The Kammersee Affair

by John Holt

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later he told the driver to stop, and he stepped down from the cab. He paid the driver, and then stood quite still, just looking at his surroundings for a moment. At last, after almost four years he was back home, back in the Bronx. He could not believe it. He had dreamt about this moment so often. Now at last it was no longer a dream. This was it. This was the real thing. This was actually happening. It all looked so familiar, and he was glad that it hadn’t changed. It was as though he had never been away. The buildings, and the streets, were exactly as he had left them so long ago. He was back home, back to his wife and child, back to his friends and neighbours.

  He had deliberated got out of the cab sooner than he had needed to. He had wanted to walk the last hundred yards or so, slowly savouring the sights and sounds, taking in the atmosphere, stirring up memories, and re-capturing the past. The noise of the traffic, as it roared past; police cars with their sirens blaring loudly; car horns blowing; tyres screeching; somebody grinding their gears. Close by, barely audible, was the muffled sound of machinery, thumping and clanging. Probably road works taking place on the freeway. He could not remember a time when they weren’t carrying out road works on the freeway.

  In the street, children were playing football, yelling noisily, excitedly. Then suddenly a scuffle broke out, and then it ended just as suddenly, one child running home to its mother. It was all the same, exactly as he remembered it. Nothing had changed. He was a little older that was all. Across the street he could hear loud music playing. I’m sure that was playing just the same the day I left for Europe. “Mind you, all of this new fangled modern music sounds the same to me”, he mumbled.

  There were dogs barking, and neighbours arguing. From the building opposite he could hear a mother yelling at her child. Further along the street a baby was crying. Even the smell was so distinctive, so familiar. It was all so re-assuring, and seemed so reliable. In an ever-changing world, all of this, for what it was worth, was constant. He hoped that it would never change. With the madness of war safely behind him, this was reality. It wasn’t much perhaps, but it represented stability. In a troubled world, this, and places like it, were a haven, a sanctuary almost, somewhere safe and secure, free from harm. This was a free society, a community. This, or something very similar to it, was what he and thousands of others had fought for. A way of life, that was worth fighting for, worth defending. The horrors of war were now safely behind him. Now he needed to grab hold of something, to re-establish his sanity. This was perfect. Never again would he take it for granted.

  He stopped in the middle of the street and looked around him. He slowly walked toward the corner. As he walked along, he was suddenly aware that the children were screaming at him. He stopped, and turned to look in their direction. Their football was headed in his direction. They called for him to stop it, and kick it back. He turned, and deftly retrieved the ball. He manoeuvred the ball into position, and gently kicked it back toward the children. He hadn’t lost his skill. Well, perhaps a little, he conceded. The children gave a loud cheer, as they raced toward the ball. With the ball recovered, their game re-commenced. He stood watching the children for a little longer. He realised that he didn’t know any of them. How could he, they hadn’t even started school by the time that he had left for Europe. He looked at his watch. It was almost a quarter to nine. They were out late, long past their bedtimes. Their mothers must call them in soon.

  He then turned back toward the corner of the street, and continued walking. Not long after he reached the corner, and turned into the street in which he lived.

  There a short distance away was the brownstone house where he and his family had lived, in a first floor apartment, for almost fifteen years. The house was about a third of the way along a row of twenty or thirty similar properties. It was three storey’s high, with a semi basement area. There was a long flight of steps leading up to a small verandah. At the top of the steps was the main entrance door.

  Kadowski didn’t know exactly when the buildings were originally constructed, but he guessed that they were now about seventy years old. Originally they had been separate homes, but sometime toward the end of the twenties, just after the Great Depression, they had been converted into apartments. Mr and Mrs Kadowski had been one of the first tenants to move in.

  As Kadowski stood there, the memories began flooding back. He could see their very first day there. It was so plain, crystal clear. It was as though it was happening all over again. The removal truck parked awkwardly at the side of the road; furniture piled on the sidewalk; packing cases everywhere; a small crowd of neighbours gathered around to see what was happening; the removal men struggling up the steps, carrying a heavy piece of furniture. He could see Emily standing at the top of the steps carefully watching their every move, constantly fussing. “Don’t you drop that. You’ll scratch that if you aren’t careful.” Then when they eventually got into the apartment there would be more instructions. “Put it down just there. No not there, a little more to the left.”

  How excited she had been. Like a young schoolgirl, just like the day he had first met her, and how happy she had been.

  * * *

  They had moved to the Bronx when Kadowski had been transferred to a new military training facility that had just been established in Flushing, just a few short miles away. He had been put in charge of the training program which had been set up for the new recruits. He remembered the day that he had told Emily that they would soon be moving away from the base. She had been delighted. She could not believe it. “Stop teasing me,” she had said, hoping against hope that he wasn’t teasing. “You are always playing games, and joking.”

  “I’m not joking,” he simply said. “We are definitely going to New York. Here are my orders, look.” He handed her the official document from the War Department. She took hold of the paper, and started to read. Her eyes shone, and a great beaming smile spread across her face. It was true. They were really going. She moved to his side and put her arms around him, and squeezed. She then let him go, straightened her hair, brushed down her apron, and started to walk away. “I better start packing then,” she simply said.

  She had never really liked living on the base. Sure, she had everything she needed on site. There were shops of every kind you could imagine. There was a clothes shop, food shop, newsagent, drug store, and a liquor store. You name it there was at least one on the base. There was a laundromat, gymnasium, cinema, and a dance hall. They got all of the latest films, and top dance bands came to the hall. There were facilities for every sport you could think of, and an indoor pool. There was no need to ever leave the base. And that was the problem. Everything that they did was somehow, directly, or indirectly, controlled by the army. Everyone living on the base was governed, in one way or another, by the army. She needed to get away, to break free. The base was just too restricting, too stifling. It was too impersonal, too regimental, she had said. It was like living in an institution, not a proper home.

  She had been born and raised in New York, and she welcomed the opportunity of returning there. It was their first real home together, after almost eight years of marriage. It was clean, airy, and spacious. At last she was able to display the set of figurines that had belonged to her mother, and her mother before her. Maybe even her mother before her, Kadowski couldn’t remember. Emily set to with relish, quickly placing her seal on the apartment. The flat was cleaned from top to bottom. Then it was decorated throughout. There were new curtains, and new carpets. And, of course, there had to be new furniture. “We have to have new furniture,” she had said. “To go with the new curtains and carpets, you understand.”

  Yes, he had certainly understood. It wasn’t a problem, he didn’t mind. All that mattered was the smile on Emily’s face.

  It was at the training camp that Kadowski had seen Private George Scott for the first time. Even then he had been a bit of a maverick, with an independent streak. He was impetuous, and impulsive. He was always
restless, couldn’t wait, and had to get on with things. “Talking ain’t doing,” is one thing he would say. But a good soldier nonetheless, a very good soldier. All those years ago, he thought, where does the time go? They had been good times, generally, he remembered. Sure there had been some rough patches. Like everyone else they had their ups and downs. But all in all he had to admit that life had treated them well. Emily had been very happy then, they had been very happy. They would be again, he vowed. He had some lost time to make up, he knew that. That wouldn’t be a problem, he knew that too.

  The sudden barking of a dog close by startled him, bringing him back to the present. He slowly walked toward the house. As he did so he noticed that the door began to gradually open. Somehow, he knew that it would be Emily. She must have seen me through the window. He stopped, and waited expectantly. The door opened wide. Standing at the open door, at the top of the staircase was a dark haired woman, approximately five feet four inches tall. She had a broad smile on her face, and her eyes were shining. She had put on a little weight, but there was no mistaking his wife, Emily.

  He ran up the steps. Reaching her he put his arms around her, tightly hugging her close to him, kissing her. “I was going to surprise you,” he said, tears rolling down his eyes. “You must have seen me coming.”

  “We’ve been at that window for the past hour or more, waiting for you,” she said, hugging him tightly to her. She wasn’t going to let him go again. “We saw you ages ago. I wanted to come out then, but Lucy said leave it a little while longer.”

  A young girl suddenly appeared behind them. Kadowski stopped, turned and looked at her. Could this be Lucy, my little Lucy?

  He looked back at his wife. “Yes Frank, it’s your daughter,” she said.

  How she had grown. He couldn’t believe it. When he had left for Europe she was an awkward looking teenager, with a brace for her teeth, and swooning over some popular singer. Who was it, oh yes, Frank Sinatra. Kadowski used to joke with her. He was the only Frank in her life and she did not need this upstart semi-Italian crooner. Look at her now, she was all grown up. She was a young lady, a very beautiful young lady. He smiled in her direction. “Well aren’t you going to say hello to your father?”

  She ran to him, putting her arms around him. “We’ve been watching you for about fifteen minutes,” she said. “Mum wanted to rush out to you straight away, but I wanted to wait a little longer, so that you could take it all in. I couldn’t believe it was you standing there. I just kept looking at you.”

  “Let me look at you,” Kadowski said, holding her at arm’s length. “You are just like your mother, the spitting image. Same eyes, same hair, same high cheekbones.” He looked at his wife, and beckoned to her. She came over to him, and stood at his side. He put his other arm around her, and pulled her close to him. Then he just stood there, quietly. His arms held tightly around his two wonderful women. He was really home at last.

  Everything that had happened in the previous three or four years became unreal, a dream, just a fading memory. As he stood there, on the landing, he was suddenly aware that a small gathering of the neighbours had taken place. There they were, standing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Welcome back Frank,” yelled one of the neighbours.

  “Good to see you,” yelled another.

  “Come and visit when you’re ready,” said a third.

  “It’s good to see all of you,” said Kadowski, waving heartedly. “It’s great to be back.” The gathering started to applaud, and a small cheer was heard. Then Kadowski, his wife, and his daughter turned and slowly walked into the house, and the door gently closed behind them.

  * * *

  Now that he had safely returned home, he had made his mind up that he would not go away again. He had been in the army, for almost thirty years. He knew no other life, but he had resolved that he would resign from the military at the earliest opportunity. He had thought about it quite a lot during the voyage home. The last four years had been hard on Emily. She had dealt with everything that was required. She had done a magnificent job. She was a strong woman, Kadowski knew that. That had been one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place. But she was looking tired, and Frank wondered if the stress had affected her health in some way.

  It must have been difficult for her, Kadowski thought. He had discussed the matter at great length, with his wife and daughter. It was his decision, they knew that, but they really wanted him home to stay. They did not want him out of their sight ever again. And so that is how it was to be. He knew that there might be problems, but he would just have to face them, and deal with them, when they came. With Emily and Lucy by his side things would be fine.

  He made enquiries with the Army Board, as to the procedure to be followed. He was told that as a career soldier, who had almost completed the contractual time, all he had to do was give one month’s notice of his intention to resign, in writing. There was a special form, WD310/R. The barracks would send it on to him. All he needed to do was to fill it out, and return it. He didn’t need to report back to the barracks. He would then be given a thirty days leave of absence. In effect, therefore, he would be out of the army from the time they received the form, and approved the application. He would be advised about his pension, and the first payment could be expected in about six weeks time.

  “That’s all there is to it, Sergeant,” said the welfare officer on the other end of the line. “Hope things go well for you, Frank.”

  Frank duly completed the form, and submitted it. Six weeks later, he received a letter from the War Department thanking him for his excellent service and wishing him well for the future. Also enclosed was a letter of recommendation, “to whom it may concern”, and his first pension cheque.

  Frank suddenly felt strange, vulnerable. He now had to fend for himself. He had made his bed, as they say. He now had to lie on it. He had no one to turn to now, although he had been advised that the Army Welfare Unit was there to help if needed. Not financially, you understand, oh no. They were extremely quick to point out that any help that they could offer would not be monetary. But if we can advise you in any way, please do not hesitate.

  Although outwardly things looked the same, some things had changed, and Frank had a lot of catching up to do. Prices had certainly increased. Groceries definitely cost more, and fuel prices had definitely gone up. There were shortages of some items, whilst some others were no longer available.

  Sadly a number of the old neighbours had died, or moved away. A number of new neighbours had moved into the area. Kadowski looked disappointed. He didn’t like change.

  Emily tried to put his mind at ease. ‘They’re lovely people, you’ll like them,” she said. “Keep themselves to themselves. They’re no trouble.”

  Kadowski said nothing. Possibly they were okay. Emily was usually right about that sort of thing. Undoubtedly, he would find out for himself in due course.

  There had been a recent sharp increase in unemployment. That was obvious. There just weren’t enough jobs to cater for all of the returning servicemen. He might have difficulty in actually finding work. Maybe he had resigned from the Army a bit too quickly. Perhaps he should have waited, and made some enquiries first. Once he had found something, then he could have resigned. It was too late now; he had already taken the necessary steps. He was now an ex-soldier, and unemployed. He scoured the newspapers looking for anything that looked remotely suitable. He realised that his age would be against him in a number of areas. He also knew that academically he was lacking, effectively closing several other doors. Finally he was not a skilled man. He was not a craftsman. The only training he had ever had was for the army. This closed several more doors.

  Certainly he could load and fire an M16 Carbine, but there wasn’t much call for that, not these days. There were a number of vacancies for plasterers, bricklayers, and carpenters. Regrettably, he wasn’t suitable for any of these positions. There wasn’t a great deal of anything else on offer. The l
ocal bus company was looking for drivers, aged between thirty and forty-five. He was too old. An insurance company was looking for door-to-door salesmen. Not quite what he wanted, but maybe he had very little choice. He carefully checked the details. There appeared to be no age restrictions, at least none were stipulated. Then he saw the requirements relating to an educational qualification. He needed a certificate in mathematics.

  That was it, for today, he mumbled to himself, nothing. It had been the same story every day for several weeks now. He folded the newspaper, and turned to the sports pages at the back. The New York Dodgers had played a Chicago team a few days earlier. They had lost the match quite heavily. The team manager was being blamed, and his resignation was being demanded. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. No matter how bad the team plays, it’s always the manager’s fault. When the team wins he doesn’t get a mention.

  “Perhaps I’ll apply for his job,” he said to nobody in particular. “You don’t need any education for that position.” In fact, an education might actually count against you. You had to be dumb to even consider such a post. Despite the harshness of war, he was pleased to note that he hadn’t lost his sense of humour. He closed the newspaper, and placed it on to the table.

  “Emily,” he called out. “I think I’ll just go for a walk around the neighbourhood. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, Frank,” Emily said as she came out of the kitchen. She walked over to him. “Put on your heavy coat,” she said. “It looks like it might rain.” She kissed him. Then walked to the door with him, and watched as he went down the stairs. She could tell that he was beginning to worry about their situation. Something’ll turn up, though, she said to herself, as she closed the door.

  * * *

  He noticed that a number of the smaller local shops were closed, and shuttered. His wife had explained to him that old Bill Wilkins, who ran one of the corner stores, had died, and that his son had sold up to a larger organisation. Plans were, apparently, being made to open a new, larger shop in about six months time. Maybe I could get a job there, Kadowski thought. Then he dismissed the idea. They’ll probably be looking for much younger people, he reasoned. They won’t want older people in a brand new store. That wouldn’t do much good for the image would it? Even so, it might be worth a try. It was a long shot, but he decided to keep it in mind.