We pulled into New York City and were welcomed home as heroes. Our uniforms were laundered and pressed almost as soon as we disembarked. We were marching in a parade in just three days. What a spectacle.
Crowds waving, with all the women tearing up. We were offered drinks everywhere we went. I was sure glad I had resolved to live. Pretty girls in pretty dresses were waiting everywhere. Every single bar I went into, I was welcomed, slapped on the back, and asked to share my stories. I hardly got a word in edgewise. My pants were tucked into my boots and that’s all people needed; they knew I was a Devil and they were proud to have me there. I never told them about the mud or killing young men handsomer and smarter than myself. And I never told anyone about Marguerite. I just drank.
I was lucky. Since we were already back on U.S. soil, there was no way, we would be sent anywhere else. We weren’t going back to Europe. It was too costly. I was sent back to North Carolina to out-process. I was told once I completed that, I could go home. My mind couldn’t fully process the idea of going home, not while I was headed back to that backwards hot south. We lined up, again, back in Fayetteville, at good ol’ Bragg, and after just a week or so, I was dismissed from the Army Corps. After three years of fighting, I was finally headed home.
All I would think about were the granite-topped mountains I had so missed. I could almost feel that wind on my face filled with the scent of wild sage. I was ready to drop my line into those fishing holes I knew so well, catch some dinner, and fall asleep on those banks. I missed Wyoming.
The bus ride would take three days and two nights to get from Raleigh, North Carolina to Denver, Colorado. I was so close, I couldn’t sleep. Every stop, I was slapped on the back and welcomed home. I never bought any food or drinks. I was their hero.
Normally, I would have protested such treatment. The truth was, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself or how to start again, and saving the cash seemed a good idea. Every now and then, I realized how lucky I was and was happy I had resolved to really live.
The only time the trip grew long was through Kansas. That land is the flattest land I still have ever seen. We drove north for hours, then made a hard left and drove more hours. It was mind numbing and most of us passengers slept. I woke up to cheers. The Rockies stood before us.
The bus then made a hard right and headed north, the Rockies to my left. My ears protested the altitude, plugging and popping. Home was so close. We pulled into another stop and I stepped off into the wind. I knew we were just outside of Denver and every ounce of me vibrated with the excitement of my new reality, my new lease on life. I took about five steps and stopped dead in my tracks. I could not believe my eyes.
There, in front of me, was my brother. Peter was passed out on the bench in front of the stop, obviously waiting for the same bus I was on. He was dead to the world, head back, mouth open, really sleeping. I noticed he had a cane there beside him on the bench but I didn’t care. I hadn’t seen my brother in nearly four years. I dropped my stuff and ran to him. I nearly picked him right up, and he pushed at me till he saw who I was. Peter and I had grown up together, and I couldn’t recall too many times I had seen him cry. He was crying now, though. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he couldn’t catch his breath. I let him down and we hugged hard, slapping each other across the back again and again. He finally pulled back and looked me up and down.
“I got three, maybe four of your letters during the entire last year. I had no idea when I would see you! You look well, Jurak. You look well.” He grabbed his cane, leaned across it, and slapped my back again.
“Ahh, Peter, I haven’t had any letters for the last half year, at least. I was afraid they shipped you off to Japan after we finished Europe.” I didn’t mention how truly afraid I was that he might have been dead in the mountains in Italy. I opened up my carton of smokes and offered him one. We sat and smoked, waiting for our bus home. We caught our next bus and sat together over that Wyoming border into Cheyenne. The bus promptly overheated, and all the passengers were encouraged to seek entertainment the rest of the afternoon. Peter and I headed to the nearest bar where we were immediately pulled in and offered drinks.
Our bus was scheduled to pull out later that night, but we missed it. Another bus came through the next afternoon and we missed that one too. Peter had always liked drinking and I could tell the war hadn’t changed that. We were young, mostly fit, and the girls kept telling us how good looking we were. It was good to be home.
We spent another night and another day at that bar. I lost track of my brother, but a good guy threw my drunk, hungover ass on the bus on that third day. I collapsed onto the only open seat next to the prettiest girl I ever saw.
She was at least a foot shorter than me and had bright piercing blue eyes. Her hair was short and dark. Instinctively, I knew she was a nurse. She was sitting with her back straight, eyes forward, and chin up. She was all no-nonsense and expected the best from those near her. She hardly glanced my way even though I must have knocked into her when I tried to sit. I looked at her again, really seeing her profile.
Her nose ever so slightly turned up at the end and though she was slim, her cheeks were full. Her hair was short, full, and curly at the bottom. Her lips were perfectly heart shaped and pale pink. Her skin was fair. My speech was slurred when I asked her name. To her credit, she ignored me.
A Long Ride Too Short
That bus ride changed my life. Some might judge me, saying I shouldn’t have spent three days drinking, but it worked for me though. That nurse sitting next to me was worth it. I would never have met another woman half her worth had I taken a different bus.
Two hours into our trip, I woke up and realized she was still sitting next to me. Thinking I would be clever and show off my language skills, I asked her name in German. “Schönes Mädchen, Sag mir, wie du heißt.” She looked at me, straight in the eye, lifting her lefty eyebrow slightly.
She held my gaze and quietly answered in flawless German, “Nein. Dein Deutsch ist schrecklich.” Then, she looked out her window.
I whispered, “I don’t think my German is that terrible. After all, I won the war speaking it.”
She ignored me for a few miles, and I really panicked. I began noticing how bad I smelled and the many creases in my uniform. What had I been thinking, trying to talk to her? There she sat poised and perfect, obviously too smart, too good for the likes of me. I was feeling pretty low, when I noticed the window’s reflection. She was smiling.
“Tu es la plus belle fille que j’ai jamais vue.” French was the language of love, after all. And I meant what I said—she really was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.
“Dein Französisch ist schlechter als dein Deutsch.” She was probably right with that; my French was pretty bad. I wondered how she knew German.
“How do you know German?” I asked. I realized I was curious about her—why she was a nurse, where she lived, and just about a hundred more questions entered my mind.
“My parents are German-born,” she told me defiantly. “They moved here soon after the First World War and had us kids. They farm now.” I watched her as she spoke, it must have been difficult to have German-born parents during this war.
“My parents immigrated from the Poland-Austria border; before that war, my dad was a miner. My mother still speaks to us in Polish and Czech. Mama never liked that her country was taken from her. She wasn’t born in Poland, she would tell us. She was born in Austria, and someone changed it. Her town was beautiful, in the mountains untouched by war.”
I told her all about Mama then, how she married Nils and had her garden. I told her about my brother. I explained how we were separated at that bar in Cheyenne, and I had no idea where he was now. She listened, intently, and then nodded her head towards the back of the bus. I swiveled around.
Peter was there, on his own seat, asleep. “They brought him the same time they brought you. I figured you were brothers. You have the same look.” Happy as I was to have
found Peter again, I was even happier by the realization she had looked me over enough to see my brother and I resembled each other.
I asked her about her family, and we talked the entire way to Casper. The bus pulled into a little stop and the driver jumped out. I was afraid we would split up, but she told me she was headed north. I ran off that bus into the restroom and looked at myself in the mirror.
I was in worse shape than I thought. My uniform was badly stained on both arms and down the left side. My eyes were red, hair disheveled. My pants were untidily untucked and bunched oddly around my ankles. I had thought ahead, though, and brought my suitcase along. I pulled out a clean shirt and necessities. I brushed my teeth and hair. I took a towel and cleaned off my back and chest and under my arms. I think I smelled better when I confidently re-boarded the bus and I certainly looked better. My eyes briefly swept the back of the bus. Peter was still there, sleeping off those three days. I moved on to my own seat, but to my horror, my seat was taken.
Some good-looking bastard had stolen my seat. He was smiling at her with perfect teeth, asking her name. She smiled at him but glanced up at me. She raised her left eyebrow slightly but nodded at his words. His hair was shiny and black, his uniform clean and pressed. Finally, he realized my presence, he glanced up.
I didn’t waste any time. “You took my seat. I want it back.” I watched him, keeping my gaze even and intent. I put one hand, heavy, onto his right shoulder and widened my stance.
“Funny, she never said you were sitting here,” he gestured towards Inna.
“She has a name, and I have a seat. Move on.” For the first time, he lost his smile and easy manner. I felt someone step up behind me, and I worried I might be kicked off.
“You heard him, move. That’s his seat.” Thank the Lord! It was Peter, not the driver, who had stepped up behind me. We stood, shoulder to shoulder waiting for the guy to move. Inna was quiet, her hands folded into her lap.
“Well, I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’ll just find another seat; it was nice talking to you, and if you want to continue our conversation, I invite you to follow me.” He smiled at her again. “Unless of course, you object me moving?” She looked up at all three of us, then shook her head side to side. She didn’t mind him moving.
He looked a bit down but he moved on. I heard him swear under his breath as he made his way to the back of the bus. Peter slapped me on the back and took the seat across from me.
I couldn’t believe my luck—I still had my seat! She had seen me at my worse and still wanted to sit next to me. I was feeling pretty good about life as I sat down. We picked up our conversation easily.
She told me about her family’s farm, located in North Dakota. It sounded awful. There were no mountains and she said it was dry. Honestly, it didn’t sound like a good place for a farm. I told her about the mountains. She told me about her four older brothers. Peter snored loudly.
The bus ride lasted three more hours, and I was convinced I had found my girl. The universe had pushed us together. The closer we drew to Sheridan, the more aware I became I was going to lose her.
We pulled into Sheridan, and my heart jumped. I was home. The town had changed. The trolley car was gone, but the big white building was still there. It seemed less busy, somehow. Was it me that had changed? Or had Sheridan lost that many to the war? I wasn’t sure. The bus pulled into its stop, and I readied to get off. Inna watched me. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
My heart was torn. Here I was, home. I had been hoping for nothing more for years. I wanted to see Mama and go fishing. I could never have predicted meeting Inna and now I had to leave her. I didn’t move.
Peter leaned over, “Jurak, get your things; this is us.” His voice was gentle but direct. He nodded to her and got off the bus. I stood up and felt my heart nearly break. I didn’t want to go.
I had lost so much in life. My sister, my father, and countless friends all had been called away by some higher power. I didn’t want to lose Inna. I didn’t know how to make my feet take me off that bus. My training kicked in though, I grabbed my cover and made to leave the bus. My hands full, I leaned down and disembarked. I stopped to look back, wondering how in the hell I would ever find her again. Something small and soft stopped me in my tracks.
I was so overcome with my own emotion that I hadn’t realized she followed me. She pressed a small card into my hand and raised up on her toes. She kissed my right cheek and climbed back onto that bus. She was so short that she didn’t have to lean down at all. She stood for a moment, perfectly framed in that small doorway, and raised her hand in farewell. Her neat little suit and hat perfectly straight, her perfect smile all etched into my memory. I watched for a few minutes; I didn’t want to look away. She finally turned to her own seat and the bus pulled away. I tucked the card into my shirt pocket without looking at it.
I turned towards the town. I should be grateful. I was home and that is all I had asked. I hadn’t asked for the perfect girl on the bus ride there. All I had asked for was home and here I was, so I pointed my feet towards Mama and Nils’ and followed my brother through those old familiar streets.
Home
As I walked up my home street, I couldn’t keep my eyes away from my home. It all seemed unchanged, at least from the street. The plants and trees surrounding the garden and house were all bigger but the house was still neat in its little square yard. Enough years had gone by, I could now see trees peeking over the roof. I liked them. I liked the smell of the street and how clean it all was. I checked the rest of the street. There were no destroyed homes, no rubble and debris, and best of all, no lines of those in desperate need. This neighborhood was untouched, unscathed by the war. It was difficult to believe my own eyes.
I was home and scarred, and this haven was even more beautiful than I recalled. It was peaceful. There were no loud noises, no voices directing people towards aid or shelter. There were no alarms. I was not dreaming or wishing; I was here, I was finally home.
And there, standing at the front door, was Mama. She looked the same too. My throat constricted at the sight of her. I wanted to drop everything and run to her but I contained myself. I followed Peter, he was a bit slower with his cane, and we went up the walk together. Both of us wore our uniforms, both fighting back tears. Mama held the door wide open.
I stepped through the door. Finally, I was hugging Mama who kissed and kissed both of our faces. She laughed and cried, and so did I. I couldn’t tell if Peter was or not but I felt how hard he hugged Mama. The house smelled so good, like her cooking and the soap she used for laundry. The floors were polished and not one thing out of place. I heard the backdoor open and close and heard Nils’ shout.
“They home, Kat? They make it inside okay?” He came around the corner with a huge smile on his face. “I guess we can finally celebrate; the war is over, boys!”
He came across the room and hugged both Peter and I fiercely, slapped us on the back, and told Peter how bad he smelled.
“Why don’t you guys clean up and then we can have dinner?” I didn’t mind being dismissed. I crossed the house to the stairs and climbed up to my room. Peter, with his cane, followed.
Mama had left our room exactly the way we had left it. The beds were neatly made, the curtains pulled back, and all of it was clean. I put my bag on my bed and sat down, waiting for Peter to enter in behind me.
“I can’t believe we are home.” My voice was quiet, and I realized how tired I was. I told Peter to go ahead and take his shower, I didn’t mind waiting.
Slumber came easily. No one woke me, there were no alarms and no shouting. For the first time in years, I woke, on my own, a few hours later. I felt rested. My mind was quiet. I got my few things together and went to take a shower.
“Maybe it is in the air,” I mused quietly. I could hear noise from the kitchen downstairs and the smell of Mama’s dinner wafted up, hurrying me along. As I combed my hair, my stomach rumbled at that growing smell of dinner.
/> I hurried down the stairs, seeing only Mama and Nils at the table. “Peter went out.” Nils never sounded angry, but I could tell he wasn’t pleased that Peter had left. Mama didn’t say anything about Peter’s absence.
We ate and drank till we were full. Aunt Anya came over soon after we finished and kissed and hugged me, and I realized why Peter had left. I was getting uncomfortable with all the attention too. Still, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to hear all the news from home. Mama talked deep into the night. She told me how most of the boys our age in our neighborhood were still away. She winked at me and told me that Miss Kate was still in town. She owned the house now.
It sounded like the war had been good to Miss Kate. She organized aid and supplies throughout Sheridan and was eventually recognized for her war efforts. She bought several plots of land and converted them into Victory Gardens. She held classes for gardening every weekend from June through September. Mama told me that Miss Kate asked about Peter and me often.
I let Mama and Nils talk, and, thankfully, they didn’t ask too much about the war. I felt they just knew better. They understood, without me having to say it, that I was done with war. I wanted more from life and to leave those years behind me. Mama and Nils never pried. At that time, I thought it was for the best.
Mama did mention several boys who would never come home. I found out I lost a good friend who had grown up just a few doors down. His name was Michael, but we all called him Mike. He was strong even though he was small. He always joked and always said he would get the prettiest girl in the end. His loss was difficult to accept.
I finally went to bed. Mama let me sleep in late. She had breakfast all prepared when I came down. I hadn’t seen Peter in his bed and figured he had stayed out all night. I wondered what Mama and Nils would think about that. Mama asked for my wash almost as soon as my plate was cleared. I lumbered back up the stairs, taking my time, head free from worry.
Cold Determination Page 15