Mr. Colby said he thought War Bonds were not only patriotic, they were a sound investment. Everyone agreed, and Artie told how he had already covered up four pages of his War Stamp book with dime War Stamps.
“Attaboy,” Roy said, and managed to give Artie a nice wink.
“Laudable,” Mrs. Colby said.
Then she went on about what a harsh winter it had been, and after everyone agreed with that too there was just quiet all around, until out of the blue Artie’s Mom spoke up.
“All at once I looked and saw a crowd of daffodils,” she said.
“Dot loves her poetry,” Dad said proudly.
He would probably have patted her on the knee, except he hadn’t got to sit next to her.
“I’m afraid I was spoiled by the Bard,” Mrs. Colby said. “I can’t seem to fathom contemporary.”
“To each his own,” Artie’s Mom said brightly.
Then it was quiet again, right through dessert, which was chocolate pudding, but Mrs. Colby called it Moose.
Artie had to pinch himself hard on the leg and think about Japanese torture to stave off a giggling fit about the Moose.
Everyone “retired to the living room” as Mr. Colby put it, and they all got a glass of sherry wine except for Artie, who didn’t want anything anyway except for a stick of the Doublemint he’d brought to chew for keeping his mind off the awful itching of the wool suit.
Mr. Colby hooked his thumb in the pocket of his vest and finally got down to brass tacks.
“I’m sure we would all agree,” he said like a judge in a courtroom, “that any sort of formal engagement between these two fine young people would be precariously premature.”
“If anything’s ‘precarious,’” Artie’s Mom said, “it’s my son going off to fight in a foreign war.”
“I fully sympathize with you,” Mrs. Colby said, “and I lay the blame squarely on F.D.R., who solemnly promised that none of Our Boys would be sent overseas to settle other people’s differences.”
“That was before Pearl Harbor,” Dad said.
“F.D.R. could have avoided Pearl Harbor,” Mr. Colby said. “He let it happen just to stir up the kind of hatred that would plunge us into war.”
“Horse manure,” Dad said quietly.
“Really!” Mrs. Colby snapped.
“Excuse my French,” Dad said, “but Franklin Delano Roosevelt is the President of the United States, whatever we may think of him.”
“That is no less tragic for being indisputable,” Mr. Colby said.
Shirley stood up, locking her pale hands together in front of herself.
“Roy and I are in love,” she said.
“You’re a child of seventeen,” Mrs. Colby said.
Now Roy stood up, squaring his shoulders and putting his hands behind him like at the position of Parade Rest.
“I am nineteen years old and a, Private in the United States Marine Corps. I am in love with Shirley, and she has accepted my engagement ring.”
“Not with our permission,” Mr. Colby said.
“Then I am officially asking you to grant such permission, sir,” Roy said.
“Out of the question,” Mrs. Colby said.
Shirley went to Roy and took his hand.
They stood together, like facing the firing squad.
“They certainly make a nice couple,” Mom said.
“This is not a high school prom!” Mrs. Colby shouted.
“You are right as rain, ma’am,” Dad said calmly. “This is Wartime, and young people have to grow up fast.”
“My daughter does not have to grow up one whit faster than God intended,” Mrs. Colby said, “no matter what F.D.R. wants.”
“She is going to graduate from high school,” Mr. Colby said, “a recognized milestone on the road to maturity which, if I am correct, young Roy here has not yet passed himself.”
“He enlisted is why!” Artie shouted.
“Children should be seen and not heard,” Mrs. Colby said with a fake sweet smile.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Dad said, one-upping the old crow.
“I can still be engaged and finish high school!” Shirley said.
“One thing leads to another,” Mrs. Colby said. “You could end up being a War wife, living in one of those tin-roof huts.”
“Quonset huts,” Artie corrected her.
“I only want Shirley to wait for me,” Roy said, “until I get the job done and come back to finish my own education.”
“She can wait without getting engaged,” Mrs. Colby said.
“It’s not the same!” Shirley shouted.
“Exactly our point, my dear,” Mr. Colby said smugly.
“She already has my ID bracelet anyway,” Roy said. “The ring is just the next step.”
“High school mementos are perfectly acceptable,” Mrs. Colby said.
“Is that some kind of rule out of Emily Post?” Roy asked her angrily.
“I’m happy to know you’re aware of her existence,” Mrs. Colby snapped.
“Mother!” Shirley cried.
“My son may not be a scholar, but he’s always been a gentleman,” Mom said. “Roy, I mean. Artie is something of a scholar as well.”
“If your son is indeed a gentleman,” Mr. Colby said, “he will refrain from pressing his suit.”
Suddenly Artie got this picture in his head of Roy in his underwear standing at an ironing board with his Marine dress uniform draped over it all wrinkled and Roy trying to iron it out when old man Colby comes rushing in and yanks the iron away, telling Roy he can’t “press his suit.”
“Hey, Roy, you can’t press your suit!” Artie blurted out and this time even though he quickly tried to pinch himself hard and think of dirty Japs lighting straws underneath his fingernails he couldn’t stave off the new laugh attack; this was a real blitzkrieg of laugh attacks, one that burst out with a howl and had him rolling on the floor with the tears running down his cheeks and stuff coming out of his nose.
“The child is possessed!” Mrs. Colby cried, which only made Artie’s laugh attack all the worse, doubling him up with hysterics, sending him rolling across the Colbys’ living room floor as he yanked at his collar for air, gasping and gulping between the wild giggles, seeing his contorted reflection in the mirror of Roy’s glossy-shined black Marine shoes, which made his laugh even wilder, and then he heard the giggling spread to his mother and father and Shirley burst into sobs but it was too late to stop himself.
The next thing he remembered was hiccuping going back home in the back seat of the car and Roy saying disgustedly, “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.”
The next day Artie apologized and Roy swore he wasn’t mad at him, so they horsed around in the backyard tossing the football and then Roy asked Artie if he’d like to learn some Marine judo tactics. Artie said sure, how did he do it?
Roy assumed a balanced stance of readiness and said, “Come at me like you’ve got a knife.’”
Artie pretended he had a knife in his right hand, raised it high and went rushing at Roy, when the next thing he knew he was flying through the air, his stomach in his mouth, and landed with a sickening thump on the hard ground.
Roy came over and looked down at him, his brows furrowed seriously.
“You all right, soldier?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Artie in a whisper that was the loudest thing he could do, and Roy reached down and helped him up.
Artie never knew if the judo was to get him for having the laughing fit at the Colbys or just because Roy wanted to let him in on the Secrets of War. Whatever it was, Artie was relieved to know that if any dirty Jap came at Roy with a knife, the poor little Nip wouldn’t stand a chance. Roy would just do the judo on him and flip him clear back to the Land of the Rising Sun.
6
Even though Shirley’s folks wouldn’t allow her to get engaged to Roy they didn’t try to stop her from going out with him, and every night after supper Dad would toss Roy the keys to the car and he’d
take off to pick up Shirley to go to a movie or drive. Artie figured there wasn’t much driving, it was probably mostly parking, so they could neck each other up. Or maybe even do the dirty deed, except with Shirley it wouldn’t be a dirty deed, it would be because of Love and real pure. Ordinarily a girl like Shirley wouldn’t do it until she was married but now that the War was on even some nice girls did it with their boyfriends before they went overseas, since it might be the only chance they’d ever have to do it at all in case the guy was killed, which made it all right and even patriotic, since doing it would boost the fighting man’s morale.
Except for the judo trick, if you counted that as something mean, Roy was real nice to Artie all the time, like he was to everyone else, now that he was changed from a black sheep into a U.S. Marine. He got up every morning for breakfast, and instead of pacing around and glomming down peanut butter sandwiches and milk, he sat at the table and ate eggs and bacon and toast and coffee and juice and even oatmeal, even thanking Mom for the great chow. That’s what Artie called his food now, too. “Chow.” It was lots more fun to think you were “chowing down” instead of just eating. It was more like being in Wartime.
Everything went so fast Artie realized at recess one morning that Roy’s leave was more than half over and he might never see him again till he’d helped slap the Japs off the map and then knock the Nazis to kingdom come, which might take a lot of months or even years. Artie decided instead of going to Geography he would go and find Roy, so they could do some more brotherly shooting the bull. Roy walked a lot now. After sitting around and helping Mom with the breakfast dishes, he liked to just stroll through Town or out to his favorite rock at Skinner Creek, mulling things over, until it was time to meet Shirley after school. When the recess bell rang, instead of going back inside from the schoolyard, Artie just sort of slunk around the side of the building and walked on away, like it was the normal thing. If you acted like what you were doing was normal, people didn’t usually ask any questions.
Artie just meandered on out to Skinner Creek, stalking through the woods like a Marine on a mission, careful not to snap any twigs or brush against crackly bushes that might alert the enemy if any were around. He stopped when he spotted Roy’s rock, stiffening, not moving a muscle.
Roy was there but so was Shirley, too, both of them sitting under a big blanket. Evidently Shirley had the same idea Artie did, that so little time was left she’d rather be spending it with Roy, even if it meant cutting classes. Artie didn’t want to horn in on them, but he figured he might just go over and shoot the breeze for a while and then make himself scarce, when he noticed that Roy’s pants and shoes, and Shirley’s skirt and shoes, as well as her bra and panties, were lying on the ground by the blanket.
Holy Toledo!
Artie sank down to the ground and lay motionless, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to be spying on his own brother and the greatest girl in the world; on the other hand, if he got up and started walking away they might see or hear him and think he had been there spying on them and figure he was nothing but a dirty little sneak with yellow Jap blood in his veins.
He couldn’t see them now but he could hear them. He thought of sticking his fingers in his ears, but then if they got up to leave he wouldn’t even know and they might walk right into him, thinking he’d been lying there all the time spying on whatever they’d been doing while they were doing it. He figured the best thing was just to lie still and listen till a part came that sounded like they had all their clothes back on and were just philosophizing.
“I never thought it would be like this,” said Shirley.
“It never has been,” Roy said.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m only saying it because it’s the truth. That’s the only thing I can say now. The truth.”
“I know there’ve been lots of others.”
“They don’t even count.”
“Not even Beverly Lattimore?”
“Don’t even mention her name.”.
“All right. Will you say mine? Will you tell me again?”
“Shirley Colby, I love you. With all my heart and soul, and the pride of the United States Marines.”
“Oh, Roy.”
There was heavy breathing now, and little moans and groans.
“Wait,” Shirley said.
“What, my darling?”
“I want you to put it on first.”
“Honey, I always put it on first, you know I wouldn’t let anything happen. I just have to wait till the right moment.”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I know you do, darling. I know you’re protecting me.”
“What, then?”
“I meant the ring. I want you to put it on my finger, before we do it. So I’ll feel engaged.”
“We are engaged.”
“I know we are in secret but when we’re together we don’t have to have it a secret, and it makes me feel better.”
“You didn’t have it on a while ago.”
“I forgot. But I just remembered.”
“Okay. Sure. Where is it?”
“I thought you always kept it in your pocket.”
“I do. Damn. I’m sorry. It’s cold out here.”
“Hurry back under the blanket!”
“Whew.”
“I’ll keep you warm, darling.”
“I know, sweet. Here. Let me have your hand.”
“There. It’s yours.”
“Damn. Excuse me. I should have got a bigger size.”
“I like that it’s hard to get on. If it just slipped on and off, it wouldn’t mean as much.”
“There. Now. We’re official.”
“Engaged. To my fiancé”, my love.”
“Love me, Shirley.”
“I do.”
“Do!”
Now there was panting and little sighs and heavy hard breathing and then Shirley was making little yelps and Roy was sounding like the Chattanooga Choo-Choo and Artie figured this was his chance to make a run for it, they wouldn’t notice now if a panzer division roared through the woods with all guns blazing. Artie jumped up and ran, sprinted, pumping his arms and legs as hard as he could, hearing behind him a sudden high scream from Shirley and a strangled, barking roar from Roy that sounded like he’d been hit by a flying mortar shell.
The day they saw Roy off to War was wind-whipped, raw, and cold. March had come in like a lion and was going out like one too. Dad was warming up the car in the driveway and Artie stood facing the house with his Baby Brownie poised to get a snapshot of Roy when he came out the door. Mom came out first with a bag of sandwiches she’d made for Roy to eat on the train, and then Roy came out with his duffel bag and put his arm around her, and that’s when Artie said, “Hold it!” and snapped the picture.
“Ready to roll?” Roy asked, and started for the car.
“Let’s not forget anything,” Mom said. “Are we all sure we got everything?”
It was like they were all going off on a family outing.
“I forgot something!” Artie shouted, and he tore back into the house. When he came back out with the football, Mom was in the car and Roy was standing next to it, taking a last look around, like he was trying to memorize how everything was. Artie tossed him the football. Roy looked at it for a moment, surprised, then he nodded, and said, “Go out for one!”
Artie turned and raced across the yard, leaning into the cold wind and pumping his arms and legs with all his might. He pivoted sharply at just the right moment as the ball came spinning from the leveled arm of the quarterback and struck him like a fist in the pit of the stomach, just right, and he reeled backward with it, holding on, completing the play, the connection. He would have that now, when Roy was gone.
At the train station, you could see everyone’s breath when they spoke. Artie was glad it was cold, since he figured it would be a long time before Roy lived in bracing weather again. He was going to San Francisco to be shipped out, which meant he’d be
sent to one of the million little dots of islands in the South Pacific to fight in steamy jungles where the Japs swung down from the trees like monkeys. They were tough little sons of guns all right, even General MacArthur was retreating from them on Bataan, but with new reinforcements like Roy he would soon be smashing back at them and cleaning them out of the Pacific like so many cockroaches.
“Be sure to write this time,” Mrs. Garber said.
“On my honor,” said Roy, saluting.
“Just a line, son,” Mr. Garber said. “So we know.”
Mr. Garber blinked then and turned away, into the wind.
Roy nodded, and then he took Shirley’s hand and slung his other arm over Artie’s shoulder and led them a little ways off from the folks.
“Me and Shirley got some ‘sealed orders’ for you, ole buddy,” Roy said in a low, secret tone.
“You can trust me to the death,” Artie said.
“We know,” said Shirley, smiling through a mist of tears.
Roy reached in his pocket and slipped Artie something in a handkerchief tied with a knot.
“Put that in your pocket, and keep it somewhere safe, in your room or something, and don’t tell a soul.”
“My mother searches everything,” Shirley explained.
“It’s her ring,” said Roy.
Artie nodded, keeping a straight face and not even blushing to give away what he knew about the ring, how Shirley wanted to wear it when they did the thing.
“Thanks, pardner,” said Roy, squeezing Artie’s arm, “and keep an eye on the future Mrs. Roy Garber for me, huh?”
“Don’t worry about us,” Artie said. “We’ll keep the home fires burning for you.”
Roy made a funny face and spoke in one of those late-night radio announcer voices: “And keep those cards and letters coming in!”
Under the Apple Tree Page 8