The Solider's Home: a moving war-time drama

by George Costigan

  School, first lesson, starts at nine – we have an hour for lunch at twelve and then from one till three – when the darned bell rings for the last time and I can get Jacques from nursery.

  The important thing is Jacques is happy. We walk to our schools each morning and he only has to wait ten minutes for me to pick him up every evening and he’s adjusted to this new routine. He’s like you – adaptable. And the second important thing is – I can do this. I was nervous but the children seem to enjoy me. One of the older boys got real cheeky – sassy – he asked about my husband. I asked about his wife and everyone laughed.

  The strangest thing is I’ve begun to think in English. A couple of nights ago I dreamt in English. That was weird. ‘Weird’ is American for strange.

  We’ve started the second jar! We have nearly thirty dollars! I have no idea what two tickets across an ocean and back will cost and for the moment I don’t want to find out because I’m afraid they’ll be so expensive it’ll seem like we’ll never get there and I don’t want to depress him – but I wonder if maybe our jars and our house will be full and finished at the same time... What do you think?

  They say it’s going to be another bad winter. What will you do for heat when winter comes, Jacques? I’d like to know – it would make me feel warmer.

  I’m going to my first communist meeting next week. David said don’t tell anyone. I’m telling you. You won’t tell, will you?

  God! What is this? Politically immature nonsense.

  38

  A post-card with a picture of buildings at night glowing with electric lights.

  Dear Jacques,

  This is Times Square. An aeroplane broke the sound-barrier. I told Jacques. ‘Who’s going to mend it?’ he said. I don’t even know what it is. Was. It’s broken now. In a rush. S.

  39

  Dear Jacques,

  I went to the communist party meeting. It was dull and exciting. A man called Jerry spoke first about The International Conspiracy of Capital (don’t ask – I don’t know – yet) and how The American Government were passing laws to suppress the spirit of the working-man (he didn’t once mention women) and how we all had to fight it because an injury to one is an injury to all. He talked about the economic imprisonment of the ghettos and The Marshall Plan. (All the papers and all the teachers at school are very proud of this. It’s a package of inconceivable amounts of money to help ‘re-build Europe’ – it seemed rather marvellous to me, too) Jerry said the real aim of the plan was to isolate Russia from the rest of Europe – because, of course, of the fear of Communism. He talked of a man called Henry Ford, a car designer, who’s just died and left 600 million dollars in his will! He said most Americans consider this admirable, enviable; but we had to remind ourselves daily it was an obscenity. He talked about the ‘evil’ of something he called Consumerism and how it could consume the spirit of brotherhood in The American People. And he finished by saying that spirit was truly alive only in us.

  By the time he finished I was of a mind to believe him. I felt my father would have. And I thought of Jerome, too. Other men spoke and whilst I believed what they were saying I wasn’t moved by any of them. And that made me think. Hitler was an orator, wasn’t he? De Gaulle certainly was – I’ve never forgotten that night at M. Feyt’s. There was a lot of talk about ‘an iron curtain’ between the West and Russia.

  And in the end I got bored. It would be wrong to deny it. There was a collection and I wasn’t sure I wanted to give money – but I did – a little – and as the meeting finished I asked a man why there were no black people there and he said, ‘Cos niggers understand nothing but cotton and dancing.’ Another man said, ‘Because there ain’t no civil rights for Nigrahs.’ Then he took me aside and said of the other man, ‘He believes in a Brotherhood of white men.’

  Then, as we were about to leave, the chairman reminded us to be cautious about Government spies... The meeting was three subway stops from home and though four or five men got on my train, none of them sat together. And they call this The Land Of The Free!

  I know all this will mean, perhaps, less than nothing to you, and if you ask me not to discuss it with you – but to only write about your son and his life, I will understand. But you always listened.

  I’m confused and ignorant. Is that the same thing? I don’t know if I’ll go again.

  When I got home he’d missed me and if the important thing is to stand for something then I stand for him. And how do I stand for you beyond putting my cents in our jar and not the hands of The Communist Party?

  It’ll be Christmas in two months and the shops are ready to sell us everything. Jacques wants a cowboy outfit. More guns. And a television. Susie is getting married in two weeks and we’ve been invited to the wedding. Jacques said, ‘What’s ‘getting married?’’ and I told him, and he said, ‘Like you and Poppa?’ and I said we hadn’t had time to get married. I couldn’t tell him the truth. For once he didn’t say, ‘Why?’ I worry if somehow he knew I wasn’t telling him the whole truth. I don’t know.

  I’m lonely.

  Simone.

  40

  More horrors.

  Dear Jacques,

  Isn’t this great? It’s called a typewriter – I’m in Mrs. Hughe’s office – it’s lunch-hur and sjhe leant it to me. It’s a machine to write letters with and it’s Electirc! It makes a clack-clack noise every tuime I kit (hit5) one of the keys but it’s fun, don’t you think? Oh, yes, the HeadMaster agreed to let me brinf Maria into one of the classes, so, that’s good.

  Your leter – sorry – letter – was just what we needed – like always – this is weird§ (ops – oops, I ment to put a !) but writing on this I can’t think what I want to say – just so concerned with not makig mistakes like that one; she had – she HAS a bottle of some white ink she left me to go ver any msitakes I might make but I can tell already that this whole page will would be full of more ink than words.

  I think I’m going to stop this and write you a letter at home and then come in here and type it – that would be bettter wouldn’t it? We’re fine – both of us – God! I just looked at the clock – it’s time to go back to work – I thought this was sup^posed to make writing quicker!

  Proper letter later.

  Simone.

  I hated that letter more than any other. I must have – because –

  41

  Dear Jacques,

  You write back real quick when you get mad! Maybe I should annoy you more.

  Your presents came for us – and I asked him what he’d like to buy with it. He put the money in what he calls Dad’s jar. So I did too.

  I hope you don’t mind being called ‘Dad’ now and not Pappa – it’s the word he chooses and I don’t like to correct him. I explained that you didn’t like it when I said the boys and teachers call him Jack and not Jacques and he said it was ‘cool’ to have a special name with just his Dad.

  By the time you read this it will be 1948.

  David has invited us to his house for Christmas dinner. If we had Time I would ask you – but our Time – yours and mine – doesn’t work like that. And by the time you read this we will have eaten it and I’m going to invite him to come to us for New Year’s dinner and I haven’t time to ask your permission (not ‘permission’ – but you know) about that, either. And anyway, why should I? You wouldn’t want me not to have friends, would you?

  Oh yeah! Susie’s wedding. I was talking with Teresa and mentioned the wedding and next evening she came with a machine that sews – they have machines for everything here – (when they invent a machine that teaches I’ll be useless) – and some smart blue cloth and she made him a little jacket, with three golden buttons and matching trousers. Someone at the wedding, I can’t remember who, took a photo of him – ‘For my Dad,’ he said and Susie says she’ll bring it. The wedding was in a Ukranian Church. I had no idea Susie was Russian – or rather, Ukranian (she’d be offended to be called Russian! I don’t know why – sometimes there’s too mu
ch to learn in this world don’t you think?) but she is – or maybe her husband is – I never asked – and I couldn’t understand a word of it but the singing was beautiful and we went to a hall and everyone (except Jacques and the other kids) got very drunk and there was a lot of music and dancing. It was joyous. Just as it should be. That night I wished you and I had had a day like it. But it wouldn’t have happened like that in St.Cirgues. – or anywhere in France, honestly. It was Russian. Ukranian! In America!

  Remember I wrote I’d forgotten you for an hour? That happens more. I wish it didn’t, but it does. When you come back to me it’s all in a rush and I love that. But it’s a strange living we don’t do. And a great living we did. He’s here, I’m here, keep warm, keep building – we keep saving.

  Will you see Arbel? I thought long and hard about writing him and Ardelle a letter – but I looked at Jacques and couldn’t write, feeling so bad and so grateful in the same moment.

  The world’s a whirl. Sometimes I envy you the solitude and the purpose you must have.

  I wish you the Happiest Christmas and I feel a fool writing such a sentiment.

  Simone.

  42

  Dear Jacques,

  Here’s the photo. Is he handsome or are we biased? And me dancing with a Ukrainian. This, if certain people here had their way, would have me thrown out of my job. There is a government committee, called Un-American activities, intent on rooting out communists they say are in the government. They’re attacking a man called Alder Hiss and the papers seem hopeful he’ll be put in jail. He’s accused of ‘Being a communist twenty years ago.’ Aren’t people allowed to change their minds ever? Not here, not now. One of the teachers, Mr. Hutchinson – he teaches science and I’m glad he doesn’t teach me – said, ‘Once a Red, always a Red,’ and everyone agreed with him. This passes for political debate at lunch-hour. I was going to say that I’d distributed communist literature during the war – but you do not say or do such things.

  School is good, there’s even talk of unscrewing the desks from the floor – some Government initiative about Education being ‘more fun’.

  Jacques is good – we read night-time stories together now. You owe me (and him) two letters.

  And I hope that makes you angry.

  David came for New Year and offered to buy us a television set. Luckily Jacques had gone to bed so he didn’t hear me say no thanks. David did say he’d take Jacques to see the Yankees play baseball and I couldn’t refuse – he, Jacques, would never have spoken to me again.

  I need to register to vote in the election. I’ve no idea who I’ll vote for.

  But I intend to go to some meetings and hear the arguments.

  Has it thawed? Please to tell us where you’re building now. It’s good for him to think about you each day and though you’re always in our prayers I wonder some days if that’s the only time and I don’t want it to be like that.

  Help us to stay this bizarre family.

  I’m tired, Jacques and I still have to prepare tomorrow’s lessons. The second jar got emptied a little for Christmas presents.

  Simone.

  43

  A post-card of a black man wearing boxing gloves. A Joe Louis.

  No, I know, but we want to save. It’s an active way of keeping you in our lives. You do your bit and we’ll do ours. O.K.? Us. This man was a champion. Like you.

  44

  Dear Jacques,

  I was going to start by apologizing for not writing, but why should I? You don’t. I wondered if I didn’t write again – would you? And I didn’t know the answer. Jacques’ birthday is coming up and I thought will he know if I don’t tell him? I know you have the weather and the sun and seasons – but no idea what the date is. And I have no idea what you have around you or within you. I guess sometimes, and then Jacques Vermande, I get mad enough not to guess because guess is what I have to do. And then I get guilty. And that makes me mad and I’m into a spiral.

  I’m working with the communists. The opposition party – The Democrats – have split and we’re supporting the left-wing candidate – Henry Wallace. Jerry said he’s as much use as a blind dog but the best of a bad bunch. It’s all to do with Berlin and the Russian blockade and Truman tightening his Anti-Soviet position and you’re not interested I can tell so I’ll stop.

  School is still good, though more tiring, because of the political meetings etc; and harder because I have to keep my lip buttoned as the rest of the staff seem to be all for Dewey. He’s the right-wing candidate.

  Have you got your money in the bank? Because the Franc has been de-valued. Did you know that? Why am I asking you? Sorry, it’s that real world again, and it’s crazier than you, who doesn’t write to me. You, who let me worry. You, building a house by your stubborn self.

  Jacques’ class at Nursery did an Easter concert. I ran there at lunch-hour and saw him singing. You’d have burst with Pride. I did. His teacher took his hand at one point and I saw, realised, he has a friendship with her that I’m no part of. And, that if I were to die tomorrow, he would survive. I felt empty and scared, relieved, proud and worthless, all in one second. And I never wished more in that moment that you’d been there. We’d been together.

  45

  Dear Jacques,

  I went to see Wallace speak. He wasn’t as good as Jerry, who was there. He remembered me from the first meeting. I don’t know why – he never spoke to me.

  The President is now talking about Civil Rights – for the Negroes – which I think is the most important issue. Jerry says it’s a vote-catching exercise and he won’t do anything – that it’s smart, but cynical. Jerry has a conviction I find hard to doubt. He expects The Republican, Dewey, to win. Everyone does. Dewey’s talking about repealing the Low-Rent laws – which could be A Big Problem for me and Jacques.

  Wallace can’t win – so people say, ‘so what’s the point of voting for him?’ Jerry says, ‘All you can ever do is send the message.’

  So I do, in haste;

  S.

  46

  Another awful one.

  No, I am not neglecting your son and you’ve got a hell of a nerve even thinking such a thing. Glass houses and stones, Jacques Vermande. How many times have I begged you to write to him and how many letters has he had? You’re in no position to criticise me. If I write about what I’m doing and not about him it reflects not the constant in my life but the new. If you’re suggesting I should be home seven nights a week – that is not the relationship I have with my son. I explain to him, always, where I’m going and why; and I believe he understands his mother is not with him because she has something she wants, needs and feels passionate about doing. That’s A Good Thing to teach him, I believe. If I were out dancing – hedonistically enjoying myself – that would be different. I’m not and he knows that. He’s not yet four.

  He heaved a sigh. Lit another cigarette.

  47

  Dear Jacques,

  I’m writing – he’s dictating.

  Dear Dad,

  I went to see The Yankees. It was a night game. There was an organ playing and we had Popcorn and sausages. David said we won. It was exciting. School is keen. My teacher is Miss Rivanski. We have two jars now and Mom says when we fill maybe another we can come see you. I like it when you write about the house.

  I love you,

  Jacques. Like you.

  P.S. Mom says anything else? No.

  Mom says – don’t neglect him. Me, I guess. Mom says neglect means forget. Kind of.

  48

  Horror. Still.

  Dear Jacques,

  He’s poorly. There was a bug at school and he’s got it. Bad. The doctor’s been the last three days and if he’s no better tomorrow he’ll go to the hospital. It’s a viral infection on his lungs. I’m so frightened. This letter will take days. I’m praying. Join me.

  Simone.

  49

  A plain post-card.

  I’m with him at the hospital. It’s congestion
of his lung. My hand is shaking. Pray, Jacques, pray. He’s very weak.

  50

  It had come the following day. Another plain post-card.

  He’s in what they call intensive care. The doctor said, ‘It’s up to him, now’ and somehow that’s hopeful. Something has to be. We have to be.

  He remembered the seven or eight days between that post-card and the next letter. How he’d done nothing. But pray to every star, every tree, every bird, and every stone that waited for him.

  51

  Jacques

  He’s home. His chest is weak – one lung is bad and will probably always be so – but the other is enough for him to live a normal life the doctors said. I have to believe them.