The Major's Daughter

by J. P. Francis

  Major Brennan waited for the full translation to finish. It was not Collie, unfortunately, with whom he felt his cadence worked, but with a newly arrived private who spoke German with his family. When it concluded, he nodded and continued.

  “For the next few days, you will be put on bread and water. You will come off that diet when you have demonstrated by the strength of your labor that you understand your circumstances. The camp canteen will be closed until further notice. Those things that make life tolerable here are given at my discretion. I am under no obligation to provide you with any of those small luxuries you count on, so be advised. Your work in the next few days must persuade me that you warrant the canteen to be reintroduced.”

  Again he paused. He studied the German faces, many of them quite familiar by now. He had been glad that at least half of the soldiers from Barracks Seven had been avowed Nazis. He was relieved to be shut of them and their maniacal beliefs about the superiority of the German people.

  He went on.

  “Let me be clear: the war is coming to a close, and your side will lose. For those among you who believe this is a form of propaganda, that I am deliberately lying to you, let me sincerely urge you to look carefully at the facts. We are too many against you. Your nation cannot hold out much longer. Already it has been reported that you are sending boys to the Normandy front, because you no longer have men to fight. I take no pleasure from informing you of these facts. It is time for the war to end, I think you’ll agree. The German people have suffered cruelly, and I am afraid they will suffer more as the war grinds to a conclusion.”

  Some of the prisoners nodded. Others looked down at the ground. Major Brennan didn’t care. It was time they heard the likely outcome of the war. He had already received reports about the Allied attacks against Cherbourg. Six thousand German soldiers had surrendered on the Cherbourg Peninsula, more prisoners of war, more mouths and bellies.

  “We have treated you fairly here. We hope to continue to do so. You must, at last, place your position in perspective. If you escape from here, where will you go? Is it your dream to jump aboard a boat and return to Germany? That Germany that you hold in your heart is gone. You are thousands of miles away from your home country. If you mistakenly believe you will find supporters among the American population, I hasten to warn you that you will find ten times as many Americans willing to put a bullet through your brain. If you do not understand that, you do not understand our country.”

  He stood for a moment longer, inspecting them. Then he turned and left. When Lieutenant Peters asked if the prisoners were to be dismissed, he told him no. Let them spend their day of leisure on their feet, he thought. Let them understand which way the rifles were pointed.

  • • •

  Still in her climbing outfit, Collie stepped into the infirmary, in her hand a small nosegay of wildflowers—purple grasses and wild violets. She felt happy and nervous, and her skin tingled where the sun had burned her. Her shoulders hurt from the straps of the rucksack, but the ache was a good one. It had been a glorious day; she had not had a better day in memory. When the others had ganged up on her, demanding that she visit the infirmary again, she had caved in without protest. She wanted to see August. She felt sure of that, and it made no sense to pretend she didn’t.

  The orderly at the front table stood when she entered. It was not the same young man from the earlier visit, but he behaved in the same manner, standing and pointing her to the parlor room. Collie took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The former patient with the cut hand and arm was not there. In his place a large, dark-browed man slept on his side, the round O of his mouth sucking air in audible gasps. Collie turned, wanting to ask about the man’s condition, when her eyes crossed the room and met August’s.

  He smiled. Simply and beautifully. He smiled and she felt a smile spread on her face in return.

  “You look better,” she said, skirting around the first bed and coming to stand beside him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Improved,” he said in German. “Stronger.”

  “I’m sorry you were hurt at all.”

  He shrugged. He did not comment.

  “I visited before,” she said, “and brought you some books.”

  He nodded and reached under his blankets and brought up two of the volumes.

  “You’re very kind. They’ve kept me company when I could read them. My eyes have caused me some problems, but they are better now. Thank you for bringing them.”

  “I was happy to share them.”

  “My friend in the next bed, he is reading Green Henry. He is an interesting man. He looks rough indeed, but he is educated. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed them. Please share them with anyone you care to.”

  “My English . . . I speak better than I can read,” he said in English.

  “How long will you stay here? Have they said?”

  “For a few more days at least. The swelling has not gone down as it should.”

  He nodded in the general direction of his groin. Collie felt herself blush. But she had forgotten the nosegay of flowers and used that as a distraction.

  “We went climbing today,” she said, “and I saw these and thought of you.”

  “Spring flowers. Thank you. I have a cup there. Perhaps you would arrange them for me?”

  Oddly, moving the things around on his bedside table and arranging the flowers felt more intimate than she could have anticipated. Her color was high, she knew. It felt a wifely thing to do, but she persevered and soon had the flowers arranged to her satisfaction. They brightened the room. She stood back. He surprised her by reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand, then moved her hand to his forehead and held it there.

  From instinct, she nearly jerked her hand away. But he treated it with such gentleness that she soon calmed and let him press his forehead to it. She tightened her fingers slightly in his hand. She realized, watching him, that he was young and frightened and far from home. She did not mean that he was any less manly for showing such vulnerability. No, he was braver for doing so, and she could not help reaching her free hand out to push back his hair. He kissed the back of her hand again, and she saw that he wept.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Your kindness . . . ,” he said, and then shook his head.

  “It’s been a long, difficult war.”

  He nodded.

  “It will be over soon. My father says that your people cannot resist much longer. He’s confident this is the beginning of the final blow. I’m sorry for your country. Do you have family there?”

  “In Austria. Yes. My mother and father and my brother, Frederich. I don’t know if they are alive. I don’t think they know where to look for me.”

  She nodded.

  “I let the bear go,” he said, and she squinted slightly, trying to understand.

  “What bear?”

  “The bear we found in the forest. I let him go so that he could return to his family. I could not stand that as prisoners we had made another creature a prisoner.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and gave her hand back.

  She took an even breath. The man in the other bed made a gargling sound, then caught himself and returned to normal breathing. Outside she heard an announcement pass over the PA system. She could not decipher it.

  “I should be going,” she said. “I simply wanted to look in on you.”

  “We have not discussed the poem you gave me.”

  “Perhaps another time.”

  “Will you promise to visit me again?”

  “Yes, of course. If you think I should. I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

  “No, please come. I will feel better soon.”

  “I certainly h
ope so.”

  “Your father is a fair man.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “Most of us understand him. A few do not, but you cannot worry about them.”

  “He does his best.”

  “Your mountains are not so different from our mountains in Austria. We have a beautiful country as well.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Come again, please. You are the best medicine I could have.”

  “I will.”

  She touched his hand, and for a moment she let his eyes pour into his. She left quickly afterward, her heart violent in her chest.

  • • •

  “You’ve fallen in love,” Estelle said from her place on the glider as she reached over and took her friend’s hand. The night beyond the porch rested calm and quiet. Estelle heard tree frogs calling, their voices beaded by crickets rubbing their legs like violin bows. “It’s the most natural thing in the world. You should not let it worry you. It should be cause for celebration.”

  “I hardly know him,” Collie answered. “To talk of love . . . we sound like schoolgirls.”

  “We were schoolgirls only a short time ago, don’t forget.”

  “He has a kind way about him,” Collie said. “I’ve seen nothing not to admire.”

  “Love passes through the eye. Didn’t we learn that in our poetry class?”

  “Cupid’s arrow. Ovid’s Romance of the Rose. Yes, but this is everyday life.”

  “All the more reason for it to be exceptional and wonderful. The poets understood and so will you if you’d only let yourself.”

  “I’ll admit I am attracted to him, but that’s as far as I will go. The rest is just my imagination running wild.”

  “The heart knows its own course. That’s another aphorism from my father. He says it whenever a poorly suited couple appears in our circle of friends. You’ve found someone who excites and interests you, and you would be a stunning couple side by side.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Estelle nodded. And it was true. She could easily picture them together, their long slender bodies, their handsome curls. When she thought of them, then imagined herself as part of a couple with Mr. Kamal, the contrast overwhelmed her. No one would take her for Mr. Kamal’s love. But Collie and her August, yes, they would command attention wherever they went.

  “You would be a charming couple,” Estelle said, returning her thoughts to her friend’s predicament. “My only concern is his nationality. He will have to return to Austria when the war ends.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And if you did fall properly in love, you understand you might lose him? Europe will be in chaos. I don’t know what his finances are, but he will have difficulty returning to the United States. Perhaps you could go to him, but where will he be? He doesn’t know if his family is alive, does he?”

  Collie shook her head.

  “I’m not trying to throw water on the fire, but it helps to look all the way around things. I’ve become quite expert at it, you know. Mr. Kamal is my professor.”

  “Have you fallen in love with him, Estelle? Truly?”

  Estelle took a long breath and weighed the question. She could not be certain she knew the answer. Yes or no—both answers came too quickly and too easily. She could simply dismiss him as inappropriate, but what about his tender personality, his warm brown eyes? Why did she so love speaking to him? Was it possible to fall in love purely with a man’s voice and eyes and gentleness? She wondered if that could be true. The books never talked about that sort of love. The books concerned Collie’s type of love with her handsome German beau. So what answer could she possibly give her friend to such a simple question?

  “I don’t know. In the books they talk about love taking us whether we want it to or not. Do you believe that can happen, Collie?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “That love is a force that exists outside of us, so to speak? That we have no control over who we love?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say we have no control, but love is the equal of hate and envy and spite. I don’t believe we can resist it completely. It has its own agency.”

  “I don’t want to love Mr. Kamal, but I’m afraid I do. Isn’t that horrid? To be afraid of love? He is a good man. I don’t doubt that for a moment. Even my mother can see that, and she has only met him a handful of times. But he is from a different world, a profoundly different world from my small circle in Ohio. Do you know I’ve heard people call him a nigger? Ignorant, vile men, but still that’s the word they use. They don’t care that he is from a distinguished family in India or that his lineage goes back much further than their own. There are people who refuse to enter his store despite his way with flowers and arrangements. He is by far the best florist in our community, but the prejudice runs so deep that many of my mother’s friends refuse to patronize him.”

  “And so to love him is to cross a great barrier.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. And I am a coward. I detest that weakness in me. I would take a knife and cut it out of me if I could.”

  “Has Mr. Kamal shared his feelings with you?”

  “No. He is afraid to, I suspect. But his feeling is in every look we share, every topic we discuss. He gives me books, copies out poems. He has a vast library. He has thought of opening a bookstore beside his flower shop. . . . There is an adjoining storefront available. The book customers and flower customers would blend back and forth to the benefit of both. He has talked to me a great deal about it as though he is waiting for my commitment to the idea.”

  “As a wife?”

  Estelle felt herself blush. She couldn’t help it. Tears washed the corners of her eyes.

  “Yes, I suppose, although it’s never overtly stated. He, too, must cross a great barrier, you see? For all I know, his family would not be pleased to find him joining his fate with an American girl. It’s a pickle, as my father would also say. How funny life is, isn’t it?”

  “I wish I could give you some sort of wise counsel.”

  “You are. Merely letting me talk about it is a great help. And today, the hiking . . . that was splendid, Collie. I’ll remember this day a long time. Marie and Amy are sweet and very good company.”

  “I think so, too.”

  Estelle dropped her friend’s hand so that she could wipe the small tears away from her eyes. She snorted a little with laughter at their absurd circumstances.

  “We are a pair,” she said. “Who could have guessed where our hearts would lead us?”

  “The war has upended everything. You said so yourself.”

  “Of course. Now is it time for us to sleep? It’s so lovely sitting out on a night like this, but I am tired. The hike wore me out.”

  “Yes, it’s time.”

  “I’ll fall asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.”

  “And not dream of Mr. Kamal?”

  “Tonight I have reduced him to a small, inconvenient ache. I intend to sleep like a dragon.”

  “Thanks to Marie.”

  “Yes, Marie. She’s quite brave about letting you have August, you know. It’s a great gesture on her part.”

  “I don’t have August.”

  “Yes,” Estelle said, “in fact, you do.”

  Chapter Ten

  At midday the barracks stood empty. August limped slowly down the row between the bunks, his body exhausted from the short walk. He carried Collie’s novels in his hand, a canteen of water, a bottle of aspirin. His testicles ached; they had ached for days, the hurt receding like a tide slowly pulling back. The rest of his body sent up messages of distress as well. His ribs hurt at each breath, and his ear, where it had been ripped by a Nazi blow, felt as though it had been attached by the slightest thread, so that any movement might shake it free and leave it resting on the ground.
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  As he approached his cot, he spotted the fire hose beneath the mattress. It rested like a large snake, green and pocked with fiber, its dull life confined to hiding in the shadows. Gerhard, he knew, had placed it there. Gerhard had twice visited and had twice filled him in on the barracks news. Many of the Nazis had been sent away as a result of the tunnel episode. Major Brennan had not bothered with questions after the discovery of the tunnel, or with second-guessing, but had come down firmly and quickly to rid the camp of the worst elements. Things had improved, Gerhard said, and August tried hard to believe him.

  He had broken into a sweat and trembled visibly by the time he reached his cot. He placed Collie’s novels carefully at the foot of the bed—he could not bend over to put them on the floor—then collapsed in pieces onto the thin mattress. He felt nauseated and mildly disoriented. His tongue felt fat and swollen in his mouth, and his body jerked several times to release the muscular tension created by exercise. He closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly, the sound of distant pigeons fluttering in the barracks’ eves bringing him peace.

  He slept for hours and woke only when the men returned. Gerhard, tan and smelling of wood chips, came immediately to his side and asked how he felt. August sat up and put his back against the iron headrail.

  “Better,” he said, “stronger than yesterday.”

  “You look tired. I thought they would keep you longer.”

  “They need the beds. It’s just a matter of time now before I am better.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you back. And you’ll be happy with the changes.”

  Gerhard looked around him before he leaned close and whispered, “The shit-hounds are gone,” referring to the Nazis. “They got caught one too many times, and the few who are left are impotent without the numbers behind them. They’re cowards and bullies.”