Memories Of Another Day Part 41

Daniel didn't answer. He looked at Davis. "Look over there. There's an army of cops waiting for us. Now do you believe me?"

Davis stared. "I see them. But they won't do any- thing. The newsreel truck is right behind them. We got to get in close enough so they can film how big a crowd we are."

"What's more important? People's Hves or movies?"

"The movies will take our message all over the country," Davis said.

Daniel looked at him. It was no use. It didn't make sense. They were going like lambs to the slaughter. "A block away," he said heavily. "Try to stop them a block away."

But there was no stopping them; the press of the crowd behind pushed them on. Daniel saw the police begin taking out then-guns and clubs. For a moment, a picture flashed through his mind. The Boche were waiting just across no-man' s-land.

They were halfway through the last open field, about two hundred feet away from the police, when Daniel turned his back on them and held up his hands to stop the crowd.

"Now!" he shouted. "Form your picket line here!"

An unexpected voice joined him. "Yes," Davis shouted. "Form the line here. One flag to the right, one to the left and spread out behind them."

The crowd milled around uncertainly, not knowing what to do. Daniel pushed at one of the flag bearers. "Get going, man!" The flag bearer began to move off. "Okay, now," Daniel shouted to the crowd. "Follow him!"

"Follow him!" Davis shouted.

Daniel glanced at him. "Thanks."

Davis' voice was grim. "Don't thank me. I'm scared."

"With some luck," Daniel said, "we may still be okay."

But luck was not to be with them. He heard the first few sounds of the shots. Then a sledgehammer hit him in the back, and he pitched forward to the ground. He tried to pick himself up on his hands, but his legs wouldn't support him. He heard the sounds of women screaming and men shouting in their panic. Then there were blue-uniformed police all around him, las.h.i.+ng out indiscriminately with their truncheons and billy clubs. He saw Davis and Sandy fall to the ground under a hail of men in uniform, beating them long after they were inert and prostrate.

He felt the tears spring to his eyes. ''Oh, s.h.i.+t,*' he cried, the hurt in his soul greater than the one in his body. ''s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t."

Then his arms gaye way, and he fell into an ecUpse of the sun.

Now Maybe because it was Sunday. Or lunchtime. Or maybe the Arab oil embargo of last spring had left its imprint on the psyche of the American motorist. But I had been sitting on the low stone wall for almost an hour and not one car had pa.s.sed.

I remember my father's indignation as the lines formed at the gas stations and factories began to close, laying off thousands of workers. He held a news conference at which he blasted everybody. The President, the Congress, the oil companies. ''The same old story," he had growled. ''They're all in cahoots to bring up prices and pick the pockets of the American workers who built the very oil fields the fruits of which they are now denied. We gave the Arabs the power by developing their resources at the expense of our own and the American worker because we were told it would be cheaper. Now we find out how cheap it really is. The cost is blackmail and extortion. And there is only one way to deal with blackmailers and extortionists. Exterminate them. We have all the valid and legal reasons. Our national security, our very lives and welfare are threatened. Send in the marines!"

Accused by many of the papers and commentators of old-fas.h.i.+oned jingoism and warmongering, of being pro-Zionist and anti-Arab, he replied in scornful tones. ''We didn't fight two major wars to make the world safe for the Arabs and the oil companies so that they could enrich themselves at our expense. Our country has a history of standing up and fighting for its rights. If we don't do that now, we may turn around five years from now and find we have delivered up ourselves and maybe all of Western civilization into the hands of Cam."

It wasn't that long ago; but now, it was forever. At least for my father. He was gone, and no one heard his voice anymore. Maybe. Except me. I wondered how long it would take for me to stop hearing him.

**When you know me, Jonathan.**

I know youy Father. Fve always known you.* His voice was gentle. *'You only thought you did.

But now you*re beginning to learn.** ''Learn what?** '/Where I come from. Who I am.*'

Who you were, I said pointedly. He chuckled. "A point of view.**

"Nothing*s changed. You*re still what I always thought you were.**

'7 never claimed to be anything else. I will always be whatever you think I am. Just as you will always be whatever you think you will be.**

"Fm getting ready to go home, Father. Fm getting tired of sitting on walls and fence posts and standing at the sides of roads. Fm not discovering anything anymore.**

"You*re lonely. But be patient. The journey will soon be at an end. Then you will go home and put all you have learned together.**

"Idon*t know what it is Fm supposed to learn.**

"Love, my son. And that only a fool throws it away.**

*Tw tired of all that s.h.i.+t, Father, Fm going home. Nowr * 'No. ' His voice was strong and sharp. ' 'Look up the road, my son, and discover why no cars have pa.s.sed in this last hour and why you have been sitting on this particular wall at this particular moment in time.*

A mile down the road a car had crested the hill and was moving rapidly toward me. I watched it, the sun sparkling brightly from its silver radiator. It sped past me, a white Rolls Comiche convertible, top down, driven by a girl with sun-yellow hair streaming behind her in the wind. Several hundred yards down the road I saw its brake lights go on, then, as the car stopped, the white backup lights as it reversed toward me.

The car backed off onto the side ramp and came to a stop in front of me. The girl in the car and I just sat there looking at each other. We didn't speak. Just looked at each other.

She was beautiftil. Suntanned bronze, almost white hair falling down below her shoulders now that the wind was not taking, high cheekbones, wide mouth and firm chin. But it was her eyes that did it. Pale gray with a splash of blue. I had seen them a thousand times before. But I didn't know where.

Finally she smiled, her teeth white and crinkles at the comers of her eyes making them even bluer. Her voice was low and soft but very clear and distinct. ''Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall."

**Humpty Dumpty had a great fall," I answered.

*'A11 the king's horses-"

*'And all the king's men-"

We finished together. "Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again." We laughed.

'*Are you Humpty Dumpty?" she asked.

*'I don't know," I answered. ''Do you think I am?"

''You could be," she said seriously.

"No. That's a nursery rhyme."

"Then why are you sitting on the wall like that?"

"I didn't know until you came along. Now I do. I've been waiting for you. I almost left but I was talked out of it:"

Her eyes glanced around quickly. "By whom? I don't see anyone."

"A friend. But he's gone now."

Her eyes came back to me. "I thought I heard you call me. That's why I stopped."

I didn't say anything.

"I did hear someone call me," she said.

I climbed down from the wall. "I called you, Princess." I picked up my backpack and slung it over the side of the car into the back seat, then got in beside her.

"Princess," she said thoughtfully. "Only my mother has ever called me that. My name is-"

I cut her off. "Don't tell me. Princess. I don't want to know."

"And what do I call you? Humpty Dumpty?"

"Jonathan."

She nodded her head. "I like it. It suits you." She put the car into gear and it moved silently, effortlessly onto the road. We were doing 60 before I could count that far. "I'm taking you home."

"Okay."

She glanced at me. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," I answered. I wasn't pus.h.i.+ng too far. Only two months.

"You look older," she said. I didn't answer as she reached into the well between the two bucket seats and came up with a gold cigarette case. She flipped it open. '' Light one for me."

Machine-rolled, chocolate-brown paper, gold-tipped thin marijuana. I was impressed. I lit the joint. It was good s.h.i.+t, maybe the best I'd ever had. Two tokes and I was up there. I pa.s.sed the cigarette to her. She stuck it in the comer of her mouth and let it hang there. Two seconds later when I looked at the speedometer, we were doing 85. I reached over and took the joint from her mouth.

''Why did you do that?" she asked.

I gestured at the speedometer. ''You said you were taking me home. I just want to make sure we get there.''

The car slowed down to 60. "I can handle it."

"Fm sure you can," I said, pinching out the joint. "But Vm the cautious type."

She was silent. A few minutes later she turned into the West Palm Beach exit ramp and coasted to a stop at the tollbooth.

The toll collectors all seemed to know her. She gave her card with a five-dollar bill attached to it to the man in the booth. He stepped out of the booth with the change in his hand. The red light on the meter showed $3.50. "Fine day, Mrs, Ross," he said. "How's the new car running?"

"Real good, Tom," she said.

"Highway Patrol radar clocked you at ninety back there, but you came down real quick. We told them to clear you."

"Thanks, Tom," she said, holding out her hand to him again. This time there was a twenty-dollar bill in it.

It disappeared as he turned back to his booth. "Don't push it, Mrs. Ross," he said in a polite voice. "Never can tell when someone who doesn't know you might be on duty."

"I'll remember that," she said, starting the car again. We rolled on down the ramp and onto the highway. Ten minutes later we crossed a small bridge over a waterway and down a small private street. She pressed the Genie on the sun visor in front of her and a pair of electric gates opened before us as we turned into the driveway. They were closed by the time we pulled to a stop in front of the house.

She turned to look at me. "We're home."

*'Okay," I said. I got out of the car and walked around to her side and opened the door for her.

"You'll have to carry your own bag," she said. "It's August and all the servants except the gardener are on vacation."

"I'll manage." I pulled the backpack from the car and followed her into the house. She led me down a hallway and opened a door. I followed her into the room.

"This is your room," she said. "The door over there is to the bathroom. The door next to the window leads you right outside to the pool or the beach, whichever you prefer. The closets are on the near wall."

There was one door she hadn't explained. "What about that one?" I asked.

"That's the door to my room," she said. "This room was my ex-husband's. Anything else you want to know?"

I looked at her for a moment. "Where's the was.h.i.+ng machine? I've got some laundry to do."

I rolled over in the bed and opened my eyes. The sun had gone and dusk shadowed the room. I moved slowly, feeling the luxury of real shee,ts against me. It had been a long time since I had slept in a bed. I hadn't known how good it would feel until just now.

I sat up in the bed. I had thrown all my clothes into the was.h.i.+ng machine. I still had time to get them into the dryer so that I would have something to wear tonight instead of the one pair of shorts I had kept out. I was out of the bed and into my jean shorts before I saw the clothes, all neatly pressed and folded, lying on the couch against the wall.

I really must have been out, because I hadn't heard her come into the room at all. I touched the clothes. It couldn't have been that long ago, because they were still warm. I rubbed my cheek. A shave now and another shower and I could feel almost human again. The shower I had taken just before I fell into bed had been just to get me clean.

I stood in the shower stall luxuriating in the hot water. Steam obscured the gla.s.s of the shower door, and when I came out, the faint scent of marijuana hung in the air and there was a large bath sheet hanging where I could reach it. I took it down and began to dry myself and walked back into the bedroom. Her door was still closed. I went over to the window and looked out toward the front driveway. The Rolls was gone. I finished dressing and knocked at her door.

There was no answer. I knocked again. Still silence. I opened the door and went in. The room was empty. I went back into my room, then out into the hall. I went all through the house. She was nowhere in it.

I took a can of beer from the refrigerator, snapped it open and went through the living room onto the veranda. I sank into a chair looking out over the ocean. On the horizon a freighter slowly made its way south, and while I was watching, night fell and it was gone. Slowly the stars began to come out, and soon the sky was blue velvet filled with diamonds. It all belonged together. The Rolls Comic he, this house, now a diamond-filled sky. Rich was rich.

Her voice came from behind me. ''Hungry?"

I got to my feet and turned around. She had a large white bag with the Colonel's smiling face imprinted on it in each arm.

'Tve got ribs, chicken, salad and french fries," she said. ''I didn't feel like cooking."

"I'm not complaining," I said. I reached for the bags. ''Let me help."

There was four times as much food as we could eat. Finally I pushed myself away from the table. "I'm gonna bust if I don't stop."

She laughed. She hadn't eaten much at all. Maybe one rib and one piece of chicken. No more. "We'll put the rest in the fridge. Maybe you'll feel like some later."

We put the dishes into the dishwasher. Then she took a gla.s.s of red wine, I took another beer and we went back outside to the veranda. She sat down in a chair next to mine. From nowhere the gold cigarette case appeared. I watched while she lit the chocolate stick.

'' You do a lot of that?'' I asked.

She shrugged. "It's better than Valium."

She pa.s.sed it to me. I took a few tokes. It was even better than before. Floaty and clear and very up. "Can't argue with that. But why?"

She didn't look at me. "It eases the pain of loneliness."

I took another hit and gave it back to her. "Why should you be lonely? You seem to have everything."

"Sure," she said. She dragged on the chocolate stick again. '' Poor little rich girl.''