The Medium (39 page)
Authors: Noëlle Sickels
OCTOBER 1944
Rosie hadn't been posted back to Italy after her leave in May, but had been sent, grumbling, to an office in Washington, D.C. After the Allies landed in Normandy in June, overall strength in Italy had been gradually decreased, even though fighting was still going on in the northern Appenines, Americans on mules pushing Germans on mules towards the Po Valley, a crawling campaign of hard-hammered inches according to Rosie's Arnie. Rosie's letters to Helen from Washington were as full of news about him as about herself. Now, Rosie was coming to River Bend on a three-day pass. Helen sat in the bus station waiting for her.
Helen scanned the waiting room. A year ago, there would have been more soldiers. More young women, too, many with babies, on their way to the bases where their husbands were posted. All that had slowed down. There weren't as many people moving to get to jobs, either. Some defense plants had even taken steps to convert to nonmilitary production. Just today, Helen had seen a poster that showed a crying child and the caption, “Mother, when will you stay home again?” It'd been many months since she'd seen any posters encouraging women to work or praising women workers for doing a man-sized job.
Despite these subtle changes, the national optimism of the summer was waning. American casualties had so exceeded estimates that the Army, for the first time, was putting boys younger than nineteen into combat units and drafting men over
twenty-six. Some people were still hoping for peace in Europe by Christmas, but the Germans were showing no signs of surrender. In fact, they'd recently launched new rockets against England, the V-2s, which traveled so high and so fast, there was no way to warn of their approach and no defense against them. And Hitler was boasting that Germany was at work on even more formidable wonder weapons. American newspapers rumored that these weapons might employ atomic bombs and be capable of crossing the Atlantic.
twenty-six. Some people were still hoping for peace in Europe by Christmas, but the Germans were showing no signs of surrender. In fact, they'd recently launched new rockets against England, the V-2s, which traveled so high and so fast, there was no way to warn of their approach and no defense against them. And Hitler was boasting that Germany was at work on even more formidable wonder weapons. American newspapers rumored that these weapons might employ atomic bombs and be capable of crossing the Atlantic.
Just a few days ago, at Leyte Gulf in the Philippines, the largest naval battle in history had been fought, with the American navy victorious. Among the battleships had been several raised from the mud of Pearl Harbor. The Japanese navy was virtually destroyed, and the Japanese had so few planes left even before the battle that some of their aircraft carriers had entered the fray without a single plane aboard, acting only as decoys. But Leyte Gulf had seen the birth of a shocking new tactic, suicide pilots who flew planes loaded with explosives straight into the decks of ships. The pilots were called
kamikaze
, which meant “divine wind,” the radio said.
kamikaze
, which meant “divine wind,” the radio said.
It seemed the Japanese, like the Germans, were not likely to concede defeat easily. The more sober commentators were positing that the war was likely to stretch until 1946. The Allies' superior might would win, but doggedness on the other side would drag it painfully out.
Helen wondered where Billy would have been sent, what battleground she would have received letters from, which dangerous skies he would have risen into. She hadn't followed the course of his unit's deployment. Lloyd might know. He kept close track of war news, but in their weekly exchange of letters, the details of war were a rare topic.
When the bus from Washington pulled up, Helen went out to the curb. Rosie was the third passenger off. She was in uniform,
her hair pulled neatly into a tight bun below her cap, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. When she saw Helen, she dropped the bag on the sidewalk and gave her a hearty hug.
her hair pulled neatly into a tight bun below her cap, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. When she saw Helen, she dropped the bag on the sidewalk and gave her a hearty hug.
“I'm starving!” she declared.
“How about Millie's?”
“Sister, that's music to my ears.”
It was a bit of a hike from the bus station to the café, but Rosie was tired of sitting, and the day was lovely, cool yet sunny, with some of the trees along West Main beginning to turn color. In truth, they wouldn't have noticed if the walk had been twice as long, they were so glad to be together.
“Remember I told you I got small arms training right before my leave in May?” Rosie said after they'd caught up on family news.
“How could I forget? You were so excited.”
“Well, they took it back.”
“Took it back?”
“They're not training any more WACs to use pistols, and the War Department's not letting the ones who
were
trained carry them.”
were
trained carry them.”
“But you don't need a gun now.”
“Even if I was near the front lines, they wouldn't let me carry one. We're not even allowed to wear the badges that show we got the training.”
“Why?”
“That's a question you don't ask in the Army.”
Rosie shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other.
“My guess is everybody's still spooked about girls being soldiers,” she went on. “You know, like the smart alecks who say WAVES stands for Women Are Very Essential Sometimes. But a pilot on a strafing run doesn't turn the other way when he sees a skirt, and a bomb doesn't see anything at all. And just 'cause you're working in a cartography tent or a mail hut, or you're
some officer's driver doesn't mean you're safe.”
some officer's driver doesn't mean you're safe.”
“You're right to be angry,” Helen said.
Rosie shook her head slowly.
“I shouldn't kick,” she said, softening her tone. “I had my turn in a combat zone, like I wanted. The girls in the Navy and the Army Air Force and the Coast Guard and Marines have all been stuck stateside or in quiet spots like Hawaii and Alaska and the Caribbean. Anyway, me getting what I want isn't important.”
There was the trace of a frown on Rosie's brow, despite her moderating words.
“It's only not important for now,” Helen suggested.
Rosie flashed her friend a grin.
“I know,” she said.
When they reached Millie's, they chose a table near the wide front window, as they used to do in high school. Rosie ordered a hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy and a chocolate malt, Helen an egg salad sandwich and a Coke.
“How about you?” Rosie asked. “How's your secret war work going?”
Helen picked up her napkin and smoothed it on her lap.
“Uh-oh,” said Rosie. “Too hush-hush? I was just asking in a general wayâlike if it's interesting.”
“Actually, I've quit.”
“Quit! What happened? And don't give me that lookâI
know
something happened, because you're no quitter.”
know
something happened, because you're no quitter.”
“I'm not supposed to talk about it.”
Rosie shook out her napkin with a snap. She gave the impression that if there'd been a blameworthy neck handy, she would have used the napkin to strangle it. Helen smiled at this display of unquestioning loyalty.
“Okay, so it's a loose lips thing,” Rosie said, “but you can tell me how
you're
doing. Are you sorry? Glad to be out of it? Did
you just get fed up? The Army can do that to you. Don't I know it!”
you're
doing. Are you sorry? Glad to be out of it? Did
you just get fed up? The Army can do that to you. Don't I know it!”
“Oh, Rosie, I'm feeling lots of things, so many things I don't know where one ends and another starts, or what goes with what.”
“Well, look, your head's on your shoulders, and you know how to use it. You'll figure it out.”
The waitress came with their food and drinks, causing them to suspend conversation. After she'd left, they remained quiet a few moments, shifting utensils, using the salt and pepper, beginning to eat.
“It's more a matter of my heart figuring it out than my head,” Helen finally said, annoyed at the catch in her voice.
Rosie put down her knife and fork and looked straight into Helen's eyes.
“You're an ace in that department, too,” she replied warmly. Then she took a long swallow of her malt. “Also which: who says everything always has to be figured out all the time? Is there some new law I don't know about? Because if there is, a lot of us are gonna be in a lot of trouble.”
Helen laughed. How good it felt to be with Rosie. Her mind was like a new pair of scissors, clean and candid. Rosie was right. Life didn't have to be,
couldn't
be, tidy. Some mystery, even about oneself, was part of the package. Hadn't Helen said much the same thing to Major Levy?
couldn't
be, tidy. Some mystery, even about oneself, was part of the package. Hadn't Helen said much the same thing to Major Levy?
“What's the latest on Arnie?” Helen asked.
“Still in Italy. Mostly, he writes about what he wants to do when he finally gets homeâlittle things, like wear a silk shirt or eat a good steak. And he tells me about his buddies that I know.” Rosie paused. “He hardly ever mentions the fighting, but I've seen for myself what they're up against.”
“That must make it harder for you.”
Rosie shrugged unconvincingly.
“Arnie wouldn't want me to stew. Anyway, I swear the guy was born under a lucky star. Two years in combat, and all's he's gotten is athlete's foot, and a broken wrist from jumping out of a moving jeep.”
“Any other plans for home besides shirts and steaks?”
Rosie's freckled cheeks pinked up. She concentrated on poking her fork gingerly into a ball of bread stuffing as if it were an unknown object. Helen had never seen her blush before.
“Well?”
Rosie put down her fork and looked up from her plate.
“Well ⦠we do have an understanding, Arnie and me.”
“Which is ⦠?”
“Which is ⦠that when the war's over and he comes home ⦔
Rosie leaned forward over the table. Lowering her voice, she spoke rapidly, as if she feared someone might try to stop her.
“I keep thinking, Helen, that if I tell anyone, I'll jinx itâor, worse, jinx himâbut I'm busting with it, and I guess I can tell you. I'm waiting for him, Helen. I'm waiting for him, and when he gets back, we're gonna get married and have a nice little place somewhere, and babies evenâI can hardly believe it's me saying I want babies, but he does, so I do, tooâand we're gonna forget the explosions and the mud and the fires and all of it. Arnie's not gonna have to be afraid to go to sleep, or to wake up, because he'll be safe. We'll be safe.”
Rosie sat back, and Helen saw that her eyes were filling up with tears. Just then the waitress arrived to ask if they wanted dessert. Helen ordered two pieces of lemon meringue pie and two coffees.
“It won't get jinxed,” she said when the waitress had left. “It'll happen just like you said.”
Rosie looked hopefully at her. “Is that one of your ⦠you know ⦠one of your future-telling things?”
Helen shook her head. “I don't do that anymore.”
“Oh. Then you were just being nice.”
“Yes and no. I don't ⦠see things ⦠anymore, or get messages. But I feel in my gut that Arnie's luck is going to hold.”
Rosie nodded. “Yeah, I feel it, too, most days. Even on the days when the worrying won't let go, I never really believe I could lose him.”
“There, you see? We can't both be wrong.”
The pie and coffee arrived. Helen added cream to her coffee, stirred in a cube of sugar. Rosie watched her thoughtfully.
“Did you ever think Billy wouldn't make it?”
“No,” Helen said, smiling wanly. “But I was able to put off thinking about that because he wasn't in harm's way yet.”
“Do you mind my asking?”
“Not at all. People usually avoid mentioning him to meâI guess they think they're being considerateâbut it only plays up his absence. If that makes any sense.”
“Sure.”
“It's nice to hear his name every once in a while. It can make me sad, but it's nice anyway.”
The girls paid their check and left the café. They walked at a more leisurely pace than they had earlier.
“Helen,” Rosie said cautiously, “did you ever get to ⦠did you ever see Billy, like you wanted?”
“No, I never did.”
“Does that bother you like it used to?”
Helen shook her head. “He doesn't have to come buck me up.”
“So you're not fussing anymore that his not coming means he's mad at you or jealous or something?”
“I doubt any of that matters where he is. Besides, he knows what he meant to me. What he means.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It's something I used to feel in trance sometimes. I'd get a sort of flashânot specifically about Billy, but about everythingâthat everything and all of us are connected.
More
than connected. Nonstop. That it's all one pieceâyou, me, what we see around usâand that there's no past, no future. Not really. Everything that happens was already happening before we noticed it and keeps on happening even when it looks like it's over and gone. Even individual lives.”
More
than connected. Nonstop. That it's all one pieceâyou, me, what we see around usâand that there's no past, no future. Not really. Everything that happens was already happening before we noticed it and keeps on happening even when it looks like it's over and gone. Even individual lives.”
“Whew,” Rosie said, whistling. “You've lost me.”
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