It's Just Lola

by Dixiane Hallaj

  “Yes, and then it would be gone. What would you do then?” He went on to ask if she had checked the balance of her cash account recently. She admitted she had not.

  Charlie explained that the dividends were probably not enough for her to live on, and she would have to tap into her capital at some point, but the stocks were becoming more and more valuable. The longer she held them, the more they would bring when sold. Lola nodded. The bank manager had told her the same thing.

  Finally Charlie offered to be her financial manager. If she transferred the stocks to his name, he would give her the money she needed for normal expenses. He would sell the less profitable stocks to supplement the dividends. Of course he would keep her informed of any transactions he made. Lola hesitated.

  “Why don’t we pick one for me to sell now? I can live on that for a time. I don’t want to bother you with being my guardian. I have a good head for numbers and I can supplement the money by dressmaking.”

  “It’s not that easy. This newspaper is about a week old. In order to make sure you’re getting a fair price, you must have access to a ticker tape that gives prices much faster. You have to work through a stockbroker and I’d be uneasy letting you do this on your own. Women are often cheated in business.”

  “Let me think about it.” Lola asked for the newspaper and Charlie’s notes. She studied them carefully that night. She picked a couple of her holdings that she would try to sell.

  The next morning Lola took a carriage to downtown Lima and found a stockbroker’s office. She asked to see the manager and was soon sitting in his office.

  “My husband left me a few stocks, and I’d like to sell some. I understand that you have a ticker tape and can give me a more up to date quote than I can find in the Wall Street Journal.” She did not want him to think she was totally ignorant.

  Coffee appeared at her elbow and the manager politely explained how he would be pleased to take control of her stocks and send her a fixed amount each month. When Lola protested that she wanted to decide which stocks to sell and when to sell them, he assured her that it would not be possible for her to make an informed decision—only a professional who watched the market constantly could do that. She then mentioned one of the stocks she was thinking of selling. The manager’s eyes sparkled and, if possible, he got even more unctuous. He got the latest quote, made some calculations, and gave her a price—less their commission, of course. Lola asked about the rate of commission. She did the math in her head, thanked him for his time and left. He had evidently included a generous gift for himself.

  Lola realized she had little choice. She had a better chance of being treated fairly by her sister’s husband than a total stranger. Maybe the code of honor could work in her favor for a change.

  Although Juana never said anything, Lola knew she didn’t fit in Juana’s social circles. She understood. The two had nothing in common except their parentage. Lola had been a small child when Juana married and left the plantation. Lola received regular letters from Juana with Charlie’s report and some cash for expenses. That and a part-time job as a dressmaker in a department store provided enough income for the necessities and occasional treats.

  Life fell into a routine. The worst times were when the men came home and she was reminded of the fact that her man was not coming home. The house had settled down to four families and an occasional couple. The two other men had stayed on the coast crawler, so Lola frequently had the company of Maggie when the other men were home, and the other women were often free when the bosun was ashore. Between the different schedules and the absence of Wulf, the house lost its atmosphere of boisterous good humor, but it remained safe and comfortable. Lola had lived in better circumstances, but she had also lived in worse.

  None of the men were home when the war ended, and Lola joined the women in their private celebration. She was happy for her friends that the seas now held only the dangers posed by the forces of nature. Those dangers were quite enough to give a sailor’s wife nightmares.

  Not long after the armistice agreement was signed, Lola was sitting in her bedroom sewing while Nellie napped when she heard pounding on the front door and a familiar voice boomed, “Look alive in there and open the door. I brought a present.” Lola smiled as she pictured the bosun standing at the door with a big jug of wine in one hand and a bottle of something stronger in the other.

  “MAMA!” Lola dropped her sewing and ran while Estela’s shrill scream was still reverberating through the house. What was wrong? Lola’s feet raced faster than her heart as she flew down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  The world froze. Lola’s heart stopped beating; sound stopped; time stopped. The moment was frozen in time. Herman Wulf was standing in the courtyard with one arm around Estela and reaching out for Joseph and Carlota with the other as they ran to him. He was thinner than she remembered, and very pale, with a streak of grey in his hair. “It’s a dream,” she told herself. “That’s why I can’t move. It’s a dream. I know it’s a dream.” Blackness descended.

  “Lola, Lola, I knew you’d wait for me. I love you so much.” Lola felt someone rubbing her hand and something cool and wet on her face.

  She heard children babbling. “Mama, Mama, wake up and see Pop Wulf!” Slowly Lola lifted her eyelids to meet the clear blue gaze and the familiar grin of Herman Wulf, seemingly back from the dead.

  “Estela, bring Nellie to meet her father.” Maggie’s voice showed her excitement. “Here, drink this,” she commanded Lola, thrusting a glass of wine into Wulf’s hand. He held the glass to Lola’s lips with one hand and helped her to a sitting position with the other. She drank a couple of swallows before raising her hand to his face. She felt the reddish stubble on his cheek and stared into his eyes in wonder. She could see the hunger in his eyes. It didn’t look like the hunger of a man too long without a woman; it looked like hunger for life itself.

  Estela appeared, leading Nellie by the hand. Wulf looked at the pair, and Lola felt the arm behind her tremble.

  “Hello, Nellie,” he said softly. Nellie clung to Estela with one hand and knuckled the sleep out of her eyes with the other. “Did Estela tell you I was your father?” His voice stayed low and he made no attempt to pull the girl closer. At Nellie’s small nod he continued. “I know you can’t remember me, but I remember you. I thought of you and your mother and your sisters and brother every day since I left you. I love you very much.” Nellie gave another small nod. “Can you say Pop? That is what I always called my father. Try it. Say Pop.”

  Nellie sidled even closer to Estela. “Op,” she said shyly.

  “Bravo! Now we aren’t strangers anymore, are we?” Wulf reached into his pocket. Out came a handful of candy. He held out one piece. Nellie looked at her mother. Lola nodded encouragingly. Slowly Nellie reached out and took the candy.

  “Say thank you,” said Estela in a whisper. Nellie nodded and hid behind her sister.

  “Thank you,” said Carlota, who hadn’t received any candy yet. Everyone laughed as Wulf handed her a piece as well, saying that she was certainly welcome.

  “Joseph, are you too old for candy?”

  “No, Pop. I’ll never get too old for candy.” Wulf handed him two pieces and then poured the rest of his horde into Estela’s hands telling her to distribute them among the children.

  “Pedro,” Wulf called. Pedro stepped forward.

  “What’s that on your upper lip?” Pedro blushed and rubbed the mustache he was just learning to shave. “Are you too old for candy? Do you expect a cigar?”

  “No, sir. I expect Joseph got it right. I’ll never get too old for candy either.” The boy blushed as his voice betrayed him and wavered into a higher register than he thought proper for his new manliness.

  “Okay. You and Estela take care of that candy and take the youngsters out for a walk.” He pulled some coins out of his pocket and gave them to Pedro. “Here’s some backup ammunition.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Pedro. He marshaled his young c
harges, and stooped to pick up Nellie.

  “Nellie can stay.”

  Wulf still had an arm around Lola. She said nothing, savoring his nearness. She was still wondering if it was a dream or a miracle.

  “Bosun, can you get me something to wet my whistle? I can’t move from the side of this delightful woman.” He turned Lola’s face toward him and studied her face as though memorizing everything about it. He gently stroked her hair. Then he sat up and began talking.

  “Gather ‘round, my friends, and I’ll tell you a sad tale of what the bosun here described as the incredible disappearance of Herman Wulf.” Everyone got drinks and settled down to listen.

  “The night before we were to sail, I went ashore and stopped at a bar for a beer before heading back to the ship. I was minding my own business, when a couple of Navy lads started sounding off, and somebody threw a punch and it turned into a regular donnybrook.”

  The bosun cracked his knuckles. “Wish I’d been there.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t--we’d both’ve missed the ship. Anyway, I tipped up my beer to finish it off when someone slammed into me from behind, and the damned glass split my lip and loosened a tooth. By the time I got to the door, the Shore Patrol was coming in with the city police right behind them.

  “I told them I hadn’t thrown a single punch and showed them my knuckles, but they just loaded me on the paddy wagon with all the rest.” His voice was bitter and Lola tightened her grip on his hand. “I told them my ship was leaving in the morning and I hadn’t been brawling. Finally a cop asked which ship and asked to see my papers. I said I was a citizen and showed him my passport.” Wulf took a deep drink and reached in his pocket for one more piece of candy. He held it out toward Nellie, but inched it back when she reached for it. She stepped closer, and he picked her up and sat her on his lap, giving her the candy.

  “That’s when the nightmare started. The cop opened my passport and started yelling, ‘We got ourselves a Hun, boys!’ and I suddenly had half a dozen cops roughing me up. I wound up in a cell with handcuffs and my leg cuffed to the bunk. I finally figured out that because my birthplace was Dresden, Germany they thought I was a spy or something. Hell, I was hanging on my mother’s teat when I left Germany. I sat cuffed to that bunk all night. I couldn’t even take a leak. Every time someone walked by I tried to tell them I was an American and they were making a mistake. Morning came and I knew my ship had sailed.

  “When the shift changed they took off the cuffs and gave me some food. No one said a word to me. It was worse than terrible. I thought I was in hell. Next day they moved me to a bigger jail. I talked to anyone within earshot, but no one paid attention. The prisoners were yelling at me to shut up. At least they heard me. One of them said passports don’t prove anything. He knew where you could get any kind of passport you wanted, if you had the cash. I asked if a spy would get a fake passport saying he was born in Germany? At least the other prisoners stopped harassing me then.

  “After a couple of days someone came to see me who spoke German. I didn’t know what the hell he was saying. All the German I know is a few swear words. I don’t know how many days or weeks I waited in that jail. I asked for paper and pen to write a letter to you, but they refused. I said they could read it, but they still refused.

  “It was ages before anyone else came to talk to me--turned out to be some guy from the Bureau of Investigation. He said his agency was authorized by President Wilson to detain enemy aliens. Part of me was so grateful to have a real person talk to me that I would’ve told him anything, but the other part was ready to go for his throat for calling me an enemy alien. You’d’ve been proud of me, Lola. I kept my temper and said he could check with the government that my passport was genuine. I explained that my parents had come over from Germany when I was just a baby, and he could see I wasn’t an enemy alien.

  “’If you were an enemy alien,’ he said, ‘my job would be easy. I’d just ship you off to Utah and keep you in Fort Douglas with the other enemy aliens we find around here.’ Then he said if my passport was forged it would’ve been easy, too, because they could lock me up for forgery.

  “Then he started asking why I wanted to write letters to Peru? What did I do when I went ashore there? Why had I chosen a country known to sympathize with Germany? Why had my ship never been attacked by German subs? Why hadn’t I gone to the Embassy to get my wife a passport, if she existed? Would the so-called letter home pass coded information? I told him the truth about everything, but he just kept asking the same questions over and over. At last he gave up and said he’d ask Washington for further orders. They isolated me from the other prisoners for fear I’d subvert them.

  “I made scratches on the wall to mark the days; sometimes I forgot; maybe sometimes I did it more than once. I stopped trying. Finally the government guy came back and took me to a federal holding area, not the place in Utah. He admitted he had no evidence that I was even a German sympathizer. What about ‘innocent until proven guilty?’ I asked and he laughed. It seems that in war time that doesn’t apply. I wasn’t proven guilty, but neither was I innocent—at least in his eyes.” Wulf raised his now empty glass to his lips and tilted it back. In the silence that followed, Maggie refilled the glass.

  “I told you I asked the police about you, didn’t I?” asked the bosun.

  Wulf nodded. “They never charged me, or took my fingerprints or kept any record, as far as I know—some justice.” He drained his glass again. “You were lucky they didn’t remember me. You could’ve been picked up as well—just for claiming to be my friend.”

  “Not bloody likely with a birthplace like Dublin.”

  “Oh, yeah? They wouldn’t think an Irish Catholic might have a beef with England?” Wulf laughed bitterly. “I’m just glad the war’s over and the nightmare’s behind us.”

  For over a year Lola had walked around with an empty place inside her that filled up with pain whenever the other men came home. How could she put it behind her? Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of the children. She looked at Wulf’s face when he sat Estela and Joseph on either side of him and settled Carlota on his lap. Her eyes misted over at the naked emotions on his face. How could she feel sorry for herself when he had suffered so much more than she had? He’d been shut away without the warmth of the sun on his face or a breeze through his hair, without the touch of a loving hand. She’d always had her children and the friendship of Maggie and the rest of the household. If he could put it behind him, then she had to do the same.

  Wulf had changed. It wasn’t just the gray in his hair. His expression looked hard somehow, emphasized by the lines around his eyes and mouth. She was grateful and happy to have Wulf home, but the pointlessness of their suffering made her want to scream. It wasn’t until the new child within her began to flutter that Lola stopped looking back and began to look forward again. Wulf, she realized, had been more changed by his experience than he appeared at first. His love was more intense and passionate than when they first met. At his insistence, she left her part-time job. He was by her side every second whenever he was in port; he couldn’t bear to be away from her.

  He loved the children with a ferocity that alarmed her. He worried over skinned knees and got indignant over their tales of slights or injustices at school. Joe and Estela stopped talking about school, and only Carlota continued to tell him her problems as well as her triumphs.

  “You going for groceries?” asked Wulf. At Lola’s nod he told her to wait while he changed clothes. Pedro pulled Estela toward him and hooked her arm through his. “Come on, honey, let’s get the groceries so Uncle Wulf can stay home and comfortable.”

  Suddenly Wulf was standing over Pedro, his face red with anger. “Take your hands off my daughter.”

  Lola leaped for Wulf as he raised his hand to strike Pedro. She grabbed his arm and hung on with all of her strength. “Wulf, what’re you doing?” Pedro and Estela were frozen with fright. “They’ve grown up together. She’s like his little sis
ter. She’s just a child.”

  “Just a child? How old were you when she was born?”

  Lola had no answer. She suddenly saw how much Estela resembled her. Exactly the same age she’d been when she met Rudolfo, yes, she was a child, but not too young to inspire passion in a young man. She determined to watch Estela carefully—and to warn her of the dangers of men in general and Wulf’s anger in particular.

  The biggest change in Wulf after his return, however, was not his quick and frequent bouts with anger—it was in his feeling for the sea. He hated the sea as intensely as he loved his family. He hated leaving them to go to sea, but he was compelled to the sea to support his family. The birth of his son, Herman Wulf, Junior nearly drove him mad between his need to be home and his need to earn a living. His anger at the twin forces pulling him in opposite directions always lay beneath the surface of his tenderness, and the sea called him with a siren’s song he could not long ignore.

  XVIII. January, 1921: Lola Age 27

  Lola stood with her arms wrapped tightly around Wulf. His fists were clenched at his side and she saw tears of frustration in his eyes. She felt the hard tense muscles beneath his shirt. As he moved to embrace her, a tremor ran through his body. She’d never felt so helpless. The owners of the ship had decided it would be more profitable for them to use the vessel on other shipping lanes. They would no longer come to Lima or any other South American port.

  “There must be vessels that will come this way,” she said.

  “Finding a berth isn’t easy anymore. Now that all the navies are set loose it’s devilish hard to find anything. We were lucky our captain gave me back my job. We can’t take a chance on losing that. You should see the men that haunt the piers, hoping for a berth whenever a ship docks.”

  “Then we’ll just have to move to San Francisco,” Maggie said with calm practicality.