“You are not so fed up on Mrs. Pollzoff that you want to
get away from us all, are you?” he demanded.
“No, of course not, but I was wondering what his plan was
and what happened to it, if anything,” Roberta answered.
“Glad to hear you do not want to leave. Gosh, to lose our only
girl sky-pilot would be—unthinkable; but, come to think of it, Howe
came to the house to see Dad one day last week, perhaps they are
getting it fixed up for you to take on the job. I heard the Old Man
say the Federal representative would be at the office today, so
perhaps you’ll get some information. Here we are.” They reached
the plane and Roberta climbed into the seat beside the pilot’s,
adjusted straps and parachute, while the young man gave his
machine15 a thorough looking-over then took his own place.
I still smart a little at the slight. When you’ve suffered agreat deal in
life, each additional pain is both unbearable andtrifling. My life is like
a memento mori painting from Europeanart: there is always a grinning
skull at my side to remind meof the folly of human ambition. I mock
this skull. I look at itand I say, “You’ve got the wrong fellow. You may
not believein life, but I don’t believe in death. Move on!”
The skullsnickers and moves ever closer, but that doesn’t surprise me.
The reason death sticks so closely to life isn’t biologicalnecessity – it’s envy.
Life is so beautiful that death has fallen inlove with it, a jealous,
possessive love that grabs at what it can.
But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two ofno importance,
and gloom is but the passing shadow of acloud. The pink boy also got the
nod from the RhodesScholarship committee. I love him and I hope his time
atOxford was a rich experience. If Lakshmi, goddess of
wealth,one day favours me bountifully, Oxford is
fifth on the list
ofcities I would like
to visit before
I pass on, after