Daybreak (10 page)

“It was so terribly hot, playing baseball,” he murmured, “but nobody else minded it, so I had to play.”

“I know. You didn’t want to complain.” There was no use remonstrating with him. He knew only too well the penalty he must pay for breaking the rules.

“My stomach’s a little queasy, Mom.”

“You’re dehydrated, that’s why. I’ll run downstairs and get some water.”

But Betty Lee was already halfway up with a pitcher of cool water, cool but not cold, and never with ice.

“Is he all right, Miss Laura? If you need me, I’ll stay.”

“No, no, you’ve done enough today. Go on home. Bud’ll be here soon, anyway.”

“You call me if you need me, hear? Don’t forget, he’s my boy, too.”

There was that in Timmy that inspired love. Heaven knew he had cause for complaint over what life had dealt him, yet he never did complain.

“Drink half a glass at least. You need it. And I’ll get—”

“—sodium chloride, taken orally,” Timmy said, making a joke of the technical term. He knew all the technical terms, knew he must have high proteins and moderate fats because his pancreas wasn’t functioning as it should. Naturally he had been told what he needed to know, but he had also gone to the library by himself and read there in a medical text that his life would be a short one. They had learned this from the librarian; Timmy had never mentioned it.

She sat down and watched him drink. Earl came in and bounded onto the bed, scattering raindrops from his rough gray coat. When Timmy put his free arm around the dog, drawing him close, the familiar gesture touched her today with a pain so acute that she had to look away. Yet her eyes, as they wandered from the oxygen tank, always at the ready in the corner, to the roller skates on the closet floor and finally to
Tom Sawyer
on the night table, found no comfort.

It was necessary to say something, to make some neutral, commonplace remark, and she said, “Oh my, you’re sunburned, aren’t you? People with such white
skin have to be careful even on a cloudy day, you know. People like you and me.”

“And Tom. Tom and I look alike, don’t we? Except for our hair.”

“That’s true.”

“Tom never had pimples, either.”

“No, Tom didn’t.”

“That means I won’t have.”

“Probably not, but if you should, we can easily take care of it.”

“But I’m like Tom, Mom, so I won’t get pimples,” Tim insisted. “I can’t wait till he gets home. Is it Friday?”

“Yes. Dad’s going to drive over to get him and all his stuff.”

“So then he’ll be home all summer.”

“That’s right. You and he will have good times together.”

“I was thinking, you and Dad both went to the state U, and now Tom goes, so probably I’ll go there, too.”

“Of course, if you keep up your marks,” she said cheerfully.

Timmy yawned. “When’s Dad coming home?”

Laura looked at her watch. “In about an hour. You’re awfully tired, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am.”

“Then have a little nap. You’ve had a long day. Shall I take Earl with me?”

“No, leave him here. He’ll sleep, too.”

At Timmy’s age, a boy wanted a dog, a father, and a brother. Without the devastating illness, it would have been a simple time, its problems relatively straightforward compared with what could come later.…

Tom’s room was near the top of the stairs, and the
door was open. In a few days he would be back in it with his possessions stowed away again in their home: his clothes, books, guitar, and tennis racket, all the paraphernalia with which prosperous parents, especially where there is a generous, doting father, could possibly equip a son at college. And she was glad, for Tom brought health with him and energy and hope.

Hope. It rose whenever she thought of Tom’s potential, and just as suddenly, like a stone, it sank. She walked inside and in the glare of the red sun that shone forth after the storm, stood feeling the stillness of the vacant room. The oak at the window dripped steadily, leaf upon leaf.

And she looked around the room, knowing what was there, wishing that through some magic these things would have vanished. The book entitled
My Hero Hitler
, in its bold, bright cover. And then, thumbtacked to the wall, the huge blowup of Jim Johnson’s good-looking face.

Tom, Tom, what are you doing? she cried to herself.

She was still there when Bud came home and climbed the stairs, calling, “Hey, what’s up? Where’s Timmy?” For Timmy was almost always on the front porch waiting for his father every evening.

“In bed. He came back exhausted.” And she explained what had happened.

Bud exploded. “Fool of a woman! She knows damn well that Timmy has to be watched. All he needs is another bout of pneumonia, the third since Thanksgiving, that’s all. She ought to have her neck wrung.”

“It wasn’t her fault. That storm came like a gunshot. And they were way out near Hickory Branch. She felt awful about it.”

“She had no business taking a kid like Timmy that
far away. Damn foreigner didn’t know any better, I suppose. Why a man like Rolandson had to go to Europe to find a wife I’ll never know. Some Greek or Italian or whatnot.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Bud. She’s a lovely woman, and for your information, she happens to be Portuguese.”

“Well, at least she’s not a Jew.”

Laura sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things. I especially wish you wouldn’t say them in front of Tom. How can you be so kind to people you know and at the same time sound so cruel?”

“Oh honey, come on. Let’s not get into that business again. You’re home, wrapped up in your family and your music, and that’s how it should be. You’re not out fighting your way in the world, you don’t see the things I see. Anyway, is Timmy okay?”

“He fell asleep. He’s not coughing, so I don’t think his lungs are filling up.”

“Good. What are you doing in Tom’s room, getting ready for Friday?”

“I’m ready. No, I was just standing here for a minute worrying.” She held up
My Hero Hitler
. “Look what he reads.”

Bud shrugged. “You take it too seriously. He’s a kid yet, away from home, exposed to all sorts of new ideas. At least he thinks, instead of being just a dumb jock.”

“I’d rather he were a dumb jock who didn’t have ideas like these.” She pointed to Jim Johnson on the wall. “It’s that man who’s behind it, that awful man.”

“Laura, I can’t agree with you. Johnson’s no Hitler. There’s an awful lot of truth in what he says about conditions, the middle class being squeezed to pay for people who won’t work, job quotas—”

“I don’t like quotas, either. But he’s full of hatred, he preys on ignorance and make a circus out of politics to attract the young. He makes drama for them, and frankly, he scares me.”

“You’d better get used to him. He’s around to stay. He’ll be in the state senate next November. You watch.”

“Not because of my vote.”

“What? You’re going to vote for Mackenzie?”

“I am. He’s a moderate, intelligent man from Georgetown Law School, and he’s a peacemaker, not a rabble-rouser. And even if he weren’t any of those things,” she said firmly, “he’d be better than Jim Johnson.”

“So we’ll cancel out each other’s vote. So what? It’s a free country. Anyway, I don’t want to talk politics. Keep your opinions to yourself, I say, even with your wife. You never change anybody’s mind, and nobody ever changes yours. Besides, in my position, it’s bad for business. It makes enemies.” Bud talked as he followed Laura downstairs. “Good thing is, recession or not, we’ve been busy. There’s that mall going up, they’ve been buying stuff from us, and then there’s a lot of home alteration, people fixing the place up instead of moving.” He followed her into the kitchen. “And Laura, don’t be upset about Tom. He’s a good student, a serious kid. Never given a minute’s trouble.”

She whirled around with the salad bowl in her hands. “Have you read any of those books about blacks that he has in his room? I only hope Betty Lee hasn’t. I won’t have her hurt.”

“Hey, he cares about Betty Lee. Has he ever been rude to her? No. So, okay, you don’t agree with the books he reads, but as I say, there may be more truth
in some of them than you know. And as long as he doesn’t get into any trouble, I’ll be proud of my son. I am proud of him.”

No, you didn’t change people’s minds …

“Ah,” said Bud, “I’m sorry we don’t see eye to eye on all this.” He put his arm around her. “But we do on most things, don’t we? On the important things. On doing the best we can for each other and our boys. Right?”

That was quite true, and she said so.

“Then, come eat,” he said, and they sat down at the table together.

The table stood in the path of a breeze sweet with the fragrance of wet grass. Outside, the evening was calm and bright, while inside the old house gave cheerful comfort. But a deep loneliness went sweeping through Laura so that she had to shiver, although she was not cold.

PART
III
Tom

4

“A
nd while I know you folks all are sorry Jim couldn’t be here himself tonight—but he’s trying to cover the state, every nook and corner that he can before November—I want you to know that I appreciate, and Jim appreciates, the attention that you’ve given me in his stead, and I want you to know that every word I’ve said here tonight is what he’d have wanted me to say and want you to hear because we’re all in this together! All together, every last one of us!”

The voice boomed out of a throat gone raw; amplified, it ricocheted off the walls, exploded upward to the highest balcony and filled the darkened cavern below the glittering stage.

Two thousand voices roared reply: “All together! All together!” Then came antiphony: “What do we want? Power! Power!” And again the cry from voices now, so late in the evening, gone hoarse: “All together! All together!”

When they subsided, the speaker, a short man with thinning blond hair, resumed. His red forehead sweated and gleamed in the spotlight.

“We have a message for Washington. Yes, we’ll get
there, and don’t think we won’t. You put Jim in the state senate, then make him governor, then send him to Washington, to the top, and watch him turn this country around. That’s our message to Washington, folks: Watch out. We’re on our way!”