by Janet Beard
It took her almost an hour to walk to his house through the crowds. She knocked on the door, and he answered himself. He was wearing just his undershirt and trousers, his hair disheveled as though he’d been in bed. And of course he was drunk.
She followed him to his room and sat on the bed in silence. He offered her his flask and she took a sip. The whiskey burned her throat, and she almost coughed it up.
“Well, it’s finished,” he said.
“How are you feeling?”
His red-rimmed eyes considered, and he let out a long breath. “I knew this day was coming.”
“I guess the war will be over soon.”
“Yes.” He took a long drink from the flask. “Do you know what this Hiroshima must be like right now?”
“Sam, don’t—”
“For those who are still living, it must be hell on earth. It would almost be better if we could truly destroy an entire city, you know, make it cease to exist. But of course, it can’t work like that. There has to be pain and suffering.”
She put a hand on his cheek, more to force him to quit talking than anything. To her surprise he grabbed her hand forcefully and pulled her toward him. He began kissing her—it might have seemed passionate to someone looking on, but she knew it was desperate, angry.
They made love that way, wordlessly. She tried to push out all her thoughts as it was happening: the bomb, Hiroshima, Sam, his drinking, the end of their affair. When they were done, they lay next to each other in silence, the sounds of distant cheering and celebration drifting in through the open window.
***
CICI LEFT WORK with all the other girls, happy enough for the chance to celebrate, hugging and singing with them, though she didn’t really count any of them as friends. She looked out for Tom, but didn’t see him. She wondered what would happen now, how soon the war would be over and they’d all be asked to leave Oak Ridge. The girls around her seemed hysterical suddenly, stupid even, repeating the same lines over and over—how amazing this bomb was, how incredible that they’d made it possible. She left them quietly and walked briskly over to the main administration building on the hill.
Cici didn’t think of it as anything so petty as revenge, and knew she wasn’t acting out of self-interest. When she’d threatened Lizbeth, the situation was different. She’d been exploiting the girl’s carelessness to get what she wanted, which certainly didn’t cause Cici any moral qualms, but admittedly was a selfish act. She had nothing particularly to gain from reporting June. The war would be over any day now, and they surely wouldn’t be roommates or even acquaintances for much longer, anyway.
She wasn’t being selfish, and it wasn’t retribution. It was something more basic than that. Her duty, plain and simple. Cici was doing the right thing, just as she’d been instructed by the Army over and over again since first arriving in Oak Ridge. She was helping June, in fact, by teaching her a lesson. June had lost her way following Dr. Cantor. Cici had tried to talk to her reasonably, but it hadn’t done any good. The girl’s obstinacy had driven her to take extreme measures.
Cici wasn’t sure if she was in the right place, but she went up to the receptionist boldly. Even here, they were celebrating. Three girls were huddled behind the counter at reception, talking and laughing over a copy of today’s Knoxville Journal.
“Excuse me,” said Cici.
They looked up. A girl in a bright crimson dress said, “Yes?”
“I need to talk to someone regarding a security issue.”
“What kind of issue?”
“I’ve heard someone say something that violates the security code.”
The girl snickered, “Well, everyone’s saying things today. It’s in the paper!” She held up the Journal. Cici felt like reaching over the counter and giving her a smack.
“This was yesterday.”
“All right. You just wait over there, and I’ll find someone.”
Cici sat on a hard metal bench. She resented the receptionist for doubting the seriousness of her case. For all that hick knew, June was a Jap spy.
The girl came back and directed her down two hallways and up a staircase. At the top of the stairs was a large sign: MANHATTAN DISTRICT INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY DIVISION. Cici went up to a secretary and explained herself again. This woman was older, more serious. “Right this way,” she said.
She wound up across a large, wooden desk from Douglas Milton, an equally serious man with dark, bushy eyebrows. “Thank you for coming in, Miss Roberts. Please tell me exactly what you heard.”
“June, my roommate, was a sweet girl when we first met. But she’s . . .”—Cici paused for dramatic effect—“become involved with a man and changed.”
“All right. And who is this man?”
“He works at Y-12, name’s Dr. Cantor. He even got her a job as his secretary.”
“What exactly did you hear this Dr. Cantor saying to June?”
“It wasn’t him, it was her. I heard them talking last night, but I didn’t quite piece it together until today, you know, with the news. She said ‘this bomb.’ They were having an argument and she said she understood what ‘this bomb’ means.”
Douglas Milton wrote something on a piece of paper. “All right, then. Was there anything else in their conversation which made you suspicious?”
“No, sir, except they were fighting in public. Disgraceful.”
“Is there anyone else who heard the comment?”
“Yes. A colored man named Joe Brewer.”
“Is this Mr. Brewer an acquaintance of yours?”
“No, of course not! I just saw him there and asked him his name.”
“I see.” Milton wrote something else, then looked back up at Cici and cleared his throat. “Miss Roberts, you realize accusing someone of breaching security is a serious thing. If this is about some roommate squabble or over a man—”
“Mr. Milton, I am offended! I’m a good Christian girl. I did everything I could to help June. Only now I’m beginning to realize that maybe I should never have become her friend.” To her own amazement, Cici felt her eyes begin to well with tears.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to judge your character, but I have to ask these sorts of questions of anyone who comes in. I understand this is difficult.”
He produced a handkerchief from his pocket, and she delicately dabbed at her eyes. “Is there anything else you need to know?” she asked.
“Not now, but I will be in touch if we need any more information.”
He rose, and she handed him back his handkerchief.
“If you don’t believe me, you can ask that—” She paused to stop herself from using the slur she’d grown up using, struggling for the correct term in polite society. “That Negro.” Cici turned and let herself out of the office.
(Courtesy of the Department of Energy)
Chapter 21
EVERYTHING WAS CHANGING OR ABOUT TO CHANGE. OAK Ridge’s identity transformed overnight from the Secret City to the Atomic City. And though obviously most residents still had no idea what atomic energy was, they surely were proud to be a part of it. Even after the excitement of the first day died down, all the talk on the bus or at the drugstore remained focused on atoms, Hiroshima, and then three days later, the news of a second bomb and another city destroyed, Nagasaki.
June wanted the war to end as desperately as everyone else. She was impatient for it, frustrated every day by the newspapers and radio that still broadcast no news of peace, though everyone knew it must be coming. She felt stuck in place, waiting to find out what would happen next. No one talked about it yet, but once the war ended, most people in Oak Ridge would lose their jobs. If Sam and she managed to keep struggling along together, then he would have to make a choice about where he was headed, and she would have to decide if she was going with him.
They never talked about what happened the night before the bomb was dropped. June had been sure then that their relationship was over, but they continued going out, necking, all of
it. She didn’t have the heart to break it off now. He recoiled at any mention of the bomb or Hiroshima, became irate when he saw people celebrating, and after the news of Nagasaki came in, stayed drunk for a whole day, even missing work. June was the only person he could stand to be around. Some days it seemed like the only things he consumed were whiskey and cigarettes, and he was losing weight. He seldom took a lunch break anymore, and she would bring a sandwich to his office and urge him to eat.
She tried to cheer him. As they walked off the bus, past a group of girls giggling about atoms, June gave his hand a squeeze. “They just don’t understand.”
“They understand well enough.” He took his hand from her to light a cigarette.
“They say the war will be over any day now.”
“How many more bombs will we drop first?”
She hated that he refused to be happy. But the truth was that she, too, was filled with anxiety. Cici had been acting even more unpleasant than usual, for one thing. June felt like Cici was staring at her sometimes, and her roommate asked odd, pointed questions about where June had been during the day, what she’d done. The newspapers were all endless speculation about when the Japs would surrender. When she’d gotten on the bus that morning, folks said that the Japanese had sent a message to the Allies in the middle of the night, but by the time they got to Y-12, the radio in the clock alley said it wasn’t true.
In the cafeteria, June sat alone, eating a tuna sandwich, lost in her thoughts. It took her a moment to notice the man in front of her. He stood at the other end of the table, staring down at her.
“June Walker?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Yes?”
“I’m from Intelligence and Security.” He tapped the badge on his jacket. “I need you to come with me.”
June put the sandwich down. “What’s this about?”
“We’ll talk about that in the administration building.”
“But I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Don’t worry about that. Arrangements have been made.” His face was stern. June’s stomach twisted, and she wished she hadn’t eaten the tuna.
“Can I take this sandwich up to my boss? I told him I would.” She pointed to the still-wrapped sandwich she’d bought for Sam.
“I’ll have someone take it to him.” He handed the sandwich to another secretary and told her where to take it, all the while keeping an eye on June. When he came back, he took June by the arm and began leading her toward the exit.
“What about clocking out?” she asked as they passed the clock alleys.
“It will be taken care of.” He didn’t look at her as they walked. There was a car waiting at the front of the building, and he opened the door for her.
They were both silent during the trip to the administration building. June thought of the rumors she’d heard about security—stories of people disappearing, losing their jobs, their homes, just like that. Of course she had breached security dozens of times, talking with Sam. But they’d always been careful. What if it was Sam who was in trouble? He’d been so upset lately, maybe he’d done something foolish.
The man led her into the building, up a staircase, into the Intelligence and Security division, to a small windowless office and told her to take a seat at a table. He left her alone in the room. The white walls were bare. June tapped her fingers nervously on the wooden table as she waited. It was stuffy and her armpits felt damp.
Finally, another man came in. He was heavyset with thick eyebrows. “Hello, June, my name is Douglas Milton.”
He gave her hand a firm shake, sat down across from her, and took out a notebook and pack of cigarettes. “You’ve been brought in here because a very serious accusation has been made about you.”
Her heart jumped. She stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing what to say.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. Please respond honestly and keep in mind it will only make your situation worse if you lie.”
She nodded. “Have you been romantically involved with Dr. Samuel Cantor?”
June gulped. Of course, plenty of people knew about her and Sam, so it would be pointless to lie. “Yes.”
He jotted something down in his notebook.
“Were you with Dr. Cantor the evening of August 5?”
“Um . . . I can’t remember.”
“It was nine days ago, Miss Walker. The day before Hiroshima.”
“Oh, yes.” And suddenly, everything clicked into focus. The day before Hiroshima. The night she and Sam had the awful fight, and she had yelled about the bomb in the middle of town.
“Were you with Dr. Cantor that evening around eight o’clock?”
“Yes, sir. I believe I was.”
“Tell me about what you did.”
“We met up at the canteen, then went for a walk. We got into a fight, actually. Nothing serious, just a silly argument. I wound up walking by myself, then going to the cinema.” She gained confidence as she spoke. Whatever he asked, she could just pretend not to remember.
Mr. Milton wrote something down. June glanced at the notepad but couldn’t make out his handwriting.
“What was your argument about?”
“Nothing in particular. He was late meeting me. It was hot, and we were both short-tempered.”
“Did you say anything that would have aroused suspicion in passersby, Miss Walker? I remind you that the best way to handle this is by being completely honest with me now.”
“I don’t know what exactly I said. I was angry, not thinking straight.”
Mr. Milton shifted his weight in the chair and stared at her in silence for a moment. He cleared his throat. June thought maybe she was convincing him. “Miss Walker, before August 6, did you know anything about the nature of the work being done here at Oak Ridge?”
“Only what I had observed at my jobs at Y-12, sir.”
“So you had no idea what was going on at Y-12, what the ultimate aim of the work was?”
“Of course not.”
“Dr. Cantor never let anything slip to you about his scientific work?”
“No.” June thought back to the lie detector test and tried to stay calm as she told these bald-faced lies.
“What if I told you, June, that we have a witness who heard you talking about a bomb to Dr. Cantor that night?”
June scrunched her eyebrows together, trying her best to look confused. “I don’t know why I would have mentioned a bomb, sir. I don’t remember everything I said.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Cici Roberts.”
Now her confusion was real. What did Cici have to do with anything? “Cici’s my roommate.”
“Do you consider her a friend?”
“Well, we used to be quite close but have drifted apart recently.”
“Did you have a falling-out?”
“You could say that. She doesn’t like Dr. Cantor.”
He wrote something down. There was a knock at the door. “Yes,” Mr. Milton called out.
The man who had picked June up stuck his head in. “I’ve got Mr. Brewer here, sir.”
“Thank you, Pete. Send him in, would you?”
Joe, the Negro janitor from work, appeared in the doorway. June looked at Mr. Milton for some clue as to why he was here. Mr. Milton was motioning for Joe to come in, though he didn’t offer him a seat. Joe was holding his cap in his hands, staring down at it.
“Mr. Brewer, do you recognize this young woman?” asked Mr. Milton.
“Yes, sir. I know Miss Walker from work.”
“Have you ever seen her outside of work?”
“I don’t recollect such a thing, sir. I stay in the colored area when I’m off work.”
“Do you remember where you were on the evening of August 5?”
Joe was twisting his cap nervously. “Yes, sir. I was in the Townsite that night looking for my friend Ralph Hitchens. He’s been missing for two weeks now, ain’t showed up to work or church.”
“While you were
in Townsite, did you see Miss Walker?”
“I can’t recall.”
“Lying about this would be a serious mistake, Joe. This is a matter of national security.”
“I might have seen her walking with Dr. Cantor, sir.”
Joe’s eyes darted down to meet June’s. She wasn’t sure, but thought he looked apologetic. She wished she could put him at ease, but of course her own blouse was drenched in sweat now, her heart thumping.
“Mr. Milton?” Joe asked.
“Yes?”
“Do you know anything ’bout my friend Ralph? Ralph Hitchens? I been looking for him for two weeks.”
“Try to stay focused, Joe. We’re talking about the night of August 5.”
Mr. Milton lit a cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke in June’s direction. She decided that she hated him. He leaned back in his chair. “Do you remember hearing anything that Miss Walker said?”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t listen in on folks’ conversations.”
“She was yelling.”
“I don’t remember.”
“We have another witness.” Mr. Milton looked at June now. “She heard Miss Walker say something rather remarkable and claims that you heard her, too, Joe.”
June’s increasing antipathy toward Mr. Milton was building up her courage. She felt less afraid and more angry—angry at the way he was badgering and condescending to Joe. Angry that he wouldn’t let the poor man sit down and was blowing smoke in her face. She was beginning to feel reckless.
“I don’t recollect, Mr. Milton. That was over a week back. I ain’t been thinking about much else besides finding Ralph.”
Mr. Milton slammed his fist down on the table and its loud thud reverberated within the small room.
“Well, try to think back, Joe! You were in Townsite, just outside the pharmacy. A real pretty white girl was standing beside you, and Miss Walker was yelling at Dr. Cantor. What did she say?” He was screeching, his face turning crimson.
