Lovely War

by Julie Berry

  “I sure hope so.” Now, he thought. Now’s the time. “I asked to be taken off the list for Aix-les-Bains,” he told her.

  “Why would you do that?” Her quickening pulse already knew the answer.

  He gazed into her eyes, desperate to learn anything they might reveal. “I didn’t want to be so far from you.” Not after all you told me. Not after that kiss.

  Hope washed over her. It hadn’t only been kindness that night. Not just sympathy.

  Sounds and voices from outside the hut burst my little bubble and reminded them that people would soon return from the concert to the Y hut.

  “I guess I’d better go,” said Aubrey.

  “No,” Colette said quickly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Good or bad? “Come outside, then?”

  They put on their coats and went outside, while the way was still clear, and found a spot behind a shed where they could talk just a little more before the cold drove them back indoors.

  The sky stretched above them, riddled with stars. Ocean breezes blew more stars ashore. It was so cold that the only sensible thing was to stand close. She stared at Aubrey’s collar and tie.

  “What was it you wanted to tell me?” he said gently.

  “I want to thank you,” she said, “for the other night. For listening.”

  His brown eyes studied hers. “There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said. “I wanted to.”

  Her glance darted away. She’s nervous, Aubrey realized. He took her gloved hands in his.

  “You are kind,” she told him. “You were so good to listen, and to care. I—” She hesitated. “I didn’t plan to burden you with all of that. It’s too much.”

  “Much too much,” he replied, “for one person to bear all alone.”

  She didn’t trust herself to answer that. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you.”

  Was that what this was? A polite thank-you note? Not if Aubrey could help it.

  Gently, he lifted her chin toward his. “They tell you all the time that you’re beautiful, don’t they?” Colette’s eyes grew wide. “All these Yanks?”

  Puffs of frozen breath escaped her lips. “They are not very original,” she conceded.

  He grinned. “Then I’m going to have to do better. Do they tell you that you sing like a goddess?”

  She shook her head. “Most have never heard me sing.”

  “That makes me the lucky one.”

  Colette had all but forgotten how to breathe. But she saw where Aubrey was going, and for his sake, felt she ought to warn him.

  “You see a girl who sings,” she told him. “You like my voice. You might not, always. You don’t hear how I wake up screaming. How I see them all in my dreams. By day I hold it together. At night. I fall apart.”

  It took all he had not to pull her close and hold her tight. “I wish, when it happens, I could be there to comfort you.”

  He realized what he’d just said. I wish I could be there with you in the middle of the night. When and where you sleep.

  Good one, Aubrey, his mother’s voice said.

  Love you too, Ma.

  He tried again. “I wish I could be the one to help. If I can.”

  The sweetness of it was too much. That purity. That hopeful innocence, to think taking on a raging mess like her would be worth it. To tantalize her into building a dream of somebody beautiful and wonderful, somebody like him, only to see the dream die when the ugly truth of grief and trauma took off its clothes and stood naked before him.

  “There is no helping this,” she told him. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “Mademoiselle Fournier,” he said, “you’ve got me confused. First you won’t let go of my hand, and now you’re telling me to run away.”

  Aubrey tried to think. She was leaving tomorrow. Would she return? Would he be here when she did? No knowing. There was only now, and he was determined to make the most of it.

  “I don’t want you to let go of my hand,” he told her. “I don’t want you to push me away.”

  Her eyes fell shut. When she spoke, it was in a whisper. “I don’t want to push you away.”

  “Colette,” he told her. “I can love Stéphane. I can honor his memory. I can love your parents, and your brother, your uncles, your cousin. I can love them beside you, and I will, if you let me.”

  He wished he could say it now with music instead of words. The best words he could find just then didn’t feel like much.

  “Please,” he told her. “Be with me. Be you, with me. All of you.”

  With a quiet breath, she let her fear float away upon the night, and leaned against his chest. He pulled her close and pressed his cheek against hers. Shoot. He should’ve shaved.

  “When I’m with you,” she told him, “it doesn’t hurt as much.”

  He kissed her hair. “Then here is where I plan to stay.”

  More voices, and louder ones, clanged most unwelcomely upon them.

  “Come on,” he said at last, “we’d better get you indoors.”

  They made their way as far as they dared toward the door. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she told him.

  He grinned. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

  She kissed him.

  Not a thank-you kiss. A kiss that said, There’s more where that came from.

  APOLLO

  Trouble with Joey—February 11, 1918

  AUBREY HAD WALKED in the shadows for an hour before deciding it was safe to sneak into his barracks. If his feet were cold, his brain didn’t notice. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He, Aubrey Edwards, the King of Ragtime, the Emperor of Jazz, was the luckiest dog in the world. The heavenly Colette Fournier had kissed him tonight! Kissed him like she meant it.

  When the lights in the barrack windows had been out for a while, Aubrey used the latrine, then crept to his quarters. Quiet as a cat, he jimmied the flimsy lock and let himself in. He relocked the door, untied his boots, and tiptoed to his bunk. No point taking off his coat, so he crawled under the blanket.

  The bed above him creaked. Joey Rice hung his head down over the edge.

  “You got a death wish, Edwards? Is that what you’ve got?”

  “Shh!”

  “You’re gonna get your butt kicked all the way back to Harlem, if they don’t send you home in a box.”

  “G’night, Joey.”

  “Don’t think they’re not onto you. The officers know.”

  Aubrey sat up at that. “Why, were you wagging your tongue about it?”

  “That’s right. Blame me.”

  The sounds of other soldiers stirring in their sleep made them pause.

  “You think you’re so smart,” Joey went on, when it seemed safe. “These other boys ain’t blind and dumb, jackass. They know you’re stepping out. I sure hope you’re getting something good out of it, for the price it’s gonna cost you.”

  “Good night, Joey. And you watch your mouth.”

  “Defending his lady’s honor. Ain’t that sweet.”

  “Mind your business,” Aubrey told him.

  “You make it my business, every time you’re stupid, which is all the time.”

  Aubrey snuggled down under his blanket. Maybe if he ever thawed out, he could get some sleep. If sleep was even possible on a night like tonight.

  “Now you got me wide-awake,” complained Joey. “I gotta take a leak or I’ll never sleep.” He swung himself off the top bunk, stuffed his feet into his boots, and made his way to the door.

  “Don’t fall in,” Aubrey said.

  Warmth had begun, and his eyes closed. He couldn’t possibly sleep, but maybe, maybe he could remember Colette, and compose a perfect dream.

  HADES

  Vertigo—February 11, 191
8

  AUBREY WOKE. It was still dark. Had he slept through a whole day? No, it was still night.

  He dangled in time. The sounds of sleeping soldiers all around him pulled him back to earth like a tether, while the horrid vertigo of wrenching from dreaming to consciousness made his head spin.

  He’d heard something. It must have been a dream.

  No, he’d heard something. And now he didn’t hear anything. Something was wrong.

  He lay there, waiting for up and down to stabilize.

  What was missing?

  He leaned an arm over the edge of his bunk and groped at the floor. There were his boots. He sat up, almost whacking his head on Joey’s bunk.

  Joey.

  He reached upward and poked at the coils underneath Joey’s bunk. The mattress bounced easily. Joey wasn’t in his bed.

  His boots weren’t on the floor.

  Aubrey rubbed his eyes and climbed out from the under the blankets. Must be he’d only been asleep a couple of minutes, and Joey was still using the latrine. Sleep was misleading. A little could feel like a lot, and a lot could feel like a little.

  Aubrey pushed his feet back into his boots and edged toward the door. His brain seemed to slosh in his skull. The night had the crawling-through-molasses unreality of a hallucination.

  He was outside. All about him was darkness and trodden snow. The stars overhead felt sterile now. He followed his nose toward the latrine.

  What little light there was painted the ground a deep shade of blue. The outhouse rose up before him like a foul-smelling mountain.

  “Joey?” he called softly. “Joey, man, where are you?”

  But there was no sound except the distant bark of a village dog.

  He knocked on the door. No one answered. He pulled the door open.

  A figure came out. Fell out. Toppled into Aubrey’s arms.

  His foot slipped out from beneath him, and he landed in the snow with the other man on top of him. Warm, and still, and dripping something wet onto Aubrey’s cheek.

  “Joey?” Aubrey said. “Joey?”

  HADES

  Torchlight—February 11, 1918

  AUBREY PELTED THROUGH the snow. His arms windmilled. His feet slipped. He reached the door to Lieutenant Europe’s quarters and pounded.

  A voice inside muttered. Let Jim curse him to the skies, but he had to come, now.

  The door opened. An electric torch blasted his face.

  “Aubrey?” Jim Europe’s voice was thick with sleep. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You gotta come, Jim,” Aubrey said. “It’s Joey.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Lieutenant Europe fumbled in the pocket of his robe for his spectacles. “Shouldn’t you call Captain Fish?”

  Aubrey seized Europe’s wrist. “You gotta come, Jim,” he begged. “Please!”

  “Is Joey hurt?” Europe demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “Shh!”

  Europe grabbed his coat. “C’mon. Show me.”

  Lieutenant Europe’s torchlight swung wildly across the ice as they ran. Until it found Joey lying in the snow.

  “Oh no.”

  Europe’s light searched Joey from head to toe. He’d been—maybe—please, God—sick? Drunk? A little roughed up?

  But that was blood on the snow.

  His head. His face. His bloated, blackened face.

  Aubrey fell to his knees. His body jackknifed, and he vomited.

  Europe knelt beside Joey. He felt his wrist and then his neck.

  “Bastards strangled him.” His voice was deep with grief. “Beat his face in with their rifles. You almost wouldn’t know it’s him.”

  Hope.

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Aubrey said. “Maybe it’s somebody else!”

  “Aubrey. Don’t do this.”

  False hope.

  “This is my fault,” Aubrey told the night. “This is all my fault.”

  “We’ve got to get him out of here,” Europe said. “Clean this up. Leave no trace.”

  “My fault,” Aubrey repeated. “I’m the one who did it.”

  Jim Europe shone his torch directly at Aubrey’s face. He squinted.

  “Are you telling me, son, that you strangled Joey, then clubbed him with your rifle butt?”

  Joey. Joey. Knucklehead Joe.

  “Are you?”

  Aubrey had already forgotten the question.

  “If I hadn’t gone out, Joey wouldn’t have . . . It was me they were following. . . .”

  The crack of a large leather hand across his cheek jolted him awake.

  “Pull yourself together, soldier,” Europe barked. “That’s an order.”

  Europe did what he could for Joey. Wiped the blood off his face. Gently closed his gaping lower lip to hide the horribly broken jaw.

  “‘Death, where is thy sting?’” Bitter irony laced itself through Jim Europe’s recitation. “‘Grave, where is thy victory?’ Right here. That’s where.”

  He waved his torch at Aubrey. “Grab his feet. We’ll get him back to my quarters.” Aubrey nodded dumbly. They’d just been talking. Only just. Messing around like usual. To carry his feet and touch that hardening, chilling thing that used to be Joey Rice? How?

  “Look, kid, we’re in danger too, all right? Grab his feet and let’s get outta here.”

  Aubrey picked up Joey’s ankles and pinned them under his elbows. Lieutenant Europe hefted up the upper body. They staggered back to Europe’s quarters. Joey Rice’s body drooped like wet laundry.

  Lieutenant Europe switched on the light. Fumbling with the weight, he managed to spread a towel over his bed before they laid Joey down upon it.

  Aubrey backed away from the bed. “Should I get a doctor, Jim?”

  Europe’s always-intense gaze searched Aubrey’s face. “It’s a bit late for that now.”

  “But what if we’re wrong about that?” Aubrey panted. “What if there’s something we don’t see, and they can fix him up?”

  Europe pulled up a stool from a writing desk in one corner.

  “Sit down, son,” he ordered. “Put your head between your knees.”

  Aubrey darted for the door. “I can’t do that; I gotta get help.”

  Europe blocked Aubrey’s exit like a cinder-block wall. “Sit down.” He took a flask and poured him an inch of something. “Drink this.” He handed him the glass.

  Aubrey stared into the swirling resin-colored liquid. “I don’t really drink,” he mumbled. “Not much of one for—”

  “Drink it.”

  It burned and stung his already wounded throat.

  Europe found a sheet and draped it over Joey. Then he sat at the foot of the bed.

  “Now,” he said slowly, “tell me exactly what you mean when you say this is all your fault, and you’re the one who did it.”

  Aubrey didn’t know it, but he was beginning to shake.

  Lieutenant Europe, with some effort, pulled a blanket out from under Joey’s body. He wrapped it around Aubrey. He fished a chocolate bar from his desk and thrust it at him. “Eat this.”

  When Aubrey finally became still, Europe tried again.

  “Aubrey,” he said gently. “I’ve known you for a long time, all right? You can trust me. I need you to tell me what happened. Unless you yourself choked and clubbed my cornet player to death, you’ve got nothing to fear from me. Tell me everything. All right?”

  The sheet, covering Joey’s feet. Just as if he were asleep in bed.

  He owed it to Joey to tell the truth. No matter what they did to him. They could do the worst, and it’d be nothing he didn’t deserve.

  “I was out after lights-out,” Aubrey whispered. “Seeing a girl.”

  Europe kept quiet.

  “I’ve gone there before,” he
said. “Once, a white soldier stopped me. A marine, I think. Pulled a gun. Threatened to teach me a lesson about laying my hands on white women.”

  Whatever Europe thought of this, Aubrey was not to know.

  “I got the guy’s gun away from him,” Aubrey said. “And I didn’t stop going out to see my girl. Joey always warned me that I shouldn’t. Sometimes he covered for me.”

  “You didn’t think your attacker would come back?”

  Aubrey looked up. “He was a coward. Figured I’d shown him we weren’t gonna put up with that. Whatever he was used to down South.”

  Europe’s voice was low. “Go on.”

  “I was out tonight, with my girl,” Aubrey said. “I think they followed me home. Must’ve been a bunch of them. I stopped to use the latrine, then went to my barrack. When I came in, Joey went out to use the latrine. See, I’d woken him up.”

  “And that’s where you found him?”

  Aubrey nodded. “I must’ve fallen asleep,” he said. “But I woke up all of a sudden. Something wasn’t right. When I realized Joey wasn’t in his bed, I went looking for him.”

  Jim Europe allowed his head to droop. “Poor kid,” he murmured. “Poor kid.”

  Aubrey clutched the blanket. Grief hit him like a sledgehammer, and he began to cry. Lieutenant Europe handed him a clean handkerchief. The kindness only made Aubrey cry harder.

  “It’s my fault,” he said again. “I’m the one who should’ve got it.”

  “Listen up, Aubrey Edwards,” Europe said, “and listen good.”

  Aubrey blinked. His nose was inches from Europe’s.

  “Going out at night was against the rules, and you ought to get in trouble for that.”

  Aubrey nodded. Consequences were coming. It was only fair.

  “Going out at night when you knew killers were hunting for you wasn’t your best idea.”

  Aubrey nodded. God, if only he hadn’t be so damnably stupid.

  “Some of you city boys have no idea what we who grew up down South understand.”

  He sounded just like Aubrey’s dad.