Love, Kurt
Page 8
Kurt––
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September 17, 1944
Dear Woofy:
Did it ever occur to you that I am mildly concerned over whether you are with or without child? Please say something, sweet Jane Marie. Paternity is small apples stacked up against motherhood, I admit, but I do feel implicated in my minor capacity. So drop me a post-card with either YES or NO on it: YES meaning, “I am going to have a baby––your baby”; NO meaning, “I’m not going to have a baby––your baby.”
I’m not meaning to be sarcastic, Woofy, honest. And this isn’t a reprimand for your not having written to me. It wouldn’t and won’t surprise me never to hear from you again. I’ll say this––: you are fortunate in being able to forget things we’ve said and done together––not so very long ago. It must make you an admirably efficient (and I swear I’m not meaning to be satirical––neither that nor bitter) person to have about. That in contrast to myself whose moony efficiency hardly justifies this lean and lanky build. I never could be busy enough (I have been in several industrious situations, you’ll admit) not to indulge myself in the vanity of being in love with you.
Of course, my more recently enforced tasks have been dismal affairs. This may be a case of the grass being greener on the other side of the fence. But that’s where the proverb falls flat, because, you, see, dear heart, I know for a fact that the grass is greener, much greener, on the other side. It’s green as emeralds, has a texture like a blanket, a fragrance like gardenias. I remember. You don’t.
Women––you, at least––seem to be like that: not mean, not perfidious, not deceitful but instantaniously passionate, irrational, at full flood tide, hot, turgid with florid meaning—Then, aloof, practical, ebbed and placid, cold, flat as last night’s beer. You can’t help being that way, darling, any more than a thermometer can help rising in a heat wave. Men are like street cars––(if you miss one, another will be along in ten minutes)––you’re like thermometers and barometers. There’s not much sense to my getting mad about it, is there? Especially since, besides not being to help yourself, you are probably right––and I’m implicitly wrong. Wrong: poetic license as opposed to sentiments in keeping with the times; pursuit of happiness as opposed to patriotism; hoosier as opposed to world citizen; love as opposed to industry; Ben Franklin stove as opposed to Schwitzer-Cummins Stoker; enchantment as opposed to reality; reality as opposed to enchantment, me as opposed to you. Regretable and pathetic as this may strike you, lovely, bear in mind that I can’t help being and doing what I do any more than you can. Me as opposed to you; memory as opposed to forgetfulness. Amnesia is a last-ditch defense mechanism. Against what, I don’t know. Amnesia is your way out; vivid recollection is mine. I recall the warmth of your cheek and breath; the sound of your laugh and what made you laugh; the heavenly things you’ve said and implied. You don’t, you can’t remember. I guess you don’t want to––either drunk or caught in the splendid spirit of love-making.
We’re leaving Atterbury for P.O.E. on October 5th. I shall probably be 22 before going overseas. I may see you soon.
Love––
Kurt
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Retention’s Pretention
…Passion’s the Fashion
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October 26 - 1944
Dear Woofy:
Either you’ve given me the axe or enemy submarines are concentrating on mail boats. I haven’t had a sweet nothing from you for a couple of months.
I’m overseas, dear heart, in a land full of poetic references which the censor wont let me make. The same may be said for caustic comment.
Of all the letters I’ve written to you (How many; hundreds?) not one has included a sound piece of information. That policy will continue in force. What I say in letters to you is particularly no one’s business. Sometimes I think it’s none of your business. You too?
Just to keep you up to date on the situation; I love you more than anything else in the world. Hasn’t changed much since the summer of 1940 when you nosed out my dog, has it? I’ve plenty of time to think now. For all practical purposes I’m still 20 years old. In the pursuit of happiness I doubt if I’ve maintained my status of 1942. In fact, the only thing I’ve seriously pursued since is you. “Hacker, hacker, hacker––” I should have pawned everything I owned in order to go with you on the Jeffersonian. You see, Woofy, I actually believed that I could bamboozle you into marrying me before I left. I didn’t, and, contrary to the attitudes of more rational folk, I’m bitterly sorry you didn’t.
J.T. Alburger wrote to tell me that he’s in limited service––doomed to live on the West Coast with his wife until the war is over. Jeff is flying bombers etc. in the states in the Ferry Command. He’s making $225 per month plus $7 per day for every day he’s away from his Detroit base. Buck is a rifleman in Florida––Private in the Infantry. Skip, I surmise, is still in France. Hitz is resigned to placid 4-F-dom in a quiet clerical job. The fortunes of war are beyond my comprehension or sympathy. Those that draw conclusions from a man’s war record are God-damned fools.
If I come home in fairly decent condition please marry me, Woofy. I’ll make you sensationally happy and have a fair time out of it for myself. There are a million wonderful reasons why it would work––one of which is financial.
Well, nuts––I probably shan’t be back. But if I’m not, I’ll raise spiritual hell with your ouija board.
LOVE
Kurt II
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Dearest Jane, darling….
Things are back to normal. They’ve got to be back to normal. Your loving me, or having loved me, is the most generous gift God ever gave me.
I’ve never been so full of love for you as I am this Sunday morning. This war will last for five years at the least. Many of us will die. Look about you: what friends of ours will die?––George? Benny? Victor? Buck? Cornell will soon be wrecked; D.U. will be shuttered. My chances for finishing college are slim. My chances for fullfilling any of my big dreams are slowly fading––with one exception, the biggest dream. The one happiness I look foreward to is living with you, having children by you. Darling, I love you.
This is a destitute, hating, bleeding world. Our lifetime will be a warped one. We may be married a great deal sooner than we first dared to hope for. Body and soul, darling, I want you.
Please see me Sunday night, December 21st.
+ + + + + +
Kurt
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Received Tuesday, June 5, 1945
TO: KURT VONNEGUT
WILLIAMS CREEK
INDIANAPOLIS, IND.
FROM: PFC. K. VONNEGUT, JR.
12102964 U.S. ARMY
DEAR PEOPLE:
I’M TOLD THAT YOU WERE PROBABLY NEVER INFORMED THAT I WAS ANYTHING OTHER THAN “MISSING IN ACTION.” CHANCES ARE THAT YOU ALSO FAILED TO RECEIVE ANY OF THE LETTERS I WROTE FROM GERMANY. THAT LEAVES ME A LOT OF EXPLAINING TO DO––IN PRECIS:
I’VE BEEN A PRISONER OF WAR SINCE DECEMBER 19TH, 1944, WHEN OUR DIVISION WAS CUT TO RIBBONS BY HITLER’S LAST DESPERATE THRUST THROUGH LUXEMBURG AND BELGIUM. SEVEN FANATICAL PANZER DIVISIONS HIT US AND CUT US OFF FROM THE REST OF HODGES’ FIRST ARMY. THE OTHER AMERICAN DIVISIONS ON OUR FLANKS MANAGED TO PULL OUT: WE WERE OBLIGED TO STAY AND FIGHT. BAYONETS AREN’T MUCH GOOD AGAINST TANKS: OUR AMMUNITION, FOOD AND MEDICAL SUPPLIES GAVE OUT AND OUR CASUALTIES OUTNUMBERED THOSE WHO COULD STILL FIGHT––SO WE GAVE UP. THE 106TH GOT A PRESIDENTIAL CITATION AND SOME BRITISH DECORATION FROM MONTGOMERY FOR IT, I’M TOLD, BUT I’LL BE DAMNED IF IT WAS WORTH IT. I WAS ONE OF THE FEW WHO WEREN’T WOUNDED. FOR THAT MUCH THANK GOD.
WELL, THE SUPERMEN MARCHED US, WITHOUT FOOD, WAT[ER] OR SLEEP TO LIMBERG, A DISTANCE OF ABOUT SIXTY MILES I THINK,
WHERE WE WERE LOADED AND LOCKED UP, SIXT[Y] MEN TO EACH SMALL, UNVENTILATED, UNHEATED BOX CAR. THERE WERE NO SANITARY ACCOMODATIONS––THE FLOORS WERE COVERED WITH FRESH COW DUNG, THERE WASN’T ROOM FOR ALL OF US TO LIE DOWN. HALF SLEPT WHILE THE OTHER HALF STOOD. WE SPENT SEVERAL DAYS, INCLUDING CHRISTMAS, ON THAT LIMBERG SIDING. ON CHRISTMAS EVE THE ROYAL AIR FORCE BOMBED AND STRAFED OUR UNMARKED TRAIN. THEY KILLED ABOUT ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY OF US. WE GOT A LITTLE WATE[R] CHRISTMAS DAY AND MOVED SLOWLY ACROSS GERMANY TO A LARGE P.O.W. CAMP IN MÜHLBURG, SOUTH OF BERLIN. WE WERE RELEASED FROM THE BOX CARS ON NEW YEA[R’S] DAY. THE GERMANS HERDED US THROUGH SCALDING DELOUSING SHOWERS. MANY MEN DIED FROM SHOCK IN THE SHOWERS AFTER TEN DAYS OF STARVATION, THIRST AND EXPOSURE. BUT I DIDN’T.
UNDER THE GENEVA CONVENTION, OFFICERS AND NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS ARE NOT OBLIGED TO WORK WHEN TAKEN PRISONER. I AM, AS YOU KNOW, A PRIVATE. ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY SUCH MINOR BEINGS WERE SHIPPED TO A DRESDEN WORK CAMP ON JANUARY 10TH. I WAS THEIR LEADER BY VIRTUE OF THE LITTLE GERMAN I SPOKE. IT WAS OUR MISFORTUNE TO HAVE SADISTIC AND FANATICAL GUARDS. WE WERE REFUSED MEDICAL ATTENTION AND CLOTHING: WE WERE GIVEN LONG HOURS AT EXTREMELY HARD LABOR. OUR FOOD RATION WAS TWO-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY GRAMS OF BLACK BREAD AND ONE PINT OF UNSEASONED POTATO SOUP EACH DAY. AFTER DESPERATELY TRYING TO IMPROVE OUR SITUATION FOR TWO MONTHS AND HAVING BEEN MET WITH BLAND SMILES I TOLD THE GUARDS JUST WHAT I WAS GOING TO DO TO THEM WHEN THE RUSSIANS CAME. THEY BEAT ME UP A LITTLE. I WAS FIRED AS GROUP LEADER. BEATINGS WERE VERY SMALL [THINGS]:––ONE BOY STARVED TO DEATH AND THE SS TROOPS SHOT TWO FOR STEALING FOOD.
ON ABOUT FEBRUARY 14TH THE AMERICANS CAME OVER, FOLLOWED BY THE R.A.F. THEIR COMBINED [illegible] KILLED 250,000 PEOPLE IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AND DESTROYED ALL OF DRESDEN––POSSIBLY THE WORLD’S MOST BEAUTIFUL CITY. BUT NOT ME.
AFTER THAT WE WERE PUT TO WORK CARRYING CORPSES FROM AIR-RAID SHELTERS: WOMEN, CHILDREN, OLD MEN: DEAD FROM CONCUSSION, FIRE OR SUFFOCA[TION.] CIVILIANS CURSED US AND THREW ROCKS AS WE CARRIED BODIES TO HUGE FUNERAL PYRES IN THE CITY.
WHEN GENERAL PATTON TOOK LEIPZIG WE WERE EVACUATED ON FOOT TO HELLENSDORF ON THE SAXONY-CZECHOSLOVAKIAN BORDER. THERE WE REMAIN[ED] UNTIL THE WAR ENDED. OUR GUARDS DESERTED [US] ON THAT HAPPY DAY THE RUSSIANS WERE [INTENT] ON MOPPING UP ISOLATED OUTLAW RESISTANCE [IN] OUR SECTOR. THEIR PLANES (P-39’S) STRAFED AND BOMBED US, KILLING FOURTEEN. BUT NOT ME.
EIGHT OF US STOLE A TEAM AND WAGON. WE TRAVELED AND LOOTED OUR WAY THROUGH SUDETENLAND AND SAXONY FOR EIGHT DAYS, LIVING LIKE KINGS. THE RUSSIANS ARE CRAZY ABOUT AMERICANS. THE RUSSIANS PICKED US UP IN DRESDEN. WE RODE FROM THERE TO THE AMERICAN LINES AT HALLE IN LEND-LEASE FORD TRUCKS. WE’VE SINCE BEEN FLOWN TO LE HAVRE.
I’M WRITING FROM A RED CROSS CLUB IN THE LE HAVRE P.O.W. REPATRIATION CAMP. I’M BEING WONDERFULLY WELL FED AND ENTERTAINED. THE STATE-BOUND SHIPS ARE JAMMED, NATURALLY, SO I’LL HAVE TO BE PATIENT. I HOPE TO BE HOME IN A MONTH. ONCE HOME I’LL BE GIVEN TWENTY-ONE DAYS RECUPERATION AT ATTERBURY ABOUT $600 BACK PAY AND––GET THIS–– SIXTY (60) DAYS FURLOUGH!
I’VE TOO DAMNED MUCH TO SAY. THE REST WIL[L] HAVE TO WAIT. I CAN’T RECEIVE MAIL HERE SO DON’T WRITE.
MAY 29, 1945
LOVE KURT JR.
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Signal Corps, United States Army
NR 3826
KURT VONNEGUT
RIDGE ROAD,
WILLIAMS CREEK INDIANAPOLIS IND.
IN GOOD HANDS HEALTH AND SPIRITS BE HOME BY BOAT SOON GOD IS MY CHUM.
Rec’d May 31 45’
KURT VONNEGUT JR 12102964
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Received Friday, June 8, 1945
TO: KURT VONNEGUT
WILLIAMS CREEK
INDIANAPOLIS, IND.
U.S.A.
FROM: PFC. K. VONNEGUT, JR.
12102964 – R.A.M.P.
U.S. ARMY – FRANCE
DEAR FAMILY:
MY LAST LETTER WAS UNNECCESSARILY MORBID, I FEAR. A PERPETUALLY TIGHT BELLY HAS PRETTY WELL OBLITERATED RECOLLECTIONS OF WHAT HAPPENED TO ME IN GERMANY––: EVERY TIME MY MEMORY SPEAKS UP I CALL IT A GODDAMN LIAR.
BESIDES, THE FUTURE IS MORE INTERESTING. WHAT THAT FUTURE HOLDS, BEYOND A BOAT TRIP HOME IN A FEW(?) WEEKS AND TWO MONTHS OF FURLOUGH, I DON’T KNOW. THERE ARE TOO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS: QUESTIONS THAT MUST REMAIN UNANSWERED UNTIL I REACH HOME, BY VIRTUE OF MY NOT BEING ABLE TO RECEIVE MAIL HERE. IS ALL WELL AT HOME? WHO IS HOME? WHERE IS HOME? IS WOOFY ENGAGED OR MARRIED? WILL SHE MARRY ME? WILL I BE SENT TO THE PACIFIC? IF SO, IN WHAT CAPACITY? THE ANSWERS TO THE LAST TWO ARE, I’M AFRAID, RESPECTIVELY YES, YOU POOR FISH, AND INFANTRYMAN:––THAT IS, UNLESS I PULL SOME WIRES DURING MY FURLOUGH.
IDEALLY, THIS IS THE WAY I SHOULD LIKE THINGS TO WORK. DURING MY FURLOUGH I WOULD WORK AS A REPORTER ON ONE OF THE INDIANAPOLIS PAPERS––THAT, SIMULTANIOUS WITH THE STUDY AND PERFECTION OF GERMAN AND THE REBUILDING OF MY PHYSICAL SELF THROUGH EXERCISE. THIS SOBER AND WELL-MEANING PLAN MAY BE LIQUIDATED AT A MOMENT’S NOTICE IN FAVOR OF A HONEYMOON, PROVIDING I LOVE WOOFY AND WOOFY LOVES ME––WHICH REMAINS TO BE VERIFIED. (MORE)
I FIND THAT I HAVEN’T A CHANCE FOR DISCHARGE UNDER THE POINT DISCHARGE SYSTEM 85 POINTS ARE REQUIRED. I HAVE SOMETHING LIKE 43. I’M DAMNED IF I WANT ANY MORE OF THIS INFANTRY PRIVATE DEAL. WHAT I WOULD LIKE TO DO IS RETURN TO GERMANY AND USE MY SPEAKING ABILITY AND ROCK BOTTOM KNOWLEDGE OF THE PEOPLE TO ADVANTAGE—OR BETTER STILL, LAND A DECENT JOB IN THE STATES. I DUNNO—WE’LL HAVE TO SEE.
I’VE ONLY A VAGUE IDEA OF WHEN I’LL BE HOME. SHIPPING IS HOPELESSLY CROWDED AND I AM ONE OF THE LAST P.O.W’S TO ARRIVE HERE [CAMP LUCKY STRIKE, NEAR LE HAVRE]. VERY LATE IN JUNE OR SOMETIME IN JULY—SORRY THAT’S THE BEST I CAN DO.
MUCH LOVE,
KURT JR.
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TO: KURT VONNEGUT, SR.
RIDGE ROAD, WILLIAMS CREEK
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
U.S.A.
FROM: PFC. KURT VONNEGUT JR 12102964
UNITED STATES ARMY
GERMANY
MAY 18, 1945
JOY
DEAR PEOPLE:
IT IS A SOURCE OF GREAT DELIGHT TO BE ABLE TO ANNOUNCE THAT YOU WILL SHORTLY RECEIVE A SPLENDID RELIC OF WORLD WAR II WITH WHICH YOU MAY DECORATE YOUR HEARTH––NAMELY ME IN AN EXCELLENT STATE OF PRESERVATION. YOU MAY WELL SAY “HUZZAH!” FOR THIS PRODIGAL PRINCELING HAS SURVIVED THE COMBINED ORDEALS OF JOB AND THE PROVERBIAL PAPERHANGER WITH PILES DURING THOSE HISTORY-TURGID SIX MONTHS JUST ELAPSED, PRAISE JESUS. OUR GROUP WAS HELD PRISONER BY THE GERMANS UNTIL THE VERY END WHEN OUR GUARDS LEFT US, THEIR RIFLES AND NATIONAL SOCIALISM IN FAVOR OF COMMUNISM WHICH IS ENJOYING GREAT POPULARITY IN OUR PART OF THE COUNTRY. EIGHT OF US HAVE BEEN TOURING GERMANY BY HORSE AND WAGON SINCE V-DAY, TRYING TO LOCATE SOMEONE WHO WASN’T TOO BUSY TO LIBERATE US. WE SUCCEEDED ONLY TWO DAYS AGO. THE DOPE HERE IS THAT WE’LL BE FLOWN HOME SHORTLY. I’M A SHADOW OF MY FORMER SHADOW BECAUSE THE BASTARDS TRIED TO STARVE ME TO DEATH BUT THEIR TIME RAN OUT BEFORE MINE. IT WILL SOON BE YOUR MAUDLIN DUTY TO SET GOODIES BEFORE ME THAT I MAY ONCE MORE BE MY MERRY, CURLY-TOPPED, LITTLE-OL’-BUTTERBALL SELF.
LOVE – KURT II
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May 6, 1945 HELLENDORF, SAXONY, GERMANY K. VONNEGUT, JR
DRY MARTINI
CAVIAR AND CRACKED WHOLE WHEAT CRACKERS
SHRIMP COCKTAIL WITH TOMATO AND HORSERADISH SAUCE
CLAM CHOWDER
OYSTER CRACKERS
WHOLE BAKED CHICKEN WITH OYSTER DRESSING
SAUTERN
MASHED POTATOES WITH GIBLET GRAVY
CREAMED ASPARAGUS TIPS
CANDIED SWEET POTATOES
FRIED TOMATOES AND CRACKER CRUMBS
OLIVES, SWEET PICKLES, CELERY, PICKLED ONIONS
COTTAGE CHEESE AND PINEAPPLE SALAD WITH MAYONNAISE
PARKERHOUSE ROLLS, CORN BREAD
BUTTER, HONEY, GRAPE JELLY
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE WITH WHIPPED CREAM
CAFE AU LAIT
SALTINES AND LIMBERGER CHEESE
TOLLHOUSE COOKIES, MIXED NUTS, CHOCOLATE BUDS
CHERRY BRANDY
CORONA CORONA CIGAR
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May 25, 1945
Halle, Germany
DEAR ANGELFACE:
As I recall, you and I were quite warm friends when last together about eight months ago––: you should, therefore, derive some small pleasure from the announcement that I have successfully survived the several sensational ordeals of the German phase of World War II, the late. I’m about the last Prisoner of War to be liberated and shall be flown to a base hospital (for routine check––I’m still in one piece) and thence, by air once more, I hope, to the U.S. If all goes smoothly I should be on native soil within a week. I’ve a sixty-day furlough and several hundred bucks awaiting me:––a somewhat cheerful situation by which you may indirectly benefit providing you haven’t got married or some damned thing. The happy combination of ready cash and free time will enable me to visit your lovely self––in Washington, I presume. You will, I hope, find my company at least entertaining in that I’ve a great number of fascinating and fantastic adventures to relate. At any rate, dear one, I shall shortly get in touch with you and give my respectful attention while you express oppinions on this and other matters.