All Good Women (46 page)

‘You will too.' The ancient child leaned back on her pillow. ‘Soon's you dive into that blue, blue water, you'll forget this parched place and everybody here.'

‘Never,' vowed Teddy. ‘We're blood sisters, don't you forget.'

‘Me, I'm not likely to.'

Teddy leaned more heavily
into
the soapy scrub brush, swishing away the guilt. She had kept in touch with Anita, had written letter after letter — getting Christmas cards in between — promising some day to return to Oklahoma. Then one year there was no Christmas card. None the next year. Nor the next. When had they stopped? Teddy guessed it would have been when she was seventeen. Still, she herself sent cards until one was returned, stamped, ‘Addressee Unknown'. What had she done about going to see Anita. She had never made it to Lion's Head to visit Wanda either. She was too busy holding down the fort at home until everybody deserted the fort.

Teddy stood and stretched, scrutinizing her work. The room smelled clean. And the floorboards fairly shone, making the blue wallpaper look even more faded. Yes, she should get around to re-papering this room and the hall. Must have been thirty years since the walls had seen any work. The tears welled again. Teddy imagined herself a seventy-year-old woman, alone in a beautifully renovated house. Year after year, Teddy thought, she could do a new, empty room. At this rate, each room would be redecorated four or five times. She stopped herself. Yes, she needed a cup of tea. That would shake her out of this, this … and she had a vacation coming. Mom could do without her. There wasn't any reason to stay here. God knows what the house would look like if she didn't get away. Yes, that's what she would do. She would take a train to Fortun. She would write, first, of course, to the Negro minister and to the school. But even if she didn't get a response, she would go back.

The tea canister was empty. One of Moira's chores. The girl had let so many things go at the last minute. Teddy pounded the counter. Her eyes filled again and her hands shook uncontrollably. She gripped the edge of the counter for steadiness. ‘God damn her. God damn that selfish, lying bitch!!' She felt a little better. ‘It will be all right. I'll get used to living alone.' She rummaged around the top shelf for cocoa mix. Ridiculous on a summer morning, but Teddy wanted something reassuring. Just as she stirred the powder into the hot milk, the doorbell rang.

Through the curtains she could see it was Mr Swerington, the mailman, with a package. He smiled broadly when she opened the door. ‘Another present for Miss Finlayson, I suspect.'

Teddy stared at him. Didn't he understand Moira was gone? There was no more Miss Finlayson. Could she send back the package, ‘Addressee unknown?' Miss Finlayson had turned into Mrs Girard. ‘Addressee Deceased.'

Mr Swerington regarded her closely and repeated, ‘Package. Can you sign for it, Miss Fielding?'

‘Yes, sir,' she said reflexively in her Emporium voice. ‘We'll' (‘we' — me and the madwoman?) ‘keep it for her until she returns.'

‘That's right.' The mailman smiled again. ‘She'd be on her honeymoon now, wouldn't she? How was the wedding?' He waited, then noticing the strain on her face, filled in, ‘Guess all weddings are about the same.'

She nodded coldly. She was truly sorry to be taking it out on Mr Swerington.

‘Almost forgot,' he said with the cheer of conversations past. ‘You also got a letter from England!'

‘Oh.' Teddy let in a touch of lightness. ‘Yes.' She reached for it, as if claiming the only good news that week. ‘Thank you, thank you very much.' Still, she sounded out of control.

She brought the letter to the kitchen, retrieved her hot chocolate, opened the back door and sat on the top step overlooking the garden. Most of the morning fog had burnt off and she settled comfortably with Anna's letter.

Dear Teddy and Moira,

How are you? Still there, Moira? I hope this letter will arrive on time to wish you a happy wedding.

No, thought Teddy,
this is
not what she needed. Maybe she should read it another time. Might as well continue to the end of the page.

And you, Teddy, how do you feel with everyone gone from the nest? I've thought about you often this week and hope you won't be too lonely. I know what lonely is. Even after all this time in London, I often feel abandoned by my family. Strange, isn't it, since I was the one who decided to come?

Teddy shook her head
and
sipped the chocolate which was now gooey and lukewarm. The letter would be good for her; how had she considered putting it aside? It was a fine, long letter. Anna was clever about getting so much on a page.

It's been hard here since VE Day, in some ways harder than during the war. At least then, there was a sense of building to a climax, that we were suffering through something which would end one day. And here it is over, the war in Europe anyway, and we're still living in rubble and eating ersatz food. Of course people are grateful that their sons aren't dying and that we're not likely to be hit by another German missile, but the pain is more visible in many ways. I guess it's like how you feel after a long walk — while you're doing it you may be tired, you may even ache, but you keep moving because you know it will be over. Although there were periods in the last few years when I feared the war might not end, I really knew down deep that it would. And now, after the race, you suffer all the painful bruises.

It's hard on us at work, now that we are getting reports about the children's parents. Almost all of them gone. After what these children have endured there will be no home! Will they stay here with the English families? The last word on one girl's relatives came yesterday. Not only were her parents gassed, but her three aunts and two uncles are gone too. How do the Red Cross people have the stomachs to gather these grisly statistics?

Reuben has lost everyone. He is sure now. And I feel so much responsibility to him. But now he refuses to come to America. What do I do? I love him, however the war has made me challenge so many of my old ideas about love. Feelings can pull you in different directions and the strongest ones at the moment are not always the most important. Do I sound too abstract? Yes, I suppose I am. But even this makes me question my bond to Reuben. Does that make any sense? Maybe I'll change my mind? Maybe he will change his mind?

One thing I have decided — but don't tell Papa yet because I haven't written to him; it seemed easier to tell you first — I have decided to return to California to live on Filbert Street. Teddy, I know this will disappoint you. And I know, I know, Papa drives me crazy. But this war has shown me so many Jewish families torn apart. I can't bear to perpetuate that. It will be good for Leah to have her grandfather and maybe I can persuade Daniel to move in with us. So this much is decided: Anna and Leah will return in November or December, as soon as we can get a ship.

Teddy stared across the yard
to the fence. Anna had to do what was best for her. The neighborhood seemed uncommonly quiet today.

Now that the decision is firm, I have started to think about things I miss from the States. People come first, of course. You, Teddy, and you, Moira, and Wanda and Rachel and the family. And then the food! When I land I'm heading straight for the nearest hamburger and strawberry milkshake. But there are all sorts of ephemeral things — like the sense of humor. The British laugh a lot, I guess, but there's always an edge to it, an irony, that I never knew in the States. Interesting, but not as silly as American jokes. Ours have more sense of possibility. British jokes are founded on despair disguised as indifference. Sometimes I spend an evening with Mark just laughing and laughing at the British self-importance, laughing at our childhood riddles.

Lately I've become fascinated by the ways people behave. How did I think I could spend my whole life with Latin and Greek grammar? When Mama was going through her torments, the academic world seemed safe. But I'm not as afraid as I used to be, to say, ‘I don't know.' I'm not nearly so defensive, Moira, you wouldn't know me. But I do continue to smoke like a chimney.

Oh, what will happen to Reuben? I have made the right decision about Papa, yes, I think so. What will Reuben do by himself? Well, it's his decision, too. I hope you don't mind my nattering on like this — ‘nattering', see I've picked up the language — I feel as if I haven't written a really good letter for ages. Just think of this, we'll all be able to talk in person soon. You'll meet my little Leah. And I'll meet Tess. I'm so excited. Great love to you both, Anna.

Teddy set the letter down
on the stoop and glanced at the melon ropes. The garden would come and be gone by the time Anna returned in the fall. Anna was coming home. Home. To her own home. Teddy reached up to her eyes, surprised to find them dry. She didn't feel like arguing with Anna's decision. Had she become numb? She looked out at the garden and hoped she hadn't stopped caring.

Wanda sat in the living
room
with the newspaper on her lap, ‘Bomb Destroys Nagasaki'. She stared down at the traffic noise. First Hiroshima and now Nagasaki. It was unimaginable, they said, the extent of destruction, the power of the flash, the number of people killed by one bomb. One bomb. Then why did they have to drop another? The surrender would have come. The Japanese were proud people; they just needed time. They would have signed the treaty in another few days. Unimaginable. But she had been dreaming about Hiroshima for nights. And now this. What went on in the minds of scientists divining these fires? Did they ever see children being ripped apart? Could they smell the flesh burning? Or did they stick to sterile calculation — so many ounces of bomb for so many lives? Wanda set down the newspaper and thought about Mama's silence this afternoon. What was she thinking? She used to talk so fondly of Grandpa's trips to Nagasaki and now the city did not exist. Not that there was much left of Tokyo or Yokohama. Gutted buildings and starving people. Wanda closed her eyes and imagined corpses littered on broken sidewalks. Japanese people dying in the fire of their own bones. What was going on with Mama? She must check, but not yet, she needed another moment to absorb the details. Officials had known about these bombs for months, withholding information to protect the national security. Here she was, safe and sound, Wanda Nakatani, secure American citizen.

When the phone rang, she grabbed it. ‘Hello.'

‘Hello.'

‘Oh, hello, Moira.'

‘Wanda, are you OK? I've just finished reading about that horrible bomb and I knew that you …'

What did Moira think, that it affected you just because you had Japanese blood? Did she think there was something in the genes that could be touched across the ocean? No, of course not. This was a friendly call. This was Moira, her friend Moira.

‘Would you like to switch plans for tonight? Would you like me to come over there?'

Plans for tonight. Wanda looked at her watch; of course, she was supposed to meet Moira half an hour ago. ‘No,' she heard herself speaking. ‘I don't think so. I need to stay here, with the family tonight. I don't think I can handle a dinner.'

‘Sure, hon, sure. I'll call you tomorrow and check on how you're doing.'

Wanda tried to ignore the medical metaphors, tried to be polite to this person on the other end of the phone. ‘Yes, do that. Thank you.'

Betty entered,
admitting a breeze
from the hallway. Wanda hated the door opened into the ugly, concrete stairwell, but she was revived by the air. How long had she been sitting here with the windows closed?

‘Sorry I'm late, Wanda. I got held up at my lesson. Mr Sasaki was telling us the war is over. Isn't that wonderful? Isn't it? Now Roy can come home.'

Wanda hated her sister just now, hated her youth and her cheer and, most of all, her patriotism. ‘Roy is in Italy, Betty, not Japan. You can count your stars he isn't in Japan because he would have been burned to a crisp with the rest of the Japs.'

‘Don't hurt the child.' Mama stood at the kitchen door. ‘Not her fault. Betty's right. War is over. Come, we will have tea.'

Wanda obeyed and followed Betty into the kitchen. Mama was serving special tea they had saved from before the war. She had set out five cups. ‘First for Papa,' she said and then drank from his cup.

‘Now for Howard.'

Wanda picked up her brother's cup and drank.

Mama raised her own cup. Wanda followed. Then Betty.

Mama pushed a letter forward. ‘We're not going to Japan. The Red Cross could not find anyone in the family.'

Wanda tried to stifle the deep sigh travelling through her body. Was this definite? Would Mama change her mind?

Betty smiled thinly and took her mother's hand. ‘We'll be all right here. You'll see.' She couldn't hide her relief, so she took another sip of tea.

‘We will not be all right,' Mrs Nakatani spoke steadily. ‘But we will live. And you will have children. Both of you. They will return to Yokohama.'

Wanda shivered at her mother's uncharacteristically prophetic tone. She looked at the old woman carefully and saw that she sat straighter, lighter than usual. Wanda hoped Mama did not plan to die soon. She closed her eyes, thinking about her diary and what she would write tonight. Details. She tried to steady herself on the details.

The blood covered Wanda's hands;
she examined the thin, red line beneath her fingernails. Closing her eyes a moment, she saw queues of limbless people, some of them missing parts of their torsos — a hip, a breast. She opened her eyes again and smelled the ripe gore. She was not dreaming. All around her were pieces of skin, strips of spine, chips of bone. As much as she tried to convince herself to stay at the cannery — where else could she and Mama work side by side, where else could she even find a job? — she knew she would have to leave. After all that had happened during the last three-and-a-half years, she was not going to go crazy in a room of fish carcasses.