Caleb's Wars (19 page)

"Oh, no, sir. We can go in the wagon. But I do 'pre-ciate it."

"All right. Y'all head on, and I'll meet you there."

At the camp Davis got us in to see Colonel Ross without delay. Ross was a thin white man behind a gray metal desk. He listened to Pop's story and read the crumpled telegram. He told us he was sorry, too, and promised to do everything he could to help us. "The fighting's been heavy along the Gothic Line," he said. "We've sustained many casualties, and a number of our boys have been captured."

"Telegram say they took him to a prison camp. Is that for sure?"

"Very likely. The Germans have some camps in Austria, and they would be closest to Italy. He might have been taken there, or maybe he's at Stalag Seven-A, in southern Germany. Lots of our boys end up there, too."

"How can we find out how bad he hurt?"

Ross looked serious. "Hard to tell. If your son made it to the camp alive..."

Pop's head dropped.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown."

I'd never heard a white man call my father "mister."

Ross went on. "If he made it to a camp alive, which he probably did, he might receive decent medical treatment. Food and supplies are probably scarce in the camps. But according to the Third Geneva Convention, every injured POW is entitled to medical treatment, food, and decent housing, just like we provide for our German prisoners here."

Pop must have forgotten he was talking to a white man. "But how can we find out if Randall is all right? Can he write to us? Can we write him, send him anything?"

"The Geneva Convention allows for prisoners to write and receive mail. The fellows here get letters and some packages from home—not so many now as they did at first, because things in Germany are going from bad to worse. The Red Cross can help sometimes. But once we know exactly where your son is being held, you should be able to write to him. With any luck he'll receive what you send and write back to you."

"Bill, I think a lot of Frank and his family," Davis told the colonel. "Randall's a fine boy. If there's anything you could do to help us, we'd sure appreciate it."

"I'll do whatever I can. The least we can do is help a local family when they need it. I'll make some calls and let you know what I find out."

"Thank you, sir," Pop said. "You and Mr. Lee is mighty kind to do this. We won't forget it."

"Don't mention it. As soon as I know something, I'll send word out your way. In the meantime, we'll all say a prayer for your son's safety."

Pop was quiet as Sweetie walked us toward Toad Hop. "I hope that Ross can do somethin' more'n talk," he said at last. "If Randall ain't hurt too bad, he might have a chance."

"The Germans
have
to help him." I badly wanted to believe this. "Ross said so. It's what both sides agreed to."

"What it say on paper and what happen in the real world is two different things. And even if the Germans want to do what they suppose to, if they runnin' out of food and supplies, who you think they gonna look after first?"

"I hope Ross really can find out something."

"Me, too. Knowin' somethin'—
anythin,
even if it bad news—is way better than not knowin'. Damn this war!"

Pop pulled Sweetie to a stop, dropped the reins, and put his hands over his face. His shoulders heaved, and a sound came out of him that I'd never heard before. It made me afraid—more afraid than I'd ever been. Pop couldn't fall apart. Suddenly I understood how much I counted on him to be his usual strong self.

"Hey, Pop, don't. It's going to be all right." I hesitated to touch him. Maybe he wouldn't want me to think he was weak and needed my comfort.

But he kept crying.

I put my arm around his strong shoulders. He didn't pull away.

After a minute Pop sat up straight again. He wiped his eyes and turned to me. "Sorry about that. My feelin's done took me by surprise. A man try to be strong for his family, but sometimes things get to be too much."

"I understand, Pop."

"What I wouldn't give to have your brother here with us now, all safe and sound. I sure am glad I got
you.
"

Pop reached toward me, and we held each other right there, sitting side by side on the wagon seat, while Sweetie most likely wondered why we'd stopped in the middle of Brinson's Mill Road. For my part, I didn't care if everyone in the county saw us.

"I want this damn war over soon so
you
won't never have to go. I couldn't stand to have you gone, too."

"Randall's gonna make it. He'll come back. You'll see."

"Then you ask your God to keep him safe."

"Will you pray, too?"

"I might. You reckon the Lord'd listen to a old sinner like me?"

"I think so."

Pop patted my knee. "We'll see, then." He took the reins in his huge hands. "C'mon, Sweetie, let's get home. You know the way."

As we rode, I realized how completely my world had changed yet again in the short time since we'd gotten the telegram from the army. Just a couple days ago I'd been bored, ready for something to happen. And it had: Randall hurt, captured. It was my turn to want to cry.

***

We came home to a yard full of folks. Women were carrying food into the house, and the men who had been standing in the yard talking came and crowded around the wagon.

"Any news, Frank?"

"Randall really a prisoner?'

"You get any help from Davis?"

Pop told everyone what we knew. Inside we found Ma surrounded by the ladies of Toad Hop. Pots of food simmered on the stove, and the kitchen table was loaded with bowls and pans. Someone had brought a chocolate cake, and I realized I was hungry.

Ma pulled herself away from Miss Suzy and came to Pop and me. Pop told her Colonel Ross had promised to try to help.

Ma covered her eyes with her hands. "Please make everyone go home," she whispered. "They've all been so kind, but I have to be alone for a while."

"I understand, sugar. Folks," Pop called above the chatter of our company, "Lucy an' me shore 'preciate y'all comin' over to show us your concern. Randall ain't dead, though, just hurt. And from what the telegram say, taken prisoner. Colonel Ross over at the camp gonna do all he can to find out more, and soon as he do, we let y'all know, too. I thank you for all this food, and for your thoughtfulness. But right now we need to be alone. I know y'all understand."

Miss Suzy pushed herself up from the settee. "You heard the man! Let's give this family some peace."

The ladies filed out, all of them hugging Ma's neck and saying that if she needed anything at all, no matter what time of day or night, just let them know. They patted my shoulder and told Pop they'd be praying for us.

When everyone had gone, Ma looked around the kitchen and said she wondered where she was going to put all the food. She started putting things away, but she began to sob and couldn't stop. Pop led her to their room and closed the door behind them.

I found a plate and filled it with cold fried chicken, potato salad, slicing tomatoes, cornbread, and butter beans cooked with ham. How had people come up with all this food in the couple hours Pop and I had been gone? Part of me felt it wasn't right to want to eat just then, but I was starving and the food was right there.

When I cut myself a hunk of chocolate cake, I thought about the last time I'd eaten chocolate cake, when I'd shared it off the same plate with Andreas. With a German soldier. Someone like him had tried to kill my brother. Suddenly the cake didn't taste so good, and I put it down.

That night I looked in Randall's dresser and found his favorite shirt, a light blue work shirt worn soft from being washed so much. I put it on at bedtime and got into Randall's bed. Then I let myself think about him. How bad was he hurt? Or was he dead and we just didn't know it yet? If he was still alive, what camp was he in, and did he get help for his injuries?

Then I prayed—or tried to.

One thought wouldn't leave my mind: God had made Miss Evelyn well after I prayed for her. I hadn't really wanted to do that, and it caused me trouble afterward. Now God should do something for
me.
He had to make Randall be alive, make him recover from being hurt, and bring him home soon.

After all I'd done for God, it seemed to me that wasn't too much to ask.

***

I woke up sweating, my heart pounding. In my nightmare, Randall was dead and we were looking down at his body in the coffin. His army uniform was shredded and covered with blood, and his face was...

The sitting room clock said three thirty. I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Randall.

I went out the window and got Nathan up. He asked if we should get Henry, too, and I realized I wanted Henry along. He had the strong faith in God that I needed right now, and he'd say the right things, at least until Nathan shut him up.

Nathan asked if I wanted some of his daddy's moonshine. It didn't sound good to me, and Henry was still keeping the promise to "live clean" that he'd made on our baptism day, so Nathan didn't bother with the liquor. We headed to the pond.

On the dock, Nathan lit a cigarette. "It too bad about Randall," he began. "He gonna be okay, though, ain't he?"

"I already prayed for him," Henry said. "Bible say whatever we ask for in faith, God gonna do for us."

How much I wanted to believe that!

"War be over soon," Nathan went on. "Everybody say so. All Randall got to do is take it easy in that camp, the way the Germans do here, and soon he be comin' home."

I said nothing.

"Wonder how many Huns he killed. Sure to be some. If they was shootin' at
him,
he had to be shootin' back. Before you know it, he'll be sittin' on y'all's porch, drinkin' tea, braggin' about his medals."

His efforts to cheer me up weren't working. "Shut up, Nathan!" I cried.

"We only tryin' to help," Henry said.

"There's nothing to say."

"We know you hurtin'," Nathan said, "and we want to make you feel better. 'Sides, it ain't any fun just sittin' out here like three posts."

"Randall and me were here, right on this dock one night, just before he left."

"Oh? Y'all swim?" Henry asked.

"Yeah. And drank some bourbon he got at Tick's, and smoked. And ... talked."

My friends were quiet, waiting.

"He told me that if anything happened to him, I should look after Pop and Ma. I told him nothing could happen." I was glad it was dark and they couldn't see me wipe my eyes on the sleeve of Randall's shirt.

"We sorry, Caleb," Henry said. "We right sorry for you and your folks. Want to swim? Take yo' mind off things?"

"Naw. We can just sit here."

So we did, for what seemed a long time. Then I jumped up. "Come on. Let's go to the creek."

We went through the dark woods and came to our usual spot by the big fishing log. I couldn't stay still, couldn't sit, couldn't relax and enjoy the cigarette Nathan offered me. I took two drags and threw it in the water.

"You nervous as a squirrel," Nathan said.

"Hit me."

"What you say?"

"Hit me. I want to fight."

"Hold on, now," Henry cried. "Caleb, what'sa matter with you?"

"I'll fight you both. Who wants to go first?"

"You crazy," Nathan told me. "We ain't got no reason to fight."

That's when I punched his shoulder. "Come on!" I cried. "Hit me!"

"You okay, man?"

My next punch landed on the side of his face. I hadn't planned to do it—didn't understand exactly why I was doing it.

"Son of a bitch, Caleb! What in hell's wrong with you?"

"Quit it!" Henry shouted.

I tackled Nathan, and we both went down. My fists went looking for his face, but he had his arms up now, and he began to fight back.

We rolled around in the moist sand by the creek, each trying to pin the other, trying to land punches. Henry kept out of our way, begging us to stop. Nathan broke free and jumped to his feet. "Come on!" he shouted. "Get up!"

"That's enough, now!" Henry shouted at me.

I was halfway up when Nathan landed his fist square on my chin. Then he was on top of me, going for my ribs, my side, my face. I was bigger and stronger, but he was madder, and determined to hurt me.

I got him in the face a couple times, then managed to push him off me and get back up. He leaped to his feet and stood facing me, panting, hands out in front, half to protect himself, half to find his next point of attack. "You ain't gonna quit
now,
is you?" he whispered.

Henry grabbed his arm. "Stop, Nathan! Caleb, quit, now! Ain't you two had enough?"

Nathan shoved him aside. "Try and finish what you begun," he taunted, "if you ain't a coward as well as a bully."

I lunged for him, and his knee caught me right in my crotch. As I went down, moaning, I remembered Nathan was good at that move—Dolan Hill would never forget it. I lay on the sand, gasping, holding myself, wishing I could get up and kill Nathan. But I couldn't.

He looked down at me. "Had enough? I got more where that come from."

"I give. Nathan, you fight dirty, you know that?"

"What's
wrong
with you, Caleb? You gone crazy or something? I didn't do nothin' to you."

"Help me up."

"Not until you promise that this is over."

"I promise." Nathan pulled me to my feet. The ache in my groin wouldn't quit, and they half carried me to the fishing log.

Nathan kept his distance. He pulled out his cigarettes and offered me one. I took it, and this time it tasted good. Then he shoved the pack in Henry's direction, and to my surprise he took one, too.

We smoked the cigarettes all the way down before anyone said anything.

"You all right now?" Nathan asked.

"Fightin' ain't no way to solve nothin'," Henry put in.

"Tell that to General Eisenhower," I said.

"Seriously, Caleb. You okay?" Nathan asked.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"What got into you?"

"I dunno. I just had to hit something."

"Gee, thanks! So now I'm a 'something.'"

"Don't take it like that."