by Dean Hughes
“No. Not exactly.” But she was just realizing what he was saying. “Would you get excommunicated if you married me?”
“Yes.”
“And you would do that?”
“Yes. I’ve thought it over. I believe in God, but I don’t have to be a Catholic.”
“But what would your parents say?”
“Mom would cry and carry on, the same way she did when my big sister married a guy who wasn’t Catholic. But I don’t know why. She isn’t that religious.”
“It’s not like that in my family.”
“I know. But at least you wouldn’t get kicked out of your church.”
LaRue tried to think what to tell him. He had no idea how different their lives were–or how impossible it would be to fit them together. The truth was, LaRue had never once considered marrying Ned.
“You’d have to be a Mormon to understand,” she said. “It’s not just going to church. It’s . . . everything.”
“I kind of know what you mean. I’ve been around here enough to see how the kids go to church during the week, and you have all these dinners and dances and everything. But I’ve gotten so I sort of like that. If we got married, we could come back here after the war if you wanted, and I could join your church. Then what would your old man have to complain about?”
“It’s not that easy, Ned.”
“What isn’t? Don’t you let people join?”
“Of course we do. It’s not that. But you can’t just walk in and say, ‘Sign me up.’ It’s not the army.”
“I know. You have to take lessons and everything. It’s like that when you join the Catholic church. I could do all that.”
“It’s a big change of life. It’s a whole new way of doing things.”
“Hey, I haven’t had anything to drink for a long time. I could quit smoking, too. What else is there? Coffee, I think.”
LaRue didn’t want to talk any more about this. She didn’t want him to think she was really considering the idea. Sometimes she had thought of having Ned over for a Sunday dinner, just to let him have a home-cooked meal. But she knew what her father would do. He would start asking Ned what college he planned to go to after the war. Ned had graduated from high school, and he wasn’t stupid, but he had never spoken of college. He didn’t even know what kind of work he wanted to do. The fact was, Ned was a guy who lived one day at a time, which was sort of appealing, but LaRue didn’t want someone like that, not in the long run. She wanted someone with more purpose, more future. She knew she was a snob about that, but she wanted nice things; she wanted money.
“Ned, come on,” LaRue said. “Let’s not get into all that. Let’s jitterbug.”
So they got up, and they danced. And after the dance LaRue had to leave him again for a while. The rule was only one dance and then change partners, but in fact no one said anything unless a girl started spending too much time with any one boy. Gaye wasn’t there tonight, so maybe no one was paying attention, but LaRue thought she ought to be careful. She worked at the counter for a time, and then she danced with some other boys–one a burly fellow from South Dakota who smelled of beer and tromped on her feet and tried hard to pull her close. “Be nice,” she said, “or I’ll dance on your feet for a change.”
He laughed, and she took some pride in the fact that she knew how to deal with guys like that.
Later she danced with Ned again, and this time they danced slow and he held her tight. She liked that, but she wondered whether anyone would say anything to Gaye. She was also wondering what was happening at home. It still seemed impossible to believe that her parents could have expressed so much anger. She kept thinking she should go home and have that peace-making talk with both her parents, but she knew that her dad would only be satisfied when she promised to stop coming to the club, and that was something she wasn’t going to do. She didn’t like MIA, didn’t like ward dances or the boys in her ward. None of that was as fun as being here with these boys from all over the country–older guys with some confidence and with interesting backgrounds. The boys her age at high school were such silly little creeps by comparison.
LaRue also knew that she was experiencing things she could never see anywhere else. The major Union Pacific train station in the area was in Ogden, not Salt Lake, so most of the boys she met were stationed nearby, but sometimes troop trains did stop, and the USO filled up with servicemen on their way to battle. A lot of them were brash and vulgar, but it didn’t take much to see through all that and discover how homesick and scared they were. She also met servicemen coming home, wounded or burned or debilitated. One night she saw a Marine, a big muscular kid, sitting by himself in a corner, and so she walked over and asked, “Did you want a sandwich or a Coke or something?” The young man had looked up vacantly without answering. So she sat down next to him and asked, “Are you okay?” He nodded but said nothing. It had taken some patience, but LaRue had gradually got him to talk a little. He was from Henderson, Nevada. He was on his way home, and he was ashamed. He had gone to pieces after several months of battle in New Guinea and had spent some weeks in a psychiatric ward in Australia. He hated to face everyone in his hometown. “You just look ’em in the eye,” LaRue had told him. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” She didn’t know whether he believed her, whether she had done any good, but she liked the way she had felt about trying to help. She liked feeling part of the war, too, and understanding it a little more. Her father had no idea about any of that–nor would he believe her, probably, if she tried to explain. For some reason he always assumed the worst about her.
When LaRue finally told Ned she was leaving, he walked outside with her. She knew he wanted that kiss she had let him have every time they were together lately. And she wanted it, too. But when they got outside, he seemed a little more eager than usual. He kissed her, but then he clung to her. They were on the street, and it was not as though other soldiers didn’t kiss their girls out there, but LaRue was still self-conscious. He kissed her a second time and still wouldn’t have let her go if she hadn’t pulled away. “LaRue, I’m crazy about you,” he said. “I think about you all day. I want you.”
He pulled her back to him and kissed her again, and she was suddenly fired by his longing. She kissed him back, more than ever before, not because she wanted to make a deeper commitment, not because she loved him, but merely because she liked what she felt–the excitement, the arousal. And maybe she liked the idea that her father would be shocked if he knew what she was doing. Still, she pulled loose again and stepped away.
She could see that Ned was really excited, and she liked that. But he was also worried about her response. “LaRue, when I say I want you, I mean I want to marry you. I want to–”
“Don’t, Ned. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“LaRue, what do you think this is all about? Do you think I’m just trying to get something off you–and then take off? I want to have you the rest of my life. That’s all I think about.”
She knew what she ought to do. She ought to tell him to forget all that and then never come back. She ought to tell him how old she really was. But instead she said, “I’ll be here on Saturday night.” And then she took his hand and let him walk her to the streetcar stop. She even let him kiss her one more time.
Chapter 15
Bobbi tried to read the Honolulu Star-Bulletin every day, and she glanced through the Stars and Stripes, the armed forces journal, when she got the chance. She didn’t have much time to read either paper thoroughly, but she tried to keep up on the war news. And of course, what she scanned for every day was news of sea battles. Late in October she began to read about a massive navy confrontation with the Japanese in the Leyte Gulf of the Philippines. She felt almost certain that Richard was there, but news reports never listed the names of the ships involved. What she did learn, as days passed, was that a number of American ships had been sunk. She went about her work and did what she had to do, but she felt detached, a little numb, and always she
felt that at any moment the bad news might come. But how would she get it? Who would know to tell her? How long before official reports would come out? It was horrifying to think that something might have happened to him and she would know only by his silence.
One evening she came back to her quarters, showered, and then went to the officers’ mess for dinner. By the time she returned, Afton had come in. She was sitting in a chair by her bed, a little too stiff, too straight. Bobbi saw immediately that something was wrong. “What’s happened?” she asked.
Afton looked away, and she spoke softly. “They brought a sailor into our ward yesterday–from Leyte Gulf. He needed surgery, so he was flown in, and Dr. Saunders operated on him last night. This afternoon he started telling me about his ship going down.” Afton finally looked up. “Bobbi, I asked him if he knew anything about the Saint Lo. He said that a kamikaze struck it . . . and it sank.”
Bobbi sat down on the end of her bed. She looked toward the door, not Afton, and she tried to breathe, but her chest had petrified. She couldn’t get enough air.
“Bobbi, he did say there were survivors. He said the ship took some time to go down, and he was sure that a lot of the crew got off.”
Bobbi was trying desperately to judge her own feelings. “He survived; he’s all right,” she told herself first, and she tried to believe it, tried to find a confirmation within herself. But she felt nothing.
“He’s probably safe,” Afton said. “You’ll hear from him soon.”
But Afton’s words only made Bobbi’s futile affirmation seem all the more silly. “You don’t know that!” she said, biting off her words. “It’s just some stupid thing to say.”
“Bobbi, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“If he’s dead I don’t want to live,” Bobbi said. “I can’t go through this again.”
She was crying, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to scream and throw things.
“I’ll help you, Bobbi. I’ll stick by you. I’ll–”
“Shut up! Just shut up! And leave me alone.” The absurdity of what Bobbi was doing was clear to herself; she knew that she would have to apologize at some point. But she wanted this rage. Suddenly she stood up, walked out the door, and slammed it hard behind her.
She had no idea where she was going, what she would do now. This is what she had feared every day for a year, what she had prayed about constantly. Suddenly God’s indifference struck her like a blow. How could he sit back, impervious, like some spectator, and let this happen? How could she cry to him this long, this hard, only to have him dismiss her with a wave of his royal hand?
As Bobbi left the building, she was expecting to walk, to think, to try to sort out what she was feeling. But her legs had no strength. She walked across the lawn to the place where she and Richard had sat the year before, where they had talked and kissed. She dropped to the grass, curled up on her side, and finally let herself cry. She wished for a passion that would carry her away, that would allow her to howl insanely, to escape reality, but madness wasn’t in her. Her mind was already trying to work.
When she finally sat up again, she had begun to discover what she wanted to do. She told herself to assume nothing. For all she knew, most of the men had escaped the ship. She was being childish to jump to conclusions. She had to find out more so she would know what to expect. If he was dead, she would have to find a way to deal with that, but there was no reason, yet, to let him die in her mind. She told herself what Afton had told her, that somehow he had survived. What she needed was some concrete reason to believe it.
What she wanted was to talk to Richard’s parents. Maybe they had word; maybe he was safe, and all she needed was to talk to them and they could tell her so. Maybe she didn’t need to go through this nightmare.
She got up and walked to the hospital. She was a mess, and she knew it. She tried to straighten her hair a little, brush the grass from her white dress. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. There was a telephone in the main office at the hospital, one that could be used for long-distance calls. Phoning the mainland was expensive, but Bobbi didn’t care what it cost.
So Bobbi sat in the office and acted composed as a young sailor placed her call to Springville, Utah. She thought of praying as she waited, but the thought brought some of her anger back. It was too late anyway; what had happened had happened.
The operator in Springville made the connection, and then the sailor handed the phone to Bobbi. It was only when she heard several rings without an answer that she remembered how late it was in Utah–and thought how many people on the party line she was waking up. It had to be eleven o’clock, maybe even midnight. Bobbi wasn’t even sure what time it was in Hawaii.
But finally there was an answer. “Yes?” a woman said, her voice full of trepidation.
“Mrs. Hammond, my name is Bobbi Thomas. I’m calling from Hawaii. Do you know who I am?”
There was a long pause. “No,” Mrs. Hammond finally said.
“I’m from Salt Lake. I’m in the navy. I met Richard at church over here. Hasn’t he ever mentioned me?”
“What’s this about?”
Bobbi was crushed. “We . . . uh . . . Richard and I have been writing to each other. We’re . . . friends, I guess. I thought he would have mentioned me to you.” Bobbi didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make a scene, but the tears were coming again, and her voice was shaking.
“No. Not that I remember.” But Mrs. Hammond’s voice had lost its hesitancy. She seemed to understand.
“Sister Hammond, I was just wondering whether you had heard anything about him.”
“We got a telegram. It only said he was missing in action. That’s all.” And now Richard’s mother was crying. “We heard on the radio that quite a few got off the ships that went down. That’s the only thing we know.”
A thought flashed through Bobbi’s head. She had heard the stories in the hospital: Japanese shooting at lifeboats, sinking them, or letting men drown rather than picking them up.
“I don’t know when we’ll hear something more. My husband says that if he made it to land, in a boat or something, he could be taken prisoner.”
Bobbi’s knees were shaking so wildly that she sat down. Her hope for a quick resolution was gone. Richard could be dead, but she might not find out for a long time, maybe not until the war was over. She knew there was no escaping what her life was going to be now. “Well . . . thanks, Sister Hammond,” she said. “I’m sorry I called so late. I forgot . . .” But she was crying too hard to finish her sentence.
“It’s all right. I can’t sleep. I just lay here and wonder about him, where he is, what’s happened. It would almost be easier . . . well, no. I don’t want to say that.”
Bobbi understood, of course. And for a time, neither spoke. Bobbi knew she needed to hang up, but this woman on the other end of the line was the only person who could possibly comprehend her feelings.
“Listen, dear,” Sister Hammond said, “Richard doesn’t tell us things. He’s always been that way. Don’t take it to heart that he didn’t mention you.”
“He didn’t want to make any promises. He was too afraid something might happen.”
“Yes, I know. That’s the way he thinks. But write to me, send your address, and just as soon as we hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Yes. I will. Can you give me your address?”
“Just send it to Springville. The postmaster knows us. Did you say you’re from Salt Lake?”
“Yes. Sugar House. I’m a nurse in the navy.”
“Honey, could you tell me in the letter more about yourself? I’d like to . . . get to know you.”
“Yes. I’ll do that. And I’ll come to see you someday.”
But those words created a picture in Bobbi’s mind: she saw herself sitting in the Hammonds’ living room, meeting the people who had been intended as her in-laws. It didn’t feel awkward; it only felt dismal, pathetic. Bobbi was sobbing hard again when she said good-bye.
>
When she put the phone down, the sailor didn’t look at her, obviously embarrassed by all he had heard. Bobbi looked away too, thanked him, and left quickly. But now she was lost again. Where was she supposed to go? She still didn’t want to see Afton.
So she walked to the front gate of the base, and she caught a bus into Honolulu. Her first thought had been to seek out Ishi, but she wasn’t sure that would help either one of them. Ishi was living with the same kind of worry and fear that Bobbi had known this past year.
Bobbi wanted more than anything to be with her mother. She wanted her to hold her and not say anything. She had thought of calling, but she knew a telephone call required too many words, and she didn’t want that. And so she was going to find Hazel, who was more like Bobbi’s mother than anyone else in the islands. She tried to focus on that and not think, but her mind was still jumping, grabbing for some sort of solace.
The Nuanunus lived close to a bus stop. Bobbi got off and walked to the house. The place was small but usually full of people, and that was one thing Bobbi didn’t need right now. When she knocked on the door, Brother Nuanunu came to the door. “Say, Bobbi,” he said, “come in. Come in.”
Bobbi took off her shoes and stepped inside. It was like Brother Nuanunu to give her a big hug, but he took hold of her shoulders and waited until she looked into his eyes. “What’s a matta?” he asked. “You okay?”
“Is Hazel here? I just wanted to talk to her for a minute, if I could.”
“Oh, sure. She’s out back. She’s prob’ly sleeping in her chair out there. But that’s okay. She’ll be happy to see you.”
“Well, maybe if she–”
“No, no. Come on with me.”
And so Bobbi walked through the kitchen and out the back door. The sun was setting outside, clouds in the western sky all orange and bronze. Bobbi could see Hazel, in a bright muumuu, lying back in an easy chair, like a deck chair on a ship. But she wasn’t asleep. She looked around and said, “Oh, Bobbi dear, come to me. How good to see you.” But as Bobbi came closer, Hazel saw what was in Bobbi’s face. “What is it?” she said. “Brother Hammond?” She was working to lift herself out of the chair.
