Chapter 2
“Where were you last night?” Arthur yawned as they had breakfast together in the dining room of the hotel where they were quartered. It was the Hôtel Idéal on the rue Saint-Sebastien, and troops were being billeted in similar quarters all over Paris. Arthur himself had had a particularly pleasant evening, which ended with too much wine, but not too many women.
“I had dinner with Solange,” Sam said casually as he finished his coffee, trying to make it sound like any ordinary date, which they both knew it wasn't.
“Who's that? Someone you picked up after you left me?”
“Nope.” Sam looked him right in the eye, with the famous grin full of mischief. “You remember her … we met her yesterday on the rue d'Arcole … red hair, green eyes … nice legs … great walk …”
“Are you serious?” He looked stunned, and then he laughed, it was obvious that Sam was teasing. “For a minute, I believed you. Seriously, where were you?”
“I told you. With Solange.” And this time he looked as though he meant it. “Walker, do you mean it? That girl? Where in hell did you find her?”
“Outside her house. I went back, just in case, and she was coming home. She tutors a kid with tuberculosis.”
“How the hell do you know? As I recall, she only spoke French to us, argot at that.” Arthur looked stunned.
“She speaks a little English. Not a lot, but enough. Other than the fact she told me she was ninety years old, we got along great.” He smiled a proprietary smile at Arthur. It was clear that Solange was already his woman, and looking at him, Arthur felt a pang of regret for not having persisted. There was something about Sam, and people like him. Invariably in life, they won all the prizes.
“How old is she?” He was curious now. Like Sam, he wanted to know everything about her.
“Nineteen.”
“And her father didn't come after you with a butcher knife?”
Sam shook his head quietly. “Her father and brother were killed by the Germans. Her mother died of tuberculosis. She's alone.”
Arthur looked impressed. They really had had a conversation. “Are you seeing her again?”
Sam nodded, and then smiled knowingly at his friend. “Yes, I am, and she doesn't know it yet, Patterson, but after the war, we're going to get married.”
Arthur's jaw almost dropped as he stared at his friend, but this time he didn't even bother to tell him he was crazy, because the crazy thing was that he suddenly sensed that Sam meant it.
Sam and Solange met again for dinner that night, and this time, she told him what it was like living in Paris with the Germans. In a subtler way, it was worse than what he'd been through, and she had been defenseless. She'd had to live by her wits, avoiding being arrested or tortured or merely raped by the Germans who felt they owned Paris and all the women in it. And after her father had died, she had had to support her mother. They had had hardly any food, and she had given almost everything to her mother. They had lost their apartment eventually, and her mother had died in her arms in a rented room, the room she still lived in now, filled with its ugly memories and sad ghosts, but she had nowhere else to go now. And after what she'd seen during the war, there was no one left that she trusted. Her brother's betrayal had been the final blow to any feeling she had once had for France or her fellow Frenchmen.
“I'd like you to come to America one day,” he said as though testing the waters, as he watched her eat. He kept ordering food, and was gratified that she ate it.
She shrugged in answer to his invitation, as though it were an impossible dream, not even worth thinking about. “Very far …” She gestured and then explained in French, “C'est très loin.” In every possible way was what she was thinking.
“Not so far.”
“And you? 'Arvard again after the war?”
“Maybe.” If it even mattered anymore. It was hard to imagine going back to school again. Maybe he would try acting after all. He and Arthur had talked about it a lot, at night, in the foxholes. It made sense there. But it was hard to know what would make sense once they got home. Things would be very different. “I want to be an actor.” He tried it out on her, to see what she would say, and she looked intrigued by it.
“An actor?” And then she nodded, as though it made sense to her, and he wanted to kiss her. He smiled at her and she wasn't quite sure why, and then he ordered a bowl of fruit for her, which was the first she'd had in months, or even dreamed of. His generosity embarrassed her, yet in another way it seemed very natural, as though they were old friends. It was difficult to imagine that this was only their second dinner together.
Their friendship seemed to flourish as they took walks along the Seine, and stopped in little bistros and cafes to talk and eat and finally hold hands. Sam had hardly seen Arthur in days, and when they met over breakfast, Sam didn't like what he had to say. Patton crossed the Meuse two days after their victory parade down the Champs-Élysées, and the week after was at Metz on the Moselle on the way to Belgium. It was unlikely that they would be allowed to languish in Paris for much longer. And on September third both Brussels and Antwerp were liberated by the British.
“They're going to have our asses back out there any day, Sam, mark my words,” Patterson said gloomily over coffee, and Sam knew he was right, but he was desperate to stay with Solange now. And on the day Brussels had fallen to the British, he had gone to her room, and he had gently pulled away the old blue dress that had been her mother's and made love to her for the first time. And to his amazement, and delight, he had discovered that she was a virgin. She had lain in his arms afterward with tears of happiness washing her cheeks as he kissed her. And Sam had fallen more desperately in love with her than ever.
“I love you so much, Sam.” Her voice was husky and gentle as she carefully pronounced the words.
“So do I, Solange … so do I….” He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her now, and he knew she hated the thought too. She seemed so much more dependent on him now, more trusting and open. But two weeks later, he got his orders. They were moving on to the German front, there was a war to fight after all, and at least the end was in sight now. Everyone was certain that with the rest of Europe liberated, Germany would fall quickly … maybe even by Christmas, he promised her late one night, as he sculpted her exquisite body with hungry fingers. She had flesh of a satin he had never touched before, and hair that fell past her shoulders and over her breasts like benign fire as he kissed her.
“I love you, Solange … oh, God, how I love you.” He had never known anyone like her. Surely not in Boston, or anywhere since then. “Will you marry me when the war is over?” Her eyes were full of tears when he asked her, and she didn't answer. He forced her to look at him, and the tears spilled slowly down her cheeks as though she knew something he didn't. “What's the matter, sweetheart?”
She could hardly force herself to say the words, and it was even harder for her in English. “Many things change in war, Sam….” He loved the way she said his name, he loved the way she breathed and spoke and smelled. He loved everything about her with a passion that seemed to sweep him right into the heavens. He had never before felt any of the emotions she brought him. “You go to 'Arvard again … après … and …” she shrugged helplessly, “you will forget Paris.” What she really meant was that he would forget her, and he stared at her in amazement.
“Do you really think I could forget this? Do you really think this is some kind of soldier's sport? Dammit, I love you!” For the first time, she saw him angry, and he made love to her this time with a vengeance. “I love you. Do you understand that? This is what's important! And when the war is over, I'm taking you home with me. Will you come?”
She nodded slowly, still unable to believe that he would really want her when the war was over … if he even lived through it. She could not bear the thought of that. She had lost everyone in the war, and perhaps now she would lose him too. It was enough to make her fearful of loving him, and yet, like him
, she was unable to stop it. It was a passion greater than both of them.
Sam felt as though his soul was being torn from hers. On the day he left Paris she had come to say good-bye, and she and Sam were both speechless with tears when he finally left her. Arthur had never seen him like that as the troops marched out of the Porte Saint-Cloud. Sam had to force himself not to look back again, or he might have deserted. He couldn't bear seeing her standing there as he marched away She was sobbing the last time he saw her.
When they reached the Ardennes, Sam fought with an even greater vengeance than he had before. It was as though the harder he fought the quicker he could get back to Solange and take her home with him. But by the end of September, the dream was beginning to fade, not the dream of Solange, but the dream of seeing the war end by Christmas. The Germans were not as weakened as everyone had thought, and they fought ruthlessly. It was only at the end of October that Aachen fell, restoring some hope to Sam and Arthur and their comrades. In Arnhem, they weren't as lucky, and by then winter had set in, and the bitter winds and freezing cold began to remind Sam and Arthur of the previous winter they had spent in the Italian mountains.
From October to December they fought in the bitter cold and snows and felt as though they were getting nowhere. Hitler had added new Panzer brigades, and the tanks just seemed to keep on coming forever.
“Christ, do you believe this shit?” Sam looked exhausted as he and Arthur sat in the dark one night, their hands frozen, their feet numb, their faces tingling in the cold, and it was the first time Arthur had seen him so discouraged. All he talked about was spending Christmas with Solange, and it was long since obvious to all of them now that that was not going to happen.
On December 16, the Battle of the Bulge began, and for a solid week the Germans pounded the Allies. It wasn't until the skies cleared on the twenty-third that the Allies were able to begin pushing them back, and even then victory for the Allies was uncertain. It was even more disheartening to learn that on December 17, ninety prisoners of war had been killed by the Germans at Malmédy, in a singularly heartless gesture that violated all of the ethics of war, if any such thing still existed.
And on Christmas Eve, Arthur and Sam sat side by side in a snow-filled foxhole, trying to keep warm and sharing their rations.
“I don't know, Patterson … I think the turkey was better last year. Think we should look for a new chef?” But despite the words so typical of Sam, his eyes were glazed with exhaustion and he wore a week's beard on his thin cheeks. He seemed to have aged ten years since he left Paris, perhaps because he had so much at stake now.
Their sergeant had been killed crossing the Ardennes, and suddenly Sam found himself missing him … Solange … even his sister in Boston, from whom he had still heard nothing.
“I wonder what she's doing in Paris.” Sam said the words almost to himself, thinking of Solange, and if Arthur hadn't been so bitter cold to the bone, he would have smiled at him.
“Thinking about you probably. Lucky bastard.” He still remembered how beautiful she was, and wished he had been as persistent as Sam in speaking to her. He spoke French after all, but … that was silly. She was Sam's girl now.
“Care for some chocolate cake?” Sam held out a piece of rock-hard biscuit he'd been carrying around in his jacket for a week and Arthur declined with a wry face. “Waiting for the soufflé? I don't blame you.”
“Cut it out, you're making me hungry.” But in truth, they were too cold to eat, too cold, and too tired, and too frightened.
The Germans didn't begin to fall back until two days afterward, and the Battle of the Bulge was finally over. In March, they took the bridge at Remagen near Bonn, and in April they met the Ninth Army at Lippstadt and then went on to take 325,000 German prisoners near the Ruhr, and it finally looked as though the end was approaching. And on April 25, at Torgau, they joined forces with the Russians. Roosevelt had died two weeks before, and the news had saddened everyone, but the men on the front were intent on winning and getting home. The Battle of Berlin had begun, and on May 2, Berlin was silent at last. On May 7, Germany surrendered, and Arthur and Sam stood looking at each other, with tears running down their faces. Was it over? Could it be? From North Africa to Italy to France, and now Germany, it felt as though they had crossed half the world, and they had. They had freed it.
“My God, Sam …” Arthur whispered to him as they heard the news … “It's over … I don't believe it.” They embraced like the brothers they had become, and Sam had an odd feeling of nostalgia that that moment would never come again, and then a moment later he was grateful that it wouldn't. He threw his helmet in the air, and gave a tremendous whoop, but it wasn't Arthur he was thinking of now. It was Solange … he was going Home! And just as he had promised her eight months before, he was going to take her with him.
Chapter 3
The army had given him three days leave before shipping him back to the States in May of 1945, and Sam had headed straight for Paris, and he had found Solange there just as he had left her. There was such relief on her face when she saw him that it was easy to read what her feelings were, and the three days flew by faster than either of them could have dreamed.
And she cried copiously this time when he left her at the station to return to Berlin, and from there back to the States for his discharge. He had thought of marrying her before he left Paris, but there was too much red tape, and it would be easier to marry her in the States. He had promised to send for her by the end of the summer. But he had to make some money first. He had already decided not to go back to Harvard, and he wanted to try his luck as an actor. But he was willing to do anything to make the money he needed to pay Solange's passage. He was going to have her come to the States on a tourist visa, and marry her the minute she arrived. He could hardly stand the thought of the months ahead without her.
In New York, Arthur had talked him into moving in with him until Sam found an apartment, and all Sam could think of was getting settled.
“Don't cry, sweetheart. I promise … no later than September.” That gave him four months to get everything organized and have enough money to support her. He was twenty-three years old, he had survived the war, and he had the world by the tail now.
“I love you, Sam!” She shouted as the train pulled away, and she waved for as long as he could see her.
“Cute girl you got, Private,” an admiring sergeant said as they settled down on the train, and Sam only nodded. He wasn't anxious to discuss Solange with anyone, and he wasn't particularly keen on the other soldiers' constantly admiring glances. She was a beautiful young woman, but she was more than that. She was his now.
The train pulled into the Berlin station at midnight, and Sam made his way back to his quarters to look for Arthur. Arthur had been keeping himself busy with the German girls, and he seemed to have a decided preference for tall blondes. He was in seventh heaven in Germany, and Sam teased him about it constantly, but when he came in that night, Arthur wasn't there, and Sam went to bed, his head filled with thoughts of his bride-to-be, and the life they would share in New York. And before he knew it, it was eight o'clock the next morning. He left Germany two days after that, with Arthur scheduled to come home two weeks later.
Sam was flown to Fort Dix, New Jersey, to muster out, and he took the train to New York from there, and as he stepped off the train in Penn Station, he felt as though he had landed on the moon. After three years in Europe, fighting in the filth and the mud and the rain and the snow, it seemed incredible to be home and see people going about their normal lives. He could hardly adjust to any of it, not even the little hotel where he stayed on the West Side, and he was desperately lonely for Arthur and Solange as he pounded the pavement, going to agents and acting schools, and looking for jobs that would help him keep body and soul together in the meantime.
The army had given him one hundred and fifty-four dollars when he was discharged and his funds were dwindling rapidly. It was a huge relief when Arthur came home
two weeks later and Sam could move in with him and his mother. He hadn't wanted to impose on her before that. But it was a joy to be with him again, not just because of the money he was saving but because at last he had someone to talk to. They talked for hours in the bedroom they shared, like two kids. Although Arthur's mother often complained that she could hear them, and she wore a disapproving look whenever she spoke to Sam, which was not often. It was as though the war had somehow been Sam's fault, and their laughter and remembered tales only helped to prove that they'd been having a good time, and had stayed away just to cause her anguish. She seemed to view Sam as a constant, unhappy reminder of a difficult time and it was a relief when Arthur found a place of his own, and let Sam stay with him there. By then, Sam had a job as a waiter at P. J. Clarke's on Third Avenue, and had enrolled in an acting school on West Thirty-ninth, but he hadn't been offered any parts and he was beginning to wonder if it was all a hopeless dream, when someone finally auditioned him for an off-Broadway show. He didn't get the part, but he felt a little closer than he had before, and he knew where he had gone wrong. He discussed it at length with his acting coach, and when he auditioned a second time in late July, this time he got a walk-on part in an off-Broadway show, and he wrote about it to Solange as a major victory. But it was far more exciting to both of them when, in September, he finally sent her enough money to come over. It was just enough for her fare, and a few extra dollars to buy some clothes, and he had explained at length to her that they would be living on his waiter's salary and tips, and the going would be rough for a long time. But there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her with him.
She arrived on September twenty-sixth, tourist class, on the De Grasse, which was still the only ship sailing out of Le Havre since the war had ended. And Sam stood staring at the decks with a pair of binoculars Arthur had given him. He searched every face he could see, and for a moment he panicked, fearing she hadn't made the journey … and then … on a lower deck, he saw a white dress, and a small white hat, and beneath it the red hair he loved so much and the face he had longed for. He waved frantically, but there were too many people on the dock and he knew she hadn't seen him.
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