by Alexa Kang
He led them through the simulation exercise as best he could, doing his best to appear in control even as he battled his doubts.
Ninety-day wonder. Beck's words followed him all the way back to the city after they finished their training.
20
Standing by the window in Jack's office, Tessa looked out onto the streets. The sky outside had darkened, but she was not ready to go home. She was not ready to be alone with her own thoughts and fears.
Her efforts to gain an assignment to a medical unit attached to the Army Sixth Corps had gotten her nowhere. Dr. Donovan could do no more than to give her a letter of recommendation. Her letters to the heads of the field hospital and evacuation hospitals serving the Sixth Corps had all gone unanswered. The army officials at different personnel divisions she had written to had given her no response. She felt like she was calling out to the wilderness and no one could hear her.
She worried about Anthony too. In his last letter, he said he had arrived overseas. The fact of his deployment to war had finally sunk in. She hadn't slept well since.
"What was it like being on the front line?" she asked Jack, still staring out the window.
From behind his desk, Jack asked her, "What is it you want to hear? I can lie and tell you not to worry, just like I tell all the other girls whose boyfriends and husbands have gone off to war. I can tell you the Americans have the greatest army in the world and we will crush the enemy. I can say to you, everything will be all right, but I know you didn't come to hear that."
Tessa braced herself. Jack was right. She had come here because she wanted to know what Anthony was facing. She needed to talk to someone who had been there, someone she could trust.
"I won't sweeten the truth for you," Jack said. "If I do, you'll know it anyway. The truth is, bullets and grenades don't discriminate when you're out there."
She knew this already, but she had to hear it. She needed to know. Too many people at home didn't want to hear what was happening to their soldiers. Unlike them, she wanted to know.
"But you shouldn't think of only the worst-case scenarios. We don't know where he is. He could have been sent to London or Australia. A lot of troops are stationed in these places for a long time without being called to combat. Or the army might find another use for him and reassign him to the staff. Everything is random in the military. It felt that way to me anyway. You never know."
Could Anthony be so lucky? She wondered. If only it wasn't so impossible to find someone who could help her get assigned to his division. There had to be a way. She wanted to be there for him, to be there with him. "I wish I could do something."
"Here's what I would do if I were you." Jack pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses from his desk drawer. "Pray, then have a drink and hope for the best." He poured one for himself and one for her. "Have one."
"This is your advice? Have a drink?"
"It's the only thing you can do." He raised his shot glass. "To Anthony's safe return."
No. This couldn't be the only thing she could do. Nonetheless, she picked up the glass. Right now, she could use a drink. She took the entire shot in a single swallow. The liquor burned down her throat, to her heart and into her stomach and it felt good. The cutting heat of the alcohol fueled her, burning away from her heart the faintest thought of giving up.
She put the emptied glass on the desk and sat down across from Jack.
"How's your leg?" she asked him.
"Much better, thanks. The doctor said if I continue improving at this rate, I should be off the crutches in a few months. I may be able to get around with a cane." He looked down at his leg. She saw no bitterness on his face, but she still felt for him for what had happened. She would never forget how he had once dominated the dance floor. This war destroyed Jack in body and Ron in spirit, and what they suffered left her scarred too.
"I have a patient," she said. "He has these..." She tapped her finger against her temple. "He has these imaginary back pains. We've tried everything but there's no way to treat him because his pains aren't real. Dr. Donovan said he feels a lot of pain and guilt for his friends who died in the war and the imaginary pains are a way for him to punish himself. Did you see anything like that when you were in the army?"
Jack looked at her. "No. Not exactly. I'll say this though. I saw men losing their minds in different ways. It was traumatizing to see so many people being shot and blown up day after day. Some found ways to cope. Others had a tougher time. I think we Catholics handled it better than most of the others."
"The Catholics?" He must be joking. "Why? Because God favors the Catholics?"
"No. But like I said, everything that happens at war is random. When you can't make sense of anything, it helps to think there's a higher authority in control."
"What are you suggesting? That I go find God to help my patient?" She could hardly take this seriously.
"You can try." He was not joking. "Or maybe you can help him find a way of spiritual release. You said it's all in his head, right?"
He poured himself another shot of whiskey. "Want another one?"
She pushed her glass toward him and he filled it up. She turned the shot glass around and around on the desk, thinking over what he had said.
Ask God for help. Why not? Everyone else who could help her was out of reach and unattainable. She might as well add God to the list.
Sitting on his bed in a neatly pressed shirt and trousers, Ron waited anxiously for Tessa to come for her morning break visit. Yesterday, she had told him they would be going out for an excursion this morning. She had kept it a surprise where they were going and only told him he needed to dress properly. Not wanting to disappoint her, he took special care to shave, comb his hair, and tidy himself up. He was all ready to go.
"Hello, Ron," Tessa greeted him with a bright smile when she arrived. "Look at you! You look so handsome, I almost can't recognize you."
"Thanks," he answered.
"He's been waiting for you to come by for more than half an hour," Tommy said in the next bed. "He tried to read but all he did was check the clock on the wall and count the minutes."
"That's great, because I am looking forward to taking him out," Tessa said. "How are you feeling today?" she asked Ron.
"It feels good to be out of the hospital robe," he said. Earlier, when he looked in the mirror and saw his own reflection, he saw his old self, Ron Castile before he had gone off to war. He hadn't seen that self in a long time. He had almost forgotten what he looked like in civilian clothing.
"Good. Let's go," she said.
Outside on the street, Ron watched for people's reactions to him. He felt nervous. His back muscles were tightening up again. His legs stiffened and he started to drag. The passersby, though, were not gawking at him. While Tessa hailed a taxi, a woman in a fashionable suit dress and a pillbox hat walked by holding a little girl by the hand. The woman did not notice him, but the little girl turned to him and smiled. He didn't know what to do. The girl had the most angelic smile he had ever seen. How could such a sweet little angel smile at him? He felt ashamed, but touched.
"Come on," the woman said to the girl and urged her to keep walking. The girl waved goodbye to him. He smiled and gave her a timid wave back.
While he watched the girl and her mother walk away, a boy about thirteen or fourteen years old came up to him and asked, "Newspaper, sir?" The boy held out a folded newspaper and showed him the headline. "Italy Quits! Unconditional Surrender and Ordered to Resist the Nazis."
He looked at the newspaper, then at the boy. He couldn't think about the war anymore. He shook his head. The boy shrugged, then walked away.
"Let's go, Ron," Tessa said. A taxi pulled up and they got inside. On the way, he looked out the window, watching everything that was happening on the streets.
"That used to be one of my favorite restaurants." He pointed to a restaurant with the name "Charley" in large letters on the red awning over the front door.
"May
be I can invite my friends and we can go there sometime when you are all better," Tessa said.
The taxi dropped them off in front of a church not too far from the Ardley's house. "We're going to church?" Ron asked.
"Yes. My Aunt Sophia and Uncle William go to this church." Tessa opened the taxi door. "I, on the other hand, don't come nearly often enough." She made a guilty face.
Hesitant, Ron got out of the car. At the church's entrance, he paused.
Tessa took him by the arm. "We'll say a prayer together for your fallen friends and comrades."
He had no choice but to follow her. Inside, the chapel was empty. Tessa led him to the first row of pews and they sat down. "Is there anyone in particular you want us to pray for?" she asked. He shook his head.
"Okay. We'll pray for all of them then. Mind you, I am not very good at this." She held her hands together, closed her eyes, and bowed her head in prayer. "Dear Father, we pray for all the soldiers who served with Ron who are now in your heavenly kingdom. May they all rest in peace as you take them into your loving arms..."
Tessa continued, but "all the soldiers who served with Ron" were the only words he heard. Visions of the times when he and Pete Whitfield went on patrols together when they were still Marine privates appeared before his eyes. Memories of bodies of men he once knew lying dead on the ground at Guadalcanal swamped his mind. He looked up at the sculpture of Jesus above the altar. The crucified body of Christ reminded him of something grotesque. Once, he had seen the head of a dead Japanese soldier hanging on a stick on top of a Sherman tank. It hung and rotted there for days.
He felt nauseous.
Unable to stand the sight of the sculpture any longer, he looked away from the altar and gazed at the stained-glass windows on the side of the chapel. Each window depicted a scene from the Bible. Next to the one of the Sermon on the Mount, a plaque proclaimed the Ten Commandments.
"Thou Shall Not Kill." He stared at the first line on the plaque. A sour lump rose in the back of his throat.
A priest entered, walking toward the confessional. Ron got up and walked toward him. Startled, Tessa stopped praying. "Ron?"
Not hearing her, Ron approached the priest and grabbed him by the sleeve. The priest looked at him, surprised.
"Father," Ron cried. "Can you forgive me?"
The priest's eyes softened. "What did you do?"
"I killed so many people," Ron said. "At first, I only did it for our own protection. It was either them or us. We only killed when we had to. After a while, we cared less and less whether we had to kill or not. Our troop, we even had a contest going to see how many kills we each had. Sometimes, we shot them off even when they could've been captured. It didn't matter. We did it because we could." He lost his grip on the priest. His entire body was shaking. "But now, I see their dead faces around me all the time. I see them in my sleep. I see them when I'm awake. They won't leave me alone. I want to tell them I'm sorry. I want to ask them to forgive me but there's no way." He grabbed the priest's arm again. "You're a priest. You have the power to forgive me, right? Father, can you forgive me? Tell me, please. Am I forgiven?" Ron broke down and sobbed.
The priest watched him, then looked up. His eyes and Tessa's met for a moment. The priest then looked further to the back of the church. Tessa looked to the same spot and found Frank Castile sitting in the last pew. Castile nodded to acknowledge the priest, then got up and walked out.
The priest returned his attention to Ron, laying his hand on him and speaking quietly into his ear. Tessa took one look at Ron and the priest, then rushed out after the general.
Outside, Tessa shouted, "General Castile! General Castile! Wait!"
The general stopped.
"How did you know we were here?" she asked.
"Dr. Donovan told me."
That was news to her. Dr. Donovan hadn't told her anything about the general coming.
"Despite what you might think, Graham, I do care about my son. I call the hospital regularly to check on his progress. Dr. Donovan told me you would be taking Ron to church. I came to see how he's doing."
Worried that the general might think their treatments were ineffective after Ron's breakdown just now, Tessa tried to explain, "He's getting better. What you saw in there…we were praying for his fallen friends and he was overwhelmed thinking of them. That's all. He's not like that on most days anymore. I swear!"
Castile held up his hand. "I know. You don't have to explain. I've entrusted him to Dr. Donovan and all of you."
She hoped so. She didn't want all their efforts to be for naught if the general changed his mind.
"I heard you've been a great help to him," Castile said.
Tessa did not admit this nor did she care to take credit. Her immediate concern was Ron. Against her better judgment, she asked, "Would you come in and join us in prayers?"
"No. I don't know if he's ready to see me yet. Dr. Donovan warned me not to provoke him or agitate him. I'll see him when you all decide it's time."
Tessa felt both relieved and disappointed at his refusal.
"I do hope he'll be well enough to come home soon. His mother and I miss him."
Ron's mother. Tessa had not thought of her before. It was good to know Ron had someone who loved him waiting for him at home. It was good to hear Castile speak about Ron like a father rather than a general.
"Good day, Graham."
Tessa watched him walk away. When his car had driven away, she went back into the church. The priest was still talking to Ron. They were now seated in a pew and Ron had calmed down. By the time they returned to the hospital that afternoon, Ron was in much better spirits.
There was only one more thing. Every morning, she had taken away the dinner knife he had hidden under his pillow. In the evening, he would sneak another one off his tray and keep it with him overnight. It was time for that to stop.
While he was not looking, Tessa replaced the knife under his pillow with a wooden cross.
The next day, when she came for her morning visit, Ron held up the cross he had found under his pillow to show her. He gave her a playful smile like they were keeping a secret between them. This was the liveliest he had ever been since coming to this hospital. "My back," he said, "it doesn't hurt anymore."
This was more than she ever expected from their little trip yesterday.
"I think I'm ready to go home," he said. "I'm ready to start over."
21
Walking down the street, Anthony was amazed once again to see how quickly the city of Licata was being rebuilt. Everywhere he looked, ordinary life had returned. As the days passed, the gigantic piles of rubble he saw when he first arrived grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared altogether. Food shortages remained, but with the help of supplies from the Allies, some cafes and restaurants had reopened. A group of laughing children chased by a small dog ran past a poster on a restaurant's front window announcing in large, bold letters, "Sicilian Pasta Eating Contest for Allied Soldiers. 8 p.m. - Tonight."
Trade activities had resumed with locals lining up pull carts filled with olives, fruit, and vegetables. He had never seen tomatoes so big and oranges so orange. The Sicilian fruits and produce were big and lush. He stopped at one of the carts, bought a persimmon and took a bite before continuing on his way.
Life had not been too tough since he had come to Italy. Aside from training, he was free to do what he wanted. Some evenings, he and Warren would catch a movie shown by the army. Other nights, they would go listen to the army band perform. One Sunday, he went to see the Valley of the Temples, an archeological park where seven spectacular Greek temples were built between the sixth and the fifth centuries B.C. If it weren't for the remains of the bombing destructions and the presence of the Allied armies, he would almost feel like a tourist. He had even learned to speak a few Italian phrases in order to get around.
He had no complaints about his accommodations either. The army had assigned him to quarter with an elderly Sicilian couple, and the
couple had put him up in a small room in their little house. Despite its small size, they kept their home clean and tidy. After months of living in barracks, it was a nice change to stay in a real home. Communication was difficult, as he did not speak much Italian and they did not speak English. Still, somehow, they got by. Everyday, he would give the old lady his food ration and she would make simple meals for him. What she made tasted ten times better than the food the army had fed him at camp all year. One night, the old man offered him a glass of grappa. That was a very generous act of welcome considering the city was still suffering from a shortage of supplies. Alcohol, especially, was scarce. The old man must have been saving the bottle like a hidden treasure.
Today, he went to the army post office to pick up his mail and packages. Jim Darnell, a lance corporal in his company, was there too. Darnell was in his thirties. That made him one of the oldest men in their company. Some of the boys jokingly called him "Grandpa."
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant." Looking happy and forgetting army protocol, Darnell greeted him like an old friend.
Anthony didn't mind. He was barely getting used to commanding someone almost a decade older than him. "What do you have there?" He pointed to the bags Darnell was putting into a paper box.
"A few gifts for my children," he said. "Some dolls, toys, blankets. A necklace for my wife."
"How old are your kids?" Anthony asked him.
"My daughter Janet is the oldest. She's seven. Jimmy is five. And the twins, Samuel and Samantha, they've just turned three. You want to see their picture?" He took a photo out of his pocket and showed it to Anthony. In the photo, his wife was sitting on a chair in the center, holding one baby in each arm, presumably the twins. Darnell stood behind her with his older kids beside him, one on each side. He wore a pink and yellow hat and a uniform of the same colors with an apron. Behind them were several small tables with chairs and an ice cream counter.
"This was taken before you were deployed?" Anthony asked. Darnell nodded. "You worked in an ice cream shop?"
