As we pulled onto our circular drive and our home became visible, our good friend Tony let out a long whistle. “Great digs,” he uttered. He did help us carry our luggage inside. I think he wanted to see how the better half lived. We didn’t really feel special but it was nice that he approved. I tipped him accordingly.
I was probably being delusional, but I half expected to see the stranger from outside the church in Tokyo waiting for us at our front door. Surprisingly there was no one at all there to greet us. I remember wondering if we would see him at all on our side of the water. It might be one of those mysteries that would go forever unsolved. That would be fine if we never saw him again, because I was convinced he was up to no good. It was obvious at the time he was interested in us. So why didn’t he come over and introduce himself? He was scoping us out for some dastardly deed that we wouldn’t like. Oops, there went my imagination again. Maybe he had built the church, and he was wondering why it was still standing, since he had used substandard products. Or he was the pastor’s mysterious lover, checking on his paramour. At any rate the guy was creepy, and he’d better stay on his side of the world.
Chapter Five
As the destroyer U.S.S. Sims steamed toward its date with history in the Battle of the Coral Sea, Jeb Lee remained topside, swabbing the deck and chipping paint before sanding and adding primer, then the new gray that would identify the ship as property of the U.S. Navy.
From his vantage point, without having to look through portholes, he would catch an occasional glimpse of the carrier of the task force the Yorktown and some of the smaller ships. Then they would disappear as the bow of his ship plowed through a huge wave, only to reappear on the other side.
Life at sea wasn’t so bad, just a little monotonous. There would be the daily drills preparing them for the inevitable battle, and of course the chores to keep their traveling hotel shipshape and, if not the pride of the Navy, then at least in the top ten.
Jeb had it better than his friend Charlie though. The Indian was buried,no that’s not a good word, he was stuck deep in the ship’s interior, either in the engine room or his quarters, which were almost as far down in the bowels of the ship. He seldom saw the light of day or the moon of night. Jeb wondered if the big man would lose his tan. It would have been better had Charlie not chosen to become an engineman. In the beginning Jeb thought they would be roommates, if that’s what you call it when thirty of so sailors are packed into an iron cubicle three deep. He himself had never worked on engines in his life, or almost anything else for that matter. There wasn’t much call for a cowboy in the Navy. He was yet to see a horse aboard ship, and you couldn’t call swabbies buckaroos.
He had been pigeonholed right away as a boatswain’s mate striker. He had to learn various knots and what they were used for, along with being the lowest of the low. He and Charlie had been the last to join the ship in San Diego, shortly before it was deployed to the South Pacific. No one else from his class in boot camp was billeted aboard that ship. Some were lucky enough to be sent to Navy schools where, when they graduated, they would not only gain a higher rate, they would possibly get shore duty, and maybe the war would be over before they ever had a deck under their feet. Jeb was promoted too, to seaman, the next lowest rating to recruit. He wore three white stripes on his blues sleeve showing the world he was no longer the lowest of the low, but still close.
He’d had no time to make friends aboard ship, at first because he had hung over the rail trying to rid himself of the bile from his nauseous stomach, and later, as he found that the petty officers aboard had no desire to be his buddies, even though he was older than most. At least there wasn’t much time to think about things like that because, from the time he rose from his bunk just below the asbestos-covered water pipes extending from the overhead, before the sun rose, until he dragged himself back to the suddenly welcome cot at night, he was busy.
Each day became a little easier than the preceding one as he became used to a routine. He ate chow by himself, as Charlie had a different schedule for entering the small mess hall. There was no way all the enlisted could eat at the same time.
Until they reached their destination, which no one other than the Captain and Exec knew, there was no encounter with the enemy. At times the sea almost calmed as they plowed through the doldrums in the lower latitudes heading toward the Equator.
---
In his bunk, on some nights when falling asleep seemed impossible, even though he was always bone weary, he thought of how he got there.
It had been a long and fateful journey. He’d had a normal childhood in Richmond, Virginia, up to a point. His father was a successful banker, and his mother a doting, stay at home. They seemed to have everything. It all changed in one day, a day the teenager named Philip Atchison the third would never forget, nor would others, but for a different reason. The date was October twenty-ninth, 1929.
He’d gone to his father’s bank that day, though now he couldn’t remember why. He had arrived downtown, and burst through the unlocked door of the bank just about noon, at the precise time a businessman named John Lambright was aiming a pistol at his father, Phillip Atchison the second. Much of the rest was a blur, but in the aftermath he knew his father lay dead, as did said John Lambright, ironically a victim of his own weapon.
Phillip had run out the back door of the bank, to his girlfriend’s house. He told her the story of what had happened, as he remembered. In her comforting arms they had made love for the first time, as he cried throughout.
When he left the girl’s home, the pistol with two empty chambers was held firmly in his waistband.
Over the next few years he often wondered what happened to the girl, Rachel Embree. He had intended to write, and even come back some day, but of course that dream died along with John Lambright, and the two bums from the train.
He and Charlie stopped at Nacogdoches, Texas for a while, he as a cowboy, and his new friend as a laborer in the oil fields. They hooked up again traveling to Hollywood, California to become stuntmen. After that dream turned out to be less than advertised, still together they ended up in Reno, Nevada, in the Rodeo.
When the war broke out Charlie’s patriotism got the better of him, and Jeb just wanted to get away from the life he had, having become disenchanted with his arranged marriage.
---
“GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS! ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS.”
Jeb had been laying in his bunk not really asleep but on the edge when the call to arms sounded over the ship’s loud speaker, on the morning of May seventh, 1942. He quickly rose, donned his dungarees, and made his way up to the main deck. From there he traveled along the port rail to a forward gangway, where he descended to the second deck and the ammo room for the forecastle gun emplacement. It would be his job to feed the gunner’s mates ammunition. The room was completely enclosed and he would not be able to see any of the battle that surely raged above. He couldn’t know if the danger was coming from another ship or above from enemy warplanes.
In the warm stagnant air of the room, many of the men, including Jeb, removed there dungaree shirts and white undershirts, to cool themselves down. It was strenuous work, and they had to keep up.
Not long after the call to action, the ship shuddered, and the deck beneath them tilted downward toward the bow. They had heard a loud explosion aft but they had no idea what had occurred. With the unnatural movement of the footing under them however, it became apparent, at least to the lead petty officer in the cubicle, that they were in grave danger should they remain at their posts. He yelled, “get topside, quick!”
Jeb, upon reaching the main deck, was confronted with a horrific sight. A thick layer of smoke seemed to swirl around the ship, restricting visibility to only a few yards. The smell of gunpowder was in the air. Sailors, most of them hatless, were running in every direction. He hadn’t heard the call to abandon ship, but a few men were going over into the sea. The trouble was, the ship was listing to the s
ide he was on, threatening to engulf anyone in the water.
He suddenly thought about Charlie, and he began moving toward the rear of the ship. A sailor he recognized as one of the Boatswain’s mate petty officers grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to go over the side Lee. Didn’t you hear the Abandon Ship announcement?” Not waiting for an answer he continued, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Jeb answered, “I’ve got to help my friend. He’s in the engine room,” as he pulled away from the other sailor. He didn’t even notice the deck was now slanting down in the direction he was going, allowing him to move faster.
He realized the ship had split apart, just as another explosion catapulted him into a sea churning with blood, and rendered him unconscious.
Charlie Redbird was hard at work deep within the ship when he heard the call to general quarters. His battle station was in the engine room.
At some point he had a premonition something was wrong. He thought of Jeb and, knowing his friend might need him, he made his way up on deck just as an enemy bomb struck amidships and all hell broke loose.
Some sailors were thrown into the water while others jumped, as the death of their ship became clear to them.
ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIP! The call to action came as Charlie made his way toward the stern, which had already broken away from the bow of the ship. There was no way he could get to the forecastle gun emplacement where his friend was stationed.
He made sure his life jacket was secure and then he jumped into the water.
A lifeboat was nearby with maybe five sailors aboard. Two of them helped pull him to safety. They all watched as more explosions rocked the ship and it slowly sank into the depths of the Coral Sea, which was anything but coral.
They searched around the area for the next hour for other possible survivors. They were able to save four others, but visibility was almost nil as smoke from the burning fuel in the water obscured their view. They also pulled two more dead sailors aboard. Their bodies were jettisoned soon thereafter, as the men realized there was no hope, and the smell that would soon emanate from their corpses could make the living nauseous.
Chapter Six
By the time the telegram arrived we had settled into a singular existence, lying around the house and making love in a different room nearly every day. Location wasn’t very important to us, the closeness was. One might gather from that, we were still very active sexually.
I still hadn’t sprung my big idea on Rachel. You could say I’d been distracted, or maybe I was afraid she might think it was a hair-brained scheme, and she’d want no part in it. The news the wire revealed, it turned out, played right into what I had in mind.
Arriving this coming Saturday. Looking forward to seeing you both. Will take a cab to your home. See you then.
It was signed, simply, Joe
The last time we saw Joe Ellison was in 1952. His real name was Chris Ellison, and he was a gangster from Chicago. To make a long story short, he had saved the lives of both Rachel and me at great peril to himself. When he could have gotten away, he stayed, realizing he would have to go to prison for the mistakes he had made in the past. Now fast forward to this year, 1956. He permanently changed his name to Joe after serving his time and his parole. He was free to pick up the pieces of his new life with no one but himself to answer to.
I had saved him too, in a way, and because of that we had formed a special bond. Perhaps that’s why he was coming to San Diego.
Rachel was excited with the news. She liked Joe. The telegram didn’t say if he was coming alone. We would just have to wait to see who showed up with him, if anyone. Saturday was only three days away. I had no way to reach Joe or I would have insisted I pick him up at the airport. I guess we’d just have to wait for the knock on our door. That was just a figure of speech, because I had installed an elaborate doorbell. It played an instrumental ‘The Bells of Saint Mary’s.’ No kidding, it was the whole piece.
We made no plans for that next Saturday, which was easy, because most of the time we just lounged around anyway. Rachel wanted to go to work-hell she was still a young woman, but I held out. It was nice to have her home. I suggested a hobby or volunteering somewhere once in a while. She said she’d think about it.
Daylight Saturday came a little before Joe, but not much. It was about nine A.M. when we were serenaded by the doorbell. We were still in bed. What can I tell you? We still enjoyed each other’s company and the touch of our bodies.
Rachel jumped out of bed like there was a fire or something. It made a pretty sight. We both slept in the raw.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to have to answer the door,” she offered. “It’ll take me longer to get dressed, and I’m not going down there in my robe.”
“Okay.” I answered as I slowly left the bed. It was growing colder anyway now that she had left.
I threw on a pair of blue shorts and a collarless gray shirt, found my slippers under the bed on my side, which was the right, and made my way downstairs. When I opened the door I was a little surprised. There stood four people. I recognized Joe but the other three were strangers to me.
“Hi Ivan,” Joe said with a grin, as I grasped his outstretched hand. “You don’t look much different, just older.”
“Thanks I needed that,” I grinned. “Come on in.” I was pretty sure I knew who the other three people with him were, but he was yet to introduce them.
Joe and the woman walked into the entryway, while the two children carried some of the luggage that had been behind them. “This is Ariel, my wife.” He said it over his shoulder as he was retrieving the rest of their bags.
I was surprised but I hid it well as I shook her hand saying, “welcome to our home, Ariel.” I had picked up on the AH sound of her name right away.
She was a medium-sized woman, slim, with very dark hair, which she wore short, about mid-neck. Her eyes were dark too. There was no doubt she was not Caucasian, maybe Spanish or Mexican. I didn’t think she hailed from one of the Arab countries. Then I remembered Rachel had said she was Mexican. Her children, who had come into the house, were also dark-skinned like they’d been living at the beach. She was very pretty, or cute, and I guessed she had not reached the age of thirty. She wore a pleated skirt to just below her knees and a white blouse with a frilly collar. From a purely sexy standpoint I approved of Joe’s choice.
Just then Rachel came sweeping down the circular stairway fully dressed and made up, as if we were going out. I marveled at how quickly she had transformed herself from the nymph I’d left upstairs.
“Ariel!” my wife exclaimed. “I was hoping you would come,” as she walked over and hugged the smaller woman.
“That’s right. You two know each other. I’d forgotten you went to see her in Chicago.”
She also acknowledged the two youngsters, who appeared to be pre-teens. “Juan, Jessica, it’s so good to see you. Did you have a fun trip on the plane?”
Juan simply nodded, but Jessica smiled, and answered, “oh yes, the stewardess gave us games to play.” She was slightly taller than her brother, but in her face she looked younger.
Ariel stated, apologetically, “My son is a man of the world now. He doesn’t have to answer.” And with that she scowled at the boy.
“I apologize for his manners. He’s almost ten.”
“Well, my manners are a little lacking too,” I said.“Please, won’t you take a seat? Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Do you have Coke?” Juan had found his voice. It seemed on the verge of changing. He sounded a little hoarse, in a high-pitched way.
After I had filled all the drink orders, I took a seat next to Rachel on our love seat, which faced the big sofa Joe and Ariel occupied. The children sat on the carpeted floor between us.
“So what’s been going on with you guys?” I opened.
“It’s hard to know where to begin.” Joe cleared his throat. “You know some of the story.” He settled back on the soft cushions, and tried to fill in
the holes for us.
“As you probably know, I met Ariel and the kids on the bus, when I was heading back to Chicago to confront my past. When the ride began I didn’t know who I was, but pieces were coming back. By the time I arrived in the windy city, I not only remembered everything, but I knew what I had to do.”
“Skipping past the part that involved you two,--“
“Wait a minute,” I interjected, “I remember you bursting into the room where I was about to be killed, and saving not only me but Rachel as well, but where did you get the Tommygun, and how did you know where we were?”
“I went to a guy I’d done business with before. I didn’t have any money, but I had something on him that would have put him in the slammer, so he gave me the gun.” He paused, looking up to the high vaulted ceiling of the mansion, and remembering. “They’d tried to kill me at the big house by the lake by drowning me. I figured I’d find all of them there. I didn’t know they had you, until the smoke had cleared, and you emerged from behind the furniture. It’s a good thing you stayed down, or I probably would have finished you too.”
That had been some battle. Aaron Small and his bunch had grabbed me off the street, and were squeezing me to find out where the gangster they knew as Chris Ellison was hiding. Small knew that if he didn’t silence his ex-partner for good, Ellison would come back and put out his lights, figuratively speaking. His people had bungled the job once before. He couldn’t let it happen again.
Joe was speaking again. “Ariel had come to the prison to visit me, after I turned myself in. We had hit it off pretty well on the bus, but I didn’t want her to have to wait for me. I was looking at five years, which was a bargain, considering all the crap I’d been into before my amnesia. She had a job as a schoolteacher in the city. When I was paroled, I thought I’d give my interrupted relationship with her a chance, and we hit if off just as good as before the shit hit the fan.” He paused and looked at Ariel, who was looking at the children. “I’m sorry baby, old habits die hard. I’ll try to watch my mouth.” At that she smiled. It was obvious to me they really cared for each other.
Return from the Shadows-Ivan Dunn the Final Chapter Page 3
