“I love you, too. God knows I do,” the tired dysentery-riddled Norman offered to his sleeping twin. “Don’t worry about Mary Jane or the ring,” he replied tearily. “This is our ticket home. That’s all. Just our ticket home.”
CHAPTER 58
“The survivor of three family members from the New Mexico National Guard is that one over there,” a nurse pointed out to the chaplain and lieutenant colonel.
“Lieutenant Parker?” the colonel inquired to the recovering young man who looked ten years older than his real age.
“Yes? Oh, yes, sir.” He stood and turned solemnly toward the man, offering a tired salute. “I was just thinking. Didn’t see you come in.”
“No salute. It is I who must salute you!” The colonel snapped to attention and offered a sharp salute followed by the army chaplain.
“I am Lieutenant Colonel Oliver Forrest. And this is Chaplain Curtis. We have some information from the War Department that we believe you should have before you return to the States.”
The chaplain spoke first. “I want to tell you, Lieutenant Parker, that it is a great honor that I meet with you knowing the courage you have displayed and the fact that your cousin Corporal Johnny Mead and your brother Sergeant Parker both died in your arms.”
“Padre, I respect that feeling. But I just did what anyone would do for their brother and cousin. Anything else I did during the war was to survive and out of duty. A lot of men did the same.”
“Lieutenant Parker, I understand your feelings. Perhaps I should allow Colonel Forrest here to offer his items of business and then, should you require them, I have come to offer my support and prayers at this time.”
“Thank you, Padre,” the Parker brother offered without emotion, still confused as how to play out the secret he had adopted earlier that day.
“Lieutenant, this is overdue, but this small case here contains your captain bars,” Colonel Forrest said, extending a small cardboard box that fit in his hand. “Not only that but your rank has been adjusted to reflect the years you spent behind the lines. You will be receiving back pay for that time at the new rank of captain.”
“Thank you,” he replied reluctantly, nervously. These men were causing him more confusion about the decision he had made earlier. Now he didn’t know what to think or do.
“What about my brother and his promotions?”
“Sergeant Parker has been promoted posthumously to the rank of lieutenant along with his military citations. They have already been processed and sent ahead to his home in Oklahoma.
“Not only that but this paperwork indicates that General MacArthur himself will present you and other survivors with the gratitude of our nation before you leave for the States at a special ceremony to honor the men from Bataan this week on Friday at his field headquarters. These are very high honors, Captain Parker, as the paperwork indicates.” He smiled as he pointed to the awards.
“So Sergeant Lucian Parker’s papers have been sent on ahead, and he, my brother, is being made a lieutenant?”
“That is correct.” The colonel smiled.
“Then I’d better return these,” he said, handing the gold captain’s bars back to the colonel.
“I don’t understand,” he responded, confused.
“See, we are twins. Something must have happened to the paperwork,” he said, as he made up his story on the go. “I am Lucian Parker. So I guess I’ll just wear this bar here.” He pulled out his silver bars. “My brother Norman’s, sir. I kept all his personal effects. I would appreciate it very much if I could just go home, skip the ceremonies and all.
“You know, an army foul-up in paperwork can cause a lot of delays, confusion, and I got a family—wife and pa—waiting. Sir, you do understand? Besides, if that paperwork gets to my pa or wife before I do, you could give them a lot of confusion and hurt that, well sir, just isn’t necessary.”
“Lieutenant Parker, my apologies for this mess up. I’ll see to the changes immediately and I’ll offer my explanation to the general’s staff in charge of this citation ceremony. You go to Division Processing immediately with this.” He scribbled a note on the back of his card. “If they have any questions tell them to call me. And this will authorize a cablegram home so that any confusion caused by the army may be corrected immediately.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied with a salute. “Padre, thanks for the offer, but I guess with all this confusion I’d rather just thank God on my own and be on my way.”
“I understand, son. God bless you.”
“Thank you, Padre. I need that.”
He sat on the bunk in the processing barracks and contemplated this new twist. It had played nicely into his already made plans. The switch was a sign from God. He was sure of it.
He had no desire to relive this war with his pa, Mary Jane, talk about his brother’s death, his cousin’s. He wanted to bury the terror of it all. Just go home and start over.
“If it is God’s will, then … ,” he whispered without finishing the sentence. He took his own dog tags off and searched through his brother’s personal effects, putting his brother’s on. He waited. No change. No bolt of lightning. Felt just the same.
He was muttering to himself now as he sat in the barracks alone, trying to sort out in his tired mind his present course of action.
“One more thing to do after processing the paperwork. Then I’m goin’ home. Thank you God,” he voiced aloud but low as he took a long look at the photo of Mary Jane standing on the steps of the small chapel in Redemption the day of her marriage.
“I am Lucian,” he vowed. “I am,” he said, tucking the photo into his shirt pocket.
CHAPTER 59
He watched, emotionless, as the last shovelful of earth filled the spot where his brother’s emaciated and weakened body had been laid to rest. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like his brother was really in there.
It wasn’t even the Jap bullet that had killed him. His body just couldn’t deal with the injury and sickness—heal—it wouldn’t come back from the brink of death. Many of his friends were already dead from the same thing—Johnny Mead was dying that way until the Jap bayoneted him.
In the case of the prisoners of war who had endured the two and a half years of brutality, there was all too often nothing left for the heart to pump blood to. Starvation, beri-beri, chronic dysentery, rickets, and malaria all weakened a man’s internal organs so much that a good steady breeze could knock him over and the result would kill him.
But Lucian had always made a comeback, he thought, stunned that the box contained his brother. This death didn’t seem at all real. Not this one.
A twenty-one gun salute followed the final shovelful of Filippino soil upon his brother’s metal casket. He shook with each pop from the M-1 rifles the soldiers were carrying.
Taps. The bugler on burial detail had a full-time job playing taps these days.
A captain came to him with a folded flag and saluted him smartly. “On behalf of a grateful nation …” he had said. They were doing everything they could to make the Bataan Death March survivors know they hadn’t forgotten what they went through.
He stood there pondering what he was about to do. He had answered, “Yes ma’am, that’s right,” when the army nurse had his release papers drawn up from the hospital. He carried both brothers’ dog tags with him. He just didn’t want to lose his brother, his identity, the thing that made him such a hero.
And then there was Mary Jane. The anger over that died so long ago it seemed like a lifetime now. He’d killed enough of the enemy to assure that every ounce of anger had been satisfied. She was his in the first place, wasn’t she? Lucian and Mary Jane Parker were married as long as Lucian returned.
And going home there would be Pa and the shortline to run. The Dearborn place was all paid for. A fine spread of over one hundred acres to run. It was all he had ever dreamed of.
Mary Jane. Would she recognize him? He was skin and bones. Sure the army was stuffing
him with anything he asked for. Steaks, hamburgers, ice cream, mashed potatoes; he’d already gained ten pounds over the last couple weeks.
So all he needed to do was another physical checkup in San Francisco, process out of the army, and go live “happily ever after” in Warm Springs with the girl he loved.
Easy. Nothing to it. “I love you, brother,” he said. Then, saluting, he walked away promising to not look back, to not shed a tear. There were no more tears left. If he ever cried again it would have to be for shame and he felt none now. As a matter of fact, he felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER 60
March 1945, Warm Springs, Oklahoma
Mary Jane read the note with trembling hands. She hadn’t heard from her husband for almost three years. Whether he was alive, dead, or a prisoner had never been assured. The letter had been preceded by a Western Union telegram letting her know he was safe, but the letter itself had just arrived, and at that it was more than one month from the date inscribed.
Though wounded and sick, Lucian Parker had been rescued! His brother, Norman, was wounded but alive as well according to the letter. Perhaps that was why this letter was addressed, “Field Hospital, outside Manila.”
She read each brief line over and over again to assure herself she had not dreamt this:
Darling,
A kind nurse is writing down my words for me. I have no way of knowing if you have received any of my other letters since I was taken prisoner by the Japs in April 1942. Norman had escaped at the beginning and we are finally back together again. The fighting is still raging, darling, and I am awfully sick. Over half the boys who came over here with us died. Malaria, dysentery, starvation, murder by the Japs—it is too horrible to recount to you now.
I am slightly wounded. Norman too. Norman came to rescue me with the help of Filipino guerillas at a train crossing. I can’t say in words the love I feel for him now. We would die for each other and almost did.
How’s Pa? Is he well? Are the Kelly boys still helping our pa run the shortline? Hope so.
I guess the army will try to fatten us up before shipping us home.
I’m afraid we aren’t a very pretty sight. No real food for three years. Freedom is hard to describe. I’ll never complain again as long as I live, I can promise that.
Norman is in a lot of pain right now. I have to go. Time is precious.
My love for you is eternal. This war has changed me. Hope you can recognize me when I get back.
Your loving husband,
Lucian
Mary Jane held the thin onion-skin envelope to her breast. She could barely recall which of the two brothers it was that she had married, her emotions had been so entwined with both. Lucian had held her in his arms for but two days of marriage. It all seemed so long ago now.
It was hard to tell the two apart. They were twins of course, but they were different. In manners Lucian more playful, Norman more serious. Lucian chewed tobacco and hated coffee. Norman loved coffee and hated tobacco. But both could grin, and unless one knew the sly teasing grin from the other, they could play “who’s who” against a person all day long.
She had loved Norman at first. Funny how it goes, she sighed leaning back into the soft cushion of the small sofa situated in the cottage near Main Street.
How would she tell Lucian about his pa, the train man, Jason Parker. How would she see them both here at the train depot, without his strong frame, loving arms welcoming them in his embrace? She wondered if they knew. Wondered if the army had delivered all the mail she had faithfully sent each week.
The train was repossessed now by the Santa Fe. The depot was in disrepair. Norman, no doubt would take care of that and live out his dream, if he returned well enough. Lucian on the other hand … probably still dreaming of California, as she did too.
Who could that be? she mumbled to herself at the unexpected knock at the door.
“Hello, Missy. Got a call from someone on the West Coast, says he knows you. Says he’ll be in Redemption in three days. To meet him there,” the drug store owner, Mr. Kelly, smiled, handing her the scribbled note.
“Oh!” she squealed. “You think?” she ventured a wordless question.
“Sure ’nuff sounded like him, Missy. I sure am happy for ya, Missy. This war mess has been too much for too long.”
“What about Norman?” she asked nervously.
“Didn’t say here nor there, Missy. Well, best be gettin’ back to the store. Sure was good to hear one of them Parker boy’s voices again. Like a ghost from the past … I mean …” he stumbled to say.
“I understand. You go along. And thank you, Mr. Kelly.” She smiled, shutting the door slowly behind her. She held the letter close to her bosom, sure of her husband’s safety, sure she would hold him again. Sure all was going to be right … with Norman too.
CHAPTER 61
April 1945, Near Redemption, Oklahoma
He gazed out the window of the passenger train as the Texas prairie rolled by. How many trips had he taken through this dry country with his brother? With his pa en route to Albuquerque?
It was four years ago now. The last trip was in summer 1941 just after the two of them had gotten into it over the marriage to Mary Jane. That was all dead, ancient history. He had no such feelings now, just a numbness, a persisting and penetrating sorrow for what the war had done to him and his brother.
He had avoided all the hoopla about returning from the war. The bands, well-wishers, banquets. New Mexico had turned out for their returning sons at every stop. He did check in at Frankie’s Grill to have a bite and tell Luisa the bad news about his brother not coming home. She seemed stunned, searched his eyes, but he wouldn’t look back at her, not squarely into her eyes anyway.
Now he just wanted to get home and forget about the years he had been gone. Rebuild the depot business with his pa. Live the dream that so long ago had eluded him.
He was different. He wasn’t the same boy who left Oklahoma and New Mexico four years before. He had grown up. He was old in his mid-twenties. Tired, weak, he had nearly died, been wounded more than once; he had aged fifty years since then. He couldn’t smile anymore. He didn’t know how.
Even though his heart still skipped a beat at the thought of her, would he be able to smile when they locked eyes? He didn’t think so. Not without his brother coming home. Not with so many men he cared about dead. Not now having become a cold and angry man-killer. And the truth was, killing didn’t bother him.
It just wasn’t going to be the same.
He guessed the rail bum Skully was right. His remedy for anger had worked. He felt anger no more. None. He’d used the anger up in the bloodbaths of the Philippines. He had washed his hands in it.
What did he feel? Dull. Sobered. Grown up.
Innocent? No, but not guilty either. He’d lost his innocence for sure. But was he the cause of all the killing? The pettiness that had been? The former angers that had consumed so much time? He mused and pondered it over and over again until his head ached from so much thought.
It was the army that had given him his present identity. A piece of paper said so. A colonel and a chaplain said so. A cemetery marker in the Philippines bearing the name of Captain Norman Parker said so. Rank, name, and serial number. He wasn’t lying to call himself Lieutenant Lucian Parker. Norman had died. He died in the killing fields of Luzon. He died when he lost his heart, when it turned into a stone cold killer. He was dead. Lucian was alive. The man who belonged to Mary Jane was alive.
CHAPTER 62
April 1945 Easter, Warm Springs
“Hello, Mary Jane,” he smiled, setting his duffel bag down beside him on the front porch of the tiny white bungalow on Main Street.
“Oh! Oh my! Lucian? Lucian darling? You were supposed to be … I was supposed to meet you … Ohh!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms sobbing, curlers in her hair, half-dressed.
He hadn’t felt the touch of love for so long. “I … I’m sorry. The train arrived early.
I couldn’t wait in Redemption. I hitched a ride,” he said apologetically, awkward as they held each other.
She stood back, embarrassed, putting her hands over her curlers, apologizing for how she looked.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have seen in four years,” he assured her in a solid stare of admiration.
“Don’t just stand there. Come in. Come in darling. Sit. Let me fix myself up. I’ll be right back,” she promised, blowing him an excited kiss and retreating to her mirror and bedroom.
He walked in and took a deep breath. The smell was the essence of home, like her. Some things were missing, but this fragrance brought all the feelings from that first day back. The first time he saw her at the springs, when he and his brother disagreed on how to handle the sight of the bathing beauty.
He walked over to the nightstand at the end of the sofa. His eyes had caught sight of a photograph she must have kept there for all these years. There was one of the three of them, Mary Jane, Lucian, and Norman, laughing at the depot. Some silliness his pa had caught on the box camera before they had sent Mary Jane on her way to California in the fall of 1939. He looked at Lucian in the photo long and hard. He wished he had never known anger now.
Then there was the wedding photo. Summer 1941 and the steps of the small chapel in Redemption. He studied it. He’d forgotten how he had felt that day. It had been buried in his memory during the years of war.
He wondered about Harry. About his pa. Harry was dead he knew, but how had Mary Jane handled the loneliness here without him? He sensed the old man’s presence as if a lingering scent of pipe smoke still greeted a visitor to this house.
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