Don't Talk to Me About the War (14 page)

I open the door to our apartment and just as I am putting the bag in the kitchen, the telephone rings. I hurry to the parlor and answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Tommy? This is Charles.”

I’m surprised. Our telephone doesn’t ring much, and when it does, it’s almost never for me.

“I’m sorry about the game,” I say, “but I really couldn’t go.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Johnny found another eighth-grader. He played on our team and this time we won. But that’s not why I called. I called because next Friday George is signing up for the navy, and my parents are making a small party. They want me to say it’s a graduation party, not a signing-up party, but that’s what it really is. Anyway, it’s next Friday at eight and my parents said I could invite one friend, so I’m inviting you.”

“Oh, wow, thanks.”

“It’s not a big thing. It’s in our apartment, and you don’t have to bring a gift or anything, but I’d really like it if you could come.”

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“George says he had enough trouble just getting through high school, so he’s not going to college. But he’s not ready to start some boring job he’ll be in for the rest of his life, and the navy should be exciting. George says he’s not even afraid of fighting.”

Dad says that fighting for your country can mean sitting in a muddy foxhole hoping not to be shot. I tell that to Charles, and he says his brother knows. “But George won’t be in a foxhole,” he says. “He’ll be on a ship.”

“I guess that’s better,” I say.

We talk for a while about that and then about baseball. He’s a Yankees fan. Then I tell Charles about Mom, that I couldn’t play stickball today because I had to help her shop, but I ask him not to talk about it in school, and he says he won’t.

Charles is nice. He says he could help me with the shopping. “I can cook, too,” he says. “I’m good at making noodles.”

I laugh and say, “I am, too.”

Someone is at our door so I say good-bye to Charles.

It’s Mom. Mrs. Feiner is with her. Mom thanks her for walking up the stairs with her and says she’ll meet her and Janet tomorrow afternoon in the lobby. I guess Janet is the other old woman’s name. Then as Mom and I prepare dinner, she talks on and on about her new friend. Mrs. Feiner is a widow with a daughter who lives in Florida and two grandchildren. She visits them every winter.

Mom tells me, “She goes by train. She says she’s too old to go ‘in one of those flying machines.’”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’d like to go in an airplane once. I don’t even care where I’m going. I just want to look out of the window, look down at all the tiny people and cars.”

Mom laughs. “I don’t know when you’ll get a chance to fly, but maybe this summer Dad and I can take you to the Empire State Building. There’s an observation deck near the top. You can look down from there.”

It’s the tallest building in the world. It was finished just a few years ago. I think in 1931. I’ve always wanted to see it.

At dinner I tell my parents about the party for George.

“The navy is a good choice,” Dad says. “I went over to Europe on a big boat, and after I got used to the rocking, I liked it. The sea air is so crisp and clear.”

Mom says, “You’ll bring a gift.”

“No. Charles said it was not such a big party, that I didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I’m sure he said that, but still, his brother is going into the service. You’ll bring him something. Dad will know what to get.”

“Hm,” Dad says, and thinks. “Usually something to wear is a good gift. I could buy something at the store, a shirt or tie or handkerchief, but the navy will give him all that. They’ll also feed him.” Dad shakes his head. “I’ll have to think about this.”

I think about it, too. What would I want if I was going into the navy? A life preserver, I think, and smile. That’s what I would want.

The next morning I get up late, and Dad and Mom are already out. I guess they went for a walk. After breakfast, I go out, too. I plan to listen to the Dodgers game. They’re playing the Cubs in Chicago and that’s in an earlier time zone, so the game doesn’t begin until two forty-five. I have plenty of time. I tell myself I’m just going for a walk, but I know that’s not really true. I’m going to Goldman’s. Maybe Beth is there.

I get there and look in. She’s not at her table. Mr. Goldman waves to me, so I walk in.

“Beth was here earlier, but just for a short while,” he says. “She read a few newspapers and then went shopping.”

“Oh. Could I read one of the newspapers?”

“Of course, you can. Take as many as you want, and when you’re done, just fold them nicely and put them back.”

I take just two newspapers from the bench outside,
The New York Times
and
Daily Mirror.

First, I look at the front pages. It says the trapped soldiers were saved from what was sure death. The people in England went wild when they came home and lots of the soldiers shouted, “Thank God for the navy.”

Well, George will be in the navy, but a different one.

I turn to the back of the
Mirror.
The Dodgers didn’t play yesterday, no teams played, so there was no real baseball news. I turn to the front again. I look at both newspapers. There are more pictures in the
Mirror
and there’s more news in the
Times
and at first, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Then I realize, I want to find something about those labor camps, the ones Sarah and Beth talked about. Why would they take Sarah’s uncle to play music in a camp?

But I don’t find anything.

I fold the newspapers, thank Mr. Goldman, and return the papers to the bench. I want to get home in time for the game.

T
he Dodgers game is upsetting. The score is tied in the twelfth inning. Pee Wee Reese, our shortstop is at bat. There are two outs, and he’s hit on the head by a pitched ball and taken off the field on a stretcher. He’s really hurt. And do you know who takes over? The manager Leo Durocher does. He’s an infielder, and once played on the Yankees with Babe Ruth. Then, at the bottom of the inning, some Cubs player hits a home run and the Dodgers lose.

Mom and Dad come home in the middle of the game, and when Reese gets injured, Dad is listening. He’s as upset as I am about the game and Reese.

We get up and go to the kitchen, where Mom is beginning to prepare dinner. We offer to help, but Mom insists we let her do it herself. She says she’s having a good day and I guess, when she feels well, she wants to do things herself.

“See!” Mom says, and holds out her right hand. “It’s steady. No shaking.”

Mom still can’t see out of her left eye, but the pain is gone and she says her legs feel better, not so stiff. She makes beef stew, with potatoes and carrots—the whole dinner in one pot. She wants to set the table, too, but Dad won’t let her. I think he’s afraid she’ll drop one of the dishes or a glass.

“If I feel this good tomorrow,” Mom says at dinner, “I want to go for another long walk. Maybe we can walk to Milly’s.”

Dad seems okay with that. I guess he doesn’t mind walking slowly and making lots of stops.

Dad compliments Mom’s stew and then tells us, “There’s a program I think we should all listen to tonight. It’s on WJZ at seven forty-five.”

“But
Gang Busters
is on tonight. It’s my favorite show.”

“That starts at eight. This will be over by then. It’s Senator Rush Holt talking about the war. Ben told me about it.”

Ben is Dad’s friend at work.

“His talk is called ‘Send No American Boys to Europe.’”

With that title I don’t have to listen. I already know what he’ll say.

Dad and I clean up after dinner. He does the washing and I do the drying, and while I dry the pot, I wonder about Mom’s good days. Will there be lots of them? And how will she feel on the days that aren’t so good?

Dad tunes to WJZ early, so first we listen to a music program, and it’s not swing. It’s that slow stuff. Then the senator comes on.

“Shall the United States become a merchant of death?” he asks. He’s almost shouting. He’s not only against war. He’s against having a strong army and navy. He says a well-armed United States will be more likely to fight, that it’s safer to keep the army weak.

Even Dad doesn’t agree with that. “If we’re not prepared, it’s more likely some country will attack us,” Dad says. “We have to be strong and ready to fight. We always have to be ready. I just hope we don’t have to go to war.” Then he says quietly, “Only someone who has been in battle can know what that’s like.”

I’m glad when the senator’s talk is done and I can tune to
Gang Busters
. I know it’s a violent show, but do you know what? It’s not as frightening as all this war talk.

Later, before I go to my room, Dad reminds me we’re going to early mass tomorrow. He’ll wake me at six thirty!

Sunday morning, after mass, Father Reilly seems very concerned about Mom. I bet Mom’s friend Mildred Muir spoke to him.

Father Reilly takes both Mom’s hands in his. “I’m always here for you. Please, call me during the week and tell me how you are.”

Later that afternoon, we listen to the Dodgers win a doubleheader against the Chicago Cubs. Pee Wee Reese is still in the hospital, and his mother is with him. She said, “I crossed my fingers so Harold would get a hit.” That’s Pee Wee’s real name, Harold. “He got a hit, all right!” Yes he did! He was hit on the head!

My favorite Dodger, Van Lingle Mungo, is the winning pitcher in the first game. Luke “Hot Potato” Hamlin—I don’t know why they call him that—is the winning pitcher in the second game. And guess who hits the double that wins the game for Hamlin? It’s Leo Durocher, the manager, who is playing for Reese.

It’s Monday morning at Goldman’s, and Beth tells me that Holt is called the “Boy Senator.” He’s from West Virginia and was only twenty-nine in 1934 when he was elected and had to wait a few months after his election to be sworn in. The law is you have to be thirty to be a senator.