All Good Women (14 page)

‘Excuse me,' Moira affected a laconic Katharine Hepburn, ‘but aren't we talking about your dreams of becoming a Classics scholar and rewriting
The Odyssey
?'

Ann laughed shortly. ‘First of all, taking classes part-time while doing a full shift at the typewriter every day is hardly being a Classics scholar.'

‘OK.' Moira sipped her coffee and stared across the table at her friend. ‘What's up?'

‘Papa.' Ann shook her head in exasperation. Exasperation with him, with Mama's illness, with her whole twenty-four-year-old life which seemed tied in knots. ‘He wants me to move back and take care of him.'

Moira sighed, unsure what she would do in the same situation.

‘Sometimes it seems the only choice. I could visit Mama every day on the way home from work. Then I could fix his supper and clean.'

‘Wouldn't leave much time for
dono
and
donas
,'
Moira said.

‘No.' Ann was half listening. ‘For a while, I thought Daniel and I could split the duty.'

Moira shrugged. ‘It's so hard, you spend your whole childhood desperately waiting for choices and then when you grow up the choices are like spiked wheels.'

‘Some of your Catholic symbolism is quite apt.' Ann laughed and then turned sober, butting out her cigarette. ‘But I think if I went back to that house, I would catch it.'

‘Catch what?' Moira was alarmed by Ann's sudden pale mask.

‘Mama's sickness. I think I could go raving just like that.' She snapped her fingers.

Moira noticed the deep sores around Ann's cuticles were worse than usual.

‘Oh, Ann, you can't catch that kind of thing. And you're different from your mother — I don't know, stronger.'

Ann shut her eyes. ‘I hope so.' She marched over to the coffee pot to pour the dregs in a cup. ‘Phew.' She set the cup on the linoleum counter. ‘How can you drink this bilge, Moira?'

‘I had kind of a rocky night, a few too many cups of gin. It's been over a month now and I keep thinking Randy will disappear from my mind with one more drink.'

‘Moira, you've got to watch that stuff.'

Moira nodded. Ann could see she didn't need any advice and she wasn't particularly looking for sympathy. Ann checked her watch. ‘Hey, shall we listen to the news?' Before Moira could answer, she walked into the living room and turned on the radio.

Moira was always amazed at Ann's capacity for distraction. She, herself, liked a proper ending to conversations. As the static simmered down, she asked, ‘So you have some time to decide about school?'

‘Yes.' Ann flopped on the elephant couch. ‘A couple of weeks. Shh, here's H.J. Kaltenborn.'

‘The meeting of Averell Harriman, Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin in Moscow …'

Teddy sat at Clooney's
waiting
for Dawn to bring their pitcher. She thought about how she had met the woman, in the cafeteria line after having watched her working around the Emporium for weeks. Dawn was a short, strong-looking person with deep mahogany skin. She usually wore dark dresses and no make-up. She had a habit of peering through her glasses as if they were a microscope. Teddy liked her a lot. They were both different from the other employees in obvious but also inexplicable ways. As farm people they moved differently. Dawn had a familiar easiness with her shoulders and busyness with her hands. Teddy particularly enjoyed her quick, pungent laugh. Since the first lunch when they got to talking about coming North — both of them had pictured California as North — Teddy wanted Dawn for a friend. This wasn't hard to accomplish once she set her mind on it. Dawn always sat alone at lunch and, although she first behaved indifferently to Teddy's company, after a while she seemed to look forward to it.

Tonight at Clooney's, Teddy watched her short friend carrying the pitcher and wondered at their Mutt and Jeff appearance. Initially she felt odd bringing Dawn to this bar, almost as if she were being unfaithful to her housemates. They often talked about returning to Clooney's for a nostalgic drink, but they never did, what with Ann rushing off to see her Mama and Moira's late shifts at the shipyards. They all knew it wouldn't be the same without Wanda.

Teddy pulled out a chair for Dawn. Interesting how different this friendship was — at once more formal, because they had only known each other three months, and easier, perhaps because of their attitudes about the North. Teddy listened to the Benny Goodman music.

‘OK.' Dawn filled their glasses. She circled her fingers as if tuning in a radio. ‘And now for the latest episode in “The House on Stockton Street”. Ta ta.'

Teddy shook her head and sipped the beer. ‘Some day soon you're gonna meet them. Come for supper on a weekend. Ann makes terrific lasagne.'

‘Lasagne?'

‘It's a long story. Anyway, why don't we set it up now? Next Saturday?'

‘I have a friend who comes down from Martinez on weekends,' she said tersely.

‘Bring her — or him.' Teddy blushed. Why didn't she think about Dawn having a boyfriend — most women did. Dawn was quiet about her social life. Mostly they discussed the other people at work, their own large families and, as Dawn liked to put it, ‘The House on Stockton Street'.

‘Her.' Dawn yawned. ‘Yeah, maybe some time.'

‘OK.' Teddy was unsure whether she had insulted Dawn or simply surprised her. Suddenly feeling conspicuous sitting at a table alone with another woman, Teddy looked around and noticed that half the tables in the bar were occupied by groups of women. Of course, with the men enlisting and more women out working they would go to public places together. Why did it always take her months to notice the world around her?

‘I'd think it more likely that Angela would make the lasagne.'

‘Oh.' Teddy was disappointed that Dawn didn't remember. ‘Angela doesn't live in the house with us.'

‘I know that dear,' grinned Dawn. ‘Not yet anyhow.'

Teddy took the comment a step further. ‘Angela's moving away from Stockton Street altogether.'

‘Yeah?' Dawn pulled out a pack of cigarettes. ‘Did she enlist?'

Teddy winced. ‘She joined the WAFs.'

Dawn was intrigued. ‘I almost did that myself.' She smiled sadly. ‘You're going to miss her, huh?'

‘We had good times together.'

‘You still have Ann and Moira.'

‘Still have,' Teddy mused. ‘It sounds like there's a plague.'

Dawn took a long drink. ‘But Angela is different from the others, special?'

‘Each of them is special in her own way.' Teddy could tell she wasn't fooling Dawn a bit. ‘I guess Angela is different.'

‘Tell me how?'

Teddy returned Dawn's steady glance and felt safe in the feelings she had been hiding from. Her affection for Angela was more physical. Unnatural? It didn't seem so, still she couldn't talk about it at home. She hadn't even mentioned it to Angela although she knew, somehow, that Angela had the same feelings for her. Teddy didn't allow herself to rest too long in the safety because she was afraid to lose her courage. ‘I don't rightly know. There's a way I am with her, easier, but also more nervous.' Teddy found her eyes fixed on the table. She turned to Dawn's attentive face. ‘Easier in the sense of knowing we have common interests. A closeness like family. Things don't need to be said out loud. They're just understood. Sometimes when we sit together it's like one body.' Teddy felt her temperature rise, but if she stopped now she might never talk about this for a year. ‘You know, when you sit with someone over dinner — or drinks like tonight — you're always careful not to touch, not to intrude too close. But with Angela, we never notice.'

‘Never notice?' Dawn raised her thick eyebrows.

‘Well, she doesn't seem to be bothered.' Teddy picked up her glass. Maybe this conversation should stop here.

‘Bothered's one thing; noticing's another.' Dawn peered through the microscope.

‘All I'm saying is we feel easy together. We like being with each other.' Teddy heard her voice was tight like Moira's when she was protesting a misunderstanding with Ann. Teddy strained to hear Benny Goodman, but the music had stopped.

‘Great,' Dawn said finally. ‘That's a fine feeling and I can surely see why you're going to miss her.'

Teddy felt relieved. ‘Maybe we can discuss Angela another time. It's hard to talk about her at home. Moira has taken a dislike to her and Ann, well, Ann seems to ignore her. I don't know, maybe it's easier with a stranger. Not that you're a stranger to me, but a stranger to Angela.' Teddy despaired at her backtracking cowardice. ‘Maybe we can talk again?'

‘Any time.' Dawn finished her beer.

‘And think about dinner, will you? Ask your Martinez friend?'

‘She's not big on crowds. Maybe we could go out to dinner — with you and Angela.'

‘Yes.' Teddy smiled. ‘That's a possibility.'

Chapter Twelve

Fall 1942–Winter 1943, Lion's Head, Arizona

BRITISH AND AMERICANS LAND IN ALGERIA
AND MOROCCO

JAPANESE NAVY DEFEATED AT GUADALCANAL

GERMANS START TO ENCIRCLE STALINGRAD

US CIVILIAN COFFEE RATIONING ORDERED

SAND WITHOUT OCEAN
.
Miles
of it all around. An endless beach robbed of shoreline. Maybe this was a bad dream after all. Autumn, with the temperature still striking 90 degrees. Sun so hot, so few buildings for shade that you sometimes felt you were going to melt into your shadow. Wanda never imagined herself a city person, but, for the first few weeks here in Arizona, the barrenness of the desert exhausted her before noon. Sometimes she even missed that damned race track. She spent hours looking, as if for an answer, at the wasteland surrounding the camp. To the north was a hillside filled with boulders, so densely layered that she imagined it an apartment complex. The only way she could accept anything was through urban metaphors — the clouds speeding like cars, the coyotes calling like sirens, the sky as blue as those pastel houses down on the Marina, the sun as hot as a foundry. When the heat calmed down, Wanda recovered from her delirium. She looked around and agreed this was not the surface of Mars. She knew there would be a difference between summer and autumn. There were gradations of color. She observed that the cactus came in different sizes. As did the rattlesnakes.

Washing clothes this hot morning — sweltering at 9 a.m. — she reflected that the most remarkable aspect of their internment was not the location, but the camp itself. She looked up at the sentry box towering inside one corner of the barbed wire fence. The guard walked back and forth. Was it cooler up there? Could you catch a breeze that far above it all? What was he thinking? Did he pretend he was a cavalry man guarding government land from Indians? She had taken to reading about Indians in that section of the mess hall which the Authority called a library. A couple of dozen mystery novels and an old encyclopedia. They promised more books. The encyclopedia did offer a lot of details about Comanches and Sioux. Wanda began to realize that this inland internment was not a new practice. Had they put barbed-wire around the reservations too? These precautions were such a farce. Did they expect the Japanese to run away to the nearest town and mingle inconspicuously? Or were these camps, as the press reported, built equally to protect the
Nihonjin
from outsiders? Did they expect vigilantes from town to come riding in with lynch ropes? She had been ranting with these questions all last evening. ‘Quiet,' Howard had admonished her, ‘there's nothing we can do about it. You'll only upset Mama.' Now Wanda concentrated her fury on the laundry tubs, pounding the clothes against coarse concrete.

At least her article was coming out, she reassured herself, at least one magazine was willing to publish the truth about these camps. So what if the
American Mind
wasn't
Colliers
,
at least they had serious readers who might be able to do something. At least, she shook her head at her own modesty. She should just absorb the good feeling of getting an acceptance. Her first professional article. Roy had brought flowers and told her she was on her way.

‘'morning, Wanda. Enjoying your day off from the office?'

It was Carolyn Sasaki with an armload of sacks headed to the post office. Carolyn liked her job and had got it easily — perhaps because she had a year of college and her father, an accomplished musician, knew people in important positions. Although Wanda hated her own temporary clerical work, she didn't begrudge Carolyn the job. She knew she should apply for a paid position on the camp newspaper — or at least for the job assisting the new grade school teacher who was coming from Chicago.

‘My, you're industrious, washing so early in the day.' When Carolyn smiled, her eyes were almost lost behind her plump cheeks. She was a pretty girl. Wanda admired her gracefulness.

‘Not really.' Wanda wiped the hair from her face with a dry forearm. She hadn't permed her hair since the evacuation order, so it was harder to control. ‘This is the coolest pursuit in camp, unless they install the Olympic swimming pool.'

Carolyn laughed. ‘I thought it was going to be an ice rink, dedicated by Sonja Henie.'

‘Maybe you're right, what's a Haven of Refuge without an ice rink? Did you manage to get down the breakfast?'

‘No, just the coffee-looking liquid.' Carolyn shook her head. ‘Were you brave enough for the cereal?'

‘Had to eat something. I checked for maggots. The dark lumps were raisins. Morning's the only time I can eat. Then it's too hot until sundown. If I don't eat what they call breakfast, I get sick. You know, I've lost 10 pounds in this place.'

‘I know.' Carolyn shook her head warily. ‘Part of that's from overwork. You do too much, Wanda.'

‘That or go looney.' Wanda waved her away. Not wanting to seem unfriendly, she said, ‘You have a nice time with Howard on Saturday?'

Carolyn was bashful, yet eager to talk. ‘You noticed?'

‘Well, quarters are a little intimate not to notice when my brother slips out before the rest of the family for the evening movie, sits in the back with my good friend and then walks her home to the next block.'

‘Yeah, it was fun.' Carolyn blushed. ‘Of course the movie was dumb and the hall too hot and crowded. So what's new? But Howard's got a great sense of humor.'

Wanda nodded, weighing her own possessive feelings about Howard. If they married, would all his allegiance go to Carolyn? She reminded herself that they would be part of one big family. Still, would he be closer to his wife than to his own sister who had known him for almost a quarter of a century? Would he be more Carolyn's husband than her brother? What peculiar thoughts. One day she would have her own husband. It was hard to believe they had been engaged for over five months now. Mama kept asking about the wedding date. Wanda had grown thankful that Roy didn't want to rush into it. All the young wives here seemed to be getting pregnant. What would that do to their grand expedition plans?

‘Yes, Carolyn, Howard can be hilarious. Why don't you come over some afternoon for tea? So you and Mama can talk.' Wanda reflected how most women in camp wouldn't have to make appointments to meet, because you saw everyone in the canteen or the mess hall or the baths, but Mama had been sick so much.

‘Thanks.' Carolyn smiled broadly.

Wanda could see what Howard valued about Carolyn. Bright and cheerful, she was a respite from all the greyness of the Nakatani household. Yes, they made a good couple.

‘So long for now.' Wanda waved. She watched the young woman walk briskly toward the little post office which was dwarfed beside the flagpole. Wanda found Carolyn kind and warm; in fact she was her closest friend in camp. But she wasn't Moira or Teddy or Ann. She wasn't, well, tough enough in certain ways. Maybe this was unfair. She hadn't known Carolyn very long. After all, she had lived on Stockton Street for three years. They had been through a lot together. They had built a friendship in that house. She knew her resentment about losing Moira, Ann and Teddy stood between her and her new friends. She missed Stockton Street horribly, all the more when she got a letter. Sometimes she wished they wouldn't write. But this was selfish because they missed
her
,
too. The last letter from Moira was miserable. Nervous in her new job and pining for Randy. Well, even if he was a bit of a heel, he was awfully cute and quite in love with Moira. He just had a little growing up to do. Moira would learn. Men had such pride. How different was Roy? Of course he was different. He understood her ambitions. He shared them. Look how pleased he was about the magazine article. Look how he encouraged her to apply to the camp paper. She mustn't let the sun get her down.

Wanda dug deeper into the water, the suds up to her elbows now. Seep. Stream. Creek. The water was so scarce here people didn't use words like lake, let alone sea or ocean. She had been thinking a lot about marine biology lately. Maybe she would give up journalism to write about creatures in the sea. She imagined herself settling into a bathysphere for months, all alone in the water, studying colorful fish and delicate seaweed and comical octopuses. Peaceful. Cool. Wet. The encyclopedia had a large section on marine life. Unfortunately she had let her imagination lead her to ‘R', ‘Rattlesnake'. ‘The rattle, long the subject of myth and fanciful story, tends to frighten or warn creatures that might harm the snake. The sound is produced by transverse vibrations of the tail; the speed of vibration varies with the temperature, but averages about 48 cycles per second.' She used to think that memory was one of her assets.

She scrubbed in the hard, cool water. Think positive, Wanda; maybe Mr Omi will write today and say you've been accepted on the camp paper. The idea was enough to carry her through the rest of the laundry.

Walking down the gravelled path through camp, she could see the post office was crowded. She should come back later. It would be considerate since this was her day off and most of these people wouldn't have another chance to check. But she couldn't restrain herself. As she continued, a rock skipped into her sandal and lodged between her toes, slicing the tender web of skin.

Wanda knew she couldn't count on the mail. But it had become a kind of addiction. The promise of mail often hit her during a particularly tough time with Mama or on a very tedious typing job. Maybe there would be a letter, an escape. Maybe she would hear from Stockton Street. And then she grew fixed on the delivery truck's arrival at 11.00. If she were at the office, she would stare out the window, sometimes contriving an excuse to step outside and crane her neck. Often she felt as if she had powered that truck all the way from town. Just seeing it lightened her morning. So by the end of lunch, it was impossible to keep away, even on days like today when it would be more sensible — and courteous — to check the mail later in the afternoon.

The line was orderly and quiet. Several people had brought books to read. Roy stood two people ahead of her. She wanted him to turn around. But it would be rude to reach past Mrs Nakashima and Mr Hata. Besides, she liked watching him when he wasn't aware of her. She admired the broad, straight back. The dark, rich, shiny hair. The glint of gold from his spectacles around his ears. The nervous thumb tapping on his thigh. He would be late for work if this line didn't speed up. Howard was probably already back on the construction site. Her brother would never be so impractical as to wait for mail in the lunch hour even if he couldn't count on his sister's compulsion to check the family file every day. Wanda considered how she liked Roy's impractical side. But who was he writing to? His room-mates at Berkeley? Did men get as attached to their friends as women did? Of course, why not? Roy had all sorts of close buddies. Including girls. Was he waiting for a letter from one of those pretty blond sorority sisters Howard had teased him about? Wanda distracted herself, checking her wallet for stamp money, recalling with irritation that she had forgotten to bring the Sears catalogue bill. Sometimes that thing lay around the table for weeks. Mama refused to order herself a new nightgown because she felt confined by the meager selection. Everyone else would be wearing the same thing, she complained. Who would know? Wanda had asked, but Mother just sniffed and fell silent. Wanda made a note to order her another nightie before this one went to shreds.

‘Waiting for something special?'

Roy beamed down at her, a packet of letters and a parcel under his arm. He did look strangely cheerful for this time in a sweltering day with four hours of heavy labor ahead.

‘No, nothing special,' she murmured, regretting the boring reply immediately and imagining how Moira would play coy. ‘Maybe a letter from one of my room-mates. And you?'

‘Ha. The guys at college never write. My little sister's the one who gets mail in our family.' He showed Wanda the letters. ‘She hears from four or five pen pals every week.'

‘Yes.' Wanda answered stupidly, still wondering at the source of his pleasure. The package might be a care parcel from Miss College Coed. She didn't expect to know all his comings and goings even if they were engaged. She wasn't jealous, she told herself, only curious. There was a difference. ‘So what have you got there? Did you win the Cream O' Wheat jingle contest?'

‘Nothing that exciting.' He blushed. ‘Just a photography book. I ordered it months — maybe a year — ago, but what with our — social mobility — it didn't catch up with me till now.'

‘Oh,' she said, not wanting to appear reassured. ‘It's great that you're still studying. I don't know if I'd have the discipline.' Of course she did keep her diary, but that didn't seem like real writing. And she'd only managed to write one article — albeit over and over again — in six months. She noticed the last shades of red in his cheeks and felt grateful for his shyness. Sometimes she imagined him as virtuous, stalwart, rigorous — completely out of reach.

‘Don't know about discipline.' He smoothed back his hair. ‘I like the stuff. I miss it. I mean all this camp exercise may be invigorating, but …'

‘Maybe you could lend it to me when you're finished? Are these from Africa?'

‘No, Dorothea Lange, you know those photos. You told me about them. And I thought we might look at them together some night this week.'

‘Yes,' she said, confused that she could be so flustered. Sunstroke, yes, it was getting to her. ‘I …'

‘Next,' called the clerk. Wanda could feel the eyes of a dozen impatient people. ‘Yes, maybe tomorrow,' she said to Roy quickly. ‘See you later.'

‘Nakatani.' The woman thumbed through her file.

Wanda was surprised that the brusque Caucasian clerk recognized her. Yesterday she had heard one of the whites telling another, ‘They all look alike.'