Ice-Cream Headache Read Online Free PDF Page A

to me all the effort I put into writing it.
    “I want a girl, just like the girl
    that married dear old dad.”
    —Old Popular Song

“N OW LISTEN CAREFULLY,” John’s mother said, and her voice was rushed and breathless.
    She took him by his left arm, and her skin-flaky hand—which, as she said, was “rurned” from washing dishes—went clear around the thinness of his arm. She pulled him close to her and talked into his ear as if they were not alone in the house.
    “He’ll be home in a minute,” she said to him, her eyes bright and nervous. “It’s after six now and he never stays at the office later than five. He’s been somewheres drinking. I could tell by his voice over the phone. He’ll come home with that great big ugly nasty belly tight as a drum with beer again.”
    “Yes, Ma’m,” John said. He was scared by the intensity of her voice, and she was gripping his arm so hard he could hardly keep from wincing.
    “Here is what I want you to do for me, John. I want you to do this for your mother who loves you. When he brings the groceries in, you run out and get in the car. You understand?”
    “Yes, Ma’m,” John said. “All right, Mother.” He knew this was important, because she was shaking his arm hard. “But what for?”
    “Be still. Listen to me. I asked him please not to go back downtown in his condition. I asked him to stay home. I only just hope the operator was listening. Mrs. Haddock says they always do. God knows I’ve lived with it long enough and tried to hide it and hold our heads up,” she said. “And he just laughed at me. Like he always does. But I’ve always done my duty, in the eyes of God and society. I’ve done all I could be expected to do.”
    John was nodding his head. His arm hurt and his mother was still shaking him; he was wondering how, if he was to go in the car, they would be able to go to the Sugar Bowl and the show. This was Saturday and Saturday night his mother always took him and Jeannette to the Sugar Bowl and they ate coney islands or barbecues and they had a malted and then they went to the show. And the malteds at the Sugar Bowl were thick, boy. It was their Saturday treat and he hated to miss it, even if his mother always did make them sit with her at the show instead of down front with the other kids and she stopped outside the show to talk to the other ladies and always made them stand right beside her because, as she told the ladies, John was grown up and taking his father’s place like a little man. But then that was what you had to do if you wanted to go.
    “Aren’t we going to the show tonight, Mother?” he said.
    “No we’re not going to the show tonight, Mother. Aren’t you listening to me? I want you to go in the car with your father. I want you to get in the back seat and keep out of sight. Get down on the floor and stay hid. You watch where he goes and when he comes home you tell me every place he went. I want you to do this for me.”
    “I don’t care about the show, Mother,” John said.
    “Maybe we’ll go tomorrow. If you love your mother like you say, you’ll do this for her. You’ll hide in the back of the car and find out who it is your father meets, and find out what her name is if you can, and then when I go away I’ll take you with me and we’ll go away forever.”
    “Will Jeannette go too, Mother?” John said.
    “Yes. We’ll take Jeannette with us too,” she said to him and there were tears in her bright eyes. “He isn’t fit to have children. Him with those great big arms and strong as a bull. He hurts everything he touches, he’d kill any woman. We’ll go far away where he can never find us, with his big talk of education and making fun of my Science and Mrs. Eddy, making everybody think he’s so intelligent and saddled with a dumb wife.”
    “You’re not dumb, Mother,” John said. “You’re smart. You’re my mother.” He blinked tears from his own eyes, he felt very sorry for his mother. A