Something to Remember You By

by Gene Wilder

  “I don’t think so,” Tom said.

  After five minutes Jamie said, “The plane’s coming in.”

  They all sat quietly and waited. When moonlight suddenly flashed across the wings of the Lysander just as it was about to touch down the ladies squeezed each others’ hands. But before the plane came to a complete stop, the headlights from two cars across the field were turned on and machine-gun fire from both cars began firing at the plane.

  “SHOOT THE LIGHTS OUT!” Tom shouted to Gilles and Claude. “GO FOR THE LIGHTS!” Gilles, Claude, and Jamie opened the car door and jumped out, moving away from the Mercedes as they began firing. They managed to knock out the headlights of both cars, but whoever was in them kept up a barrage on the plane.

  “They haven’t started firing on the Mercedes yet,” Tom said to the women. “Lie down on the floor as low as you can. Hurry, please.”

  Chris, the pilot, was smart enough to move the plane forward and the enemy fire began to hit mostly air, but whoever was inside those cars started scattering their bullets left and right, trying to hit the men who were firing at them. Gilles got hit and swore in French. Tom jumped out of the Mercedes and dove onto the earth next to Gilles.

  “I’m all right, Monsieur Tom,” Gilles said. “They hit my left arm and leg, but I tell you I’m all right. I am not going to lose my wife and baby. Here, I loan you my machine gun if you promise to kill those bastards.”

  Tom grabbed it. On his belly he fired toward where the enemy fire was coming from. He heard one loud cry and a voice swearing in German, and then another shout from someone next to him. Claude and Jamie were now firing at the other car. Then the enemy gunfire stopped.

  “Don’t believe it, Monsieur,” Gilles said. “They do this all the time. It’s a trick. Get in your plane and get the hell out of here, please. Get in the plane. Vite! Vite!”

  “You’re bleeding,” Tom said.

  “So? You want a prize for knowing that? I’m all right, I tell you.”

  “I can’t leave you like this,” Tom said.

  “And let everyone else die? What kind of the fucking jerk are you? Get out of here!” Gilles shouted.

  Claude crawled up next to Gilles and said, “Mama will take care of her little boy. Please, Tom, do what Gilles say.”

  Tom ran to the Mercedes and rushed the women toward the plane. “Stay low, stay low,” he kept shouting. Jamie was there and helped Tom get the women inside the plane, then he got inside himself and held out his arm to help pull Tom up. “Go!” Tom yelled to the pilot. Just as it started to move, the Nazis opened fire again, trying to stop the plane from taking off. One bullet hit Tom in the chest and one hit his thigh. Jamie, with the help of Madame Lauro, pulled Tom in, but in the process Madame Lauro was hit in her shoulder several times. The pilot taxied to the end of the field, turned 180 degrees, and then drove full throttle down the length of the field. The Lysander lifted off and above the thickness of the forest.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Jamie had wired ahead to have separate ambulances for Madame Lauro and Tom. When the plane landed at RAF Wroughton airfield, which was fairly near the Queen Alexandra’s Military Hospital in London, a car was also there to take the other women to accommodations that had been arranged for them. Anna insisted on going with Tom. She kissed Madame Lauro, who was being helped into her ambulance, gave a quick hug to the other ladies, and then climbed into Tom’s ambulance. Two army doctors began working on Tom’s wounds as soon as the ambulance left for the hospital.

  Tom didn’t try to talk while the doctors were working on him; he just squeezed Anna’s hand. When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, a crew was waiting to lift him onto a gurney and take him to the operating room. Anna kept holding Tom’s hand until she was told that she wasn’t allowed to enter the operating room. She quickly took off her pink bow and placed it in Tom’s hand. He waved good-bye with his other hand.

  * * *

  AN HOUR and twenty minutes later Tom was wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit, still half asleep from the anesthetic. Anna was told she could go in to see him, but only for a few minutes. The nurses had removed his clothes and covered him with a light-blue wrap before the doctors began working on him. When Anna went into the Intensive Care room, Tom’s eyes were closed. She didn’t want to disturb him, but he put out his hand for her.

  “What’s your name again?” he asked with a hoarse throat.

  Anna was a little shocked by the question. “I’m Anna. Anna Rosenkilde. You remember me, don’t you?”

  “What color … is your hair?”

  “Blonde,” Anna said, realizing that Tom must almost be unconscious.

  “Auburn,” he said. “And you like to eat octopuses … and I have your heart,” Tom said slowly as he opened his hand. It was still holding her pink bow. Anna leaned down and kissed him.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Col. William Hartley walked into Tom’s hospital room in the afternoon two days later and saw Anna sitting near his bed. “Is he sleeping?” the colonel whispered.

  “No, sir,” Tom said as his eyes popped open. “Just give me a day or two, Colonel.”

  “He thinks he is all healed because they took out his catheter and allowed him to have scrambled eggs and tea for breakfast,” Anna said. “When I got here I could see he was in pain, but he was so stubborn … he just wouldn’t admit it. I told the nurse and she gave him some morphine and now he is all ready to jump out of an airplane again.”

  “Well, I’ve got some good news for you both and some bad news. Which do you want first, Lieutenant?”

  “The bad news.”

  “The bad news is that a few people know more about your physical condition than you do, so keep your mouth shut for awhile and listen to Anna. She’s smarter than you are.”

  “I know that,” Tom said.

  “The good news is that Madame Lauro is going to be fine.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Anna said.

  “As for you, young man, the doctors told you that the bullet shot below your shoulder was this far away from your heart, but your leg is another story. Dr. Stein told me you’re going to need some physical therapy for a few weeks and then your thigh’ll be as strong as ever. Why aren’t you smiling?”

  “Do you know what happened to Gilles Piccard?”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Tom. He died. But has it pierced your conscience yet that you saved four women from going to hell in a gas chamber?”

  Anna held Tom’s hand and said, “Tom, you told me in the plane that when you wanted to stay with Gilles he said, ‘And let everyone else die?’ Remember that, darling?”

  “But it didn’t have to happen. That’s what’s killing me.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Colonel Hartley asked.

  “How did the Nazis know that we were going to be in that field and that a Lysander was going to pick us up at exactly ten p.m.?”

  After a frustrated pause Colonel Hartley said, “I knew you were going to ask that. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. I don’t know the answer yet.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  A week passed, during which time Tom grumbled to the nurses about being treated like an invalid, which he was, but after his last checkup Dr. Stein gave him permission to enter the real world again, provided he used a cane whenever he walked and that he also promised to continue his physical therapy classes. Tom agreed.

  That night Tom and Anna finally had their long-awaited date at the Shepherdess Café. Alfred Hollingberry, their short and sweet waiter, was so touched to see them that he gave Tom a gentle hug and put his head against Tom’s chest. “I would have done the same with you, Madam, if it weren’t exactly impolite,” Alfred said. “But may I shake your lovely hand?”

  “Of course you may,” Anna said.

  “Now then, what shall we start with tonight, ladies and gents … some wonderful imitation Sancerre direct from Morocco?”

  “Wonderful,” Anna and Tom said together.

&nbs
p; “Back in a jif,” Alfred said as he hurried away.

  Anna and Tom both reached out for the other’s hands. When Anna’s tears started dripping on Tom’s hand, she quickly reached for her paper napkin. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Well, just like old times,” Tom said. “You cry and I think about food.”

  “You said you wanted to marry me,” Anna said with a little smile.

  “I did. Good for you for remembering a little detail like that,” Tom said.

  “Why do you want to marry me?” Anna asked with her usual giggle.

  “Uh-oh. Here comes one of the Danish games again. I want to marry you because I love you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Well … let me see … because you’re very smart and you’re extremely attractive, and you’re compassionate … and you tell good jokes.”

  “Even better than your jokes?” she asked.

  “No, not that good.”

  “Oh, you,” Anna said and then gave him a little kiss.

  “Anna, are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yes, dear. Why? Have you got a special plan for us?”

  “Not that plan, not yet anyway. I’ll need another few days for that. Actually, I was very rude to the lady I met in Radar a few weeks ago. Her name is Sally Bedloe. She was very busy and I kept insisting that she tell me where you were, and she kept insisting that she didn’t know who Anna Rosenkilde was. I didn’t know then that you weren’t allowed to tell me, or anyone else, where you worked. I want to apologize to that lady and show her that I’ve found you.”

  “Here’s your Sancerre, folks. Nice and cold,” Alfred said as he rushed in and poured the wine. Tom and Anna clicked glasses.

  “To life,” Anna said.

  “To life,” Tom said as he squeezed her hand.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tom walked into Radar headquarters holding Anna’s hand. He had hoped it was lunch hour so he could see Sally Bedloe, and there she was, finishing a sandwich and a cup of tea.

  “Miss Bedloe—I’m Lieutenant Cole. You met me once before, but I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you a few weeks ago when you insisted that you didn’t know who or where Anna Rosenkilde was. Well, here she is!”

  Sally got up with half a smile and walked over to shake hands with Anna. “I’m so happy to meet you, Miss Rosenkilde. Your young fellow can be a little rough at the edges, but I see that he’s rather nice after all.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bedloe,” Anna said. “Please, eat your lunch. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “You can call me Sally. Everyone else does. By the way, I heard about the death of your French friend and I want you to know how sorry I am, Lieutenant.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Sally.”

  “Take care walking in this dark tunnel with a cane. It could be very dangerous,” Sally said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine in a few more days.”

  “Thank goodness. You’ll watch out for him, won’t you, dear?”

  “I certainly will,” Anna said.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  At 7:00 p.m. Sally Bedloe gathered up her few things, straightened her WAAF uniform, fluffed her hair a bit, and then said a quick good night to Delia Fine, her evening replacement.

  “Good night, Sally,” Delia said. “Going anywhere exciting tonight?”

  “Oh, I’m much too tired, dear. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sally said with a smile and walked out of Radar.

  * * *

  SALLY WALKED along Whitehall Road for a few minutes, then got on the bus that took her close to Trafalgar Square, which was only a mile away. After ten minutes she changed to another bus that took her near Carlos Place. When she got off the bus she walked along Mount Street for only a few yards and then into the tiny park that was home to the Church of the Immaculate Conception.

  Sally walked into the church and sat down in the closest pew to the door. It was a small church, but its stained-glass windows were magnificent. It was truly a place of peace and beauty that allowed for quiet reflection, prayers, and tears. A giant stained-glass image of Jesus seemed to stare directly at Sally. Only two other people were in the church during her visit.

  Twenty minutes later, after Sally had shed a few tears, she got up, left the beautiful church, and walked home.

  THIRTY-SIX

  April 1945

  Tom sat with Col. William Hartley in his office.

  “How are you feeling, Tom?”

  “I’ll race you on ice skates next week.”

  “If you were still in the hospital, maybe. But you’d probably still win. How’s your girlfriend?”

  “She’s swell. Thank you for her leave of absence.”

  “My God, she deserved it,” the colonel said.

  “She’s in a beauty parlor right now, sir, getting her hair dyed back to auburn.”

  “Good for her. What’s up, Tom? Morris said it was urgent.”

  “Colonel, have you gotten any clues yet about how the Nazis knew we were going to be picked up on that soccer field?”

  “So far, nothing. Why?”

  “I have a small clue. It may be nothing, but it’s about our friend Sally Bedloe from Radar.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I went to see her the other day, with Anna, to apologize for being so rude several weeks ago when she said Anna never worked with her. After my apology, she was very gracious, even complimented me for being rather nice after all, but then she said something that stuck in my brain all that night. She said, ‘By the way, I heard about the death of your French friend and I want you to know how sorry I am.’”

  “That’s very strange,” the colonel said.

  “Could she have known about Gilles Piccard from anyone in SOE?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How old is Sally?”

  “Forty-five, forty-six. She’s been with Radar close to ten years.”

  “Colonel, would you give me permission to go out at night without my military uniform?”

  “I’m afraid you’d be arrested for indecency, Tom,” Colonel Hartley said with a laugh.

  “No, I mean—”

  “I know what you mean. You want to wear your civilian clothes like any proper detective, and see where she goes at night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She’s very smart, you know, Tom. If she thinks you’re following her she’d be on to something. For now, why don’t you find someone else, someone she’s never seen before? An ordinary-looking man or woman reading the paper or a magazine?”

  “That’s a good idea. Thank you, sir. Do you know where Sally lives?”

  Colonel Hartley pressed the button on his intercom. “Morris, find out where Sally Bedloe lives, but say you’re from the mail department, not SOE. I’ll hold on … Go ahead, Morris, I’m listening … 117 Park Street. Thank you, Morris. Did you get that, Tom?”

  “Yes, sir, 117 Park Street.”

  “And Tom, whoever you get to follow Sally home, tell him or her to look up at her roof and see if there’s an aerial sticking out.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Tom waited at the Patisserie Tea Room on Shaftesbury Avenue, which was near Anna’s beauty parlor. When Anna walked in with her brand-new auburn hair Tom’s mouth dropped open. He got up quickly.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Clark Gable and, forgive me for my audacity, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gable,” Anna said.

  “If I’m not being too bold, would you lie down with me … I mean, sit down with me and have a cup of tea?”

  “I’d be happy to do either one.”

  “How gracious you are. By the way, is your auburn hair natural?”

  “That’s a woman’s secret.”

  Tom helped her into her chair, kissed the back of her neck, and sat down next to her.

  “You know, you’re as beautiful as only one other person I know.”

  “
Who is that, I wonder? And don’t make me jealous.”

  “I met her in a café weeks ago but I don’t remember her name. I think she’s a Danish or Norwegian joke teller.”

  “Well, that’s all right then. I love jokes, and brave men who save women’s lives, and scones with hot tea.”

  Tom waved to the nearby waitress and ordered two cream teas.

  “Now tell me how it went with Colonel Hartley,” Anna said.

  “He agreed to let me play detective, but I need your help.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “I need someone Sally doesn’t know at all, to get on a bus with her and find out where she goes and what she does. If she changes buses, then change with her. If it’s just to her house, I already know where she lives.”

  “I know the perfect person for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Bertie Cresswell. She’d love to be useful and she’d be very good at it. She’s also anxious to meet you because you telephoned her several times.”

  “Do you think she could come over here right now, so we can talk about some of the do’s and don’ts, like what not to wear and how to stay inconspicuous?”

  Anna got up and went to the phone. She talked for almost two minutes and then rushed back. “Bertie’s thrilled. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

  * * *

  WHEN BERTIE walked into the Patisserie Tea Room, Anna stood up and waved. Tom got up a little slower because of his leg, but he was very happy about what he saw. Bertie was wearing exactly the kind of clothes he hoped she’d be wearing: a plain, woolen A-line skirt with a modest brown blouse. Though it was a sunny April day with some clouds that didn’t seem threatening, she also had an umbrella wrapped around her arm just in case.

  “Bertie,” Anna said, “this is Tom, the handsome lieutenant with the beautiful reddish-blond hair you were talking to on the phone when I suddenly disappeared, and who came to get me and saved my life and who I love.”

  “Well, that’s rather a long introduction, but I like it very much. May I give you a gentle hug, Lieutenant Tom?”