Additional sites not yet completed appear to be designed for intermediate range ballistic missiles—capable of traveling more than twice as far—and thus capable of striking most of the major cities in the Western Hemisphere, ranging as far north as Hudson Bay, Canada, and as far south as Lima, Peru. In addition, jet bombers, capable of carrying nuclear weapons, are now being uncrated and assembled in Cuba, while the necessary air bases are being prepared.
This urgent transformation of Cuba into an important strategic base—by the presence of these large, long-range, and clearly offensive weapons of sudden mass destruction—constitutes an explicit threat to the peace and security of all the Americas . . .
There, he had said it. It was out in the open now. She and the other wives were no longer alone with this terrible knowledge. The president was precise in his evidence through quoting words from Soviet officials that directly contradicted the photographic images from the spy planes. He didn’t use that phrase—he called it “surveillance”—but Lucy was married to the Air Force and knew how we surveyed our foes. Friends too.
Tony’s comic book laid open on his lap but his attention was directed to the television. Erica flipped over the played out cards and messed them about in a pile.
. . . Our policy has been one of patience and restraint, as befits a peaceful and powerful nation which leads a worldwide alliance. We have been determined not to be diverted from our central concerns by mere irritants and fanatics. But now further action is required, and it is underway, and these actions may only be the beginning. We will not prematurely or unnecessarily risk the costs of worldwide nuclear war in which even the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouth; but neither will we shrink from that risk at any time it must be faced.
Ashes and afterimages. That’s all nuclear war would bring. What was the sense in that? What was worth that?
. . . Finally, I want to say a few words to the captive people of Cuba, to whom this speech is being directly carried by special radio facilities. I speak to you as a friend, as one who knows of your deep attachment to your fatherland, as one who shares your aspirations for liberty and justice for all. And I have watched and the American people have watched with deep sorrow how your nationalist revolution was betrayed—and how your fatherland fell under foreign domination. Now your leaders are no longer Cuban leaders inspired by Cuban ideals. They are puppets and agents of an international conspiracy, which has turned Cuba against your friends and neighbors in the Americas, and turned it into the first Latin American country to become a target for nuclear war—the first Latin American country to have these weapons on its soil.
These new weapons are not in your interest. They contribute nothing to your peace and well-being. They can only undermine it. But this country has no wish to cause you to suffer or to impose any system upon you. We know that your lives and land are being used as pawns by those who deny your freedom. Many times in the past, the Cuban people have risen to throw out tyrants who destroyed their liberty. And I have no doubt that most Cubans today look forward to the time when they will be truly free—free from foreign domination, free to choose their own leaders, free to select their own system, free to own their own land, free to speak and write and worship without fear or degradation. And then shall Cuba be welcomed back to the society of free nations and to the associations of this hemisphere . . .
Three hundred eighty-seven miles. That’s how far it was from Lucy’s house to her mother’s. That’s how far she would have to travel with the kids if they activated their plan on her watch. Most of it was on interstate highways that were built to move the very weapons they would be trying to escape. How big was Cuba? Would a woman on the coast run out of land if she tried to flee the same distance? Would she wind up standing hip-deep in the ocean, watching its indifferent surf wash away her chances of survival? Would a mere three hundred eighty-seven miles be far enough for safety in either place? Lucy couldn’t afford to think that way.
. . . Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right; not peace at the expense of freedom, but both peace and freedom, here in this hemisphere, and, we hope, around the world. God willing, that goal will be achieved.
Thank you and good night.
Kennedy had just confirmed what Lucy and her friends had guessed from keeping their eyes and ears open on the Maryland base where they lived. The nuclear phantom had just become flesh. Lucy wondered if they should activate the plan now, before any missiles flew. She would consult Betty Ann. She would know what to do.
Lucy shooed Tony and Erica down the hall for teeth brushing before their other shows came on. She had just settled into the old, faded pink armchair when the phone rang. The first call was from her mother. She asked Lucy if what Kennedy said about Russian missiles in America’s backyard was true. What a strange position to be in, to have a crisis elevate her authority above that of the president, in her mother’s eyes. But then, you always trusted the people you knew, the ones who loaded the planes and cooked for the officers. Then her mother complained that Lucy’s letters lacked detail, especially about the daily lives of her grandchildren.
She insisted on talking to Tony and Erica, although precious long-distance minutes were not usually wasted on the children’s awkward silences. They were at each other more than usual and didn’t respond well to this odd Monday night call from their grandmother, whom they called Dee Dee. They mumbled, “Yes . . . no . . . good . . . me too . . .” and so on before Dee Dee let them off the hook.
Lucy retrieved the phone from her oldest, and of course, her mother brought up her usual lament. “You never visit.”
“Maybe next summer,” Lucy said automatically. This rote answer didn’t seem to strike the right note this time, not with so many dangerous unknowns just acknowledged. “Or maybe Thanksgiving.”
“Come now.”
The rest of Lucy’s family was still in Cleveland. They didn’t like to travel, especially her mother. To her, a car trip to Pittsburgh in the next state east was a major undertaking and entailed a level of planning worthy of a transatlantic voyage. “We can’t. The kids are in school. Why don’t you come here?”
“All right.”
“All right, what?”
“All right, I’ll come there.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy wondered if she had surprised herself as much as she had her daughter with her sudden willingness to travel. Her mother had never visited their assignments, even when the children were born. They always had to trek back to home base to see her.
“Miles can bring me.”
“Okay, that’s great. You and Miles work out the details and let me know.” Lucy was unsure whether her mother would actually have the nerve to see this through, but perhaps, under the influence of this nuclear dream, she would.
“Don’t say okay. You know better than that.” Her mother hated slang.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucy was ten again and safe in her mother’s rules, if only for a moment.
“Oh my Lord,” her mother said. “Look how long we’ve been talking.” Apparently she just awoke from one level of the dream. “This will cost me a fortune. I won’t be able to eat for a month.”
They signed off. Instead of returning the handset to its cradle, Lucy pinched it between her shoulder and neck and pushed down the plunger. She held it while she retrieved the address book and flipped it open to her brother’s number in Toledo. The phone’s bell buzzed against her thighs and startled her. It was her sister. The call to her brother came next. Everyone mentioned the president’s speech, but no one asked what it might mean for Lucy or her Air Force husband.
Sonny slipped in a call. Said he might not be home for a while.
She knew he couldn’t really say anything, but she had to ask. “Are you going to be reassigned . . . anyplace?”
There was a pause. “No,” he said. “At least not right now.” She had to be satisfied with that. “Let me talk to Tony.”
She called her son and put him on the phone
. He didn’t say much at all and sometimes just nodded without speaking. When he was finished, Lucy asked what his father had said to him.
“Nothing. Just, you know, be a good kid.”
To him, the adults must have been acting strange. He slumped back into the recliner and turned his attention to the television.
Woman Waving to the Future 5
LUCY’S DOORBELL RANG. She opened the door to Betty Ann sheltering from a downpour. They had work to do.
“Now what?” Lucy asked.
Betty Ann made no reply as she unwound her rain bonnet and headed for the kitchen with a paper bag. Lucy told the kids to stay in the living room. Tony nodded, eyes still trained on the television. Lucy put on water for tea while Betty Ann took her usual place at the table. In the light of the kitchen, Betty Ann looked older, drained, not her usual perky self. Her eyes were dull and puffy. The lateness of the hour couldn’t have been the sole explanation for her pallor. She could dance until four in the morning and then make a breakfast for ten and still have the energy to sing in the choir at the church on base. Had she been crying? Lucy pushed a cigarette pack across the table. Betty Ann shook her head, so she didn’t light up either. Smoking was one activity that Lucy didn’t do by herself.
“What’s up?” Lucy asked.
Betty Ann would know what she meant. The larger crisis could hold a few seconds longer.
“I thought Lonnie was safe,” Betty Ann said.
“He’s not?”
“Lonnie’s on the Princeton.”
“In the Pacific, right?”
“It’s an aircraft carrier. They’re probably steaming for the Caribbean right now.”
“Come on, Betty Ann. We can’t leave the entire rest of the world unprotected.”
“Then he’s continuing to get radiated in the Pacific.” Betty Ann covered her heart and turned her dull gaze on Lucy. A mother knows, her eyes seemed to be saying. There was none of her usual dramatics.
Erica pushed open the swing door.
“What?” Lucy bit the word short.
“I’m hungry.”
“Here.” Lucy rummaged in the paper bag and pulled out two chocolate-covered doughnuts. “Get a paper towel.” Erica ran to the counter and jumped back to her mother. “Give one to your brother.” Lucy handed over the doughnuts. “What do you say?”
“Thank you.” Erica backed through the swing door.
“And don’t bother us again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her daughter disappeared as Lucy turned back to Betty Ann.
“Where were we?”
“Lonnie in harm’s way.”
“Calm down, now. What’s your rule? Don’t worry ’til you have something to worry about. Right?” Lucy didn’t feel as confident as she sounded. She peered into the paper bag, then dumped the rest of the doughnuts onto the plate. She set the tea steeping and brought the plate and napkins to the table. Now was not the time for diets. She and Betty Ann sat silent, listening to the rain.
“When he got vague, I thought it was because they were in some trouble spot. Now this.” Betty Ann slumped further into her chair.
Her air of defeat unnerved Lucy. You could grab up the younger kids and run if you had to. Lucy was sure she could even carry her son after the flash of a bomb. But Betty Ann couldn’t carry Lonnie—he was already out in the world on his own. Already in a danger zone, maybe, or heading to one. She felt the fierce pull from her gut, the one that she felt the first time she held Tony. No one was going to harm her children. Not while she was alive.
“Let’s activate the plan,” she said.
“What?”
Lucy swept to her feet, which forced Betty Ann’s head and eyes up. She tilted her head at a familiar angle and looked almost like her usual self. That look gave Lucy a surge of energy. She paced to the other end of the kitchen and back again, then prepared the tea before answering. She put the mugs on the table but remained standing.
“Send the kids away.” Lucy plunked a finger on her chest. “We’re a target.” She turned the finger out into the air. “Cleveland’s not. We send them.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes.”
Betty Ann shook her head. She pulled the cigarettes closer and shook one out of the pack. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just that the whole nation now knows what we already knew.”
“No. Before tonight, we assumed we knew what was going on. The ships steaming south, all the ordinance moving through the base, Rosie’s story about the choppers, the rumor of the downed plane. We put two and two together. The president just confirmed that it indeed adds up to four. And that four could explode at any minute. I don’t care about me, but Tony and Erica . . .” Lucy couldn’t say it. She covered her eyes.
“Sit down.” Betty Ann held the cigarette between her fingers but didn’t light it as she leaned on her elbows on the table. Lucy slipped into her chair. “Panicking will get us nowhere.”
She was right. That was the whole point of making a plan in the first place: to avoid irrational behavior based on fear during a crisis. Lucy’s mother love battled mightily with the reason of it all. She never thought parenthood would include this particular impossible situation. She wondered how Sonny felt.
“We stick to the plan,” Betty Ann said.
“Okay, but what if the White House has changed its plans?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucy shrugged. “What if, now that everybody knows, they move the choppers to National or something?”
“Then let’s go check. Right now.” Betty Ann gulped her tea and roused to stand.
Lucy looked into the living room and gauged her children’s well-being through the subtle pressures only a mother can feel. She had left them alone for a while in the daytime, but never at night. This, however, was no ordinary night.
“Right. Let’s go,” she said.
She put Tony in charge and headed into the night with Betty Ann.
The helicopters still sat on the apron of runway 31L. An MP Jeep stood in their shadows, but the women couldn’t see anybody, neither in the vehicle nor on the ground. But they were still there, and the president was still in the White House. No panicking for him. Or for Betty Ann and Lucy, now that they knew they could stick to their plan. They divvied up the list of mothers who were in on it. Although the hour was late, they decided to make the calls before morning. Surely no one was actually asleep. A phone call would startle but wouldn’t alarm as much as a knock on the door would. All of the worst news always arrived in person.
Betty Ann dropped Lucy and went home to make her calls. After Lucy finished her own calls, she sat for a long time in the pink arm chair, listening to the clock ticking and the refrigerator running. The rain had stopped but started again before she finally dragged herself to bed in the early morning hours.
Break
Back in the USSR
YOU THINK I don’t belong here, but I do. Wouldn’t it be convenient for all of you to forget that I’m here, but my voice floats across the waves and soars over alien land. Follow the vapors of its trail and look at the wife he left behind. Look at me. Look.
The papers don’t write about women like me, standing with tots in arms, watching the ships bear our men away. You think ours is not a noble fight, or you tolerate our men because they serve your ends. Can you hear me?
What about me and my small son? That one, the officer that left on the ship. He loves the army and has already infected our son with his passions. The little one, too, wants to board a godless ship and sail away to where the nights are hot long after our feeble memory of heat is buried under layers of old wool.
You have no image of me. The cameras are banned and the writer too busy sharpening political points.
CAN YOU HEAR ME?
You think I’m . . . no, that’s right, you don’t think of me at all. You should.
I am the world to him.
I am who he wants to protect with his harsh commands and certain
destruction. Me. Me and my son. I am what my officer seeks in the sultry night with dark legs around his waist. You think he wants the exotic, but I know he repeats the familiar. Smell his sweat, and you will know my wifely labors.
You think you cannot know me, standing faceless behind your iron curtains. Stare into the metallic sheen of your mirror. You will see my eyes, the eyes of a mother, frightened.
Lola
Gathering Time 1
I HAD PONDERED how to open the subject of our children on my ride with the captain into the back country. Although I had been intimate with this Russian officer, that was not enough to soothe my apprehension about mentioning the children. Too much danger. I saw how easily he had dispensed of his own; I couldn’t afford to be one of his casualties. The family needed me. Even so, the shortest wait to hear of the children’s fate proved too much to stand, and my reluctance to speak ended that night as I sat with him on his cot. He spoke of the Yanqui president’s speech and the big Russian and American ships that were on a collision course in our waters. Yet another unforeseen danger. I did not feel like my usual daring self, and yet I had to speak. “I worry about those poor crafts carrying disillusioned Cubans to other countries.”
He pinched his cigarette from his mouth and examined it. “What about them?”
“They just want what’s best for their families.”
“The wisdom of the Revolution is what’s best for their families.” He took one final drag and stubbed out the cigarette in the tin can on the ground beside the cot.
Home Front Lines Page 24
