by Dan Verner
The wounded soldiers filed off the bus and up the steps. An orderly led them down a long hall to a large atrium with metal chairs arranged in rows. Otto took a seat near the window.
A doctor in a white lab coat came in with a corporal in uniform. “Attention!” he called, and the men rose to their feet.
“At ease, men. Be seated,” the doctor said. “I’m Major Lynch, and I want to welcome you to the burn unit of the Massachusetts Military Hospital. We’re relaxed about military matters here, so there’s no saluting and we don’t pay much attention to rank. We do pay attention to getting you to the point you can get out into society. That involves not only physical healing but also psychological healing. You’ve all been badly burned and scarred as a result. We’ll help you cope with the reactions you’re going to get when you are in the outside world. But for now, you’ll be here for a while. We can’t say how long, but it will be a while. Now, Corporal Smith will pass out telegram forms so you can notify your families where you are. The hospital address and ward name has been typed onto the form so they’ll know where to send mail.”
The corporal passed out the forms. Otto took the pencil he was offered and carefully printed,
IN HOSPITAL IN BOSTON WITH BURNS STOP DON’T KNOW WHEN I WILL BE RELEASED STOP WRITE TO ADDRESS BELOW STOP
He handed the form to the corporal who took it along with the others.
The major spoke again. You’ve been traveling so you wouldn’t be aware of what has been going on. This morning, forces of the Allied nations landed along the coast of Normandy in France. They have met with heavy resistance but have gained a foothold. I will bring you further information as it becomes available. I hope you will join me and the staff here in praying for the success of the mission. This is what we’ve been waiting for. ”
Well, what you know, Otto thought. The invasion has started. He wondered how his bomber outfit was involved. He knew they would be doing something. He’d have to find out more. He’d have to get hold of a newspaper and see if there was a radio.
“Corporal Smith will take you to your ward. Good afternoon and good luck.”
The corporal led them down another long hall to a ward much like the one in England.
“Choose any bed you want,” he called. “No fighting over the beds. They’re all alike. Dinner is at 1700 hours. I’ll come back to show you where the dining hall is.”
Otto chose a bed by the door and dropped his B bag on the covers and then settled himself. Large floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a nondescript courtyard. He sat on his cot. So this was it for the next several months. He wondered what those months would hold. He lay on the bed and waited for the dinner call.
***
The next morning, after a dinner and breakfast that left Otto thinking that all Army meals were much the same, no matter where he was, Corporal Smith came into the ward. “Attention, troops!” he called. “Assembly in the solarium! Follow me!” The soldiers, dressed in their regular uniforms as opposed to hospital robes, rose and filtered out of the ward, down the hall to the same large room Dr. Lynch had greeted them in the day before. About fifty chairs had been arranged in a circle, and on each chair lay a mirror. Dr. Lynch stood expectantly in front of the wall away from the windows.
The men shuffled in. Each one found a seat, took the mirror and sat down. Otto did not look in the mirror. He had not looked in a mirror since the accident and he didn’t intend to start today.
“Good morning, men,” called Major Lynch. “Here is my first order to you: look in the mirror at your seat.”
The soldiers slowly complied. Otto could hear gasps. Some of the men began crying. Evidently he wasn’t the only one who had not seen himself in the mirror. Smith came over to him. “You heard the major, Captain. Use your mirror.”
Reluctantly, Otto lifted the small mirror and looked into it. What he saw made him gasp. He looked like a mummy from a horror film with its bindings off. His hair had been burned away; he had no eyebrows; and his nose and ears were half burned away. Most of his face was covered with a tight shiny layer of scar tissue, light brown in color. The only feature that was anywhere near the same were his green eyes. Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. Dear God, how could he ever go out in public? He wanted to go somewhere and hide. No wonder Alice had run away from this horrible sight.
Major Lynch gave the soldiers time to quiet down. “You see what you look like to the outside world. We want you to get used to that. You will receive stares and unkind comments. But you are the same inside. You are, to a man, brave soldiers who have served your country. Let no one take that away from you.” He looked around the room. “Captain Kerchner, would you please stand?”
Otto was puzzled as he stood. The major continued. “Captain Kerchner was a B-17 pilot on a mission in which his bomber took heavy damage from flak and fighters. He kept the ship up so his crew could bail out and attempted to bring it home. It crashed and burned with the results you see when you look at Captain Kerchner. He is the winner of the Distinguished Flying Cross, and in my book, an authentic hero. I salute you, Captain Kerchner.” He snapped off a smart salute.
Otto stood there for a second, embarrassed by the attention. He returned Major Lynch’s salute and sat down.
Lynch continued. “Remember who you are and remember what you have done. We’ll get you fixed up as best we can and then get you home to your loved ones. And now, if you’ll return to the ward, the doctors will make their rounds.”
As the men stood to go out, Lynch came over to Otto. He stuck out his hand. “I just want to shake your hand, Captain. That was a fine piece of flying you did.”
Otto shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. I just wanted to take care of my crew and bring the aircraft back. I guess I batted .500 on that one.”
“You batted 1.000 in my book, Kerchner. I’m proud to know you. We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”
Otto turned and walked back to the ward to see what the day would bring.
***
Mein Lieber Otto,
We were so glad to get the telegram from you and have an address to write to. All we knew was that you had been injured. We didn’t have any details. I am sorry to hear that you were burned. I hope it was not too badly. We look forward to seeing you soon when you are allowed to come home.
Mama is about the same. She does not seem to be any worse, but then she does not get any better. The farm continues to do well. If I had 1000 more cows I could sell every bit of milk they would produce. I am thinking of continuing to expand the herd and hire more people to help. When the war ends, there will be plenty of babies born after the servicemen come home. You know what I mean (blush). So I think we will do pretty well.
Your allotment continues to come every month and I am saving it for you to do as you wish. Perhaps we can use it to buy a cow or two…or a thousand!
Continue to be brave, dear Otto. We are here waiting for your return.
Your loving sister,
Mata
Chapter 37
Going Home—Late July, 1944
Otto stared out the window of the train at the trackside buildings which seemed to move backward with the train’s motion. He was really going home and that was exciting. Over six weeks of treatment were behind him. It hadn’t been easy—there was painful physical therapy, occupational therapy and what they called just plain therapy to help him and the other burn patients adjust. Or maybe cope was a better word. He understood that he was angry about what had happened to him, even though he didn’t necessarily feel angry, but he was. He was angry about his crash, he was angry about his appearance, and he was angry about Alice leaving him. He settled into his seat and tried not to think about it.
The train surged ahead through the New York countryside. The fields were brown, and he saw few cars on the rural roads. Gas rationing would account for that, he thought.
The car he was in was filled with men in uniform. Some of them glanced at him as they came into the coach and quickly looked away
. He was more or less resigned to his appearance now, but he wished someone would look at him without looking away quickly, or staring or flinching. Maybe that was asking too much.
He had written Mata with the train he would be arriving on. He would go through Chicago and then up the lake shore to Milwaukee and over to Madison and up through Eau Claire to Pioneer Lake. He would continue his rehab in the hospital at Madison. He thought he could fly down there and back if he could stand to be in an aircraft. He hadn’t flown since the accident. Ah, well, there was always the train.
A popular song came into his head for some reason. It seemed to pertain to his situation, in that way that pop songs do.
I don't want to walk without you, Baby;
Walk without my arm about you, Baby;
I thought the day you left me behind,
I'd take a stroll and get you right off my mind,
But now I find that
I don't want to walk without the sunshine
Why'd you have to turn off all that sunshine?
There was plenty of sunshine falling on the fields, but he certainly didn’t have anyone to walk with. Oh, well, it was just a song.
He thought how it would be good to be home, to be able to help on the farm and to be away from curious eyes. It was about harvest time, a time of work and beauty.
He closed his eyes and the train rolled on into the twilight.
***
The braking of the train awoke Otto. He had slept fitfully through the night, waking each time the train stopped at a station. The first gray light of dawn was filtering through the windows. Then they plunged into a tunnel. A conductor came walking down the aisle. “Chicago! Chicago! Union Station! Transfer here for points north, west and south! This station is Chicago!”
Otto stood and pulled his B bag off the overheard rack. He was stronger than he had been when he came to the hospital, but he had lost weight during his recovery. He waited while the other soldiers got their bags and joined the line shuffling off the train.
A blast of hot air hit him as he came down the steps. The interior of the coach was hot as well, but it was hotter outside. Wind swept down the platform and tore pieces of paper out of the hands of those who did not have a tight grip on them. A low hum arose from the crowd as they commented on the heat. Maybe they had forgotten what the Midwest was like in late summer.
Otto came to a schedule board and studied the departures. All right, his train didn’t leave for an hour so he could get some coffee and something to eat. He chose a walk-up hamburger stand so he wouldn’t have to endure the curious stares of waitresses and other diners in a sit-down eatery. It was as good as anything for breakfast. The old man who ran the hamburger stand looked at him curiously for a moment but his eyes did not linger on Otto’s face. That was a small saving grace anyhow.
Otto took his coffee and burger over to a bench across from the stand and ate it slowly. A constant stream of men in uniform with a few women mixed in surged past him in both directions. They all seemed intent on getting somewhere, walking purposely. They were part of the war effort. He wasn’t any more, unless he wanted to count producing milk for the troops. I also serve who stand and wait, he thought bitterly. He finished his burger and threw the wrapper away in a nearby trash can and returned the coffee cup to the stand. The board showed his train was loading so he headed in the direction of Track 45.
The line of cars was shorter than the one he had come in on and the engine was a small dirty steam locomotive. Well, it would get him home. He climbed the steps into the coach. With half an hour until departure there were a few soldiers scattered around the worn seats. Otto took one near the end of the car. A couple of men idly glanced at him and then went back to reading or looking out the window. Otto settled himself in and watched people walk past the car.
Promptly at 9 AM the train lurched forward and they rolled into a tunnel, coming out along the shoreline. Shortly they were past the buildings and streets of the city and into farmland. Most of the fields were brown but Otto knew they had just been harvested. The soil would sleep over the winter, but all it needed was sun and warmth next spring to burst forth into green shoots. Well, good for the soil and the plants. He would remain brown and withered the rest of his life.
He fell asleep, exhausted from the night before.
They pulled into Milwaukee on time, and a few of the troops got off there. More left at the stop at Madison. There was a brief layover at Eau Clair for lunch, but he wasn’t hungry and didn’t get off the train. Everyone else left and didn’t come back, so he was the only one left in the coach as it continued to Pioneer Lake. About 4 o’clock he recognized landmarks around the town, and the train pulled into the small station about 4:30. He lifted his bag from the overhead rack and eased down the steps. The conductor steadied him as he stumbled, giving him a little salute as he stood on the platform. He saw Mata at the other end of the train. She recognized him immediately and ran down the length of the cars, crushing him in a tight embrace, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Otto, mein Otto, I’m so glad you’re here! Let me look at you!” She held him at arm’s length and studied his face. She did not flinch or look away. He only saw joy and affection in her shining eyes. “You’ve lost weight! I’ll have to fatten you up!”
“It is so good to be back home, Mata. I can’t tell you.”
They started walking toward the parking lot. Mata was uncharacteristically chattering a mile a minute. “There’s so much to tell you that I couldn’t write. The farm is doing well. I’ve acquired some more acreage and about a hundred more cows. The Army continues to buy everything we produce and I am thinking there will be more demand after the war so I think we should continue to expand our operation. We can hire some more men to help us when the war is over, and…”
They had reached the car by this time, a 1938 Model A Ford sedan. “This is new,” he said.
“Well, I bought it used. The T was getting old and I needed something reliable to drive.”
Otto threw his bag in the back seat and let Mata’s words wash over him. She put the car in gear and smoothly backed out of the parking space.
“Hey, sis,” he said when she paused for breath. “When did you learn to drive?”
“Shortly after you left for overseas. It was a matter of ‘had to’ so I did it. Am I doing all right?” She shifted into the next gear.
“You drive like you’ve been doing it all your life.” She glanced over and smiled at him. “I can’t tell you how I’ve dreamed of this day.”
As they went past familiar farms, Mata told him what had happened to each property. “The Wilsons’ son didn’t want to farm, so their farm is vacant…the Turners died, one after another, so I bought their farm at auction…the Smiths just quit after Steve was killed in the Pacific...”
“I didn’t know that,” Otto said. He couldn’t help thinking that it was poetic justice. Still, the death of a fellow soldier was sad.
“We only got the news shortly before you got here. It devastated his parents.”
“So, did you buy their farm?”
Mata nodded and looked straight ahead.
“Mata, how many farms have you bought since I’ve been gone?”
“Just three,” she said in a small voice.
“Well…” Otto started. “I hope we can afford them all.”
“We can Otto, and more. We don’t spend much otherwise, and I saw some opportunities. You told me I was in charge when you left.”
“I think it’s great, Mata. I think you should be in charge of the war. Can we stop by the church? I’d like to see Papa’s grave.”
“Certainly,” Mata said. A few minutes later she steered into the gravel lot of the old stone church. She and Otto went into the graveyard next to the church. Hans’ tombstone was in the second row, toward the end.
Otto put his arm around Mata, and they stood there for a moment. “He was a good man,” Otto said finally. Mata wiped a tear away.
“Yes he was,” she said.
They got back into the car and drove home in silence.
“I’ll show you the books after supper,” Mata told him as they walked in. I’ve got some chicken fixed . . . just the way you like it.”
They came to the long driveway which was now graveled. Otto felt an emotional surge as the farm house and barn came into sight. Home. He was finally home. Not the way he would have liked, but he was home.
He was preparing to climb out of the car when Mata touched him on his sleeve. “I have a couple of other things I need to tell you before we go in.”
“OK, go ahead.”
“One is that Betty Ross married a fellow who is a vice-president in her father’s bank named Brown. I think she just settled for him and she isn’t very happy. I know you and she were close.”
Otto said nothing. He had a relationship with Alice and he was sure Betty knew about it. So she was free to do what she would. They didn’t have an understanding or anything.
“Second, Mama is worse. Mostly she sits and stares but it seems she’s in another world. I didn’t want to worry you by putting too much about it into a letter. I hope all this doesn’t ruin your homecoming.”
Otto looked down for a moment. “Well, she’s still with us. Maybe in her condition she won’t be as upset by how I look.”
“She probably won’t know who you are, Otto. She thinks I’m her sister most of the time.”
“Well, let’s go in.”
Mata led the way through the familiar kitchen door. “Mama, look who I brought home,” she exclaimed.
Maria sat at the kitchen table, but her hands were not busy as they usually were when she was there. She held her hands in her lap and looked up absently.
“Yes, Rose? Who is it?”
“See for yourself!” Mata said, standing to one side.
Otto stood still. There was no sign of recognition in Maria’s eyes. Finally she brightened. “Hans! It’s you! You’ve come back, my darling!” She rose unsteadily to her feet. Otto stepped over to keep her from falling and as she embraced him, he felt how frail and thin she was.
