After
I came back later than most; driving home, with Sally, it seemed that everything had gotten back to normal. When we stopped at a light, a few children pointed excitedly, and two men saluted, giving me the thumbs-up, and Sally smiled at me. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I smiled back. The soft seat creaked beneath me, and I noticed that my back was tense, because I wasn’t used to comfort.
The children were looking out the screen door when we got home. They walked down the steps as I got out. They looked at me for a moment, and I watched them. Then I smiled and knelt, and they walked towards me. They now came up to my eye-level.
“Hello Johnathon. Hello Megan,” I said, and held them tight. They seemed a little tense, so I let them go. We stood for a moment, then I opened the trunk of the car and got my bags. My wife smiled at me as I passed a suitcase to Johnathon.
Inside, I sat heavily on the couch, then stood up. It all seemed so new; new paint, a new lamp, and the couch had moved place. I heard Sally whispering in the hallway, telling the kids to come in and talk to me. They came in and sat on the armchair opposite me. I glanced over their heads, out the window, and the wind was blowing hard on the trees. The boughs might break, I thought. I should trim them tomorrow.
“Well,” I smiled. “It’s been a long time.”
Johnathon nodded. Megan followed my gaze outside, twisting her neck.
“Those trees are too heavy,” I said. “I’m going to go and trim them tomorrow. Do we have any shears?”
Johnathon nodded. “In the garage.”
“Good.” I thought for a moment. “Is the treehouse still up?”
“Yes.”
“We haven’t been up for ages,” said Megan. “Mum said it wasn’t safe until it was fixed.”
“Well,” I smiled. “I guess you’re too old for that now. Maybe we should just take it down.” I stood. “It’s getting dark,” I said, looking at the walls, trying to remember.
“Behind the door,” said Johnathon.
I reached behind the door and flipped the switch. The light hurt my eyes.
Sally came in and gave me a glass, and we all sat together.
I took a long drink. “So -- I’ve been thinking about what to do, now that I’m back. The government says it’ll pay for me to… to learn a trade. When I was abroad, I learned a lot about radios, so I’ve been thinking that… electronics might be good. I got a letter from Fred, one of the men in my outfit; he’s been taking a course in radio-telecommunications. So tomorrow afternoon I thought I’d go to the college and look into it. You got the pamphlets?” I asked my wife.
“They’re upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
The drink tasted good, but too cold. I wasn’t used to ice.
“Your father says he had a good flight,” said Sally.
I nodded. “Yes -- but rough. Halfway across the Atlantic I thought we were going to shake apart.” I winked. “But we made it, like always.”
“Like you said you were going to,” said Johnathon softly.
I smiled. “Like that.” The wind gusted against the window, and it rattled. “I like the colour,” I said, gesturing at the walls.
“There was some left over, from the factory,” said Sally. “Not my first pick, but it’ll do.”
“That it will. So – kids – you’re bigger than I remember.”
“You’re not,” said Megan, and we all laughed.
Sally stood up
“All right, you two. Time for bed.”
“We slept in the afternoon!” cried Megan.
“No you didn’t. I heard you two. Come on.”
Megan came over and kissed me. “Stubble,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“I’d have cut my throat, shaving on the plane,” I smiled. “I’ll shave in the morning. Good night.”
“’Night, dad.”
The kids went upstairs. I arched my back on the couch, trying to loosen it.
Sally stood. “Would you like a drink?”
“No thanks.”
“You were gone so long,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m back now.”
She walked over and sat on the couch, leaning against me. I put my arm around her. Her hair touched my cheek, and I moved my chin up and down, but it tickled irritably, so I stopped. Her earrings jangled, and she moved her head back.
“I got them on sale,” she smiled, touching them.
“That’s good. It’s going to be tight, you know, for a while. While I’m at school anyway.” I looked at her. “It’s funny -- you’ll drop me off, make me lunch. I’ll feel six again.”
“I remember your favourite sandwich. Turkey on rye with tomato and mayo. I have everything ready.”
“You’re a good woman.”
I kissed her cheek. We heard whispering from the stairs. Sally sighed and got up. “That’s enough, kids. Get to bed.” She turned to me. “You should get to bed too.”
I smiled. “So early? Is that good news?”
She shook her head. “You’d better answer that after a good night’s sleep. Did you sleep on the plane?”
“Not well. You’re always… waiting to get woken up by someone.” I yawned. “We don’t have to do anything in the morning?”
“Not a thing. You can sleep ‘til the cows come home.” Sally stood and kissed my cheek. “It’s good to have you back.”
“You have no idea.”
We went upstairs, and it took me a long time to fall asleep. In the darkness, I lay motionless, so as not to disturb Sally.
Breakfast was good; afterwards, I sat silently, listening to Sally and the kids clean up, leaning back in my chair, the sun on my face.
When I opened my eyes, Johnathon was taking model planes out of a box and laying them on the table.
“Johnny, not here, not now,” said Sally, glancing at me.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I said, leaning forward. “What have you got there, son?”
“A Messerchmitt, a Spitfire and a Hurricane,” said Johnathon proudly, holding one up. “The decals went a bit off on this one, but do you like the paint job? The camouflage?”
I smiled. “I only saw them from the bottom really, except when one crashed, and then it was -- pssh -- all broken up.”
“Was the pilot still inside?” asked Johnathon, fascinated.
“No -- he must have parachuted somewhere. That’s a great windshield. You should heat a pin and make little scratches. A pilot told me they were really scratched. Couldn’t see, half the time.”
“Listen,” said Johnathon, pointing up. “Hear that?”
I heard the distant drone of a plane flying far over the house.
“A transport,” I said.
“Bringing someone home,” murmured Sally.
I rubbed my eyes. “This is too light a blue,” I said, turning the Messerchmitt over. “It’s not quite right. It’d be visible.”
“It came right off the box,” said Johnathon. “Cobalt Blue. I did it right.”
I shook my head. “No -- the gunners’d spot it in a moment.” I jabbed my finger at the cockpit. “Bang! And where’s the landing gear?”
“The wheel’s don’t go in and out,” said Johnathon. “I glued the doors shut.”
“So how is the poor sap supposed to land?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I think we’ve had enough planes,” said Sally. “He doesn’t play with his train set anymore.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “Boys are boys.”
“And love their toys,” said Johnathon and I together, and laughed.
Sally looked at me. I got up and shook my head. “I have to get ready to go.”
“Honey -- it’s seven thirty. The office doesn’t open until ten.”
“Well -- all right.” I stood there.
“Johnathon -- put the planes away,” said Sally sharply. Johnathon packed them up quickly, his head lowered.
I stared at my plate for a moment, then looked up at Sally.
“Anyone feel like helping me take down the treehouse?” I said.
Johnathon looked up. Megan nodded.
The treehouse was rotten; the wood had swollen, and prying the planks apart was a tough job. Johnathon passed me my tools; Megan sat in the doorway to the treehouse.
“Tough, huh dad?” said Johnathon, passing a crowbar.
I grinned. “Piece of cake now. How’s school?”
Johnathon shrugged. “Division. It’s pretty boring.”
“Makes more sense when you’re older,” I said, trying to pry a board loose. It squeaked painfully. Megan covered her ears.
“Help me with this,” I said to Johnathon.
He added his weight to the crowbar. The board creaked, and gave way. The wind was rising.
“Studying hard?” I asked.
Johnathon shrugged. “You know.”
I strained against another board. “We need some dynamite up here. You’ve got to study hard, Johnny. Barney, a guy I knew when I was a kid, he got to work on radar. You know radar, right?”
“Sure,” he said, spraying his fingertips over the wood. “Doop… doop… Bounced off planes. They thought it’d never work.”
“Saved our hides more than once, I can tell you. Barney was bright, like you. He studied hard, so he never had to fight.”
“Wasn’t he a panty-waist?”
“A panty-waist?” I pulled at the wood. “Sure. But he didn’t have to fight.”
Johnathon snarled his lips, then shook his head. “I don’t want to be a panty-waist.”
“A lot of my friends are gone. Help me pull. He’s not. That’s all I’m saying.”
Johnathon threw his weight into the crowbar. “Was he your friend?”
The board gave way with a tearing sound. “What -- a panty-waist like him?” I grinned. “That’s a nice dress,” I said to Megan. “Is it new?”
She looked up quickly, touching the hem. “Not so new. A year. Mum got it free, from where she worked. She got to choose first because she was the fastest at making uniforms.”
“You know your granddad is coming tonight?” I asked.
“I know. He came a lot, when you were gone. He told us not to worry. He was away too, wasn’t he?”
“When I was about your age. For a long time -- almost as long as me.”
“Did you worry?”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to think of granddad getting into real trouble.”
“But you never got into real trouble, did you dad?” asked Johnathon.
“No. You know, I think your plane is much better without the landing gear. Sometimes the pilots had to make a belly landing. Pssh, into the water. Your plane could do that.”
“What’ll they do with the planes now?”
I pulled hard at another board. “I don’t know. They’re not really made for anything but fighting. If there’s another war…. They’ll go to museums. Crop-dusting perhaps. Who knows?” The tree swayed slightly in the wind, creaking.
“I think we should keep them. Next time -- rat-a-tat!” he cried, slapping the boards fast and hard. The crowbar slipped from my hand and thudded against the wooden floor.
“Shh, Johnathon!” said Megan, glaring at him. “You always make so much noise!”
“That’s what boys are supposed to do,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Listen, it’s not safe up here with these boughs so heavy. Let’s put this off ‘till I have a chance to trim them. All right?”
“All right, dad,” said Johnathon, lowering his head.
I opened the front door; it was quiet; the wind had died down. I looked up the street and saw him walking along. He saw me too, and gave me a big wave. We met, and shook hands firmly; his eyes were bright.
“Good to see you, son!” he said. His voice was as loud as I remembered.
“Thanks for coming, dad,” I said. We turned and walked back to the house. When we opened the front door, the kids came running down the hall.
“Granddad!” they cried, running into his legs.
“Easy -- I’m getting brittle!” he said. “And no grabbing at my pockets! You’ll get yours when it’s time!”
“Dad’s back!” cried Megan. She leaned up to kiss my father, and he rapped her softly on the head with his knuckles.
“Come in,” said Sally, taking his jacket. “Dinner’s ready. Come in and sit.”
We all sat down. Sally got up with the knife, then laughed and passed it over to me.
“Your job now!” she said.
I stood up and began slicing. The meat was tough, thin.
“It’s amazing you got hold of a roast. Guess we won’t be having this every night,” I said.
“Not unless you invite me every night,” said my dad, holding up his plate. “How was your flight?”
“Rough; my insides are still shaking.”
“Decent roughness though. We had to come back by boat. Slow, painful. We still had to worry about mines. We were so crowded that you had to pee where you stood -- ‘scuse me, Sally. You kids had it easy,” he said. “Sleeping a lot?”
“Nothing but, seems like.”
He grimaced. “That never quite goes away. Doesn’t get slept away. Even me.”
“Well it’s over now,” said Sally. “Let’s have a toast.” Everyone raised their glasses. “To a new life.”
We all clinked. “I’m going back to school, dad.”
He grinned. “Bring an apple.”
“Radio telecommunications.”
“What on earth is that?”
“Learning how to set up and broadcast radio.”
“I love those plays. Benny kills me. You should…”
“It’s three years.”
“More than I had,” he said, winking at the kids. “Paid for?”
“Everything.”
“You see?” he said triumphantly. “Easy!”
I smiled then.
After dinner, Sally put the kids went to bed, and dad and I went out back for a smoke.
“Those trees need trimming.” he said. “You’re gonna lose some branches if you’re not careful.”
“I know. It’s on the list.”
“You always lose your lists.”
“It’s in my head.”
“Which you’d also lose, if it wasn’t attached.”
We sat for a moment or two.
“Another drink?”
“You asked the right question,” he said, holding up his glass.
“I missed this,” I said, refilling it.
“You were lucky to get any. We had to steal ours. Those that didn’t, froze.”
“Thanks for coming while I was away.”
“Hell -- it’s what your granddad did.” He grinned. “Tools of the trade, that’s us.”
He took a long sip of his drink.
“So. Radio telecommunications.”
“That’s right.”
He nodded. “Ever think of going back to..?”
“No,” I said sharply. “That’s all gone now. I’m not a child anymore.”
“I never thought it was childish. Damn necessary, if you ask me. More now than ever. You should. You had a real talent.”
I scowled. “Not any more.”
“A shame,” said my dad, twirling his ice. “A real shame.”
Sally came out.
“You want to stay, granddad?” asked Sally.
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I have to get back. Legion’s having a meeting in the morning. We’re planning the Remembrance Day parade. Sam wants to put his daughter at the head, in tights, the fool. As if we need baton-twirling and nice legs to remember. You should come this year,” he said, turning to me. “Some of the younger men are coming.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you good,” he said, nodding. We sat for a moment.
“All right,” he said, rising abruptly. “Thanks for the food, the company, the drink too many.”
“Thanks for coming,” said Sally, standing. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Never,” he said. We shook hands, and he left. Sally and I stood in the hallway for a moment, then went up to bed.
After I handed in my forms, I went to get a coffee. In the line-up, I saw a face I recognized.
“Blair,” I said. “How are you?”
“Fine! And you?”
“Not too bad. You’re coming here too?”
“Can’t pass up something like this. When did you get back?”
“Couple of days ago.”
“How do you find it?”
I blinked. “What? Being back? It’s great, of course.”
We paid, and found some seats.
“How long have you been back?” I asked.
He lit a cigarette. “About six months -- you know I married before going away?”
“I heard. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How are your kids?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Sally?”
“She’s well.”
His cheeks were turning red. “Any complaints?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well -- you know, you’ve been away and lived this different life, and now you’re back and no-one knows anything about it.”
“About what?”
“What you went through. You know -- what you went through.”
I frowned.
“You don’t feel different?” he asked.
“Sure. Who wouldn’t?”
“Marge says I’m different. I don't feel the same. I saw some awful stuff. You know.”
I sat looking at him.
“No-one seems to want to talk about it,” he said. “About the war. About what happened.” He stubbed his cigarette out, and immediately pulled out another. “I can’t sleep at night, and I’m sleepy all day. Marge irritates me. I feel afraid sitting in my living room. I’m… Everything feels strange.”
I watched him light his cigarette. A sniper could see that, at night.
“Why did you come back so late?” he asked.
“I had some business to finish up.”
“What sort of business?”
“Burials. I radioed where the bodies were, and they came and burned them.”
“Where?”
“The camps.”
Blair sat looking at me. “Your father fought too, didn’t he? I remember you showing his medals at school.”
“Yeah. The first one.”
“Ever talk about it?”
I pursed my lips. “What’s the point?”
“No -- there’s not much point to it; you’re right,” said Blair.
“What did you do over there?”
“Infantry, at first. Then I became an orderly. I close my eyes, I see wounds. There was a lot of screaming. Grown men crying for their mothers.”
“When a man is hurt, he cries. There’s no shame in that.”
“Are you? Are you hurt?” he asked, meeting my gaze.
“My limbs are all attached,” I said slowly. “My family is well. I’m sleepy and my back is tense, and I get headaches. And I don’t dream. But that will pass.”
He put his cup down with a clatter. “How? How will it pass?”
“In time, Blair. In time.”
“And if your son has to go, when his time comes, what will you tell him?”
I frowned. “I suppose what my dad told me. Keep your wits about you. Don’t be a hero. Don’t get angry. Don’t think of being home, and don’t bore everyone with the details when you get back.”
“Because they won’t understand.”
I took a deep breath. “No. No, they won’t. And there’s no reason why they should.”
“Is that man looking at us?”
I turned my head. “I don’t think so.”
Blair nodded. “What are you going to do now? Can we look forward to…”
“None of that for me now.” I rubbed my left eye, which throbbed painfully.
He shook his head. “Every generation.”
“What can you do? They had to be stopped.”
“I know. But the silence also has to be stopped.”
I glanced at my watch. “I’d better be off. Sally’s expecting me for lunch. It’ll be all right, Blair. Give it some time. Be thankful you have some to give. Some don’t have that luxury.”
I stood and shook his hand. He decided to stay, and I glanced at him as I left. He was weeping silently, staring into space, his hands clenched in front of him.
I was surprised to hear voices coming from the house when I walked up the front steps. The drapes were drawn shut, and I heard women, and paused.
“…no, it’s not so strange,” I heard Sally saying. “Think of what they’ve been through.”
“What they’ve been through! They come home and it’s all feet up and bring me a drink,” cried Gladys, a friend of hers. “And what happened to us when they were gone? You didn’t lose anyone. George, Sam and Edgar. Gone. All gone.” She was crying. I leaned closer. “And me on my feet from dawn till dusk making shells!”
“Shh, honey. It’s all right…”
“No it’s not. It’s not. When Gwen is old enough, she’s getting the truth: have no children. Take no husband. You’ll raise them, you’ll love them, and they’ll be taken away, and you’ll be none the wiser!”
“What were they supposed to do?”
“What were they supposed to do? Nothing now -- everyone kneels and prays and lights them candles! But me? I didn’t get any medals! And now they tell me my job is gone? Because the men are back! What about me? What am I supposed to do?”
“We all had to make sacrifices,” said Jenny gently. “I lost Ralph.”
“And those that come back aren’t the same,” said Sally, so softly I almost couldn’t hear her.
“That’s true,” said Jenny.
“Count your blessings!” cried Gladys.
“No -- she’s right,” said Jenny. “Before, Charles was -- you remember. Now he does crosswords and practices birdcalls.”
“And you? How’s your one?” asked Gladys.
There was a pause. “Not the same,” said Sally. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Afraid of what?” asked Jenny.
“Afraid of… I don’t know. He’s too calm. I don’t want to disturb anything.”
“He was a cracker, that one,” said Gladys, tsking between her teeth. “All put out, all put out. Like the rest, back or no.”
There was a silence then. I wanted them to keep talking, but I was afraid of what they might say. I rang the doorbell. The women moved inside.
Sally opened the door, and I kissed her on the cheek.
“How was your morning?” she asked.
“Fine. I ran into Blair Underwood.”
“How was he?”
“Fine, I think… Hello Gladys. Hi Jenny.”
“Hello,” they said.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No -- just social tea,” said Sally. “We were just finishing.”
I went into the living room and sat down. The women gathered by the door.
“Well,” said Jenny, picking up her hat. “Are we still on for Saturday?”
“Of course,” said Sally.
“I’ll bring the biscuits; I got some from a friend,” said Gladys. “Take care,” she said to me.
“Goodbye,” said Jenny, tipping her hat.
Sally waved them off from the front steps, then came inside and stood in the doorway.
“Coffee?” she asked. She looked tired.
“Sure.”
She turned to go.
“Sally,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Did you meet for coffee every day when I was gone?”
“Well – during our coffee break,” said Sally.
“Right.”
“Gladys has… had a hard time. She lost George, Sam and Edgar in the war, and now she’s lost her job too.”
“Well,” I smiled. “Can’t have ex-soldiers sitting about after a war. Might start a revolution.”
Sally turned away. “Johnathon’s upset.”
“About what?”
“It’s hard for him, you being home.”
“Really? Well it was hard for me, being away.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know, I know.” I took a deep breath. “Say, do you know anything about loosening a back?”
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing ‘happened’. I just feel tight, that’s all.”
“Have you tried stretching it?”
“Of course.”
“That’s all the advice I’d have,” said Sally.
I sat down. She stood in the doorway.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Good. I got a reading list.”
“Did you buy the books?”
“No, I…”
“What?”
“I ran into Blair Underwood at the office.”
“You said. How is he?”
“A little mixed up. He took it badly.”
“Marge says he’s hard to deal with. Jumpy, angry.”
“You’re friends with her now?”
“We worked together.”
“But you didn’t invite her today?”
“She had a job interview.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Sally sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.
“I’ve thought of that too,” she said.
“What?”
“Interviewing.”
“For what?”
“Accounting. Making things. I learned a lot while you were away.”
“I’m sure the kids missed you while you were away,” I said.
“Yes, of course. But you will be home more.”
A tree branch banged against the window, and I was angry at myself for not having trimmed them yet. “Have you ever thought of having another one?”
“Another child? Good God no. Well yes, I’ve thought of it, but I couldn’t. We couldn’t.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Too exhausting. I’m not up for losing that much sleep. Not anymore.”
“We did it before. Twice.”
“That was before.”
“Before the war.”
“It made more sense then. Thank God we didn’t have Johnathon when we first married. He might have had to go with you.”
“He’d still be too young. And Sally – it’s all over now.”
“For now,” she said, turning to go. She stopped in the doorway and turned. “No more children.”
I sat for a moment.
“I thought it might help us,” I said, “get back into the swing of things.”
“It won’t,” she said. “It won’t.”
I went to the cafeteria after my first class. I needed a coffee; I had had a hard time staying awake during the lecture. I was sitting, thinking about my life, when I saw Blair come into the hall. He walked up to the coffee dispenser, and pulled the handle back. He looked into his cup for a moment, then slammed it down on the counter. He glared at the man ahead of him in the line.
“Did you take the last coffee?” he demanded.
“Sure,” said the man, raising his cup. “Good coffee, too.”
“Well, did you tell them to refill it?”
“What?”
“Did you have the courtesy to tell them to refill it again? So I wouldn’t be left without a coffee?”
“We can refill it in a few minutes, sir,” said the woman behind the counter.
“That’s not the point,” said Blair angrily. “This son of a bitch could have just said: refill it, and I would have my coffee!”
“Why don’t you just shut up?” said the man. “You’ll get your bloody coffee.”
“Why don’t you just learn a little goddamn courtesy?” snarled Blair, moving towards the man.
I half-rose from my chair.
“Gentleman, please,” said the woman behind the counter.
“You can have my coffee,” said another man in the line.
“No,” said Blair. “I think I want his coffee.” He took the man’s cup from his tray.
The man reached forward and grabbed at the cup. The steaming coffee splashed across Blair’s arm.
“You son of a bitch!” cried Blair. He leapt forward and grabbed the man’s lapel, dragging him away from the counter. The tray skidded and fell.
Everyone ducked their heads at the crashing sound. I lowered myself to a crouch and began moving towards Blair.
“You bastard!” cried Blair, shaking the man’s neck like a dog.
The man snarled, his hands waving. The two of them staggered against a table, overturning it.
I crouched behind Blair as he drew his fist back. I grabbed his arm and dragged him back. He wouldn’t let go of the man; the two of them lurched against me, and we fell to the floor. Blair cried out, reaching out for the man’s neck. The man slapped his hand away, his lips drawn back from his teeth. Blair grabbed his hair in a fist and slammed his head into the floor. The man groaned.
“Blair!” I shouted. “Stop it!” I hugged his chest tightly from behind to pull him away. Blair’s elbow skidded around and slammed into the side of my head. My vision span, but I felt nothing. “Do you want to go to jail?”
Blair laughed, slamming the man’s head against the tile again.
I found my feet, and lifted Blair bodily off the man. The man cried out as his head rose a few feet, Blair still gripping his hair.
“Get him loose, you bastards!” I gasped. Blair writhed beneath me. His foot slammed against my knee. “Pull them apart!” I cried, lurching back.
“Let me go!” wailed Blair. A few men came forward and pulled Blair’s hands from the man’s hair. I let Blair go and took a step back.
“Easy now,” I said sternly.
Blair whirled around and punched me in the throat. My vision darkened. I couldn’t breathe. I leapt forward. Blair fell backwards, and I fell on his chest. My hands found his throat and gripped tight.
Blair’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened wide. I gripped tighter. I heard the sound of planes, flying low and dangerous. Smoke stung my nose. I felt my enemy’s bone under my thumbs.
Something hit me on the side of the head. Arms gripped my elbows and pulled. Blair’s eyes closed. Hands pried my fingers from his throat. I suddenly went limp, and was pulled away, numb.
“My fault!” wheezed Blair. He staggered to his feet. “I’m sorry…” he said, his watering eyes hovering over me.
I blinked, and the room swam back into focus.
“No more,” I said, stepping back, my arms raised. “No more.”
Blair took a step forward, and fell into my arms, and we clung to each other.
I went to the Legion parade, that Saturday. Afterwards, we went to a pub. I stood at the bar with Blair, and my father and his old friends.
“Some of them were damn fools,” my father was saying. “Sir this and sorry that. They looked at Sarge like Lord God Almighty. Wide-eyed, patriotic. Boom. First to go. If I’d had to go again, I’d have loved to have been in your outfit,” said my father to me. “You must have cracked ‘em all up.”
“At times,” I murmured. “At first.”
“And now he’s sooo serious,” grinned my father’s friend, patting me on the head.
“When he was a kid,” cried Blair, his upper lip covered with beer-foam, “he always used to prefer getting a caning to passing up a chance to make the class laugh. Remember Mr. Schnurr? ‘If I may ax the class for order!’ And you behind him, chopping your arms like a madman! That killed us.”
“A funny boy,” said my dad. “Always wanted to please.”
“And now,” repeated his friend. “Sooo serious.”
“I’m not serious,” I said. “If I were serious, I would be able to… string more than one thought together at a time. I’m scattered and – and I think I look serious because I‘m trying to hold everything together.”
They all looked at me genially. There was a space for speaking in their eyes, and I didn’t want to disappoint them.
“I just think that being funny had it’s place, then, but now it doesn’t seem to… When you’ve done and seen… everything… it clogs you up.” My head was spinning. “You’re afraid to open your mouth… You watch everything you do. You just want… everything to be… like it was.”
I took a long gulp of beer. God it tasted good.
“You know, you make friends,” I said, my voice thick. “You have to, ‘cause when you’re alone you get… careless. And then your friends go, one by one, and you kind of start to think: if I go, we all go. Even the memories, of them. And of course, I made friends, at first, ‘cause I was funny. I always did. Then I had to think on other things, and after a while there were no more friends to make, and I sort of – lost the knack.”
There was silence in the gathering, the silence of old memories.
“There was a kid who sang in my outfit,” said my father softly, and we all turned to him. “God, he used to cheer us up. Then something happened one night, out in the wire, and he stopped singing. He didn’t last long after that. When we packed him off to be buried, one of the men spat on his face and called him a son of a bitch. It was wrong, but… If you can make people happy, even a little…” My father shook his head. “You were a grand comedian. You made ‘em all laugh.”
“You can lose that,” I said.
“Do your imitation,” said Blair, his head bobbing.
I shook my head angrily. “You’re drunk, Blair.”
“No – I’m Mr. Schnurr!” He stood up, weaving, and twisted his face in a stingy grimace. “’If I may ax the class for order!’” he cried, waving his hands. “’If I may ax the class for order!’ Come on, you stupid son of a bitch! Do it!”
“Leave off, Blair!” I said, raising my hand.
Blair lurched forward, his eyes bright, his face manic. “’If I may ax the class for order!’”
“Enough!”
Blair laughed. “If that young Mr. Spotwood make his ridiculous gestures behind my back I wish the first lad with honour to in-fooorm me!”
My eyes were suddenly full of tears. I stood up and hunched my shoulders like our long-dead teacher. “Be warned” I cried out in a rasping voice. “I am not axing for your co-operation – I am ux-pecting it, you rabid little moon-keys!” My voice caught, and tears were streaming down my face. I felt like a fool, and it felt good.
“That’s my boy,” said my father, raising his glass. “To peace.”
