Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  For the next couple of weeks nothing official came out of Germany. Alex had to wonder whether the woman at the newsstand might have been right. Maybe Hitler had taken new courage. Maybe he felt the U.S. was leaderless now and would settle for something less than an unconditional surrender.

  Alex’s thirty days were slipping away, but he had mixed emotions about that. He hated the idea of parting with Anna again, but he was having trouble dealing with so many empty days. Anna had had to return to work, and while she tried to put in as few hours as possible, Alex was left alone much of the time. He spent some days with Anna’s mother, and he walked a great deal, but he couldn’t seem to sit still to read, and he was in no mood for sightseeing. He told himself that he loved this time with Anna, but he didn’t feel it the way he wanted to. They had no future they could talk about yet, none they could begin. All was on hold until Alex got out of the army, and he didn’t know exactly what he would be going back to, how long he still might have to stay. He kept telling her he was fine, feeling better all the time, but one evening, as they sat on a bench in Hyde Park, she told him, in German, “Alex, you’re not you yet. I feel that all the time, but I understand. You don’t have to try so hard to reassure me. It’s going to take time for us to get back to normal.”

  “We don’t know what normal is, Anna. We’ve never spent a single day together when the war wasn’t hanging over us.”

  “We will.”

  “Anna, I’m sorry I’ve ruined this time together.”

  “You haven’t. Listen to me.” She turned to him, took his face in her hands, and gave him a little kiss. “When we can plan—when we can start our life together—you’ll have things to think about. Right now, you’re only waiting—and remembering. That’s not healthy.”

  “I’ve been on edge for a long time, Anna. I want to stop feeling that way, but . . . I don’t know . . . my brain doesn’t want to believe that I’m out of danger.”

  “I know. I understand. Remember—I was there. For a long time, after we came out of Germany, every little sound woke me up at night. I’m still that way a little. But we’ll be okay. We’ll go to Salt Lake, be with your family, and we’ll have our little baby.”

  “Anna, I could end up going to fight in Japan.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe they’ll need you in Germany long enough that you won’t have to go over there. Maybe the fighting is over for you.”

  Alex had thought a lot about all that the past few weeks. He wondered what he wanted to do when he got home, what it would be like to be a civilian, perhaps to go to college again, or to work. It was all so hard to imagine. He even feared his family a little—especially his father, who wrote letters that hinted strongly that he expected Alex to be part of the family businesses again. Nothing about selling cars, or running the plant—even if it was no longer a weapons plant—appealed to him. He wanted to do something good—wanted to give some kind of service, do something he could be proud of. He wanted to like himself. He knew that no one would blame him for anything he had done, but he still felt the need to repent.

  On May 1, word spread across the world that Hitler had committed suicide the day before. Not everyone believed that, but what was clear was that the Russians had taken Berlin, and the rest of the Allies had taken control of almost all of Germany. The end was certainly very near. Rumors kept circulating through London that Germany had surrendered, and impromptu celebrations would break out, but finally, on May 7, early, Alex heard on the radio that the news was official. Surrender papers would be signed that night, and May 8 would be proclaimed Victory in Europe Day. On the tenth, Alex would be leaving. He was glad he had still been with Anna when this good news had come.

  Alex and Anna had stayed on at the hotel even though they were using up all of Alex’s money to do so. But they wanted this time together, and they clung to it. He had been sitting in the big chair in the hotel room when the news about the surrender had come on the radio. He took some long breaths when the announcement was over. He wanted to let the peace enter him, relax his body a little.

  He and Anna ate a nice dinner in the hotel dining room that night, and they joined a little in the merrymaking. But most of people were drinking and getting more jolly than Anna and Alex liked. “Alex, let’s walk to Piccadilly,” Anna said. “People will be out there tonight enjoying this together. Churchill is supposed to make a statement in front of one of the buildings in Whitehall. We could stroll up that way and maybe hear him.”

  “I’m afraid there’ll be a tremendous crowd,” Alex said. “Do you want to be in the middle of all that?”

  “Why not? Let’s be happy. You and I, we need to be a little less tragic—and enjoy this moment. Let’s start being all right.”

  “I just thought, with the baby, you might not want to be bumped and jostled about.”

  “The baby will be fine. It will like the fun.”

  And so Alex agreed. He knew he owed Anna this. But outside, the crowds filled up not only the sidewalks but also the streets, and Alex felt some of his anxiousness return. Piccadilly was crazy, with taxis and busses caught in the throng, unable to move, and people screaming and singing and doing snake dances. He knew what Londoners had been through—the blitz, the V-2 attacks, and the long years of fighting—but there was something too strident about all this, a little forced, as though people had pictured this celebration for seven years, and now they had their minds made up to carry it out—even if they felt more like putting their feet up and taking a rest. Only the drunks seemed unabashed in their joy, and some of those were getting obnoxious.

  “It really is over, Alex,” Anna yelled in Alex’s ear. “I can’t get used to the idea.” She held his arm tight and pressed herself against him. “We made it. You’re alive, and this little one in here has a daddy.” She patted her belly. “This time, when you leave, I won’t have to worry so much.”

  They had talked about the days ahead. Alex would be going into Germany before long. But he didn’t know how long he would be needed there. What he didn’t tell Anna was his one constant worry: if an Airborne landing were planned for Japan, the 101st might be grasping for all the experienced officers it could find. The division might want Alex back, and everyone knew that the greatest danger of all, in combat, was for lieutenants, who were often the platoon leaders. Alex wasn’t like some of the green ones who came out of West Point and got themselves killed the first week, but he would be out front, and the battle to take Japan was going to be monumental. Some experts thought there would be as many Allied lives lost there as had been lost throughout the entire war.

  So Alex had a hard time thinking that the war was “over” for them. But he didn’t say that; he laughed and pulled Anna close, and he told her how happy he was. All the while, the noise was almost more than he could stand.

  Eventually, however, it was Anna who wanted to go back to the hotel. People were yelling foul comments about Hitler, which was fair enough, but when they shouted about the “filthy Germans” and the “stinking huns,” Alex saw her wince. “I thought it would be fun, but it isn’t,” she finally told Alex. “There’s nothing left of Germany now, is there?”

  “You know there isn’t.”

  “What will happen to the people?”

  “I don’t know, Anna. It’s going to bad there—for a long time.”

  “I just wanted to be happy that it’s over.”

  “I know. But it isn’t that easy. This war won’t be over for a long time.”

  Anna nodded. “Let’s go,” she said, and the two worked their way out of the crowd.

  Chapter 20

  Bobbi was in the officers’ ward room when one of the doctors stepped in and announced, “It’s official. The Germans have surrendered. We just heard it on the radio.”

  There was not much reaction—partly because the news had been expected. Besides, the war was over “over there,” but it was far from over for those on the Charity. Maybe Bobbi resented that a little. But she was really too tired to be sure
what she felt. Her ship had just departed from Guam for the third time since the battle for Okinawa had begun. Three times the ship had been filled to capacity, with more than six hundred patients stacked into tiered bunks, and then it had steamed to Guam and transferred the wounded to the hospital there. Now the ship was on its way back to Okinawa one more time. Bobbi had spent the day supervising the necessary cleaning and reorganizing as her staff prepared for their return to action.

  Dr. Clyde Jones, a young surgeon and navy lieutenant, was sitting across from Bobbi. “We ought to celebrate,” he said, almost as though he thought it was their duty to do so.

  Kate Calder was sitting next to Bobbi. She laughed. “When we get back to Okinawa, I don’t think we’re going to feel like any war is over.”

  “I know,” Dr. Jones said, “but just think how long we’ve waited for this day. A couple of years ago, we would have given almost anything to see Hitler finished off.”

  Another doctor, John Samuelsen, had continued to eat. But now he said, “Maybe we can throw all our strength against the Japs now and get this thing over with.”

  Someone at another table had managed to drum up a little more excitement. “I just talked to the cook,” a young ensign shouted. “He’s got a stash of beer somewhere. We’re going to have a party.”

  Bobbi decided it was time to clear out. She didn’t mind the others drinking, but she didn’t have the energy to deal with the extra attractions. Doctor Jones came on strong enough to her at times when he hadn’t been drinking, but give him a little alcohol and he suddenly became all hands. So Bobbi slipped away and went back to her cabin. It was awfully early to go to bed, but she thought she would anyway. First, however, she got out Richard’s last letter, and she read it one more time. He had been in Utah for a while now, in Brigham City most of the time, where he was receiving skin grafts. This last letter, however, had really bothered her:

  Dear Bobbi,

  I’m back in Brigham after spending almost two weeks at home. I had another graft this week, and my left hand is wrapped again. But the doc said he’s finished with my right hand. It doesn’t look great, but it works fairly well. I can do most things fairly well with it now, and it should get even better as I keep exercising. The doc says he might send me back to San Francisco for another operation on my left hand. Right now I can’t make a fist or grasp anything with it. I do have pretty good use of my thumb, though, so it’s still better than if they had amputated.

  I’m finally getting it through my head that I am lucky. Here at the hospital I’m one of the few guys who hasn’t lost an arm or a leg—or both legs, both arms. Most of these guys are still trying to accept what it means to go on with life, with everything changed so much, and they look at me like I got off easy. Bushnell also has a big ward for patients who’ve broken down psychologically. I’ve seen some guys who look like blank walls. I feel pretty lucky when I look at them.

  Bobbi, I’ve made up my mind to start at the University this next fall. My doctor says he can probably get me out of the navy by then, and I’ll get some financial help for school. I’ve decided I want to be a teacher of some kind. I think I could possibly do engineering work, even with my hands the way they are, but it’s just not what I feel interested in anymore. I read all the time, here at the hospital, and every book I pick up looks interesting to me. I don’t know how I’ll ever settle on just one subject.

  Bobbi, there’s something I’m concerned about. I called your family the last time I passed through Salt Lake on the way home. I talked to your mom for a while, and I can see where you get your sense of humor. I really liked her. She had your dad take the phone for a minute, and he was nice too, but he talked a lot about how busy the plant is. The impression I got is that your family is really doing well financially. Since then I’ve thought a lot about the situation I might be putting you in. If I end up a teacher—or maybe a college professor—are you going to feel okay about that? Maybe the rest of your family will have a lot more money than we would have. You need to consider what that might mean. You don’t need to feel duty-bound to marry me at this point. You might want to take my plans into account. If you would rather drop this engagement and then just wait and see when you get home, that would be something I would understand.

  By the way, your mother invited me to dinner. I told her the next time I came home, I would take her up on that, so I should have a chance to meet your parents and little sisters before long.

  Well, look, I just read this letter over, and I don’t want it to sound wrong to you. I’m not asking to break off our engagement. I just want you to have that option. There’s not a chance I would write you a “Dear Jane” letter. There are plenty of nice girls back here in Utah, but I’ve never met anyone like you. Now that I’m the one away from the action, and you’re the one still out there, I understand what you went through waiting for me. I pray every day that you’ll be safe, and that the war won’t go on forever. What I want more than anything is to have you with me. At the same time, I don’t want you to feel trapped. If I’m not going to have a lot of money in my life, you need to consider that. Maybe that doesn’t seem very important now, but in the long run, it might be hard to watch your family do so well while we have to get by on a lot less. So I guess you understand what I’m saying to you. I want what’s best for you, Bobbi, and I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation. I’m not backing out at all, but I want you to know the whole picture before you make up your mind.

  It was this passage that stopped Bobbi each time she read the letter. Where was his passion for her? Couldn’t he, somewhere in the letter, have said, “I want you more than anything”? He had never once even used the word love. Maybe it was kind and fair of him to offer her a way out, but it also seemed so bloodless. She liked a lot better the longing for her she had seen in David’s eyes. The irony, of course, was that Bobbi was as likely as Richard to use her head more than her instincts. But maybe that was just the point. Maybe she needed someone who would fire her emotions, someone more like her Hawaiian friends.

  Bobbi tried to think about the issue Richard had raised. What she knew was that someday she might in fact feel more concern about money, and she tried to force herself to take the question seriously. But she had never been motivated by “things,” and she didn’t know how to test her future aspirations against the feelings she had always known. Would it matter to her if her brothers and sisters were better off? Maybe it would. Maybe she would change, start to wish her children had as much as their cousins. But right now she could only think that Richard needed to do something he cared about and not sacrifice his own needs for the sake of money.

  What lingered in her head, however, was a strange kind of jealousy. The passion in Richard’s letter was all for this newfound love of learning. Reading, right now, seemed to entice him much more than she did. No one loved to read more than David, but at least he knew how to look up from a book and turn his intensity toward life—and Bobbi. Maybe Richard would end up a distracted old professor with his head full of nothing but ideas.

  Bobbi put on her nightgown and lay on her bunk. The humidity in the room was not really oppressive, but it was annoying, uncomfortable. She longed for those spring nights that she remembered back in Utah, when the air was mild but a little bracing as it blew across the front porch all full of the smell of lilacs. She tried to think about life with Richard, life at home. What she knew was that she didn’t care about money. What she wanted was someone who knew how to love her, someone who would feel more than think. Maybe David and Richard were both wrong for her. They had been perfectly willing to give her up when their reason and fair-mindedness had gotten the better of them. What she wanted was a man who would fight for her, cross burning sands to get to her—and she wanted him now. She was sick of these hot nights in her quarters, alone.

  ***

  Wally’s strength was returning, and part of the reason for that was that Sonbu Son was back in the mine, and he had again chosen Wally as his assista
nt. They worked together each day, just the two of them, and each afternoon they took a rest—just as they had done before. But some things had changed. Sonbu had no extra food to offer. He apologized for that, saying, “Not good in Japan. Many bombs.”

  Otherwise, Sonbu said nothing about conditions outside the mine and the prison camp. He couldn’t speak enough English to say much, but he also seemed to hesitate. He had probably been warned by mine officials not to reveal anything to the prisoners. One day, however, as the two sat down to rest, he said in a solemn voice, “No war in Germany.”

  Wally hadn’t understood the words—Sonbu’s pronunciation—the first time. And so he asked him to repeat.

  Sonbu said the same words, and then he added, “Hitler dead. Germany stop.”

  Wally had heard other rumors. Some men claimed to

  have heard from guards, or from men who had heard radio broadcasts, that the war in Europe was about to end, but Sonbu was reliable, and Wally was sure this was true.

  “Japan no stop,” Sonbu volunteered.

  It was the question Wally had wanted to ask. “Too many bombs. Must stop,” Wally told him.

  Sonbu sat for a time. In the dim light, Wally could barely see his face. He looked worn, depleted. “No stop,” he finally said.

  Wally didn’t know how to say what he was thinking. “Many bombs,” he repeated. Then he held his hands over his head to indicate a surrender.

  But Sonbu shook his head. “No stop,” he said again, and this time he made a motion, as though he were fighting with his hands, swinging a stick. Wally knew what he meant, that people would fight with poles, that they would resist an attempted landing. Sonbu finished by swinging his arm in a wide arc and saying, “All people.”

  “No. Only soldiers,” Wally told him.

  Again Sonbu shook his head. “All people.”

  “You?” Wally pointed to him.

  But Sonbu stared into the dark and said, softly, “No.”