Victory Over Japan by Ellen Gilchrist Read Free Book Online

cash register reading a book. The boy’s name was Johnny Hazard and he was sixteen years old. The book he was reading was U.S.A. by John Dos Passos. A woman who came to Manchester to teach poetry writing had given him the book. She had made a dust jacket for it out of brown paper so he could read it in public. On the spine of the jacket she had written, American History .
    â€œI’d like a package of Lucky Strikes,” Rhoda said, holding out a twenty-dollar bill in his direction.
    â€œWe don’t sell cigarettes to minors,” he said. “It’s against the law.”
    â€œI’m not a minor,” Rhoda said. “I’m eighteen. I’m Rhoda Manning. My daddy owns the mine.”
    â€œWhich mine?” he said. He was watching her breasts as she talked, getting caught up in the apricot skin against the soft red dress.
    â€œThe mine,” she said. “The Manning mine. I just got here the other day. I haven’t been downtown before.”
    â€œSo, how do you like our town?”
    â€œPlease sell me some cigarettes,” she said. “I’m about to have a fit for a Lucky.”
    â€œI can’t sell you cigarettes,” he said. “You’re not any more eighteen years old than my dog.”
    â€œYes, I am,” she said. “I drove here in a jeep, doesn’t that prove anything?” She was looking at his wide shoulders and the tough flat chest beneath his plaid shirt.
    â€œAre you a football player?” she said.
    â€œWhen I have time,” he said. “When I don’t have to work on the nights they have games.”
    â€œI’m a cheerleader where I live,” Rhoda said. “I just got elected again for next year.”
    â€œWhat kind of a jeep?” he said.
    â€œAn old one,” she said. “It’s filthy dirty. They use it at the mine.” She had just noticed the package of Camels in his breast pocket.
    â€œIf you won’t sell me a whole package, how about selling me one,” she said. “I’ll give you a dollar for a cigarette.” She raised the twenty-dollar bill and laid it down on the glass counter.
    He ignored the twenty-dollar bill, opened the cash register, removed a quarter and walked over to the jukebox. He walked with a precise, balanced sort of cockiness, as if he knew he could walk any way he wanted but had carefully chosen this particular walk as his own. He walked across the room through the rectangle of light coming in the door, walking as though he were the first boy ever to be in the world, the first boy ever to walk across a room and put a quarter into a jukebox. He pushed a button and music filled the room.
    Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian a-standing by the door ,
    He fell in love with an Indian maid
    Over in the antique store .
    â€œMy uncle wrote that song,” he said, coming back to her. “But it got ripped off by some promoters in Nashville. I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll give you a cigarette if you’ll give me a ride somewhere I have to go.”
    â€œAll right,” Rhoda said. “Where do you want to go?”
    â€œOut to my cousin’s,” he said. “It isn’t far.”
    â€œFine,” Rhoda said. Johnny told the lone pool player to keep an eye on things and the two of them walked out into the sunlight, walking together very formally down the street to where the jeep was parked.
    â€œWhy don’t you let me drive,” he said. “It might be easier.” She agreed and he drove on up the mountain to a house that looked deserted. He went in and returned carrying a guitar in a case, a blanket, and a quart bottle with a piece of wax paper tied around the top with a rubber band.
    â€œWhat’s in the bottle?” Rhoda said.
    â€œLemonade, with a little sweetening in it.”
    â€œLike whiskey?”
    â€œYeah. Like whiskey. Do you ever drink it?”
    â€œSure,” she said. “I