The door at the far end of the barracks suddenly creaked open, startling me.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Somebody in here?” a voice answered, sounding confused.
The rest of the letters slid onto the floor as I shot to my feet before the person in the doorway thought I was causing some kinda trouble by being there. Or in case they were toting a gun. Words fell over each other coming outta my mouth as I tried explaining how I was Levi Battle from south Chicago who’d come to Camp Mackall looking for my father, Lieutenant Charles Battle, and how he was in the paratroops, but nobody seemed real sure of where they were, and how the barracks were empty when I got there.
“I was only waiting to see if anybody came back from chow,” I added in a rush. “But it doesn’t look like the soldiers are around here since it’s already getting dark, so I was just getting ready to leave.”
Good grief, I sounded like a complete babbling fool.
“Holy mackerel.” A colored soldier came hobbling through the doorway on a bum foot. He looked young—I woulda said maybe just twenty-two or twenty-three. He was thin and lanky, like a speedy length of rope. “You telling me, gospel truth, you are Charlie Battle’s son?” he said.
The feeling of relief that the fellow knew who I was talking about—that he’d heard of my father—made my legs start to wobble. For a minute, I was afraid my whole body might slide right onto the floor with all the envelopes and letters. A big alphabetic pile of relief.
Leaning on a cane and walking faster than he probably should have, considering the plaster cast on his left foot, the soldier thumped down the aisle between the empty bunks. “Lemme get a good look at you.” He was about as dark black as Uncle Otis, with a wide white smile. Picture a lot of shiny forehead and a friendly river of smiling teeth. That was him.
Throwing his cane down, the soldier reached out and squeezed the sides of my shoulders when he got to where I was standing. “Here I was just stopping by the barracks tonight to make sure the fellows didn’t leave nothing important behind. Never thought I’d find a person here. So you’re Lieutenant Battle’s son?” He squinted at me, trying to look more serious, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’re being truthful with me, right?”
Told him I was.
“You just blew into town on the wind?”
“I came on the train. From Chicago.”
The soldier couldn’t keep his big smile down. It crept across his face. “You just packed up your bags and came down here all by yourself to find Boots?”
“Boots?”
The soldier grinned wider. “Lieutenant Battle—otherwise known as Boots.”
I tried not to let on that everybody in the U.S. Army might’ve known my daddy as Boots, but it was news to me.
“So?” The soldier was still eyeballing me, like he was waiting to hear more details. “Did he know you were coming here?”
Although I was sure it would sound like a made-up piece of fiction, I told him my aunt was the one who had sent me for a visit.
“Uh-huh.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “What did you say your first name was again?”
“It’s Levi.” Being polite, I tried asking him, “What’s yours?”
“Ah …” He grinned and shook his head. “Legs don’t get to ask questions around here. Not until you get yourself a pair of nice jump boots like these.”
The brown leather boot the soldier was wearing on his good foot slid forward so I could examine it more closely, I guess, and be impressed. Tight laces crisscrossed each other at perfect angles all the way up and the soldier’s trouser leg was bloused just as neatly over the top. Honestly, the boot’s shiny round toe was so slick with polish you coulda used it as a mirror.
“How about it, Legs?” the soldier said. “Would you jump into the sky to get yourself a pair of these beauties?”
I remember thinking maybe I hadn’t heard him right.
“What?” I said.
The soldier gave me an odd look. As if I was the next village idiot. “Don’t tell me you never once thought about what it’d be like to follow in your daddy’s footsteps and jump outta airplanes like we do. Get your wings and jump boots and all that. Heck, I was guessing you probably ran off from Chicago to come down here and join up with us, right?” He was razzing me now, but I was miles away by then, still trying to gather up the pieces of what I’d just heard.
My father jumps out of airplanes. Real airplanes. Into the sky.
I stared at the soldier’s polished boot as if it might lift off and go soaring around the room on its own. Son of a gun, the stories my father had told us were all true? Aunt Odella would have a holy fit when she heard the news. She’d probably pray for a solid year without stopping. God would be sorry he ever started listening to her.
“Your daddy don’t just jump outta airplanes either.” The soldier got a sly look in his eyes, like he was having even more fun. “Sometimes, he’s the one who closes the door, you know.”
Closes the door? Good God. My father jumped out of airplanes—and then reached back and closed the door?
A slow-cooking smile spread across the soldier’s face like he knew I was swallowing every word he said. He let me think for a while before he added, “Last one out. It means the last one to jump outta the plane. Nobody closes the door.” He patted my shoulder. “Shoot, you got a lot to learn, Legs, if you wanna do this for a living someday.”
“Levi,” I said, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard my name before.
“Naw, everybody who don’t jump is called legs around here. You’re Legs.” Lifting his cane again, the soldier rapped it against his bum leg. “Me, I’m half legs right now. Landed on a tree stump in February when we were coming down in the dark and busted my doggone foot in two places. Haven’t jumped since.” He stuck out his warm hand to shake mine. “Anyhow, I’m Calvin Thomas, one of your daddy’s outfit. The Nickles. The troopers. The jumpers. Whatever you want to call us. But everybody around here knows me as Cal.”
His face grew serious as he glanced down at my suitcase, which was still open on the floor with my daddy’s picture sitting right on top, letters scattered all over the place. There was an uncomfortable long silence before he said, “You traveled all this way hoping to see him, huh?”
Right then I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. I been left behind enough times to be able to tell bad news is coming before it does. Put on my silent movie face and waited for whatever I was gonna be told next. In the distance, a roll of thunder rumbled as if a storm was moving in from somewhere. Cal rubbed the handle of his cane with his thumb, making little circles. Cleared his throat.
“Well, knowing your daddy like I does, I’m sure he woulda given anything in the world to be here today to see you. Anything in the world. But the honest truth is, the men got orders from the army and had to ship out real sudden. The whole battalion left. You only missed them by a little.” He paused as if he was weighing how much more to say. “They pulled outta here by train early yesterday morning.”
Yesterday.
Now, I’ll admit missing my father by one day stung a little. No doubt about it. Twenty-four hours was a hard fact to swallow. Tried not to let Cal hear the sigh slipping out of me as I put the blame square on Queen Bee Walker’s curse again—for being the first to leave and causing all the rest.
Looking down, Cal kept rubbing his thumb on the cane. “I’m real sorry to be the one to give you that bad news. I’m sure it ain’t easy to hear after all your trouble coming this far.”
The rumbling outside grew louder.
“Their orders were top-secret—so even if your daddy wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you much. None of them knew their destination. Probably still don’t. That’s the army for you—you don’t find out where you’re going until you get there.” He glanced toward the windows, where bright lightning was starting to flash. “My best guess is, they’re heading to the Pacific to fight the Japs. Or they could be on their way to anot
her U.S. Army post, who knows. Once my foot heals up, I’ll probably get my orders to join them somewhere too. All I can tell you for certain is their train left Fayetteville yesterday going north. Probably heading north first, then west to the Pacific.”
I kept acting like my Big Man self. Like it didn’t much matter to me. It was nothing but a fist in the stomach that was supposed to hurt but didn’t.
“He moves around a lot.” I gave one of my careless shrugs. What I didn’t say was how you couldn’t catch up with my daddy before the war either. Back when I was in grammar school, he used to drive his old jalopy all over Illinois selling encyclopedias outta the backseat of it. Stuck me with Granny while he was gone. Just passing the time, I used to play with one of the sets he kept at home. Could still remember the shiny gold edges of those fancy encyclopedias and the snow-white pages that felt like cotton sheets. I used to mix up the volumes and then put them in order as fast as I could, A to Z. Maybe I couldn’t make my daddy stick around, but I could put the whole world in order in ten seconds flat, let me tell you.
Later on, my daddy gave up selling books and joined one of the Negro League’s baseball teams, so he was gone then too. I remember how I always tried hiding in his automobile before he left, hoping he’d forget and take me along with him.
It never worked.
“You in here, Levi?” he’d holler, and pretend to look everywhere. Tap on the hood loudly. Blow the horn. Look under the seats. Then, after he found me curled up in the back—where I always was—he’d pick me up and throw my puny self over his shoulder. I could still recall the minty aftershave scent of his neck as I bounced along, teeth rattling, miles above the ground. He’d carry me up to the front steps of Granny’s apartment building, plop me next to her, and leave us sitting in a cloud of mint. Funny how I recalled that smell more strongly than anything. How my daddy had a mint-smelling neck and arms the color of buckeyes. What stupid things to remember.
“You all right, buddy?” Cal looked at me with real sympathy.
A strong gust of wind caught the screen door at the front of the barracks just then and slammed it back against the wall, making both of us jump. A real bright zap of lightning lit up the trees outside.
Wincing a little, Cal bent down on one knee and started clumsily trying to scoop up the letters and envelopes that had slid all over. “Let’s get your things picked up and we’ll bug outta here before the storm. You can come and stay with me and Peaches tonight until we figure out what to do.”
I didn’t even ask who Peaches was. Or where we were going. As Aunt Odella would say, sometimes you’re too far past caring to care. By the time we got out of the barracks and squeezed into Cal’s truck, it was pitch black and pouring rain. With all the lightning and thunder exploding above the trees, it coulda been the London blitz. Cal hunched over the steering wheel, nose to the windshield almost, and roared down the winding roads of Camp Mackall as if hell was on fire. He was a crazy driver. Way worse than Uncle Otis, and that’s saying a lot.
“If me and your daddy were setting inside a C-47 right now, this is what we’d call flying into the soup.” Cal grinned like a big kid, sending me careening into his shoulder as he swerved around a tree branch as big around as my leg. “Sorry about that.” Popping a piece of red licorice in his mouth, he kept on flying through the storm and rain without stopping.
Even with all that danger, I couldn’t keep my heavy eyes open.
I remember Cal offering me a stick of licorice. I don’t remember eating it.
I remember a lady’s voice, much later, saying something about boots.
I remember walking through a room full of webs. And that’s all.
14. Room of Webs
Next morning, I woke up and thought I was floating through a sky full of parachutes. Thought my daddy and all the other soldiers were dropping down for a visit. Above my head, a sky full of white squares flapped gently in the breeze. It took me a minute to realize it was laundry I was looking at, not parachutes. I was lying on a lumpy mattress on the floor of a room full of clotheslines strung across the ceiling like webs.
A creaking sound near my feet made me realize I wasn’t alone either. Hoisted myself up on one elbow to look at who was there. A woman sat in a rocking chair a few feet away. Eyes closed, she was easing the rocker back and forth with one bare toe on the linoleum. The lady coulda been an African queen with how regal and peaceful she looked. Long, straight nose. Shiny mahogany-colored cheekbones. Black hair swept up from her forehead. A faded green housedress the color of a summer garden.
As the lady rocked back and forth, you also couldn’t help noticing the huge round stomach that swelled out in front of her, taking up most of her lap. Her hands rested across the top of it. I’m telling you, she looked like she’d gone and swallowed a pumpkin.
“You ’wake already?” The brown eyes flew open suddenly and glanced over at me. The woman’s heels touched down quick on the floor and the rocking stopped. “Thought you were gonna sleep till next week with the way you were lying there so quiet-like on the floor. Not even MawMaw’s crazy rooster woke you up.” The lady’s face eased slowly into a warm smile. Her voice had a soft drawl to it.
“You’re probably just looking around this place, thinking to yourself, ‘Where in the sweet and sugar world am I? All this laundry hanging up? And who’s that fat dumpy lady sitting over there in that rockin’ chair?’ ” The woman stood up slowly, big pumpkin belly leaving first, and came closer. “I’m Peaches. You met my husband, Cal, last night. He’s the one who brung you here. I’m sorry you didn’t get a good look at our pretty town of Southern Pines when you came in last night. Probably seemed liked forever driving in that bad storm.” She glanced toward the one window in the small bedroom. “You ain’t real far away from civilization here, though, even if it feels like it. Only about an hour’s drive to the bright lights and big city of Fayetteville.”
That news didn’t bring me much comfort, but I didn’t let on.
The lady smiled and patted her stomach. “Oh, and this here is baby-about-to-be-born.”
I eyed the big stomach uneasily and hoped baby-about-to-be-born would stay where it was for a while. I wasn’t a big fan of babies. Seemed like Archie’s family always had one or two crawling around with nasty things coming outta their noses, you know what I mean? The lady must’ve noticed my uncomfortable look because she switched the subject fast. “So, I hear you’re Charlie Battle’s son, right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Maybe she was just being nice, but she said she remembered him talking about having a son back in Chicago and how there was a clear resemblance in our looks. That she coulda picked out our similarities anywhere. “You got his chin, no doubt about it. And you smile the same way. And your eyes are exactly alike,” she said, studying my face for a minute. “They got the same serious look your daddy’s eyes always does. Is he worrying about something—or just thinking? You never know for sure. A man of few words, that’s him.” Reaching upward, Peaches started plucking some of the laundry from the clotheslines above her head and kept on talking. “So, how about hitting a baseball? You as good as your daddy?”
I shook my head. “No ma’am.”
Like I said, I didn’t inherit much of the Battle talent for athletics. My batting was average and Archie, short as he was, had a better throwing arm than I did. I got the tall part of the Battle family and Queen Bee Walker’s ear for being in tune when you sang—although I’m not sure how those two gifts were supposed to be useful to me.
Peaches laughed at my answers. “You as humble as your daddy is, I can tell already. He always insists he’s nothing special and then he tears the leather off the ball with one swing. When Cal’s on his team, they always win big against the other army boys. My Cal’s a catcher.”
With an impressive tower of laundry tucked under her chin, Peaches turned toward the door and I jumped up to open it, like the gentleman I been raised to be.
“I know how much you boys like t
o eat,” she said over her shoulder. “So I got breakfast waiting in the kitchen whenever you’re ready for something. Kitchen’s down the hall on the left. Washroom’s at the end. I’ll leave you be for a while.” As the pillar of laundry and stomach tottered through the doorway, I gotta admit I held my breath until it was safely down the hall.
Peaches and Cal’s house was roomy but completely empty of people. I gathered that much information on my short stroll down the hallway. Like the barracks, everything had the air of being recently left—and I sure recognize that feeling when I come across it. There was a row of empty towel hooks nailed on the bathroom door with no towels on them, except for a frayed blue one with somebody’s initials. A chipped ceramic bowl full of Ivory soap bits sat next to the sink. Used them to wash off the grime of the trip. As I wandered back down the hall, I could hear the cheerful din of cooking pouring out of the kitchen. Made me miss Aunt Odella’s fried chicken already and I hadn’t even been gone three days.
“Come on in and have a seat.” Standing at a cast-iron range that looked like a relic from the Civil War, Peaches waved a spatula in my direction. The kitchen was small, but you could tell somebody had tried to fix it up nice. There was a red-checked tablecloth on the table and a jar of droopy flowers. Curtains on the window. And a calendar showing a tropical scene of palm trees and water. Which is something you’d never see on a wall in Chicago, that’s for sure.
I pulled out one of the four kitchen chairs and sat down, feeling kinda uncomfortable sitting in a kitchen—in a house—that wasn’t mine. My knees caught the bottom of the wobbly table and nearly pulled off the nice tablecloth by accident. Good grief, what a mess that woulda been.
Peaches chuckled at my choice of chairs. “You know that’s the one your daddy always chose whenever he came over here for Sunday dinner with the other fellows from Mackall. Always that chair at the end of the table. Funny how you picked the same one.”
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