Don't Talk to Me About the War

by David A. Adler

  He’s done talking about the past. Now he tells us what to expect.

  “We shall fight on beaches; we shall fight on landing grounds; we shall fight in fields, streets and hills. We shall never surrender and even if, which I do not for the moment believe, this island or a large part of it is subjugated and starving, then our empire beyond the seas armed and guarded by the British Fleet, will carry on the struggle until in God’s good time the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the liberation and rescue of the Old.”

  Dr. Johnson and the teachers applaud when the speech is done, so Beth and I clap, too. They talk about the speech, and I find out that when Churchill said the New World, he meant us, the United States. He expects us to join the war. I’m sure President Roosevelt heard the speech, too, and I wonder what he thinks. Does he expect us to join the war?

  I wish Dad had heard Churchill. I’m sure Senator Holt did.

  The teachers eat cookies and cake as they talk. Dr. Johnson says he’s sorry he’s too old to sign up and fight. Then one teacher says the bell will ring soon. He and the others get up to leave, so Beth and I get up, too.

  “Don’t go yet,” Dr. Johnson tells us. “I want to show you something.”

  Once the teachers have gone, Dr. Johnson points to a framed photograph on one of the bookcases and asks us if we see anyone we know. It’s a picture of a group of soldiers.

  “That’s you, isn’t it? ” I ask, and point to the young soldier on the far right of the picture.

  “Yes, that’s me. Do you recognize anyone else?”

  Dr. Johnson was easy to pick out. I knew he would be in the picture, and Charles told me he was a sergeant, and the soldier I pointed to was clearly the one in charge. But how would I know anyone else?

  Dr. Johnson smiles and points to a soldier, the second from the left, and says, “Beth, take a good look at him. Do you know who he is?”

  I look at the soldier. Then I look at Beth. She shrugs.

  “That’s Harold Weils, your homeroom teacher,” Dr. Johnson says, and laughs. “He was in my platoon.”

  Wow!

  I take a careful look and do see some resemblance to Mr. Weils. I guess every old teacher was young once, even Mr. Weils.

  The soldiers in the photograph are all standing tall, with their shoulders back, at attention, just the way Mr. Weils stands in front of our room every morning when he checks the attendance.

  The bell rings. I rush to clean up my place at the table.

  “You don’t have to hurry,” Dr. Johnson says. “I’ll write you notes.”

  He takes a pad from his desk and writes two notes, one for me and one for Beth. We thank him and walk through the main office and into the hall.

  Beth rushes off. She’s anxious to get to class. I’m not. I stand there for a moment. Then I walk slowly to Miss Heller’s class. Why should I hurry? I have a note from the principal.

  17

  A Terrible Thump

  Outside after school, I join Sarah by the oak tree, and she asks, “How was Mr. Churchill’s talk?”

  “Great. He said the English will never surrender.”

  “That is very good.”

  “He made me feel that somehow, in the end, the Germans will be beaten.”

  “Yes,” Sarah says. “I hope he is right and I hope soon. I hope before it is too late for some people.”

  She means her uncle.

  Lots of kids I know walk past and wave or say hello to me. I’ve lived in the Bronx all my life, so I know lots of kids. But no one greets Sarah. It must be difficult moving to a new country. It was nice of Beth to become her friend, and I’m sure Sarah likes walking with us to school and sitting with us at lunch.

  I look at Sarah. She’s holding her leather book bag in front of her with both hands. She sees me looking at her and smiles.

  “Have you heard from your aunt?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and tells me, “The last letter came two weeks ago. My aunt does not know what she must do. It is difficult. The Nazis do not tell her about Uncle. She has no job. She has less money for food. People are being taken away.”

  “Gee, that’s tough.”

  I think about how nice it was when Beth, Sarah, and Charles offered to help me with Mom, and I want to offer to help Sarah. But what can I do?

  “Sarah,” I say. “When you hear something, please let me know.”

  Beth comes out of school, and as we start walking I tell her I wish my dad had listened to the radio, that it would be hard for someone to be against the war after hearing Churchill.

  “The speech is in this morning’s newspaper,” she says. “Bring it home.”

  Outside Goldman’s, Beth takes The World Telegram and Post off the bench, both afternoon newspapers, and a morning paper, The New York Times. She gives me the Times and says, “It’s in here.”

  I follow Beth into Goldman’s and sit at her table. I open the Times and Churchill’s whole speech is on page six. I read parts of it. Near the end he said, “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air.”

  I want Dad to read this.

  I close the paper and check the price on the front. Three cents. I have that much with me. I go to the counter and pay Mr. Goldman, say good-bye to him and Beth, and walk home.

  Mom is waiting for me in the lobby. Janet—I don’t know her last name—and Mrs. Feiner are there, too. I say hello and hurry upstairs to drop off my books. Before I leave, I open the newspaper to Churchill’s speech and put it on the table, so Dad will see it as soon as he walks in.

  When I get downstairs, even Janet is friendly to me. Mom holds on to the two arms of the chair and pushes herself up. Mrs. Feiner reaches out to help her, but Mom says, “I’m okay.”

  I turn and look as we walk toward the door. Mrs. Feiner has folded her chair and is taking it to the closet.

  When we get outside, Mom tells me she can see a little out of her left eye. “It’s a sign I’m going to get better.”

  I don’t say anything, but as we walk, I notice Mom still walks real slow and stops a lot. But I’m glad her eye is better.

  Shopping is becoming a routine for us. At the fruit and vegetable store, Mom sits in a chair by the register and tells me what we need. The clerk lets me pick what I want and I put it all in the basket. When I offer to show Mom what I chose she says she doesn’t need to look.

  “If you took it,” she says, “I know it’s good.”

  When I’m done, she asks me to go to the grocery store and buy a roll of waxed paper, tea, and oatmeal. “I’ll wait here,” she says. I leave the bag of fruits and vegetables with her and go around the corner.

  We slowly walk home. At first, Mom’s pace and all the stopping bothered me, but no more. I’m used to it. At one of her stops Mom says, “Martha called this morning, and so did Milly.”

  Now, they call almost every day, and Mom likes that. “They both said they will help me any way they can.”

  We enter our building, and the lobby is empty. I carry the packages upstairs while Mom goes at her own pace. She tells me not to wait.

  Everything has become so difficult for her. While we were walking, she even tried to take one of the bags. I know she likes it that I help, but she would really rather do everything herself.

  I’m surprised when Dad gets home. He says he listened in the store to Churchill’s speech. He still hates the idea of going to war, but he doesn’t know how the United States and President Roosevelt can let the Germans conquer England.

  He sees the newspaper I got for him and says, “You bought me a newspaper, and I bought you a gift for George’s party.”

  He shows me a small box and tells me it’s a stationery set, nice writing paper and envelopes. “So George can write letters home.”

  I don’t tell Dad, but paper doesn’t seem to be much of a gift.

  The talk at dinner
begins much the same as usual. Dad asks Mom how she feels and Mom says, “This was a good day.”

  She always says that. I wonder if she’ll ever admit she’s had a bad day.

  “And do you know what?” Mom asks. “Gert also listens to Helen Trent, and she reminded me about something that happened on the program a few months ago, that a man Helen dreamed of marrying turned out to already be married. He said it was a marriage in name only, that he would soon divorce his wife, but Helen said he should have told her that from the beginning. She said she could never trust him now. And do you know what else she said?”

  Of course, Dad and I don’t know.

  “Betty, Helen’s friend, asked her how she could go on after being betrayed by the man she loved, and Helen said, ‘I go on because I must go on.’

  “Gert told me that. She said it’s something I should think about. And do you know what?” Mom says with the same determined look she must imagine Helen had. “I will go on, too, and I will do well, and not because I must, but because I want to.”

  Sarah’s Mutti said the same thing, but I never heard Mom talk like that before. Even Dad seems surprised. My guess is Mrs. Feiner convinced her that with the right attitude she can beat her illness. I hope that’s true.

  “You remember,” she tells Dad, “the doctor said many people with multiple sclerosis can do well for many years. I’ll be one of them.”

  Next, I tell Mom and Dad about lunch in Dr. Johnson’s office and that photograph of him and Mr. Weils. They’re real interested in that. They think it’s special to eat lunch with the principal and a bunch of teachers. And when they hear that Beth and I were the only kids there, they must realize we’re real good friends.

  “I like her,” Mom says.

  Of course, so do I.

  While Dad and I are washing the dishes, the talk gets back to Mom’s illness. “We’ll help Mom,” Dad says. “But remember, if she says she can do something, let her. That’s important.”

  Dad is holding a glass.

  He smiles and adds, “Just not if it’s with something breakable. The doctor said her strength and coordination may not be so good.”

  After Dad and I clean the dishes and things, we sit by the radio and listen to the Stan Lomax sports report. The Dodgers didn’t play today, but still, there’s Dodgers news. Doctors say that Pee Wee Reese, the player hit on Sunday by a pitched ball, is in satisfactory condition, but he feels dizzy when he sits up. That doesn’t sound satisfactory to me.

  At seven thirty we tune to Burns & Allen. Gracie Allen is running for president on the Surprise Party and she warns all Democrats and Republicans that she has some surprises up her sleeve, along with a box of raisins.

  “Raisins?” George Burns asks.

  “Yes,” Gracie tells him. “Sometimes campaigning for president makes me hungry.”

  “What about your vice president?” George asks.

  “I won’t have one. There won’t be any vice in my administration. Remember, vote for Gracie.”

  I know tomorrow Roger will repeat all Gracie’s jokes, and he does. At lunch on Thursday Roger is even wearing a VOTE FOR GRACIE campaign button he made from shirt cardboard and a safety pin.

  Charles isn’t interested in hearing Gracie jokes. He wants to talk about the war. “My dad likes what Roosevelt is doing. Dad says we have to help, and sending guns and planes to England is better than sending men.”

  Beth shakes her head. “They’re all old guns, all from the last war. It won’t be enough.”

  I don’t say anything, but it seems to me if someone gets shot with an old gun he’s just as dead as if it’s with a new one.

  It’s odd. Outside of class all we talk about is the war, baseball, and radio. In class we’re supposed to be learning what’s going on in the world and we never talk about those things. It’s 1940. There’s a war, real history, but in Mr. Baker’s history class it’s 1802.

  Friday afternoon Sarah and I are waiting by the oak tree. Roger and Charles stop and Roger says, “I know you can’t play ball today, but will you be able to during summer break?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Good,” Roger says, and walks ahead. “We’ll play in the morning, before it gets real hot.”

  That’s what we did last summer. And most afternoons I listened to Dodgers games.

  Charles lingers. “Remember tonight,” he quietly tells me.

  I nod. He didn’t invite Roger, so he doesn’t want him to know about the party. That’s why he whispered, and that’s why I didn’t tell Beth or Sarah, because they also weren’t invited.

  Charles walks off and Sarah asks, “Remember what? ”

  “Oh, I’m just going to his apartment tonight.”

  On the way home Sarah asks us what there is to do here during the summer. “Mutti wants to know what she can do with the boys.”

  Sarah’s mother feels she has to keep Yosef and Moshe busy, so they don’t have time to think about their parents. It’s been a while since they heard from Sarah’s aunt. Sarah didn’t say it, but I think they’re not sure if they’ll ever hear from her again.

  “She can take the boys to the pool,” Beth says. “It’s not far away. I go there on really hot days. Lots of people do.”

  Beth begins to explain to Sarah where the pool is. Then she says, “I can take you there now, but first I want to check the afternoon newspapers.”

  Sarah walks with us to Goldman’s. I look at the afternoon headlines and then walk in with Beth and Sarah. Mr. Goldman gives us a big hello, like he was waiting for us. He insists we drink something. “It’s hot out,” he says, and brings us each a glass of milk.

  I sit with Beth and Sarah for just a short time, finish my milk, thank Mr. Goldman, and start toward home. It’s Friday, and I know Mom wants to shop for the weekend.

  I open the door to our building and expect to see Mom sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. But she’s not there.

  Mrs. Feiner rushes to me.

  “Go right upstairs,” she says. “You dad is here. He came home.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Your mother fell. I heard a terrible thump and ran to her, and there she was on the second-floor landing, bleeding. She was coming downstairs and fell, so I called your dad.”

  I hurry upstairs. Mom is in her room, on her bed. Dad is with her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Mom answers. “I just fell.”

  There are large cuts on both knees. They’re bloody. Mom reaches for my hand and looks up at me. “Really,” she says. “I’m fine.”

  I just stand there for a while. I don’t know what else to do.

  “Tommy, let’s make dinner,” Dad says. “You know how to make noodles, so that’s what we’ll have.”

  We eat at about six and it’s not even four o’clock, much too early to make noodles. By dinner they’d be soggy. I follow Dad to the table. He sits, so I do, too.

  Dad looks at me and says, “Mom is okay. Luckily, she wasn’t badly hurt, but we can’t let her walk up and down the stairs by herself. And something else.”

  Dad stops.

  “What? What else?”

  Dad looks down at the table. “We have to move. We can’t stay here on the third floor.”

  “Move? ”

  “One of the things the last doctor, the neurologist, asked is about our apartment. What floor it’s on. He said climbing steps might become difficult for Mom.” Dad looks at me again. “Elevator buildings are too expensive. I need to find a ground-floor apartment.”

  I just sit there and think what all this means. If we move to a new neighborhood, I’ll have to change schools. I might end up like Sarah, standing outside and no one knows me. I like my friends. I like it here.

  “Mom doesn’t have to go downstairs. I’ll do the shopping. I’ll go to the cleaners.”

  Dad shakes his head. “She can’t be trapped here. She has to be able to get out. She’ll have to go to doctors, and I can’t carry her up and down.”


  “Is that how she got back upstairs after she fell?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Feiner and I helped her up. I carried her into the apartment.”

  We sit there for a while. Where will we move? We’ve lived here for almost ten years. I like it here.

  “Let’s make dinner,” Dad says. “We’ll have noodles and salad, okay?”

  “Let’s make the salad now and the noodles just before dinner.”

  We don’t have the lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers I’ll need to make the salad. Dad gives me money, and before I leave for the store, I look in on Mom.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “This was one of my good days and I fell. That’s all it was. I just fell.”

  “I’m going to the fruit store.”

  “It’s Friday,” Mom says. “Buy enough for the whole weekend. Get some apples and pears, and peaches if there are any. And then, if you don’t mind, please get milk, eggs, and bread at the grocery.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  I’m already doing the shopping. Soon, just like Beth, I’ll probably be doing the cooking, too.

  18

  And I Like You

  At dinner, we talk about moving and Mom says it’s foolish, that she only fell this one time, and she feels good. But we all know Dad is right. Walking up and down the stairs is just too difficult. She might fall again, and the next time it might not be just a few steps—she might fall from the very top. Dad will try to find something nearby, so I can stay in the same school and shop in the same stores, and Mom can be near her friends.

  I tell them I’ll skip George’s party, but both Mom and Dad insist I go. So, at about seven thirty I say good-bye. It’s good to get out. Then I realize how Mom must feel. It would be awful if she could never leave our apartment. I’m sure she’d even get tired listening to Helen Trent, Ma Perkins, and Mary Noble.

  It’s a long walk to Charles’s apartment, past Goldman’s and about four blocks past school. It’s upsetting to me to move, but it must be real upsetting to Mom. I can’t imagine how awful it was for her when she fell. She had to wait for Dad, so she must have been sitting there with Mrs. Feiner for a long time. She must have felt helpless.