The Memory of Us: A Novel

by Camille Di Maio

  “Well, it seems to me,” she said, “that it makes sense to call this Kyle and find out more.”

  “I can’t call him, Dorothy. He’s . . .”

  “He’s what?”

  “Come here.” I took her by the hand and led her down the hall and into my room. She sat on Abigail’s bed, and I pulled Kyle’s picture out of my bureau. His whistling face looked out at me. I handed it to her and was about to tell her the details of our story, such as it was, when Abigail walked in and joined us.

  When they had both heard what I had to say, Abigail looked impressed. “I didn’t know you had it in you, girl. I mean, I thought I knew how to bend a few rules, but Pillow Man is a priest? Well, if you aren’t just the most hard-boiled thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Tough, Julianne. It means you’re tough. You Brits really don’t know how to speak English.”

  Dorothy spoke up. “You’re not helping, Abigail.”

  “You’re right,” she conceded, then turned to me. “I suppose your little secret just shocked me. Look. I agree with that ninny at Bootle House.”

  “Home,” I corrected.

  “OK, then I agree with that ninny at Bootle Home. You need to call Kyle up and see what’s wrong with your brother.”

  “Don’t you think I want to do that? But how do you call a seminary? I hardly think he’s allowed to take calls from girls.” I sighed and dropped the telegram in my lap. “But I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk to Miss Ellis, either.”

  “I think Abigail’s right,” Dorothy said. “You can say it’s an emergency or something. You at least have to try.”

  But still my terror at calling a Catholic seminary overcame my desperation to hear about Charles.

  Abigail offered a solution. “How about this? I’ll make the call for you. At least to get through. You’re in no state to think clearly. Would that help?”

  I wiped my eye and nodded.

  “Good, then. Let’s do this.”

  The three of us walked back into the hall, and Abigail unleashed a stare like death to a girl who was just then walking forward to use the phone. The girl all but sprinted away.

  Abigail spoke into the telephone. “Operator, please get me—”

  “—Ushaw College in Durham,” I whispered. Every word Miss Ellis had ever told me about Kyle was carefully stored in my memory.

  “Durham. Ushaw College. Thank you.”

  We sat in silence as the call was connected. Abigail pressed on.

  “Ushaw College? I need to speak with Kyle McCarthy. He’s one of your seminarians. Well, could you please go get him from dinner? It is rather urgent. Yes, I understand that you are not accustomed to having women call this number, but I’m not accustomed to taking no for an answer, and if I have to crawl through this line and go find Mr. McCarthy myself, I will, because this is an emergency and I thought you’re supposed to be a merciful man of God.”

  Dorothy and I looked at each other. Her eyes rolled, and my jaw dropped open.

  “That’s more like it. Yes. Please connect me to the dining hall, and tell them that a Miss Westcott is calling for him.”

  She looked my way and winked at me. My mouth had not yet closed.

  “My work here is done.” She handed the receiver to me. With unprecedented tact she led Dorothy away by the arm, and they went to their respective rooms and closed their doors. The sounds echoed into the now-empty hall. I slumped back down onto the floor and pulled at snags in my nails while wedging the receiver between my ear and shoulder.

  I nearly jumped when a voice spoke on the other end. “Julianne?”

  “Kyle? Is that you?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Father Herbert said that some vulgar American girl was on the line, but then he gave your name, and it just didn’t add up.”

  I smiled. “That was my roommate. It’s a long story. I can explain another time.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, you know.” He was always saying things that made me feel as if there was hope when there was none.

  “Kyle, I got your telegram, and I’m worried sick. I called Bootle Home, but Miss Ellis is out for the day, and the wench that answered wouldn’t pass me through to anyone who could tell me about Charles.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that. You must be really worried. Well, he’s better now, so you can put your mind at ease, but I’ll tell you what happened. I went back home last week on a break, and I was taking some of my father’s hours at Bootle. I checked in on Charles, like I always do, and the orderly on duty told me that he had been experiencing chest pains and hadn’t eaten in days.”

  “What?” I sat up straight and bumped my head on the table that the telephone sat on. I rubbed it while Kyle kept talking.

  “Yes, and on top of that, he hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t look well, Julianne, but I checked in on him every day between breaks, and he was doing better by the time I had to go back to school yesterday.”

  “What do they think is wrong?”

  “They didn’t really know, as far as I could tell, but the fact that he improved seemed to exceed their expectations.”

  “I’ve got to go up. I want to be with him. He doesn’t understand why I haven’t been there. I’ll start making arrangements with my professors. Surely I can get away for a few days.”

  “I think that’s rash, Julianne. He’s on the mend, and I well know how easy it is to get behind when you miss classes. How about this? My father isn’t doing so well himself, and I’ve been planning to come in for as many weekends as I can. I’ll check on Charles, too, and ring you with an update. If he regresses, I’ll be sure to let you know so that you can come up.”

  “What if I’m not in when you phone?”

  “I’ll leave a message with whomever answers and hope to at least be able to get word to you that way.”

  His kindness touched me, and I held my hand to my heart.

  “Thank you. Again. And Kyle?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry that your father isn’t doing well, either.”

  “Well, that’s a story for another day as well. I can see Father Herbert coming around the corner, and I already have some excuses to make.”

  I placed the receiver down with care this time and smiled. Turning around, I went back to my room, where a thorough retelling of the conversation would surely be expected by my deserving roommate.

  Abertillery

  Agnes’s white linens were soiled now with blood and sweat and afterbirth. It didn’t seem like a fitting way for her children to see her. I found a large quilt and covered her body, leaving only her head and shoulders exposed. On second thought, I pulled her arms out and laid them on top. I folded her hands over themselves and interlaced them with the prayer beads that Mr. Campbell had set down. At the end, I arranged her hair in a way that looked almost normal.

  Mr. Campbell was still with the children. At first Father McCarthy stayed, putting all his oils back into the black bag. My heart pounding, I knew that I could not put it off any longer. I needed to see him, to see if he looked like the Kyle whose voice I’d heard. But when I moved to the right side of the bed to catch a better glimpse of him, to see if the stirrings of my imagination had any grounding, he turned away. I only saw the back of him as he left the room to tell the family the news. I held my head. The dizzy spells were returning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As my classes and hospital schedule had become unpredictable, I missed three phone calls from Kyle over the next six weeks. It was with joy and ache that I would find a page ripped from a school notebook and slipped under my door, imparting a hastily written message by an unknown girl who happened to be there when the telephone rang.

  I no longer needed updates about Charles, as I had rung Miss Ellis several times until I was convinced that my brother had improved from whatever had caused his bout of illness.

  The load lightened as we headed into two weeks of cadaver traini
ng.

  On our orientation day of this session, we were seated in an auditorium-style classroom. Nervous chatter echoed in the cavernous space, and all eyes avoided the sheet-wrapped body on the table on the stage. Abigail slid into the seat next to me, and was uncharacteristically quiet, save for the sounds that accompanied her fidgeting. But I quickly learned that it was not the gruesome classroom matter that had her nervous.

  “Julianne, I have something to tell you.” She shifted in her seat and looked down at her pencil. It contained teeth marks near the end.

  I placed my hand on her arm. “What is it?”

  “You know me. I’ve been known to cross a line once or twice in my life, but it was an absolute rule of mine that I wouldn’t go after another girl’s beau. It’s just not right.”

  “What are you saying?” I could only think of Kyle, but of course he couldn’t possibly be who she was talking about.

  “Jules,” she said, scooting closer to me, “I ran into Roger Kline at an embassy dinner my father took me to. We got to talking, and, well, something just sparked. Do you know what I mean?”

  I smiled and slumped into my hard-backed seat, letting out a sigh of relief. “Abigail, you dilly. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together before.” I even laughed, which seemed to surprise her. “You. Roger. Your backgrounds. Ha! You will give each other a run for the money. I love it. This will be fun to watch.”

  “Then you’re not angry with me?”

  “Angry? Quite the opposite. Roger deserves happiness, and now I don’t have to feel so bad about letting him go.”

  “Well, chap my fanny, you’re a wonder. And here I was worried that I’d be rotting in hell for stealing your man, even if you had cast him off.”

  “No need to be coarse about it.”

  The tall professor, weirdly named Nurse Scrowl, shushed the room, and the girls immediately came to attention. The lights dimmed, and she began the demonstration that included photographs of the cadaver room, a warning that the formaldehyde and subject matter often caused students to faint, and the process we would use for skinning. It was sickening to think about, but I recalled hearing that our school was fortunate to have real specimens. Others used cats or pigs, which hardly replicated the human anatomy.

  I can say with no small degree of pride that I made it through the two weeks without incident, but not without effort and a lot of Vicks VapoRub placed under my nose. As I trudged up the stairs to the dormitory after completing my test, I debated whether to answer the hall phone as it rang or go straight to my room and pass out on my bed.

  Courtesy dictated the former, however, and it was with a yawn that I answered it.

  “Operator placing a call from Durham for Miss Julianne Westcott. Is this Miss Westcott?”

  “It is!” Immediately, every tired cell in my body was electrified, and I felt as if I could run a marathon if I were asked.

  “Julianne?”

  “Kyle?” I said it with more enthusiasm than I wanted to reveal.

  “Aren’t you the busy little bee? Did you get my messages before?”

  “I did. I’m so sorry I missed the calls.”

  “Well, I just wanted to make sure that you knew that Charles was better.”

  “Yes, I’d spoken with Miss Ellis. It’s such a relief. And how is your father?”

  “Not as much good news on that front, I’m afraid. But nothing new, either. He’s just a stubborn old man who won’t see a doctor.”

  “I prayed for him, you know. As best as I knew how.”

  “You did?” I could almost imagine Kyle on the other line, standing straight up at these words.

  I had, in fact, gone to Immaculate Heart of Mary two more times since my original visit, and I had finally gathered the courage to ask the priest after service how I could pray for someone who was ill. It was in these small gestures that I felt close to Kyle, that I tried to understand this vocation that separated us.

  “Yes. I went to a church and lit a candle for your father. I think it was in front of Saint Joseph. I don’t really know the names of the saints, but I picked a statue that was male. That made the most sense.”

  “I’m speechless, Julianne. I am. That means so much to me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a total heathen, right?” I smiled and wound the telephone cord back and forth around my arm.

  “Not a total heathen.”

  “Ha! Shall I hang up now?” This felt like the flirting that I had seen other girls engage in. My cheeks flushed.

  “No, no. Not when I was finally able to reach you. How is school going?”

  “Busy. We just finished training on cadavers, and that’s really all I want to say about that at the moment. That will haunt me for some time, I’m afraid. I do love the part where I get to visit with patients, though. I met an elderly woman the other day who was suffering from meningitis. Despite her pain, she had the most brilliant smile. I enjoyed listening to her stories. Sometimes, she thinks I’m her great-granddaughter and calls me Frances. I let her do it. It makes her happy.”

  “That’s my favorite part of the seminary, too. The people. We have this woman, so old that I’m afraid to even breathe on her for fear she’d just disintegrate. But she comes to Mass daily to dress the altar. I admire anyone who can stick with a commitment like that, especially considering the challenge it must be for her to get there.”

  “Yes.”

  “But enough about all that. You and I spend enough time in those worlds. Tell me what you do in your free time. You must be living it up, being in London.”

  “I’m not quite as exciting as you imagine, I’m afraid. I do try to catch a movie with my friend, Dorothy, when we can.”

  “And boys? I picture a string of them lining up to take you out and show you a good time.”

  How could I answer that? In truth, when I did crawl out of the hole of a classroom and find myself at more social events, I never lacked for young men paying attention to me. But I was a cold fish. Never did I feel anything like what I felt sitting next to Kyle in that derelict barn, or driving in his truck, or even hearing his voice through these telephone lines. I had tried with Roger to give someone else a chance, but it was only Kyle who made my blood race and my mind wander. I was resolved to the fact that I could never be with him, but now that I had contracted that particular affliction, it didn’t feel possible to settle for anything less. I couldn’t tell him that, of course.

  “Well, I suppose that those opportunities are there, but my classes are demanding, so I haven’t allowed myself to be distracted.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he responded. What were Kyle’s own thoughts? I wondered.

  “And other than that,” I continued hastily, opening what seemed a less perilous topic, “it’s getting quite worrisome to be here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you believe that I’m buying myself a gas mask for my birthday?”

  “A gas mask? It’s so sad that it’s actually come to that.”

  “More and more people are doing it. I hate to think about such things, but I’m seeing the need to be realistic, too.”

  “They’re not taking such precautions out here, although I’ve been hearing murmurings that we’ll go that way. Ever since Hitler invaded Austria, it seems that people are waking up to how much power he’s trying to grab and what that will mean for England. There’s a lot of debate here over whether or not we should join the war.”

  “Aren’t you exempt from service, if our boys do get called up again? I mean, since you’re going to be a priest?”

  “Technically, yes, but I’m really not comfortable with that. If we go to war, I want to be in it.”

  I did not like to think of Kyle, even as my friend, donning a uniform and picking up a rifle and charging into certain death. The last war stole a whole generation, and the thought of Kyle lying on a battlefield was unbearable to me. I wanted to promote any means of keeping him out of harm’s way.

  “Wh
at about the fact that you’re Irish? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “The only ties I have to Ireland are the fact that I’m a Catholic, but other than that England has been good to me, and something like that couldn’t stop me from going.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to go if it were me, so I can’t say that I understand your enthusiasm.”

  “I’m not enthusiastic about war, Julianne.” He sounded stern. “For goodness’ sake, I’m going to be a man of the cloth. We’re supposed to be men of peace. But I’m just being honest that if going to war meant that I could protect you and protect others, then I think there’s something holy in that, too.”

  A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I couldn’t speak. Then I sniffled, and I knew he could hear it.

  “Julianne? Are you OK? Did I upset you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Look,” he sighed. “You are my . . .” He paused. “You are my friend. What I’m telling you is that no matter what else separates us, you will always be that. I will look out for you. I will pray for you, and I would fight to save you if it came to that. That’s why boys go to war. We pretend it’s for the glory and the pride and the victory of it all. But it’s not. It’s for those at home. It’s for those we care about.”

  “You care about me?”

  His voice softened to a whisper. “You know I do.”

  I could imagine that his body was next to mine. That we sat next to one another talking instead of being separated by the length of a whole country. That we kept a sliver of space between us, so as not to touch one another, so as not to violate everything that we each stood for. We used a guarded word like care as a substitute for a more authentic one like love, which hovered over the conversation like a thick dark cloud awaiting the slightest provocation to become a thunderstorm. I would not be the one to breach it. As Lucille would surely have said, I should not steal from God.

  So I mirrored his restraint and said simply, “I care about you, too.” Unable to bear a good-bye, I gently set the receiver in its place and returned to my room to cry.