CHAPTER THREE
While I was in the army I got to see a lot of the world. I didn't like Africa much, because of the heat and dirt, but things got better when we crossed over to Italy. I learned some new dishes there and, also, how to cook things in wine. The guys really like that. Heck! Half the time they'd come sneaking into the cook shack to sneak samples before things were hardly on the stove. I never let on to them that I thought it was right nice of them to pay my cookin' such compliments. But I had a cook's pride. I'd let them gather around the marinating sauce and smell to their heart's content. Then I'd yell like hell and run them all out just as they started sneaking too much of the sauce. I guess I sounded pretty tough in those days, but I never really meant to be.
Then the army pulled us out of Italy and sent us up to Normandy. Things went sour for us a long time after that. By the time we were deep into France, most all of my old buddies were gone. It got so I was just a cook to a bunch of strangers. Those new fellows who began to take over were grumpy and too scared to do much playing around. They'd come back from patrol, eat whatever I had cooking, good or bad, and then crawl off by themselves somewhere until it was time to move again.
I'll have to admit that my cookin' wasn't the best in the world then, either. But we moved so fast that a guy couldn't get enough ingredients must of the time to make it even worthwhile to build a fire. Of course, those new fellows blamed it all on me. Some of them used to get real sore about it.
But, all in all, France wasn't such a bad place. It reminded me a lot of the country where I grew up. The farms were older, but the farmers did about the same things we did. At least I think they did. I just never could get much of a scientific explanation from the natives, because I couldn't understand much from the jabbering they did when they tried to explain something.
One thing I never got to see while I was in France was Paris. Heck, the way most of the guys talked, it was worth a whole war just to get a weekend there. Bit just about the time our outfit was getting close, I got hit, and the army shipped me back home.
I've had a secret urge all these years to see Paris on my own at least one time, but it's just been wishful thinking. I know I'll never get a chance now to see what the guys were talking about, even if I won one of those contests that would give a guy a free trip there.
But, like I was saying, I got hit, and they gave me a Purple Heart decoration and a couple of other medals and...
------
"Daddy --"
Excuse the interruption again. Laurie has something on her mind.
"Daddy, Daaadee... Am I going to be a mommy"?
"Why, Laurie, I hope so someday, honey. All girls should grow up to be mommies."
"I mean right away, daddy."
"Oh, no, Laurie. At least I hope not. Say, you haven't been doing anything I ought to know about, have you?"
"I don't think so, daddy. But Alice said I was going to be a mommy."
"Now, how does Alice know? Are you sure you haven't been doing anything?"
"Well, she showed me how to put this bandage thing on and said that the was a sigh I was getting to be a woman, and that things happened like this every month. She said every woman had to go through it if she was ever going to have a baby."
"Oh! Well, Laurie, I don't think Alice meant that you were going to have a baby right now. She was just trying to explain how nature takes its course. "
"Well, how come Harry doesn't have to wear a bandage like Alice and me? He's older that I am."
"That's because he's a boy. Boys grow up to be fathers. They have a different kind of nature."
You mean they don't have to worry about getting all messy every month?"
"Something like that. They just have to worry about paying bills."
"Oh, daddy... I wish I had been born a boy."
"You won't feel that way long, Laurie, honey. And stop crying. You're getting my shirt all wet. Why, just think of what it'll be like when you get all grown up and have a family of your own. Why, there isn't anything prettier then a little baby who belongs entirely to you."
"Really?"
"Sure. I can still remember when you were no bigger than a sack of cornmeal, but twice as soft. Why, your mother used to scold me something terrible, because I spoiled you rotten. 'Hank,' she'd say. 'You're just making work for both of us by picking her up like that every time she cries.' And I'd say, 'Maybe, but you notice how she falls right to sleep every time I do don't you?' And your mother would scold me some more. 'That's only when you're here,' she'd say. ' just can't get anything done in the daytime, because I have to spend so much time with Laurie.' And I'd say, 'You're just talking to be talking. You like to hold her as much as I do.' Then your mother would smile, and I'd put you in bed between us for the night, and you'd just grin and coo like you really understood what was going on."
"Did mommy really love me, daddy?"
Why, of course she did, Laurie. She loved all of you."
"Do you think she knows how things are down here with us, daddy. I mean with Miss Owens coming and all. Do you think she's watching over us, so we won't make it too hard for you to raise us up proper?"
"I don't know, Laurie. Heaven is a place no man can explain. But if it's at all possible, I'm sure mommy is with us every day."
"Well, I don't want to grow up and have babies if I can't be around to watch them when they need me."
"A person just can't always know what the future holds, honey. You'll change your mind when you get older, especially when you meet a man worth marrying."
"No, I won't!"
"Yes, you will. Just wait and see."
"I betcha I don't."
"Okay. I'll betcha. Now, you go back upstairs and tell Alice to let you read that book Mrs. Tucker gave her a couple of years ago. It'll explain everything you need to know about what's happening...babies and otherwise."
"Okay, daddy."
I swear Laurie just worries me to death sometimes. I'm afraid I'll never be able to make an optimist out of her. I guess I did spoil her a little too much through the years. But she's a bookworm. Maybe, she'll be smart enough when she gets marrying age to catch her a rich husband and won't have to worry about other problems in life. It's tough trying to explain some things to the kids though, and I'll have to admit that I'm sometimes short on public relations when it comes to the female approach at answering questions.
------
Now, let's see, where was I. Oh, yes. About this business of getting shot. Well, the army claimed I was wounded in action and shipped me back to a hospital in the States. They fixed me up with an artificial leg, and just after I got so I could skip along with my cane and wood walking-stick pretty good, they sent me home on a leave, even though I didn't much care about going back to the old burg. They claimed it was good for my morale, whether there was wolves there or not.
And I guess it was some, because I had people shaking my and along Main Street that used to slam doors in my face when I went looking for food before the war. For a while there, the mayor and town folks made me feel real important.
Why, the mayor got so excited that he even threw a big party in my special honor and invited the whole town. He even broke the lock on his basement door and got out some prewar liquor for all of us, claiming that it was his private reserve for political times.
And before I forget it, I want to put in a kindly word for the women there. They sure couldn't be beat on fixing country-fried chicken. It was so good that I sneaked about half a dozen pieces and hid them in my duffle bag to enjoy on my way back to the hospital. I don't know what their secret was, but I guess it had something to do with being able to get fresh chickens. They made real tasty potato salad, too.
Well, to get on with the story, the men had all filled their bellies up to their ears with chicken and was whooping it up pretty good on the mayor's liquor, when the mayor suddenly decided to give a speech. He got to telling everyone what a brave man I had been for volunteering for the army, and how I'd wiped out a whole company of Germans, and how I had been rushing to knock out a German cannon, when I got caught in a crossfire of enemy machine guns.
I stood up then and got mad and waved my cane in the air and yelled at him that he was a liar. At least I thought I did. But the people were yelling so loud, about then; and, I guess, thought I was agreeing with the mayor. My tongue was so thick from his liquor that I couldn't get my words out straight, fast, or loud enough. Next thing I knew, they carried me to the train station on their shoulders and shipped me back to the hospital, before I had a chance to explain that the mayor was just plain off his rocker. And since I've never been back to the old home town, I'd like to set the record straight right now.
What really happened was that our outfit had been up in the front lines for almost two weeks. It was cold, wet, and we had had nothing to eat but dry K-rations all the time we were there. Our bellies had just got out of shape for good hot food.
Anyways, we got sent back to a rest area, and I went right to work and whipped up a real good hot meal for the guys. The supplies weren't any too good where we were, but I made do with what I could lay my hands on. Some of the fellows shot a tame pig, and I found a sack of navy beans some clerk had missed. I put them all together and stewed up a big batch of pork and beans. And, boy! you should've seen those guys take to it. I was real proud of my accomplishments that evening.
But, then, like I said, our bellies just weren't in shape to take on good hot food, especially mine. Long about the time the dishes were all cleaned up, the beans got to working on me pretty bad. So I kind of moseyed out the back door of the cook tent, flapping my apron like nothing in the world was wrong.
I whistled a little ditty and started for the latrine, but when I turned a corner I found a line there that must have been a mile long. I felt real sorry for some of those fellows then, because most of them were all bent over with the cramps something terrible.
Well, I stood in line for as long as I could, and it seemed like it was hardly moving more that an inch or two. Then all of a sudden I spotted this foxhole off a ways and dropped out of the latrine line and went whistling nonchalantly toward it, so none of the other guys would catch on to what I was doing.
Just a few yards in front of the foxhole was a tree. I got a flurry of cramps myself about the time I reached the tree and wanted to run for that foxhole as fast as I could. But I didn't dare. I figured that if the fellows in the latrine line spotted me, there wouldn't be enough space around the foxhole in ten seconds to toss a hickory nut, let alone do what I had to do.
So I lit a cigarette and leaned up against the tree like I was just taking an evening smoke in the sunset and fought the cramps and tried to hold my apron down. It was worrying me sick, because it was flapping in the breeze like a flag on a admiral's ship, and I didn't dare take it off for fear the men of the latrine line would see it at half-mast and know that a new front had been opened up.
After awhile, the cramps settled down, and I pushed away from the tree real gentle and cautious like, and eased off toward the foxhole again, whistling, "John Brown's Misery," like I hadn't a care in the world.
Yes, sir, I really played it smart. Those guys in the latrine line were so busy worrying about the time from here to there, that they never caught on one least little bit. It was a funny thing, right then, but I couldn't help remembering a thing my dad had taught me about the optimistic approach to life. "Hank, son," he had often said, "use your thinker when you're in a tight spot and you'll get ahead every time."
Anyway, I finally backed up to the edge of the foxhole, flipped my apron up over my shoulder and kind of hunched forward to undo my pants. Right about then, exertion got the better of me, and I ripped off one of those uncouth personal noises louder than a cherry bomb in a mine shaft.
Before I had a chance to duck, this crack shot kid from Kentucky jumps up dead center of the foxhole and pulls down on me with his M-1. Right then I knew my blooey job had backfired.
When I came to, I felt like I was hanging above a roaring bonfire with my tukus about to turn black from the smoke. I was having a bad time figuring it all out, because the medics had me face down on a stretcher and was lifting me off the ground, and I could see my left foot dangling in front of my face, ad things were swimming around something fierce.
Then I heard this kid from Kentucky telling the captain a bunch of lies about a German patrol, and how I'd tossed a grenade at them and run them all off, and how he'd shot at one and thought he'd wounded him. Then I heard the captain saying something about Silver Stars and Purple Hearts, and I kind of got mixed up and screamed something about fire-red asses and fainted.
There wasn't much use to try to ell the captain the truth of the matter when I woke up later, because he was like all the rest of the regular army people. When it came to explanations they were as bad as those gypsies in most ways. When they had an opinion made, there was just no use trying to talk them out of it. Anyway, I didn't feel like I wanted to get that kid from Kentucky in any trouble. Putting myself in his shoes, or foxhole, I guess I'd have shot him too, if he'd a done to me what I did to him.
No comments:
Post a Comment