"Looks like a college lecture hall," Sharon says to Donna. "The same varnished seats and pull-up writing arms." Yet at school they never waited to hear a lecture on a potential life-or-death decision they had to make.
"Here he comes," Donna says, squeezing Sharon's hand.
The major who walks to the front of the room has a face that invites confidences. Does it also encourage men to do what's not in their best interests?
"It's a pleasure to meet with all of you today, especially the ladies," he begins, then launches into his pitch.
There is option A: the Intelligence Officers Basic Course – the QV course he calls it – and then a "short" tour – he doesn't say to where. Robert whispers to her that “QV stands for Quick to Vietnam." Or option B: voluntary indefinite. "You have to remember,” the major says, “there are no guarantees. The needs of the service come first."
He smiles, gesturing at the American flag in a corner of the room along with the flag of the U.S. Army Armor School. Sharon envisions animals who eat their young.
“You must make your decision by July 6th,” the major says. “After that the option is no longer available.”
July 6th! Sharon calculates in her head – that’s a little less than six weeks away. Six weeks to make a decision that can change your whole life and affect whether your husband lives or dies.
The major looks around the room. "Anyone with questions or special circumstances can come up and speak to me individually. Thank you, that's all." He remains at the podium.
"What do you think?" Sharon asks Donna as their husbands huddle with some of the other men.
"I'll be right back," Donna says and walks up to the major. What question can she be asking him? Sharon wonders.
Sharon looks around. How many of these men – and their wives – will decide to opt for at least another year of active duty in order to postpone Vietnam? How many others will want it over with as soon as possible, not wanting the fear hanging over their heads for longer?
Donna returns to Sharon’s side, her face lit up by a huge smile. "Jerry probably won't have to serve in Vietnam! He'll be exempt ..."
Does Jerry have a physical problem that prevents him from serving in a combat zone? Sharon thinks.
"... because my first husband was killed in Vietnam."
Sharon can't breathe. Her oxygen tank has just been depleted and she doesn't have enough air to make it back to the surface. Schools of fish swim in front of her eyes. A shark comes alongside, poised to attack.
She chokes out, "You ... you were married before?"
"A boy I knew from Puerto Rico. We were married right out of high school. He enlisted after our wedding."
There's a little more oxygen in the reserve tank. Sharon inhales. "Why? Why did he enlist?"
"He didn't want to wait to be drafted, same as all these men here," Donna says, waving her arm around the room. "He just wasn't an officer."
Sharon's knees shake – divers get the bends when they come up too fast. Yet she has to know. "What happened?"
"He went to Vietnam. With an infantry unit. When the first telegram came saying he was wounded, I wasn't worried. I was sure everything would be okay. Then the next telegram came saying he was in critical condition. I still wasn't that worried – it didn't seem real.”
Sharon braces herself for what will come next.
"Then the third telegram came. He was dead."
Sharon tells herself to conserve the remaining oxygen. Not to panic. "And then?"
"My father was in Vietnam at the same time. He got compassionate leave to bring my husband's body home. Miguel was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. And I ... I became a war widow."
BOOK 2 – DECISIVE WEEKS
DONNA – III – May 27
State Department informs Senator Fulbright that it has agreed to a Cambodian request for $7.5 million in military aid ... May 22, 1970
“Calling cards should not be printed, but engraved in black on white parchment or Bristol board.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet
Donna follows Jerry down the stairs of the building after the voluntary indefinite meeting. The major's response to her question has made her jumpy with excitement. Yet she isn't yet ready to share the information with her husband. Jerry may not be as thrilled – he doesn't like asking for favors.
"Nice guy, wasn't he?" Jerry says.
"Yes, yes, he seemed nice."
"And his presentation was done very well."
"He was quite interesting."
Why did she tell Sharon about Miguel? Was it the excitement of the moment – or the same compulsion that makes her use the Oriental bowl? His last gift to her, the one that arrived after his death.
Her mother tried to keep the unopened brown-paper package away from her. "Some things are better left unknown," she said. Did her mother fear the box contained a lace negligee, never to be worn to please the sender, or something else equally intimate? Donna pleaded, "Mama, por favor, I must see it. Miguel sent it to me. He wanted me to have it!" Her mother handed her the box with tears in her own eyes.
Donna removed the outer wrapping, then the wads of cushioning newspaper. She lifted up the gift – so small and alone.
Like Miguel the day she kissed him good-by. Praying that he would once again hold her, make love to her.
"See you in Hawaii for R & R," he said.
He never made it to Hawaii.
Donna feels nauseous. It's probably just tension. She has to tell Jerry what she found out from the major and then ask Jerry ... beg him … to apply for the exemption. And she has to do it before Sharon tells Robert and he says something to Jerry.
At home in the bathroom she runs cold water into a glass. The mirror reflects tangled hair, shadows under her eyes, cheeks tinged with grey, her mouth drooping from the pull in her stomach.
She looked worse after the third telegram – after the official notification that she was a widow at the age of 19. In her mind Donna sees the scenes of that day:
Donna and her mother have been out shopping that day, buying the green bananas to make the delicacy that Donna so loves. They and her three younger siblings have returned to Puerto Rico to wait out the Vietnam duty tours of Donna's father and husband. Donna does not want to go shopping that day. She wants to wait, wait for a telegram that she is sure will say that Miguel is out of danger, that the doctors have been successful. "Por favor, Mama," she says. "Please let me stay home." Her mother insists that Donna go shopping with her.
Absorbed in the sights and sounds of the marketplace, Donna doesn't think about what might await her at home. She and her mother wander among the open stalls in the old part of San Juan, searching for the best fruits and vegetables. The flowers that hang from every balcony smell extra sweet that day, as if promising all is well with the world. She and her mother see no one they know, no one to ask Donna how both her husband and her father are doing, no one to remind them of reality.
As they shop she thinks of her childhood – the visits to Puerto Rico that were such a welcome change from the "white" world of the army posts. On those posts, whether in the U.S. or overseas, everything seemed to conspire to remind her that she was different, no matter how unaccented her English and how careful her parents were to speak only English in front of others. She was not "white," and the other children didn't let her forget it. They called her a "Mexican," not even knowing the difference between Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.
Then comes the moment she and her mother have to return home from shopping. The younger children will be arriving from school and will worry if Donna and her mother aren't there to greet them.
Donna climbs the outside stone steps and approaches the apartment door. A yellow envelope sticks out from the mailbox.
"It's here, the news that Miguel is okay! He's going to be fine!" She rushes forward, dropping the bag filled with bananas.
She tears the envelope open and reads the brief message. She reads it a second time, and a third. Only then does she collapse onto
the balcony floor and scream and scream and scream.
After that she only vaguely remembers her mother holding her as her brother and sisters rush up the outside steps. They get her into the apartment before the neighbors arrive, before the commotion and noise become overwhelming.
Miguel's family lives nearby. His married sisters come with their babies, the babies and the women wailing together. The noise turns into guns in battle, firing and firing and firing. No trees, nothing to hide behind. The ammunition and mines explode all around her. Why is she not hit?
An unknown man leans over her. "I will give you a shot to let you sleep." She floats into blessed silence.
Miguel stands at the end of a long white corridor. He wears a spotless white suit – his wedding suit. He beckons to her to come towards him. He smiles.
When she reaches the end of the corridor, he has vanished. She runs around the corner, following the long white hall to where it leads outside to the garden. And there she finds him.
He lies in a shallow furrow, his white suit wrinkled and covered with mud. His eyes are closed. He no longer smiles
When she bends lower, she sees the blood. And she screams and screams.
Donna gulps the water she poured into the glass and again looks into the bathroom mirror.
How can she convince Jerry to take the exemption? He wants "to do his patriotic duty" – that's why he joined the army. And he might want to prove that he is as brave as Miguel.
She gags over the bathroom sink.
The next morning Jerry moans and rolls onto his side. The bed springs jiggle. "I love you," he whispers.
Donna kisses his ear. "I love you too," she says, snuggling into the curves of his nude body. For a few minutes the two of them remain like that, saying nothing.
He is so wonderful! So gentle and caring. So open-minded. From the moment they met, their obvious differences never meant anything to him.
In Puerto Rico, the remaining months of her father's Vietnam tour after he brought home her husband’s body, she ate, slept and answered simple questions when someone spoke to her. Other times she curled up in an armchair facing the living room window. There she awaited the sun's shadow passing across the sky each day, the moon slipping into the sun's place each night.
When her father returned from his own tour – alive! – she would agree to leave the apartment, although only briefly each time. "Mama," she would say, "I'm keeping us all safe by staying home."
Her father's next assignment was Ft. Riley, Kansas. Once there and her younger siblings in school, her parents decided a job could be her path back to living. A nearby college had an open secretarial position in the economics department.
"Excuse me, miss," the student said. She hadn't seen him come in. The typewriter ribbon had unspooled and she was struggling with it, the red and black ink tattooing her hands. She looked up into a smile.
"I'm Jerry Lautenberg. I'm a junior and I need to check on my requirements for graduation. Can you help me?"
She held up her hands and said, "Let me wash first before I look at your records."
He came around the desk without an invitation. "Are you having problems with that ribbon? Let me try."
His breath brushed her check as he wrestled the ribbon back into place. "There," he said. "Now we can wash our hands together." And, for the first time since the yellow message of the third telegram, she laughed.
She helped him with his records, told him her name when asked, and accepted his thanks as he walked out of the office. She smiled as she resumed her typing.
The next day he returned. "Would you consider going out with me?” he said, offering a single red rose. “That is, if no one else has captured your heart."
Surprise, flattery, confusion flooded her. Was it too soon after Miguel ... too soon to go out with someone? And an Anglo at that. What would her parents say? And what a strange expression – "capture your heart." She blurted out: "I'm not a college girl. I'm ... a widow. I wouldn't want to mislead you."
He hesitated, then said, "You didn't have to tell me that now. You could have waited until I was so caught I wouldn't care. You know what? I'm caught now. Would tonight at 8 be okay?"
They had gone out that night, and the next night, and the night after that.
Jerry had been polite and friendly with her parents, making them feel less self-conscious about an Anglo dating their daughter. Eventually her parents became so comfortable that they sometimes lapsed into Spanish in front of him. When they did, he didn't get upset. He just smiled and reminded them he didn't understand. They would smile too, and apologize, and switch back to English.
Her parents had been happy for her. Pleased that she could start over again, to overcome the setback that had befallen her at such a young age.
Jerry's parents were a different matter.
When Jerry proposed to her, she hadn't yet met his parents. For all she knew, he hadn't even told them about her. He was their only child, his father a high school teacher, his mother a housewife.
The father didn't serve in World War II because of a physical disability Jerry had explained. "Perhaps that's why my parents are unhappy about my decision to join ROTC. They don't understand where I'm coming from," he said. Now he would be delivering a double whammy: marrying a Puerto Rican and a widow.
"I can't say yes until I meet your parents," she said. "I have to see for myself if they'll accept me."
"Great idea," he said. "We'll go to St. Louis for a weekend to visit them."
Her parents gave their consent to the trip.
Only as she and Jerry approached the front door of the brick two-story house in a quiet neighborhood did Jerry admit he hadn't told his parents anything about her beyond her first name. "I want them to form their own impressions, not have preconceived notions."
As he rang the doorbell she trembled with fear, afraid that his parents would betray their prejudice the moment they saw her. Yet all his mother said was, "So you're the one our son's in love with." And then his father had ushered her into the house.
She would be lying if she said it wasn't somewhat uncomfortable. Jerry's parents hadn't been prepared for her. Yet they were gracious.
At the end of the two-day visit, she told Jerry, "I may never be close to your parents. Yet if they can continue to be this polite to me, I'll marry you."
Jerry hugged her. "I already told my parents you said yes. And my mom gave me my grandmother's ring for you." Out of his pants pocket he pulled a ring with a garnet stone surrounded by pearls. He slipped it on her ring finger as tears sluiced down her cheeks.
She isn't giving up this happiness – ever. Not if she can help it.
She’ll speak to him now.
"Jerry," she says, rubbing her hands across his chest. "I talked to the major from Washington right afterwards – while you were talking with Robert and some other men – about ... about Miguel."
Jerry stiffens under her hands. "Why would you do that?"
"I wanted to know ... to know if what happened to him could keep you from serving in Vietnam."
"What?" Jerry sits up in bed.
She sits up too. Do not cry, she tells herself. The tears don't listen – they drop onto her bare breasts.
Jerry wraps his arms around her. "Darling, darling," he says.
"I can’t ... lose you," she says, sobs interrupting her words. "I've made ... one sacrifice. You can get ... an exemption ... because of him."
Jerry tightens his arms around her body – she can read his answer in his eyes before he speaks.
"Darling, I can't use that exemption. I'd never be able to look myself in the mirror again without seeing a coward."
"You wouldn't ... be a coward! You'd be doing ... it for me. For our love."
He kisses her tears. "Please forgive me. I have to take my chances like everyone else."
She can't stop sobbing.
He strokes her face. Then says, "Maybe we should consider his vol indef option. Robert thinks it could keep us
out of going to Vietnam because Nixon wants to be re-elected."
SHARON – VIII – May 29
Following two nights of disorders, Miami University (Ohio) is closed and National Guardsmen patrol the campus ... May15, 1970
“On your husband’s card the service should be designated as ‘United States Army’ but indication of the branch is optional.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet
Two days after the voluntary indefinite meeting, Sharon puts on her black-and-white seersucker two-piece suit in preparation for following up on something she saw at the commissary – a notice for a meeting of the Jewish Wives’ Club. The concept seems a little funny in the middle of hicksville Kentucky, but she’s not going to pass up the chance to possibly make new friends.
Sharon has nothing in common with her neighbors Anne and Elizabeth. Sharon can't stand going over to watch their "programs" with them. When invited, Sharon always gives the same excuse – she and Kim have plans – which is usually true anyway.
And Sharon enjoys getting together with her entertainment committee. Yet something is missing. She longs to be among others more like herself. Today she hopes to do that.
Sharon checks herself in the bedroom mirror. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the voluntary indefinite meeting. She thinks again of Robert walking her to the car after the meeting. He asked what she thought of the major’s talk. She gave a noncommittal answer, too agitated by Donna’s “announcement” to say anything more.
As Robert walked back to class, Sharon sat in the car, her hands clasping the steering wheel, not turning on the engine, fixating on an image of Donna’s first husband dying in Vietnam. And then Sharon’s mind switched to another imagined mental picture – the death of Robert’s friend Kenneth in Vietnam. Sharon could recall quite clearly when she heard the news.
It was only a few weeks after her first date with Robert during which he had told her he was going to Vietnam – a first date followed by other dates in spite of Sharon’s better judgment that a relationship with a Jewish boy headed for Vietnam was not for her. Something very appealing about Robert in spite of this major drawback made Sharon hesitate to call off seeing him.
Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel Page 13
