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Back The Fall of Valor Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

“Well, I’ll tell you. We got kind of fed up with Nantucket, if you know what I mean. We’d been everywhere and done everything. So Billie and I decided we’d have more fun out here in Sconset with you and Eth. It’d be company. Billie didn’t want to make the change at first on account of the money but gosh, money’s no object right now. You don’t go on honeymoons every day in the week, isn’t that right, Johnnie?”

He was on the floor, on one knee, bent over an open suitcase, but he beamed up at Grandin with childlike pleasure and welcome. He looked immaculate, incredibly healthy, fresh, and full of good spirits; and he had got a haircut.

“Where’s Billie?”

“Billie? Oh, she’s gone out to find a dry cleaner somewheres.—What’s the matter, Johnnie? Aren’t you glad we came?”

Grandin sat down. “Of course I am, Cliff.”

“I just thought for a second, there, you looked kind of—well, funny.”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh, I knew you’d be surprised! I bet I said twenty times this morning, gee, won’t Johnnie and Eth be surprised!” His smile was enchanting; John Grandin resisted an impulse to leave.

“I see you got a room all right,” he said.

“Sure, no trouble at all. I called up first—said I was a friend of yours.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“That depends on when I hear from Brooklyn. I may have to report back any day now,” he added happily, as though it meant the promise of everything he wanted in life. “Did you miss us this morning?”

“Yes.” For the first time John Grandin realized he had missed him indeed.

“We missed you! Gosh, last night and this morning Billie and I didn’t know what to do with ourselves.” He lifted out a pile of shirts and put them away in a bureau drawer. “Billie’s all settled,” he said. “Look, she’s even got my picture up already.”

On the dresser, in a mirrored glass frame, was a large photograph of Cliff in dark-­blue Marine jacket with a white cap. The face looked stern and unhappy, self-­conscious to the point of pain. It seemed to have no connection whatever with the buoyant good nature which at this moment charged the atmosphere of the dingy bedroom with an almost overpowering vitality.

“I’ve got some more of those, Johnnie, if you’d want one.”

“Thank you, Cliff, but I don’t care particularly for photographs of friends. They—age too quickly.”