Blood Alone (34 page)
I put my arm around her waist, and we walked through the soft sand.
“When I was trying to figure out who I was, I ran into a Sicilian doctor. He told me about amnesia and said I was the most fortunate of men because I was about to discover who I was. He told me some philosopher once said the unexamined life is not worth living, and that I was being given the opportunity to examine mine.”
“How did he know you’d get your memory back?”
“He had studied amnesia. He called mine psycho something and was sure I’d remember everything in time. The last thing to return, he said, would be the event that had caused it. He’s a smart guy. I brought him back here with me.”
“Why?”
“Listen,” I said, “It’s a long story. Right now I want to tell you something else.”
“What, Billy?” She stopped and put one hand on my arm, the other to her breast, as if holding me back and protecting her heart.
“He was right. I did learn who I was. Some of it was a shock, mostly about how I treated you.”
“What do you mean?”
“After Villard,” I said.
Then I started over. “After Villard raped you, all I wanted was revenge. But it was for what he’d done to me, not to you. I thought going after him would help, but it didn’t.”
“I wanted him dead too,” Diana said, her lips clenched.
“I know. And he deserved it. But I should have let you know that what he did, whether he was dead or alive, it made no difference. It wasn’t about us.”
We walked again, and she was silent for a while.
“Does it?”
“What?”
“Make no difference, about us?”
“No. What’s done is done. It’s real, it happened, and we can’t forget about it, and I can’t pretend killing Villard made it go away. But it’s not who we are. I didn’t tell you the truth about this,” I said, touching the bandage on my arm. “It isn’t serious, but it could have been. It was a shell from a German plane. One more inch and I would have lost my arm. Six more inches and it would have taken my head off.”
“What’s done is done. No use pretending it didn’t happen.”
“Right,” I said. We walked some more, the sound of the surf enveloping us.
“But no sense dwelling on it. Either of us could be killed tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“All right, Billy, all right.” She leaned her head into my shoulder and held onto my arm with both of her hands, uncovering her heart. “All right.”
WE MADE IT BACK to the party an hour later, after the sun had set and we’d shaken the sand out of our clothes. Everyone was still outside drinking cocktails. Candles lit the veranda, their flames reflected in all the polished brass.
I spotted Sciafani. Big Mike had organized a suit for him to wear. I’d alerted Sue that a local doctor would be attending, and she got him past the guards after they’d given him the once-over. It wasn’t exactly a lie, since he was local, now that he was here. I figured we had at least a chance, among all the American and British muckety-mucks getting gassed on Uncle Ike’s booze, of getting someone to intervene for him.
“Ah, so this is the Sicilian doctor who knows his Socrates,” Diana said when I introduced them.
“An honor, Miss Seaton,” he said, bowing and kissing her hand. If I’d known he was going to show off like that, I would have left him to play cribbage in the tent with Big Mike. I got us drinks and scanned the crowd for a likely candidate. I didn’t want to bother Uncle Ike for a personal favor if I could work it out myself. He had enough of that all day long. It looked like Enrico and Diana were hitting it off, so I buttonholed a British major with medical insignia on his uniform. Turned out he was a dentist and was being transferred to Cairo, so I gave up on him after apologizing for not listening to yet another story about tooth extractions gone bad. Then on to an American colonel who was on the G-1 staff at HQ, which meant personnel. No dice with him either.
I found Diana and Sciafani as the group filed in for dinner, talking with none other than Uncle Ike. I had to hand it to Diana, she took matters right to the top.
“I was just telling Dr. Sciafani that civilian immigration is outside of my jurisdiction,” Uncle Ike said. “I wish I could repay you for the help you’ve given William, but there’s nothing I can do. Except, of course, to make certain you are well supplied for your duties in the POW facility.”
“Thank you, General. That is most generous. I am honored,” Sciafani said, shaking Uncle Ike’s hand.
“Let Sergeant Sarafian know whatever you need. Now, excuse me, I have to play the gracious host.” He gave us all his famous grin, that friendly gaze right into your eyes. It got me every time.
“He is a great man, and gracious,” Sciafani said.
“Yes, runs in the family, they say,” I said.
“Tell me, Enrico, is it true that losing one’s memory causes a swelled head?” Diana asked.
By the time we explained the double meaning in English, we were seated, drinking fine red wine, and laughing like old friends. The room glittered, and Diana’s voice was like champagne, sweet and heady, making me aware I was blessed every time her eyes turned to look at me. Once I saw Uncle Ike talking with General Alexander, and as he listened, he glanced toward us and smiled. We were blessed. Alive, together.
Late that night, in Diana’s quarters, we lay in tangled sheets under mosquito netting, our uniforms scattered on the floor where we had discarded them on our way to her bed. It was a small room in a local hotel that had been taken over for women officers. I was glad she wasn’t in a tent with a rickety cot.
“Billy?”
“Yes, I’m here.” I ran my hand down her back. Tiny beads of sweat decorated her backbone.
“I’m going back to the SOE. They said I was fully recovered.”
“Did they order you back?” I could feel my heart sink, and I was ready to protest the injustice of it all.
“No.”
“You volunteered?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Diana.” It came to me then. On the beach, she’d said
either
of us could be killed any day.
She faced me. “Those dreams we had, about losing each other? Those weren’t about the assignments we were on, or the danger either of us was in. It was about how we’d let Villard come between us. It was about how separated we had become, even when we were together. Don ’t you see? As long as we love each other, nothing can get in the way.”
“Are you certain? About volunteering, I mean?”
“I have to, Billy. All I do here is shuffle papers from one damn meeting to another. Some captain asked me to make tea for him last week!”
“One of the first things your sister told me about herself was how she brewed horrible tea and coffee, just so they’d stop asking her.”
“She truly made horrible tea. I can’t imagine her attempting coffee.”
We laughed, and I watched the happy memory turn sad, and then saw the return of her smile, as the joy of recollection overcame the pain of loss. It’s not that time heals all wounds, it’s more that it lets you stay happier for a bit longer every day when you remember someone you lost.
“I miss her,” she said.
“Kaz does too. I doubt a minute goes by he doesn’t think of her.”
“Poor Kaz. We ’ve got to find him a woman, Billy. Someone he can have a bit of fun with.”
“Wait a minute!” I wasn’t going to allow myself to be distracted. “Weren’t we talking about you and the Special Operations Executive? Secret missions and all that?”
“All right. I have to make a contribution. Knowing I can and not doing it is driving me crazy.”
For me, the opposite would be true. I would much rather Diana stayed at headquarters.
“When?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Nothing is on right now. I’m all yours, for these few days at least.”
“Well, what’s done is done.”
“Right,” she said. She drew closer, nestling into my arms. I realized that although I was afraid of losing her, I wasn’t surprised at all that she’d volunteered to go back. It was who she was.
“Remember who you are,” I said softly. I felt her breath on my arm as she fell asleep. I couldn’t tell if she had heard me. It didn’t matter. She knew well enough.
“TRAUMA TO THE HEAD, psychogenic amnesia. Return to the Zone of the Interior authorized. Honorable discharge due to medical reasons.”
I read the paper in the file the nurse had handed me. It was signed by the doctor who had talked to me after a bunch of other doctors had examined and prodded me all morning. The file held a bunch of other papers. Travel priority AA. Orders to report to Fort Dix, New Jersey, for separation.
Zone of the Interior. That was the States. Honorable Discharge. Separation. Home.
Words that I’d waited more than a year to hear. Beautiful-sounding words.
Separation.
I was fine physically. The last doctor was a psychiatrist. He thought I was OK, sort of, but didn’t like that amnesia episode one bit. It was grounds for a discharge, and that’s what he gave me. I was sure he expected thanks, but I couldn’t take it in. I left his office to wait for the paperwork. Then I stood outside the hospital tent, reading my orders over again. Home. Boston by way of Fort Dix. Travel priority AA. Not the highest, but not bad. I could get on an airplane bound for the States as soon as there was an empty seat or I could bump some poor schmo with a single A priority.
Nothing seemed real. I walked the mile to General Eisenhower’s villa, watching the trucks and jeeps roll past, everyone going somewhere in a hurry. Going to war. I was going in the opposite direction. Home. Zone of the Interior.
All of a sudden I was returning the guard’s salute and standing in front of Sue.
“Is the general in?”
“No, he flew to Algiers this morning. Anything I can do for you, Billy?”
“Sure. Can you call the airfield? See if there’s a seat for me?” I gave her the folder. “Do you have a paper and pen I can use?”
“Sure, Billy. There’s stationery on Marge’s desk. Is this for real?” She flipped through the folder and looked at me. Couldn’t blame her really; I did have some experience with forged orders.
“They’re real. Top secret, OK?”
“Mum’s the word.” She picked up her telephone. I sat at the other desk and found a fountain pen. I thought about what to say and the best way to say it. I wrote a long letter, long for me anyway, and then sealed it in an envelope. I scrawled a name on the outside and stuffed it in my back pocket. Sue hung up the phone.
“With these orders, you can get on a plane at 1400 hours. Are you leaving now? Without—”
“See ya, Sue. Thanks for everything.”
I hotfooted it over to our tent. Sciafani was sitting in the sun, reading an old
Life
magazine.
“Big Mike around?” I asked.
“He is at lunch and is coming after that to drive me to the POW camp. Nothing worked out last night?”
“Nothing, Enrico. Sorry. Listen, I need a favor. Will you drive me to the airfield?”
“Should I be driving a military vehicle? Here?”
“Hey, you’ve been in the army. Come on, you’ll be back in time for Big Mike to take you to the POW camp.”
“Well, it was in a different army, but what can they do to me?”
“Right, come on. There’s a two o’clock flight.” I enjoyed using civilian time, a lot more than was normal. Maybe it was like a connection, like Big Mike carrying around his shield.
Big Mike had drawn a jeep from the motor pool to take Sciafani south to the POW camp. We got in and drove down the busy road to the airfield.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Sciafani said, speaking loudly above the road noise.
“I didn’t get anything done.”
“I mean back in Sicily. It was remarkable, really.”
“Stubborn is more like it.”
We pulled up at the gate and I showed my orders. The sentry waved me on. I followed the markers to a waiting transport. A line of officers and civilians stood near it as GIs loaded gear into the rear. An MP held up his hand for us to halt.
“You on this flight, sir?”
“Got the orders right here.”
“Both of you?”
“No, just one.”
“OK, get your gear out, have your orders ready, and then get this vehicle out of here.” He blew his whistle at another vehicle and stalked off to tell the driver to get a move on.
“This is it, Enrico.” I stuck out my hand and we shook.
“Where are you going, Billy?”
“All depends. But you, my friend, are going to Boston. Massachusetts General.” I took my dog tags off and put them around Sciafani’s neck.
“What?”
“Don’t ask any questions. Stand in line, get on the plane, don’t talk to anyone.” I handed him the file and a wad of greenbacks that I guessed would buy a train ticket from New Jersey to Boston.
“But this is a discharge for you.”
“Bad timing. Busy right now. Get going before I change my mind.”
The MP blew his whistle again.
“Get a move on. One of you on board, one of you out of here! Sir!”
I liked polite cops.
“Are you certain?” Sciafani asked.
“God help me, I am. Here, one more thing. When you get to Boston, go to this address.” I handed him the envelope. “He’s an old friend of mine. Alphonse DeAngelo. He ’ll help you. I’d send you to my family, but I don’t want them to know that I could have come home.”
“If this is truly what you want, Billy, I will go.”
“Go.”
He grabbed his bag with the few belongings he had packed for the POW camp.
“Don’t get hit in the head again, Billy. Promise me that.”
“Odds are against it.”
Sciafani waved, a grin lighting up his face. He ran to the line, showing his orders to a bored PFC who hooked his thumb toward the open door of the transport without looking up from his clipboard. I smiled, wheeled the jeep around and floored it, certain I had done the right thing for Sciafani, and for myself.
But that didn’t mean I wanted to watch him fly away to the States. I didn’t want to think about what I had given up. As I heard the engines cough and turn, I kept my eyes on the road stretching ahead of me.
I drove fast, the wind whipping my face, bringing tears to my stinging eyes. This is who I am.