Smith - Letting Go, Moving on: Dont Be Held Back by the Past: Face Your Guilt and Fears and Move On!

TAKE MY FACE

by Peter Held

(aka Jack Vance)

CHAPTER I

Robert Struve, age thirteen, differed only in detail from his friends. He read comic books; wore jeans and sports shirts.

His father, Bradley, was dead; he lived with his mother, Elsbeth, in the top half of a stucco duplex. Elsbeth Bradley was of good Philadelphia stock, willowy, blonde, rather pale. In 1928, Bradley, representing himself as a soldier of fortune, had swept her off her feet. He talked big money and madcap adventure; Elsbeth had taken him at his word, but after their marriage there was none of the romance and gaiety she had expected. For several years Bradley sold real estate in Los Angeles, then, in 1934, he brought Elsbeth and four-year-old Robert to San Giorgio, sixty miles north of San Francisco. He sold vacuum cleaners for two years, worked briefly for a polling organization, then went back into real estate. He had an easy tongue, a debonair laugh, a Los Angeles-style mustache; he knew a hundred smutty stories; still, he failed to make much headway.

Elsbeth's illusions vanished, but she clung to her hopes.

When Robert was eight, Bradley went to work for Hovard Orchards as night manager of the San Giorgio warehouse. He held the job three months, until Darrell Hovard found him drunk on the job for the second time in two weeks. Hovard paid him off on the spot. Bradley drove down the highway in a reckless fury, and at Dead Man's Bend sideswiped a lumber truck.

Elsbeth quickly adjusted to widowhood. She had married not Bradley, but the idea of Bradleystrong, gay, gallant, resourceful. The discord vanished with Bradley's death.

"Darling," she told Robert the morning after the terrible event, "you've got to be very brave. God has taken your father from us."

"Is he really dead, Mother? I bet he was drunk."

"Why do you say an awful thing like that, Robert?"

Robert was silent.

"Why, Robert?"

"It was the kids," Robert blurted out. "They told me Daddy was gonna drink himself to death."

"What a terrible thing to say!" Elsbeth gasped.

"Your daddy was one of the finest men that ever walked this earth!"

Robert said nothing. Elsbeth continued in her soft voice: "You must always remember that, Robert dear. And now that Daddy's goneyou'll have to be the man in the house. You'll have to be brave and strong and help Mummy."

Robert's throat was swollen and his eyes were stinging. "I will, Mummy. I'll do anything you want."

So Robert became man of the family. He found the position no sinecure. Elsbeth went to work at Hegenbels, San Giorgio's largest department store, at a barely sufficient salary. Robert learned that he must earn a lot of money as soon as possible. He learned, "Grit, Robert, stick-to-itiveness, that's the way to get ahead!"

Robert was a handsome boy, with black hair, innocent hazel eyes, a fresh young skin. He enjoyed no particular prestige among his contemporaries; he was neither ugly like Grant Hovard, fat like Ducky Scheib, truculent like Jim Smith. He lacked Ziggy Gordon's loud voice and high spirits, Carr Pendry's impetuous recklessness.

He bought a bicycle with earnings from his paper route, and thereafter gave everything to Elsbeth, who started what she called his "college fund."

Carr Pendry also delivered a paper route. His

father published the San Giorgio Herald-Republican, and had some notion of starting Carr at the bottom.

Carr, a year older than Robert, owned a new motor-scooter, which, from time to time, he allowed Robert to ride. On such days Robert delivered Carr's papers as well as his own.

Carr's route included exclusive Jamaica Terrace, where the Hovards, the Pendrys, the McDermotts, the Cloverbolts and the Hegen-bels lived in large old-fashioned houses. Whenever Robert delivered Carr's route he told himself that he and his mother would someday own a house on Jamaica Terrace.

And then Darrell Hovard's Cadillac, with little Julie Hovard sitting between her father's legs steering, rumbled like a monstrous beetle through Jamaica Arch, and ran into Robert on the motor-scooter.

The motor-scooter tumbled into a culvert. Robert's head struck the concrete; gasoline gushed over him, into his face, and caught on fire.

Darrell Hovard held Julie's head down when the body of Robert Struve, charred and moaning, was lifted into the ambulance.

"Hush now," muttered Hovard. "Be quiet. We're going home ..." And he said to himself, "Thank God for insurance ..."

The adjuster found Elsbeth Struve at the hospital; he was Edward D. Cooley, a thin young man with a crew cut. He approached Elsbeth in the hall outside Robert's hospital room. The doctor had promised a report on Robert's condition in a few minutes, and she hardly noticed when Edward Cooley took a seat beside her.

"A terrible business," said Cooley.

Elsbeth looked at him, seeing little more than a blur. "Yes, yes."

"Naturally, you'll have nothing to worry about in regard to the doctor bills. We'll take care of this emergency treatment."

Elsbeth took a sidelong look at the sharp-faced young man. He seemed grave and concerned. "Who are you?"

"I represent the insurance company. I've come to help you straighten things out."

"Oh," said Elsbeth. "I still don't know anything about it. Except that Robert had an accident on a motor-scooter and Mr. Hovard brought him in."

Cooley nodded. "That's right. Mr. Hovard's insurance covers the contingency, and we've agreed to take care of Robert's hospital care. But we'll need your permission to pay the bill, a release."

"Oh, certainly." Elsbeth laughed weakly.

"Thenlet's seeI have a release somewhere."

Edward Cooley felt in his breast pocket. "You'd better sign this... right here." Elsbeth took his pen.

The doctor came out of Robert's room with a nurse; the two held a whispered conversation. Elsbeth thrust pen and paper back to Cooley, jumped to her feet. But before Elsbeth could reach him, the doctor hurried away. The nurse said, "Mrs. Struve?" "Yes... Robertcan I see him?" The nurse shook her head. "He's under sedatives. He wouldn't recognize you, and frankly, Mrs. Struve, I don't think it would be wise right now."

"Is he Is he"

"Nohe'll pull throughbut he's had some very bad burns... Perhaps you'd better wait a day or so."

Elsbeth looked at the white door, so firmly closed. "He won't be marked, will he?" she asked hesitantly.

"We'll do our best, Mrs. Struve" Elsbeth turned away. Edward Cooley stepped up. "All I need is your signature on this settlement, then we can take care of all the bills." "Please," said Elsbeth, "not right now." Cooley followed her. "But, Mrs. Struve..." "I don't want to sign anything until I can read it..."

Edward Cooley drove out Conroy Avenue toward Jamaica Terrace. At the arch he found Carr Pendry inspecting the wreck of his motor-scooter. Cooley stopped the car, jumped out on the sidewalk. "Quite an accident."

"Yeah," said Carr. "That's what's left of my scooter. Almost new."

"I suppose you're insured?" Cooley inquired jocularly.

Carr shook his head, glanced sourly up Jamaica Terrace. "But old Hovard's got insurance. If it's any good."

"All insurance is good," said Cooley.

Carr looked at him skeptically. "Even when his little girl is driving?"

Cooley ducked his head like a heron after a minnow. "What's that?"

"I said, even when his little girl's driving."

"Well, well," said Cooley. "The little girl was driving?"