by Kirby Larson
The class broke into applause as Principal Sellars finished reading. “Thank you, Lurelle, Daisy, and Michael for such fine work.” The PA system crackled off.
Mrs. Francis handed back the essays. Fish couldn’t help admiring the A+ at the top of his paper. His first.
“Brownnoser.” Wally kicked the back of Fish’s chair. “I suppose you’re going to stay after school and clean the blackboards, too.”
“Actually, I’m not.” Fish carefully placed his essay in his desk. “I’ve got to hurry home to take care of my dog.”
Erich found his sea legs quickly; some of the others, like Oskar, were green the entire voyage to New York. Erich gladly ate Oskar’s portions, even if they were mostly cold C-rations. Erich could tell by his waistband that he had gained back several of the pounds lost while fighting in Africa.
“What do you think it will look like?” Erich wondered aloud as they rested on their bunks one night after supper. “New York?”
“Not like the postcards.” Oskar shrugged. “The Luftwaffe bombed the Statue of Liberty.”
“Wishful thinking,” the Professor scoffed. “We’ve needed all our planes in Europe, in Africa.” He polished his glasses with a dingy handkerchief, studying Erich. “Rest assured, we will be greeted by Lady Liberty.”
Oskar made no comment but to heave into the bucket on the floor by his bunk.
Erich secretly hoped the Professor was right. They had been told so many things in the Army that had not proved true. As the three-week journey neared its end, Erich staked out a position on the rail each morning, one from which he would have a clear view of the harbor.
Shortly after breakfast on the twenty-first day, the ship slowed, turned toward the port, and there it was. The Statue of Liberty. In perfect condition. Though Erich could not read that famous poem from where he stood, he knew some of what it said: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” That certainly seemed to describe this ship full of prisoners of war. Except for the most fervent of Nazis, the men were glad to be free of Hitler, free of the German Army.
The ship had barely docked at Ellis Island before the men were unloaded and marched into a long hall where they were stripped of their clothes and sprayed with a disinfectant. Erich was horrified to see dead lice fall from his hair like raindrops. Next they were led straight to shower stalls with rich soap, thick towels, and plenty of hot water. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. When he stepped out, he was handed a duffel. He was astonished at what he found inside: four pairs of trousers, a belt, five shirts, socks, underwear, gloves, a jacket, a coat, a raincoat, a cap, and even a new pair of shoes. Nearby, they found cans of white paint and stencils. In bad German, a guard explained they were to paint each item of the new uniform with the letters PW.
“We’re painting targets on ourselves,” complained Oskar.
“Why would they bring us all this way to shoot us now?” From what Erich had seen so far, there would be more problems with the hard-core Nazis, always itching for a fight, than with the Americans.
Early the next morning, they were marched to a train station, where they boarded regular passenger cars, not the boxcars used to transport troops in Germany. Amazingly, a porter came through, offering sandwiches and hot coffee. “Sandwich, sir?” He stopped in front of Erich, smiling.
“Danke.” Erich took roast beef.
Oskar refused food and drink the first time it was offered but not the second time. “I don’t know what they’re up to,” he said, “but I’m hungry.”
“Our captors have given me no reason to expect we will not be treated decently.” The Professor took a calm sip of coffee.
“It’s all for show,” said Oskar. “Wait until they get us to the camps.”
The two men bickered back and forth, but their voices soon became background noise. Erich closed his eyes and drifted off.
The next time he awoke, they were pulling into a train station.
The sign said NEW ORLEANS.
Fish scraped bits of pancakes and bacon into Liberty’s food dish. She gobbled them up, licking her muzzle before reaching around to lick her side. Miss Zona said her fur might not grow back over the wound, but that otherwise it was almost healed. Fish snapped on the leash to take her for their morning walk.
“Oh my gosh!” Mo’s voice carried out the kitchen window. “Oh my gosh!” she repeated. Something in her tone gave Fish chills.
He hobbled up the porch stairs, Liberty at his heels. Mo didn’t even say anything about no dogs in the house. Her hand was at her throat, her face white as the flour canister.
“Are you okay?” Fish looked around the kitchen. No sign of blood. “Is it Pop? Roy?” His heart pounded double time in his chest.
Mo’s hands trembled as she cranked the knob to turn up the volume on the radio. “Listen.”
The radio announcer’s voice filled the room, smooth as cream. “At 7:32 a.m. Greenwich mean time, 2:32 a.m. Central war time, the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force launched its greatest overseas military operation. Allied armies are pouring ashore on the enemy-held soils of France, in one of the greatest amphibious attacks of the ages. Though we are not at liberty to give precise locations, we can say that General Eisenhower has called this action ‘a great crusade.’ ”
“What does it mean?” Fish tightened his grip on Liberty’s leash.
“I think it could mean the end of the war.” Mo wiped her face with her apron. “And amphibious attacks. That means Higgins boats.”
Mr. Higgins was right. His boats were going to win the war. “Do you think Pop was there? That he’s okay?”
Mo sniffled, shook her head. “He’d be inland, I’m sure. Building bridges for the troops and equipment.” She wrapped Fish in a hug. “He’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”
Pop had seemed so far away all this time. His letters had been light, cheery. He talked about getting used to drinking tea, like the English, rather than coffee. And about the English fondness for cold toast. He wrote about the men in his unit, giving them all nicknames like Tex or Babyface or Stone. He’d never written about what he was actually doing, besides building bridges. He wasn’t allowed to say where he was. And he certainly wouldn’t tell them if he was in danger. Fish realized Pop’s letters were the written version of his poker face. He’d never give anything away.
“At least Roy’s not there,” Fish said. “Do you think he’s sorry about that?”
Mo made a sound that was a combination of a laugh and a sob. “Oh, Roy thinks he can win the war all by himself, no matter where he is, steering that ship of his.” She glanced at the clock, then lifted her pocketbook from the chair back, where she’d left it hanging, and fished out a nickel. “There’s still time before school. Go see if there’s an extra edition of the Times-Picayune,” she said. “The paper will have more information.”
Miss Zona must have had the same idea, because he met up with Olympia on the street. Liberty trotted next to them, still not all that happy about being on leash. Mo said she was a gypsy dog. “She’s too much like her name,” Mo had teased.
Cali’s Market had a slim stack of extras. Fish and Olympia turned over their nickels to Miss Rose. “Isn’t it something?” Miss Rose straightened out the remaining newspapers in the stack. “I think the tide has finally turned.” She gave them each a B.B. Bats taffy, saying, “Here’s a lagniappe, something extra, to celebrate.”
“Do you think your aunt saw any of the landings?” Fish unwrapped his B.B. Bat.
“I don’t know.” Olympia put her treat in her skirt pocket. “She doesn’t write much about what she sees. Or what she does.”
Fish licked his candy a few times. “That’s like Pop. Roy, too.”
“I don’t think any of them are supposed to say what’s really going on. Because of the censors,” Olympia added. “But Grandmamma sent Auntie a diary so she could keep a record. For later. For after the war. Maybe we’ll find out more then.”
Car horns honked and pots and pans clanged around them as they walked home. New Orleans was celebrating the news. At least in their neighborhood. Fish had learned that his new hometown didn’t need much of an excuse for a party or a parade.
The bells from the nearby Catholic church pealed the hour. “We better get a move on or we’ll be late to school.” Walking Liberty every day had built up his muscles. He could manage an awkward jog if he rocked his body from side to side. He and Olympia parted company at Miss Zona’s front walk.
“See you after school!” she called.
At home, he wrapped up his taffy and stuck it on his dresser before grabbing his schoolbooks and lunch box. Then he situated Liberty in her pen. He refilled her water dish and scratched under her chin. “Be good. I’ll be home before you know it.”
She licked his hand, fixing him intently with her brown eyes.
“Don’t even ask.” He shook his head. “Mrs. Francis would not allow a dog at school.”
There wasn’t much attention paid to math or spelling or language arts that day. Mrs. Francis finally pulled down the big map hanging over the blackboard and they talked about where the Allied troops might have landed.
“My brother’s a Marine,” Wally reminded the class. “He could have been in the invasion.”
“We will hold him in our thoughts,” said Mrs. Francis. “Along with all the other men and women in the Armed Services.” Her eyes seemed bigger than usual behind those bifocals. But in a thoughtful, sad way.
At noon, Catholic churches all over town rang their bells for three solid minutes. The chiming traveled through Fish’s ears, right into his bones. Instead of hearing ding-dong, he heard Pop-Roy. Over and over. He poked himself with the sharpened end of his pencil so he wouldn’t cry. When the pealing faded away, Principal Sellars came over the public address system and led the students in a prayer for the success of the invasion. Wally’s mind must have been on his brother. He didn’t speak out of turn the rest of the day.
Fish thought hard about Roy and Pop all the way home, the darkening sky fitting his mood. If this were a movie, he’d find letters from them in the mailbox, telling him they were okay. But he lived in real life, not in a movie. The mailbox was empty.
Liberty sat up the minute she saw him, tail wagging. He hoped it wasn’t just because he’d brought out a Milk-Bone.
“Only a few more days of school.” His right leg caught on the wire of the gate as he dragged it through. “And then I can stay home every day.”
Liberty nudged at his hand. “Hey, let’s use some good manners.” He motioned for her to sit. When she did, he broke off a chunk of the Milk-Bone. “Down.” Another chunk of bone for a good down. “How about shake?” She hadn’t mastered that one yet. As soon as Fish put his hand out to shake, she stuck her muzzle in it, looking for a treat. “Shake,” he repeated. This time, she pawed at his right hand. Close enough. She got the last bite of Milk-Bone.
When she was done crunching, he attached her leash, let her out of the pen, and they started off for their afternoon walk. In the few weeks since catching Liberty, Fish had gotten to know more of their neighbors. People here liked to sit on their front porches or front stoops and watch the world go by. He waved to Mr. Pellegrini, who lived on the other side of Fig. If Mrs. Abellard was out, she usually had a treat for Liberty. A soupbone or pork chop scraps, and once, the last of a can of deviled ham. Mrs. Abellard’s was one of Liberty’s favorite stops. But she wasn’t on her porch today.
Fish step-clomped along, with Liberty sniffing every other flower bush. He hollered “hey” to the Beasley sisters, both with their hair up in rollers. “We’re headed to the D-day prayer service tonight,” called out Miss Marvelle Beasley.
“Might we see you there?” added Miss Jewell Beasley.
“Homework!” Fish answered with a tiny white lie. The last week of school, even Mrs. Francis gave up on homework. The Beasley sisters might go to church at least three times a week, but Fish was content with attending on Christmas and Easter.
“Another time, then,” called Miss Marvelle.
Fish nodded. He and Liberty neared the spot where they usually turned around to head back. Being a Southern dog, Liberty didn’t seem much affected by the heat and humidity. But sweat ran down Fish’s back, and there was a cold Barq’s root beer calling him from the icebox. Plus, he still had his exercises to do. He thought his knee was bending a little bit more and his right leg didn’t seem that much shorter than his left anymore. But he didn’t know if it was because of the bike riding or his contraption, so he kept up with both.
Some movement across the way caught his eye. A Western Union delivery boy pedaled up to the DeSotos’. He dismounted his bike, straightened his jacket, and climbed up the front porch steps. A Blue Star Flag, for the DeSotos’ only son, hung next to the front door. The telegram boy moved heavily, slowly, then stood on the porch, hand poised to knock, but not knocking for several moments. Finally, knuckles rapped on wood and, moments later, the door opened. The telegram boy handed Mrs. DeSoto an envelope.
Fish had never heard such a noise before. Not even in the wards when kids were in excruciating pain. He hoped he’d never hear anything like it again. Mrs. DeSoto fell, sobbing, against the doorframe. The delivery boy looked around, hollering, “Help. Anybody? Help!”
The Beasley sisters shuffled across the street, hair rollers bobbing on their gray heads. They caught Mrs. DeSoto up in their arms and helped her into the house.
Fish swallowed hard, then tugged on Liberty’s leash. “Let’s go home.”
The next day, when they took their afternoon walk, the blue star in the DeSotos’ service flag was replaced with a gold one. A gold star for a life lost.
Mo didn’t like leaving Fish on his own so much. She’d offered to sign him up for some classes at the YMCA. But Fish had managed to dodge that bullet. He didn’t really have time anyway. He was busy with Liberty and Olympia. The Three Musketeers, the Beasley sisters called them, watching from their front porch, always ready with lemonade and dog biscuits. Sometimes Fish and Olympia helped Mrs. DeSoto in her Victory Garden, and Mr. Campbell was happy to put them to work sorting nails and screws at his store.
For one whole week, Olympia had Bible School at her church. By the last day, Fish was tired of his new library book and his latest project: a lazy Susan for Miss Zona’s kitchen table. He was tired of being cooped up at home.
“Want to go for a walk, girl?” Liberty perked up at the word, waggling her hind end. Fish got her leash and they set off. Miss Zona didn’t allow Olympia to wander outside their neighborhood, so Fish decided he and Liberty would go on an adventure. Wander and explore. They meandered up this street and that, dodging from one shady spot to the next, until they found themselves at the New Basin Canal. Wally, Ernie, and some other boys from school were stripped to their skivvies, splashing in the murky water.
Fish leaned in the shade of a live oak, watching their game. It didn’t seem to have any rules but involved taking turns throwing milk caps into the canal and jumping in after them. On Wally’s next turn, he cannonballed, hooting and hollering the whole time. When he broke through the surface, he put up his fists like a prizefighter.
“I’m the champion!” he crowed. “Nobody can beat me.”
It was hotter than hot and, even dirty, the canal water looked inviting. Cool. Fish tied Liberty’s leash around a nearby tree. “Can I try?” He hobbled over to the group.
“You?” Wally snorted.
“Yeah.” Fish kicked off his sneakers. “You chicken?”
Ernie grinned and grabbed another handful of milk caps, ready to toss them in.
“Race ya,” Wally hollered.
Fish stepped to the edge of the canal, peeling off his shirt, poised for action.
“On the count of three!” Ernie called. “One, two —”
Wally jumped. Fish dived right after. In the water, there was no such thing as a bad leg. Nurse Meg had called him her fish. Mo got such a kick out o
f that, the name stuck. It didn’t matter to Fish that this canal was dirty and cold. Any water gave him wings.
He cleanly stroked to where he’d seen the cap go in, dived, and snatched it up.
“Beginner’s luck,” Wally sputtered. They went again. Fish beat him two more times.
“So you’re a swimmer and an egghead,” Wally said. But he grinned and stuck out his hand, to show no hard feelings. Shivering and smelling worse than wet dogs, the boys spread out along the canal, drying in the sun. Ernie gave Fish a swig of his orange Nehi and Wally shared the brown ones from a roll of Necco Wafers. Liberty lolled on her back, taking belly rubs from all the boys. When the church bells chimed five, Wally gathered up his things. “Time for supper.”
The rest of the boys fanned out toward their homes.
“See you around, Fish,” said Ernie.
“See you around,” Fish answered. He got home in such a good mood, he ate two helpings of Mo’s latest Meatless Tuesday creation.
The next morning, Mo poured herself a cup of coffee. “If you finish those letters before I leave, I can mail them from work.”
Fish marveled that she could drink something hot with the air already thick as oatmeal. He spooned up some cornflakes, then wrote another line in the letter to Pop. “I’ve taught Liberty sit and down. We’re working on shake, too.” He glanced at the picture he’d drawn of his dog, right at the top of the page. He wasn’t much of an artist, but Pop would get the general idea. “She’s a good dog, Pop. You’re going to love her. Take care of yourself.” He signed off “Forward, Fish,” then quickly added a few sentences to Roy’s letter. “I would like an aloha shirt,” he replied to Roy’s question. “Could you get something for Olympia, too? I’ll pay you back.” Roy’s unit had finished training in San Diego and was now in Honolulu for some R&R before their next assignment. “How about a grass skirt?” he wrote. “Don’t worry, I am taking care of Mo, like you asked. Well, as best as I can. You know how she is.” He signed off that letter, too, folded each one into an envelope, licked them shut, and pasted on stamps. He handed the envelopes to his sister.