F Hemmingway - A family saga Volume One

"How old would you say?"

"Sixteen… seventeen…"

"The make of the motorcycle?"

"I didn't notice… but come to think of it… it was covered up!" the salesman said.

"Did you notice the license tag?"

"No!"

"Weapon?"

"A pistol… sort of short, snub-nosed…"

The questioning went on, until the sergeant was satisfied that he had a complete report. "We don't have too much to go on… there're probably two or three hundred kids ride motor bikes in the area… but we'll start checking out some things on these."

"You're not going to put out a bulletin on it call your cruisers on the radio?"

"What… and stop every kid riding a motorcycle, tonight?"

"Sure… round them up?"

The sergeant looked at him in disbelief, shook his head and said, "Mister… we can't work like that… in this country!"

"What do you mean…?" The salesman didn't understand.

"This is Redfern, California… U.S.A."

"Then, you're not going to do anything…?"

"I didn't say that! I said that we're not going to go out and bring in every teen-age kid who happens to be riding a motorcycle!"

"I know you said that, but…"

"Because… Mister Belleson… It's only a coincidence that the boy who robbed you… was also riding a motorcycle! We'll be checking out on it, tomorrow!" The sergeant turned away to attend to a trivial matter on his desk.

"Is that all…?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Christ… I'm in your town a few hours and three violent things happen to me! I still want to know… what kind of a crazy town this is?"

"Do you have something else to report?"

"Oh, well… that other thing's been taken care of…" the salesman backtracked. "Some fellow name of Scott punched me in the jaw!"

"Have you preferred charges?"

"Well… I was supposed to come down here to do that tomorrow… I mean this morning… but I'm not so sure I want to spend another minute in the fucking town!"

"Then… you want to drop charges against Mr. Scott?"

"Hell no! I want him kept locked up!"

"We can't do that without formal charges?"

"I'll be a son-of-a-bitch… what can you do?"

"Prosecute him… when proper charges have been made against him!"

"Then, if I leave… nothing happens to him?"

The desk-sergeant surveyed the salesman with disdain. "That's right! Gabby'll just get dried out, again…"

"Gabby?"

"Mr. Scott… he's been with us, before."

"Christ! There must be some kind of collusion… you pigs protecting young hoodlums… and town drunks that assault people…"

"Mr. Belleson! You're getting abusive! I'd suggest that you stop, now! Otherwise, I could arrange for you to share a cell with Mr. Scott!"

The salesman looked at the sergeant in disbelief and backed away toward the door. "Shit! I–I don't understand it… I come in here to report a r-robbery… and I get threatened with arrest! Christ! I wouldn't stay in the town for another minute!" He turned to flee. "I take it you're dropping the charges against Gabby?"

"Do what you want with him! I'm leaving… and I'll make damned sure never to come back!" He leaped for the door and made his way hastily through it, flinging back over his shoulder, "Fuck you! Fuck this whole Goddamned town!"

"Up yours!" the desk sergeant muttered, smiling to himself, as he watched the confused retreat of the salesman. "… And, please don't come back!"

What was she to do, then, with her life? She had passed by the morbid moment in which she had contemplated suicide. If she could not die… she must live, but living in this house, with her family, would be out of the question. It would be better if left… just drive away from it all!

Her solution was a cop-out; of course, taking her own life was but a manifestation of the same thing. Running away from her present life, was the only idea that pervaded her mind. She must get away… At least… if I'm gone… Charity and Donnie won't find out about me… And the life I've been leading!

Then, there was the incestuous sex act she had overheard. She had already decided that she could do nothing about it. No! There was one thing she could do; she owed it to Charity for her own protection, but not, she knew, for peace of mind… for either her or her daughter.

Her mind was made up, the sooner she left the better. With resolute steadfastness of purpose, dry-eyed, now, she began to dress. Afterward, she packed, selecting the best garments from her wardrobe and limiting herself to taking only two suitcases and her cosmetic case.

She took her small cache of money from her dresser drawer, counted it, counted it, again, to make sure. Twenty dollars was missing. Was the money lost… or stolen? A burglar would have taken all of it, and she was sure there was no way for it to become lost. Gabe? Possibly. Charity? A definite no, she decided. Donnie? The most likely! She knew instantly that it was unfair. She really had no way of knowing, and she dismissed it from her mind. Why should she try to find out which of her family was the thief? Taking the twenty dollar bill the salesman had left on the top of the dresser into her hand, she contemplated whether or not she really wanted it. Somehow, that particular bill was a symbol of evil, but was it any more evil than the other $240.00 she had just stuffed into her purse? It had all been earned in the same way! Oh, well… I might need it! Who knows which thorn hurts worst… when you fall into a clump of cactus?

One, final item remained for her to do. She forced herself to it, removing a piece of her ultra-feminine stationery from its box and taking pen in hand to write a letter… a letter of farewell to her daughter, Charity.

The letter finished, over which she had agonized for more than a half hour, she read it and decided that she would change nothing in it… for nothing could be changed. The letter — and her life, as she had lived it — would have to stand. She had told her daughter the brutal truth about herself!

I'll leave it on her pillow… where she'll be sure to find it!

The first streaks of grey dawn filtered into Charity's room as Dottie tiptoed in, not really expecting to find her lovely daughter there, but she was pleasantly surprised. Charity was asleep, beautiful as before, her lovely face serene, seemingly unchanged; however, as she gazed on the innocent face of her daughter, Dottie knew that the girl had just leaped into full-blown womanhood… in her own brother's bed!

Dear God forgive me…

She leaned over and brushed her lips in a light kiss across her daughter's slightly opened mouth. Placing the envelope on the pillow near the cascading auburn tresses, she left the room, hastily, picked up her suitcases and left by the front door.

As she turned the key in the ignition, there was a sudden catch in her throat. She had promised herself that she would not cry. God! I've shed enough tears! There're no more left! Steeling herself, she started the engine and drove away. She had no idea where she was going, but automatically, she turned eastward, into the rising sun, a dim thought in her mind that she would head toward Michigan, the state where she had been born and where she had spent her early childhood and adolescence.

Quickly, Charity stuffed her mother's letter under her pillow. No one must ever know of its existence! She would hide it… or destroy it, later. Jumping from her bed she ran into her parents' bedroom. She had to be sure! The room was in disarray, the closet almost empty and drawers left open. It was true! Her mother had really left!

Almost frantically, she dashed to the front door, flung it open and ran out onto the porch. Her mother's car was gone. The street was silent and empty. Then, her tears came. "Mom… oh, Mom!" she cried, turning back to shuffle into the living room.