Our Seas of Fear and Love

by Richard Shain Cohen

  In this short time, having tested and learned about one another, the parents and the new nurses knew that they could tolerate a weekend together in Maine. Because Brock was a doctor and had a C gasoline sticker, they could get enough gasoline for the trip to Cape Astraea. Andrew had two cars, a Packard sedan and station wagon. They took the station wagon that was still crowded, seven people with their luggage. It could be Andrew’s last summer in Maine. He had a cancer. This thought, despite the merriness of the trip, traveling up the narrow two-lane Newburyport Turnpike, the same kinds of roads in Maine, only these more tree-lined and magnificent, particularly riding alongside rivers with trees bending over them, watching small waterfalls, or crossing small bridges over the quietly floating water caused the Brocks and Lynne occasionally to become silent until someone in the car spoke.

  When they arrived at Cape Astraea, driving toward their house, they passed a large Victorian home. Lynne said, “They’re friends of ours. I used to think I was in love with their youngest son Gregory. Oh, Brigit, talk about looks. What a guy. Sometimes at night, thinking about him, I’d just swoon like he was Sinatra. We used to go swimming at Crawfish Cove. I’m planning to take you there so we can swim.” Lynne saddened. “Now he and his brothers are off to war, one in Europe, one in England, and Greg somewhere in the Mediterranean. He’s in the navy like you’ll be. Sorry. I’ll take the army.” Lynne added, “He’s Jewish.” She knew that bothered her mother. “But I don’t care. Would you?”

  “Uh, uh, I think.”

  To tease her mother, Lynne continued, “I’ll snag him when he gets back. A good catch. His father’s a doctor like mine, and I think he wants to be one. So what more could a woman want?” Then she glanced at her father, watching him wrinkle his nose. The Donovans said nothing, tried to appear uninterested. Then Maureen glanced at Nancy Brock who raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly, hoping the girls didn’t notice. “Girls,” she said to herself. “Not girls, desirable women.” She imagined her daughter entangled in bed with a man, but it had to be the right man. Yet, she knew, no mother or father could control that despite any advice or talk and that eventually parents could either accept or not the man a daughter chose. “But,” she told herself, “being too pushy about the right man could drive a woman faster to the perceived undesirable mate.” Anyhow, she didn’t have to worry about Lynne and Gregory, because she knew it was girlish infatuation.

  When Lynne and Brigit got away from their parents, they went alone to Crawfish Cove. They had all been there together, walked about the land jutting out into the ocean, watching the waves roll against the rocky shore and the white caps. Because the Donovans didn’t swim, the Brocks sat with them in the grass or on the large, time-eroded, tantalizing rock formations while admiring the scenery or watching other families with their children or those with friends sitting in the sun, others down on the beach running along the shore or swimming.

  But alone for the girls was best. Lynne grabbed Brigit’s hand and ran close to a small sheltered part of the beach. “We used to make out over there,” as she pointed toward the area. “Oh, not all the way, though, well, we cammmme sooooo clossse. Terrible, huh? I bet you have too. With Henry. You never would tell me what you two did after you got to know him. Well, anyhow, we didn’t do it. I did let him lie on top of me once. It felt good, but whew, its weighty having a guy lie on you. He’d move up and down over me down there” and she pointed just below her mons, “and come. I liked the feeling too. Don’t you wonder what it’s really like? Sounds like fun. It hurts the first time a friend of mine told me. I was sometimes sorry I didn’t let him go all the way.”

  Brigit nodded, laughing. “I’d like to know too. I let Henry rub against me, feeling his big thing pressing near my, you know, and could tell when he came, you know, that ‘uhh’ and pushing of his body against you.”

  “Oh well,” Lynne told her, both now laughing, “We have to stay virgins for our one and only. Maybe,” she added.

  _______________

  Chapter III

  Love’s Awareness

  Before she stood facing me on the deck, silently but through her eyes telling me there was possibility for us, I had grown so weary of being in the hospital. She lessened the anguish of my recovery period by wheeling me out where we could look over the navy yard, watching ships going off to God knows where, carrying men who had either been in battle or would be for the first time.

  “Brigit.” How I wanted to reach up and bring her down to me and kiss her. She placed her hand on my shoulder and I my hand atop hers.

  “I wish. Oh God, I want to get out of here and be with you. There’s so much ahead. How or when this f . . . . . . ,” I stopped before finishing the word and heard a slight chuckle. “Naughty Lt.” I laughed. “I know you’ve heard it all before. Admit it. You use it too.”

  “I do, but I have to be really angry, so don’t ever get me mad, Greg.”

  “Look at the U.S.S. Constitution over there. You know, I used to read about the sea and wish I could have been born then so I could sail on a ship like that, climb the yardarms. But what a horrible and dangerous job those men had.”

  “And just what do you suppose you’ve been through on that little wooden boat of yours?”

  “I’m a very lucky guy,” it suddenly hit me as I spoke to her. “We lost every other boat in the squadron. What saved us?”

  “G . .” and she stopped. I think she didn’t know if I believed in God nor did she know what it was like being Jewish. She had told me she was Catholic. But so what? My mom is.

  “Brigit. I’m not sure if I believe. But you know my mother’s Catholic like you. My dad wanted us brought up Jewish, and she didn’t care. Well, I did later and hated it, all religion.” I had no idea how this would haunt me one day.

  “Are you religious?”

  “I went to a convent school.” She smiled. “I didn’t like it at times, but there was a nun I liked who kept me from becoming a bad girl,” she laughed.

  How people’s minds work. That deck, the silly talk but still serious. Eventually, when they allowed me to leave the hospital, an Admiral came in when I had just gotten into my dress uniform. He pinned a couple of medals on me. Yes. It was nice. My family would be proud, and the town, I feared and dreaded it, would welcome home the hero or another hero.

  The last ceremony was receipt of my discharge from the navy. I was sad. I liked the navy, but there was a life ahead. Some life. Look at me. I’m sweating from this fucking CLL. Chronic lymphatic leukemia. Some joke. Survive the fucking war for this? Think of something better, you damn fool.

  Yes. Brigit watched when they put the medals on my chest and smiled at me and put her hands together in a clap. I couldn’t let that be the end, and I know she wanted no end to us either.

  After the ceremony and when the crowd had disappeared, she lingered. I couldn’t help myself and said it, “My golden red-haired goddess.” “Be careful what you wish for,” she answered with an enigmatic smile. I ignored that as teasing. I looked to see no one was about, placed my arms about her. She didn’t stop me. We were looking in each other’s eyes with desire and surrender. We kissed, short at first, but then I kissed her longer and she kissed me back. “I believe, Brigit, I love you.” She didn’t answer, just smiled, her eyes brightening still more. “We’re going to see one another. Right?” She shook her head and then whispered, “I’m never going to let you go,” and she held and turned to hold herself against me so I could feel the softness of her breasts in my chest and kissed me, placing her tongue in my mouth. “And don’t forget that.”

  “When I get back from home. No. I’ve got it. You come to Cape Astraea.”

  “Cape Astraea? I’ve been there, Gregory. You’re the one who went with Lynne. I didn’t meet your parents. You think I should?”

  “I don’t have to think. Lynne?? No kidding. I hope she didn’t tell you too much.

  “Just get a few day’s leave and come. I’ll expect you.” We kissed again, not wantin
g to leave one another.

  “I’ve got you now. No Lynne.” She smiled. “I know what you did with her. You think you’re going to do that to me?”

  “That depends.” We laughed together, kissed again, separated, sliding our hands along our bodies and slowly withdrawing from one another.

  ~

  I left the hospital, when, February, March – I don’t quite remember. Why? What’s wrong with my head? – early, anyhow, 1945. I had been in the hospital so long. My leg was worse than they originally thought. The allies were finally, moving slowly at times across France, approaching the Rhine after having been surprised and stalled by the German offensive that became known as the Battle of the Bulge. My brother was in that. In the Pacific we were about to recapture the Philippines. By that time I was safely recovering with the help of Brigit who seemed, though we cared dearly for one another and were getting well acquainted, to have these mysterious healing qualities about her that no matter how close we may have been at the time seemed inexplicable.

  She would touch me, lovingly I felt, and my mind would relax, and I would feel safe with her. She encouraged me, not like Deirdre who doesn’t care if I live or die, probably wants the latter and my money – as if she hasn’t accumulated enough with those peculiar art and archaeological deals of hers. Where does she get it all? How? Oh, the hell with her. I can’t trust her. If it weren’t for the girls. . . my daughters, I mean.

  Brigit. I swear she had a special quality about her that came from far off, a place no one would ever know except Brigit. Oh, my beautiful, loving Brigit. How I loved her. I still do. I wonder if she can sense it. She knows, doesn’t have to sense.

  But I could get along, even walking with a cane. I applied for med school. Brigit and I had discussed that. Hmmm. It’s funny. It’s almost like the time with Lynne when she said she’d wait for me. But I thought Brigit would even marry me if I pressed hard enough. Then again, maybe not. The religion thing. Yeah, I know. Catholics, my mother and Brigit. It’s peculiar and makes you wonder. But we just agreed to wait until after med school. I also told my father and mother. My father was ecstatic, my mother pleased but I know wondering whether I could take the intensity of the study. Even the admissions office wanted to know whether I was sufficiently recovered, the asses. You either have the desire and the brains or you don’t.

  ~

  When I was home in Maine, it was almost as though there had been no war for me. At least, I felt so comfortable, as in the past, my mother in her music room practicing, listening to her thrilling voice. Occasionally she would travel to Boston to be with her maestro. My father was at his practice.

  So, alone, there were times I moped around the house, time going slowly. The fellows I had known were in the service. My mother came home one day soon after I returned wearing my uniform and ribbons, hobbling along. “Oh, what happened to Gregory, Jocelyn? Is he all right?” After the usual answers and “Yes, he’s going to be fine. He has his father, if anything bothers him.” My father was a marvelous diagnostician and let the rule go about doctors never taking care of their families. Yet, he was helpless, sometimes, even my mother’s music when I became depressed or lonely for Brigit, for the men I had gotten to know in the hospital, those on my ship. I would wonder what had happened to our last minesweeper. After the invasion of Southern France, I finally heard that my boat was decommissioned and the men sent to the Pacific. It was a terribly difficult time. I looked forward to the Fall and starting med school. What really kept me going was Brigit, thinking about her, dreaming of her. Marvelous dreams in which we made love. Sometimes she would withdraw or hide her face in her shoulder, as if telling me it was never to be, or maybe because she was a virgin in the dream. In fact I don’t know whether or not she was, but in that dream she didn’t want to arouse me. Those were lousy dreams. The others rejuvenated me. I would wake both pleased and happy, then sorry because she was after all not beside me.

  Summer came. June. The gruesome Battle of Okinawa was over. Aside from reading and thinking about the war, Brigit and I we talked on the phone, telling one another how we missed being together. Then she told me she got a seven-day leave and was coming to Cape Astraea. There was such strength in her voice when she said it. “Gregory. Your parents. Can they stand having me for that long? You’ve told me so much about your mother and your father’s being well known for his evening clinic. I’ve seen articles in the paper about him, your mother too.”

  “Well, he’s semi-retired now since we moved to Maine and takes the train to Boston three days a week in time for clinic hours. The new director, for courtesy’s sake, defers to him. When the time comes, and he wants to keep busy, he’ll see patients in a Portland practice that said it would welcome him. Anyhow, forget what you’ve read about them. They’re just good parents you’ll enjoy and vice versa.”

  “I’m just a farmer’s daughter – well, rancher’s. I didn’t meet them when I was up there with the Brocks after graduation. But don’t forget. I know about you and Lynne. Greg, she writes me. I’m not going to compete with her, if this war is over by then. Do you think it will be?”

  She was afraid of meeting my parents and just had to talk without my interruptions. Finally I said it. “Stop. Right now. My parents are going to love you. And you’re not competing with anyone or ever will. Just come. I’ll take you to Crawfish Cove, we’ll swim,” She laughed but never said she was thinking of Lynne and me and what she heard. “We’ll go into Portland, to the art museum. We’ll listen to music. My mother will sing for you. You’ll have a private concert. Hurry, Brigit. Good heavens. My heart’s pounding.”

  “Well, mine is too.”

  “Brigit,” I wanted to say it to her looking in her eyes, the brightness of those eyes but couldn’t help myself. “I love you.”

  There was hesitation, a deep breath I heard from her. “Gregory.” She stopped, “Gregory. I’m kissing you. I wish I could feel your lips; you’re mine though. But it won’t be long.”

  At first my mother wanted Mary to drive to the station, but I insisted everybody wait at home. I had driven some and was beginning to feel more comfortable in the car. Here it was June. The war in Europe was over and the Pacific would be over soon. My thoughts, however, were on the train and watching that lovely woman coming down the steps.

  She appeared in her navy summer uniform. Seeing me she waved, and as she stepped carefully down holding a suitcase, I watched the curve of her hip, and there she stood, tall, her red hair showing below her cap, the litheness of her even in uniform. We were together, our arms about each other, kissing. The marvelous softness of her mouth.

  “How’s my hero?” She smiled, moving back from me to look. We both did at arms’ length, but holding onto one another.

  “Oh, Brigit, I never thought this would happen.” I started to laugh slightly. “You know what? I’m thinking of all those guys in the hospital and the way they would makes passes at you.

  And I’m the lucky one.”

  “It isn’t luck, mister.” She hit me lightly on the arm. “No woman is luck. Oh, those nasty comments about all of us. Like all women are for one thing. Oh, I should stop this. Except, you’re beautiful, Gregory, well, handsome, and you look so good I could lick all the frosting off you right in front of everyone.”

  I took her bag, although she tried to stop me. “Listen, nurse, I’m O.K.”

  “I’m still a little nervous, Greg.”

  “Listen, they’ll take a look at you, and that’s all they’ll need. And when they hear your voice. C’mon. Wait til you see where I live. Of course, we don’t have those huge swaths of land your family does.”

  We looked at one another, our eyes holding us. From her movement, it seemed Brigit felt a chill. I believe she wanted my arms about her, the warmth of them, the feeling throughout her body when I held her. “Gregory, I want to kiss you right here.”