The Most Important Thing. David GrossЧитать онлайн книгу.
dollars a month! What a fortune for the young tycoon!
Yet, money did not occupy the center of Bradley’s universe. Though Bradley wanted to live large, he was no mercenary. Friendship, faith and wealth factored in the decision, but in the final analysis he enlisted for his country.
Several days before, Bradley announced to his father that he enlisted. The old man held his thin, muscular posture erect; the noble gray head shook in disbelief. His dad counseled Bradley for a moment, then realized Bradley’s distracted mind had already departed the farm. As usual, Bradley’s dad was right. The old man knew change hit Ole Buck.
Bradley reflected when, as a small boy, he watched his father plow a moist bottom. Bradley’s father plowed with the brown mule, Jim, and the white mule, Mike, cutting straight furrows for planting.
“Dad,” questioned the curious boy, “how is it that you plow so straight? You have nothing to go by.”
“Keep your eyes on something far away,” advised Bradley’s father, “and you will plow straight.”
The sound of two eggs breaking drug Bradley’s mind into the kitchen. Ma placed the frying pan on the stove. Moments passed before the wonderful aroma of coffee and eggs filled the kitchen. The farm chickens laid the fresh eggs only the previous day. Then, the irresistible scent of biscuits drifted from the oven.
“That smells great!” said the ebullient Bradley, walking into the kitchen. Ma noticed him for the first time. Instantly, she broke into tears and hugged her son. Bradley hugged his Ma.
“Don’t worry about me, Ma,” encouraged the young man, “I will be fine. I love you, Ma.”
“I love you too, Bradley,” replied Ma. She broke away and dried her tears on her apron, but more tears flowed immediately. Bradley attempted acting cheerful. The popping of the eggs in the iron pan rescued Ma from despair. Work kept sentimentality at bay.
“Anderson hadn’t been over has he, Ma?” asked Bradley.
“Naw. I ain’t seen him this morning,” said Ma quietly. Bradley gazed at the clock. It read 5:25. At the junction of the highway and Ole Buck Road a couple of miles away, the bus arrived at 6:30. Maybe Anderson waited there. No fanfare or tender good-byes bid farewell to Anderson. Anderson’s father would see to that. Riley Combs, the ascetic head of the Combs household, would not hear of any dissent in the ranks. It was his way or the highway, Riley often told his son, Anderson. Anderson chose the highway.
Ma carefully placed the plate down on the table covered with the red checked plastic tablecloth. The long departed nimbleness of the hand required great effort in handling the unwieldy plate. Little discomforts like that Ma took in stride. Big discomforts like a child leaving broke her noble heart.
“Eat,” requested Ma. Ma watched him begin. She smiled.
Ma turned to the stove grasping another egg. Soon, the hungry children would rise. Everyone rose early on the farm. But less work waited on a cold January morning compared to most months. The list of winter chores remained long: animals fed, wood chopped, coal cut from the side of the mountain, water carried. A cold day made the warm bed a delight. A warm bed provided a luxury to those knowing few luxuries. Bradley wouldn’t complain if he departed before anyone else rose. Avoiding tears and sad good-byes seemed like a good idea.
The eggs quivered with liquid yellow yolk, a little soupy in the middle. Ma cooked them the way Bradley liked them. He covered the eggs with white gravy topped with sprinkles of pepper. The heap of food resembled a mound of snow blasted with a shotgun. He dabbed his biscuit into the gravy and yellow of the egg yoke. He sipped his coffee, light with cream and sweet with sugar. After that first bite, he ravenously devoured the rest of the food.
Ma sliced a biscuit into two pieces with a knife. Between the halves of biscuit, she lay two well-done eggs. She placed the egg sandwich into a brown paper bag that she had saved for this day. She gave the bag to Bradley.
“Put that in your pocket, Bradley,” whispered Ma. Pa opposed assets leaving the homestead because times could get worse. Bradley did not want to imagine worse times. Nobody in the hills had money. Bradley stuck the bag in his pocket. In moments, he finished his delicious breakfast. Bradley sipped his coffee, trying not to think, but thoughts kept crowding him preventing any serene moment. As his head defeated his heart, Bradley surrendered to the inevitable. He lifted his dishes from the table, stacking them carefully in the sink.
“I always appreciate you helping me,” said Ma. The tears started streaming from her careworn face again.
“I am happy to do it,” proclaimed the boy. Bradley grabbed the bucket and poured a pan of water. He placed the pan on the stove, heating the water for dish washing. Bradley washed the dishes thousands of times. Perhaps for the last time, he washed them.
Ed was the next one to enter the kitchen. The oldest brother’s sleepy face dragged itself into the kitchen. Ma poured him a cup of coffee.
“Bradley, we are sure going to miss you around here,” said Ed to his little brother. Ed poured teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. Bradley wanted to wander while Ed planned to remain at Ole Buck. Ed was mountains to the root. Ed planned to live in the hills the rest of his days. Cities and lowlands had no appeal for Ed.
“I’m going to miss you too, Ed.”
Each brother silently questioned the sincerity of the other. Though Bradley loved his brother, the rivalry between them grew wearisome. No matter what Bradley did or said, Ed was the leader, the older brother. To eighteen-year-old Bradley, he had to be more than the younger brother to Ed. Ed was strict like Pa and was Pa’s greatest pupil. He was part of the system that restrained Bradley. Bradley tired of the shadow of Pa, Brother Ed, and Brother Pierce. His brothers considered his rebellion against authority meanness. Bradley didn’t care. He was ready to be his own man.
“Bradley, I’d like for you to have this,” said Ed. From under his unbuttoned work shirt, Ed disclosed his folded yellow shirt. This was the shirt that Ed wore to church on Sundays. It was the best piece of clothing he owned; it was the newest piece of clothing in the house.
“I love you, Brother,” said the teary Ed. Was it Ed the Austere that said this? Ed ran to his brother and they hugged.
“I love you, too, Brother,” replied Bradley with his eyes welling in tears again. There was no doubt in the sincerity of the boys now. Bradley’s heart was breaking. Why had they waited to say this?
The two brothers disengaged, leaving Bradley with a shirt in his hands. Bradley slipped into the shirt that looked striking on him.
“Bradley, you look so handsome,” bragged Ma, her face smiling through tears. Bradley removed the shirt. He offered it back to his brother.
“No!” ordered Ed sternly, the cracked armor exposing his soft heart quickly sealed. The older brother again commanded his little brother. The magic spell of the moment dissipated into the cool air, leaving both brothers as before. Bradley shrugged. Then he donned the shirt. Bradley buttoned the shirt, remaining quiet. He walked to the peg on the wall, and taking his coat from it, slipped it on over the shirt. The coat had been Ed’s too. Much of the clothing that Bradley wore had been Ed’s at one time or another. When he first received the coat it swallowed him, but now the coat was a little tight. Bradley grew larger than his older brothers did.
The whole house began to stir. Ma placed the breakfast plate in front of Ed, and their four sisters appeared in the living room wearing their robes.
Bradley quickly dried the dishes at five till six, he had a bus to catch. Bradley touched his pocket, checking for his bus tickets provided by the federal government. This was the twentieth time that morning he had verified their position. The tickets remained in his pocket. He hugged his sisters and they kissed him. Harvey, Pierce, Buford, and Vernon arose at last, and Bradley shook their hands before walking to the door. He sighed because he thought Pa might have shook hands with him before he left. He stepped outside into the freezing cold and closed the door to Ole Buck.
In his chair beside the door, Pa sat