The Light from the Dark Side of the Moon

by Norman G. Gautreau

  “Snogging?”

  “It’s what you Americans might call necking.”

  I’m enchanted. I stroke her hair. “I’ve never experienced such pleasure,” I say.

  She sighs and burrows deeper into my neck and kisses me. “I was afraid you might think I was one of those khaki-wackies sent by Hitler and Hirohito to give you syphilis, or gonorrhea, so you wouldn’t be able to fight.”

  I’m stunned. “How in God’s name do you know that expression?”

  “I told you before that we do our research. The Americans also call such women good-time Charlottes and bags of trouble and—I love this one—Patriotutes.”

  “Incredible!”

  “Oui, incroyable!”

  From above comes the vit vit of the swallows as they whirl and dip and dive around each other. Beneath the fork-tailed swallows, Élodie and I lie naked in the night, in the hay, a cooling breeze drying the wetness from our bodies, silken moonlight blanching our flesh.

  An hour later, we are dressed when the others return.

  “How did it go?” Élodie asks.

  “We blew up a bridge,” answers Jean-Baptiste. He narrows his eyes at Élodie. His nostrils twitch. “They won’t be able to use that railway for a while. But now we must go to a place called Montignac.” Another twitch of his nostrils.

  “Where is it?” asks Élodie. “And why go there?”

  I know Jean-Baptiste is smelling her perfume. It lingers around my nostrils; surely, he can smell it, too.

  “About fifty kilometers east of Périgueux,” says Marcel. “We used up almost all the explosives. Just enough for one more operation. I have a cousin who lives in Montignac. He’s in the Resistance. He might know where we can get more.”

  Jean-Baptiste looks to where the hay is disturbed on the barn floor, then back at Élodie. “You have straw in your hair,” he says.

  Élodie reaches behind her head and pulls out a strand of straw. She averts her eyes from him and says, “I took a nap on the floor.”

  Jean-Baptiste continues to stare at her. He glances at me.

  There is silence in the barn.

  There is silence above, in the rafters.

  25 “In the name of the Father and of the Sons and of the holy spirit. So be it.” The French sign-of-the-cross.

  26 “But we cannot leave our horse and our wagon.”

  27 Literally, “My cabbage.” A French form of affection roughly equivalent to “Sweetie.”

  28 “No bread.”

  29 “My little girl! My baby!”

  30 “Thank you, my angel in heaven.”

  Chapter 7

  The Grief of Love

  The seagulls over Good Harbor Beach dip, dive, and swirl, carving out slices of flight, then hover and squawk “kyie, kyie” so close to the deck that they reflect distortedly on the surface of my martini as it rocks in my glass, and suddenly I’m reminded of the barn swallows and the wine we drank the night Élodie and I first made love, when she told me about her parents and how she ended up in the Resistance. And I remember the look on Jean-Baptiste’s face when he saw the hay sticking out of the back of Élodie’s hair.

  For the briefest of instants, she is with me now, but then she dissipates with far less permanence than the dissolving ice shavings floating among my olives.

  Callie and I had decided to set up the feast on the deck. With the help of Ashley and Danny, we butted two long tables together, end-to-end, and surrounded them with the wicker chairs that always sat outside, dragged out chairs from the house, and added several folding chairs I’d had stowed away in the garage. Callie draped the tables with a pair of floral Jacquard tablecloths that had been Anna’s favorites. Finally, Ashley and Danny placed a vase with flowers at the center of each table. Red roses, pink carnations, white lilies. My cheeks ached from so much smiling! I had long dreamed of such a family gathering.

  Before everybody arrived, I’d set my music system to play on the deck and created a play list that included Bach’s Goldberg Variations and The Well-Tempered Clavier—both played by Glenn Gould—several of Beethoven’s late quartets, his Archduke Trio, lots of Mozart and pieces of Chopin played by Arthur Rubinstein. I also sprinkled, throughout the play list, so they would play several times, pieces I associated with Élodie: “The Song of the Birds,” the “Adagio Expressivo” from Amy Beach’s Piano Quintet, and, finally, a recording of “Plaisir d’Amour” a traditional French love song Élodie had played for me. I’d fallen in love with a recording by Nana Mouskouri, but then, about a decade later I’d been riveted by the television mini-series Band of Brothers about men like me and my comrades. One episode was dedicated to the Battle of the Bulge in which I participated, except it was focused on the 101st Airborne, not my unit, the 82nd. Nonetheless, I was moved to tears when I heard “Plaisir d’Amour” on the sound track sung by a children’s chorus—their innocent, vulnerable voices. When I saw that episode, called “Bastogne,” something cracked inside me, and I wept. Anna sat beside me on the sofa and put her arms around me and comforted me and said, again, as she had often, that I should see a doctor. “They now have people who specialize in this kind of thing,” she’d say. “They call it PTSD.”

  But I never saw a doctor.

  And Anna died.

  It was that children’s performance of the song that I now put on the play list.

  Plaisir d’amour ne dure qu’un moment chagrin d’amour dure toute la vie.31

  Everyone arrived within half an hour of one another and gathered on the deck where a soft sea breeze wafted in from Salt Island. Arlequin became overexcited at such a large crowd. The breeders warned he would be very active and would probably bark a lot, but I got him anyway. Now, he repeatedly jumped up to paw at people’s thighs. When he did this to Natalie, she stepped back and shooed at him with her hand. “Whose damned dog is this, Dad? One of your neighbors?”

  “No, he’s mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “Got him a week ago. He’s a rescue. Keeps me company.”

  “And what will you do with him when you have to go into a nursing home? We’re certainly not taking him!”

  I felt the muscles in my cheeks twitch. “You won’t need to.” I said. “I’m not going into any goddamned nursing home.”

  “Dad, you’re in your nineties, for God’s sake!”

  “Believe me, I know full well how old I am. I’m just not going into a nursing home and that’s that. Now, can’t we have a nice evening without you and me fighting?”

  “But, Dad—”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it! If you’re gonna harp on me about that, you can leave now.”

  Several people gasped, and others glanced at each other. Natalie stared at me with a look of incredulity painted on her features.

  “Well I guess that’s that,” Callie said. “Papa, how about we go into the kitchen and make drinks for everybody?”

  “Good idea.” I gave her a smile and followed her into the kitchen. Callie closed the door and turned to me.

  “You’re upset about more than the nursing home business, Papa. It’s not like you to fly off the handle like that.”

  “I know. It’s just that your mother angers me. Her reaction to Arlequin.”

  “She can be a real harpy, sometimes. Believe me, I know. I grew up with her. But, at this moment, I’m worried about you. How you behaved this afternoon on the beach, and now this.”

  “Nothing is wrong. Like I told you, I’ve been having flashbacks to the war years lately and some of them are, well, a little upsetting.”

  Callie gave me a wavering smile. “Okay. Look, I have some colleagues at the hospital who specialize in this sort of thing.”

  “Now you sound like your grandmother.”

  “How?”

  “She was always telling me I should see a doctor about the … the memories.”

  “She was right.”

  “I don’t want to lie down on some shrink’s couch and talk about the freaking war.�
�

  Callie shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  “Okay, for now. But don’t think I give up that easily. If you thought Nana was a pain in the ass about it, buckle up! You haven’t seen anything yet!”

  “Message received,” I said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Now let’s make those drinks.”

  After we delivered drinks and appetizers to everyone on the deck, we made small talk and watched the waves roll in and folks stroll along the half-mile stretch of sand in the low-slanting, late afternoon light. Several boys rode boogie boards and skimmed on the shallow water toward two attractive young women who laughed and jumped out of their way.

  Natalie, whose sour expression from our earlier confrontation hadn’t changed, plucked at the eyeglasses suspended by a gold chain on her bosom, raised them to her eyes, and asked, “Isn’t this part of the beach supposed to be private?”

  “Theoretically,” I replied.

  “Which means those people are trespassing. Shouldn’t you complain to the city?”

  “Why would I complain? I can sit on my deck and be feasted with—what do the young people call it? Eye candy?”

  “Dad!” Judy gave an exaggerated sigh. The comment even garnered a reluctant chuckle from Natalie, and Callie flashed me a smile and announced she was going to get the water ready for the lobsters.

  “Where did you get the lobsters?” Judy asked.

  Callie tipped her glass toward me. “Papa got them. Captain Carl and Sons, right?”

  “I didn’t know they delivered,” Judy said.

  “They don’t. I picked them up this morning.”

  Natalie’s face darkened. “You drove?”

  “No. I hopped in a little red wagon and Arlequin towed me.” Arlequin gave a yip at the mention of his name. Callie snorted. “I gave up driving at night. Partly because of the glare of headlights and partly because it’s near my bed time.”

  “Maybe your cataracts grew back.”

  I could feel myself tense. I knew exactly where the conversation was headed. “Cataracts don’t grow back. But that doesn’t mean you can’t end up with blurred vision again.”

  Natalie frowned. “Don’t you think you should give up driving entirely?”

  “No. And the Registry of Motor Vehicles doesn’t think so either. They just renewed my license.”

  Natalie blew out a long breath and rolled her eyes. I excused myself and joined Callie in the kitchen. “Do you mind if I join you? The gathering is barely underway, and I already need a break from your pain-in-the-ass mother.”

  “Hey, she may be my pain-in-the-ass mother, but she’s your pain-in-the-ass daughter. You owe me for my childhood trauma.”

  The banter could have gone on as it often did, but soon everyone had migrated from the deck to the kitchen making the room as crowded with bodies as the stove top was with stock pots. “Everybody out! Into the living room, now!” Callie said as she waved at the columns of steam floating around her face and mushrooming toward the ceiling. “I can’t work with you people hovering over my shoulder!”

  “Callie’s right,” I said, shooing everyone out of the kitchen. “Go into the living room or back out to the deck. Don’t let the gulls eat the appetizers! Go on, everyone. I’ll bring another batch of gin-and-tonics.”

  “Hold up, Dad,” Callie’s father said, “I’ll make them. You go relax in your recliner.”

  “I’ll make them. I don’t need help.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “Don’t ‘but Dad’ me! Get your ass out of here. I’ll bring you your drink when it’s ready.” For emphasis, I gave a hard twist of the cap on a bottle of tonic water which hissed when I screwed it off. Maybe I was being a bit theatrical, but sometimes Natalie and Marshall annoyed the hell out of me! How Callie turned out so lovable was a mystery.

  Marshall shrugged at Callie and left the kitchen.

  Callie and I exchanged smiles. “You tell him, Papa.”

  “I’m not infirm yet. Despite what they all may think. And I don’t intend ever to be infirm. I swear I won’t let it happen.”

  Callie whipped her head around and stared at me, her brow furrowed. Christ! What had I said to make her react like that? “Papa, you’re not saying ….”

  “What? What am I not saying?”

  “You know …. You said you have an announcement ….”

  I gazed at her for a few seconds before realizing what she was implying. “No, no, no, sweetheart! I’m not suggesting I’ll …. That’s not what this evening is all about, not even close.”

  “Oh, thank God!”

  “Besides, give me some credit. Do you think for one moment I would make that kind of announcement with the little ones present?”

  She hugged me close and lay her head on my chest. “Of course not. It was silly of me.”

  “Never, ever, would I do that.” I watched a bead of steam condensation slide down her forehead and brushed it away with my thumb.

  “I know.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into my chest. We stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments before she pulled back, touched my cheek, and turned back to the stove. I busied myself with a large bottle of gin, several bottles of tonic water, and a bucket of ice cubes. After a few moments, I turned back to her.

  “It never occurred to me that’s what people might think,” I said.

  “Well, you’ve hinted at it before.”

  “I have not!”

  “You have, too.”

  “When?”

  “Almost every time Mom brings up the idea of a nursing home.”

  “Well that’s just to shut her up. But if that’s what people think, I’ll make the drinks stronger than usual.”

  Callie laughed, the kind of exaggerated laugh that comes from relief. “Make mine first and leave it here,” she said.

  “You got it.” I pulled a bowl of sliced limes from the refrigerator.

  “The water’s ready, but I won’t put the lobsters in until the drinks are finished and you’ve made your announcement. I’m sure some of us are going to need a third round by that time.”

  “I fear you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not joining a commune or moving to Outer Mongolia or anything like that.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  I finished pouring the last drink. “Help me carry them out. I might as well get the announcement about my real travel plans over with.”

  “Real travel plans?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We made two trips between the kitchen and the living room with trays full of clinking crystal highball glasses. Finally, when all the adults had drinks and the children had their sodas, I turned to face my family. “I told you all I had something important to say, so here it is.” The room went silent. The screech of seagulls came through the open French doors leading to the deck. A voile inner drape fluttered inward on the breeze. “I love you all,” I said.

  No one spoke.

  “That’s really all I had to say.”

  Natalie shook her head in bewilderment. “You mean you let us think you had some terrible news to tell us and all you wanted to say was that you loved us?”

  “Is that so bad? It got you all here, didn’t it? And besides, who said I had terrible news? You just made assumptions.”

  Callie gave an un-ladylike guffaw, covered her mouth, raised her glass with a tinkle of ice, spilled a little, and said, “Way to go, Papa! You’re the best!”

  I smiled at her and said, “Well, actually, there is one other thing.”

  “Okay, here it comes,” muttered Natalie.

  I looked around the room. “Yesterday was the sixty-ninth anniversary of D-Day. Meaning, of course, next year will be the seventieth. There will be big ceremonies, as there are for every decade observance. I plan to attend. Maybe some of you would like to accompany me.”

  “Are you crazy?” Natalie said.

  Callie’s hand shot into the air. “I’ll go.”

  �
��No, Callie,” Natalie said. “Don’t encourage him. We need to be discussing Dad’s … Papa’s … need to move out of this house, not some silly trip he’s too old to make.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. At the open window, the linen curtains wafted inward on the sea breeze, brushing my elbow. I side-stepped from the window and the ice in my gin-and-tonic clinked against the side of the glass. “Who says I’m too old to travel? And this is not some silly trip. Goddammit,” I almost shouted.

  Natalie looked around the room as if to ask for help. “It’s just that we worry about you. Even here at home. This house has three floors, all of which you use. You should be on a single level and have help. There are nursing homes that—”

  My youngest daughter Judy piped up, “You should at least get one of those stair-lifts like in that brochure I showed you. The stairs can be dangerous.”

  “I agree with Judy,” her husband, Denis, said. “If you fell and broke your hip at your age, it could be very serious.”

  “Denis is a nurse,” said Natalie. “He knows about these things.”

  I glared at her. “And Callie is a doctor,” I shouted, perhaps too loudly. “You don’t hear her complaining about every step I take. And, besides, have you forgotten I’ve written several books on healthcare? Well-received books, I might add. Don’t you think I also know a thing or two about aging?”