Along the Broken Bay

by Flora J. Solomon

  “It’s about rationing. The title tickled me, given the timing of . . . well, everything.”

  When the lights in the submarine dimmed, Gina snuggled under the blanket and closed her eyes. She heard a click and then Bing Crosby crooning Brahms’s “Lullaby” over the sound system. A smile came to her lips. Who would have thought a strapping and seemingly fearless submarine crew would have Brahms’s “Lullaby” in their music repertoire?

  By the third day, life had fallen into a routine. At dawn, as usual, the klaxon clanged, and an officer shouted, “Dive. Dive.”

  Going underwater gave Gina the shivers, though once under, the ride was as smooth as skating on ice. With little frame of reference, she lost track of the day and time. “How do you do it?” she asked a crew member who worked four hours on duty with eight hours off in a continuous rotation.

  “It’s easy, ma’am. If I’m eating pancakes, it’s morning.”

  That afternoon, while she was playing Monopoly with Cheryl and Leah, the carbon dioxide concentration was high, and the girls were listless. “I don’t want to play this anymore.” Cheryl dropped the top hat token into the Monopoly box.

  “Me neither.” Leah pushed her race car token aside. “You want to write notes?”

  The girls retired to their bunk to write secret notes to each other in the Morse code the radioman had been teaching them.

  Gina felt listless, too, and she craved a cigarette. It had been hours since the smoking lamp had been lit, giving the passengers and crew permission to light up. She found Edna on her bunk reading a National Geographic magazine she’d borrowed from the crew’s library.

  “Reading anything interesting?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just looking at the pictures. I can’t concentrate.”

  That night, when the submarine surfaced and the hatches were opened, fresh air streamed through the sub, and Gina swore she heard a collective sigh. The passengers gulped the salt air and stared through the open hatch at the moon and stars.

  Cheryl rubbed her tummy. “It doesn’t feel good.”

  “Mine either, honey,” Gina commiserated, wishing she could see the horizon to steady her gaze and quell the queasiness in her stomach caused by the sub’s pitching and rolling during surface travel. “Come—there’s a sing-along in the mess. It’ll be fun.”

  On the morning of the fifth day, just as the passengers were waking up, alarms blared, and a sudden downward movement brought Gina’s stomach to her throat. In the corridor, sailors stampeded. Pushing her way through the oncoming runners, she found Cheryl and Leah clinging together. She climbed onto the bunk and wrapped them in her arms, seeing Sissy across the way, hugging pale-faced Harry close to her chest. Wailing children and jabbering parents heightened the chaos.

  The steward came into the torpedo room. He seemed at ease and said in a calm voice, “Ladies, gentlemen, children. Everything’s all right. We were spotted by a Jap plane, and the captain ordered a crash dive. It’s dramatic, but not unusual, given the times. Was anyone in here injured?”

  No one answered.

  The steward continued. “We’re going to stay deep for a while; then we’ll go up and look around. We’ll keep you informed. In the meantime, breakfast is being served.”

  The matter-of-fact manner the incident was handled in calmed many passengers, but Gina knew the Japanese never gave up a hunt, and she didn’t trust they wouldn’t be back. The thought gave her the shivers.

  After breakfast, she followed Cheryl and Leah to the crowded wardroom, where they laid claim to a checkers set. The steward appeared, waving his arms and whispering, “Shhh, everyone . . . quiet. Keep the children quiet. The captain spotted a Jap convoy. They don’t know our exact position, but any noise will tip them off. All noise-generating systems have been shut down. It’s going to get hot in here. Sit tight. Sit still. We’ll be out from under the Japs in a jiffy.”

  The temperature in the wardroom soared to 120 degrees. Sweat poured off bodies, and the steward passed out salt tablets and water. Toddlers were carried, bribed, and cajoled. “Shhh, we must be quiet as little bunnies.” Most fell asleep from the heat and lack of oxygen. Gina, terrified at being trapped underwater, listened to the sonar pings of Japanese vessels circling like sharks above them. That night, with the Japanese out of range, the submarine surfaced. Hatches were opened, and fresh air swept through the corridors like a tsunami. The whole of the submarine’s population came alive.

  Early on the morning of their arrival at Darwin, the passengers packed their belongings. In single file they ascended the stairs to the conning tower and stepped into the sunlight and the freedom from fear and oppression. Gina held Cheryl’s and Leah’s hands; only Ray’s and Vivian’s presence could make this moment a more perfect one.

  The officers and sailors, having shaved their scruffy beards and pressed their uniforms, stood at attention on the deck. It was a glorious sight that moved Gina so deeply she couldn’t speak, and she hoped the crew sensed her gratitude as she nodded and walked by.

  A launch waited to sail them ashore. Two American army nurses, both with shiny hair and perfect makeup and wearing crisp white uniforms, welcomed them aboard. Cheryl stared, and Leah gaped, and Gina, feeling worn, folded her hands in her lap to hide her ragged fingernails. They arrived at the quarantine station at noon and were handed Red Cross bags that contained soap, lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, crackers, peanut butter, and apples. They were assigned beds for the night and told where to find the showers.

  “I’m going to be a nurse when I grow up,” Cheryl announced to the Red Cross workers attending to their needs, the comment earning her and Leah a smile and an extra apple.

  Gina, sitting on a clean bed in a large room of beds, read movie reviews in a newspaper someone had left on a table. “Which one shall we see?”

  Cheryl clapped her hands. “Lassie Come Home.”

  “National Velvet,” Leah countered.

  “We’ll see both,” Gina promised, “and we’ll go out for hot dogs and ice cream.” Oh, to leave the horrors of war behind and live free of fear again. A new way of life was close, and Gina felt impatient to get on with it.

  Sissy sat down beside Gina. “I’m going to say goodbye now. Davy and I have friends in Brisbane, and I’ll be staying with them until Davy arrives. Thank you for all you’ve done for us. Davy said there were weeks when the money you sent to the camp was their only support. I feel guilty that I wasn’t able to help. I knew what was going on and felt selfish, always on the taking end.”

  Gina held Sissy’s hand. “What counts now is you’re all going to be together soon. Are you going back to the States?”

  Sissy shrugged. “We go where Uncle Sam sends us. I’ll pray that you find Ray. I know you will. Our men are scattered all over this globe.” She stood, and they hugged goodbye with promises of keeping in touch.

  Chapter 34

  ON FRIENDLY SOIL

  Forces beyond my control have taken everything away from me except my freedom to choose how to respond.

  —Ray Thorpe, Fukuoka #17, Japan, February 1944–September 1945

  The Red Cross had rented a hotel in Brisbane for civilians being relocated. A woman at the front desk handed Gina a room key and an envelope. “You need to fill out these papers, Mrs. Thorpe.”

  “How long will we be here?” Gina asked, hoping the stay would be a short one.

  “That depends. You’re on standby status. It could be two days or two weeks. There are ration coupons in the envelope, and there is a relief clothing center in the building next door.”

  Before going up to the room, Gina stopped at the Western Union office in the hotel lobby and sent her father a telegram: RETURNING HOME WITH TWO YOUNG GIRLS. NEED PLACE TO STAY.

  Later, Gina’s telegram was returned stamped UNDELIVERABLE. Gina folded the message and put it in her pocket. Where was her father if not at home? She rationalized that the nation was at war. It wouldn’t be unusual for a telegram to not be delivered.


  Six weeks passed before Edna, Gina, Cheryl, and Leah stood with a joyful crowd on a military ship’s deck as it sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco Bay. Feelings of warmth and protection washed over Gina, so intense that tears came to her eyes. She hugged each of the girls, Leah subdued and Cheryl excited, knowing that soon she’d be seeing her grandpa Milo.

  Wistfully, Edna said, “We’ll be parting ways soon. I’ll be at my sister’s in Akron. You have the address and phone number. If things don’t work out in Seattle, you come and stay with us.”

  “Thank you,” Gina said, Edna again offering to lend a hand. “We had some good times in those little huts in the mountains . . . you, Marcus, Vivian, and me. It wasn’t all bad . . . was it?”

  “No. Not all bad. I won’t forget those marathon bridge games.”

  “The sing-alongs around the campfire.”

  “Popo.”

  Gina laughed. “Popo. How could we ever forget Popo?”

  An excited buzz came from a group standing nearby, and a woman shouted, “MacArthur’s in the Philippines. He landed the US Sixth Army at Lingayen Gulf early this morning. It won’t be long now before this war’s over, and our men will be coming home.”

  Cheryl clapped her hands. “Yay! The war’s over. Daddy’s coming home.”

  Gina’s heart sank, and her voice faltered. “Honey, our troops are fighting real hard, but the war’s not over. Daddy won’t be coming home yet. We just have to be patient awhile longer.”

  Cheryl’s happy countenance collapsed. “That’s what you always say. I’m tired of being patient.” She retreated to the cabin and a picture she’d been coloring, letting her hair fall like a veil over her face.

  The wet, cold weather in San Francisco chilled Gina, and she purchased coats, hats, and mittens for herself and the girls. She tried calling her dad, but the operator said the telephone had been disconnected. A returned telegram and a disconnected phone: the implication brought on a chill more significant than that from the inclement weather.

  After a night in the city and saying goodbye to Edna, they boarded a bus for a multiday trip up the California and Oregon coasts on roads that once were Native American foot trails that wound through numerous river valleys of rugged mountains. Gina had traveled this majestic countryside several times during her early days with the Follies, so very young, a free spirit, honing her professional skills and learning the truths of the world in the gutsiest way.

  The bus dropped them off at a substation not far from her dad’s house. Carrying their suitcases, they trudged past the fire hall, a Texaco gas station, and a blue trolley car that had been converted to a café, before turning the corner onto Haywood Street. “Just a little farther,” Gina said to the girls, who were tired and lagging behind.

  The house appeared a block ahead. It was still yellow. She remembered the summer her dad had painted it that bright hue, saying it was the color of sunflowers. At the time, Gina hadn’t realized his gift for color and symmetry. As she approached the house, she saw boarded-up windows and a sign on the door that read No Trespassing. An ominous cloud obliterated her sun. Where was her dad?

  “I’m tired of walking,” Leah said. “Where will we sleep?”

  Gina had no idea where they would sleep. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, the concern about her father foremost on her mind. She tried to stay positive. Maybe he had remarried—an interesting thought—or moved into a retirement home, where daily living would be easier. She led the girls onto the porch and peeked through a small window in the front door. Nothing appeared to have changed inside.

  “Will the door open?” Cheryl asked.

  Gina rattled the doorknob, not ever remembering the door being locked. Her disquiet grew. “It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Leah said, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

  Gina noticed the child’s lips were blue. With no place to go and beginning to panic, Gina led the girls to the house across the street. A young woman answered the doorbell. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a baby boy with drool on his chin bounced on her hip.

  “Hi. I’m Angelina Capelli Thorpe, and this is my daughter, Cheryl, and her friend Leah. I grew up in the house across the street. My best friend, Lainie . . . um”—in her muddled state, she couldn’t remember Lainie’s married name—“Lainie Mitchell lived here. Would you happen to know where she lives now?”

  The woman knitted her brow. “I don’t know anyone named Lainie. Hold on a second.” She called over her shoulder. “Hey, Jimmy. There’s a lady here looking for Lainie Mitchell. She says she lived here.”

  A tall, thin young man with his foot in a cast and struggling on crutches came from the kitchen. “You must mean Elaine Schultz.” He studied Gina’s face. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so. I used to live there.” She pointed to the yellow house. “I’m looking for my father.”

  The man nodded. “Your father. Um . . . yes.” He snapped his fingers. “I do know you. You were friends with my older sister. We lived on the next block. It’s Elaine Schultz you want. She sells real estate. Her office is about thirty minutes from here. I was just a kid when you left school to travel with a dance troupe. You were the talk of the neighborhood. I can give her a jingle if you like.”

  His help a vast relief, Gina said, “Would you, please?”

  The woman’s name was Brenda, and she called the baby Scooter. Jimmy went to the phone and dialed a number. “Elaine? Jimmy. Good. There’s someone here to see you.” He glanced at Gina and said to Elaine, “No. It’s best you come over.”

  Lainie arrived looking professional in a smart tweed suit, a rust-colored silk blouse, and medium-heeled shoes. Her red hair was styled into a chin-length pageboy, and her makeup was subtle and perfect. Surprise flickered in her green eyes when she saw Gina, which she quickly masked with a smile and a hug.

  Gina’s smile wavered, seeing Lainie robust and groomed, as she had been what seemed eons ago. Gina introduced the girls, who murmured hellos and then left to play with Scooter. Jimmy and Brenda retired to the kitchen to make coffee.

  Gina was seldom at a loss for words, but she didn’t know what to say to Lainie. She sat on the couch with her arms and legs crossed. Lainie sat in a chair and smoothed her skirt over her knees.

  “I thought you’d fallen off the end of the earth, Gina. The last letter you sent, you were living in a beautiful house that overlooked Manila Bay, and you had a maid, a cook, and a houseboy. I was up to my elbows in diapers with my third child. You have no idea how much I envied you.”

  “I admit I was a bit spoiled, but the Japanese changed all that.” She tried to mask her chipped teeth by casually stroking her upper lip. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of my dad. Do you know where he’s living now?”

  Lainie spoke softly. “Gina, I’m so sorry. Our letters were returned, and nobody knew how to contact you. Your dad had a stroke a year ago in August. It was a hot day, and he was cutting the grass. It was sudden, and he didn’t linger.”

  Gina had suspected it. How could she not? But hearing the truth felt like a punch. She blinked back the tears she’d been denying.

  Lainie moved closer and took Gina’s hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Gina couldn’t control the quaver in her voice. “The girls and I need a place to stay. I was hoping my dad . . .”

  “You can stay with me tonight. Your dad’s house is yours free and clear. I handled the transactions when he died, and I can get the keys. I’ll send someone over tomorrow to get those boards off the windows so you can get inside.”

  That evening Gina met Lainie’s three children and her husband, Chuck, whom she had married a year after graduating from high school. After dinner of macaroni and cheese and green beans, Chuck and the kids did the dishes, and Lainie prepared a pull-out couch in the den for the girls. While Lainie’s daughter kept Leah busy with a game of go fish, Gina took Cheryl to the den and told her that Grandpa Milo had died, but they’d be livin
g in his house.

  Cheryl’s face puckered up. “That’s no fair. I want him living there too.”

  Mother and daughter huddled together, remembering Grandpa Milo, a tall, white-haired, gentle man who had loved Cheryl dearly and grown beautiful flowers. Eventually, drained from the trip and the bad news, Cheryl surrendered to sleep.

  Leah came to the door. “May I come in, please? Why was Cheryl crying?”

  Gina saw a bedraggled little girl with tired eyes. “Yes, Leah. Come in. Cheryl’s sad because she learned her grandpa Milo died.”

  Leah climbed onto the bed. “I’ll help her feel better. I’ll hold her tonight.”

  “Thank you, Leah. You know how much it hurts when someone you love dies.”

  “I couldn’t sleep when Mama died, so Maggie held me. I want Maggie to be here.”

  “I do, too, sweetheart.” Gina lay with the girls until Leah also slept, her arm draped over Cheryl’s shoulder.

  Gina found Lainie in the living room. She handed Gina a boozy hot drink. “You’ve had a rough time of it.”

  Gina sipped the drink, feeling the warmth slide all the way down. Chuck had left for his weekly poker game with the guys, and the kids were in their rooms doing homework or asleep. Gina was glad to have Lainie to talk to.

  “Rough doesn’t cover it.” She told Lainie a brief history of her years in the Philippines, stopping just before her involvement with the guerrillas, Pearl Blue, and the horrors of Fort Santiago.

  There were tears in Lainie’s eyes. “You can’t claim your house back?”

  “No, everything’s gone. I have no desire to return, anyway, unless it’s to find Ray. I suspect he was sent to Japan to work as a slave laborer, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Oh, Gina. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine. When you’re ready, come to church with me. We have a group that helps military families get reestablished. They’ll be a good resource for you. In the meantime, we’ll get your house opened up and see what needs to be done—probably just a cleaning. Your dad left it in good shape.”