A Beautiful Place to Die (15 page)

I'd gotten the same shock a war later.

“When did you ship out?”

“I'll never forget. January fifth, 1952. A date imbedded in my memory. For most of the next year I thought my last view of the States was going to have been the San Diego airport.”

“You were captured soon after you got over there.”

He nodded. “My first combat patrol. To this day I think somebody just screwed up. The whole patrol was green except for the sergeant. We didn't know what we were doing. It was dark, then the sergeant got hit and then we got separated and then I got lost and I blundered right into a gook patrol. They knew what they were doing, I didn't. I never fired a shot. It was that quick. I'm still not sure why they didn't just kill me.”

“They kept you for several months?”

“Yes. They grilled me for a long time. When I got back I learned that some people called it brainwashing. But I was so green that I didn't have anything in my brain, so there wasn't anything to wash. Hell, I didn't even know the men in my own patrol, so after a while they pretty much gave up on me. I read a lot of communist tracts and lost a lot of weight, but the time came when I was a more experienced prisoner than my guards were experienced guards, so I got away. It was a long walk. I lived on roots and grubs, but by that time I could eat anything. I almost got shot by my own people, but they missed the first time and I yelled before they tried again, and that was that. A year in the battle zone and I never fired a shot in anger, never really even saw combat. Odd. They kept me in a
hospital for a while to fatten me up, then they sent me home with some medals. George Martin, hero. I rode in a parade down Main Street in Longview.”

“Then what?”

“I contacted Brown and told them my story and they said to come on, so I did. I spent the next four years there, got out, and went to work.”

“Any girls while you were in college?”

“You're stuck on girls, J.W. Sure, there were girls. I was a little older, a little wiser, maybe. I liked some girls and some of them liked me. But nothing serious or long term. Hell, I can't even remember their names.” He frowned. “Let's see, there was Bess and there was Elaine. Elaine was studying archaeology or something like that at Radcliffe. Bright girl. Then there was . . . what was her name? A lot of fun. Liked western movies. A John Wayne fan . . .”

“But nobody serious?”

“No. I was studying hard and I had a job on the side. I didn't have time to be a real undergraduate. I felt old and I was in a hurry. No, I never got serious until later, when I met Marge. Then I was serious enough to want to marry her and I did. Twenty-two years now. Smartest thing I ever did.”

“When you were a prisoner, were you allowed to keep your personal belongings? Your watch, your comb, that sort of thing?”

“You jest, my boy. They stripped us down to the skin and took everything we owned. They gave us rags to wear. They even took our dogtags. Everything. Later, sometimes, we got other gear. Soap now and then. Some disinfectant. Nothing sharp.”

So he hadn't taken his ring to Korea, otherwise it would still be there. He'd parted with it before that.

“Let's go back to the time before you were shipped out. Tell me about that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, did I have any girlfriends?”

“Did you?”

His smile got a little stiff. “Sure. What soldier doesn't? We all found them when they let us off base for a few hours.”

“I know,” I said. “I remember what boot camp was like. Looking back, it doesn't seem as bad as it seemed then. I remember some girls. But none of them were serious.” I put a smile on my face. “But a few of the guys got engaged. A couple even got married. Did anything like that happen to anyone you knew?”

He looked at me and the little smile slid off his face.

“Think back,” I said. “Did any of the guys get engaged? Buy a ring for the new girl? Give her the old school ring to cement the engagement till he could buy her the real thing?”

George stared at me.

“Maybe it was later,” I said. “Maybe between the end of training and the time you were shipped out. You knew you were not going to stay stateside and weren't going to Germany, but to Korea. I remember how I felt when I learned where I was going. . . .”

He held up his hand and I stopped. “You know, don't you?”

“Tell me about the girl,” I said.

He looked at the ceiling. “God.” He was silent for a while, then: “There really was a girl. Afterward I almost thought sometimes that there hadn't been. I know there was, but later she seemed like part of a dream.” He looked at me, then past me into space, then at me again. “I met
her three days before I was to be shipped out. I was in San Diego just waiting and drinking and trying to live a lot before I went off to God knows what. We hit it off right away. I can't explain it. We talked and talked and it was like nothing that had ever happened to me before. She was pretty, I remember that. But that wasn't what made me like her. She'd walked on the wild side some. She told me a little about it. She was nice, but she ran with a tough crowd. She wanted out.” He rubbed his chin. “We went down to Mexico and we got married. We had two nights together and then I got shipped out. Marlina Singleton. Marlina . . .”

“You bought her a wedding ring?”

“No. We were in a hurry. I gave her my class ring. We used that at the wedding. The guy who married us didn't bat an eye. He'd had a lot of business from San Diego.”

“What happened to Marlina?”

“It's been years since I thought about all this. Jesus, it seems so long ago. I don't know what happened to her. I got a letter from her in Korea just before I went on that first patrol. One letter. Something had happened. Some kind of trouble. She had to leave town, but she said she'd write as soon as she could. I wrote back, but a week later I was captured and I never heard from her again. While I was a prisoner I'd been reported missing, presumed dead. Maybe she heard that story. Maybe not. When I got back to the States I tried to trace her. I looked for her for a month, all through August, but it was as though she'd dropped off the earth. So in the fall I went east to school. I looked for her some more the next summer, but I never found her.”

“If she was in trouble and had to get out of town, maybe
she didn't want to be found. The army knew you were married, didn't it?”

“Yes. I made her beneficiary of my life insurance.”

“She may have thought they'd be able to trace her if she used her married name. Maybe she was afraid that if the army could find her, someone else might be able to, too. She was just a young girl who maybe didn't want to be found by anybody.”

“I thought of that,” he said. “I didn't know her friends or her family. I didn't even know where she came from. Utah, I think. Some little town in the desert. I don't think she ever told me its name. I talked to the army and the police and I went back to the bar where we'd met. But two years had passed. Nobody knew anything.” He looked at me. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“I don't know much,” I said. “I do know one thing that you should probably know, too. Marlina is dead. She died probably thinking she was a widow.”

“How did it happen?”

“Natural causes,” I said. “It was a long time ago. There was nothing you could have done.”

I made another telephone call to Oregon and to Nancy Norris. I told her I'd found the ring. She was happy.

“Mom will be pleased. It means a lot to her. Did you find the journal?”

“No. Ask your mom if Jim's mother's first name was Marlina.”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Then she was back, surprised. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

“The ring belonged to her husband. I traced it. I found him.”

“Jim's father?”

“Her husband, at least. When was Jim's birthday?”

“October fourth.”

“What year?”

“1952.”

“The husband was probably the father, then. The man doesn't know and I haven't decided yet whether to tell him. All he knows is that Marlina died a long time ago. He doesn't know about the child.”

“I'd like to know his name. I'm sure Mom would, too.”

“I'm not sure I'll tell you. Can I keep the ring for a few days?”

“Oh, dear, I don't know what to think. This is so . . .”

“Don't decide everything right now. Tell your folks that Jim's father is a very fine man who has a family he loves. We'll talk again in a few days. Right now, things are a bit unsettled here, and I'd like to keep the ring awhile. It may be useful in clearing things up. Is that okay?”

“All right,” she said. “You will call?”

“Yes. In a few days.”

I had a beer. The summer night was warm, so I went out and sat on the screen porch. Across the Sound I could see the lights of Cape Cod twinkling in the clear air. The wind moved through the trees. Above, the Milky Way stretched across the sky. The moon hung in the branches of a tree, thin and pale. I got another beer and put on a Ricky Skaggs tape and went out onto the porch again. Ricky sang songs about loving and losing. It was a lonesome kind of night. I thought of Zee. When the tape was over, I finished the beer and went to bed, still unable to erase thoughts of Zee, even if I'd tried, which I didn't.

I was having breakfast—smoked bluefish, red onion, and cream cheese on a toasted bagel, washed down with coffee—on the porch with the sun coming up over the Sound. The way God intended man to live. The phone rang. It was Jim Norris's landlord, mad as a wet hen.

“What the hell you go busting things up like that, Jackson? You had the God-damned key! Why'd you bust the door down? Tell me that, you . . . I'm gonna sue you, you no-account—”

So much for my morning in Eden. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I'm talking about. You're the only one who's been up to Jim's cabin. You had the key! Why'd you
kick the door in? Why'd you throw things around? Why'd you tear things up? I'm going to sue you for every cent you cost me, you—”

“I didn't kick the door down. I left everything just the way I found it. The key's right over the door, where you told me to leave it. When did this trouble happen?”

It occurred to him that maybe I hadn't done it, but he was still hot. “You know danged well when it happened! It happened when you was there!”

“No. Everything was fine when I left. I'd be a fool to kick the door down when I had the key, don't you think?”

“Well, by God! Well . . . well, you was the only one up there, wasn't you?”

“I guess not. Somebody else was there later. Somebody who didn't know where the key was.”

“Well, I suppose it could have been. I mean, you knew where the key was. . . .”

“You gave it to me. You say things were torn up inside?”

“Jesus, you should see it! Furniture cut up, things tossed every which way! A real mess! And me with people coming in later this week! I tell you, when I get the guy who . . .”

He almost but not quite apologized before he rang off. I went out and finished breakfast, then weeded in the garden for an hour. I don't like to weed for more than an hour because I get bored. I get bored in museums, too, after a couple of hours. Maybe I have a short attention span. Not for Zee, of course. I thought I could stand her for quite a long stretch at a time.

I wanted some quahogs, so I got my rake and basket and went down to Anthier's Pond (Sengekontacket Pond to those of you who speak Wompanoag). I parked at the Rod and Gun Club and waded out to the point beyond the clubhouse. I've had good luck there, as a rule, but lately
the quahogs are getting thinned out. It took me an hour to get a mess, but I had a little of everything—some littlenecks, cherrystones, and growlers for chowder. I waded back, went home, rinsed off the quahogs and put them in the fridge after popping a half-dozen littlenecks as a special treat for me. Littlenecks on the half shell are hard to beat, being surpassed only by oysters on the half shell. But since oysters are often soft and squishy in the summertime, littlenecks are the champions of that season. Thinking of this, I opened a dozen more and wolfed them down. Thank you, God.

At noon I drove up to Oak Bluffs and went into the Fireside. After a while, Bonzo came in, gave me a big smile, and came over to the bar. I bought him a beer.

“Gee, thanks,” said Bonzo. “Say. J.W., when we going to go fishing again?”

“Soon,” I said. “Bonzo, were you working here Saturday before last?”

“Sure,” said Bonzo. “I'm here every Saturday. I got work to do here. I got to do the sweeping, you know. People spill drinks and drop things all the time. Pretzels and like that, and they break glasses sometimes. I gotta be here for that, especially Saturdays.” He drank his beer.

“Do you know Tim Mello?”

“Sure, J.W., I know almost everybody, and they all know me. I got a lot of friends in here. I got friends all over the island, I'll bet.”

“I'll bet you do. Do you remember Tim Mello talking about taking the
Bluefin
down to Wasque rip? Did you hear him talking about that on that Saturday night?”

Bonzo looked aghast that I should ask such a dumb question. “Jeez, J.W., sure I heard him. Everybody heard him.” Bonzo laughed. “Everybody thought it was pretty
funny, him having to take the
Bluefin
down to the rips with two little old people from New Bedford!”

I grinned at Bonzo. “Do you remember when Tim was supposed to go fishing with those two old people?”

“Sure I do, J.W. He was gonna be there at eight o'clock Monday morning. To catch the tide, you know, just like when you and me go fishing. We always catch the tide. You know that. You're a funny guy, J.W. Sometimes you seem to forget things, you know?”