Of Windmills and War by Diane H Moody Page A

Laurence Olivier, and
lots of others.
    Well, I hope I didn’t bore you with all this. I just thought
you might find it interesting.
    I hope you’re having a good summer.
    Danny
     
    Over the next few weeks, Dad invited him to ride along now
and then, whenever it wouldn’t interfere with his sleep schedule for his other
jobs. Danny liked going along and found it all really exciting. At least at
first. Then, one night near the end of August, as they were heading back to
Film Row after their deliveries, his dad surprised him as their conversation
took a sharp turn.
    “Son, I’ve been impressed with your interest in my work.
Seems you enjoy these nights, making the deliveries.”
    “I do. Kinda makes me feel like I’m a part of the movie
business. Like ol’ Hoot Gibson is a buddy we know.” He laughed at the silly thought.
“Kinda like we’re rubbing elbows with all these stars or something.”
    “Well, I’m glad you enjoy it, Danny. Which has made me start
thinking you’d be a natural at this when the time comes.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “When you graduate next year. No need to waste money on
college. Book learning won’t pay the bills. You’re already learning the
business. Soon as you’re all squared away, you can have your own route. We
could be partners. Increase our territory. Your brother . . .
well, Joey never could sit still or finish a job. Probably just as well he’s gone. But you’ve got real promise.”
    Danny’s head began to swim. He knew enough to nod his head
and act like he was pondering the idea, but truth be told, he wanted to scream.
His mind flashed back to that night at the dinner table when Joey told Dad he
didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. He remembered his dad’s unmasked anger.
And he remembered the vow he’d made that night, promising himself to make sure
Mom and Dad knew precisely what his plans were so he could avoid this exact
conversation. Yet here he was.
    Think, think! he warned himself, but be
careful what you say.
    He knew if he shrugged or acted with indifference, their
relationship would go right back to how it used to be—frigid. He faked a
coughing fit to stall for more time then cleared his throat.
    “Wow, Dad. It’s a real honor you’d even consider me for
that.”
    His dad reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I was
hoping you’d say something like that.”
    No no no! Don’t leave it like this! He’ll think you said
yes!
    “But the thing is . . . well, something this
big, I probably ought to think it over for a while. Spend some time making
sure, you know?”
    His dad’s face fell a fraction as he stared at the road
ahead. “I can accept that. But you’ll see it makes a world of sense.”
    Danny kept nodding, but mostly wondered how on earth he’d
ever get out of it.
     

     
    Dear Danny,
    I had to laugh when I read your last letter. You asked if we
had movie theaters, as if you think we’re still living in caves here! I believe
if you read your history books you’ll find out Holland has
been around much longer than your America . We
are quite modern here. In fact, my father discovered how to make fire just last
year. Soon we shall have running water in our house! Ha ha. I laughed and
laughed. You are so silly, Danny McClain.
    We go to cinemas every time a new one comes to town. Many of
our films come from England and France , but
we also have American films. Last week we saw “ Wuthering Heights .” What
a stupid movie. I wanted to punch that Heathcliff. Such an idiot. But a few
weeks ago we saw “Good Bye, Mr. Chips.” I liked it very much. Did you see it?
    The problem with going to cinemas here are the newsreels shown
before they start the movie. Lately they are longer and longer because of all
that’s happening around us. I hate Hitler. He and his stupid army are stirring
up trouble in  half the countries in Europe . What
did they ever do to him? On and on, the newsreels run. Once, my friend Diet
threw her hairbrush at