by James R Benn
"Thanks. What's a VGDIP?"
"Very Goddamn Important Person," she whispered. "At least in their own eyes." She laughed, and her face lit up with that mischievous look that made a beautiful woman even more attractive.
"Have you heard anything from Kaz? When's he coming back?"
"No, nothing," she said. "And the Poles in London aren't talking. The general had me contact them but all they said was that Lieutenant Kazimierz had been recalled indefinitely. Something is damned odd there."
"It's a damned odd war. Is the general around?"
"Yes, but he's leaving shortly. Do you want to see him now? The way you look?"
"I'll be dead asleep on my feet in ten minutes. Now or never."
"Is there anyone else you want to see?" Kay said, with a coy smile.
"Is Diana here?"
"Yes, she came back from her briefing yesterday; she's on a forty-eight-hour leave."
"You mean her SOE briefing," I said in a low voice.
"Yes. You should see her, Billy." She stared at me, her expression hardening. She couldn't fully have the man she loved, and here I was, throwing away a good chance at love through stubbornness and pride. I didn't blame her for the dagger look.
"I want to," I said, and she led me to Uncle Ike's office and knocked.
"William," he said, getting up from his desk and shaking my hand. "I hadn't heard you were back. Just got in, by the looks of you. How are you? How was Ireland?"
"I'm fine, sir. That situation in Northern Ireland was resolved, nothing to worry about."
"Excellent! Here, have a seat," Uncle Ike said, gesturing to a pair of chairs opposite his desk. "Was Major Cosgrove pleased with the outcome? And what was her name, Miss O'Brien?"
"Subaltern Slaine O'Brien. She's dead, sir."
"My God, that's terrible. As a result of this business?"
"Yes, sir. Several others too. British, Irish, Americans. More than I'd like but we put a stop to it, so I guess it was worth it."
Uncle Ike nodded as he lit a cigarette. Less than a year ago, I wouldn't ever have said such a thing. Now I could, and I saw the strain on Uncle Ike's face, as he dealt in numbers that would dwarf mine, the deaths I could count on my fingers with a few to spare.
"You did well, William, and I'm sorry about the losses. Tell me, did you enjoy seeing Ireland?"
Perhaps someday I'd look back and remember what I'd seen and recall some of it fondly. The smell of the peat burning, the green fields after a rain, the sound of Irish voices everywhere. Not yet, though. And it was part of Great Britain I'd seen, not the free Republic. But Uncle Ike was a man with enough worries of his own, and I never felt like saying anything that might burden him.
"It was grand," I said, feeling that was not quite a lie. Grand, magnificent, terrible. "Can I ask about the rumors? Are you going to get General Marshall's job?"
"That's up to the president, William. Looks like one of us will command the invasion of Europe and the other will be chief of staff."
"Which do you want, Uncle Ike?" I spoke softly, taking advantage of the permission he gave me, when we were alone, to call him that.
"I'll happily do whatever the president orders," he said. Leaning close, he spoke in a whisper. "I've always accepted whatever orders came my way, William. But I'm a changed man now. No one could have experienced what I have and not be different from the man he was in the beginning. I want to command the invasion, and see this war to the end." He leaned back and ground out his cigarette. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his forehead seemed permanently creased.
"My money's on you, General."
"Thank you, William. Now get some rest. Kay will get you squared away."
SHE DID. A room, a bath, a tray of food, a full set of tropic khakis, and all the gear I might need. One thing about working in a headquarters, there was never a shortage of supplies. After I ate, washed, and shaved, I decided to close my eyes, just for ten minutes, before I went in search of Diana. I opened the doors to the balcony to let in the cool breeze from the Mediterranean and stretched out on the bed. It was four o'clock, 1600 hours. Maybe half an hour, a catnap. I closed my eyes.
I dreamed of a city with white gleaming buildings and narrow streets. I was looking for someone but never could find her. I'd get lost in dark passageways, until I was back at the hotel, and then a bomb hit, and there was fire and smoke.
I woke up instantly, my heart beating fast and fear in my gut. I knew the city was Algiers, and the bomb was from another time when Diana and I had been here. Close to death, the companion that haunted us both. I blinked my eyes, thinking I was still asleep. I wasn't, and it was dark. I looked at my watch, rubbing my eyes awake. Nine o'clock, damn.
I dressed and headed for the general's office, hoping Kay would still be there. She was, the place still a beehive of junior officers and WACs. She'd told Diana I was here, but Diana was headed out with someone, and said she'd see me in the morning. It sounded like the cold shoulder to me, and I pressed Kay as to where she'd gone. She told me after a little coaxing: the Cafe Continental in the Casbah. She didn't want to tell me who Diana's companion was but I got it out of her bit by bit. Yes, it was a man. Yes, a young man; no, not an American. He was British, an army captain, and yes, he was quite good-looking; actually, all the girls thought so.
A little voice at the back of my head told me to go back to my room and get a good night's sleep. I didn't listen; I was surprised that voice kept giving me advice after all the years I'd ignored it. It wasn't always bad advice; it just came when I didn't want to hear it. I jumped in a taxi and asked the driver to get me to the Cafe Continental fast, tossing a bunch of British pounds on the front seat, probably enough to buy the cab and a couple of donkeys to boot. He floored it with abandon, weaving around a colonel who almost lost his service cap in the slipstream. My kind of cabbie.
He came to a stop that sent me slamming into the front seat, in front of the Cathedral of Saint Phillipe, its twin minarets, graceful curving arches, and decorated tiles revealing it had been a mosque before the French took over. Or so Diana had told me, last time we were here, walking to the Cafe Continental. The cathedral was lit up, the blackout long gone since we'd chased the Luftwaffe all the way back to Italy. I legged it along the side of the limestone building, the stones looking as old as the ruined temples I'd seen in Sicily. The side street brought me into the Casbah proper, a maze of narrow streets and winding alleyways. It was easy to get lost but all you had to do was walk down the hill and you'd end up at the harbor, where you could turn around and try again. But I knew my way around. I knew where you could buy hashish, sell your sister, hire an out-of-work spy, or arrange for a smuggling route into the desert, to Spanish Morocco or the Rio de Oro. What I didn't know was how to talk to Diana when I found her, or whether she'd listen.
I dodged Arab women, their robes covering every inch of them, embroidered head scarves and veils drawing the eye though I thought the idea was to discourage male glances. Boys pulled donkeys weighed down with dates, jugs of water, blankets, firewood, and wooden crates stamped U.S. ARMY. The alleys were dark, the only light coming from overhanging balconies built out over the street so far they almost touched their neighbors across the way. I'd left my pistol back at the hotel, figuring that it would go better if I didn't arrive armed, and I cast a few glances over my shoulder before I hit Rue Marengo, a wider street where, during the day, open markets sold everything from fruit and vegetables to trinkets for GI tourists, brass baubles, Arab daggers, and German Lugers.
I slowed my pace, collecting myself, trying to calm down so I wouldn't punch out the Brit officer before we were introduced. The evening was cool but I wiped sweat from my temples as I adjusted my fore-and-aft cap, loosened my field scarf, then tightened it again, before rubbing each shoe on the back of my pants to get rid of the dust. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and sauntered off, just another bored soldier looking for a new bar or brothel. The Cafe Continental was around the next curve in the stree
t, and I wanted to scout the position from a safe distance.
I knew the layout: a gleaming white building with sky blue doors and shutters, the sign in the same blue and white over the door, the main entrance on the street. Off to the side, there was a courtyard shaded by trees, where Diana and I had eaten a couple of times. Strings of lightbulbs hung low in the tree branches, casting a leafy glow over the tables, each flooded by candlelight.
I saw Diana-no, I heard Diana-that laugh, like glass chimes in a low wind, quiet but insistent, with the promise of more to come. Then I saw her profile in the candlelight, the yellow glow reflecting off her honey brown hair. Her FANY uniform fit her well and she looked even better than the last time I had seen her. More at ease and confident. There was no hesitation in her gestures as she raised a glass of wine to her lips, patted her companion on the arm and leaned closer to whisper to him. I turned away. I had hurt her, waited too long to stand by her side, and now she was out with one of her own, a British captain. He even outranked me.
I walked back the way I had come, waiting for the downward incline to propel me out of the Casbah. Maybe Diana had thought about the same things I had, the difference in who we were, where we came from, and found it easier to imagine her future with a countryman. I'd glimpsed that with Slaine, the comfort of thinking how easy it would be. No hard road there.
No, I told myself. No, I needed to talk to Diana. Things had gone this far because I hadn't said the things that needed saying. I turned again, rehearsing my lines.
I walked through the restaurant before the maitre d' could intercept me, and before I could regain my senses. I watched Diana nodding at her date enthusiastically, smiling up at him. He looked like a recruiting poster, his brass and leather gleaming, khaki dress uniform unwrinkled, his face tanned and his hair burnished blond by the desert sun. And he wore medals. I was definitely outclassed but he'd seen me already, and raised an eyebrow, signaling Diana.
"Billy!"
"I'm sorry to intrude, Diana, I was just passing by and saw you. I wanted to say hello, and wish you well, with whatever you're doing next." I avoided looking at the other guy's face and resisted the urge to vault the wrought-iron fence and run screaming down the road.
"Billy, I didn't expect to see you tonight," Diana said, standing to face me.
"That's obvious," I said. "Look, I know we didn't part on the best of terms. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. And that you should do whatever you think is right, not that you need my two cents' worth."
"Billy, I-"
"Never mind, you don't need to make excuses. I was a bum, I know it, and you deserve someone better. Now enjoy your dinner, sorry I interrupted." I watched her eyes for some signal, some evidence in them of desire or longing. All I saw was blue.
"Diana, I thought you said he was terribly smart," the Brit said, his long legs crossed and one hand idly resting on a knee.
"Listen, bub, you butt out or-captain or not-I'll bust you wide open," I said in a low growl. This was hard enough without some aristocratic twit chiming in.
"Champagne, monsieur and mademoiselle," announced a waiter carrying an ice bucket. This was too much.
"Champagne, what the hell are you celebrating, Diana? Couldn't you have waited until I was out of town? It's not like we have any claim on each other, but-"
"Would you like a chair, sir?" the oblivious waiter asked as he set down the champagne on ice.
Diana stood, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me. Not a glad-to-see-you kiss and not a goodbye kiss. A real kiss, a hungry kiss, a kiss full of passion, a lingering, come-on-upstairs kind of kiss. She finally let me go and a table of French officers applauded.
"I think I'd like that chair now," I said to the waiter.
"Billy," Diana said, taking me by the arm, her eyes twinkling. "I think it's time the two of you met. Lieutenant Billy Boyle, this is Captain Peter Seaton." I watched both of them suppressing grins. Of course. Diana's brother, Peter. She and Daphne had both spoken of him; he was serving with the British 8th Army, now fighting in Italy. We shook hands.
"Glad to meet you," I said. "And sorry for the scene."
A chair and a third glass appeared. We sat as the waiter poured. I watched Diana, transfixed by her beauty, her presence, her scent, the taste of her still on my lips.
"What are we drinking to?"
"My engagement," Peter said. "To a wonderful American girl on the embassy staff in Cairo. We met at a party, one of those incredibly boring duty events. We both fell head over heels. Audrey's from New York City, somewhere in Manhattan. She's been to Harlem, all the jazz clubs, can you believe it?"
"Congratulations," I said. We clinked glasses and drank.
"Well, I promised some chaps I'd meet them at the hotel bar. Now that Billy's here, I'll leave you in his care."
"Oh, Peter," Diana said. "You don't have to go."
I didn't say a thing.
"Catch up with me at the bar. You two finish the champers and.. . well, whatever."
We watched him leave, a bit nervous at being left alone. I took another drink.
"Listen," I said. At the same time she started to speak.
"No, you go first," we both said at the same time. That was good for a laugh.
"Let me get this out, Billy. Kay told me about how exhausted you looked, and your long trip back here. Peter is only here for two days, then he goes to Tunis as part of the conference with the president and the prime minister. So I thought it best to let you sleep and see you in the morning. Or maybe later tonight." That was promising.
"I don't blame you for wanting to spend time with your brother, and I'm sorry I made a fool of myself. But when I thought he was your date, I wanted you to know how I felt."
It occurred to me that Kay had set me up, withholding that final bit of information about who Diana was with. She was one smart cookie.
"I liked hearing it," Diana said, reaching for my hand.
"I had no right to stand in your way about the SOE," I said, lowering my voice instinctively. "If it's important to you, I'm all for it."
"What changed, Billy?"
"In Ireland, I began to understand. Then this afternoon, General Eisenhower said something to me. He said he was a changed man, that no one could go through what he had and not be. It's as simple as that. I've changed. I've discovered what's important, and that it's more than simply living. It's how you live. A long life filled with regrets and guilt is worse than a short life without them."
"I've missed you, Billy. Terribly. I've wanted nothing more than for you to be here. For us to be together. Not forever, if that's not in the cards, but for now. For each other. I want to be happy with you, to drink champagne, introduce you to my brother, talk to you, and listen to you. To wander the Casbah. To see you come safely back to me."
"It took Ireland to show me I was almost throwing all that away."
"What happened there, Billy?" Diana grasped my hand in both of hers.
I leaned in and kissed her softly, her full lips tender against mine.
"I love you," I whispered, and heard the echo as it settled into my mind, the sight of her by candlelight, the smells of the Casbah, the taste of champagne all mingling and forming a memory I knew I'd carry with me always.
"What happened?" she said again.
I took Pig out of my pocket, rubbed his belly, placed him in the palm of her hand, and started to tell the story.
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