Christmastime 1943

by Linda Mahkovec

  Karl walked up to Ursula and spoke gently. “Sein jüngerer Bruder.” He lowered his hand to indicate a lower height. “His brother. Killed at Stalingrad.”

  Chapter 11

  *

  Lillian’s Saturday evening class was always more crowded and rowdier than the week-night classes – the patients stubbornly adhering to their pre-injury routine. Despite being boxed in by four walls, and newly limited by their wounded bodies, the men still craved the sense of celebration that only a Saturday night could bring – a way to end the week on a high note, before settling into the despair-laden tedium that began again on Sunday morning.

  Tonight Lillian herself was in a more buoyant mood, excited about her evening out with Izzy and Archie. She glanced at the clock, expecting Izzy at any moment, but she decided not to say anything to the men about her visit.

  “I forget how you said to use the brush,” Sergeant Remling said, who, at the last class, had ambitiously asked for painting materials. He made room beside him for Lillian.

  She leaned on the table across from him and demonstrated.

  “Like this?” he asked.

  “No,” Lillian said. She moved to the other side and patiently guided his hand. “Like this,” she said, once again showing him how to hold the brush, how to move his wrist. “Lightly, allow it to flow. That’s right.” She guided his hand until he was able to copy the fluid movement on his own, which caused the others to laugh.

  “Watch out for Rembrandt, Miss Lillian,” teased Memphis. “That leg of his is almost healed.”

  Lillian straightened up and addressed the men who were laughing. “At least he’s serious about his lessons. He’s going to surprise his mother with a drawing before he gets out of here, aren’t you?”

  Remling bobbed his head up and down eagerly, which made the men laugh all the more.

  Lillian gave a playful look of reprimand to the group. “You could all do the same, if you would just apply yourselves a little more.”

  Remling smiled at the praise and held up his latest depiction of Lillian, which was not much of an improvement from his first attempt. He didn’t seem to mind that it brought about more loud guffaws, and he good-naturedly laughed along with the others.

  “No one applies himself like Rembrandt,” said Mack, setting off a new round of laughter.

  “Come show me how to hold my brush. Maybe I can get the same results,” said another.

  Lillian had learned that the best way to discourage their insinuating remarks was to simply ignore them.

  “If you don’t practice in between lessons, then it doesn’t matter what I teach you,” she responded.

  The young GI clutched his heart. “Aw, you’re breakin’ my heart, Teacher. I just need a little private time with you."

  “It’s my turn Rembrandt,” said Bushwick. “Stop hoggin’ all the time.”

  “I’m not hogging all the time, but I have to work on my technique.”

  “We all know what technique that would be.” Bushwick pushed Remling aside and grabbed his paint brush. “I know what game you’re playing.”

  “You don’t know up from down, you dumb Dago.”

  “Hey, who you callin’ a dumb Dago?” Rossi challenged, eager to get in on the fray.

  Several other patients elbowed their way forward, adding a fresh round of taunts. Though Lillian tried to quell the growing squabble, it soon escalated into a fracas with more imaginative insults being hurled about, along with the tossing of wadded-up drawings, raised voices, a great deal of laughter and –

  As if a magic wand were waved over the room, the men froze into position – mouths open, arms poised above their heads in a toss, a crutch pointed like a weapon, an elbow ready to rib the guy nearby.

  The room filled with silence, broken only by a long slow whistle from one of the men.

  Izzy stood in the doorway.

  “Hello, boys!” Izzy looked out at the disorderly scene. “This must be the drawing class.” She slung her coat over one shoulder and held a covered basket in her other hand. Her deep green hat sat angled in her auburn curls.

  “I came to bring you a little holiday cheer,” she said. She walked into the room, her red dress shimmering with movement.

  The men remained immobile, puzzling out if her tone was seductive or innocent.

  Then, as if to dispel their confusion, but in fact, compounding it, she set the basket down on the table, and dramatically whipped off the cloth – revealing a platter brimming with Christmas cookies. Her body language conveyed one message, the cookies another. She gave Lillian a quick wink as she draped her coat over the back of the chair and set her hat on top of it. Then she slowly smoothed down her dress over her hips, raised her face to the roomful of men, and gave them one of her dazzling smiles.

  A flurry of activity followed, wheelchairs were wheeled closer to the table, the card game in the back broke up, and the men moved forward to the table where Lillian was trying to introduce Izzy.

  “This is my friend, Izzy Briggs, that I was telling you about.” Lillian raised her voice above the questions and comments coming from all directions. “She’s graciously agreed to model for you so that – Tonight we’re going to learn – ” but she was interrupted left and right. She gave up and tried to make a few individual introductions. “This is Private Rossi, and this – ”

  “Introduce me to your friend!” said Remling, planting himself next to Izzy.

  “This is Sergeant Rembrandt – I mean Remmy – I mean – ” Lillian grew increasingly flustered as the class spun out of control. “And over here is – ”

  But the men had all pushed forward on their own, shaking Izzy’s hand, and telling her their names.

  Izzy quickly took command.

  With hands on her hips, she raised her voice. “Okay, boys, get out your materials, and let’s get started.” She raised her head to the back of the room. “Is that music I hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” answered one of the younger men from the back. “Do you want me to turn it down?”

  “No! Turn it up! That’s Benny Goodman!” and she took the hands of a GI in a wheelchair, his face brightening as he fell right in with her moves.

  The atmosphere changed as Izzy stepped about the room, greeting the men, while Lillian attempted to conduct the class. “Okay, get into your groups – We’ll begin with a series of five-minute sketches – or maybe two-minute sketches.”

  Lillian tried to help Izzy hold a position, which didn’t last long, with the men introducing themselves and asking her questions. But some of the more earnest students were eagerly trying to capture her face, her expressions – others focused on her gestures, her figure.

  Izzy turned down the various invitations, explaining that she had a certain sergeant filling her life at the moment. Then she tossed her head back in laughter at a witty remark from one GI, and had a ready comeback for another. A few Santa hats got tossed around from man to man, with Izzy intercepting one, and putting it on.

  Lillian passed around the cookie basket while Izzy struck poses: sitting on the table with her legs crossed, then on the lap of one GI, and then with her arms looped around another. A few men danced with Izzy or spun her around as she passed by. Izzy included all the men, refusing to see crutches or wheelchairs as obstacles. She placed a sympathetic hand on their shoulders, and in a few seconds found out where they from, if they had family. It became an impromptu Christmas party, with more men from the hall stopping in and participating.

  At one point, Lillian gave up trying to teach, and simply watched her friend. She knew that Izzy had the ability to turn on the charm and had often seen her in action. But this was different.

  Though it all appeared spontaneous, Izzy was making sure to address every single man, spending equal time with each patient, and maintaining absolute control over the degree of flirtation. She encouraged a certain amount, let it brim to a point, and then reeled it back in. She matched the serious tone in a few of the men, and with the younger ones
she became ten years younger in an instant.

  There she was, joking with the men, making them laugh, making them all feel special. It was a kind of unstudied performance – inclusive, playful, and yet sincere. She flirted with joy, in a wholesome, pleasant manner. The older men seemed to smile in memory, the younger ones in hope of some future dream.

  Lillian studied the men’s faces and realized that they had changed – they were different tonight – no longer patients. Izzy, with her infectious charm, had made each of them feel like “men.” Lillian looked around at the different faces and caught a glimpse of what they were like before they were wounded, before the war had burdened them with pain and struggle and an uncertain future.

  The time flew by, and Lillian was surprised when one of the nurses poked her head in the door and held up five fingers to indicate that some of the men would soon have to take their medicines or treatment.

  Lillian was reluctant to call time, but they had already exceeded the class by half an hour.

  “Okay, our time is up. Let’s look at your results.”

  Amid groans and protestations, the men finally gave in, and Lillian and Izzy moved about the room, examining the drawings. Many pages remained blank or had only a few lines drawn, but other students had done their best to capture the essence of Izzy – in all of the drawings she was smiling.

  The group of patients clearly didn’t want the party to end and did their best to prolong it with requests for Izzy to come back again.

  “You gotta come back, Izzy!”

  “I didn’t get a chance to finish my drawing!”

  “I’ll be waiting for you, Miss Izzy!”

  Izzy slipped on her coat and adjusted her hat. “I promise to come back – but only if you promise to improve on these chicken scratches!” She held up one drawing of a lumpy woman in red and gasped. Then she ran her hand over her hair and batted her eyes. “I do hope I look better than this!”

  As she made her way to the door, the crowd followed, including the men on crutches and in wheelchairs.

  “Okay, boys,” she said, her palm raised to signal the end. “I’m afraid duty calls and I must offer my,” she gave a discreet little cough behind the back of her hand, “talents, elsewhere” – which caused a new outburst of laughter and whistles.

  Izzy leaned into Lillian. “See you soon?”

  Lillian nodded, squeezed her friend’s hand, and whispered, “Thank you!”

  Amid such parting remarks as “have a drink on me!” and “tell that sergeant he doesn’t know how lucky he is,” and “if things don’t work out with him . . .,” Izzy backed out of the door, blowing them all a big kiss.

  For a moment the room fell silent.

  Then Remling asked, “You got any more friends like that?” and the buzz started up again, the men ribbing one another and telling tales about who she reminded them of, and a girl someone met at . . ., and another with the figure like . . .

  “And on that note,” said Lillian, packing up her supplies, “I think I’ll take my leave.”

  There were a few “my heart still belongs to you,” and the like.

  Lillian laughed and said goodbye, passing the coordinator in the hall. Lillian was afraid that she might be reprimanded for allowing the class to turn into a party.

  But Mrs. Coppel simply gave a light chuckle. “If laughter is the best medicine, then those men just got a heavy dose of it.”

  Lillian smiled at the comment, and then went upstairs to see her private students.

  She was still flushed with the excitement of the impromptu party. Her eyes were bright and her smile wide as she sat down next to her youngest student. After the first few classes, she had insisted that all the students address her on a first name basis.

  “Good evening, Ernest,” she said somewhat breathless from her rush. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” She noticed that he was sitting up in bed with a worried expression.

  “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

  “Tonight’s class ran a little longer than usual.” She patted his hand and he quickly grasped it. “What is it, Ernest? Is anything wrong?”

  She glanced over at her other student, Mr. Carmichael, but saw that he was in a deep sleep, and returned her attention to Ernest.

  “I might not get another chance,” Ernest said. “There’s something I – I have to get something off my chest.”

  Little alarm bells went off in Lillian, but the pleading sweetness in his face made her sympathetic to whatever he had to say.

  “I – I love you, Lillian. I can’t help it, but I do. You have to believe me.”

  Lillian sat back in her chair, struck silent by his confession. Then she smiled and leaned forward. “Ernest, I do believe you. But what you feel isn’t – that kind of love. There are all kinds of love, and in a way, I have come to love you, and all my students.”

  “No, you don’t understand. When I’m with you, I feel better, stronger, happier. And I know that I’m going to get out of here – and live again.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing. And that’s why I’m here – to help you all as you reconnect with life. But that’s a different kind of love.”

  His face flooded with boyish disappointment that she wasn’t taking him seriously.

  “Ernest. Not only am I already married, but I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  He blinked in disbelief. “You are?”

  “Yes,” she laughed. “I have a son not much younger than you – perhaps five years or so.”

  “You do?” He pulled his head back and looked closely at her, seeing her in a new light.

  Lillian nodded.

  “Gee, that’s hard to believe.”

  “I think when you’re up and about again you’ll see that what you feel for me is a kind of appreciation, like you feel for Nurse Ellen and Doctor Carter.”

  He looked away and slowly nodded. Then he quickly looked up at her again, as if wondering how she could have aged so quickly.

  “Right now, we’re your world and it’s natural for you to grow attached to us, just as we’ve grown attached to you. But soon you’ll be mixing with people your own age and seeing things differently – though it seems to me there are a few young people around who would be quite happy for your company.” She smiled over at one of the Red Cross volunteers.

  When Ernest looked up to see what she meant, Lillian gently pointed her chin to the pretty young girl, who quickly smiled and then turned away.

  “I never really noticed her before.”

  “That’s because she’s shy. But she’s noticed you.”

  Ernest observed the young woman as she moved about the room.

  “Nurse Ellen tells me that she’s one of the best assistants here, and that she wants to become a nurse. Though dating the patients is prohibited, perhaps you could show her your work. She’s asked me, on more than one occasion, what you liked to draw.”

  “She did?” Again, he looked over at the young volunteer.

  Lillian nodded. She then lifted his notebook and flipped through his drawings. “You’re very good, Ernest. I really think you should continue with classes when you’re up to it. In the meantime, just keep practicing.”

  They spent a few minutes going over his drawings, with Lillian making suggestions and pointing out his progress.

  Ernest smiled at her remarks. “It’s really helped me, having these classes. You’ll still stop by, won’t you? Until I leave?”

  “Of course, I will. Though Dr. Carter said he thinks you’ll be able to leave before Christmas.”

  He smiled and his face finally took on the glow of hope. “My family’s counting on it.” He was soon talking about his plans for Christmas, and read out parts of his letters to her. Every now and then, he glanced over at the shy Red Cross volunteer.

  Lillian spent another twenty minutes with Mr. Carmichael, who had just woken up. She then left the ward, and went down to the coordinator’s office, where she returned her smock. She stood in front o
f the mirror on the wall and brushed her hair and powdered her nose.

  Mrs. Coppel came in with a clipboard in hand, followed by two new volunteers. She stopped and gaped at Lillian in her lustrous green dress.

  “Oh, Mrs. Drooms! You look beautiful!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Coppel. I rarely go out, but tonight I’m making an exception.”

  “Well, we all need a little cheer in these dark times. You have yourself a wonderful evening.” She picked up a large folder from her desk, and left the room with the volunteers hurrying behind her.

  Lillian glanced at her reflection. She was wearing her favorite dress – a deep green satin and chiffon that seemed perfect for the holidays – even though it was too long for the fashion of the day. Hemlines had crept up to the knee in order to save on fabric, and though she had a few newer dresses, this one was special to her.

  It was the dress she had worn the first time she and Charles went out – over three years ago now. It reminded her of him, of them, of their time together, and she had hesitated before deciding to wear it. But his recent letter had convinced her to try to go out and enjoy herself, and so she had worn it, in part, to feel closer to Charles. And now she was glad she had listened to him. She was really looking forward to the evening. To meeting Izzy’s beau, to being around people in the holiday spirit, to seeing what other women were wearing in these times of restrictions.

  She took her clip earrings out of her purse, clusters of small crystals that picked up on the emerald of her dress, and smoothed on a brighter shade of lipstick. Then she took a final look in the mirror, expecting to feel the same sense of glamor she had felt going out with Charles – but instead of excitement, a sense of loss washed over her, that Charles was not there with her. She could almost see him in the mirror, standing just behind her, his hand on her shoulder, that look of love and tenderness in his eyes.