Call Me Athena

by Colby Cedar Smith

  blankets closer

  around our shoulders.

  Mama starts the fire

  in the woodstove

  and puts on a kettle.

  There is a knock.

  We hear the door open.

  Mama begins to laugh

  and then cry.

  We rush down the steps

  and out of the apartment.

  There is a long black

  limousine

  in front of the building,

  with a Christmas tree

  strapped to the top.

  Two men in black suits

  and top hats

  with red poinsettias pinned

  to their lapels

  are singing

  “In the Bleak Midwinter”

  while unloading

  wrapped gifts

  and food

  from the car.

  All of the kids get presents

  My brothers get spinning tops

  and toy soldiers

  and a popgun.

  And I get

  a white rabbit fur hat

  that covers all of my curls

  and matching mittens.

  Marguerite

  would have loved

  the warmth

  and softness.

  My mother and father

  get a turkey with stuffing

  and a Christmas pudding

  and decorations

  and candles for the tree.

  And my mother receives a card:

  Dear Jeanne,

  I read your letter.

  I hope these humble gifts

  help to bring joy

  to your family.

  Please have your husband report

  to the Department of Human Resources

  at the Ford Motor Company on Monday morning.

  I have secured employment

  for him there.

  From our family to yours,

  Merry Christmas,

  Eleanor Roosevelt

  I stand outside

  watching the snow fall.

  My new hat

  makes me feel

  like a Russian czarina

  traveling across the tundra

  in a horse-drawn sleigh.

  Just as

  I am about

  to go in

  I hear

  a familiar rumble.

  I close my eyes once

  and open them.

  A flood of emotion

  enters me

  as I see

  a blond boy

  driving

  a Ford Cabriolet.

  Where have you been?

  I can’t answer.

  I can’t stop kissing him

  on his lips

  on his eyelids.

  He places his hands on my cheeks.

  I was worried, Mary.

  Really worried

  that I had done something

  wrong.

  I know

  eventually

  I will have to tell him

  about my lies.

  My grief.

  I press him

  against the building

  until he gives in.

  Wraps his arms around me

  until I can’t breathe.

  Until I can’t feel

  any more pain.

  Will you marry me?

  he asks,

  holding my hand.

  Billy, you know I can’t.

  Because of your parents?

  Yes, but also

  because we’re so young.

  And I want more.

  Another man?

  No.

  I want to be more

  than just a wife.

  You can have it all.

  A job, a husband, children.

  I can give you

  everything

  you want.

  I just need some time

  to figure out

  what I want.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  I can wait, Mary.

  Can you?

  For a thousand years.

  As long

  as we keep kissing.

  Giorgos (Gio)

  Saint-Malo, France

  1918

  She drops my hands

  and backs away

  from me.

  You’re scaring me, Gio.

  Jeanne, listen to me.

  My sister was pregnant

  and starving.

  I convinced my brother-in-law

  to steal a lamb

  for her.

  He didn’t want to.

  He argued with me.

  I told him

  if he didn’t want to help me,

  I would do it myself.

  Finally, he came with me.

  My voice catches,

  and I wait.

  We both went to the mountains,

  but only I returned.

  I didn’t pull the trigger,

  but I killed him, Jeanne.

  I am crying now.

  He would still be there

  with my sister, with his child.

  If it weren’t for me.

  She looks out at the sea

  and doesn’t say anything.

  I can’t stop telling her

  how I feel.

  I can’t go home.

  Not for a long, long time.

  If I go back,

  they’ll send me to jail.

  I pause

  and reach for her hand.

  I used to want to be a fisherman,

  like my father.

  Now, all I want is a family.

  I want a wife.

  I want children.

  To be the father I never had.

  To be the father

  my sister’s son never had,

  because of me.

  Her gray eyes are reflective pools.

  There’s a deep ache

  in my chest.

  I take a step closer

  and she doesn’t move

  away.

  Gio.

  In one swift motion

  I pull her to me.

  Press

  her body

  and her lips

  to mine.

  She gasps

  muscles taut,

  aware

  of the newness

  between us.

  She stays close,

  her nose touching mine.

  I can feel her

  soft, short breaths.

  Then

  she looks at me

  with wild eyes

  and pulls away.

  Runs

  out of the cemetery

  toward the hospital.

  The gate swinging

  behind her.

  In my mind

  I kiss her hand

  when she feels my forehead.

  I kiss her neck

  when she bends over my bed.

  I kiss her lips

  in the hallway

  when no one is looking.

  I kiss her memory

  when she has gone home.

  I kiss her

  all night long.

  The doctor shakes me awake

  Listens to my heart.

  Takes my blood pressure.

  Has me follow

 
; a white light with my eyes.

  Asks me to walk

  around the room.

  You’re healing well, soldier.

  He scribbles

  some notes in my file.

  I want to feel proud

  of my recovery.

  Instead,

  I feel a sinking dread.

  Jeanne

  Saint-Malo, France

  1918

  The Red Cross girls

  and the volunteer nurses

  decide to host a dance.

  We decorate the hall with flags

  and banners

  and the girls

  wax the floor four times

  so it’s as

  slick as a ribbon. 28

  Soldiers come

  from all the bases

  nearby.

  They arrive

  packed into their trucks,

  sitting on each other’s laps.

  They are singing love songs,

  swigging from their canteens.

  Cigarettes tucked

  behind their ears.

  Arms are wrapped

  around each other’s shoulders

  like brothers.

  Every soldier in Saint-Malo

  except Gio.

  Who shook his head

  and pointed

  to his cane.

  The kiss

  hangs between us.

  A piece of fruit

  swinging

  slightly too far away

  to grasp.

  It is a moon dance

  and there’s a big, round moon

  made of tin

  with a painted face.

  All the lights are turned out

  except one pointed

  at the big moon.

  Six boys sit up in the balcony

  with colored lamps

  red, green, blue, and white. 28

  The boys turn

  the colored lights on the floor

  and the drums start beating

  and arms start waving

  and pretty soon the men

  are throwing the women

  into the air

  legs hopping

  like popcorn

  in a hot oiled pan.

  There are about four soldiers

  for every girl,

  so I dance the fox-trot,

  the one-step, and the waltz

  about one hundred times.

  Some of the boys

  are handsome.

  Some of the boys are meek.

  They all smell different.

  I feel different

  in each of their arms.

  Vera and I take a break

  Wave our hands

  and shoo the boys away

  like flies on a pie.

  Vera scans the room

  for handsome men.

  She wants

  to try all of them

  before she chooses

  one.

  Vera dances

  with a handsome captain.

  I sit and watch

  and think of Gio.

  I wish

  I could kiss him

  again.

  Tell him

  what happened

  wasn’t his fault.

  The music swells

  and I close my eyes.

  Imagine him swaying

  to the music.

  His cheek next to mine.

  Repairing the damage

  between us.

  On the walk home

  Vera thrums me

  with questions

  about which soldier

  I like best.

  She is smitten

  with the American

  she danced with several times.

  He’s tall,

  wears his uniform well,

  and smells

  like a bar of fancy soap.

  He is one tall, cool glass of water,

  Vera says with a wink.

  I sigh

  and tell her

  the boy I wanted

  to dance with the most

  wasn’t there.

  After we part

  I stop under a streetlamp.

  Lean my warm body

  against a cool stone wall.

  For a moment,

  I think about sneaking

  into the hospital.

  I imagine lying down

  next to him

  in the same bed.

  Kissing him

  soft and slow.

  I could be with him,

  if I dared.

  When I return home

  Maman is crying.

  A telegram

  written on yellow paper

  has fallen to the floor.

  I pick it up

  and read it.

  Chère Madame,

  It is my painful duty to inform you

  that a report has this day

  been received

  from the War Office

  notifying the death of:

  (Nº) 16929

  (Name) Pierre Prigent

  (Regiment) 156th Foreign

  (Date) 2 March, 1918

  (Cause of Death) Tuberculosis

  If any articles of private property

  are found,

  an application can be submitted

  for their receipt.

  I am,

  forever,

  your faithful servant,

  S.R. Lauren

  Officer in Charge of Records

  I stand up

  without saying a word.

  I walk out the door

  into the night.

  Tears streaming

  down my face.

  My body numb.

  My mind buzzing.

  I see a group of young people

  huddled together,

  returning home

  from the dance.

  They are clutching bottles,

  swaying and laughing

  as they navigate

  the uneven cobblestones.

  I walk to the rampart

  and climb the stairs.

  Stand on the edge

  of the granite wall.

  For a moment, I imagine

  what would happen

  if my body

  fell to the rocks

  below.

  The ocean seems endless.

  I lie down on my side

  and wrap my arms

  around my legs.

  A windless sail

  collapsing

  into itself.

  When I wake

  the horizon is filled

  with a dark, hazy light,

  which becomes

  an orange glow.

  A red orb rises

  clear and brilliant

  out of the daze.

  For a moment,

  my body is covered

  in light.

  I rise and walk a gravel path

  lined with giant

  magnolia trees.

  The branches thick

  with black starlings.

  I stand still and watch them.

  Hundreds of birds

  shriek and cackle

  a murmuration

  of deafening chatter.

  Then with the suddenness

  of raucous applause

&
nbsp; erupting

  at the end

  of a grand performance

  tous les oiseaux

  take flight.

  Maman won’t get out of bed

  I stay home with her

  for several weeks.

  I think of Giorgos,

  but I don’t want