Ticket Home

by James Michael Pratt

  “Hope these regular army guys know …” Norman’s voice drifted off plaintively as he sought for a way to stay away from the subject of Mary Jane, his disappointment.

  “Know what?”

  “Know what they’re doing. We’re weekend soldiers. We’ve just about got things paid off back home, and—”

  “And we’re together,” Lucian cut in. “We’re a team. Besides, active duty means more pay, free food, a place to bed down. We’ll just get the station and the land paid off all the faster by holding onto the money. Besides, the Philippines can’t be that bad.”

  “No one says it’s the Philippines we’re headed to,” Norman countered.

  “Scuttlebutt at Headquarters Battery,” Lucian responded. “I guess whatever happens at least we’ll have the money to do the dream Pa always wanted for us.”

  “Funny how interested you are in Warm Springs, the station and such, all the sudden. Anyway, it’s a long way from Warm Springs, some ten thousand miles to be exact, and the Japs aren’t exactly friendly these days—if it is the Philippines.”

  “It’ll never happen. They’d be suicidal to attack any U.S. military base in the Pacific. Be back in a jiff. And I want to see a smile,” Lucian called out as he threw the duffel bag in the back of the jeep and jumped into the driver’s seat. He spit his chewing tobacco out and offered Norman a stained, toothy grin.

  Smile, Norman thought, as he shook his head. They’d been best friends as much as brothers. During all the years of the Great Depression they’d watched out for each other.

  Lucian even followed him into the Guard for the extra pay and the free place to sleep at night while working the docks on the Santa Fe line.

  “Smile,” he huffed. Why’d Mary Jane have to show up anyway? As long as she had been out West, in California with her folks, Lucian hadn’t been able to touch her. He’d forgotten her for the next blonde who’d come along. Completely forgotten her. It complicated things, her coming home—complicated everything.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Remember that fella from Minnesota who worked with us out on the Santa Fe docks in Ventura, the summer of forty?” Lucian probed, seeking to break the monotonous clickity-clack rhythm of the rails meeting boxcar wheels. “What was his name?”

  “Al Handy,” Norman responded sleepily from the opposite corner of the empty rail car.

  “Yeah, big Al,” Lucian chuckled. “He was a real card, a real joker.”

  No response.

  “Remember how the trainloads of oranges would come in piled high up the sides of the cars and make a mound—seemed like hundreds of those cars we must have unloaded that season.”

  “Yep,” Norman snorted.

  “Remember how Al always took a bite out of the first orange he’d toss into the crates on the dock and tell us whether they’d be juicin’ oranges or eatin’ ones?” Lucian laughed. “This one time I tossed a wormy one and said, ‘Hey Al, try this one.’” Lucian laughed in a dialogue with himself as the train clanked on north toward Oklahoma and their getting off point, the town of Redemption. From there they’d hitch a car ride up to Warm Springs.

  “Well jus’ so happens I no sooner say the word than he bites into this particularly ripe juicy one I tossed to him, and smiles this big grin with a mouthful of orange pulp, ‘Juice,’ he says as it dripped out the corners of his mouth. ‘Somethin’ strange in this one,’ he says as he spits the pulp out and sees the fat remains of a fruit worm on the concrete. He looks at me like I had put it there or somethin’. I tell ya, Norm, I never had such a good laugh. Then he started throwing oranges. I threw back, then he chased me a mile before givin’ up. Remember?” Lucian smiled.

  “Yeah, I remember. Almost got you and Al fired.”

  “Those were good times. Big Al—I hear he joined the marines. He was always jealous of the marines getting the girls in San Diego. Yes sir, pretty place that California coast all dotted with them orange groves and such.”

  “Mighty pretty,” Norman sighed. He nodded off to the rhythm of the steel wheels working turn after methodical turn against the rail. The whistle blowing from the engineer warned against any one crossing the tracks up ahead.

  “Norman,” Lucian tried. “Norm, I need to tell you something,” he voiced a little louder. Lucian considered the silence and gazed upon the brother who had been so true to him, the family. Whenever he needed Norman, he had been there.

  He felt the lie was justified, the half-truth about him and Mary Jane. He needed some time to figure out how to tell him. To work up the courage to get straight out with it.

  There was a ceremony going to happen this weekend. At a small church just this side of Warm Springs. He hadn’t purchased a ring yet for Mary Jane, but something would work out.

  He’d like Norman to be the best man, to carry the ring for him. He’d like it with all his heart for things to be square, right, even, between them.

  He’d make his vows this weekend with the woman they both loved. The bond between him and Norman would be stronger or weaker as a result of what he was about to do.

  It would all take place in the church and he hoped that God would be there, witnessing for Norman that he didn’t mean to hurt him. He really was a changed man, more serious, ready to settle down. He needed his brother to be there for him.

  He looked upon his sleeping twin and wished he could change or fix his lies before Norman felt hurt too deeply. He now could only pray for God to be there at the wedding, give Norman peace. Be in Redemption with them.

  CHAPTER 23

  All who were left in the town and countryside surrounding Warm Springs were in attendance. J. D. Briggs, Pastor of the Country Church in Redemption, began.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered this day to witness the marriage of two of our own, Mary Jane Harrison and Lucian Parker. This is a joyous occasion …” Norman tuned out the words of the pastor as he stared into the chapel’s stained-glass window above the altar.

  “Joyous” hit Norman harder than a truckload of bricks could hit a man buried ten feet deep in them. He lost all regard for where he was, and what he was doing as he sat in the pew in the front row, witnessing his brother taking from him the only woman who had ever meant anything to him.

  “The Bible teaches that whatever God shall bring together no man should put asunder. It also teaches that this union should be until death, meaning nothing should stop them except the final breath of life. Lucian and Mary Jane, I counsel you to honor each other, trust each other, and let no woman, Lucian, and no man, Mary Jane, come between you—ever. Can you both agree to make this promise?”

  “Yes,” Lucian offered, smiling into the eyes of Mary Jane.

  “Yes,” she added with a hint of nervousness, aware of Norman’s heated anger for his brother. She tried not to let it affect her poise.

  “Lucian Parker, do you take Mary Jane Harrison in the holy bonds of matrimony to love, cherish, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, and under all circumstances such as life may offer as your legally and lawfully wedded wife until death do you part?”

  “I do.”

  “Mary Jane Harrison, do you take Lucian Parker in the holy bonds of matrimony to love, cherish, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, and under all circumstances such as life may offer as your legally and lawfully wedded husband until death do you part?”

  “I do.”

  “Then according to the power vested in me by the church and the State of Oklahoma I pronounce you man and wife. Lucian, you may kiss the bride.”

  Norman closed his eyes, squinting against the heat building up in them. His fists closed as if squeezing the life from some small unidentifiable insect or animal—rage filled him, turning his fists white then red and back to white.

  He looked at his finger where a ring had been. The one Pa had given him to pass on, the one coming from his mother’s side of the family, the one with the family motto engraved on it. His pa had given it to him l
ast year deciding the more serious Norman would probably marry first. Then days ago he had asked Norman if he could offer it to Lucian, being they didn’t have a ring for him and Mary Jane wasn’t fixed to buy him one.

  Norman couldn’t leave the ceremony but he couldn’t stay much longer. The small chapel filled with townsfolk drowned out his temper-congested mind with happy cheers and applause, oblivious and unaware to the breaking of his heart and the destruction of so many dreams.

  “Lucian, you and Mary Jane may exchange the rings.”

  Those words fell hard on Norman’s ears and he held his composure out of duty and respect.

  The happy couple turned and smiled toward the crowd who now thronged them with hugs, well wishes, and cheers. Lucian in his army uniform and Mary Jane in a gown fit for a princess were being regaled with all the pleasure and approval a small town could afford.

  Jason looked back at his son Norman and discerned the pain. He wished he could fix it for his boys. His was a mixture of joy and sadness. Identical twins could do that to a man, he thought.

  A small band began to play as Norman shuffled through the crowded chapel to the exit and headed for the highway. Crossing the road he stuck out his thumb and caught the first passing car.

  “Where to, soldier?” the middle-aged driver asked with a smile.

  The sounds of festivity, laughter, and Norman’s imagination of his brother touching the woman he loved was more than his mind could cope with. He had to get away as fast as he could from Redemption, swearing he wouldn’t come back, nor step foot in the house of God which had betrayed every sacred emotion he had.

  “I say, where to, soldier?” the man asked again as Norman sat, staring straight ahead, caught in the vision of overwhelming loss.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Home. I’m going home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Warm Springs.”

  “Okay, then. Here we go. Looks like quite a gathering at the church. You must be in a hurry to leave a party like that,” the man offered.

  “Yes. Yes. A hurry. I am. I am in a hurry. To leave. Yes sir. Shipping out.”

  “You don’t say. Where to, young man?”

  “Only God knows.”

  The next day burned hot and scorched the land around Warm Springs like a furnace turns black coal to fiery red then white powdery dust. Forty days straight without a letup in summer heat and the land looked all the worse for it. Dry stubble for shrubs and burned yellow field grass.

  There was no mercy from Mother Nature and the fireball in the sky showed no compassion this day as Norman stoked the fire even hotter than hell—or so it seemed to him—readying the train with his father to take her down to Redemption, and there pick up the new married couple for their final destination, Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  His pa was busy preparing the caboose for them to have a little privacy in, a honeymoon car. Norman couldn’t bear the thoughts coursing through his mind as he shoveled coal from the tender into the fire. He had to keep his mind off it somehow, endure the trip, be indifferent.

  His body was soaked with perspiration that also dripped from his brow like rain. He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not his pa, not old man Harry, and certainly not to God. He’d already trusted God—that didn’t seem to do any good. He needed to get away but there was nowhere to run.

  Cursing under his breath, curses mixed with love and hate, jealousy and rage, and strange thoughts of wishing the two people he loved more than life, Lucian and Mary Jane, the best, tormented him.

  “Norman! We still need to fill the tanker car. I’ll take over. You go get changed. Hook up the hose and get some fresh clothes. And put some water on you before you take to heat exhaustion,” his father called from the bottom steps of the engine compartment. The roar of the fire, and Norman’s own inquietude had shut off his father’s voice.

  “I say, Norman!” Jason yelled again, cupping his hands as he stepped up into the engine compartment, grabbing his son’s soaked shirt sleeve. “Norman. Norman, son. Slow down. We got the fire up. Now go cool off. Fill the tanker.”

  He nodded and climbed down to the landing. Dispassionate now, he stared at the planks. Planks on the dock were warped from the sun, so hot they were popping from the nails holding them to the floor joists. He reached down to a pickax that had fallen off one of the cars and onto the deck. He walked a few paces toward the water hoses under a boiling heat that seemed to evaporate the salty wetness from him. He stopped and looked at the pickax.

  “No!” His voice roared as he flung it downward into the planks nearest his feet. He swung it over and over again until he had fractured the plank and then sunk to his knees sobbing—a child’s cry, something he didn’t, couldn’t do until now.

  “God?” he squeaked from a closed throat, parched from the heat and emotion gripping it. “I never wanted much,” he followed. “Where did you go? And look at my pa … ,” he cried upward in desperation. “My heart, my guts, my mind, it’s all crazy. Sick and crazy,” he cried, kneeling over the hole he had made in the boardwalk.

  After a few moments he arose, composed as suddenly as he had fallen apart—mechanically composed with a job to do. He stripped to his shorts, showered himself with soothing water first, then connected the hose to the tanker. He looked at the ruptured plank, knowing he couldn’t leave something broken. Going to the shed he grabbed a pair of overalls, no shirt, no shoes yet, found the hand saw and a spare board and cut. He cut, hammered, and fit it into place. A reminder of the heat he felt, the patch served its purpose. An outlet to madness, a fire in the mind so hot nothing on earth was made to put it out.

  “Anger is for killin’, for war.” The rail bum Skully had been the only one to give him any advice worth heeding.

  He secretly hoped for war now, a reason to shoot at, kill someone. He believed in no one but himself. God had certainly not rescued his poor fevered senses. Where was God for his pa? Off in the cosmos while his mama died from a twister. It was something God could have fixed if he had the mind to.

  And no man could counsel him to help make meaning of the heart that quaked hard and bad like an angry charging bull. A bull, not knowing which way to turn to fight the tormenters surrounding him, at least would mercifully be dead sooner than he. If he died in a war, so what?

  “I swear, if Lucian ever breaks her heart, I’ll be there. I’ll make it right. I swear,” he muttered in a new and calm resolve.

  “Norman! Gear up. We ready with the water?” he heard his father’s voice call out from the engine compartment.

  He checked the tank. Full. Disconnecting the hose, he gave himself another strong dousing, swallowing as he did. Grabbing his shoes, he sat. Pulling them on, he examined his patch work on the loading dock. “Good fit,” he congratulated himself with ambivalence, stringing his boots snugly.

  The sun mocked his attempts at cooling down. He spat out the bad taste in his mouth onto the patch, got up, and squinted, wondering if he would ever return here again.

  “Son? We ready yet?”

  “It’s done,” he yelled back. “Done, Pa. All done.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The 200th Coastal Artillery, New Mexico National Guard, had been federalized. The orders were in. “Undisclosed destination. Pacific training exercise. One year duration.” The regiment was packed and ready to board trains headed for San Francisco.

  New draftees combined with doctors, lawyers, cowboys, rail hands, college students, high school graduates, shopkeepers, Native Americans—mostly New Mexicans, with a few Oklahomans, Texans—and even a boy from Indiana looking for adventure. Bunched together, full of bravado, they were being cheered by the adoring friends, relatives, and fellow New Mexicans as the band played on. The 200th was ready to ship out to the west coast.

  “Johnny! You seen Norman?” Lucian called above the noise.

  “Nope. Last I saw him was at reveille. Said he had some business to do. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “He’s got me nervous. I’ve got to get on over
to Headquarters battery but I need to see him before we ship out.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. You two got in a fight? Something like that?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You married his girl. I mean, he told me. Well, you know. He’s pretty sore. Why don’t you just leave him be? He’ll come around. He’s probably hiding out in one of them freight cars. You know Norm.”

  “Yeah, I know Norman,” Lucian agreed. “If you see him, tell him I’m lookin’ for him.”

  “Sure thing, Lucian. You take care. We’ll see you along the way. Don’t you worry. Norman, with the help of the good Lord, will come out of it. I’ll watch him. Don’t you worry none.”

  “Thanks Johnny. I’ll be getting on back to my battery.”

  “Say, what are you guys shootin’? I mean what guns you all experts in?”

  “Fifty calibers.”

  “They get ‘em all loaded? Some of our stuff is still missin’. We’re shootin’ them thirty-seven millimeter artillery pieces with the new-fangled scopes, range finders that take a scientist to figure out. Maybe Norm is on the hunt.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so,” Lucian agreed.

  Lucian mingled with a few of his friends from the regiment, hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother. It worried him. He had wanted Norman’s blessing. He cursed himself for the trouble it all turned out to be, but mixed in those feelings was a bliss he never had known existed.

  The honeymoon wasn’t much, two nights alone in a rented room in Redemption, then the train ride into Albuquerque, two nights more, and then Mary Jane returned with his pa, Harry, and the government load old man Monroe had contracted with him to take into Amarillo on his way back.

  He couldn’t look Norman in the eye. It hurt too much. He, Lucian, had taken the girl that had Norman twisted and wound up into a finely tensed spring, and then there was the ring. He had to have a ring for the wedding, but he didn’t need to keep it.