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MOTION PICTURE
A pause — a nudge — a quick look given and taken.
“You tell her, John,’ whispers Charlie.
John, looking very serious for a moment covers mother’s eyes with his big hands, mentions to
listed!” John says. “I cant hold hack the news. We want to feel we are doing our share, as father did his ”
Charlie is down on his knees beside her, stroking the trembling hand.
Her head is bowed and they cannot see her face. She
Charlie to “stand at attention” in front of her, then withdraws his hands and stands beside his brother.
Her eyes fall upon the trim gaiters, travel slowly up to the military belts and buttons, then on upward to the eager faces of the sons she loves so dearly.
Her face becomes drawn and sad and the eyes rest upon the picture on the wall, the portrait of that other one in uniform, that husband who marched away in a similar khaki-colored suit and never came back.
“Mother, Charlie and I have en
reaches out, takes John’s hand a n d presses it against h e r cheek, and thus, silent and constrained, they wait.
Somewhere, deep down, far, far back in her inner consciousness, a strain of music is beating — the beat of a distant drum, the echo-notes of a bugle-cry, calling to the spirit within her, the spirit of those American ancestors who served at Gettysburg — aye, and at Valley Forge and Yorktown.
Her face gathers strength and beauty and inspiration. She puts the caressing hands aside with a strong, firm gesture, rises and walks steadily across the room to r husband’s portrait, to the sword they sent to her from Cuba with that
( Thirty-eight )