Rose of Anzio - Jalousie (Volume 2): A WWII Epic Love Story

by Alexa Kang

  Again, I hope this letter is acceptable to you. I feel like such a dunce. I don't know how to write anything romantic. I should have taken poetry classes.

  I miss you. Take care of yourself.

  — Love, Anthony

  After reading his letter for the fifth time, Tessa folded it and held it against her heart. This was the closest she could get to Anthony. She could almost feel his warmth through his letter.

  She turned around and ran her fingers across the words "Dream of Love" on the "Liebestraum" poster on the wall. When Anthony came back, she would play this music for him again. She would play this for him as many times as he wanted. She would play all afternoon and all evening anything and everything he wished to hear.

  She read the letter one more time, then went to her dresser and emptied out the top drawer. She needed a special place to keep his letters.

  Deep in the drawer, she found a small jewelry box. She flipped it open, revealing the rose pendant inside. Dear Lord. How could not she have thought of it? Anthony had given this to her for her sixteenth birthday. She held up the pendant by its chain. Sweetness filled her heart again.

  She put the letter into the drawer and placed the jewelry box with the rose pendant carefully on top. From now on, this would be the drawer for Anthony's letters and all their secrets.

  5

  "This is incredible!" Sarah Brinkman jabbered on in the hallway as she and Tessa headed to their rounds to check up on the patients. Their shift had barely begun, but Sarah was already bombarding her with all the details of the news. Upon learning Tessa had transferred to the Nurses Specialized Training Program, Sarah had decided to do the same.

  "I'm so glad you thought of transferring. I don't know why I didn't think of it. Ok, that's not true. Actually, I did think of registering for that program when I signed up to train as a nurse. I guess I was afraid I couldn't handle the pressure. But then you did it. You asked to be transferred and it gave me the shot of confidence I needed to go for it. I told myself, try it. Try it like Tessa did. Still, I can't believe they accepted me. My brothers will be so proud of me. Do you think I'll do okay? Do you think I can manage the workload?"

  "You'll do fine," Tessa said and went into the patients' room on the opposite side of the one Sarah was entering. It was a relief to get away from Sarah's incessant chatter.

  The patients stirred when Tessa entered. Generally bored at the hospital, they were always excited to see a nurse walk in. Anything to help them pass the time was good, and the younger nurses were of special interest to them. How the nurses looked, how they worked, what they did in their private lives. Tessa had never seen a gossipier bunch of men.

  When the men saw that it was her coming to do their check-ups, their enthusiasm evaporated. Among the ones who had been recovering at the hospital the longest, Tessa was known as the Ice Queen. They gave all the nurses nicknames. Sarah was "Sweetie Pie," a nod to her pie-baking skills, and Sarah did often bake pies for them. Ellie was "White Angel." Tessa, though, was "Ice Queen." They did not care for a visit by the Ice Queen. No fun there.

  This was the part about her job that Tessa could do without. Not the part about being given a nickname, but being the subject of idle gossip. Back in London, her mother tended to all sorts of patients—men, women, the elderly, children. Those patients never made the nurses into subjects of amusement. Here, the boys had too little to do and too much time. She was here to work, not to be their entertainment.

  She checked on the patients one by one. Everything was routine until she reached Bed No. 10. The bed, the last in a row near the wall, was empty. Where had the patient gone?

  She checked the patient's chart on the clipboard hanging at the foot of the bed. There, between the bed and the wall, lay a man curled up in a fetal position on the floor.

  "What are you doing down there? Are you all right?" She crouched down. The man didn't answer. He had a glazed look in his eyes and didn't seem aware of her. She looked around the room. No one was paying them any attention. The other patients were carrying on as usual, reading on their beds or talking with each other. She checked the man's medical chart again. Captain Ron Castile. U.S. Marine Corps.

  "Ron? Captain Castile?" She put her hand on his arm. He flinched, then yelped. Startled, she yanked her hand back and stood up.

  She took a closer look at his chart. His medical records said he had been hit by a bullet once in the leg and returned to battle after he recovered from that injury. He was subsequently injured again from exposure to shrapnel, suffering external cuts and wounds for which he underwent surgical operations at a field hospital. He recovered fully from that incident, but had been sent back home because of "nerves." The final assessment on his chart: "Patient unable to mentally operate."

  "He's been like this since he got here last night," said Tommy Ross, the corporal in the bed next to them. Tommy had gotten shot in the stomach at a battle in Africa and had since been honorably discharged. He liked to joke and tell an exaggerated story about how he "lost his guts."

  "He slept on the floor all night last night," Tommy said. "No blanket, no pillow, nothing. The nurses tried to put him back into bed a couple of times, but after they left, he would go right back on the floor. The third time, a doctor came with them and they tried to force him to sleep on his bed. He started squealing like a pig being slaughtered. Woke everybody up. They had to give him a shot of tranquilizer. He woke up later and went right back onto the floor."

  Tessa listened, trying to make sense of what he said.

  "I thought I lost my guts in the war. He really lost his guts." Tommy laughed. "Get it? Lost his guts? Ha ha."

  Not amused, Tessa crouched back down next to the man lying on the hard floor. "Captain Castile? You can't be on the floor. Can I help you get back into your bed?"

  The man turned his eyes to her as if coming out of a trance. He looked disoriented and confused. Unsure how to get him to understand her, Tessa said the first thing that sprung to her mind. "May I hold your hand?"

  He looked as though he was struggling to understand what she had asked, then looked away. Tessa reached out and gently touched his right hand. Her touch seemed to comfort him as he closed his own hand around hers.

  "Ron?" she asked as softly as she could. The man nodded.

  "Captain Castile?" The man winced when he heard the word "captain." Noting his reaction, she said, "Ron then. I'll call you Ron."

  Ron Castile closed his eyes, then opened them again. His lips curled up slightly, almost a smile.

  "Can I take you back to your bed?" she asked.

  He shook his head. In a whisper she could barely hear, he said, "No. I don't deserve it."

  "You don't deserve it? Why?"

  "They died," he said, looking into space. "They all died. I should be in the ground with them, not lying comfortable in bed."

  This was more complicated than she could handle. She needed to finish her rounds, but she couldn't leave the man like this here. Anxious to find a quick solution, she scratched the back of her neck and thought about calling a doctor, but then changed her mind. She didn't want to interrupt the doctors on duty without an emergency. She must try to resolve this herself.

  "I see," she said to him. "How about you don't lie down comfortably? What if you sit on the bed? Can you sit on the bed?"

  Ron's eyes came into focus. "If I sit, would you stay with me?" He tightened his hand around hers.

  "I have to check on the other patients."

  "Then I can't sit," he said, distraught. "I have to stay down here. I'm not worthy to show my face." He was clinging on to her now. "Please don't leave."

  He looked so pitiable, she couldn't ignore him. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "How about this? It's ten o'clock now. My break is coming up at eleven-thirty. Would you sit on your bed until then? It'll be temporary. I'll come back during my break, and you can decide then whether you can continue to sit on the bed or not. Surely no one would blame you if you were only sitting there for
a little while, and only because I told you to wait for me."

  The option of sitting on the bed temporarily seemed to have never occurred to him. But to her relief, he accepted her suggestion and nodded. She came closer and helped him up to the side of the bed. He sat down, but would not let go of her hand. He looked frightened.

  Digging deep to think of what to do to make him let go, she took a handkerchief out of her pocket with her free hand and squeezed it into a ball. "Ron, listen. I have to go away for a little while. Just a little while." She showed him the balled-up handkerchief. "This is mine. If you hold onto it, it would be the same as if you're holding on to me. Can you hold this for me until I come back?"

  Ron looked at the handkerchief. As if intrigued, he let go of her and took it. For the first time since they had spoken, he looked her in the face. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Tessa. Tessa Graham. I'm a nurse here."

  "Pleased to meet you, Tessa." His politeness surprised her.

  "Pleased to meet you too, Ron." She tapped him on the shoulder. "You sit here and wait for me, okay? I'll be back very soon."

  He seemed more grounded now, and she took her leave. As soon as she finished her round, she caught up with Ellie Swanson in the administrative office.

  "Have you seen the patient in Ward 6? The one named Ron Castile?" she asked Ellie.

  "The one who was admitted last night and caused all the commotion? Yes. I haven't checked on him myself, but don't worry. The doctors said there's nothing wrong with him."

  "How can they say that? Something's clearly wrong. He's acting very strange."

  Ellie put down the file in her hand. "All his wounds are healed. We didn't find anything wrong with him."

  Tessa wasn't convinced.

  "Don't worry, Tessa. That patient is fine. We normally don't admit someone who isn't still in recovery, but he said he has back and hip pains. The doctors decided to admit him and run a few more tests because he's the son of someone important in the army. A major general or something. So you see, he's already getting special treatment. Anyway, he probably has a bout of battle fatigue, that's all. He'll come out of it."

  Tessa wasn't so sure, not with that hollow look in his eyes and the desperate way he held on to her hand.

  At break time, she returned to his ward. Ron Castile was sitting on the bed in the same spot as she had left him. But at least, he looked more alert.

  "Hello, Ron," she said. He was still clutching her handkerchief. "See? I'm back. Just like I promised. I brought you orange juice. Would you like some?" She gave him the glass of concentrated orange juice, which she hoped would cheer him up. He took the juice but only held it and didn't drink any. "How are you doing?" she asked.

  Instead of answering her, he asked, "Where am I?"

  "You're in our hospital."

  "The evac hospital?"

  "No. The Chicago Veterans Hospital."

  "Chicago…" He looked confused.

  "Yes. Chicago. You're home."

  He lowered his head and furrowed his brows as if trying to think. "My hip hurts. My back hurts too."

  "Yes, I heard." She didn't tell him his medical files showed no record of back or hip injuries. "Was it gun shots?"

  "I think so." He sounded meek and unsure.

  She decided to see for herself what was wrong with him. "Let's take a look. Would you please lie down on your stomach?"

  He put the juice down and did as she instructed. She lifted the top of his gown. Other than scars from shrapnel, she could see no obvious injury that would cause him pain. "Where exactly does it hurt?"

  "Right here." He pointed to a spot on his lower back above his left hip. "I can't walk right because of it."

  She touched the spot where he had pointed. No sign of any injury. Not even a scar. She pulled his gown back down. "Okay, you can sit back up now." Again, he did as she told him as if he had no will of his own. "When did the pain start?" she asked.

  "In Guadalcanal," he said. "I was leading a troop of thirty marines on a reconnaissance mission. We were ordered to make contact with the Japanese troops stationed west of the Lunga perimeter." His lips stiffened as he spoke. With so much tension in his voice, he could hardly get his words out. She thought he might stop talking, but he continued. "We were sure the Japs would surrender. All the intelligence reports said they were isolated. We landed by boat between Point Cruz and the Matanikau River. We landed, and they had reinforcement. A platoon of Japanese naval troops surrounded us. I had no idea where they came from." He stared at Tessa with terror in his eyes. She took his hand again to encourage him to continue.

  "I screamed for my men to retreat. Then I ran. I ran and ran until I got back to our boats. I had to get my troops out of there. I thought all my boys were with me. I kept yelling for them to run, to run. I shouted as loud as I could. I didn't know if they heard me. There were grenades and bombs exploding all around us. They were firing at us with machine guns from behind every tree. I kept shouting for everyone to run. Then, I got to the boats. The bombing and shooting stopped. I thought we'd gotten away. I looked behind me, and…" He stopped. His face scrunched together and he started to cry. Tessa tightened her grasp of his hand to give him support.

  "I looked behind me, and there was no one there," he whimpered. "I ran back. I shouted everyone's name. Slater. Kent. Harrison. No one answered me. I looked for them for a long time. Then I saw their bodies. They were all dead. My entire troop. They were all killed." At this point, he choked and threw up. Nothing came out. He hadn't eaten breakfast, it seemed. Tessa grabbed the towel on the cabinet stand next to his bed and wiped his mouth.

  While she helped him, she considered the possibility of his account. His story did not sound right. It made no sense that he could escape the Japanese when the rest of his troop didn't. And how could he have run back to look for everyone without being caught? The Japanese couldn't have left so quickly. She watched him more closely, but he didn't appear to be lying.

  "I failed them. I don't know why the Japs didn't see me. I didn't know how I was the only one left. I didn't know what else to do, so I got back to our boats and went back to the base. Then, in the boat, I felt a sharp pain shooting from my hip up to my spine. I was sure someone had shot me. I turned around and shot back. I must have scared him away. I don't know how I made it back to camp. I try so hard to remember but everything is so hazy. They took me to the field hospital. I was sedated for days and I thought they had put me through surgery. But when I had my wits about me again, the medical staff denied it. They said I wasn't shot. How could that be? My back still hurts." He pulled her hand and shook her arm. "They wouldn't treat me. They think I made everything up because I came back uninjured but everyone else died. I told them I was in pain, but no one would believe me."

  She thought about what he said. Whatever really happened, clearly these were his memories of the events. Moreover, the incident had traumatized him. She sat down next to him. "I believe you."

  He looked at her. More tears fell from his eyes.

  "You're here now." She smiled. "We'll take care of you. We'll find out what's wrong and make the pain go away. I promise."

  He took a deep breath and loosened his body.

  "But you must promise me one thing in return."

  "What is that?"

  "Will you sleep on the bed from now on? Not on the floor? If you do that, I'll come see you every day during my break."

  He looked down and rounded his shoulders like he wanted to hide. "I don't deserve the bed."

  "Maybe, maybe not. But it is okay because I told you to do it. You are not choosing to sleep on the bed. You're only doing it because you owe me a promise. So that's okay. Don't you see?" The reason she gave sounded ridiculous even to her. She made it up because she thought something incomprehensible which he could not dispute might be the only way to convince him.

  He thought for a moment, then nodded. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least that problem was solved.

  The bigger prob
lem was, what could she do for him?

  "How about you get some rest? You look like you could use a little sleep. I'll be back later." She got up and patted the pillow. Following her instructions, he lay down and she put the blanket over him. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Here he was, a grown man—a Marine captain no less—letting her tell him what to do as though he were a child.

  Tessa soon found out, making a promise was one thing. Delivering one was another. When she tried to talk to Dr. Donovan about treating Ron the next morning, Donovan showed little interest.

  "I sympathize with him, Tessa, I really do." Donovan looked up from the heap of papers on his desk. "But we're buried with work as it is. We have new patients coming in every day with much more serious injuries. Obviously, Castile has some mental issues, but those aren't life threatening and right now, he is simply not our top priority. Besides, this is a veterans hospital, not a mental institution. Our purpose here is to treat veterans wounded at war."

  "But Doctor, he is this way because of the war," Tessa said, remembering how Ron, muscular with no physical handicap, had curled up on the floor, completely broken.

  Donovan would not be convinced. "To be frank, Tessa, if he weren't the general's son, he would've been discharged already. We need more beds available. All I'm doing is waiting for the general to get here to take him home."

  Disappointed, Tessa left Donovan's office. She would have to try to help Ron herself.

  At break time, she visited Ron again. This time, she found him in bed covered under the blanket from head to toe. "Ron." She touched him on the arm. "Are you cold?"