by Janet Beard
“We certainly do not. I’ve given five years of my life to this project. Why in the world would I try to sabotage it at this stage?”
“But you’ve misled me about your beliefs.”
“No, I’ve never lied. It is one thing to have misgivings, another to give up on the thing completely. Either one of us could have quit at any time. Why did you work so hard on something you’ve now decided shouldn’t be used for its intended purpose?”
They were behind the canteen, and no one was around. The building backed onto a small patch of woods, which had somehow survived the cycles of construction, and the setting sun cast shadows through the branches, stretching over to where they stood. Sam was too tired for eloquence and too surprised by this argument to make his point effectively. But he was also too riled up to let it go.
“When you started you must surely have thought that the Germans were doing the same thing.”
“What difference does it make? Would it be more just to have used it on the Germans if they were building their own bomb? They committed atrocities enough as it is, no? Would you have minded so much using it on Hitler?”
“We would have been killing innocent Germans, just as we’ll kill innocent Japanese. My own family could have been killed by our bomb.”
“Forgive me, Sam, but we both know the chances of your family in Germany still being alive.”
“Christ, Max!”
“What about your immediate family? When the Japanese surrender, your brother can come home. This thing could save his life.”
“But how many innocent people will have to die?”
“Innocent people have died by the legion in this war. Let’s end it, for God’s sake.”
Sam couldn’t think of a reply. He stared down at the dusty ground, not wanting to look Max in the eye.
“Look, mate, scientists were never meant to be bomb makers. Most don’t take to it well.”
Sam had to struggle not to yell. “I took to it too well, that’s the problem! I enjoyed it too much!”
“You enjoyed the physics. That doesn’t make you a monster. Go easy on yourself and all of us. You didn’t enjoy the idea of killing. None of us do.”
Max gave him a pat on the back, which made Sam feel ridiculous. “Let’s forget it and finish our beers.”
So the subject was dropped, and they went back inside, each aware that their friendship, based on the false presumption of a shared viewpoint, would never be the same.
(Courtesy of the Department of Energy)
Chapter 19
JOE COULDN’T SLEEP AND HAD GONE OUT TO THE FRONT OF THE hutment to smoke. The August air was still and hot, though it was past midnight. He had a bad feeling. It had been two whole days since he’d seen Ralph, which was unusual. They usually met up in the afternoon, when Ralph was getting off his shift and Joe was headed to his. Joe would drink coffee, and Ralph would eat his supper. Sometimes they hardly even spoke, each tired from hard work and good enough friends that the silence didn’t worry them.
The first day Ralph didn’t show up, Joe hadn’t worried too much. He reckoned he had taken the day off or was working overtime. But the next day bothered him. It didn’t feel right and wasn’t like Ralph not to be in touch. He wasn’t the type to make Joe and Moriah worry, and there were simply too many ways Ralph could get himself in trouble. He might have been fired. If you lost your job here, it meant you also lost your housing, so a man would have to pack up and leave immediately. Still, wouldn’t he have written to let them know what had happened? That brought Joe to a worse possibility—he had gotten in a fight and been hurt. Ralph wouldn’t have provoked it, but he also wouldn’t back down if threatened. Of course, there were simpler explanations. Maybe he was sick, maybe he was just being rude and careless. He couldn’t quite get himself to believe that, though; the bad feeling had lodged in his stomach and stayed there.
The last time they talked, Ralph had mentioned that the few remaining construction workers might strike. Joe had told him to give up such foolish notions. They’d been in the cafeteria, Ralph shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“If we get the white workers together with the colored workers, they’ll have to pay attention.”
“There’s a war on. Folks got better things to worry themselves about. You lucky to have these here jobs. Don’t you know nine out of ten of the construction workers been laid off?”
Ralph put down his fork and shook his head slowly. If Joe hadn’t known him better, he would have thought the boy was angry with him. Ralph looked him in the eye. “We got to stop acting like we lucky when we’re being treated like animals. Men deserve more than jobs. They deserve decent places to live. We’re doing our part for this country, and what’s this country doing for us?”
Joe gulped at his coffee, even though it was burnt and bitter. It was no use talking to Ralph. The boy looked off past him, and Joe turned to follow his stare. Shirley had just walked into the cafeteria.
Ralph waved her over.
“Hi there, Joe,” she said, sitting beside Ralph.
“How you doing, sugar?” Ralph asked her.
“I’m all right. You coming with me tonight?”
“Can’t tonight,” said Ralph. “But I’ll be there Friday.”
“What’s on Friday?” asked Joe. He knew it must be some kind of trouble she’d gotten him into.
“Union meeting,” said Ralph, his voice preemptively defying whatever Joe might have to say about that.
“That a white man’s union. You ain’t got no business there.”
Shirley spoke, “No one’s said Negroes aren’t allowed.”
“They ain’t got to say it.”
“I know some of the organizers,” said Ralph. “They’re expecting me.”
“You don’t belong on that side of town, boy.”
Ralph straightened up, and Joe felt bad for calling him a boy in front of his woman. “Just be careful,” he said, a kinder but no less urgent command.
But the boy never listened. He was good but wild, always doing what he thought was right—which was dangerous. Truth was, Joe had never known a man like that before. No one back at the Hopewell farm had been that full of guts—or foolishness, depending on how you looked at it. Most men carried anger and hatred around with them, but it took a man like Ralph to do something about it, and most men weren’t like Ralph.
He knew the boy pitied him. He hadn’t always, but lately, since he’d gotten involved with Shirley and the other hotheads, the boy had started looking at Joe differently. Ralph hadn’t said anything, but Joe saw it in his eyes. He looked at Joe like the old man he was becoming. He thought Joe was afraid, and that was true enough. Joe knew the boy loved him, but Ralph had moved past him in some important way. He was going somewhere Joe couldn’t follow, and the older man feared that the boy was already gone, out of his reach.
Joe swatted at an invisible buzzing by his head. Didn’t know why he even bothered trying to kill the beasts; he’d wind up bitten no matter what.
“Joe?” Moriah was behind him in the doorway, eyes droopy with sleep, her hair in rollers.
“Sorry, honey. Couldn’t sleep.”
She closed the door and sat down by him. “You all right?”
He slapped at the mosquito on his leg. “I think Ralph may have got himself in real trouble this time.”
Her face softened. “I swear you worry ’bout that boy like he your own son.” She placed her palm on the back of his hand.
“You happy, Moriah?”
“Got you here beside me. My babies is safe. Sure I’s happy.”
He put his big rough hand on her smooth cheek. “Let’s go back to bed.”
She started to get up, but he reached his arm around her before she could, leaned over, and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
He was calmer in the morning. Ralph was a grown man, after all. He had to stop thinking of him as the frightened boy with the broken arm. Still, he headed to the cafeteria before taking the bus to
work, hoping he might run into Ralph. Instead, Shirley was waiting for him at the door to the dining hall. She looked lovely as always, somehow unaffected by the intense heat. He nodded when he saw her.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” she asked. Her voice was less assured than usual, nervous even. All his worries came rushing back.
“You want to go inside?”
“No, I’m not hungry. I was hoping to find you here and have a word.”
“Of course,” he said. She led him away from the cafeteria, walking slowly, aimlessly.
Finally she spoke. “I’m worried about Ralph.”
“When the last time you saw him?”
“Friday evening, at the union meeting.”
“What happened there?”
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know really. There were some white men at the meeting who didn’t look too kindly on Negroes joining in.”
Joe said nothing. There was no pleasure in saying I told you so.
“I know you don’t approve of us.”
“I just worry, is all.”
“I know. I know you care about Ralph, and he looks up to you.”
“You leave the meeting together?”
“Yes. But those men—there were three of them in particular. They followed us onto the bus. They were making crude comments, laughing, jeering, that sort of thing. I didn’t think it was serious . . . but now I don’t know. We got off in the colored village, and they were still on the bus, so I thought it was over. Ralph walked me as far as he could, then headed back to his hutment. And I haven’t seen him since.” Her eyes were shining with the barest hint of tears.
“I’ll find him, Shirley.”
“There’s another union meeting tonight. Can you go? Ask around? Maybe someone knows something.”
“Of course.”
They had wandered a ways from the cafeteria, and he didn’t have time to get coffee now. He would have to get straight on the bus to work, and he better get there on time so he could leave quickly come evening to get to the meeting before it was over.
He’d have hell to pay from Moriah if he missed supper, but he didn’t see any way around it. He might just leave Shirley out of his explanation, though. Moriah really couldn’t stand the girl. She thought Shirley looked down on them as ignorant country folk. Joe knew this wasn’t true, but he knew better than to defend the girl to Moriah. That was one battle he didn’t need to fight.
***
JUNE SAT BY herself in a corner of the canteen, fanning her face with the Knoxville Journal. She’d already read the paper—about the Potsdam Conference, how the Allies were to punish and govern Germany now, and the Army was preparing to invade Japan. It was nothing new and more useful as a fan than reading material.
Sam was supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago; by now all the ice in her Coke had melted, and her legs were stuck to her seat with sweat. She hated waiting around, and the heat was making her especially irritable. Perhaps he had forgotten they were meeting, though they had arranged it only three hours earlier when June left work. He was awfully preoccupied these days, and she didn’t know what to say to him half the time. He made himself miserable, worrying about his work, the war, the bomb. To make matters worse, two days ago he’d gotten a telegraph from his sister in New York saying that his mother had collapsed at home and was now in the hospital. He was drinking more and more—kept a stash in the office now, and got flat-out drunk most nights. Sometimes she chided him over it, but she hated to sound like a nag or a broken record and usually kept her mouth shut. Some days he would bury his head in her arms and beg her forgiveness. Then she would tell him he was a good man, assure him that she wasn’t angry, that she would help him give up the drink.
He was a good man, she thought, but she could never quite convince him of it. He was so hard on himself, so angry with himself, it was impossible to get him to relax the way he used to when they were first going out. It must be a phase, and surely, he would return to normal soon, like he was in those early, happy days. She just had to keep loving him and helping him.
She blew bubbles in her Coke out of boredom, like a child. It was nearly dark out, but the air didn’t cool. How long should she give him before she gave up and went back to the dorm for another night of sweaty, stifling sleep? She would be lucky if she could get to sleep before Cici got home. Cici was on the day shift this week, making them all the more likely to run into each other. They hadn’t spoken since the night June slapped her. June hadn’t told anyone what had happened. Sam would have been livid and embarrassed, she suspected, though he wouldn’t have admitted it.
No, the thought of going home was unbearable. She could go see a movie by herself—why not? She would wait an hour, though, give him a chance to show up. If only she had a magazine or something to read.
He walked in ten minutes later, casually, in no apparent hurry. He kissed her on the cheek and sat beside her. “Awfully hot in here.”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry about that. Got stuck talking to Charlie and lost track of the time.”
She didn’t believe him. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and suspected he’d been drinking—perhaps with Charlie but more likely by himself. “You want to stay here or go out? We could go to a movie.”
“Maybe in a bit. Let me get a beer first. You want another Coke?”
She pushed away the flat beverage and shook her head. He went up to the counter, and she glared at his back. They would miss the movie if he stayed in this hot room drinking that disgusting beer. He had already gulped down half of it when he returned.
Perhaps she was still glaring without realizing it. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem quiet.”
“I’m just hot.”
He gulped down the rest of the beer. “Should we get some air?”
She nodded and followed him outside. But the humid air wasn’t refreshing. Breathing it felt like being underwater.
“God, I hate the summers here,” he said and stumbled slightly as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. He was drunker than she’d realized. “You still want to go to the movies?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, do you or don’t you?”
“Do you?”
“Not really. What’s the point? It’s always the same old beautiful people with the same old ridiculous problems.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. Let’s just walk.”
So they did, wandering aimlessly through the Townsite. For a moment they were silent. Then Sam spoke again, “You know what I hate?”
“What?”
“When you know something awful is about to happen, but it’s too late to stop it. You know what I mean? Like watching a train wreck in a film. You can see the disaster coming, but the thing’s built up so much momentum. There’s nothing you can do.”
June was glad it was dark now, because hot tears were filling her eyes. She knew exactly what he meant, but she hadn’t expected to hear him say it aloud. Of course she sensed how doomed their relationship was. But she hadn’t thought there was nothing they could do to fix it. “Is that how you really feel?”
“Right now, yes! I’m sick, June. I can’t sleep at night. The whole thing, this whole goddamned place makes me sick.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned to the town buildings around them, indicating with his gesture that they were in public and he couldn’t speak freely. “The war. All the death that is yet to come.”
She had misunderstood; he wasn’t talking about their relationship, but worrying about the bomb. Though she should have felt relieved, it only irritated her. Here she was worried about their relationship. Why wasn’t he? He didn’t notice, didn’t care that she was angry and unhappy. “What are you upset about?” she heard herself saying, in a voice harsher than she had intended.
“The tragedy of it all, fo
r God’s sake!”
“Oh, please! What do you know about tragedy? You haven’t killed anyone! You have both your legs! You’re alive!”
She was yelling now and had stopped walking. She had never spoken to him this way before. He stopped to face her, his face slackened with shock.
“What do you mean? Just because I’m not in the Army, I’m not supposed to care about what’s going on?”
“No, of course not. But you’re not supposed to care this much. You’re not supposed to let it ruin your life—when you’re lucky enough to have a life!”
He was still staring. Then his face shifted upward into an angry grin. “You don’t know the things I do. You have no idea.”
His smile enraged her. He wasn’t listening, wasn’t taking her seriously.
“Yes, I do! You’ve told me all your secrets. You know, I just realized how stupid you think I am, like those birds you can teach to talk, but you don’t think I understand anything. Well, I do understand! I understand just as well as you do what this bomb means!”
His smile collapsed and his eyes widened as the same thought went through both their minds. Despite the heat, she felt her face go cold as she looked around to see if anyone had heard her. A couple of shadowy figures stood by the cafeteria, about ten yards away. Could they have heard?
Sam spoke in a low, controlled voice, sobered by her outburst. “June, get ahold of yourself.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “I have to go,” she said, turning from him.
“June, wait!” he called after her, but she didn’t turn. The need to get away from him was urgent. She walked quickly along the boardwalk, though she had no destination in mind. All she knew was that she wanted to put space between herself and Sam, that it would be impossible to think straight until she was away from him, by herself.
***
CICI WATCHED JUNE go from behind the wall. Cici had been walking home from the cafeteria when she saw them. At first she crossed the block so she wouldn’t run into them. They hadn’t noticed her; they were talking loudly—arguing, it occurred to Cici, as she passed with her head down.