Under the Apple Tree

by Wakefield, Dan;

  Artie hoped Shirley would come home too, and maybe she and Roy would patch things up and live happily ever after, but he knew that was probably a pipe dream. For all he knew, Shirley had married some old guy she met at the airplane factory, or a serviceman at the U.S.O., or maybe some race car driver from the Indianapolis 500. At least with the War over anyway, she wouldn’t have to keep working at the factory; that was just something women did in Wartime, and after the national emergency was through they were supposed to get back to being regular women again. Maybe Shirley would go off to college and become a terrific schoolteacher beloved by generations of students.

  In the secret, most selfish part of his mind, Artie was glad the A-Bomb had ended the War because he was sick and tired of it. He knew he’d “remember Pearl Harbor” the rest of his life, but it seemed now part of his childhood, along with the patriotic songs and the drives for Bonds and scrap, the rationing stamps and Gold Stars hung in the windows of homes where boys would not return. All that seemed like a dream already, and Artie was ready for the real things of life, like high school and girls.

  Everything had started happening real fast in the spring, like the whole world was getting ready to clean up the mess it was in and be ready for the opening of high school in the fall. In just a couple of weeks around the time of Artie’s fourteenth birthday, F.D.R. died, the Germans surrendered, and, as if swept along by the tides of change, Artie decided to work at his Dad’s filling station all summer instead of going back to Camp Cho-Ko-Mo-Ko. It seemed a more grown-up thing to do, and that was what Artie was in the mood for, now that his voice had cracked and turned from alto to low tenor, and his height had shot up to five-six-and-three-eighths according to the orange crayon marks on the door of his room. To add to these thrilling changes, he had also grown manly hairs under his armpits, around his privates, along his legs, and even a few on his chest. He liked to walk around the house with his shirt off, flexing his push-up-strengthened biceps and singing the great new popular song:

  Gimme land lotsa land under starry skies above—

  Don’t fence me in …

  The song really said how people felt now. They were tired of the years of rules and regulations, of counting rationing points and pennies, of staying home to save gas and eating oleo to save butter. They wanted to break the shackles of caution and duty (“I can’t stand hobbles and I don’t like fences”) and roam out free across the rich, big land that was theirs by the grace of God and the rightness of destiny. They had fought for their freedom and wanted to enjoy it.

  Besides those things, the song had another, more personal meaning for Artie. It seemed to say how he felt about finally growing up, the feeling of newfound freedom that he just was beginning to experience, like a cowboy let loose on the open range and knowing it all lay before him, the life ahead that seemed as glorious and spacious as the land itself; and now, just getting the first clear glimpse of it, knowing the excitement of it, he wanted more, he wanted it all.

  Artie loved working on cars in the greasy hot garage of the filling station, sweating and wearing only his dirty old dungarees and clodhoppers but Dad made him put on a T-shirt to wait on customers out front at the pumps. Even then he rolled up the short sleeves of the T-shirt clear to his shoulders so his biceps showed, and he, kept tugging up the front of it to scratch at his stomach and admire the manly new hairs curling out around his belly button.

  When the feisty, tough little President Harry Truman dropped a second A-Bomb on one of the Imperial Japanese strongholds the Nips at last gave up and America proclaimed “Victory Over Japan” which was celebrated as a great new national holiday, “V-J” Day. Dad closed down the filling station and Artie rushed home and took a shower, anxious to keep his date for this historic occasion with Caroline Spingarn.

  She owed him one.

  Back in the spring when Germany surrendered and America declared “Victory in Europe” Fishy Mitchelman had rushed onto Main Street and tried to kiss some lady who was carrying a bag of groceries to her car. When she screamed and dropped the groceries, Fishy just threw back his head and shouted “V-E fo’ me!” and started to chase two girls across the street who shrieked and ran for cover in the Odd Fellows Building when they saw him coming. When Artie saw Fishy go berserk like that he figured maybe he’d taken some kind of musical dope and was on a rampage of sex and terror, so he took him into Damon’s to try to calm him down with a rainbow Coke.

  “You got to get hold of yourself,” Artie said in his manly new voice, which he tried to make even deeper so it sounded like the ad for Lifebuoy soap when the bass voice warned against getting “BO,” which stood for “body odor.”

  “Got to celebrate the big V-E,” Fishy protested. “Don’t you listen to the box?”

  “Sure, I heard about V-E Day on the radio, but what’s that got to do with chasing girls?”

  “Says on the box in Chi, New York, Frisco—soldiers and sailors all smoochin’ the skirts in the streets to celebrate.”

  “You’re not a soldier or sailor, though.”

  “Any guy’s got patriotism can kiss the girls.”

  “That’s in the city, fella. People do anything in the city.”

  “Foog. Maybe I’ll roll up to Chi.”

  “It’ll be all over by the time you get there. The kissing part, anyway. They can’t just keep doing it, even in cities. Otherwise, you couldn’t have traffic or anything.”

  “Foog and double foog.”

  “Well, I gotta go see a man about a horse.”

  Artie got up all the sudden and left a dime on the table to pay for the Cokes. Fishy had given him a great idea, but he didn’t want to let on about it.

  He went straight to Caroline Spingarn’s house and asked if she wanted to dance.

  That’s what you did now if you wanted to make out. You danced. Everyone had seemed to realize all at once that spin-the-bottle was just a little kids’ excuse for necking, and the more mature, grown-up thing to do was put on a nice record so you could press your bodies together and go from there.

  Caroline looked kind of suspicious at first when Artie showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the day asking to dance, but then she brightened up and said it just so happened she had a neat new record of “Swinging on a Star” if he wanted to dance to it. They went down to her basement game room, plugged in the Victrola, and Artie did a few jitterbug steps to the music before he pulled Caroline right up against him and planted one right on her mouth.

  Caroline hauled off and slapped him one.

  “What’s the big idea?”

  “Don’t you even know? It’s V-E Day. Everyone’s kissing everyone, unless they’re unpatriotic or something.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “I figured you heard it on the radio.”

  “I heard about V-E, but not about kissing.”

  “Well, they’re doing it. New York, Chi, Frisco, everywhere.”

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said, and went and turned off the record.

  “Don’t know what? You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  “It doesn’t seem right to go whole hog when just half the War is over.”

  She folded her arms across her waist.

  “Well,” Artie said, “you got to keep up morale to win the other half.”

  “It doesn’t seem like the thing to go around kissing when Our Boys are still fighting and dying to beat Japan. You of all people should understand that. I mean, your own brother was wounded over there.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Artie felt pretty crummy when she brought that up, but then he found something good about it.

  “When we beat Japan, I guess then is the time to go whole hog.”

  “At least then the whole thing will be over, not just part of it.”

  “Right! Listen, I’ll see you V-J Day!”

  One hot August night after supper Artie was lying on the li
ving room floor reading Knute Rockne, All-American, this book about the life of the greatest football coach in the history of the world, when suddenly he heard banging on the front door like someone was trying to break the house down.

  “Hold your horses!” Artie yelled, and hurried to the door, scratching at the hair on his belly.

  Fishy Mitchelman was standing there all decked out in his zoot suit, holding his gym bag. Before Artie could say anything, Fishy pointed to him and started singing, telling him to get his coat and hat and leave his worries. Artie opened the door, but instead of coming in, Fishy did a little jiggle step and motioned like he wanted Artie to follow him to “The Sunny Side of the Street.”

  “What’s up? You going somewhere?”

  “Rollin’ up to Chi. Wanna come?”

  “Why? What’s goin’ on?”

  “V-J Day! Smoochin’ in the streets!”

  “Hey, don’t joke about something like that. The Japs have got to surrender first.”

  “Laid down the foogin’ sword five minutes ago, said so on the box.”

  As if to confirm the story, a fire siren started to wail, and the church bell began ringing.

  “Wa-haaaaaa!” Artie yelled at the top of his voice.

  “Grab your taps, Gates. Train to Chi at ten.”

  “You really goin’ to Chicago, right now, at night? Your Mom’s letting you?”

  “Trixie? She’s comin’ too. Let’s perambulate!”

  “Fish, I can’t just go to Chicago. I never even been there.”

  “Do anything now, the War’s over!”

  “Look, you go ahead, have a good time.”

  Fishy shrugged, lifted his right hand and wiggled his finger as he pranced down the steps toward the street, singing.

  Saw an old man who danced with his wife

  In Chicago—

  Artie tried to call Caroline Spingarn, but the line was busy. Probably everyone’s line was busy all over America, people calling all their friends and relatives to talk about the war being over. Suddenly Artie remembered Roy, and was ashamed that his first thought was making out with a girl instead of giving thanks that his own brother had come through the War alive. He went to his room and closed the door, getting down on his knees by the window like he used to do, like he hadn’t done since way back last winter. He thanked God for ending the War and keeping Roy alive all through it, and prayed that now everything would get back to normal and life would be like it was supposed to be again, with everyone working hard and having a swell time. After his prayer he lay down on his bed and examined the hairs on his chest, looking for new ones. He pulled on the ones that were there, figuring that might make them get longer. Caroline had never even seen the hairs on his chest, so she didn’t know he was really becoming a man. Maybe tomorrow instead of just going by her house and trying to grab a V-J kiss in the basement dancing to some jivey record he’d invite her to go for a picnic and swim out at Skinner Creek. They could have a long philosophic talk about the War, the plans for Peacetime, and the meaning of Life. And all the time he’d be wearing his bathing suit and she could see the hairs on his chest.

  Caroline lay on the rock in her bathing suit, sunning herself. Her eyes were closed, and she looked like one of those starlets that the guys overseas were always voting The Girl I’d Most Like To Be Under A Palm Tree With. That was great, but Artie was disappointed that she wouldn’t go in swimming.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “How come?”

  “Artie, there are certain things a girl can’t do at certain times, when she gets to be a certain age, and certain things happen.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I get it.”

  She was riding the rag. That’s what the guys called it, anyway, when girls were having their curse. He didn’t actually know what it all meant or why it happened, except it showed a girl was growing up and could have babies, and that meant she could go all the way. He never knew it had anything to do with swimming, but he tried not to let on. He just hoped not being able to swim didn’t have anything to do with not being able to kiss, but he couldn’t figure why it should. Caroline looked perfectly normal, lying there on the rock in her shiny blue bathing suit, in fact if anything she looked better than normal.

  Artie cleared his throat, making his voice go as deep as the “BO” ad on the radio.

  “Well, I guess we’ll remember this day the rest of our lives,” he said.

  “What? Why?”

  Caroline blinked her eyes open and raised up on her elbows, looking surprised, like a horsefly had bit her.

  “Caroline, this is V-J Day!”

  “Oh,” she said, “I thought you were talking about you and me, in particular.”

  She sank back onto the rock and closed her eyes again.

  “Well, I was in a way, since here we are being alone together, you and me, on the day of Victory over Japan and the end of the Second World War, the biggest war in the whole history of mankind.”

  “Mmmm,” she said.

  She looked like she was falling asleep.

  Artie checked the manly hairs on his chest and then crept over on his hands and knees and put his mouth down on Caroline’s.

  She jumped.

  “Artie!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you think you’re doing, anyway?”

  “Giving you the V-J Day kiss you promised me back on V-E Day, that’s all.”

  “I did? Promise you that?”

  “Caroline, you turning into some kind of teaser or something?”

  “Sticks and stones,” she said.

  “Caroline, we’re not just kids anymore.”

  “I’m certainly glad you’re aware of that.”

  “I’m aware of you told me you’d kiss me on V-E Day, when you wouldn’t do it on V-E Day. What are you waiting for now, the United Nations?”

  “I don’t just go around kissing people.”

  “You went around kissing Fishy Mitchelman last year.”

  “That was at parties.”

  “That’s not all, according to Fishy himself.”

  “He’s a boy.”

  “What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?”

  Caroline sat up again and glared at Artie.

  “Boys lie,” she said, and then turned over on her side, so her back was to Artie and his hairy chest.

  “All boys aren’t like Fishy,” he said.

  “That’s right. Fishy has rhythm. Most boys don’t have any at all.”

  “You still stuck on him or something?”

  “Fat chance.”

  “You sure are in a lousy mood for V-J Day.”

  “Artie, I told you it was a certain time of month. Besides, I don’t think it’s such a neat thing to go around celebrating dropping Atom Bombs and wiping out thousands of men, women, and children.”

  “They’re Japs!”

  “They’re human beings, too!”

  “Wow. Some people sure forget easy. V-J Day isn’t even over and you’re feeling sorry for the Japs.”

  “Why don’t you go swimming? Just because I can’t doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  “What’s that got to do with the Japs?”

  “Nothing. Nothing in the world.”

  “Okay. I think I will.”

  Artie stood up and walked to the creek. He waded in, and then flung himself into the water, diving down, holding his breath and moving fishlike over the rocky bottom, not coming up till he thought he would burst. He went and dried off, looking at the hairs lying flat and bedraggled on his chest.

  “I sure will be glad when high school starts,” he said. “Everything will be different then.”

  “I hope so,” said Caroline.

  “You and me both.”

  Artie went home and sneaked a beer up to his room. He didn’t feel like washing-up or changing for supper and he went down to the table just wearing his bathing suit and a grungy old khaki T-shirt.

  Dad looked at him sideways and said
, “This isn’t Camp Cho-Ko-Mo-Ko, son.”

  Artie made a grunting sound and splatted some potato salad onto his plate.

  “I wonder how long it will take the boys to come home now,” Mom said.

  “Soon enough,” Dad said. “Let’s just be thankful it’s over.”

  Artie scratched under his left arm and then raised it, searching through the new hairs of his armpit to see if he could find a chigger bite.

  “If you mean Roy,” he said, “I’ll bet he waits till the last.”

  “The view of your armpit is not exactly appetizing,” Mom said.

  Artie put his arm down and let out a terrible belch. The odor of Pabst Blue Ribbon and potato salad spread through the room like gas.

  “P-U!” Mom said, grabbing Her nose with a finger and thumb.

  “’Scuse me,” Artie mumbled.

  Dad threw his napkin down on the table.

  “That does it,” he said.

  His face was furious red, and Artie felt his own ears get hot.

  “I said ‘excuse me’!”

  “Go to your room.”

  “My room! For cripe’s sake, I’m fourteen years old!”

  “Maybe that’s the trouble,” Dad said. “Now move!”

  He really meant business.

  Artie threw his own napkin on the table, noisily shoved the chair back, and slouched to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  He was crouched on his bed, examining the cracks between his toes to make sure he didn’t have athlete’s foot, when Dad opened the door.

  “You and me are going fishing,” Dad said. “Saturday. Up to Lake Minnekewanka.”

  “Okay,” Artie said.

  “Now go and apologize to your mother and see if she’ll give you some supper.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They hadn’t gone fishing since Roy went off to War. The whole family used to go for a week every summer and sometimes just for a Saturday, up to Minnekewanka or Crystal Lake or the Reservoir, the four of them sitting in a rowboat holding their long bamboo poles over the side and “drowning worms” as Mom called it. The fishing wasn’t too great in Illinois, and sometimes you sat for a couple of hours without even a strike before pulling up the anchor and rowing to some other spot that looked like it might be a good place to hit a whole school of bass, but most times anyway you got enough bluegills or sunfish or perch to cook up a batch for supper. The main point though was to have a good time being out in the open, on the water, under the sun, together. Maybe that’s why without talking about it they hadn’t gone fishing since Roy had gone away; it would have been too sad out there in the rowboat with him missing.