All Good Women (28 page)

Sure enough, Mama was in one of her ranting moods this afternoon. She took one look at the soup and pushed the slop away. Nibbling on the bread, she was full of stories from the morning visit with Mrs Hara. ‘Did you know they were taking Japanese girls and boys to translate against the Imperial forces?' she demanded as Wanda perched on the edge of her chair.

‘Yes,' Wanda nodded. She didn't have time for a long discussion. ‘Not too many Caucasians know Japanese.'

‘But the horror of it,' she continued in Japanese and English­. ‘Most of us have enough trouble talking to our children­ in our own language. Some of us can't communicate at all. And those few who know Japanese are, well, to be passing on the language for such a purpose … It is worse than fighting in their army.'

‘It
is
fighting in their army. The OSS is a branch of the service.'

‘Oh, I don't understand. Your father could explain these things to me. I miss Papa.' She looked over at his pictures, where she had set fresh daisies today.

Wanda held up her mother's frail hand and nodded. Of course it would take a long time to get used to his passing. But Wanda had gradually learnt how much Mama had relied on Papa. She had always seen her mother as the more responsible parent, leaning on common sense when Papa would embark on one of his travels or schemes for making quick money. Now Wanda could see that Mama was leaning on her love for Papa, that they had held the house together with a mutual spirit and now that one of them was gone the force had disappeared. Sometimes Wanda felt as if her family had disintegrated into sand.

‘Go daughter, I know you have your job.'

Nervous throughout the arithmetic lesson,
Wanda kept brushing her hand against the bulge in her sweater pocket. This kind of distraction was exactly why she never collected the mail until after school. Yet concentrate she must because Mrs Wright would shoot her if the fourth graders failed another long division exam. She reminded herself that she had been Uncle Fumio's star bookkeeper. She loved math. Surely she could make this interesting.

‘Now remember we're dividing the treasure Alice found behind the guard shed.' They were paying attention. Were they caught up in the story or simply amused by her foolish acting? So many theatres to this war. By 2.15, she was depleted from the math, the worries about Mrs W. and the hunger gnawing in her stomach. She assigned them a quiet reading period and pulled out the letter from Ann.

I really don't know what to do about this girl, Leah. She's such a sweetheart with those big brown eyes.

Wanda imagined Ann and herself
walking together through Green Park. She looked up to find her class quietly reading. Ricky and Stanley, whispering at the back, caught her critical glance and returned to their books.

Reuben thinks it's a great idea. But what would I do with a kid? I go back and forth, back and forth on this.

The bell rang.

‘School dismissed.'

Stale classroom air lightened as the children rustled papers into their bags. Wanda caught sight of Tommy Morozumi dashing out the door, punching Bobby on the arm. Just as she was about to call him, Betty walked up.

‘Can you tell Mama I'm at piano?'

‘Weren't you supposed to sit with her this afternoon?' Wanda sighed.

‘Yes, but Mr Sasaki says I really need to practice the Beethoven.'

Wanda wanted to say no. She needed time alone. There were letters to read and write. However she was feeling guilty about the ‘pianist' slip. She nodded. ‘Yeah, sure, I'll spell you this afternoon, after I visit Mrs Nakashima.'

‘Swell,' smiled Betty. ‘You know you're not bad for a sister — or for a teacher either.'

The afternoon sky was made
of cold pink and the wind had started to whine. Well, if there weren't proper names for the winds, she could name them herself. Siren, she could call this one. She stood by the laundry room, composing herself to call on Mrs Nakashima, when she saw a Western Union car driving toward the gate.

Wanda felt a terrible pang, as if the chill of the day was coming from within her. Telegrams brought bad news. A stranger delivered the verdict in an official envelope. It was up to the family to break down in private or to open the wound at the door. It was between you and this piece of paper. Or between you and the messenger. Forget the Congress. Forget the guns. Forget the bodies. Death was one of the efficiencies of war; the government didn't have to wait for everyone to grow old and disintegrate. Death came in neat columns of statistics. It was expected. It was honored. The taking was a given. The real news was survival. That arrived in letters, not telegrams. Wanda tried not to think about Roy or Howard. She tried to remember the other young men who had enlisted. She imagined different reasons for a Western Union car to be driving through the gate. A lucky lottery winner. A message from Washington to the Authority.

Mrs Nakashima waved from her window. Wanda nodded, smiled and held up her index finger. She would be there in one minute. First she would hold her ground and follow the path of the Western Union car.

The driver was slowing down near her barracks. He looked confused, checking the numbers against the envelope in his hand. Of course he was lost; he was meant to be on the other side or … No, he had stopped now. Wanda could see Mama move the curtain and peer out. Her own feet were stuck to the ground. She must stop this. She must intervene and point him in the right direction. But her legs were made of bricks. The tall, thin man was climbing out the car, cautiously, awkwardly.

Now she was standing between him and the door. Her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw hurt. He didn't seem to notice her, as if he were still getting his bearings.

‘Hello,' she said, to take charge, to show him who was in control.

‘Afternoon, Mam,' he said shyly. ‘This number forty-four?'

‘No,' she answered. ‘No!'

He looked around her to the number 44 on the doorframe.

‘Number forty-four, Mam?' he asked again.

Wanda searched his milky blue eyes and felt there was nothing solid in the world.

He looked down and shuffled his feet.

She reached out, taking the telegram from his hand.

He glanced up.

‘You can go now,' she said.

‘You don't want me to stay.'

‘No,' she managed.

‘Yes, Mam.' He tipped his hat and folded himself back into the car.

Wanda turned from him, and saw Mama close the curtains, moving back into the room. Wanda took a breath and looked away from the ugly envelope. She needed time. She needed room to breathe. She wanted to be somewhere else right now, in a movie, reading a book, but this telegram was not part of her imagination. No hoping or praying or rewriting could change this. This was real. She smelled the ink from the telegram. She would have to tell Mama, but she needed some strength first. If only she could take this foul paper off and read it alone. She thought about the bench at the edge of camp. There she could pull herself together. There she could … no, Mama had seen the car. She needed to know. Now, now, NOW, NOW!!!

Wanda ripped open the envelope. Mama appeared at the window again.

Wanda's eyes skimmed across the salutation to read, ‘ … Howard Nakatani is missing in action in the service of his country …'

Missing. Not dead. And weren't they all missing in some way? Not dead. Missing. Howard was missing. She looked up and caught Mama's dark eyes. The woman with the missing son.

Chapter Twenty

Fall 1944, San Francisco

CALAIS LIBERATED

INDIAN AND BRITISH TROOPS TAKE TIDDIM, BURMA

ROOSEVELT RUNS FOR FOURTH TERM

CHURCHILL, STALIN AND HARRIMAN
MEET IN MOSCOW

IT WAS MOIRA'S BIRTHDAY
and she felt particularly hot and pregnant. She thought of her own mother, carrying and delivering her in this heat. How close she had felt during the last few months to the confused girl of years ago, if not to the irascible forty-seven-year-old mother who still refused to believe a daughter of hers would get pregnant out of wedlock. Moira stared at the table of pork chops and fried potatoes and apple sauce Teddy had prepared to celebrate her birthday. She was exhausted at the thought of another bite. She watched Teddy walk back into the dining room with a new pitcher of water and wondered why her friend was so silent.

Teddy smiled at Moira as she sat down. So if the girl didn't want to talk much; it was her choice. Frankly, she was feeling a little low-spirited herself. She couldn't shake that last postcard from Angela declaring she and her ‘girlfriend' Mabel were having the time of their lives on the Gulf of Mexico. Fine thing to write after months of nothing. Of course Teddy hadn't expected much since the note this summer when Angela mentioned Mabel. Angela said she knew Teddy would understand, that it was a long war and Texas was years apart from California. Teddy understood, all right. She had even suspected for a while. What could she say? They had no agreement. God knows, they had been too shy to express their feelings the whole time they knew each other. It was decent of Angela to write, Teddy kept insisting. But she found herself thinking about how Mabel might disappear or die, painlessly and instantly, in a crash landing.

Moira endured the meal with lethargic cheer, trying hard to enjoy Teddy's good cooking. She couldn't help wonder why birth caused such fanfare.

Each woman made several attempts at conversation and returned to silence.

‘Some celebration,' said Teddy, ‘both of us still mooning about our long, lost loves.'

‘Yeah,' Moira shrugged. ‘I'm getting over it. I mean I only cried once this month. But I still feel so humiliated. To get a “Dear Jane” letter. And I used to wonder if he were the right person for me. After all the breaking up and patching up! I guess it's just as well he wrote before I had a chance to tell him I was pregnant. I wouldn't want him out of pity. I just have to stop thinking about it, that's all. Don't know why I brought it up again.'

Teddy waited.

‘I still can't bring myself to tell Mother. She'll see him as another one of my failures.'

‘You know that's silly.' Teddy sighed, thinking how grateful she was that she hadn't told her own mother about Angela.

‘Can't imagine Randy spending the rest of his life on a Pacific Island.' Moira forced the sarcasm. ‘How will he keep supplied with records and clothes?' Then she surprised herself by laughing.

‘Yes,' Teddy said, trying to keep up with her friend.

Moira fell silent again.

Teddy served her special sugarless cake made from Mom's ration cookbook. It looked pretty enough, but you could tell something was missing.

All evening they tried
to
lift each other's spirits. Only when it came to opening the presents did Moira revive. She held up Teddy's gift — a trim dress — and danced around the room in a listing polka. ‘You think I'll ever squeeze into this? You really think I'll take a size 10 again?'

‘Why not, honey?' Teddy sat back on the couch and beamed. ‘Pregnancy is a short-term project.'

‘Oh, Teddy, this is wonderful. I am tired of “accentuating the positive”.' She patted her heavy stomach. ‘You always know what I need to cheer me up.'

Moira waddled over to the couch and threw her arms around Teddy. Each of them turned scarlet. Moira kissed her friend on the mouth and pulled back. She was still so excited about the dress and her salvaged birthday that she apparently didn't notice Teddy was gulping for breath.

‘Oh, what would I do without you, Teddy? For all I know, I might be dead, lying at the top of the stairs, if you hadn't come home and found me.'

‘Vivian would have checked.' Teddy tried to cool down. ‘Besides, you wouldn't have died. You would have come to with a doosy of a hangover.'

‘You can't tolerate gratitude.' Moira's lower lip extended.

Helpless now, Teddy shrugged. ‘I didn't mean a thing. I mean …'

‘Oh, hush.' Moira turned and ran her hand along Teddy's cheek. ‘It's OK, I didn't mean to get you “riled up”.'

Teddy drew back slowly. She knew Moira was touching her in a family way, yearning for a sister. And Teddy would do well not to confuse that yearning with anything else.

But Moira continued to stare at her, through her. ‘Really Teddy, I feel so much for you, so much gratitude and so much, well, so much love.'

Teddy blushed.

‘Look at the color on you!' Moira laughed gently. She reached for Teddy's hand and stared silently at her friend. Silent perhaps because she didn't know what to expect, what to want. Lately she had come to feel more than an affection for Teddy; it was almost a physical longing. No, more than almost, she would lie in bed and yearn for Teddy's arms. But why? She wasn't a lesbian. She wasn't even sure what lesbians did. All she knew was that she wanted this closeness to ripen. Yet how? She didn't want to lead Teddy on. Who was to know that Teddy was ‘interested' in her? She didn't even know if you used the same terms for ‘women-women' affairs. All she knew was that she wanted to be tucked into Teddy's arms right now. But where to begin? She was so used to Randy taking the lead. And something told her she would have to lead tonight.

Teddy inhaled sharply, willing the blush to disappear. Confused at first, she thought how she was never shy of physical contact. She was always putting her arms around Moira, punching her on the shoulder, kissing her head. But lately, Moira had been extra sensitive to the touch. Teddy had put that down to her pregnancy. She couldn't explain it exactly, but Moira seemed to respond more. Didn't women get tender at times like this? She often had to close her mind to daydreams of her and Moira in bed — the thoughts never went very far, just holding and hugging — because she knew it was a sure way to lose her most important friendship. But what was the girl saying with this look now? Maybe women became a little mad with pregnancy. Yes, she remembered how weepy Mom had got with the last two.

Moira's eyes held Teddy's face steadily as she picked up her hand and kissed the fingers. ‘You know,' she spoke fast to outdistance her nervousness. ‘I have a very deep affection for you.'

Teddy nodded.

‘Do you think you could move a little closer?'

Teddy nodded again, but sat still. She knew that once she moved, her whole life would be transformed. As much as she wanted to accommodate Moira, as much as she didn't want to embarrass her, she couldn't move. Although she desperately desired to touch Moira, she needed to sit still and cherish this moment. She took a long breath and returned to reality, suddenly noticing the sweat on her upper lip and the beads of wetness between her breasts. ‘Just a moment, hon,' she managed in her old voice — now how had she summoned that? — ‘I need to go to the bathroom for a sec to wash my face.'

Refreshed and more composed,
Teddy
returned slowly from the bathroom. There was Moira sitting on the couch, staring at the floor, her hands cradling her belly. She had never seen Moira more beautiful. The pregnancy brought a glow to her cheeks and forced her to rest so that the lines around her eyes softened. She was much more of a woman now, with a kind of self-acceptance Teddy could never have imagined. In comparison, she, herself, felt like a gawky teenager. She sat down, watching the woman carefully.

Moira moved over and put her hand on Teddy's shoulder. This affectionate, asexual gesture made Teddy's stomach sink.

‘You're not making this any easier, old pal,' Moira teased, turning Teddy's worried face towards hers. Was she doing the wrong thing? Was she going too fast? Too late to turn back. She moved closer, brushing Teddy's lips with her own. Now this could not be mistaken as sisterly. Teddy would have to take the next step.

Moira wasn't prepared for the surge of passion in Teddy, who drew them together so tightly that they could hardly breathe. She smelled lavender and beneath that Teddy's musky scent. When she kissed Teddy again, her attention shifted to her own body. A strong current flowed as Teddy touched her nipples. She could feel her groin loosening and moistening.

Teddy kept comparing this to her fantasies and it was much more elaborate. She had considered kissing and touching another woman, but she had never known what would happen inside her. Her appetite heightened with each touch. Briefly she thought of Angela, who was so much taller than Moira. When she had imagined sex, it had always been with a large-boned woman. Moira felt like a figurine. Despite and because of her pregnancy, Moira was so delicate.

‘Shall we go upstairs?' Moira asked.

Teddy grew scared. Had Moira had enough? Was this the end? Perhaps she had only wanted a little cuddling. Teddy drew back, still within the curve of Moira's arms, but stiff and tense.

‘I mean,' Moira spoke carefully, ‘we're bound to be more cosy in bed.' She found herself reddening, but if she didn't take the lead they would be here all night.

‘Yes, sure,' said Teddy. ‘Let's go to your bed. It's bigger.' Did that sound too crude? Teddy forgave herself; no matter what she said would be awkward. She was pleased to note that this was English coming out of her mouth.

They climbed the stairs, shyly holding hands. Moira didn't know if she wanted to forget or to remember that Teddy was the woman with whom she had lived during the last five years. This made her feel at once more embarrassed and more comfortable. She pushed open the door to her room and wished she had picked up her clothes this week. The floor was piled with overalls and dirty stockings and fading nightgowns. She even noticed the blue belt she had been looking for all month. The room felt hot and confining. But Teddy didn't seem to bother. She was sitting on the bed, holding out her arms.

Moira sat down and kissed Teddy's ear. Teddy sighed and closed her eyes. Then she pulled Moira back on the bed so their legs dangled over the side. They snuggled for several minutes until Teddy said, ‘You sure this is all right with you?'

‘Mmmm,' Moira said.

‘Well, in that case,' Teddy smiled to herself and then at Moira, ‘I must confess I don't know the next step.'

Moira bit her lip, remembering again how Teddy was still a virgin. She had only gone to the movies with Angela and maybe done some serious imagining. She, herself, was more practiced. Moira decided to be light-hearted. ‘Guess,' she grinned.

‘I'd say it has something to do with removing these clothes and getting under the covers.' Teddy sat forward, pulling Moira flat on the bed. She started to unbutton her own blouse.

Moira interrupted, ‘Oh, no, let me.'

Teddy looked down at the floor, nervous about her nervousness.

‘Unless you think it's silly,' Moira offered.

‘No, no,' Teddy's voice slurred, ‘not silly.'

Mother, may I go out dancing

Mother, may I go romancing?

Must I keep on dancing …

Moira unbuttoned the blouse cautiously
as if opening a secret between them. Teddy, always irritated by her own large breasts, was amazed by Moira's appreciation. Moira unsnapped Teddy's bra, ran her finger along the contour and began to suck greedily on the nipple. Teddy considered this pregnant woman sipping at her breast and she closed her eyes for what seemed like an hour, floating above the bed. Then she turned her face fully on Moira and unzipped her top. Moira seemed to be floating with her — happier, freer than she had looked in months. When Teddy's fingers drew away from Moira's bra, she glanced down and pulled back in surprise at the ripeness of Moira's breasts. They had seen each other naked a hundred times before — in the bath or as they dressed to go out for the evening — but Teddy, at least, had never dared a real look. Moira's breasts were full and freckled and pink at the tips, where her own were a burnt amber. Carefully, Teddy rested her head on this softness. She stroked and licked and touched as Moira moaned and then, somehow, she was over on her back and Moira was undoing her skirt, unhooking her stockings. The swish of nylon and the rustle of taffeta distracted Teddy from her self-consciousness and allowed her to savor the sensations.

For the longest time, Moira couldn't get enough stroking. Her vagina throbbed to be touched, but her eyes and her fingertips were hungry for the feel of Teddy's athletic, graceful body.

‘Graceful?' Teddy turned on the pillow. ‘Long, yes, but graceful I'm not.'

‘I've often coveted these legs, you know, so lithe. I feel like a clunk in comparison.'

Teddy couldn't believe that Moira had been watching in the same way. No, it was hardly the same way. Moira's interest was much bolder. ‘“Clunk,” what do you mean by “clunk?” You're beautiful, Moira, more beautiful than anyone I know.'

Moira tried to stop — but failed — hearing Randy's voice. But his words had been different. He had meant beautiful in the sense of measurements and complexion and turned-up nose. She felt more deeply scrutinized by Teddy's appreciation. She returned to the present, reaching down to Teddy's belly and below.

Teddy stretched back and waited, hungrily. She watched Moira's intent fingers, hoping they would slide lower, go deeper between her legs, and enter her. Yes, yes, this was the way Moira was moving. Brushing Teddy's pubic hair with the palms of her hands, gently parting her legs and stroking the soft skin on the inside of her thighs, tentatively outlining the vulva until she looked up, locking Teddy with her eyes, asking ‘OK?'