All Good Women (36 page)

At first it looked like Howard might survive. He's a tough one. I still have a hard time using the past tense. Anyway, they brought him back to headquarters and operated. They got out one bullet and he was conscious for several hours. He talked about you a lot. ‘Take care of Wanda,' he said. I told him I'd do that and he persisted. ‘She needs you.' I kept telling him that he was going to be OK, but he knew he wasn't. He lost a lot of blood while they were bringing him back and then he lost more on the operating table. At one point he turned to me and said I should make sure you got to college. ‘I'm sorry I took that away from her.' He was always talking about that part, Wan, about how you should have gone to college like Mrs Nakashima wanted.

Tell your mother and Betty he kept asking for them. I'll write to your Mama. He said he would think about all of you living back in San Francisco. He said to write to Carolyn, so I plan to send her a letter too. He loved her a lot as I'm sure you know.

Wanda put down the letter
and wrapped her arms around Carolyn. The two women held on to each other, facing the cold mountains. Frozen earth stretched bare and grey to the base of the brutal peaks. Carolyn sniffed back her tears. Wanda stared, too tired and too empty to cry. She picked up the letter and continued reading aloud.

We had a ceremony on the hillside of this pretty town and sang some songs he liked. I guess they've notified you about all the official details. It was so terribly sad, Wan.

After that, we made our way up through Italy. I think this war will be over in the spring; the Nazis are falling apart. And believe me, I'm catching the first ship home. Well, there's a lot more I could say, but I think this is enough for one letter. We'll let this be Howard's good-bye. Remember I love you, Roy.

Carolyn took Wanda's hand.
Their
faces on the mountain, each woman wept.

‘It's a good letter,' Carolyn said finally. ‘So like Howard, right to the end.'

Wanda nodded, then buried her head in her friend's shoulder and sobbed.

The last morning was unbearably
long.
Mama had finished packing days before. Wanda had said good-bye to all the neighbors. But they had to wait for the Watanabes to return from town with some rope and one extra suitcase. It had taken some convincing to get Mama to drive with the Watanabes rather than to take the train. But it made more sense, since they had a station wagon and trailer and since the train was so expensive. At the back of Wanda's mind was that the Watanabes might talk Mama out of Japan. Maybe when she heard about their plans for settling in Napa, Mama would think about other possibilities. No one had been able to get through to her in camp because she walked away from conversations, but she would be stuck in the station wagon for four days.

Wanda couldn't stand their empty room, so she went for a walk to say farewell to the mountains. A surprise snow storm the previous week had left the peaks glazed in white. It was too cold to sit on the bench; she must be losing the numbness. She paced back and forth, in front of the fence, thinking about her visits here with Roy; the time Howard told her he was going to enlist; the visit from Ann; the talks with Carolyn. She knew she would remember this place more than anywhere in camp. She wished she had a photograph of herself here, but she would have had to have someone else take the picture and she wasn't willing to relinquish this solitude today even for that. So she took one last look and said aloud, ‘Farewell mountains'.

When she returned to the barracks, Betty told her that the Watanabes would arrive in ten minutes and they should be set to go. Mama was counting the packages. Betty lugged them outside. Suddenly Wanda thought she might not be able to leave. She needed a cup of tea. Just one cup of tea. She needed to sit down and inhale the steam and ruminate for just 5 minutes. For the first time in weeks, she thought of her diary.

The horn was honking. Mr Watanabe was admonishing her to be happy. She kept thinking about how paralyzed she had felt the day they had moved in, just the four of them, carrying duffel bags, Papa dead in San Francisco. Who would have guessed that on leaving there would be only three remaining in the family? She reviewed the changes of the last three years — Howard's death, Roy's absence, Betty's blossoming, Mama's rage, her own callousness. How had she survived the loneliness, the responsibilities and the rattlesnakes? How much of her was left? Well, this was not the moment for personal reckoning. Betty called her. She carried a suitcase to the relay line — passing it to Betty, who passed it to Stanley, who passed it to Mr Watanabe, who placed it in the trailer behind the station wagon.

Once they were settled in the car, Mr and Mrs Watanabe and Mama in the front, herself and Betty and Stanley in the seat behind, Wanda peered out for her last glimpse of Lion's Head. Carolyn stood in front of the post office, waving. Then, as they headed down toward the gate, there was a line of people: Mrs Nakashima, Mr Hata, Mr Sasaki, Mr Omi and Mrs Wright — all waving.

Wanda recalled that damp spring morning in 1942 when Moira, Ann and Teddy came to the bus. She smiled at the image of Teddy lumbering down the aisle with gardenias. Dear Teddy. Teddy had travelled across the Southwest like this; she had gone much further in that truck packed with twelve people. Teddy. She would be seeing Teddy and Moira in less than a week. She was leaving Lion's Head and going home. Wanda reached for Betty's hand and kept her eyes wide as they passed out the gate.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Winter 1945, London

JAPANESE SURRENDER ON CORREGIDOR

FINLAND DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY

TITO BECOMES PRESIDENT OF YUGOSLAVIA

ANN WALKED MEDITATIVELY
through
the park on her way to the tube. Most people stayed away from the park until the morning grey lifted, thus she could pretend this was her own estate. Of course, there were two men sitting on the far bench who still thought it was public territory. And there was that sad fellow lying near the entrance, bundled in his coat and hugging an empty green bottle. She was surprised when she saw people who looked more down and out than everyone else. This was one response to the turmoil, to let it pass you by.

Mrs Goldman said Leah had stayed in bed all week. There was no fever or vomiting. Nothing but a general listlessness. Ann wished now she hadn't promised to visit. Probably it would just make Leah worse. Why couldn't the child see that she was in the best place. Why did Leah keep insisting on being with her? Well, Ann had promised herself not to think about it until this evening.

She loved the hardiness of the park, despite the dreary weather, despite the endless war. This resilient green reminded her of the patched elbows on men's sweaters and the made­over dresses Esther and Sheila wore. On certain days, Ann felt as if she had no personal life; she simply lived for the news over the wireless about fighting on the Continent and the speeches in Parliament. And yet at other times she existed as if only the basics mattered — going to work, shopping for supper, drinking with friends.

Even on these mundane days she knew the war had burrowed deeply into British life. All women between eighteen and sixty were conscripted for the services, for nursing, factory work or other vital jobs. People donated their cooking pots for aeroplane aluminum. Signs in the butcher's shop read, ‘Have You Registered For Meat?' It felt like an army of citizens, more dedicated than organized. Certainly there were rations and patriotic sacrifices in the States, but the war wore closer to the bone here. The bombings brought death, injury, damage. Churchill, himself, was much more of a warrior than Roosevelt. She often wondered how the man had suffered through Chamberlain's appeasement policy.

Ann breathed easier now. The further she moved into the park, away from the traffic exhaust, the more pensive she became. Perhaps it was because the oxygen was getting to her brain? While she felt involved in the war effort, she was continually reminded that she wasn't British. First, there was the language: lift, petrol, biscuit, barrister, Wellingtons, spanners. Then her accent. Still, she was amazed when Londoners didn't understand her, for she spoke so clearly and slowly in comparison to them. Often she was grateful that she wasn't born here for she knew her class origins would exclude her from many circles. But as an American she was part of an international set which flowed in and out of various scenes. If she were to stay, would she lose that fluidity? Would she become British? She thought Reuben could make a more successful conversion than she.

Ann knew she could always count on the serenity of the pond, even this early in the morning. She thought about Wanda's letter reporting Howard's death. The Europeans who were so smug about Americans being unscathed by the war should meet Wanda and her family. God knew why it was Howard and not Daniel. They couldn't have been stationed that far apart. She had even written to Daniel suggesting the two boys try to meet. Why was it so important that all the pieces in her life fit together? Clearly she was losing rein on that. Everything was changing. Look at Moira, full of joy about baby Tess. Good for her. That kind of optimism counted for a lot when the world around you was falling apart.

There were four ducks today. Two stayed in the pond; two circled overhead and landed on the water. Where had the swans gone? Ann admired their alabaster certainty. She remembered how Moira used to tease her about being as aloof as a swan and now she had to wonder about her own arrogant presence around the house. So many questions crystalized now that she was leagues away from San Francisco. How much she wanted to return to Stockton Street, just for an evening.

She missed Moira's energy and Teddy's laconic good will and Wanda's political insights. She missed the fresh vegetables from their garden. She missed the sun. The stupid radio programs — even Jack Benny. The sense of possibility. Oh, the British were inspiring in their endurance. But they would call her American belief in progress quaint. Ann realized that this was more than another patch of homesickness. How could she convey the depth of this feeling to Reuben? If she were to stay in this country, she would always be alien. When she had first moved here she had revelled in the sophistication of the people, the historical buildings, the international references, the proximity of Culture. She thought she had grown up. Now she understood she had simply moved.

Ann pulled her hat over her ears and walked down the hill as fast as her straight, wool skirt would permit.

That evening,
as she hurried
to the train, Ann heard a distant air raid siren. She had got to the point that she knew where the bombs were falling, almost to the street. The sirens bothered her more than the explosions, with their eerie whining before and after attack. What was the sound? Melancholy, fear, resignation, resistance, outrage. Wolves howling in the bush. Women wailing in the kitchen.

Ann never worried about being hit. She knew people who had died. She had friends who had been badly hurt, who had lost their homes. But she felt immune. It wasn't rational, she understood this.

Once on the train, she prepared herself to be cool and professional with Leah. She would show her kindness through the book she brought and that was all. She would not fall for those big, brown eyes. She was going to reassure Mrs Goldman that the girl would be all right.

Mrs Goldman had prepared
a
generous meal. Sarah graciously helped her serve. Leah stayed in her room and Ann kept her resolve to attend to Mrs Goldman first. She would ignore the girl's sulking.

‘Delicious,' Ann said. ‘You're a splendid cook.'

‘I worry about her appetite.' The plain, middle-aged woman spoke softly. ‘She's a wee one.'

Ann looked at the fresh cake. ‘She'll perk up. With such temptation, how can she do otherwise?'

‘She does what she pleases,' said Sarah. ‘Mum has tried everything. She doesn't care.'

‘That's enough, Sarah, run along now dear.'

The girl walked out with dignity, turning at the door and casting a critical eye at Ann.

‘She's very loyal to you.' Ann smiled.

‘A lovely child,' Mrs Goldman nodded. ‘Must have had — or have — a wonderful mother in Germany.'

Ann agreed, lost for a moment in the thought of Uncle Aaron's kids. She had never found out anything about her cousins. Could Sarah be her cousin? She was probably a little young.

‘Leah is also a lovely child,' Mrs Goldman persisted. ‘I'm just not sure this is the right home for her.'

‘Are you asking us to take her back?'

‘I cherish the girl. It's not me who's doing the asking.'

‘We'll see.' Ann summoned Esther's confidence. ‘She just needs time.' She changed the topic to practical matters of school and clothing rations and the two women managed to fill half an hour without mentioning Leah's ‘condition' again.

‘Perhaps I should say hello
to Leah now,' Ann said, hoping she masked her anxiety.

‘Right, this way.' Mrs Goldman led her to the back bedroom. Knocking on Leah's door, she called out, ‘Visitor, luv, someone to see Leah.'

The door opened. Leah stood wrapped in a grey blanket. Ann looked at Mrs Goldman, who raised her eyebrows and ushered Ann into the room. Then she shut the door behind her.

It took all Ann's willpower not to open her arms to the child. She reached into her bag for the book she had brought. ‘Hello, Leah. A present. From me … and Esther.'

Leah looked at Ann as though she were being presented with a dead mouse.

‘How are you doing, Leah?'

Leah returned to the bed and pulled the covers around her. Ann noticed what a cheerful room it was, with a big window overlooking the garden, just as Mrs Goldman had promised. Ann waited several minutes for Leah's response.

Then she tried, ‘It's a pretty room, dear.'

Leah stared at her in disbelief.

‘Are you getting along with Sarah?'

Again Ann waited, leaning now against the bureau. Leah continued her silent reproach.

Ann was furious.
Furious at
the world forcing Leah to shuttle German and English and American mothers. Furious at herself for being so vulnerable. Furious at Leah for being so strong. She could think of nothing to say. So she turned and put the book on Leah's bureau. ‘Good-bye then, Leah.'

She reached for the door and was split in two by the sound from behind her, a high-pitched wail.

Ann turned back toward Leah with a fearful admiration.

Ann sat in the chilly
classroom,
at the back near the door, because she didn't want to be conspicuous as she tried to catch up. She hadn't done this week's assignment because of the flu and the extra load at work. Were Virgil's
Eclogues
worth the effort? What was she doing studying Latin in the middle of a war? What good could this possibly do anyone? Ann stretched her neck, aware of an incipient migraine. Since she arrived in London, the headaches had diminished.

Professor Warwick was a small, white-haired man who looked as if he might have campaigned with Caesar himself. He had a fine Roman nose and aristocratic brows and, behind the stern veneer, a great store of kindness. It was kind of him to allow her to audit the course. Kind of him to see her before class because she couldn't come during the day. She felt remorseful tonight about being behind. Remorseful about school. Remorseful about work. She should be in the office now, finishing the new files. What use was it sitting in this cranky old room listening to Virgil's poetry?

Whose flock is that, Damoetas? Tell me, are these
Meliboeus' sheep?

No, they are Aegon's. Aegon has just left me
in charge of them.

Her last few days had
been filled
with questions about Leah and work and Papa and Reuben and now about this course. She hated the painful scrutiny.

Ann turned the page, consciously returning to the class. Yes, she followed these lines.

Poor sheep, unlucky all the time!
Aegon runs off to keep Neara

warm, fearing she may prefer me to himself,
while here a

hireling shepherd milks his ewes every half hour,
till the whole

flock is dry and the lambs left without a drop.

She wasn't far behind.
Ann
looked around the room, appreciating the eclectic class: the young bank clerk in her starched white blouse; the middle-aged woman slumped behind her parcels; the thin, quiet, red-haired fellow who rarely spoke but who always seemed ahead of everyone. Yes, Latin appealed to a variety of people. Perhaps Professor Warwick was the attraction. Clearly he delighted in transporting his audiences through the centuries. She would like to do this one day. She imagined being in front of a younger group of students — exploring the psychological, spiritual and emotional textures of these poems. When she returned to San Francisco.

Ann felt a draught and pulled the coat around her. Teddy had been right about the value of a good wool coat. Only English rooms could be stuffy and chilly at once. Professor Warwick glanced in her direction. He seemed to be inquiring if she were taking care of herself, scolding her for sitting so near the door. That was a peculiar aspect of English personality — although they treated you formally at first, once they had got used to you they became overly solicitous. She smiled to reassure him, but by this time he had re-entered the
Eclogues
.

Teddy's letter was stuck in between the next two pages and as much as Ann tried to concentrate on Virgil, her mind wandered back to Stockton Street. Teddy sounded like she was running around with her head cut off, with her family and the Emporium. They were all overdoing it — Moira and Wanda too — but Teddy was stretched the thinnest. Nice to hear she had grown closer to Sandra and Dawn. Had she changed this year? Of course, they all had. They all changed in the sense of growing up: that didn't mean they were different people.

Oh, she would love to return to the slow Friday evenings and the lazy Saturday mornings, even to another dinner with the parents. Teddy always wrote encouraging her to come back, when she wanted. If they had another room-mate, they would tell the girl she could stay only until Ann's return. What would be waiting besides the room? Was Moira that much tougher from the shipyard? Would Leah and Tess get along? Leah, she had to stop thinking about her. Would Wanda be too bitter to return? How would they all feel about Reuben? No, she didn't want to think about him either. She wanted to …

Chairs screeched across the wooden floor and Ann glanced up to find class over. She didn't dare look at Professor Warwick who knew, no doubt, that she had spent the evening far from Meliboeus' sheep. Carefully she collected her papers, as if they were her wits — slowly, neatly — and resolved to be better prepared the following week.

The next trip to Penge
was less leisurely. Mrs Goldman had phoned, desperate about Leah not eating. On the train Ann's thoughts splintered into images of the Dachau victims and of Simone Weil starving herself in sympathy with the French people. Of course Leah was too young to understand any of that. Of course she was just being stubborn. Everything would be all right.

The train seemed impossibly slow. Ann tried to re-read a letter from Wanda. Then she started to write back. Then she put the pad in her bag and stared out the train window. How foolish to think she was immune.