Hope in the Shadows of War

by Tom Reilly

  “Yeah, we got the new furnace yesterday, and Mom came home last night.”

  “Glad to hear it. How’s everything else?”

  Timothy told him about the meeting with Father Schmitt and sandbagging.

  “Yeah, life gets messy sometimes,” Hoffen said.

  “Some days are messier than others.”

  “You know, Tim, lots of things in life end messy.”

  “True.”

  “And some things never end.”

  “What do you mean, Hoffen?”

  “War is unfinished business; lots of loose ends,” Hoffen said.

  “Okaaay. Where’s this coming from?”

  “I asked you about your week. You told me things were fine at home, next you told me about meeting with a priest who is a former Army chaplain, and then sandbagging with a group of vets. Last Friday, you told me about being shot down and two of your crewmembers died. I saw your face when that customer last week called his son Bobby. And you walk around in an Army jacket. Do you see a pattern here, Tim? You never mentioned your girlfriend.”

  “And so?”

  “Tim, you’ve got unfinished business. You must realize you left the war, but it did not leave you. It traveled all the way home with you. You carry it around with you everywhere you go. Some men understand this. Others don’t want to think about it. It’s not going to leave. It’s part of your life experience. For the lucky ones, it finds a space, somewhere to fit in. Until then, it’s unfinished business, and that affects your life.”

  Timothy stood silently for a few moments. Hoffen didn’t rush him.

  “You sound like you know this firsthand,” Timothy said.

  “Yes, I was a medical assistant in World War I. My job was to help put people back together. I learned something valuable from that experience.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re all broken in some fashion—that’s the nature of the human condition. But that’s not the issue. What counts is how we put ourselves back together,” Hoffen said.

  “That’s pretty deep, but I get it.”

  “I’d like to take credit for that profundity, but I’m not the first to see it. I learned it from a friend I met in Italy, Ernie. I was attached to a field hospital in Milan. Ernie was one of my patients. We hit it off immediately, both Americans. He was wounded on a Good Samaritan mission to the front. He took shrapnel to the leg, a lot of it. It nearly took off his leg.”

  “I know what that feels like. What happened to him?” Timothy said.

  “I left before he recovered. I wondered that myself. I was reassigned to the front in France.”

  “That’s the way it is, isn’t it?” Timothy spoke from experience.

  “Yes, unfinished. After the war, I stayed in France for a while. In the summer of ’21, I was walking down the Champs-Elysees and heard someone call my name. Strange hearing that in a foreign country. I looked over to the small café and saw Ernie sipping a glass of wine. We finished that bottle and another. Imagine that, all the years that passed, and I found him in Paris.”

  “What was he doing there?” Timothy asked.

  “He was working for a newspaper. I left him sitting there that day and never saw him again. Just one of life’s loose ends, unfinished business. There’s a lot of that in life.”

  “That’s how I feel. When I came home, I left friends behind. I left one in particular on the battlefield. For the first three months I was home, I sat in front of the television watching Walter Cronkite deliver the latest war news. I went through a lot of beer in those months. I kept thinking about those we left behind and feeling guilty I was home and they were still there. You can’t leave those guys that quickly when you’ve gone through a lot together,” Timothy said. “You’re too invested in each other.”

  “Good point. Feel sad—that’s okay. Be remorseful over the loss, but don’t feel guilty because you made it home. Guilt is one of the most useless emotions. Once it takes root, it spreads like weeds into other areas of your life. When a person has seen what you’ve seen, feeling sad at times is about one of the most human things you can do for yourself. What would it say about you if you didn’t feel sad about those experiences?”

  “That’s a pretty good point. Guilt and loose ends pretty much describe where I’m at.”

  “See? You brought home unfinished business. Once you begin finishing what you’re supposed to finish, you’ll feel better. I know,” Hoffen said.

  “What do you mean what I am supposed to finish?”

  “You have something you must do in this world. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you must stay true to your dreams. They are the path to your destiny.”

  “You’re still patching people together, aren’t you?” Timothy said.

  Hoffen smiled. “We all do something. Remember, Tim, it’s as easy to listen to the voices of hope as it is to stare into the darkness of the abyss. You’ve got a choice.”

  “Speaking of darkness, I’ve got to go inside and talk to Dez. He wants an answer on his offer. I keep trying to dodge it. I’ll tell him I’ve got to wait to talk with Father Schmitt again. Dez should be okay with that,” Timothy said.

  “You know how to listen to Dez? Listen with your ears, not your heart. Don’t let him in. Hear him, don’t believe him,” Hoffen said.

  “Good advice. Thanks. Hey, do you want to come to dinner on Saturday after work? You can meet my mom and Cheryl.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Hoffen said.

  “Great, we’ll go straight to my house after work.”

  “Perfect,” Hoffen said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHERYL INVITED TIMOTHY over for dinner on Thursday evening to show off her culinary talents. Her parents went to Chicago to visit her younger sister, so they had the house to themselves, a luxury they rarely enjoyed. Timothy loved how she made life simple. He arrived at her house.

  They smiled, kissed, and hugged in the doorway.

  “I’m excited. It’s not every day I get to show off my domestic talents,” Cheryl said.

  “Me too. Can’t wait,” Timothy said. “So, your parents are in Chicago to visit your sister?”

  “Yeah, but I think Mom wanted an excuse to go Christmas shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

  “So we’re all alone?” he said.

  “Yes, Mister O’Rourke, and we’re going to enjoy this wonderful dinner I prepared.” Cheryl called him Mister when she wanted to change the tone of a conversation.

  “Wow, it smells good in here. What’s for chow?”

  “Fried chicken. My own recipe. Peas, carrots, and rolls. I don’t know how the rolls will turn out. I followed your mom’s recipe, hoping I got it right. I’m sure I added the right amount of love.” Cheryl smiled.

  “I’m sure they will be fine,” Timothy said. “How about a beer?” He held up a bag with the beer.

  “The red-white-and-blue cans?” Cheryl said.

  “Yep, PBR,” he said.

  “You’re predictable if anything.”

  “I told you. I got a taste for this stuff in Nam. We used to drink this stuff warm when it came in on pallets.”

  “Well, I don’t like my beer warm, so put it in the refrigerator,” she said.

  Cheryl walked to the dining room, and Timothy went to the kitchen. She thought, That conversation is always just below the surface. He never passes on an opportunity to say something. It’s trying to work its way out. He’s struggling to get this into words.

  “Come on in here after you put that beer away,” she said.

  They talked while sitting at a perfectly set dining room table. China. Crystal goblets. The right amount of silverware in the right places. Cloth napkins.

  “Is this your stuff?” Timothy said.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful. Looks expensive,” he said.

  “Thanks. I reached deep into my hope chest and pulled it out.” The moment she said this Cheryl regretted it. Timothy didn’t respond. She didn’t want to appe
ar to be pressuring him. She knew he already had enough on his mind. She shifted topics quickly.

  “So, I bet Mom is thrilled with the new furnace,” she said.

  “Oh yeah. She loves the heat but is worried about how I paid for it. She feels guilty that I emptied my savings account.”

  “I can understand that,” Cheryl said. “When do you see Father Schmitt again?”

  “I’m going by his office tomorrow to see if he was able to do anything for me.”

  “That’s good news. TA positions go mostly to grad students,” she said.

  “They do, but he said he would look into it. I don’t know if there’s anything there, but I know he’s a man of his word. If it’s there, he’ll find it.”

  Cheryl didn’t want to discourage Timothy, but she knew TA positions did not go to undergrads. “Tim, I worry about you. You work hard to keep everything together. I worry about you breaking.”

  “I work as hard as I need to. Besides, as Hoffen says, we’re all broken in some way. It’s how we put ourselves together that matters,” he said.

  “Good advice. Even though I haven’t met him, I think I like that man,” she said.

  “Then you can meet him Saturday night at dinner. I asked him to join us. Mom said she would make a pot roast.”

  “I would like that.” She got up from the table. “I’m going to check on things.”

  Cheryl left Timothy sitting at the table, picking at the beer can. He downed the Pabst and went for another. They returned to the table with the food and sat in silence until it became awkward. Cheryl used silence in her job and at times found it helpful to draw out other people.

  “Man, this is great chicken,” said Timothy.

  “Thank you, Mister O’Rourke. I’m pleased it meets your palette’s approval.”

  Timothy pushed the food around on his plate. Cheryl sensed that Timothy was struggling with the small talk.

  “You know what’s really bugging me? You could do a lot better than me,” he said.

  “What? What do you mean better than you?”

  “Look at me. Not just broke—in debt. I’m in a hole, and I keep digging. You deserve more than this.”

  “More than what?” she said.

  “Look, I’m damaged goods. Why waste your time waiting for me to get out of this hole?”

  “First, you’re not damaged goods. Second, I’m not wasting my time. This is how relationships work. You go through stuff together. And as far as your debt goes, who cares? I don’t care about the money.”

  “It’s easy to not care about the money when you have some,” Timothy said.

  “I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” Cheryl said. “I didn’t set out to find a rich man. I set out to find a good man, and you’re a good man.”

  “It’s just when we talk about the future, I have nothing to offer you. People need more than hope in their hope chests,” Timothy said.

  His sarcasm about the hope chest did not escape Cheryl, but she let it slide.

  “Are you talking about material things?” she said.

  “Yes, and debt. How can I take care of you when I can’t even take care of myself?”

  “So there it is. The male ego?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So you don’t have to do this all by yourself. This is what couples do. They are there for each other. I am here for you. Besides, I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t want your money,” he said.

  “I’m not offering you money. I’m talking emotional support. We’ll figure out the other stuff. Timothy, you have this thing about carrying the world’s problems on your shoulders. They’re not that big, and it’s not your job. Others have to help, too.”

  “I didn’t mean to be flip,” he said.

  “I know. Look, you’re loyal, generous to a fault, and loving. You’re a good person. That’s the man I love.”

  “Even if I’m broke?”

  “Even when you’re broken,” Cheryl said.

  They sat quietly for a few moments.

  “I’m defensive tonight. Hoffen said something that is chewing on me. He talked about unfinished business. It describes my life perfectly. Too many loose ends. No security. No stability. When will I ever feel safe again?”

  “Safe?” Cheryl zeroed in on this word.

  “Stable—you know, financially,” Timothy said.

  “Things are a little unsteady in your life right now. It’s natural for you to react this way. You want to tie up your loose ends or, in Hoffen’s words, finish your business,” she said.

  Timothy rubbed his leg.

  “Does it hurt tonight?” Cheryl asked.

  “Yeah, a bit. I think sandbagging got to it, but I couldn’t let a bunch of grunts see it.”

  “Guy thing?”

  “Yes, a guy thing.”

  “Timothy, look at me. I want you. I want the war hero, the scared little boy, and the in-debt you. All of you. And yes, the broken you.”

  “But you could do much better.”

  “Stop saying that. It’s insulting to me. Settling with you is not settling in life. Look at me. I love you, warts and all. Can you say the same about me?”

  “Yes, of course. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You won’t, unless you give up. Hang on a minute, I have something for you.”

  Cheryl left the room and returned with a coffee mug.

  “I found this in a gift shop the other day and thought of you. What do you think of the inscription?”

  Timothy read aloud the inscription on the mug. “Don’t die wondering!” He smiled. “You know, it could read Don’t die wandering.”

  “Yes, that too. Timothy, the only time I feel disappointed is when you stare so deeply into the darkness that you cannot see light.”

  “Boy, you sound like Hoffen.”

  “I told you. I like him already.”

  “Like I said, you’ll get a chance to meet him Saturday.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “So, how long are your parents going to be gone?”

  They both smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  TIMOTHY ARRIVED AT Father Schmitt’s office at about two on Friday, after his final class of the day. He had a small window of time before he needed to be at the hospital for his evening shift. No sense being late and giving the old penguin a reason to fire me.

  Waiting rooms had the broadest selection of yesterday’s magazines. Old news. Timothy rummaged through the stack and one cover grabbed his attention—a February 1973 Time issue. The cover pictured a family holding a sign that said, Welcome home Daddy! The headline below the Time emblem read, The Prisoners Return. Timothy began reading the cover story about the repatriation of POWs from North Vietnam. His thoughts drifted to Bobby.

  What’s happened to him? Where is he? Dead or alive? Captured? Will he come home? What has his family heard? These questions fired in his mind faster than a minigun burst.

  A growing restlessness made him want to get up and run out of the office. He’d learned about anxiety and panic attacks in psychology class and recognized the symptoms. In real life, anxiety made his bones itch. He experienced distress in small, confined spaces. The walls closed in. He developed tunnel vision. He wanted to run, break loose, and scream.

  “Father will see you now,” the secretary said.

  Her words startled him back into the moment. Thank God. I was ready to crawl out of my skin.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Ford.”

  “Timothy, come on in and please sit,” Father Schmitt said.

  “Thanks for seeing me again, Father.”

  “Happy to do it, but I wish I had better news.”

  Timothy saw the military background in this priest. Though a man of God, Father Schmitt had the directness of a military officer.

  “Are you still sore from sandbagging?”

  “Not really, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel it
on Wednesday.” Come on, Father, enough foreplay. Let’s get to the point. Are you going to help me or not?

  “Like I said, I wish I had something positive to tell you,” Father Schmitt said. “As I suspected, the TA positions are already filled for next semester except for the one in the Political Science Department. And they—”

  “I know. They’re not looking for someone with my background,” Timothy said, irritated. Let’s add insult to injury.

  “I was going to say they want a political science major, preferably a grad student,” Father Schmitt said.

  “Okay.” He was embarrassed by his defensiveness.

  “As far as scholarship money, your grades aren’t there yet. If you get a 4.0 this semester and next, there may be something we can do,” the priest said.

  “That’s all?” Timothy said sarcastically. “At this point, Father, that’s a pipe dream.”

  Father Schmitt ignored the comment. “The other thing—because of your GI Bill benefits, I can’t get you any hardship money because the awards committee feels you receive enough to cover tuition. They don’t take into account other living expenses.”

  Timothy sighed and looked to the ground.

  “Also, on a whim, I talked to Colonel Flagler about ROTC help. He said because of—”

  “My leg?” Timothy said.

  “Er, yes,” Father Schmitt said.

  “That’s okay, Father, I get it. Damaged goods.”

  “Timothy, look. A lot of the guys who came back have similar financial challenges, and for the married ones, it’s worse. You can’t lose hope. That’s what will keep you going.”

  “Father, it’s not losing hope that’s the issue. It’s the obstacles I deal with.”

  “Tim, I feel more like a chaplain now than a dean. I’ll tell you what I tell all the other vets who come through here. What you’re dealing with now is nothing compared to what you’ve been through. You’re stronger than your problems. You have stared into darker places than this and prevailed.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, Father, but I don’t feel stronger at this moment. I’ve got to go. Work and studies. Two papers to write and exams coming up. I’ll be fine, Father. I’ll figure out something.”