Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel (17 page)

"A 'short' tour?"

"Vietnam."

Three years minimum rather than the
now-required two years of active duty! “And you'll still go to
Vietnam!"

"Hear me out," he says, putting down his
fork. "First, it's a great opportunity to see Europe. ROTC guys
usually don't get a European assignment because an accompanied tour
to Europe is supposed to be for three years – it’s for career guys.
Second, Nixon has to end the war before the elections in '72 or he
won't get reelected. This year in Europe buys us time – the war may
be declared over before I have to go."

Sharon fingers her fork, then looks up at
Robert. “You were gung ho on going to Vietnam – just not in
infantry. And your branch transfer to military intelligence took
care of that.”

“I was gung ho on being in the army, being as
brave as my father, as patriotic. The more time I spend in the army
the more I realize I don’t have to get myself killed to prove I’m a
man. If I serve in Europe I’ll still have done my duty.”

There has to be a catch. "Why is the army so
generous?"

"They need more officers. An extra year of
active duty from each ROTC guy goes a long way towards helping meet
that manpower requirement.”

Robert hands her a sheet of paper. "And we're
invited to attend a meeting – separate meetings for the MI and
armor guys – wives too – to hear more about this. Some MI major's
flying here from Washington to talk to the MI guys and an armor
major’s coming too for the armor guys."

"Where in Europe would we go?" Sharon
asks.

Robert switches his eyes to the steak. "There
are a few small units in Belgium and Italy. The main army posts are
in Germany."

"Germany!"

Robert looks up. "Now, Sharon, the war's been
over for 25 years. We won't see Nazis standing on every
corner."

"Germany!" Sharon shrieks again. "We're going
to live in Germany!"

**

Sharon tugs down the skirt of her
black-and-white seersucker two-piece suit – is it too short? – and
enters the designated post building. The voluntary indefinite
meeting for the Armor Officers Basic men commissioned in military
intelligence will begin in five minutes.

Germany! Since last night she's been haunted
by goose-stepping Nazi soldiers snapping off their "Heil, Hitler"
salutes. Then she pictures Jewish men, women and children crammed
into sealed boxcars traveling across Europe with no air, no water,
no food, and no toilet facilities for days and days – eternity –
before reaching the death camps. A rabbi once told her it took the
Greek Jews 10 days to reach the death camps in Poland. “The lucky
ones died before,” he said.

Robert waves as she enters the room. She
walks over to join him where he sits next to Donna and Jerry, an MI
officer like Robert. The meeting for the armor guys will be
tomorrow. Robert and Jim have arranged their carpooling schedule so
each wife would have her own car to drive to the respective
meetings. Wendy and Nelson, an armor officer like Jim, will be at
tomorrow's meeting with Kim and Jim.

"Looks like a college lecture hall," Sharon
says to Donna. "The same varnished seats and pull-up writing arms."
Yet at school they never waited to hear a lecture on a potential
life-or-death decision they had to make.

"Here he comes," Donna says, squeezing
Sharon's hand.

The major who walks to the front of the room
has a face that invites confidences. Does it also encourage men to
do what's not in their best interests?

"It's a pleasure to meet with all of you
today, especially the ladies," he begins, then launches into his
pitch.

There is option A: the Intelligence Officers
Basic Course – the QV course he calls it – and then a "short" tour
– he doesn't say to where. Robert whispers to her that “QV stands
for Quick to Vietnam." Or option B: voluntary indefinite. "You have
to remember,” the major says, “there are no guarantees. The needs
of the service come first."

He smiles, gesturing at the American flag in
a corner of the room along with the flag of the U.S. Army Armor
School. Sharon envisions animals who eat their young.

“You must make your decision by July
6
^th
,” the major says. “After that the option is no
longer available.”

July 6
^th
! Sharon calculates in her
head – that’s a little less than six weeks away. Six weeks to make
a decision that can change your whole life and affect whether your
husband lives or dies.

The major looks around the room. "Anyone with
questions or special circumstances can come up and speak to me
individually. Thank you, that's all." He remains at the podium.

"What do you think?" Sharon asks Donna as
their husbands huddle with some of the other men.

"I'll be right back," Donna says and walks up
to the major. What question can she be asking him? Sharon
wonders.

Sharon looks around. How many of these men –
and their wives – will decide to opt for at least another year of
active duty in order to postpone Vietnam? How many others will want
it over with as soon as possible, not wanting the fear hanging over
their heads for longer?

Donna returns to Sharon’s side, her face lit
up by a huge smile. "Jerry probably won't have to serve in Vietnam!
He'll be exempt ..."

Does Jerry have a physical problem that
prevents him from serving in a combat zone? Sharon thinks.

"... because my first husband was killed in
Vietnam."

Sharon can't breathe. Her oxygen tank has
just been depleted and she doesn't have enough air to make it back
to the surface. Schools of fish swim in front of her eyes. A shark
comes alongside, poised to attack.

She chokes out, "You ... you were married
before?"

"A boy I knew from Puerto Rico. We were
married right out of high school. He enlisted after our
wedding."

There's a little more oxygen in the reserve
tank. Sharon inhales. "Why? Why did he enlist?"

"He didn't want to wait to be drafted, same
as all these men here," Donna says, waving her arm around the room.
"He just wasn't an officer."

Sharon's knees shake – divers get the bends
when they come up too fast. Yet she has to know. "What
happened?"

"He went to Vietnam. With an infantry unit.
When the first telegram came saying he was wounded, I wasn't
worried. I was sure everything would be okay. Then the next
telegram came saying he was in critical condition. I still wasn't
that worried – it didn't seem real.”

Sharon braces herself for what will come
next.

"Then the third telegram came. He was
dead."

Sharon tells herself to conserve the
remaining oxygen. Not to panic. "And then?"

"My father was in Vietnam at the same time.
He got compassionate leave to bring my husband's body home. Miguel
was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. And I ... I became a war
widow."

“
Calling cards should not be printed, but
engraved in black on white parchment or Bristol board.”
Mrs. Lieutenant
booklet

Donna follows Jerry down the stairs of the
building after the voluntary indefinite meeting. The major's
response to her question has made her jumpy with excitement. Yet
she isn't yet ready to share the information with her husband.
Jerry may not be as thrilled – he doesn't like asking for
favors.

"Nice guy, wasn't he?" Jerry says.

"Yes, yes, he seemed nice."

"And his presentation was done very
well."

"He was quite interesting."

Why did she tell Sharon about Miguel? Was it
the excitement of the moment – or the same compulsion that makes
her use the Oriental bowl? His last gift to her, the one that
arrived after his death.

Her mother tried to keep the unopened
brown-paper package away from her. "Some things are better left
unknown," she said. Did her mother fear the box contained a lace
negligee, never to be worn to please the sender, or something else
equally intimate? Donna pleaded, "Mama,
por favor
, I must
see it. Miguel sent it to me. He wanted me to have it!" Her mother
handed her the box with tears in her own eyes.

Donna removed the outer wrapping, then the
wads of cushioning newspaper. She lifted up the gift – so small and
alone.

Like Miguel the day she kissed him good-by.
Praying that he would once again hold her, make love to her.

"See you in Hawaii for R & R," he
said.

He never made it to Hawaii.

Donna feels nauseous. It's probably just
tension. She has to tell Jerry what she found out from the major
and then ask Jerry ... beg him … to apply for the exemption. And
she has to do it before Sharon tells Robert and he says something
to Jerry.

At home in the bathroom she runs cold water
into a glass. The mirror reflects tangled hair, shadows under her
eyes, cheeks tinged with grey, her mouth drooping from the pull in
her stomach.

She looked worse after the third telegram –
after the official notification that she was a widow at the age of
19. In her mind Donna sees the scenes of that day:

Donna and her mother have been out shopping
that day, buying the green bananas to make the delicacy that Donna
so loves. They and her three younger siblings have returned to
Puerto Rico to wait out the Vietnam duty tours of Donna's father
and husband. Donna does not want to go shopping that day. She wants
to wait, wait for a telegram that she is sure will say that Miguel
is out of danger, that the doctors have been successful. "
Por
favor
, Mama," she says. "Please let me stay home." Her mother
insists that Donna go shopping with her.

Absorbed in the sights and sounds of the
marketplace, Donna doesn't think about what might await her at
home. She and her mother wander among the open stalls in the old
part of San Juan, searching for the best fruits and vegetables. The
flowers that hang from every balcony smell extra sweet that day, as
if promising all is well with the world. She and her mother see no
one they know, no one to ask Donna how both her husband and her
father are doing, no one to remind them of reality.

As they shop she thinks of her childhood –
the visits to Puerto Rico that were such a welcome change from the
"white" world of the army posts. On those posts, whether in the
U.S. or overseas, everything seemed to conspire to remind her that
she was different, no matter how unaccented her English and how
careful her parents were to speak only English in front of others.
She was not "white," and the other children didn't let her forget
it. They called her a "Mexican," not even knowing the difference
between Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.

Then comes the moment she and her mother have
to return home from shopping. The younger children will be arriving
from school and will worry if Donna and her mother aren't there to
greet them.

Donna climbs the outside stone steps and
approaches the apartment door. A yellow envelope sticks out from
the mailbox.

"It's here, the news that Miguel is okay!
He's going to be fine!" She rushes forward, dropping the bag filled
with bananas.

She tears the envelope open and reads the
brief message. She reads it a second time, and a third. Only then
does she collapse onto the balcony floor and scream and scream and
scream.

After that she only vaguely remembers her
mother holding her as her brother and sisters rush up the outside
steps. They get her into the apartment before the neighbors arrive,
before the commotion and noise become overwhelming.

Miguel's family lives nearby. His married
sisters come with their babies, the babies and the women wailing
together. The noise turns into guns in battle, firing and firing
and firing. No trees, nothing to hide behind. The ammunition and
mines explode all around her. Why is she not hit?

An unknown man leans over her. "I will give
you a shot to let you sleep." She floats into blessed silence.

Miguel stands at the end of a long white
corridor. He wears a spotless white suit
–
his wedding suit.
He beckons to her to come towards him. He smiles.

When she reaches the end of the corridor, he
has vanished. She runs around the corner, following the long white
hall to where it leads outside to the garden. And there she finds
him.

He lies in a shallow furrow, his white suit
wrinkled and covered with mud. His eyes are closed. He no longer
smiles

When she bends lower, she sees the blood. And
she screams and screams.

Donna gulps the water she poured into the
glass and again looks into the bathroom mirror.

How can she convince Jerry to take the
exemption? He wants "to do his patriotic duty" – that's why he
joined the army. And he might want to prove that he is as brave as
Miguel.

She gags over the bathroom sink.

The next morning Jerry moans and rolls onto
his side. The bed springs jiggle. "I love you," he whispers.

Donna kisses his ear. "I love you too," she
says, snuggling into the curves of his nude body. For a few minutes
the two of them remain like that, saying nothing.

He is so wonderful! So gentle and caring. So
open-minded. From the moment they met, their obvious differences
never meant anything to him.

In Puerto Rico, the remaining months of her
father's Vietnam tour after he brought home her husband’s body, she
ate, slept and answered simple questions when someone spoke to her.
Other times she curled up in an armchair facing the living room
window. There she awaited the sun's shadow passing across the sky
each day, the moon slipping into the sun's place each night.