactly," she said, getting to her feet. "And I'm going to deal with you exactly as I did with him. I'm going to make you the biggest breakfast you ever ate."

"That's enough," I said. "I won't have to eat for a week now."

She smiled. "That was the idea." She put the empty plates in the sink and refilled the coffee cups. "Do you know where you're going?"

I shook my head. "Not really. South first, then maybe west. But it all depends which way the traffic is going."

"You wiU be careful?"

I nodded.

"There are all kinds of people on the road."

"I'll be okay."

"Will you write and let me know how you are?"

"Sure. But don't worry."

*'I will/' she said. **If there's any trouble, you'll call me?"

^^CoUect."

''Collect." She smiled. 'That makes me feel better."

I glanced at the kitchen clock. It was a quarter to seven. "I'd better get going."

She looked up at me as I got up. "I'm too young. I've always been too young."

"What do you mean?"

"First I was too young to be a bride, then too young to be a mother. Now I'm too young to be a widow and alone."

"Everybody has to grow up sometime," I said. "Maybe this is your time."

"That's your father speaking. He had that same cold, clinical way of separating himself from his feelings." A strange look came over her face. "Are you really my son, Jonathan? Or are you just an extension of him that he implanted in me, as he said?"

"I'm me. I'm your son. And his. Nothing else."

"Do you love me?"

I was silent for a moment. Then I took her hand and kissed it. "Yes, Mother."

"Do you have enough money?"

I laughed. I had almost one hundred dollars. At ten dollars a week, I had no sweat. "Yes, Mother."

I slung the backpack over my shoulders and went down the driveway. When I hit the still-sleeping street, I looked back. Mother was standing in the doorway. She waved to me. I waved back and went down the street.

The morning already held the promise of the day's heat. The chippies were all over the lawn grabbing the early worms, and their chatter was mixed with the occasional trill of a robin. The air smelled green. U.S.

1 was a mile and a half away, just the other side of the bridge over Schuylkill Creek.

The Dairihome Milk truck turned the comer just as I did. Pete stopped the truck when he saw me. *'Jona-than!"

I turned and waited while he climbed down. He had a container of orange juice in one hand, a can of beer in the other. 'Traveler's choice," he said.

I took the beer. It was a good morning for it. Already the heat was reaching into me. He put the O.J. back into the truck and took another can of beer for himself. We pulled the tabs at the same time, and the sound of their popping was the only one on the street.

He took a deep draft, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry for your trouble," he said. Pete was Irish.

I nodded.

''Where you off to?"

"Don't exactly know. Just off."

He nodded. "Good thing to get away. Your mother all right?"

"Fine," I answered. "She's a tough lady."

He studied me for a moment while he thought that over. Pete had known us for a long time. Fifteen years. Finally he answered. "Yes."

I finished the beer and crumpled the can. He took it from my hand. "How long will you be gone?"

"Seven weeks."

"Shit!" He grinned. "That's eighty-four quarts. There goes my milk bonus."

I laughed. "Leave the two quarts anyway. My mother will never notice."

"She might not. But I'll bet that Mamie has a note in the bottle before I get there." He went back into the truck. He fished around for a moment, then came out with a six-pack. "Better take this with you. It's gonna be a hot day."

"Thanks."

He looked at me. '*We're gonna miss your father." He touched the union button on his white coveralls. '*He made this mean a lot. I only hope your brother does half as well."

''He'll do better than that," I said.

Again he looked at me for a moment. "We'll see. But he's not your father.''

"Who is?"

"You are," he said.

I stared at him. "But I'm not old enough."

"Someday you will be," he said. "And we'll be waiting."

He put the truck into Drive, and I watched it go out of sight around the comer. Then I crossed the street.

*'Now do you believe me?**

**No, ThaVs what you wanted people to think. So you put the idea in their heads,**

''Why would I do a thing like that?**

''Because you*re a prick. And because you were jealous ofD,J, You know he*II turn out better than you ever were,**

"Suddenly you love your brother.**

"No way. But I can see what he is. He cares,**

"I cared,**

"When? How many years ago? Before I was born, before you fell in love with power and money?**

"You still won*t allow yourself to understand,'*

"Iunderstand. Too well,**

"You only think you do. But you*II find out. In time.**

"Go away. You* re just as boring dead as alive,**

"Fm alive just as long as you and your children will be alive, Fm in your genes, your cells, your mind. Give yourself the time. You* II remember,**

"Remember what?**

"Me,**

"I don*t want to remember you.**

''You will. In a thousand different ways. You can't help it."

''But not just now, Father. Ifs vacation time.*'

She was sitting on the concrete abutment at the entrance to the bridge, a backpack beside her, her legs hanging over the side facing the river. She was staring down into the water, the gray pungent smoke curling like a cloud from her lips. "Good morning, Jonathan," she said, without turning around.

I stopped but did not answer.

*'I was waiting for you," she said, still without turning around. ''Don't be angry with me."

"Fm not angry," I said.

She swung her feet around to face me. She smiled. 'Then you'll take me with you?"

I knew that look in her eyes. "You're stoned."

"Just a little." She held the joint toward me. "Want a drag? This is real good shit."

"No, thanks," I said. "U.S. Number One is no road to stand out in the middle of with your head in the clouds."

"You are angry with me." There was hurt in her voice.

"I said I wasn't."

"But you didn't mean it."

"I meant it."

"Then why can't I come with you?"

"Because I want to be alone. Don't you understand that?"

"I won't bother you. I'll keep out of your way."

"Go home," I said. "It won't work." I started up the steps to the bridge.

"Then why did you tell me to meet you here?" she called after me.

I turned halfway up the steps and looked down at her. "When did I do that?"

"Yesterday afternoon," she said, a strange intensity

shining through clouds in her eyes. *'Just after you finished talking with your father.''

''My father's dead," I said.

"I know that."

'Then how could I have been talking with him? I think the shit you're smoking has made you cuckoo."