“Not long. Edward is a weak reed. I know him. Or, at least, my family does.”
I wanted to ask her who the flaming hell she was, and how she got here, but what I said, was, “If that was so, and the Britain and Germany split up the French Black African Colonies… I know that one of the causes of the war was that the Germans felt left out of the great colony race.”
“Let’s see… In the Americas, French Guiana, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Saint Pierre and Miquelon… We sailed there. When I was younger. My father had a sailboat.” She winced ever so slightly. “In Africa, Ivory Coast, Dahomey, French Sudan, Senegambia and Niger, French Guinea, Mauritania, French Upper Volta, Nigeria, Gambia, French Equatorial Africa…..and Chad.” She smiled at herself and I could see the precocious little girl in Geography class. “I am forgetting some.”
“French Congo.”
“Of course. Madagascar.”
“We could look it up. But the point is… “
“Lots, as you say, of real estate.”
I pressed on. “So If Germany gets all of them, or splits them with England, they will have a lot of consolidation to undertake. And while they are doing all that, French Indochina is left hanging. A ripe fruit.”
“A fruit for whom?”
“Japan. Maybe for us, we have a fleet in the Philippines…” Thinking out loud.
“But Japan is closer. And warlike.”
“Give the lady a big fat cigar.”
“You must always be so vulgar?”
“Justine, war is very vulgar. For your own self protection, I advise you to loosen your standards. I spent two hitches in France, in the AEF, the American Expeditionary Force, and I have a feeling this could get as bad. We call this place the End of the Line, and we have so many enemies, I can’t even count them. You need to be on the alert at all times.”
“Like you? You drink.”
“You have no idea. I drink to try and not… Jeeze, how can I explain? I’m always on alert. I wear my fat ass out being on alert. I can’t stop feeling… well… fear. I found out that courage is finite. I used all mine up. Fear is infinite. I am… Fuck it. Let’s find a few people that can translate German…”
“I can do that. Not a difficult language. And I have conversational French.”
“Good. Go back home, interview some people and see what you can find. I will. Hell. I will have to find them someplace to stay. I will have to give up my little nest for your women. We can paint the windows. Or something. I will rack out in the Shop. Tomorrow.”
“You would do that for people you don’t even know?”
“Yeah. White women? And you are lesbians? Jeezus, is this going to be insane? I better talk to Su-mi, get more whores in here, keep those machinists from thinking about you girls. Ladies. Whatever the hell you are.”
“Trying to restrain your obvious hostility to us would help.” She said flatly.
“You have… Okay, deal. I’ll do it. And I will get you some real pistols too. You tell Ruby or whoever to rustle up some uniforms. Drab uniforms for my girls. Long skirts? Look like Salvation Army lasses?”
“I understand.” She turned away. “It is early yet. Do you suppose we should see if the radio works?”
“Not a bad idea. I will go talk to Su-mi, get us some dinner.” I turned back. “Lock the door.”
>>>>>
When I got back with a couple bowls of soup, she was spinning the dials, getting bursts of stations, mostly code, I could not read much of that. Encoded Morse, or whatever the hell the Japanese, Chinese, and Russians used. For example, Russian requires thirty-one characters, one more than the usual thirty four-digit combinations of regular Morse. Chinese used something with four numerical digits that referenced a code book, which I did not have. Officially not my problem. So, find some English.
Little blurbs of this and that, “We will do better at night. Better explain that to your people. Signals travel a lot further after the sun goes down.” I switched the dial to 10x sensitivity, and got something almost immediately. It was NKH, the Japanese state radio, much like the BBC in London. Radio Japan was their English Language Service, aimed mostly at their ex-pat communities in Hawaii and South America. I caught the tail end of a news broadcast.
“And in other news, the Imperial Government expresses sorrow concerning the loss of noted America Aviation pioneer, Brigadier General William Mitchell, who was lost when the USN Destroyer USS Preston DD-327, was lost at sea with nearly all hands. Only five survivors were rescued by a Macau registered freighter, and are being carried on to their original destination, Vladivostok. Brigadier General Mitchell was assigned to help train and equip Chinese Nationalist forces in the Nanking region.”
“Justine, make a note of that frequency.”
“Done.” We ate our soup, decided we needed a coffeepot, and she went on home. A couple of alleged cobblers had been hanging around, they went with her. I found I had to lead the auto mechanics that Sovine had sent me to DAT House, and by then it was time to head home and fall out. I talked to Jimmie Bolton, he promised to send a couple of guys and some left over crate lumber over to make me a little room of my own in the morning. Good enough. A day.
But then I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes even the booze won’t shut my brain down. I got up, it was still early. Early for the life I used to live, pretty late for the Army. I got out and wandered around the Shop, a few noises told me that some people had found some amusements to while away the dark hours. Men had made little nests under or near their machines, reminding me of the stories my dad had told of the bad old days in the lower depths in Russia. The generator was off, of course, nobody could sleep with that brute hammering away.
I saw a flickering light back near the forge, I picked my way around cocoons of sleepers, and found Su-mi still up, sipping tea and writing something in a book by candlelight. She had another book next to her nest, a thick book, looked like Chinese. She heard me coming, set her writing brush aside.
“You no sleep?”
“Yeah. I mean no. You got anything to eat? Some cookies?”
“You no need food, you need woman.” I thought about arguing, but then I didn’t feel like fighting my fate. Chances I would not live long enough to die of syphilis, anyway. She got up, clutched her robe about her, said, “Wait here, no scare girls with big feet.”
Yes, mam. So I waited. I rested a haunch on the anvil, I was very tired, I felt it, I just could not relax. A lot of walking today, a lot of decision making. The stakes were getting real high. Su-mi’s book looked a lot like a bible, gold edges on the pages and those thumb places to make the chapters. I supposed blurrily that these cut outs had a special name, but I could not remember, if I had ever known. It seemed like something I should have known at some point.
A short time later, Su-mi was back with a woman in tow, I could not see much, she was bundled in a blanket. A pig in a poke. “Here. You take girl. Her name…”
“I don’t need to know that. All I really wanted was some cookies.”
“You call her Cookie, you want. No matter. Good night.”
>>>>>>
We didn’t speak on the way back into the office, I closed the door, did not lock it. There was barely a whisper of light from outside, the moon, perhaps. I took her hand, led her to my nest, stood there trying to see her. Nothing. “You want me to take my clothes off,” I asked in English.
“Nichevo.” Russian. It does not matter.
“You have a name?”
“Cookie.”
“You speak English?”
“I don’t care.”
Not very exciting dialog here. I just had on pants and a shirt. I dropped them to the floor. “How much?”
“It does not matter.”
“Very well.” I just stood there, you never touch whores first. She wants impersonal, impersonal she gets. “Okay, Cookie. Blow me.” She dropped her blankets, I saw a flash of light skin before she knelt. I caught a good whiff of woman. It had been a long time. “Do your damn
edest, Cookie.”
She did.
>>>>>>
I had forgotten to get another watch from HQ, and lost track of time. It was still mostly dark, we were deep in the throes when Justine opened the door and bustled in, followed by a half dozen other women, neatly and modestly dressed, as specified. “Mister Kapusta!”
“Ever hear of knocking?” I panted. “Wait outside, I will be right with you.” She closed the door, I finished, although the moment was passed, then rolled off, reached around for my clothes. I was very aware that the walls of my office were windows. The radio was playing some music I had found last night, perhaps a bit too loudly. Excuses, excuses.
I found my trousers, slipped them on, then climbed up in my chair, put on my shirt, looked for my socks. Cookie was still lying on her back, blinking blue eyes at the new day. She was not as I expected, pure white, pale blonde, Russian for sure, pretty high class, if I had to guess. No expression. All there, good teeth, looked undernourished, ribs showing, but not desperate. Mature, but no more. Twenty? An adult. I slipped my shoes on my bare feet, stood, found my jacket on the back of the chair. “Get up, Cookie.”
She blinked at me. “You will keep me?”
Good question. Was I supposed to care? “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want. Get up. Put on some clothes. Work to be done.”
“I have no clothes.”
I dug in my duffle, found a civilian white shirt and a tie. “Here.” I handed them down to her. “Improvise. Hurry. You are holding up production.” She moved smoothly, wasted no motion. She slipped into the shirt, used the tie as a sash, stood, looked at me with no expression. “Roll up the blankets, put them in that,” I pointed, “… corner. Then go get us a couple cups of tea, something to eat. Wash, comb your hair.”
“I have no comb.” She said, bending to her first task. I found my comb, raked it across my head, handed it to her as soon as she deposited the blanket roll in its place.
“Bathrooms over to the left. After we eat, I will find you some clothes, shoes, whatever you need.”
If I had been expecting a thank you, I would have been disappointed. She left, I tied my shoes, tucked in my shirt, opened the door, called for Justine. “Thanks for coming. Shall we begin? Who speaks what language?”
Of course, as might have been predicted, Justine was not going for it. “Who was that women? She is quite beautiful.”
“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.” Shrug. “A prostitute who goes by the name of Cookie. I told you there was no shortage of whores in China, didn’t I? Have you eaten?” Fortunately I was saved from her rebuttal by the arrival of a crew from Jimmy Bolton, with a flivver full of salvaged lumber, to make me a bedroom. I just gestured toward the radio, said, “Locate and identify as many stations as possible today, log them in, and then start logging in news broadcasts, anything else you find relevant. Times and frequencies. Anything you need, talk to Billy Ardmore, he’s the Shop Steward. He needs something typed, do that. You, Justine, work for me, so does Billy. The rest of you work for Justine and the Army. Don’t let yourself be distracted.” She nodded, reached for a clipboard, and I continued. “I will have the crew build you some bunk beds, tell them how many you expect to need, move the furniture the way you want it, do what you can to get settled in. I’ll have the crew throw me up a little cabin nearby first, and then I have to run to Commissary at HQ to fetch a few things. You are in charge until I get back, anything you need make a list. Cookie is fluent in Russian and English, at least, so put her to work with you, keep her out of trouble. Any questions?”
Seven pair of eyes pierced me, but I didn’t care, because my heart is pure, and I have the skin of a rhinoceros. Also I just had my ashes hauled most professionally, and could give a shit. Not to mention that I had seen all these girls’ asses on the ship, and indeed, I seemed to remember that the little ginger in the back was one of the ones that had a dick between her legs. Not my problem. I had work to do. Fuck’m they can’t take a joke.
I made it to the crapper just as Cookie was coming out, I assumed she remembered where to find Su-mi. One three-holer for all these people? Was that another thing for me to worry about? No partitions, but running water. And if so, what about the ginger with the dick? Not my problem. Selective ignorance is a powerful tool. Shit, shower, shave, and shampoo. No shower. No shampoo. War is hell. Bar soap and glad to get it. I washed my pits in the sink, shaved, raked my hair back with my fingers, and called it an ablution. Have to talk to Hoskins, get a shower set up. A hot water heater would be bliss.
The DAT crew was listening to Justine, taking notes, one girl was turning knobs on the radio, the rest were moving what furniture there was against the front wall. The DAT crew had bought a bucket of paint and the little Ginger was painting the windows white. “Leave the tops of the windows open, please, we need all the light we can get.” She just nodded, no problem, she could not reach that high anyway.
I collared one of the DAT Crew, and drew the size room I wanted on the floor with a charcoal stick he had. Eight by ten ought to do for two people, and if not, then it was way big enough for me. Rank hath its little privileges, and I am as rank as anybody. He thought he had enough wood, if not there was plenty more. He asked me for nails, more paint. I made a note. Cookie came back with a pot of tea and some biscuit-resembling objects. They were too sweet, but they were food. I ate, introduced her to the girls, promptly forgot their names. Ginger was Frances, or Frank, I took a few more notes, got some idea of Cookie’s sizes from Justine, Cookie was still barely polysyllabic. Screw her. She didn’t have to sparkle conversationally, she just had to submit to my animal appetites. I did not suppose that exposure to Justine’s crew would make her more submissive, but China was full of whores. Not as many as good looking as Cookie, Justine was right, but I was not running a beauty contest. Take the cash, let the credit go.
The Commissary was now in the Train Station, Hodges had taken that over, and there were enough civilian vendors along the platform and outside to let me fill my list quickly. They had some Russian sanitary napkins that looked rough, but might do the job. Had I just got married to seven crazy women? Time will tell. I bought seven sets of brushes, tooth brushes, combs, mirrors, everything I could think of. There were a whole lot of obviously salvaged toiletries, I just grabbed a few handfuls, a couple of sewing kits, more shoes, they were cheap, especially the women’s dress shoes. A drug on the market. Not too many formal events these days. They had lots of watches, Russian and American, probably looted from corpses. Nails were scarce outside, but the Commissary had what I needed. No water heaters though. Enough.
I flivvered back to HQ, requisitioned everything I could get my hands on, especially seven side arms and holsters, helmets and field coats, a couple more armloads of blankets, and I even found, wonder of wonders, a stack of pillows. I even remembered to ask about dried fruit. The sergeant gave me one of those “look at this crazy guy” looks, but nodded. I slipped a gold coin onto the counter, he covered it with his hand, and nodded again.
“How does it come?”
“Prunes, I got barrels and I got fifty pound crates. Apricots come in burlap bags. How many you want?”
“Is there a lot?”
“Jeezus. Some congressman from California makes sure the Army buys trainloads, and they suck. Who the fuck needs to shit that much?”
“I hear you. Where do you want me to back my truck up?”
“Around back. The corporal will show you. How many?”
“A couple hundred pounds?”
“Not a problem. Sign here.”
>>>>>>>
Feniks first, then home. Master Wu was all business, he tasted a few of the prunes, allowed them to develop the full taste in his mouth, then nodded. “How much?”
“The first batch is free, let’s see what the final product tastes like. Partners?”
“We have an agreement. Do you suppose your supplier is susceptible to bribery?”
“Most soldiers can never get enough to drink.”
“A fact. Pleasure doing business with you. I have a small present for you. A case of the cherry vodka. This is filtered twice. Your Commander suggested filtering through charcoal to remove the fusel oils, it seems to work. I am afraid my chemical education was more academic than practical, but old dogs can learn new tricks. I thank all of you. You are far more considerate than the Russians ever were. To a prosperous association.”
“Have you made inquiries about the divers?”
“That was not difficult. There are any number of unemployed fisher folk. A separate tribe from the Han, they have their own dialect, but that is not an insurmountable difficulty. They are now in touch with your Commander, and we expect great things.”
On the way out, I noticed that big black Remus guy, and Ivan Hodak, still holding court in the bar. Looked like the Feniks was still an office for a lot of disreputable people. And bully for them.
Last on my list was to check in with the Commander, he had set up a water taxi with the lifeboats, and was working on the next Maru in line. The last one was up, high and dry, crew doing much as they had for the Eiben, chopping away the superstructure, lightening everything, bracing the hull, mounting what looked like those Fire Department pumps. I had seen the gutted remnants of the fire engines up on the docks, with more junk machines behind them, ready to be cannibalized. As I was being rowed back with a new stack of job orders, I noticed Stearns picking his way in with a cargo of Chinese women in the launch. A lot of things were getting done in one big hurry.
>>>>>>
I made it back to the Shop, feeling full of virtue, with an minor undercurrent of worry that Justine and Cookie would somehow declare war on each other and me at the same time. That warm glow was dashed, as if by ice water, as soon as I walked in. No work was being done, the radio was turned all the way up and every person in the shop was gaggled around my office door, muttering under their collective breaths. It didn’t look to be my fault after all. I bulled my way in, people were so focused on the radio, they had to actually look me in the face to realize they should get the fuck out of the boss’s way. Not good.
Polar Bear Blues: A Memoir Of The Endless War (The Endless War. Book 1) Page 10
