And Then We Heard the Thunder

by John Oliver Killens

  She said, “As God is my judge, this evening before we went out was the very first time.” His eyes roved uneasily over her voluptuous body. She opened her eyes and closed them again and she seemed to be smiling all over herself.

  He said, “I can’t believe it.”

  Her mounds of nippled softness inhaling and exhaling, the roundish almost-flatness of her belly in and out and in and out. “It’s all right, darling. It was well worth waiting for.” She took his hand and he pulled away from her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because you would have been angrier than you are now, and I wouldn’t have known how to tell you anyhow. But there’s no need to be angry, honey. You really made up for it today, and we have a lifetime before us. And you’re the greatest lover of them all.”

  He said stubbornly, “I’m the same person I was then.”

  She said, “But I’m not. I used to be scared to death when you would have yours and nothing would happen to me. I would get right to the city gates but never reach the city. I thought that maybe it would always be like that, and I was scared to talk to you about it. I thought something was wrong with me.”

  Solly stood up and glowered at this gorgeous woman who was his wife, who was all at once a stranger to him. He was suddenly self-conscious and he stepped into his trousers.

  She said, “Since you left New York I read every book I could lay hands on about the art of making love. The thing we were doing wrong was you weren’t preparing me enough. It takes a woman longer to get excited.”

  He said disgustedly, “Good God! Do we have to talk it into the ground like this? I mean you’re supposed to make love, not talk it to death.”

  She said, “Of course you have to talk about it. You sound like the nineteenth century.”

  The sweat poured from his angry body. “Keep quiet, will you?”

  “You are absolutely reactionary, Solly Saunders, and you’re supposed to be the great progressive.” She held out her hands to him. “Come here, baby, and stop your silly pouting.”

  He went reluctantly to her and bent over her and she reached up and pulled him down till her sassy mouth grabbed his angry trembling lips.

  Later he took off his pants again and started to get in the other bed. She had fallen asleep and was breathing deeply snoring slightly. He walked over to her and looked down into her lovely face and he tried to get into bed beside her, but there wasn’t room, and he started to get out of bed again, but she moved in her sleep to the other edge of the bed, making room for him, and put her arms around his neck and her head upon his chest and it was only then that he realized she was crying quietly.

  “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

  In the midst of tears and sobbing she said, “You think I’m just a sex thing. I mean nothing else to you. To you I’m brainless and heartless and—just a pretty piece—”

  He said angrily, “It isn’t true! You know it isn’t!”

  His chest was wet with her tears. “You think I’m stupid You don’t talk to me about anything important.”

  “That isn’t true!” he shouted softly.

  “I know how you feel about the war, but you won’t discuss it with me. I know it’s antifascist and democratic. Even my boss discusses the issues with me more than you. And he’s just as progressive and liberal as you are, and he doesn’t think I’m beautiful but dumb.”

  Solly said out of his deepest anger, “I’ll just bet he is and does!”

  She sucked the tears back up her nostrils. “Its’ a war we can’t afford to lose. I agree with you. That’s the main reason I wanted you to get promoted—be a leader—an officer—”

  For the last few hours they had been as close as two persons could be and yet he suddenly realized she had made love to a stranger. She thought he was the same man he was four months ago. He sat up in the bed and took her by her sobbing shoulders.

  He said, “Understand me clearly. I am not concerned about this madness called the Democratic War except to get it over with and get out of it. I used to believe in it. But I have had experiences in this democratic Army, and I no longer give a damn. I don’t want to get ahead in here. I just want out.”

  She was shocked to silence for a moment. Finally she said, “You don’t mean that—”

  He said, “You’d better believe I mean it. And I don’t want to discuss it any further.” He got out of bed and got into the other one and lay there breathing angrily, as he listened to her whimper. She got up and came to him, and they lay naked in each other’s arms.

  She said, “Just tell me that you love me. It’s the only thing that matters.”

  He said, “I love you—I love you—I love you—”

  Everybody was on the run all day long the next day and well into the night. They were leaving for the staging area of the port of embarkation on the following morning at six o’clock. When he got back to their room they had a snack and they made love.

  She had that same look of complacent satisfaction. She said, “Let’s go to bed. It’s getting late.”

  He said, “I have to go back to camp tonight. We’re moving out tomorrow morning.”

  She said, “You’re going on some sort of convoy?”

  He should have told her when he met her at the depot in Salinas. He should have told her a thousand times before this time. “We’re going to Camp Stoneman Staging Area up in Pittsburg, California. We’ll be there for a few days getting ready to get on the boat.”

  She sat silently for a moment and then she looked around at the things in the room, one by one, the dresser, the chest of drawers, the chair, the other cot, the other chair, and then to him. “Why?” she said. “You—you should have told me. Why?”

  “I didn’t know myself till you were already on your way, and I didn’t have the heart to tell you yesterday.” He walked over to her and ran his hand through her hair. Her eyes were wide but not so knowing as per usual. Suddenly she looked lonely and betrayed and uncertain of herself. He had never imagined her this way, his proud and haughty one. She aroused in him the deepest compassion. He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Yesterday was such a beautiful happy day for us, I just couldn’t—I mean I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  Her wide eyes filled and she told him she understood, it wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t. She said, “I’ll go with you to the staging point.”

  He told her they were going on a troop train and nothing but soldiers were allowed. She said she would catch a regular train then, because she was going, and she was going to be with him as long as he was in this country. He told her he didn’t know how long they were going to be at the staging area, he didn’t know if he could find a place for her stay in Pittsburg.

  She said, “You don’t want me to go. You’re tired of me already.”

  He said, “Don’t say that, Millie. Because you know it isn’t true.”

  She said, “You don’t love me—you don’t love me, but I don’t care. I’m coming up there anyway.” She pulled away from him and sat on the bed and her eyes got wider and wider and the tears pushed out and spilled down her cheeks. He’d never seen her cry before she came to California. He went to her and sat beside her and took her into his arms and she tried to pull away, but he held her, he kissed her trembling mouth and her salty tears, and she put her arms around his neck and “Solly—Solly—Solly! You’re all I got! You’re all I love!”

  He said stupidly, “Your family, they—”

  She said, “I don’t care about my phony family out in Brooklyn. You and your mother are all I have—all I give a damn about. You think they wanted me to marry you? You think they ever really forgave me?” She laughed bitterly. “You can’t get out of it that easily. You’re stuck with me for better or worse. I know you think it’s mostly for the worst.” And she held him desperately, as if she would never ever let him go, till death, not even then, and his body hard against the softness of her quivering body, and they made love, and this time
love was good for both of them. They reached the city together, together together together! Like they had never done before. And she lay in his arms and laughed and cried at the same time, as if she were hysterical.

  She came to Pittsburg two days later and they found a room in town in a private house. It was smaller than the room at Fort Ord Village, but every night for two weeks they lived desperately, loving fiercely, like they were trying to live and love a lifetime. And now all of that was over and the new thing lay ahead of him. The new thing was the big white boat.

  His eyes searched frantically for Millie as he marched with the other soldiers up the long thoroughfare toward the boat. Women were running out to the line of march, crying and laughing and kissing the men good-bye, but where in the hell was his Millie?

  Bookworm Taylor walked beside him, nibbling from a carton of Baby Ruth candy and keeping up a constant chatter. But Solly’s eyes kept traveling up and down the line of civilians on either side of the street. She would be along here somewhere any second now and she would come calmly out of the throng and walk alongside him till they reached the ship. Solly’s mind made a picture of her, and she looked the same as last night when he left her, as he had walked away from her, with the brisk California night air biting into his warm angry body, when he had turned for one last glimpse of her in the doorway, smiling and waving good-bye to him and looking desperately lost and helpless.

  Last night they had sat on the side of the big iron bed which was almost as big as the two-by-four room, making conversation and half listening to a portable radio, acting like it was just any night and not their last night together. Play-acting like in the moving pictures. He looked into her lovely face and she thought about their baby lying quiet in her belly, and it was building up inside of him like tidewater in the time of flood. There they were, she and their baby, and he was going away from them, and he might be gone forever.

  Suddenly he got to his feet. “Why the hell am I going overseas?” He wasn’t asking her—she knew he wasn’t asking her. And yet he wanted her to tell him.

  “Every man has to go, dear heart,” she said. “And I’m so proud of you, I don’t know what to do.”

  He said angrily, wanting to hurt her now, for some sadistic masochistic reason he could not explain. Hurt her and hurt himself. “What are you so proud of? I didn’t go upward and onward as you expected. I’m just a corporal, that’s all, and that’s just a couple of jumps ahead of a buck private.”

  She said in a quivering voice, “I’m proud of the fact that my husband is a soldier in the Army of the United States, and I’m not worrying about you coming back. I know you are, my darling. I—”

  He said, “You’re goddamn right I am. I’m going to look out for Solly and I’m not going to be a hero either. You can believe me when I say so.”

  She said, “Darling—”

  He said, “The thing that I can’t figure is why I didn’t desert and go to Mexico or down in Central America somewhere like others did, till this damn stupidness is over.”

  She said, “Because you are an American, and your country is at war, and because I love you.”

  He said, “You tell me what a black American has to fight for.”

  He stared at her and could not help thinking of Fannie Mae. He had received a letter at the camp from her that very day. She’d been hearing from Bookworm all along. She told him she would never forget him, and she would never regret him, no matter how many times her heart broke every time the memory came, which was every hour every day. She couldn’t stand the Post Exchange after he left. Seeing lonesome soldiers always made her think of him. So she had quit her job and she was thinking of joining the WAACs and serving her country in the battle for democracy. Maybe she would meet him somewhere sometime on some far-off battlefront. He read the letter after lunch, seated on his bunk in the barracks, read it two or three times and got angrier each time. He tore it into little pieces and let them drop on his bunk and picked them up again and put them in his pocket. He felt a wild and crazy rage. He sat back on his bunk and tried to write her a letter, but each time he got a page written, he would tear it up and put it in the wastebasket at the top of the barracks stairs.

  Finally he went out of the barracks to the maddest wildest loudest Post Exchange in the world. He placed a call to Ebbensville, Georgia, and talked directly to her. He told her she must be out of her mind, volunteering into this cracker Army. She told him not to worry. She had already gone to the armory in Ebbensville to volunteer and had been turned down, because their colored quota was filled. Solly said, “Wonderful!” She said, “I love you, Solly.” He said, “You didn’t have any business trying to enlist in the first place.” She said, “I’ll always love you, even if I never see you again, cause I love you and I’m happy that I love you, and I’ll never love another like I love you.” He said, “I’ll write you when I get where I’m going.” She said, “I’ll always remember you, Solly, and love you, and I’m glad that you love me, and I’m glad you called me to tell me you love me.” He said angrily, “I did not call you to tell—” She said happily, “All right, darling, I understand.” Then he said, “Yes, I love you.” But how in the hell could he love two women? Another thing she said to him was, “I hate to say this, Solly, but there is nothing for us to fight for excepting freedom here at home. All the Negro soldiers should be conscientious objectors. They have no business in the Army.” He tried to talk her out of her bitterness, tried to bolster his own shaky position.

  When he came out of it, Millie was standing in his arms, her hand caressing the back of his neck. “ . . . and for me,” she was saying, “and for our future when it’s over, and for your law career, and furthermore, you might as well make the best of it, there’s nothing we can do about you. You can’t be a deserter. You understand, dear heart?”

  He put his hand on her roundish belly. “And for our child,” he said gently. “For our quiet undemanding baby, who never kicks, no matter what, not even when the Army takes his dad away.”

  She looked away from his face and back again. “Do you love me, Solly? Do you truly love me?”

  He said, “Of course I love you.” Impatiently.

  She said, “Do you love me more than anything else or anybody in all the world?”

  Was she a mind reader?

  “I love you and I’m in love with you. But that does not make me love the Army of my Uncle Sam.”

  She said, “I love you so much, Solly, it’s really frightening. Back home I would wake up in the middle of the night, scared to death that you’d never come back to me, that you didn’t love me anymore—that—”

  “Shut up!” he said. And kissed the words back into her mouth. “Hush your mouth, my baby.”

  She said, “Ever since I’ve known you, every thought has been for you. You don’t think I really give a dime about this phony war. I don’t care who wins, but as long as you have to be in it, I wanted you to make the most of it, but you never listened to me. Oh no—”

  He stood away from her. “I have listened. I am listening. I didn’t need to listen. I had the same idea as you had. I went you one better. I even believed in the war.”

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and sat down on the bed again. “Tell me where I’m wrong. You’re a man with superior intelligence. You’re a colored soldier.”

  “There is that last about me,” he said drily.

  “You have to be in the white folks’ Army. You don’t want to, but you have to be. What’s wrong with hating it as fiercely as you can, but at the same time getting as much out of it as you can? You don’t owe them any loyalty, but you do owe yourself a better life. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

  He went to her and sat down beside her and put his arms around her and kissed the fresh salty tears from her eyes. She was complicatedly uncomplicated. “I love you, Millie baby, I really do.”

  “What’s wrong with getting as much out of the war as you can, even though you hate it? Answer me.”


  “Nothing. Nothing at all. And I don’t even hate the war particularly.” He just despised the Army.

  “All the more reason why you should get the most out of it,” she said. “Everybody is doing it. Look at all the big businesses. Everybody with brains is all out for the war effort to make as big a pile as possible.”

  He said, “Wave those flags and make that money, that’s America to me.” He had a new respect for Millie. She was not naïve with her opportunism. She was awesomely realistic. And she was for him—first, last, and always. He understood this clearly. She was his woman.

  She wiped her eyes again. “Then you agree?”

  He said, “What’s to disagree with? I never disagreed. I’ve made a few silly mistakes which stopped me temporarily, but no matter where they send me, I can work on those advancements, and I can make it, don’t you worry. All I have to do is to put my mind to it.”

  She kissed his cheeks, his nose, the corners of his angry mouth. “I’m so happy, darling. My boss’s son went to an American Officer Candidate School since he’s been overseas in England. He’s a captain already.”

  He said, “If it can be done, your husband will do it. Why should the bastards who never believed in the war make more out of it than me?”

  She kissed his eyes. “And why should the Negro take a back seat? Especially a militant progressive Negro like yourself and with your superiority?”

  He said, “Baby—”

  She said, “My boss is a very liberal man, you know, Solly. He wants to talk with you as soon as you get back about a job in the firm as a legal clerk while you do your last year in law school. And if you come back home an officer, well the chances are—”

  He said, “To hell with what your boss wants.”

  She nibbled and she tongued his ear and she was smiling happy through her tears. “This is our last night together. Let’s not spend it all in talking.” Then she turned from him and stretched out on the bed and began to cry and cry and cry.