The Bungalow: A Novel

by Sarah Jio

  Mary and I worked the doors, directing traffic and admitting the men, many of whom shrieked and pleaded for help, some weakly, others with such force that it was terrifying to witness. A young soldier with a head injury pulled my arm so hard he tore the sleeve of my dress. “I want my mama!” he screamed. “Mama! Where is Mama?”

  It was harrowing to witness. All of it. The blood and the misery and the pain, and especially seeing men reduced to children in their suffering. But we kept on. We drew upon on our reserves of strength as Nurse Hildebrand had instructed. And when that ran out, we found more.

  It was two thirty in the morning when the last plane came in. Nine men where wheeled into the infirmary. I heard Mary scream at the door. The horror in her voice told me why.

  I ran to her side, and there on the stretcher lay Lou—limp, lifeless, and very badly burned.

  The soldier at the door shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “This one died on the way over. We did all we could for him.”

  “No!” Mary screamed, shaking her head violently. “No!”

  She ran to the soldier and gripped his shirt in her fists. “Did you not try to help him? Did you not do anything?”

  “Ma’am,” he said, “I assure you, we did everything we could. His wounds were just too great.”

  “No,” Mary said, falling to her knees. “No, this can’t be.” She stood up and lay her head on Lou’s chest, sobbing into his blood-soaked shirt. “Lou, Lou!” she cried. “No, no, Lou. No.”

  Liz ran to my side. “We have to stop her,” she said. “Will you help me?”

  “Mary,” I said. “Mary, stop. He’s gone, dear. Let him go.”

  “I won’t!” she screamed, pushing me away. Her face was covered in Lou’s blood. I gestured to Liz for assistance.

  “Honey,” I said, taking her left arm in my hands. Liz took her right. “We’re going to take you to bed.”

  “No,” Mary moaned.

  “Liz, grab the sedatives,” I said.

  She nodded and handed me a syringe. Mary hardly flinched as I jabbed the needle into her arm. Moments later, her body went limp.

  “There,” I said, letting her down softly onto a nearby bed. The sheets had a smudge of blood on them. Someone else’s blood. But there wasn’t time to change them. “Lie down, dear,” I said, wiping Lou’s blood from her face with a damp cloth. “Try to rest.”

  “Lou,” she muttered weakly before her eyes closed.

  I watched her breathing for a few minutes, thinking about how unfair this was. After all she’d been through, she had found love again, only to lose it in such a tragic way. It wasn’t right.

  Kitty and I walked back to the barracks together in silence. We had now seen war, or, rather, the aftermath of war—its ugliness, its cruelty.

  We fell into our beds and listened to the airplanes flying overhead for a long time. I prayed for Westry, and I wondered who Kitty was praying for, or thinking of.

  “Anne,” Kitty whispered to me after the skies had been quiet for some time. “Are you still awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to tell you something,” she said. “Something important.”

  I sat up. “What is it?”

  She sighed, looking at me with eyes filled with sorrow, with hurt that I could not understand. “I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter 10

  I gasped, running to her bed. “Oh, Kitty!” I cried, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “I’ve known for a while now,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

  “Why would you be afraid, Kitty?”

  She exhaled deeply. “Partly because I feared admitting it, even to myself, and also because I knew it would disappoint you.”

  “Disappoint me?” I ran my fingers through her curls and shook my head. “No, I’m only disappointed that you’ve had to carry this burden alone.”

  Kitty pressed her face against my shoulder and wept so intensely her body shook with grief. “I don’t know what to do,” she cried. “Look at me.” She indicated her belly, which was obviously swollen. “I’ve been hiding under girdles for months. I can’t go on like this anymore. Everyone will notice before too long. The baby’s coming in a month, maybe sooner.”

  I gasped. “We’ll speak to Nurse Hildebrand,” I said.

  “No!” Kitty pleaded. “No, we can’t go to her. Please, Anne.”

  “It’s our only option,” I countered. “You can’t be working such long hours in your condition, and the baby will be coming soon. We must plan for that.”

  Kitty looked frightened and lost. I knew by the expression on her face that she hadn’t considered the reality of what lay ahead—delivering a child on an island thousands of miles away from home, unwed, in disgrace, uncertain.

  “All right,” she said. “If you think it’s best, tell her. But I can’t bear to be there when you do.”

  I kissed her forehead and smiled. “You don’t have to, dear,” I said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  There was little time the following day to find even a minute alone with Nurse Hildebrand, but by the final hour of my shift, I had managed to run into her in the storeroom.

  “Nurse Hildebrand,” I said, quietly closing the door behind us. “May I speak to you about something?”

  “Yes, Anne,” she said without looking up from the crate she was unpacking. “Quickly, please; I must get back.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s about Kitty.”

  Nurse Hildebrand nodded. “I already know,” she said simply.

  “What do you mean, you know?”

  “Her pregnancy,” she replied without emotion.

  “Yes, but I—”

  “Anne, I’ve been a nurse for a very long time. I’ve delivered babies and had children of my own. I know.”

  I nodded. “She needs your help,” I said cautiously. “The baby’s coming soon, and she can’t keep working like this.”

  For the first time, Nurse Hildebrand turned to me. Her face softened in a way I hadn’t known it could. “Tell her not to worry about the work here. If the others ask, I’ll say she has a bout of the fever going around, that she’s been quarantined. You’ll need to bring her meals up to her. Can you manage that?”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling. “Yes, of course.”

  “And when the time comes, come to me.”

  I nodded. “But what will become of the baby, after—”

  “I know a missionary couple who will take the baby,” she said. “They live just over the hill, on the other side of the island. They are good people. I’ll speak to them in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Nurse Hildebrand,” I said with such emotion, tears fell from my eyes. “I didn’t expect you to be so—”

  “Enough,” she said. The softness, now gone from her face, was replaced by the stern expression I knew so well. “It’s time to get back to work.”

  The day Mary left the island was sad for all of us, particularly for Kitty, who remained trapped in the barracks, unable to join the other nurses on the airstrip for her farewell.

  The island had been hard on Mary, perhaps harder on her than on any of us. It had given her malaria and nearly taken her life, and then it broke her heart.

  “Farewell, friend,” Stella said to her.

  “We’ll never forget you, dear,” Liz chimed in.

  Mary looked like a shell of a woman standing there before the open door of the plane, thinner than ever, with wrists still bandaged from her self-inflicted wounds, the wounds that had almost ended her life.

  She retrieved a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her bloodshot eyes. “I’ll miss you all so much,” she said. “It doesn’t feel right to leave. You’ve become my dearest friends, my sisters.”

  I squeezed Mary’s hand. “It’s your time, dear. Go home. Take care of yourself.” I remembered the letter from Edward, which was now in my pocket. I hadn’t anticipated keeping it from her this long. Was she read
y to read it now? It didn’t matter, I reasoned. The letter belonged to her.

  “I guess this is it,” she said, reaching for her bag.

  The other women choked back tears as Mary turned toward the plane.

  “Wait,” I said. Mary looked back at me with a confused expression.

  I pulled the letter from my pocket and tucked it in her hand. “This arrived,” I said, “for you. I hope you will forgive me for keeping it from you. I wanted to protect you from any more pain.”

  Mary’s eyes brightened when she saw the name on the return address. “My God,” she gasped.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, stepping back.

  Mary extended her hand to take mine. “No,” she said. “Don’t be. I understand. I do.”

  “I’ll miss you so much,” I said, wishing that things could be different—for her, for Kitty, for all of us. “Promise you’ll look me up in Seattle when the war’s over?”

  “I promise,” she said. And with that, Mary and her letter were gone from our lives—forever, perhaps. And the island was lonelier because of it.

  For a long time it felt like Westry might never return. The island was different without him, especially now that Mary had left and Kitty was bedridden. But then one morning in late May while working in the infirmary, we heard the loudspeaker at the center of camp announcing that the men had returned.

  “Go,” Nurse Hildebrand said to me.

  I didn’t stop to thank her; instead I ran out to the pathway and didn’t pause until I’d reached the edge of the airstrip. Men trudged with heavy bags and even heavier hearts toward camp. Lance, Colonel Donahue, and some of the other men I knew. But where is Westry? I looked around for a familiar face. Elliot had gone home earlier with some of the other men whose service was up. Would someone else know of Westry’s whereabouts?

  “Have you seen Westry?” I asked an unfamiliar soldier. His head hung low.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t know him.”

  I nodded, then noticed one of Westry’s bunkmates from the barracks. “Ted,” I said, approaching him. “Where’s Westry? Have you seen him?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Not since yesterday.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was on the front lines, and . . .”

  My heart raced. “What are you saying?”

  “He wasn’t on the plane with us.”

  “What does that mean?” I cried. “That he isn’t coming home? That you just left him there?”

  “There’s another plane coming in tonight,” he said. “Let’s pray that he’s on it.”

  I nodded as Ted tipped his cap at me and filed back in line with the men making their way back to camp, eager for a hot meal and a soft bed.

  I clutched the locket that stood guard around my neck, hoping that wherever Westry was, he could feel my love. I would will him home. I had to.

  A chill filled the air that night, unusual for May in the tropics. I shivered as I walked along the beach, a foolish move given Kitty’s state. She’d been having mild contractions for days now, but she assured me they weren’t serious. Even so, I promised her I’d only be gone an hour. I felt guilty about leaving, but I needed the comfort of the bungalow now more than ever.

  I unlocked the door and draped the quilt around me, listening for airplanes overhead. Is he coming? Please, God, bring him home.

  But instead of footsteps on the sand, I could only hear rain—just a few drops at first and then a hundred, a thousand. The sky appeared to have opened up, dumping its contents right on the roof of the bungalow.

  I opened the door, extending my hand outside to feel the raindrops, like firm kisses on my skin, beckoning me outside. I took another step, and looked up to the sky, eyes closed, letting the warm drops cover my face, my hair. Moments later my dress was soaked. I unfastened the buttons on the bodice as the rain seeped down beneath my slip. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure. It was faint at first and blurred in the distance. I walked closer, unafraid, pushing my way through the rain, like a curtain of beads extending from the sky, until I could make out his face, thin from months of fighting, and hungry for the love I desperately wanted to give him.

  Our bodies collided, fitting together perfectly as his bag dropped to the sand. “Oh, Westry!” I cried. Even in the dark, I could see the scratches on his face and his ripped, mud-stained uniform.

  “I came directly here,” he said.

  “Oh, Westry!” I cried again, pulling his lips toward mine.

  He ran his hands along my dress, tugging at the fabric as if to make it disappear. I leapt into his arms, wrapping my legs around his body, kissing him again and again, before he smiled and gently set my feet down on the sand.

  He reached inside his bag. “Let’s do this the right way,” he said. “Ever seen a proper military shower?”

  Westry pulled out a bar of soap. “When we were on the ship, this is how we bathed,” he said. “Right out on the deck, in the tropical rain.”

  I reached for his collar, running my hands down his shirt, unfastening each button as quickly as my fingers could move, until my hands caressed his bare chest and the dog tags hanging from his neck.

  He slipped out of his trousers and lifted my dress over my head. We stood there for a moment, without a stitch of clothing, in the warm rain, until Westry moved toward me, running the ivory bar of soap along my neck. I gasped as he touched it to my breasts, lathering my skin with bubbles.

  I moved in closer, loving the way our bodies felt against each other, and took the soap in my hands, rubbing it across his chest, his arms, and his back. The rain washed away the bubbles as quickly as I could lather them. Westry pulled me close, and I felt the intensity in his kiss, the hunger. He lifted me in his arms, and the soap, what was left of it, slipped out of my grasp and fell to the sand as he carried me to the bungalow, setting me down on the bed.

  I liked the feel of the bungalow’s quilt on my bare skin, and an hour later, when the storm had passed, I lay there tracing Westry’s face with my finger as he gazed out the window facing the beach. The stubble on his jaw was thick. I counted the scrapes on his face. Four—well, five if you counted the gash on his ear.

  “What was it like out there?” I whispered.

  “It was a living hell,” he said, sitting up against the pillows on the bed.

  I sensed his hesitation. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

  “I’d rather enjoy this perfect moment,” he said before planting a soft kiss on my lips.

  I thought of Kitty, and realized that hours could have passed. Is she all right? I felt guilty for being gone so long.

  “Our clothes,” I said, a little panicked. “They must be soaked.”

  Westry stood up, letting the blanket fall to the bed. I giggled shyly, studying his strong, beautiful unclothed body.

  “I’ll go grab them,” he said.

  He returned a moment later with my damp, wrinkled dress. I fit it over my head, as he slid into his trousers.

  “Can you stay for a while?” he asked, combing my hair with his fingers.

  “I wish I could, but I need to get back.” I wanted to tell him about Kitty, but I decided against it. “I told Kitty I’d be back hours ago.”

  Westry nodded, kissing my hand.

  We both turned to the window when we heard a rustling sound in the brush, followed by a faint knocking sound on the door.

  Westry opened the door cautiously, and I peered over his shoulder to see Kitty standing outside. She clutched her belly in agony. “Anne!” she screamed. “It’s time.”

  I didn’t stop to think about how she found us. There wasn’t time for questions. “We need to get you to the infirmary,” I said, running to her side.

  “No. I can’t bear to have the other nurses see me like this. Besides, it’s too late for that,” she said. “The baby’s coming now.”

  Westry’s mouth flung open as I helped Kitty up the stairs into the bungalow, whe
re she rested on the bed, moaning in such pain, it was heartbreaking to witness. Lance should be punished for leaving her this way. I shook my head, wiping the perspiration from Kitty’s forehead with the edge of the blanket, and began to pray silently. Please, God, let Kitty be comforted. Give me the strength I lack.

  Kitty moaned louder now. Something was wrong; I felt it. I remembered Tita’s eerie warning and shuddered, forcing the thought from my mind, and tried to stay focused. I carefully positioned myself below Kitty’s legs, helping her lean farther back on the bed. My hands trembled as I lifted her dress and tried to recall an ounce of what I had learned about childbirth in my nursing courses. Hot water. Forceps. Ether. Blankets. I shuddered. I had nothing but my two hands.

  She was bleeding, that much was clear. “Kitty,” I said as she screamed. “Kitty, you need to push now.”

  She seemed alone with her pain, unable to hear my voice. I squeezed her hand. “Kitty,” I continued, “stay with me. This baby is coming and you need to help me. Please, push. You must be strong.”

  “Anne, let me help you,” Westry said once he finally found his voice.

  He knelt down beside me. The bungalow’s lantern illuminated his skin, darker from months in the sun. I could only imagine what he’d gone through, and now he returned to this.

  Westry soaked his handkerchief with water from his canteen and dabbed Kitty’s forehead as I talked her through her next contraction. “I can see the baby’s head,” I said. “It won’t be long now.”

  Kitty looked up at Westry with eyes full of gratitude. He held her hand and stroked her hair. One more push and the baby slid into my arms.

  “A girl!” I cried. “Kitty, it’s a girl.”

  Westry helped me sever the cord with his pocketknife, then placed the baby in Kitty’s arms. She clutched the newborn to her chest.

  “We need blankets,” I said when I noticed that Kitty was shivering.

  Westry tucked Kitty’s limp body under the quilt, and then unbuttoned his shirt. “Here,” he said. “Let’s wrap the baby in this.” Carefully, he swaddled the child in his green army shirt, ragged and a little bloodied from weeks of fighting.