Gee Whiz Page 7

  It turned out that part of Brother Abner’s problem was that the Studebaker wouldn’t start, so Sister Larrabee had picked him up and brought him, and would take him home. She said to Mom, “Of course I don’t mind doing that, and I told him that we’ll go over to the Safeway and get a few things before we head out this afternoon, but really, I don’t know what else to do. I did ask him on the way over here if he’d like a ride anywhere this week. Sister Larkin is happy to take him out, too, but he just waved me away.”

  Mom said, “Has anyone ever just dropped by there, just a friendly visit?”

  “Oh, goodness, he knows none of us live in his neighborhood. He’s pretty out of the way.”

  This year, Christmas would come on a Sunday. Our Christmas service the evening before would be by candlelight, and then we would have some Christmas food, like fruitcake and pumpkin pie. No presents, because some of the brothers and sisters were too poor to buy presents, so everyone else having presents would be embarrassing. I said, “At least, he won’t be alone for Christmas.”

  “No, he won’t,” said Sister Larrabee, “and that’s a blessing.”

  Mom said, “It’s supposed to be so cold this week.”

  “I think I can spy a little bit on his wood supply. If it’s low, I think I can mention that.”

  Mom nodded.

  What Dad wanted to talk about on the way home was Esau and Jacob. He said, “Well, I’ve been thinking about that chapter of Genesis all day now. It’s confusing. Of course, it doesn’t apply to us, but it’s funny that he happened on that one.”

  I said, “Who does it apply to?”

  “Well, that’s the biblical story of the Jews. The Jews all descended from Jacob, and the Gentiles all descended from Esau. When Jesus came along, then a person could choose to follow the Lord of his free will, and it didn’t matter about where you were born or who bore you. But I do remember, as a boy, just asking my dad over and over how it was that Jacob got away with it. To my mind, if he’d been in our family, he’d have gotten a whipping for sure. Finally, I was told that Jacob didn’t really get away with it, since he had to run away to Laban’s house. The important thing was that Isaac couldn’t change his mind once he’d given his blessing. My dad said, ‘There’s the lesson in it for you—what’s done is done, and you’ve got to make the best of it.’ I think that’s an important lesson, though whether Jacob and Esau made the best of it is a good question.”

  Mom said, “Well, it helps us to contemplate—”

  “Our sins,” said Dad. “Yes, that’s true.”

  Mom said, “I was going to say our mistakes.”

  Dad said, “Looks like I have another one to contemplate.”

  Mom laughed, then said, “Not a very big one.”

  Monday, I woke up really happy, because Barbie was planning to come for a lesson in the afternoon. I didn’t mind at all that even though it was still sunny and a little warm, you could see in the west that the clouds were building and the rain would be coming in. I didn’t care that there would be three days, maybe, of cleaning tack and emptying old trunks and closets and saying, “Oh, I wondered where that bit had gotten to” and “I guess it’s time to wash all the saddle blankets,” because school was out and the Goldmans were home and Barbie had called me Saturday afternoon, and told me all about their concert, which had gone very well—another pair of students had sung a duet while Barbie and Alexis played violin and piano. I was sure that it had been beautiful and wished I’d seen it. She was due at three. I had no idea how her riding would be, so just to be safe, I tacked up Blue and rode him for half an hour before she got there. When she arrived, she was just herself—smiling and ready. We hugged for a long moment and then she hugged Blue. Her hair looked fine.

  She was noticeably more skilled than she had been in the summer. Things I had once had to remind her of, like sitting up straight and keeping a loose back, and making sure that her heels were down but easily down rather than pushed down, were automatic for her now. She never even touched the horn of the saddle, and she sat the trot pretty well, though not perfectly.

  I said, “Tell me again how often you rode Tooter?”

  “Well, Tooter told me confidentially that four days a week was his preferred number, but I only managed three. He was nice about it, though.”

  “What about Alexis?”

  “I have to say that Alexis got a lot of strange headaches when the time came to ride.”

  “Was she scared?”

  Barbie asked Blue to halt in front of me, rested her arm on the horn of the saddle, and said, “I think she was, but she’d never tell me that. She’s supposed to be the brave one. You and Blue should give her a lesson.”

  “If she asks, I will.”

  “May I canter again?”

  “Of course.”

  “May I just canter around and around for the rest of the day?”

  “His canter makes you want to.”

  “What I want to do is go for a trail ride, with a cantering part.”

  “We’d have to do that up on the Jordan Ranch.”

  “Could we?”

  “If it’s not too rainy. I haven’t been up there for a couple of months.”

  She turned Blue away, went out to the rail, and cantered to the right. She sat easily, and Blue went at a smooth lope, his head up, his ears forward, and his back relaxed. It was hypnotizing. As they went past the far end of the arena, I could see Gee Whiz on the other side of the pasture fence, watching them. Each time they passed that way (they made four circuits), he snorted lightly and tossed his head. After the fourth time, he spun away and trotted off. He had a big, ground-eating trot, not loose but bold and proud. Blue, thankfully, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Barbie brought him down to a walk and sighed.

  She’d been cooling him out for about ten minutes when the rain started, first a foggy mist, then real drops. I wanted to get my saddle under cover, so I opened the gate, and we headed for the barn. By the time we got there—only a couple of minutes—it was actually pouring, and all three of us, Barbie, Blue, and myself, ended up kind of soaked. I was so busy trying to get under cover that I didn’t notice Jerry Gardino’s truck, but Beebop was cross-tied on the wash rack. Jerry was bending over, picking Beebop’s right front hoof. He must have been cleaning him up for a while, because the horse’s mane was smooth and his coat was shining. Beebop nickered when Blue came into the barn. Jerry stood up. He of course was smiling his big smile. He said, “Oh, hello!”

  I said, “Barbie Goldman, this is Jerry Gardino, and this is Beebop, the wildest horse you’ve ever met.”

  Jerry said, “It’s just a job for Beebop, not a way of life.”

  I said, “He’s a bucking bronc in the rodeo. Jerry is his owner.”

  Barbie said, “Do you ride him?”

  “God, no,” said Jerry. “Dan said we might ride this afternoon. He was going to lend me Lady, I think it was, but it doesn’t look as though that’s in the cards.” Outside, the rain was now falling in streams.

  I said, “You’ll have to cook something instead.”

  “What, though? I don’t think the cannelloni went over very big.”

  “Oh, I love cannelloni,” said Barbie. “Mushroom and ricotta. That’s my favorite.”

  “I can do that,” said Jerry.

  I said, “Maybe it didn’t look as though we liked it at dinner, but we polished off the leftovers. Mom and Dad kind of argued over who was going to get the last piece.”

  Jerry laughed, then he said, “Well, it came up that I might cook one last thing before vacation. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to check on Beebop and clean him up a little, but I do think I mentioned something about veal piccata.”

  “Mmm,” said Barbie.

  I said, “You want to stay for supper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have to call home?”

  “I do.”

  Jerry said, “Where do you live? I can give you a ride home after dinner. I’m heading
straight up to the city.”

  I thought that Jerry Gardino and the Goldmans would get along perfectly, and probably they could compare recipes for hours. I said, “You can meet Alexis. She’s Barbie’s twin. Barbie plays the piano and Alexis plays the violin.”

  “Oh, really?” said Jerry. “I spent years playing the trombone in our school orchestra.”

  I said, “Was that fun?”

  “It’s fun until you lose count while you’re sitting there waiting to come in. The guy who sat next to me fell asleep once.”

  Veal piccata turned out to have not only veal in it, but olive oil, lemon juice, butter, and parsley. Jerry spread his ingredients over every part of the counter, and made a terrible mess, but Barbie cleaned up after him, and so by the time we sat down, the kitchen looked fine. Mom thanked her, and she said, “It’s just like when my mom cooks. I don’t know what she’s done without me all fall.”

  Dad bowed his head, closed his eyes, and said, “Let us give thanks. Our heavenly Father, we give thanks for the bounty we are about to partake of and the friends that have joined us this evening. Amen.” I didn’t close my eyes—I was too interested in what Barbie, Jerry, and Danny would do. Danny bowed his head but kept his hands in his lap, Jerry closed his eyes but didn’t bow his head, and Barbie stared at Dad. She looked away before he opened his eyes.

  As soon as Dad reached for the serving fork, Jerry laughed and said, “My dad always told us that when he was growing up, there was never enough money for eight whole chops, so when they said grace, they always finished with, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the guy that eats the fastest gets the most.’ But really, the guy who stuck his fork in there first always got someone else’s fork in the back of his hand.” He laughed, Barbie laughed, Mom said, “My goodness,” and Dad smiled but looked uncomfortable.

  Danny said, “How many brothers were there?”

  “Six. One a year, until my grandmother said she was tying the door to her bedroom shut, because she didn’t have a key to the lock.”

  I realized that Jerry Gardino was a lot like Beebop—ready for anything. The veal was good, and the noodles were good, and Dad took the second-biggest helping, after Danny, but what was really interesting was that I don’t think Mom and Dad had ever been outnumbered by kids at the dinner table before. Jerry, Danny, and Barbie chatted on and on about Bob Dylan and something called the Monterey Pop Festival, which was coming up, and had we ever been to the Monterey Jazz Festival? Both Barbie and Jerry loved that and had been twice—Jerry had seen Duke Ellington and Barbie had seen Big Mama Thornton. (I looked around the table—Danny had at least heard of the festival, and maybe Leah had taken him? Mom and Dad looked politely blank.) Jerry was a big fan of Pete Seeger, but Barbie preferred a new group called Jefferson Airplane, from up in San Francisco, and Jerry said, yes, they had just gotten Grace Slick to sing with them, someone he knew knew her, she had been singing with the Great Society—everyone in that group was related to one another. What was going on in LA?

  “As if I know,” said Barbie. “We only communicate with downtown by means of smoke signals. But everyone at school has a copy of Pet Sounds.”

  Jerry said, “I didn’t like that at first.”

  Danny said, “I did.”

  Dad got up and carried his plate to the sink.

  Then Barbie turned to Danny and said, “Say, Leah told me yesterday that you got your draft notice.”

  And Danny said, smooth as pie, “Well, I did. Physical in two weeks—like January fourth, I think.” He did not look at Mom or Dad, but I did. Dad, who was rinsing his plate, stiffened, and Mom took a deep breath.

  Barbie said, “You could go to Canada. We know a guy who did that. My dad …”

  And then she looked around and stopped talking.

  There was a long silence, and then Jerry said, “Did you ever read On the Road? I loved that book. I’ve been reading Big Sur. I know where that cabin is. I’d like to drive down there sometime.”

  But now Barbie was more alert, and she said, “I think my mom read that.”

  Danny said, “I was going to tell you, Mom. I don’t think it’s a big—”

  Mom got up and walked out of the room.

  Normally, it was Dad who got upset about things, but now he said, “It had to happen. I don’t think your mom is willing to accept that, but this comes as no surprise to me. It was just a matter of time.”

  He sighed, and headed after Mom. On the way out of the kitchen, he touched Danny’s hair. I hadn’t seen him do that since Danny was a head or more shorter than he was—that would be when I was about eight.

  Danny, Barbie, Jerry, and I cleaned up the kitchen, then I walked with Barbie out to Jerry’s car. Before she got in, she said, “Sorry.” And gave me a hug.

  I said, “I’ll see you Wednesday.” Wednesday was the slumber party. Danny explained to Jerry how to get to Barbie’s house, and they left. It was cold outside, but I didn’t let Danny go back in the house. I said, “There’s nothing wrong with you, is there?”

  “I don’t want anything to be wrong with me. It’s not like I haven’t thought about this. I don’t see any way out. I’ve listened to all the arguments. Believe me, Leah knows all the arguments. She goes to Berkeley, for God’s sake. She is furious with me.”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing her still.”

  “Well, we stopped for a while, but that was worse.” Then he added, “Maybe not worse than what’s going on now.”

  “You should have told Mom.”

  “I was going to wait until after Christmas, or maybe until after the physical, when I would know for sure.”

  “Are you mad at Barbie?”

  “I was for a moment, but it did save me having to bring it up. It’s like you’re standing at the edge of the cliff and looking down, and maybe it’s easier if someone comes up behind you and pushes you over.”

  Then I said, “Guys come back from Vietnam all the time. I think you’re going to be one of those.”

  Danny kissed me on the forehead and we went into the house. I have to say that I hadn’t thought about this in a couple of months, not since Mom said that she found out that Sister Larkin’s cousin, who was on the draft board, was somehow “putting Danny’s file at the bottom of the stack,” and so, even though he had been eighteen for a long time, he hadn’t been called up yet. When Mom and Dad talked to Danny about it, Danny said that he didn’t know what to think about the war and he thought he’d like to see for himself. That was Danny all over—as Dad knew and Leah was probably now discovering, there was no telling him what to do. He was determined to make up his own mind.

  Lots of families talked about the Second World War, and what their dads (and moms) had done, but Mom and Dad were too young for that—Mom was only eleven when the war started, and Dad was only twelve. Uncle Luke was a few years older than Dad, and by the time Uncle Matthew was old enough to sign up, the war was over. He got as far as boot camp in Missouri. All of my grandparents were born just before the First World War, but someone somewhere had been in the Spanish-American War—that was at the end of the 1890s. And so I supposed that Danny would be the first to go. I had a hard time imagining it, but I suspected that part of the reason Danny wasn’t all that upset was that he would see the world, or some of it. I could see how that would excite him.

  Mom was sitting in the living room with her knitting in her lap, and Dad was thumbing through his Bible. No one at church ever talked about the war—for one thing, no one but Danny was the right age to be drafted, and for another, all the older sisters and brothers disagreed. Brother Abner said what was going on over there was none of our business, and Sister Larkin said that the Lord worked in mysterious ways, and Mr. Hollingsworth said that stopping communism was the work of the Lord, and Sister Nicks and Sister Brooks had gone without speaking for four months after they disagreed about a passage Brother Brooks read that went “For though we live in the world, we are not carrying on a worldly war, for the
weapons of our warfare are not worldly but have divine power to destroy strongholds.” Brother and Sister Brooks said that as long as the Lord himself had brought up this passage by directing Brother Brooks to it, then they would express their view that it was not our job to fight the wars of the world, those of Lyndon Baines Johnson. Our battles were different. Sister Nicks had asked whether we were citizens of this country or not, and that had started it. It was now almost three years since that argument, and no one had ever said another word about the war. I knew that the teachers at school disagreed, too, but they did not talk about it in class.

  Danny sat down beside Mom on the couch and put his arm around her, but he didn’t say anything.

  Dad said, “The future will unfold as it is meant to do.”

  Mom sighed.

  Danny sat there for a while, and then kissed Mom on the cheek and left. I went up to my room and turned the stereo on pretty loud and read something.