Kid Soldier

by Jennifer Maruno

  “What would you like to say?” the man asked Richard. The bright stage light and the drift of tobacco smoke made Richard’s eyes water. He blinked and said nothing. “Well, Sergeant Dick Fuller of Niagara Falls, honeymoon capital of the world, I might add,” the announcer said. “Why don’t you say something to the lady that brings these tears to your eyes?”

  Richard looked at the mass of men staring at him on the stage. The only thing he could think of to say was, “No socks, so far.”

  The men in the crowd roared with laughter.

  “Way to go kid,” the announcer said with a grin. “That was the best message of the night.” He handed Richard a pair of tickets to the local cinema, saying, “Courtesy of the CBC.”

  The men in the club cheered as they left the stage.

  Richard handed one of the tickets to Jack and they left waving.

  They passed the window of a tattoo shop. Inside a sailor sat with his sleeve rolled up. Richard and Jack stopped to watch the artist prick out a bluebird on the sailor’s arm. Seeing them, the sailor lifted his free arm and waved the two of them in with a laugh.

  Richard looked at Jack and made a face. The thought of a needle shooting ink into his skin made him wince.

  “Wonder if he’s getting the guy to write a girl’s name?” Jack asked.

  “Hope it’s a short one,” Richard said, “like Amy.”

  Unlike the movie theatre at home, the tiny London cinema was in a tall, narrow building. The windows in the high ceiling were blacked out to comply with regulations. A restaurant inside served the usual wartime fare of sausages, Spam with chips, or beans on toast. No kids ran up and down the aisles yelling. No crumbled candy wrappers or paper airplanes flew across the seats.

  “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” Richard asked.

  “We’ll go to the chippy down the street after the movie,” Jack replied.

  “What’s the movie about?” Richard asked as the lights dimmed.

  Jack shrugged. “Who cares,” he said. “It’s free.”

  The show started with a Mighty Mouse cartoon. “Here I come to save the day!” everyone shouted along with the heroic little guy.

  When the newsreel started, they watched tanks shooting, bombs dropping, and ships sailing in silence. British soldiers marched prisoners with stiff backs and hands above their heads. “Bloody Jerries,” someone yelled.

  Then the newsreel showed women working in factories making ammunition, riveting steel girders onto ships. The deep voice of war talked of how peace would come and democracy prevail.

  Jack elbowed Richard at the beginning of the main feature. “It’s Spencer Tracy,” he said with a grin. “Let’s loosen our boots.”

  Halfway into the showing of the feature film, the air raid siren wailed and the house lights went on. The manager went onto the stage. “Everyone must leave for the air raid shelter,” he shouted.

  Chapter 23

  Blitzkreig

  TebrisDebris and stones splattered the wooden doors as the cinema shook around them. Outside, the buses remained in the middle of the road. Dust, smoke, and the smell of burning timber filled the street.

  The woman ahead of them complained. “I wanted to stay home and pack up all of my books.” She clutched her purse. “If it’s my flat that’s been hit, at least my books would have been saved.”

  A man commented, “If you’d stayed home, someone else would be reading your books.”

  The crowd laughed, making the woman smile as they all headed for the underground shelter.

  All summer long there had been tiny specs like mosquitoes circling the skies, but this time it was different. Richard could see a whole phalanx of planes.

  Their hum became louder against the drumming of the anti-aircraft cannons. They could hear the thud of explosives coming from the docks. Sprays of sparks danced as the anti-aircraft guns sputtered. Cold fingers of light latticed the skies, illuminating the droning Luftwaffe. A searchlight caught one plane after another and Richard saw the swastika on the wing. His legs trembled and his breath stopped in his chest as they crossed the street.

  Richard noticed Jack was not at his side. He turned and called out. “Come on,” he said. “We’re not far from the underground.

  Jack did not answer nor move. He was gripping the iron railing of the downstairs apartment.

  Richard shouted again. “Hey, what are you playing at?”

  Jack raised his eyes to the sky as the planes dropped their screaming pellets. Enormous columns of smoke rose into the sky. People continued to rush past him, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He couldn’t seem to unlock his fingers from the railing.

  Richard ran back across the street to him. He put his hand over Jack’s tense hands. “It’s okay,” he said as he unpeeled Jack’s fingers one by one. Jack grabbed Richard’s arm in a vice-like grip as Richard pulled him into the road.

  “It’s just over here,” Richard said in a low, reassuring voice. But before they could focus on walking, there was a whistle, like that of a freight train, followed by the deafening crash of a high explosion. A shockwave blasted through his body, jerking Richard right out of his boots. His lungs, full of the smell of cordite, hurt.

  Jack lay face down on the sidewalk beside him.

  Richard scrambled to his feet. He put his hands under Jack’s arms and dragged him towards the below-ground staircase.

  Another roar made the air around them shudder and Richard’s stomach knotted. He tasted vomit in the back of his throat. Then, as if the sky were made of stone, it rained bricks.

  —

  The sun slipped through the heavy rose patterned curtains of the house in Plumstead. Mrs. Black, in a salmon-pink suit with a broad brimmed hat, white blouse, matching pink shoes, and handbag said, “I’m here for the royal visit.”

  “How long will the next train be?” Aunt Joyce asked his Uncle Will.

  “An engine and five coaches,” his uncle answered.

  Mrs. Black jammed her fists against her mouth. “He’ll miss the train.”

  “Just you wait while I return,” the voice of his uncle came into his head.

  “Richard,” his mother called out. “It’s time for you to come home.”

  —

  Richard felt fingers crawl over his shoulder, raise his arms, and pull at his wrists. Pain shot from his toes right up through his chest. People around him were shouting but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He opened his eyes to see his uniform dark with blood and his left foot dangling like the marionette Tommy kept on his wall in his bedroom. Then he heard the sound of an ambulance. The wreckage of a motorbike came to mind. Someone lay beneath the wheels. Was it him?

  “Is there flour in my hair?” Richard asked the ambulance attendant.

  The man looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  —

  Mr. Vogel hitched the horse to the wagon. It was Treacle. In spite of being bundled, the cold air chilled him. Richard jumped out of the wagon and puffed to see his breath. He worked several feet ahead of Mr. Vogel, picking as many peaches as he could before the wagon caught up. The horse got a little too far ahead and Mr. Vogel yelled, “Whoa!” The horse stopped. Mr. Vogel said, “You can’t get a tractor to do that.”

  —

  The sounds of squeaking gurney wheels and moans of pain pulled Richard from the warm darkness of dreams. He tried to push away the annoying sounds of voices as he rolled his head side to side across the clean, fresh pillow case. When Richard moved his legs, pain shot up the entire side of his body. One leg felt like it was made of cement. He shivered. His shiver turned into a clammy feeling. His throat was so parched he could have drunk the entire Niagara River. With tremendous effort he forced himself awake into the light. “I’m so thirsty,” he said.

  Out of nowhere a warm, a soapy cloth went across his gummy eyes and under his neck. A cup came to his lips. He sucked at the water, unable to form a slurp, then fell back onto the pillow, exhausted beyond belief.

  Next, Ri
chard woke to the face of an iron watch pinned to the white bib of a dark blue uniform. The woman with soft brown eyes in a hat that looked like it had wings hovered over him. “I’ve never seen a boy sleep as much as you,” she said with a smile.

  Richard’s hospital gown hung about him like laundry on a line. His bright blond hair was now dingy, his skin pale, and purple circled his eyes.

  “Do you think you could manage a piece of toast?” The nurse asked.

  Toast! Richard thought. I could eat a whole loaf of bread. Give me one of Mr. Black’s. I’ll tear off the crusty top and mine my way through it.

  Richard looked around at the row of men laying in metal cots against green walls the same colour as the Niagara River. “Where am I?” he asked. “I mean I know it’s a hospital,” he stammered. The smell of disinfectant told him that much, but he had no idea where. He fingered the identification tags that hung around his neck.

  “They brought you in a couple of weeks ago,” the woman wearing the bib told him. “Your operation was a success, but you’ve been sleeping ever since.”

  Richard looked around at the other men in the beds. “Who are they?”

  “Airmen,” the nurse said. “Most of them have lost arms and legs or are badly burned.” She stuck a thermometer under Richard’s tongue and picked up his wrist. “Once we get rid of this nasty infection, you’ll be up and about. The doctor will be by now that you are awake to explain everything to you.”

  The sight of the wounded men lying under the grey blankets, unseeing eyes staring across the room, reminded Richard of rabbits. A buzzing sound on the windowsill made him jump. He turned his head to see the large black fly lying on its back on the ledge moving its legs in the air.

  The doctor arrived just as the nurse appeared with a plate of toast. He sat on the side of Richard’s bed and passed him the plate. “Go ahead,” he said. “You must be hungry.”

  Richard bit into the sparsely buttered slice and chewed as the doctor explained. “I’m afraid I had to remove two of your toes,” he said in a low voice.

  Richard dropped the toast on the bed.

  The doctor picked it up and handed it back to him. “I’m more worried about the infection,” he said. “If we can’t clear it up with this new penicillin stuff, we may have to take the whole leg. I’m starting treatment tomorrow.”

  Richard looked down at the tent structure at the foot of his bed. He lifted the sheet. White gauze covered his leg to the knee. Suddenly he remembered the bright flash that had lit up the street and the crumbling wall. Then, the distinct feeling that he ought to be somewhere else flooded his mind. His thoughts clicked into place. “I was heading to Plumstead,” he said. “My family is near the Woolwich Arsenal.”

  “Give me their names,” the doctor said, pulling a pen from his pocket.

  Chapter 24

  Kid Soldier

  “We need you back on the lines,” an officer said to the man in the bed beside Richard.

  Richard couldn’t help but interrupt. “You can clear me,” he said. “I don’t use my toes to tap out a message.”

  The officer came around the bed to inspect the young man sitting in the wheelchair. “Are you a signaller as well?” he asked.

  “Yes sir,” Richard said giving a salute.

  The officer stood in front and scratched his head. “You sure you’re ready to travel?”

  The nurse overheard the conversation as she entered the room with Richard’s Aunt Joyce and Uncle Will. “He is not fit enough to be going anywhere,” she said, glaring at the officer.

  “We had a free pass to see a London show,” Richard told his aunt over the thermometer under his tongue. “We got leave because our regiment was ready to go to the continent.”

  His Aunt Joyce gave him a weak smile and patted his arm. Richard noticed his uncle showing the officer a telegram.

  “And he’s made it all the way to sergeant?” the officer asked, with a drop of his jaw.

  “I didn’t say he was dumb,” William said. “I said he was young.”

  The officer turned to Richard. “What identification did you use when you signed up?”

  “My library card,” Richard said.

  The officer blinked in astonishment. “You won’t be old enough until next month.”

  “Then I’ll do new paperwork,” Richard said with a shrug.

  “You know, you could be court-martialed for this,” the officer said, narrowing his eyes.

  Aunt Joyce’s hands leaped to her face.

  “That’s okay,” Richard said. He stared directly into the officer’s eyes. “I’ve made the papers once already.” He passed his spread fingers in front of his face. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Kid Soldier Kicked Back to Canada in Cuffs.’ My reporter buddies will love it.”

  The officer grabbed the clipboard from Richard’s bed rail. He signed it with an angry flourish, tossed it onto the bed, and marched out of the room.

  —

  The awful static of the broadcast filled the hospital hall as the voice explained the week’s events along with the number of casualties. Richard looked down at his bandaged foot. Why did the announcer call them causalities? he wondered. There’s nothing casual about it.

  Richard leaned against his pillow thinking about the fruit trees, barns, and the great Niagara River. First he was Richard, then Chester, and then Dick. Maybe it was time to get back to being just Richard again.

  —

  Swipes put his head round the door of the ward. “No one wants you to give up on going to the movies, kid,” he said, walking into the room with a large cardboard box. He put the box on Richard’s bed and pulled out a home movie projector with a large box of four-inch film spools. The metal projector had a shutter behind a snap gate and a take-up sprocket with a bottom roller.

  “There’s no belt,” Richard said, examining it.

  Swipes whipped a stout piece of twine from his pocket and fixed it in place. He cleaned the small lens in front of the battery-run lamp with a breath of hot air and a quick polish with a corner of Richard’s bed sheet. He nodded and smiled.

  “What are you gonna use for a screen?” Richard asked.

  Swipes pulled a flat pillow case up and out of his pants with a grin. He stuck it on the wall of the hospital room with drawing pins and placed the projector on top of the nurse’s trolley. He focused the lens with an in-out action and the men in the ward watched Charlie Chaplin and the Keystone Cops to the ticking sound of the turning the handle.

  “I was planning to charge all of you guys in the audience a penny,” Swipes said with a grin when the lights went on. “That way I’d have enough for a fish supper.”

  “Play it again and I’ll take you myself,” the sharp voice of the starched nurse leaning against the wall called out.

  The men in the ward responded with shouts and cat-calls.

  To create a few laughs, Swipes reversed the direction of the handle.

  “Where did you get it?” Richard asked when the lights came on for the second time.

  “It was commandeered for a top secret film,” Swipes told him. “I thought I’d borrow an extra film and bring it round here before returning it to the cinema.” He pulled a chair into the hospital aisle and sat down. “I had to sign for the film and they gave it to me in a sealed container. They even secured the doors with military police during the showing.”

  Swipes had the attention of everyone in the ward.

  “What was the secret film about?” someone shouted out.

  “It was some stupid thing about learning how to get in and out of funny-looking square landing crafts,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Enjoying the audience attention, he stood up. “And get this,” he said to them all. “The commentator urged all rifles be kept pointing skyward to prevent injury to the man in front.”

  The men in the ward roared with laughter.

  “And,” Swipes said, mimicking the sonorous tone of a broadcaster, “if prone to sea-sickness, avoid disgorgin
g of stomach contents until you reach the shore!”

  The second roar of laughter almost lifted the roof.

  “So when are we going over?” someone called out.

  Swipes tapped the side of his nose and spoke in an affected aristocratic accident, mimicking Lord Haw-Haw. “The day and the hour are the Fuehrer’s secret.”

  “How is Jack?” Richard asked, as Swipes packed up the projector. “I thought he would be in to see me by now.”

  Swipes looked at the nurse standing beside Richard’s bed. The pain on his face was strong as he turned to the projector and fiddled with the reels. “Well,” he said with a slight catch in his throat as he looked at the ceiling. “Jack came along with you to the hospital,” he said, “but he ended up down the hall, so to speak.”

  At first Richard didn’t understand. He thought about the small walks he took on crutches along the hall. The only thing at the end was the morgue. “Jack’s dead?” Richard’s eyes grew wide in horror. “And we didn’t even make it out of England!”

  Chapter 25

  Socks

  “That army buddy of yours certainly has a strange sense of humour,” the nurse said, as she handed Richard a shoebox wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

  “What do you mean?” Richard asked. He couldn’t get his mind off Jack. It was like having a missing tooth and your tongue keeps going to its empty spot. Every time a soldier stepped into the ward, Richard thought it was him. Just when he thought he had a real-honest-to-goodness friend …

  He looked down at the package and recognized the postmark from Niagara Falls.

  “It’s from Amy,” he said with a smile.

  “Is she your sweetheart?”

  “Just a neighbour,” he said. But thinking about her gave him a peculiar kind of ache.

  “Take a look at what it says on the sides and back,” the nurse said.