by Dean Hughes
“That I can agree with,” Richard said.
But Wally said, “Alex, you got a battlefield commission. You must have been a great soldier, so I don’t know why you keep saying things like that.”
“I spoke German, that was all. They needed someone to do a job.”
“Don’t do that, Alex. You can level with me and Richard. We were there too.”
Alex took a long breath. Then he took a chance. “Wally, I fought Germans. I felt like I was fighting my own people. There was no way to do anything right. The better I soldiered, the worse person I felt I was.”
Richard nodded, and Alex saw something solemn in his eyes, felt he did understand.
“The Germans sent young boys at us at the end. I killed kids who were Beverly’s age. Then I went back to Germany and called everyone brother and sister.”
“You couldn’t help that.”
“That doesn’t change anything. Those boys are still dead. I don’t care if someone says, ‘Thanks for doing what you had to do,’ but folks back home all want stories about killing the filthy krauts. And I’m not going to give them any of that. What do people mean when they call a guy a hero, Wally? They mean he killed, and he did it well.”
“Not always.”
“Well, that’s the only thing I did to get my medals.”
“Alex, you put your own life on the line. That’s why people want to honor you.”
“But those people don’t know what war is. They think it’s all a bunch of John Wayne movies: brave boys, fighting for home and country. I had kids in my squad who would curl up and bawl when the artillery started coming in. We weren’t out there looking for a chance to die for our country. We just wanted to get home, all in one piece.”
“Most people do know that, Alex. But they honor you, all the same, because you stayed with it, no matter how scared you were.”
But that wasn’t it. Alex didn’t know how to say what he was feeling, never had known.
“There’s more to it than that, Wally,” Richard said. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, but Alex heard some pain, too.
“What do you mean?” Wally asked.
“I saw things that I could never tell a bunch of people at a banquet. They’d stop waving their flags and just sit there in shock. The evil is never all on one side. War makes men evil.”
No one spoke for a time, but Alex felt an immediate attachment to Richard. Without looking at him, he reached over and rested his hand on his shoulder.
“I know about that,” Wally said. “The guards in the prison camps did everything they could to break us down. And it worked. When a man is hungry enough, he’ll do almost anything. I can’t tell you what it took just to stay human.”
Richard spoke in that same quiet, troubled voice. “Most guys, when they face death, don’t turn into heroes. They save themselves, if they can—even if someone else has to die.”
Alex didn’t know how Richard knew that, and he didn’t ask. “People at home have no idea what goes on,” he said. “Sometimes the men who fought the best were the worst guys over there. If you come back from a battle—blooded—and you can laugh about it, I’ve got to think there’s something wrong with you. But I saw men like that get medals—lots of times. And that’s what I think of when I hear the word hero. Maybe I had to kill, but I don’t ever want to feel good about it.”
“But Alex,” Wally said, “I saw the other side, too. I saw guys give up their own lives to save their friends—and a lot more who would have done it, if it had come to that.”
“I know. I saw that, too. But I don’t want to honor war in any way. I don’t want boys to grow up thinking that’s the best way to show that they’re men. I don’t want my little boy to be a soldier, ever.”
“Tell them that at the banquet.”
“No. People don’t understand. And if you try to tell them enough to make them understand, they don’t want to hear it.”
“I still say that we ought to come through for Dad. I think we owe it to him, and I think there are things we can say that we all believe, things we can be honest about.”
“I’d really rather not,” Alex said.
“I don’t want to either,” Richard said. But after a moment, he added, “But I guess I will—for your dad. I do love my country. I can say something about that.”
“I love my country too,” Alex said, “but I don’t like all this ‘we’re better than everyone else’ stuff that I’m hearing so much these days.”
“Say that. Say what you want to say. By next spring you’ll probably feel a lot better about doing that. I’ll tell Dad we’ll do it as long as we can say what we really feel. How’s that?”
Richard nodded, and Alex didn’t say no. What he really thought was that he wouldn’t turn his dad down at the moment, but he would find some way out of the situation between now and then. Right now, he needed to be careful not to create any bad feelings. What he wished was that he could feel the way he had that first hour after he had arrived at his home and seen his family. He hated all this fuss, all these negative feelings—all this awkwardness with his dad.
Later, when Alex was back in his office, he thought about the conversation with his brother and brother-in-law, and he did feel good about that. He even felt some relief. They had understood—he was sure of that—and that made a difference to him. But it didn’t exactly change anything. What he wanted was to be Alex again, and he had to wonder whether that boy he remembered as himself hadn’t been lost in action.
Chapter 20
Beverly was standing straight while LaRue fixed the back of her hair. “It’s not going to work,” Beverly kept saying. “My hair isn’t thick like yours.”
“Just stand still,” LaRue told her. “It’s going to look great.”
LaRue had pinned Beverly’s hair into parted, high waves in front and was trying now to make the ends roll under, tight against her neck. “I look like those girls who work the counters down at Walgreen’s,” Beverly said. “Let me just do it my normal way.”
“No. This is a special night. You have to do something dramatic.”
“You mean tragic, I think.” But the truth was, Beverly did like the way the hairdo made her look—older and more glamorous. She only wished that LaRue would hurry; she was getting nervous, standing so long. She was wearing only her slip now, and she wanted to put on the pretty blue-green dress that she
and LaRue had picked out. But more than anything, she wished the night were already over. This was her first real date, her first time to spend an entire evening with one boy. Garner Manning was taking her to the spring dance, the last school dance of the year, and he was dreadfully cute. He was exactly the boy Beverly had wanted to flirt with—had even tried to flirt with. But she had stumbled over her words, hadn’t known what to say, and ended up seeming frightened, maybe even distant.
Somehow, however, he had seemed to understand. He had called the very next day and asked her, his brief invitation sounding coached and memorized, even shaky. Beverly had whooped with joy when she had hung up the phone, but now she was scared. “LaRue, help me think of some things I can talk about tonight.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t practice. Don’t worry about it. Just be yourself. He wouldn’t have asked you out if he didn’t like you the way you are.”
“LaRue, he’s never been around me for more than a few minutes at a time. He doesn’t know how boring I am.”
“Boring? You’re not boring. You read all the time. You know all kinds of things.” She took hold of Beverly’s shoulders, turned her a little, then looked over her shoulder at the mirror.
“Oh, sure, LaRue. He’d just love talking about books all night.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“LaRue, he’s a boy. He’s on the track team.”
“Some boys read, Bev. Even the athletes.” Now LaRue turned Beverly the opposite way and looked over her left shoulder. “If he doesn’t read at all, I wouldn’t bother to go out with
him again.”
Beverly tried to see LaRue’s assessment of the hairdo in the mirror, but she couldn’t decipher anything from her expression. “You don’t know how cute he is,” she said.
“Trust me, my dear. ‘Cute’ isn’t everything. After about two hours with some guy you have nothing in common with, you don’t care what he looks like.”
“I’m the one who doesn’t have anything in common, LaRue. Not him.” Bev knew that was a stupid thing to say before the words were out. But that’s how she felt. If the two had nothing to say, it was only because she wasn’t what she wished she were: one of the really popular girls who knew everything that was going on at school.
LaRue did laugh, but she was merciful. She said, “He should talk about the things you’re interested in just as much as the other way around.”
“What can I say about track and stuff like that? And what does he care about Jane Austen?” She reached up and touched the hair just over her ear, but LaRue slapped her hand away.
“Hey, just ask him about track. And if he’s a nice guy, he’ll ask you what you like to do, and you can tell him about Jane Austen.”
“LaRue, don’t say anything else. You’re making me too nervous. I would never know how to say things like that. I don’t even know what all those different races are that they run—the four-forty and all that stuff. And what am I supposed to do? Tell him the plot to Pride and Prejudice?”
“Okay, never mind. But I’m just going to tell you one more time: you’re a fun girl, and you’re bright and interesting. So just be yourself.”
Beverly liked hearing that, even if she wasn’t sure it was true, and she suspected that she wasn’t quite the dolt that she must seem sometimes. She could certainly talk to LaRue.
“It’s okay to be quiet, Bev. That’s a lot better than being one of these chatterbox girls who never shuts her mouth.” She gave Beverly’s hair a last little pat. Then she took hold of her shoulders again and this time turned her all the way around. “You look really cute, Bev. Honest. As sweet as you are.”
“Boys don’t like sweet girls. They like girls who kiss them goodnight.”
Beverly knew she had taken a chance to say something so bold, but she wanted to know. What was she supposed to do about that? Mom always said not to be kissing every boy who came along, and Bev thought that sounded right—especially not to kiss on the first date—but LaRue would know more about it than Mom. Beverly just didn’t want to ask, not directly.
“If a boy only likes you if you’ll kiss him, forget him. He’s not worth it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But don’t all the boys want to kiss?”
“Some boys want to do a lot more than kiss, Bev. Don’t act so naive. But stay away from guys like that. And don’t kiss this boy tonight. You’ll just give him the wrong idea about yourself if you do.”
Beverly turned back toward the mirror. She knew she was blushing. “Garner isn’t like that. He’s very nice.”
“Well, that’s good. But let me show you a little trick.” LaRue hesitated and then said, “Look at me.” Beverly turned toward her again. “When a boy walks up to the porch with you, he lets you give the signals. If he steps kind of close to you, and you just look up at him, that’s the same as saying, ‘Go ahead.’ If
you want a boy to kiss you, give him a straight path—take hold of his hand maybe, step even closer, and turn your head just a little so he can get past your nose.”
“LaRue!”
“I’m not saying you should do that. I’m saying that’s how you send smoke signals to these guys. They’re not very smart, you know. But if you don’t want to be kissed, you do the opposite. When he steps up, you step back just a little, and you say, ‘Thanks for a wonderful time.’ She spoke in falsetto, and then she acted out the motion as she said, “And you start opening the door. Not one guy in a dozen is going to come after you when you’re in full retreat.”
“What if you want him to know you do like him, but you don’t want to kiss him?”
“Ah. Now that takes some art. That’s a great question. I used to be very good at that.” She took hold of Beverly’s hand. “What you do is, you give him that little squeeze of the
hand and make him think for a second that he might get that kiss, but then you move away, and in a really sincere voice you
say, ‘Irving, I’ve had such a great time. I hope you’ll call me again.’ That way, he knows you want to go out again, but he figures you’re just not ‘that kind of girl.’”
“I could say that.” Bev tried to imitate LaRue’s voice, but she ended up exaggerating. “I hope you’ll call me again.”
“Yeah. That’s not too bad. But you know what? I don’t do that anymore. I just tell them something honest. I say, ‘I had fun. I’ll see you at school, okay?’ or something like that.”
“Why don’t you do it the way you used to? You said you were good at it.”
LaRue walked over and sat down on Beverly’s bed. “The next boy I go out with more than once is going to be smart enough to say something worth talking about.”
“You’re really a brain now, aren’t you?”
“No. I wish I were. I do my homework now, that’s all.”
“How come you don’t go with anyone? You don’t even go around with Cecil as much as you used to.”
“Cecil makes me mad. He’s smart, but he thinks he’s smarter than he is. He tries to tell me what’s what, and I’m not sure he knows himself.”
“LaRue, I worry about you. You’re too serious anymore.”
“I know I am. But don’t pay any attention to me. Just relax and have fun. You’re going to have a great night.”
“I’ll just be glad when it’s over.”
“Well, yeah. I know what you mean. But it’s not anything worth worrying about. If Garter, or whatever his name is, doesn’t like you, so what? There’s lots more fish in the old East High fishing hole.”
“His names is Garner, and I like that name. It sounds distinguished. Garner Manning.”
“You’ve tried it out, haven’t you? You’ve written it in your notebook: Beverly Manning. Just to see how it sounds—and looks.”
“I have not.” But Beverly was lying, and she was afraid LaRue could see it in her face. She had written it twenty times at least, and she liked the sound of it.
It was time to get her dress on, and so LaRue helped her slip it on without mussing her hair. And then LaRue distracted her, joked with her, until the doorbell rang, right on time. “Which way are you going to play it?” LaRue asked. “Are you going to stay up here for a while so he doesn’t think you’re ready and waiting for him?”
“No. I might as well just go down when Mom calls me.”
“Good. Now see—that’s you. That’s the way you do things. Be that way the whole evening.”
But Beverly doubted she could take the advice. She didn’t know what was natural to her, not in this situation.
When Mom came to the top of the stairs and said, “Beverly, your young man is here,” Bev almost died. Garner had heard that for sure. What would he think? He wasn’t her ‘young man.’ But she hurried out, then stopped at the head of the stairs and took a deep breath. She knew she had to stop blushing. But after at least a minute, she could still feel the heat in her ears and cheeks, and so she decided there was nothing else to do but walk on down. She glanced back and saw LaRue, who was standing in the hall, just outside Bev’s bedroom door.
LaRue nodded and smiled. “Thanks,” Beverly whispered. Again LaRue nodded, and Beverly, amazed, noticed tears in her eyes. So Beverly went back and kissed her sister’s cheek, and something in that filled her up, made her feel less self-conscious. She wasn’t quite so nervous as she walked down the stairs.
Garner was waiting at the foot of the stairway. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie, red and blue. He was a tall boy, slender, with brown hair that was neatly combed tonight, with a little wa
ve at the front. He smiled and said something Beverly couldn’t quite hear. “Excuse me?” she said.
“Oh. I just said you look nice.” And he didn’t sound at all the way he did at school. Bev could see how scared he was. He looked pale, and he had gripped his hands together into a knot.
Mom was still there. “Garner, I’d like you to meet Beverly’s father,” she said.
Al stood up. He had been reading a book, which he set face down on the table next to him. Then he walked toward Garner, who met him halfway. “Nice to meet you, President Thomas.”
“Do you live in our stake?” Dad asked.
“No. I just know that you’re a stake president.”
“Well, I was. I’ve been released now.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s what my dad said.”
“Who’s your dad?”
Beverly couldn’t believe her father would start into all this. But it was what he always did. She had watched him grill LaRue’s dates a hundred times.
“His name is Arvin Manning.”
“Oh, sure.” And then Dad started off on a story about how he and Mr. Manning had had some business dealings with each other. Garner kept nodding, looking interested, but Bev could see that he was trying to act like a grown-up, and he seemed as stiff as a mannequin.
By the time Beverly got out the door, she was feeling relieved to be with Garner alone—which was the last thing she had expected. But the car was the next challenge. Garner’s big brother was driving them to the dance—Garner wasn’t old enough to drive.
Garner opened the door, and Beverly got in and started to slide over, only to discover that Garner was going around
to the other side. As she slid back, Garner’s brother said, “So you’re Beverly. My name’s Tom. Say, you’re just as cute as Garner said you were,” and then he laughed as though he had cracked a good one.
Beverly was blushing again, she knew. When Garner got into the car, he obviously knew that his brother had said something, but he didn’t know what, and he said, “Tom, lay off, all right?” His voice was so full of warning that Beverly wondered whether the brothers might not come to blows before they reached East High.
