Don't You Know There's a War On? (7 page)

WHEN I GOT
to the fifth floor, I heard Miss Gossim's voice say, “Howie?”

She was standing in her doorway, holding this lit candle. The flame filled her face with gold. And I was looking at her. She was in this blue bathrobe. I mean, a pinup, for cheese sake! Only
real
. I stood kind of frozen, staring at her, my lips glue-stuck, not knowing what to say.

“Howie?” she called again. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, Miss Gossim.”

“Better come in,” she said.

When I did like she told me, she stepped aside to let me pass. She closed the door behind us.

It was a tiny place. I mean, a one-room apartment with a Murphy bed—which was pulled down—an electric cooking plate on a little table, a low table before the bed, plus a folding chair. Maybe a few books. Nothing much else. There must have been a bathroom somewhere. I didn't see it. As for her, like I said, she looked the same, only different. I mean, she seemed smaller than she was in class.
Prettier too. Could have been the bathrobe. And with no makeup, her face seemed softer. But mostly she was looking puzzled.

She put her candle on the low table, sat at the end of the Murphy bed, and sort of pointed to the chair. “You can sit,” she said. “There's not much room in here.”

As I sat, I saw this picture on the low table. It was a guy—just his head—wearing an Army Air Force cap.

“Now, Howie,” Miss Gossim said in the same easy low voice she used at school. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home?”

“Well . . . ,” I said, not knowing how to explain. Understand, I was embarrassed, but see, excited too. I mean, you know, there I was in Miss Gossim's house. I kept thinking, Wait till I tell Denny!

She said, “Does your mother know where you are?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, dear. And I don't have a phone.”

“We don't neither,” I said. “It broke. They haven't fixed it yet.”

“It takes a long time.” She looked at me for a while. “Howie,” she asked, “were you coming to visit me?” In the candlelight I could see there was this smile on her lips.

“Not exactly,” I said, starting to feel like a moron. “See, after the sirens went off, I had to go out to get my sister because she gets scared—we ran out of milk—and then this warden—his walkie-talkie was broken or something—asked me to give a message to the head warden, who's right on your corner, and then, when I did, he said to go home, but I came by to look at your house, only another warden told me I had to get off the street or else, so I didn't know where to go except your building, and that's when I rang your bell.” I said the whole thing in one sentence like that, not exactly looking at her neither.

“How did you know I lived here?”

I stared at the picture of the air force soldier. “The . . . the other day I followed you.”

“Followed me!”

“Uh-huh. . . .”

“When?”

“After you went to a house on Hicks Street.”

“Hicks Street?”

“You know. . . .”

She folded her hands in her lap and studied me. There were these lines across her forehead. “Howie, that was Acting Superintendent Wolch's home. Dr. Lomister's boss.”

“I know. Remember? I told you.”

“Howie Crispers,” Miss Gossim said, staring hard at me, “you seem to know a great deal about me and what I do.” Her voice had become almost angry. “Is that true?”

I squirmed, but nodded.

“What else do you know?” she asked.

“You don't have no brother or sister.”

“True. And . . . ?”

“Your father died a long time ago.”

“Howie, how do you know all these things?”

“Just do,” I said, not explaining that those last bits came from Denny.

“Anything else?”

That's when I gave away my big card. “Your name is Rolanda.”

That made her smile. “Do you like the name?”

“Yeah. Who's that?” I suddenly asked her, pointing to the picture on the table.

She turned from me to the picture and stared at it. Then, just like this, she said, “My husband.”

I looked up at her, surprised. “I didn't know you had one. He in the air force?”

“Yes.”

“A pilot?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, wow. . . . What's he fly?”

“P-38s.”

“They're my favorite. Where's he stationed?”

All of a sudden she covered her face with her hands.

“Miss Gossim,” I said, starting to get frightened. “What's the matter?”

“Howie, I don't know where he is.”

“Oh,” I said. Then, seeing how upset she was, I said, “You know, when my pop writes, the censors take out that sort of stuff too. We just got a Swiss-cheese letter from him. My mom thinks he's in Liverpool. Merry Old England. Only he's coming back out of convoy. See, for Easter. I don't know why. It sure ain't safe.”

“Do you worry a lot about him?” she asked.

“You bet. I get all these really bad dreams. About his ship getting hit by torpedoes. With all these sharks in the water. They eat him alive. There's this blood and gore. Arms and legs go floating by. A whole head—”

“Howie! How horrible!”

“I know, but he always comes home. I bet your . . . husband is just not allowed to tell you where he is either.”

“Howie,” she whispered, “I . . . I don't even know if he's alive.”

“You don't?”

She got all silent. Then, with a little sigh, she said, “I'm afraid for these days it's a rather common story. You see, we met last Christmastime at a servicemen's canteen. We liked each other—a lot. Really hit it off. For six days we palled around. Suddenly he got orders to report overseas. Though we didn't know each other for very long, we . . . got . . . married.

“But, Howie—I don't know why I'm telling you these things—it happened so quickly, maybe he didn't have time to inform anyone that I'm . . . his wife. Or maybe in the rush he lost my address. Except that would mean, if something happened to him, I . . . I wouldn't ever know.”

I stared at her. She was holding one knee up, leaning slightly back. The top part of her bathrobe had fallen away so I could see part of her bosom. I stared.

“Then of course,” she went on, not paying any attention to me, “like tonight, the sirens go on, and it's dark, and here I am, alone, thinking so much about him . . . the way you do about your father.”

I swallowed hard. “Miss Gossim?”

“Yes?”

“If you're married, how come . . . how come it's still
Miss
?”

That room was pretty dim, but I could see she blushed. “Oh, well, we married . . . quickly. Not really a secret. But almost one. At Borough Hall. We agreed we'd have a real wedding. As soon as peace comes. When he comes back. . . .” Her voice went fruity as she added, “If he comes back.”

“What's his name?”

“Smitty.” She took a deep breath and looked around. “I'm not a very good hostess, am I? I should be offering you something. Would you like a glass of milk? A cracker? I don't have much.”

“No, thanks.”

She sat there, thinking I didn't know what. Then the candle sputtered out. It got darker than before. Maybe the dark made me feel, you know, bolder, 'cause I said, “I bet I know why you got fired.”

“Do you?”

Like in class, I raised my hand. “Can I say?”

“Yes. . . .”

“Dr. Lomister wanted to marry you, but when he found out you were already married, he got so jealous he fired you.”

She came out with one of her big laughs. But she got serious again quick. “No,” she said with a sigh. “That's not what it is.”

I felt stupid.

“But what made you think that?” she asked.

“Just did.”

I waited for her to say something else. When she didn't, I said, “Then . . . how come you got fired?”

She sighed.

“Did your mother die?” I asked.

“No. She's living in Indiana.”

“Then how come you're living here?”

“Howie Crispers, now I know why you got your name.”

“Why?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who's there?”

“How.”

“How who?”

“How-ie Crispers.”

“Don't mean nothing.”

She got up and stood by the window, arms folded, and looked at the blacked-out city. “It's so dark,” she said.

I felt like saying it was pretty dark inside. Instead I went and stood near her, staring out the window too. Searchlights were still sweeping the sky, looking for enemy planes. I could smell her flowerlike perfume.

“Do you think German bombers are coming?” I asked.

“We're very far from Europe,” she said. “I think we're perfectly safe.”

“That's what I told my kid sister.”

“What's her name?”

“Gloria. She's in third grade. Mrs. Khol's class.”

“Of course.”

“What about spies?” I asked. “You think they're around?”

She looked at me. “You do worry a lot, don't you?”

“Sort of.”

“Well,” she said, “I have to admit, I worry too.”

The two of us, side by side, kept staring out the window.

“Howie,” she asked, “why are you so interested in me?”

I was afraid to look up. My heart was pounding. I said, “I guess . . . I like you. A lot.”

She reached out and mussed my hair. “When my baby comes,” she said, all quietlike, “and if it's a boy, I hope he's as sweet as you.”

Slowly it began to sink in what she was getting at. “Miss Gossim,” I said, still staring out the window, “are you . . . going to have . . . a kid?”

“Yes,” she whispered after a moment.

“Really?”

“Really,” she said, sounding very sad.

I was afraid to look at her. “Is . . . is
that
how come Lomister fired you?”

She hesitated. Then she said, “Yes.”

“But why?”

“There's a rule that says teachers can't be . . . expecting and teach.”

“How'd he find out?”

“Mrs. Partridge told him.”

“Creepers! Why'd she do that?”

“She was trying to help me.”

I thought about what Miss Gossim said for a while. Then I said, “But what are you going to do?”

“I'll go back to be with my mother.”

“In Indiana?”

“Yes.”

“That's so far!”

“Not really.”

“In a midsized city?”

“On a farm, actually.”

I looked up at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Me, I was sort of dying.

“Well,” she said, “I can't stay here. Not alone. Not without a job. Or money. I have very little. So I save a little every week. I hadn't planned on going back quite so soon. But now I will.”

I kept studying her face. “How come you don't have more money?”

“I'm afraid teachers don't get paid much.”

“They don't?”

“No. But Howie, when I go, how will Smitty ever find me? Or, if something happens to him, how will I ever know? I have no way of contacting him.”

So then I said, “Maybe I could speak to my mom and you could stay with us. You could come here every day and check to see if he came.”

She sort of smiled. “I don't think that would work. I think I better stick to my plan.”

For a while neither of us said anything.

She turned to me. “Howie, I shouldn't be talking to you like this. But I must admit, it's good to talk to
someone
.
Except you must
promise
that you won't tell anyone about these things. Are you good at secrets?”

I held out my fist, pinky out. “I swear.”

She looked at my hand. “What's that mean?”

“When you make a swear, you do pinkies.”

She laughed her laugh and held out a fist, pinky out.

I did the chop.

Just as I did, the air raid siren started blaring again. The all-clear signal. The city began to blink on.

Miss Gossim gave me a little shake. “Howie, I think you better get on home. I'm sure your mother is very worried.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Howie!” she called after me as I headed down the hall toward the steps.

I stopped and turned.

“Remember your promise,” she called.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said, and hurried away.

When I stepped out of the apartment onto the sidewalk, I looked up. The city lights were back. And all the stars were gone.

THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 1943

Eighth Army Artillery Smashes

Nazi Tank Waves Without Yielding.

U.S. Wounded Stick to Guns to Beat

Off German Thrusts.

Ration Points Set for Meat,

Canned Fish, Fat, Cheese.

Director of the Office of

War Information Reveals

U-boat Toll in Recent Convoys.