Battle Cry (46 page)

“Damned battery again,” Ronnie repeated.

“Hush up, both of you.”

“Try the horn, Mrs. Busby. Maybe the starter is stuck,” L. Q. said.

“Oh, the horn has been gone for almost a year now.”

L.Q. found the light switch on the confusing right-hand-drive car. The headlights went on. “It isn’t the battery,” he said. “Put her into low gear. I’ll see if I can rock her loose.” They knocked the starter free and the motor turned over.

“Amazing, simply amazing. Are you a mechanic, L.Q.?”

“No, but I guess most of us tinker around with motors now and then.”

“Well, this was a good idea. First thing tomorrow I’ll let you jump right under the hood and catch up on some of my husband’s long lost odd jobs. He’s a baby with a hammer in his hand—and to think he sells machinery.”

“Hush now, Grace, you’ll frighten the lad off.”

“I’d be glad to,” L.Q. said.

“See, Tom, what did I tell you?”

“I can sing the Marine’s Hymn,” Ronnie said.

L.Q. opened his eyes and looked about the soft and cheerful room of the cottage on Park Road. The sun streamed in. He sat up and stretched. A rap at the door. “Come in,” he said.

Grace, Tom, and Ronnie Busby burst into the room. L.Q. drew the blankets about him. Grace carried a large tray and set it down on his lap.

“Aw look now, Grace. I feel funny eating breakfast in bed, especially in pajamas.”

Tom Busby laughed, reservedly.

“You’ll have to get used to rhubarb, L.Q., we’re right in the middle of the rhubarb season, you know.”

“Look, I can get up and eat at the table.”

“Nonsense.”

“Say, what time is it?”

“Almost one. You slept like a baby.”

L.Q. stared at the tray brimming with luscious-smelling food and scratched his head. “You people are sure nice,” he sniffled.

“Come now, boys. Let the lad eat, let’s get out,” Grace said.

“Shake a leg, L.Q. I have a game of bowls on the green at the club in an hour. Great sport, good for the spread,” he said patting his stomach. “Phoned up all the boys to let them know I have a Marine. Want to show you off a bit, L.Q.”

The door shut and L.Q. Jones sat there for a moment shaking his head.

Later L.Q. looked at the grinning mob of females of the Palmerston North Tennis Club. “Hold my hand, Grace. They look like a pack of vultures.”

“See the dark one at the end of the table. She’s called Gale Bond. That’s the one Tom picked out for you. She’ll be over for dinner.”

L.Q. lined up the array of children on the vacant lot.

“Now, you guys understand the rules of the game? It isn’t like cricket.”

“Yes, L.Q.”

“O.K., let’s choose up sides.”

“I want to be the pitcher.”

“No, I want to be the pitcher.”

“L.Q. says the pitcher is the most important player.”

“Wait a minute,” L.Q. said. “They’re all important. Now we’ll see who bats first. Choose up with this broom handle—I mean, bat.”

The Marine leaned over and whispered into Ronnie’s ear, “Remember what I told you?”

“Yes, L.Q.” He wheeled about and faced his team. “O.K., let’s have a little chatter in that infield, hustle you, birds,” he cried in a shrill voice as he winked at L.Q.

“Play ball,” L.Q. ordered.

The Ford was purring, the faucets no longer leaked and the Busby home sported several rejuvenated lamps and appliances. Gale Bond and the Busby family stood on the concrete platform with their Marine.

“Now you will write us, L.Q.”

“I promise, Grace.”

“And remember, any time you have leave, jump on the train. You don’t have to wire or phone, just come on up.”

“I will, Tom.”

Ronnie clutched L.Q.’s baseball glove and stood behind his father to hide the tears.

“Thanks for the rod and reel, L.Q.”

“Glad to get rid of them, Tom.”

“I hope it won’t be rhubarb season when you come next time.”

“I’ll send some tea up, Grace, and for you too, Gale. We’ve got barrels of it in the galley. We never touch the stuff.”

“Take care of yourself, L.Q.,” Grace said, embracing him as the train neared. He shook Tom’s hand.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“Tut tut, lad, tut tut…well, thumbs up, L.Q.”

He kissed Gale Bond, and then kissed her again. Then he knelt before the sobbing boy. “Hey, Ronnie, I thought you wanted to be a Marine. Marines don’t cry.”

“I’ll…I’ll practice hard, just like you told me…. I’ll chuck for the Dodgers some day.”

L.Q. took the boy in his arms and squeezed him hard as the train pulled in. He boarded quickly and ran to a seat, and waved as they came to the window.

The train pulled out of Palmerston North. Grace Busby took her husband’s handkerchief and dried her eyes, then Ronnie’s, then passed it on to Gale, who passed it on to Tom Busby, who blew his nose stiffly and placed it back in his pocket.

Andy stretched in the armchair and put out his cigarette. “Pat.”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if we just sit and talk tonight? I don’t feel much like going out.”

“As you wish.”

She entered from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. She took off her apron and laid it aside, then turned to Andy. She frowned. “Goodness, Andy, you look ill.”

“I…I don’t feel so hot…I’m a little sick in the stomach.” He rolled his head and opened his eyes. They were bleary. Perspiration began to form on his forehead.

“You are sick.”

He cringed as a chill shot through him. Pat felt his forehead.

“You have a fever. I’ll ring for a cab. You’d better report to the hospital.”

“Nuts, I ain’t going to no hospital.”

“Don’t be difficult.

“It’s just malaria coming on, I seen a lot of guys get it. I’ll shake it in a day, soon as the fever breaks.” He drew himself close as another cold sensation flashed through his body. Then the sweat poured over his face.

“You’ve been ill since you’ve been back. I’m taking you in.”

“Pat, I got six days left of furlough, and I’ll be go to hell if I’m going to spend it in any hospital.”

“You’re acting like a hardheaded Swede.”

Andy reeled to his feet, catching himself against the wall. “In my blouse,” he rasped, “I got some quinine pills. I hoisted them from sick bay…get me three of them…”

“Andy, you can’t.”

“Chrisake, woman, stop arguing. I ain’t going to no hospital. Get a cab, I’m going back to my hotel. I’ll sweat it out…be O.K. I’ll phone you in a couple days.”

“Andy!” He pitched forward into her arms.

“I must’ve got the bug good…I’m dizzier than hell, Pat. Get me to my hotel.”

She placed his hulking arm about her shoulder and braced him as best she could. “Come on, I’m putting you to bed.”

“Just…take me…to my hotel….”

“I’ll not let you stay there alone in your condition. Won’t you please turn in to a hospital?”

“Nuts. I got…six days…and I’ll be damned…”

“Very well then.”

He flopped to the bed, shaking violently. “Cover me…cover me. I’m freezing…cover me…three quinine every four hours—lots of water…” His breath was jerky, his eyes rolled shut. Pat struggled to get him undressed and under the covers.

“Ski, run for it, Ski! Ain’t no woman worth it.” He clutched his knee and thrashed into the blankets. “Don’t worry, Ski…Andy will come back and get you out of there. Ski! They’re coming through the grass!”

The lamp on the bed stand lit the room dimly. Pat shifted her position on the arrangement of chairs and pillows she had set up near the bed. She stretched and looked down at him. He was sleeping peacefully now. She placed her wrist against his forehead…the fever was gone. She sat at the bedside and put alcohol on a cloth and gently wiped his face and neck and shoulders. Andy slowly opened his eyes. A sharp ringing buzzed in his head from the quinine.

He propped himself on an elbow, shook his head and slumped weakly back. His face was pale and drained of blood. He reached out his hand and touched the soft down pillow under his head. His eyes turned and surveyed the room. He closed them a second and sighed unevenly and looked again. He saw her. She wore a nightgown beneath her long housecoat…she held a cup of tea for him. He rubbed his eyes. There was a stale dry taste in his mouth, everything seemed fuzzed.

“How do you feel?” she asked softly.

“How…how long I been here?”

“Almost three days.”

He drew a long breath. “I must have tossed a shindig.”

“How do you feel?” she repeated.

“Like a million bucks.”

“Can you sit up? Drink this. I’ll make some hot broth.”

Andy came to a sitting position slowly and again shook his head to erase the determined ringing. He instinctively reached for his dogtags. They were gone.

“My tags?”

“I took them off. I was afraid you would choke.”

He pulled the covers about him.

“I had to undress you…you were wringing wet.”

He put the cup to his lips and looked at her. There were deep circles of sleeplessness under her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Pat.”

She smiled. “I must say, you did give me a bit of a fright.”

“Did I say much?”

She nodded.

“Christ, I bet you hate me.”

“I’m glad it’s over, Andy. Do you want a cigarette?”

“Please.”

“Here.”

“Get one of mine.”

His senses slowly returned. He drew deeply on the cigarette. Pat sat on the bed’s edge. Neither of them spoke. They stared long and hard at each other. Andy snuffed the smoke in the ashtray she held.

“Poor dear,” she whispered, “you’ve been through hell.”

“I’m sorry I let you in for it, Pat.”

“I’m glad I didn’t let you go to your hotel. I’d have lost my mind.”

Andy looked at the array of medicines on the bed stand and at the chairs on which she had kept her vigil.

“I’d better make you something to eat,” she whispered.

“Wait a minute, Pat. Nobody ever done anything like this for me before….”

“That’s all right, Andy,” she said softly.

“You look beat out. Have you had any sleep?”

“I caught a wink or two. I’m all right.”

“Pat?”

“Yes.”

“It seemed like I opened my eyes a couple times, I reached out, and I felt someone…warm…I felt you. I guess I was just dreaming.”

“You weren’t dreaming. I was frightened of your chills.” Her hand reached out and touched his bare chest. “I was frightened for you.” He held her hand and placed it to his mouth and kissed it. And he drew her close and she rested her head on his chest.

“Darling,” she cried. “I was so frightened.”

He lifted her face to his and kissed her. She closed her eyes as his big hands stroked through her hair and over her cheeks and neck.

“Oh, Andy…Andy…”

They kissed again and her arms were about him tightly. He fumbled for the tie of her housecoat. “No, Andy. No, you’re too weak.”

“I’m all right.”

“You’re still sick, Andy….”

“Pat, Pat….” She opened her housecoat and embraced him.

He opened his eyes and felt over the bed for her and sprang to a sitting position, then settled back in the pillows as she came into the room with a tray in her hands. She adjusted the pillows for his back and put the tray in his lap.

“You’d best get some nourishment.”

He blew into a spoon of soup and sipped it down slowly. The warmth felt luxurious all the way down. She sat on the edge of the bed and cast her eyes to the floor. She reached up and ran her fingers through his mussed hair and patted his cheek. Andy dug his fork into the salad and wolfed it down hungrily.

“I feel awful,” she finally said.

He put the spoon down. “Are you sorry, Pat?”

The corners of her mouth showed a small smile and there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Of course I’m not sorry, silly,” she said, “but I do feel wicked with you being so sick.”

Andy gobbled another bite of salad. “Don’t worry none about that. Us gyrenes are tough as redwood trees, specially us Swedes.”

She arose and turned partly away from him. “I suppose you think I’m just the same as…as those girls you spoke about.”

“Aw for Chrisake, Pat.”

“I don’t really care, you know.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Andy. You don’t have to put up a show for me. I don’t expect it.”

“That ain’t like you and you know it.”

“But it is. It is now!”

He wiped his lips and set his glass on the tray, then shoved the tray aside. He reached for her hand and brought her down beside him.

“Listen, Pat honey.”

“Really, Andy, you don’t have to say anything, really you don’t.” She kissed his cheek and drew away from him. “I know how you feel about women. Oh, Andy, when you left it was like dying for a second time—only this time it was worse.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t, darling. When the other Marines returned and I knew you were coming back, I…I…You’ll think me horrid, but I don’t care. I got this apartment.” Pat Rogers stiffened and looked to the window. “I’m not keeping any more lamps in the window or waiting for any more ships to come in the bay. This war has done me in. You are here now and you’ll be here for a while. I’ll make it plain and simple, Andy. I want you, regardless of what you may think. I don’t care. I made up my mind to that long ago. When you go out again, that will be the end of it.” She slumped down on the bed and closed her eyes and bit her lip.

“I don’t like you to talk like that, Pat.”

Her eyes were misty. “I’m propositioning you, you know.”

He took her in his arms and held her. Pat’s eyes were closed and her lips were on his neck and her arms about him.

“You’re like nobody else, Pat, nobody. You got to know that.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, darling. You’re here, you’re safe. I’ll have you for a while. That’s all I care for any more. Today, this minute—to hell with the ships in the bay, to hell with waiting, to hell with living in fear. I’m a sinful woman now and I don’t care…I don’t, Andy, I don’t.”

“Aw, pipe down.” He kissed her and drew the blanket over her. She rested in his arms and sighed contentedly.