Ice Brothers Read Online Free PDF Page B

a family where that was the worst of all crimes without going crazy or taking seriously to drink, he was worthy of respect, and Paul wished that his mother could let his sons love him for what he was instead of pretending that he was a hardworking artist whose genius would undoubtedly be recognized after his death.
    Charles’s studio consisted of a back porch which had been glassed in, and which was heated by a pot-bellied coal stove on which an aluminum coffee pot steamed. Near the door stood an easel with a half-finished abstract painting, black and red lines leading to a huge sphere which had only been sketched in. The painting had not been touched since Paul’s last visit a month ago. This large canvas acted as a screen, behind which Charles was sitting in an armchair near the stove. He was carving a long chain from a pine two-by-four. This was something which he did very well. The part of the chain which he had finished and which lay coiled at his feet, was as flexible and perfectly formed as its iron counterpart.
    â€œPaul!” he said, getting to his feet. “Or should I call you captain?”
    His father was a stout man as tall as himself, almost six feet, and Paul couldn’t understand why he persisted in thinking of him as small. He was wearing a tweed sports coat, a black turtleneck sweater and baggy gray flannel trousers. His long silvery hair and his craggy long-nosed face with heavy dark eyebrows enabled him to play his assigned role as a distinguished artist convincingly, whether he really wanted to or not.
    Paul shook his father’s hand heartily—they never hugged. Rather embarrassedly Charles took a pipe from his pocket and began to stuff it.
    â€œYour grandfather would be proud of you,” he said. “He always wanted me to go in the navy. I tried, but my bum ticker ruled me out. How long will it be before they send you overseas?”
    â€œI expect my orders anytime now. I don’t actually know where I’ll be stationed.”
    â€œHe’s in the Coast Guard, not the navy,” Rachel said. “They may keep him right in Boston.”
    â€œDuring wartime we’re part of the navy,” Paul said. “I’ve already put in for sea duty.”
    â€œWell, you’re better qualified for it than most,” Charles said. “It’s nice to think that the old Valkyrie did you some good. Bill thinks we should junk her now. Did he tell you that?”
    â€œHe’s talked of it.”
    â€œHe’s even got a buyer. Three thousand dollars we’re offered. Jesus Christ!”
    â€œNow, Charles, you mustn’t take on about that,” Rachel said. “The Valkyrie has served her purpose. She’s given us all a great deal of pleasure for years and she’s an old lady. Everyone has to die sometime.”
    â€œThree thousand dollars for a sixty-foot Lawley yawl,” Charles said. “The buyer is the Katstein Metal Works. Sic Transit Gloria. ”
    â€œI say we’re lucky to get the three thousand,” Rachel said. “Who’d look after her after Paul goes? Who knows how long this war will last?”
    â€œI guess I have to vote for selling,” Paul said. “She’s got some rot in her, Dad. There won’t be much left of her in two or three years.”
    â€œLet’s talk about something cheerful,” Rachel said. “How about some tea, and I’ve just baked an apple cake.”
    â€œWhile you’re getting that together, I’d like to show Paul the model I’m making in the basement,” Charles said and led the way down a steep, rickety stairway.
    This cellar was far different from that in the orderly house of his father-in-law. One corner was filled with a jumble of unstacked firewood, another with coal. They had to pick their way through broken chairs and tables to get to the workbench, where tools lay everywhere but in their racks. The half-model of the Valkyrie which