The Solider's Home: a moving war-time drama Read online

  I took Jacques to the big ball game. Apparently, we won and we’re World Champions. Someone throws a ball at a batter, he misses – and that’s about it. Then, as you’re looking around at sixty-thousand people buying still more pretzels and popcorn, one of the darn batters does hit it and you missed it. Jacques adores it. He has a score-card and he scribbles everything down and is disgusted by my ignorance – and he has a point – because he’s told me I don’t know how many times the names of the players; but they all wear caps and I can’t tell one from the other. They all chew and endlessly spit and I don’t care to learn their names. I’ve warned Jacques about spitting. I can’t stop him chewing.

  I have to go sleep, Jacques, we’re up early every day but Sunday.

  Why did she forget to sign it? Only when it wasn’t there did he notice, even today, how different the letter felt without her name.

  67

  Jacques!

  I’ve just got a letter from Sara. Jerome has gone to fight in some place I’d never heard of. Vietnam? I had to look it up in an atlas. Jacques – he’s gone to the other side of the world. Sara said Communists have attacked French territory and there was a call – and he went. To fight communists? Jerome? I couldn’t believe my ears. I still can’t. The only thing I could think was he’s going there to defect to the communists. That I could believe. Sara says Zoe is good. And six!

  Writing about you she said, ‘He’ll finish it.’ I could feel her surprise and I heard my own too; because, my dear solitary Jacques, in the years we’ve been here and our letters and thoughts and cares and worries, the drawing with your son, the library books on building – I never imagined that you’d finish it. Not that you wouldn’t – but not that you would either.

  Two years? If you don’t maim yourself – but you won’t now. You know that stone. You’ve lived with that wood. And somehow, we will come. We have to.

  And. In your achievement, I’m afraid.

  Because? You expect us to come ‘home’.

  I can’t say that we will.

  I can’t honestly say that I want to.

  And I’m not even sure we should.

  I’ve never really thought about this end of it as seriously as I do now.

  I do know, at this moment, Our Life is Here.

  I used the word ‘engaged’ didn’t I? I did. And I am.

  And his whole life (you know what I mean) has been here.

  And none of us know how he might react. Me, you, him – none of us.

  Or how you and I will be. Could be. Might be.

  So much has happened to you, too.

  Jacques – help me, please.

  I owe you him. And a part of me – of who I was.

  What’s best For Him is what’s important. More than for either of us.

  We can’t live side by side with an unhappy child. That’s not just.

  And, Jacques, I am selfish – there are things here I don’t want to give up.

  I’m ahead of myself – I don’t know a darned thing – I’m just worrying about hurting you.

  I share my shameful fears. And worry that I shouldn’t share them.

  Talk, you.

  Simone.

  I remember the letter back took a week to think and a day and a half to write. And a week before I found an envelope. And another week before I went to Maurs to post.

  Simone,

  I remember, but don’t want to, why I started this. So you can come. Still, I always told myself you had to want to. Not because of pity.

  It’s Paradise – why would you leave? Because you sinned and God threw you out? That won’t happen. It’s a story. And it’s been told.

  I’m building so you can come home. That’s the only thing I know. And that you’ve said you’ll come.

  I can’t release you from worry about hurting me. You’ll kill me one day. Of course.

  I do know there’s no such thing as the future.

  Jacques.

  And I posted it before this came.

  68

  Hell on three pieces of paper.

  Dear Jacques,

  I’ve never thought so hard before writing to you. Here it is.

  I need to introduce Jerry to you, properly.

  I care for him.

  I am perhaps a little ‘in love’ with him. Infatuated. I don’t love him – but I like him.

  And you would.

  You did when he was Jerome. But he’s more rooted than Jerome ever was.

  Jerry asked to address one of the Church’s after-service meetings.

  These are his notes.

  Americans have always tried to accumulate goods and goodness.

  That’s our charm and our paradox.

  Believing we can make Heaven here on earth.

  I am a communist.

  I believe the instinct to help the less fortunate, what we call ‘humanity’, to be the meaning of ‘communism’. To expand the community of humanity to include all. And isn’t that the aim of Christianity?

  I do not take Soviet Russia to be a marker for a Fair Society.

  And no-one should ever seriously claim America is. Both strive, both fail. We strive and constantly fail to reach an ideal. Yours is Christ – mine is Marx. But that striving and failing and striving again is our Humanity. When we choose to place the boundaries of prejudice in front of that instinct, we lose pace with the March of Possibility.

  The triumph of our way of life – our system of capital – has been to convince us of the material truth of Possession.

  Christ knew a good deal better than that, Christians.

  What do I ask? To join for one hour, next Sunday, after church, at 2.00, in a demonstration for Civil Rights – in Central Park. Christ and Marx will both be there – alongside Negroes, communists, crashing bores, and the passion-filled – sometimes one and the same thing! – but a Truly Broad Church – daring to walk, as Senator Humphrey said, ‘Forthrightly into the bright sunlight of Human Rights.’

  And there will be State and Police Photographers too, guaranteed – and a photo can ‘prove’ you spoke with A Red.

  We are a society at war with its convictions. Please join us.

  He, like you, is a part of my life and, as I’ve told him about you – I want you to know about him.

  This must hurt you, but if you wrote about you and Sara, I’d want to know. And there’s some serious self-serving bullshit for you.

  We shared precious feelings, and I pay you the respect of telling you I sense those feelings rising in me now for someone else. I don’t know where they’ll lead, or if they’ll lead – or anything – I’m only sure I have to tell you, pain and all.

  Jacques likes Jerry – though not as much as David, who takes him to sports. I’ve never told you – though you guessed – he too is attracted to me – but it won’t develop and he is a good enough man for me never to have felt I was using him. Even when he lent us money. For one day each week he can be with some sort of family – and the rest of his life is his work and his down-town apartment or the wife he simply will not discuss.

  Jacques and Dwayne are making a real friendship. Still no sign of Clara’s man – I suspect he’s in one of those drinking dens on 135th Street – but she’s courageous and laughs and cooks for America and when Dwayne was bad she hugged and slapped him au meme fois! Jerry and Monsieur Feyt are right – Humanity is colour-blind. By definition.

  I won’t write anymore now – I must wait to hear from you.

  Simone.

  69

  Jacques,

  Your letter came. You’re right – there is no such thing as a future and I must stop burdening you with cock-a-mamie plans that are years away.

  The only way I could truly re-pay the life you’ve given both of us is to return it to you. We will come and we will all do our best with snatched time and all three of us will see what we shall see. Until then, we’ll fill jars, you’ll build walls, and we’ll send each other ourselves in envelopes.

  I’m driving!
I have to take a test to prove I’m not going to kill anyone.

  S.

  P.S. The priest is under serious Christian pressure to sack his grave-digging communist.

  Jerry told the priest to sack him – but, no.

  ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ a song says here. I feel I’ve known more than my share in my tiny life.

  70

  Jacques – I’m not coming back. He’s a war-baby.

  I’d like to not have to cast my heart backwards. It no longer wants to. I feel the connection between us stretching; as he grows.

  There’s no way to resolve this at a distance. Two jars are full (74 dollars) a third is underway and I put my bonuses in there, too.

  Out the window I can see storm clouds.

  Korea. China.

  You live in the reality of a false silence, Vermande.

  Sky’s started weeping.

  I’m a fool, surviving.

  Simone.

  No wonder Religion is seized like a comfort blanket. Trust God – he’ll sort things.

  71

  Dear Jacques,

  No, I haven’t. Yes, I would like to. Yes, he would like to. We haven’t, probably, because of Jacques. We will, we hope. I have no notion of being faithful to you, Jacques. Sacred with our memories, yes – but constrained by some Loyalty – no. No more than you are, should be or may not have been. How would I know?

  The television is on the moment he comes in. We are separated by it.

  I despise my job, and my persona at work.

  I go to meetings and listen to talk and do nothing.

  I dare not join The Communist Party – so I betray my father, by protecting my son.

  I haven’t been back to Harlem – I just think about it and use Clara and Dwayne to massage my coward conscience.

  I should set up at least a union of Office Workers – but I won’t. Too judgemental of the other women (I’m a snob too) and too damn scared for my job. I just take the money. I’m an American.

  And I can’t do right for doing wrong with you.

  And as you get towards the roof I get heavier. Tonight I’m weak as this pissy wine, Jacques. Release me from my promise – we live here.

  Simone.

  I replied. ‘You sound frightened. And you’re right. I was with Ardelle. Once.’

  72

  A plain postcard, it arrived before he’d posted his reply.

  A promise is. I ask your pardon – I was down on myself and took it out on you.

  I went with Jerry. It was good to feel as a woman and not as a mother for one night. But seeing you again, in some crazy way – will happen. I haven’t known that before this moment. And I look forward to seeing you. Simone.

  73

  Dear Jacques,

  Jar three half full.

  Our son’s eating habits.

  He loves burgers and ‘dogs’ with ketchup. They’re sausages – but not Toulousian – these are red rubber. We’re French! We eat food! There have been rows and bad words. He got mad. ‘Dwayne eats burgers.’ ‘David buys me hot-dogs.’ I’m asking him (David) to stop. Sweets, candy, ice-creams. Television. Crisps! He wants crisps. If he had his way all I’d see of him would be the back of his head watching

  T.V. and eating chips. He ‘hates’ the radio. Says it’s ‘dumb’. Doesn’t want to see the chimneys. Doesn’t want to hear the Harlem boys sing – ‘I’ll miss ‘I Love Lucy’’

  It’s the first time I’ve disliked him. People come round and boy! does he sulk when I turn the T.V. off. He’s addicted to it and it tells him to eat chips and ice-cream so he believes it and he wants it. Clara gives Dwayne money every day to buy Candy. Advice, fellow-parent, please. People call the T.V. ‘the electronic baby-sitter’ and I know when I go out he and Belle just sit there, I know it.

  I talked to Les’s secretary. She ‘swore by it’ – gives her ‘some time of her own’ while the kids sit there, glued. There is no time of your own in two rooms with the T.V. on. And Clara loves to come up and watch it – most nights there’s her and Dwayne and Jacques. She brings packets of cheese biscuits – so he thinks she’s great. I’m the dragon who turns it off and makes him go to bed. I think it’s the first time he hasn’t liked me, too.

  Les has put me on a bonus system. 15% of first or new orders, 10% of renewals. Last week I made an extra 47 dollars! I can’t accept that. I’m going to insist he spreads the bonus – however thin it is – round all the staff.

  My eyes are tired.

  I have to be up soon, it’s late.

  Sleep well.

  Me.

  74

  Dear Jacques,

  Your letter telling your son to listen to his mom – because she’s doing her level best – hasn’t come yet. Or the one telling us how the house is. Or news of Sara, Arbel etc – anyone. I’m putting this down until it comes. No. I won’t post this until it comes. But we were always good at quiet, too, weren’t we? Too damn good.

  Thursday 17th Oct 1950

  Maybe you’re having too much fun? I wish I believed ‘no news is good news’.

  20th Oct

  I need to write to tell you it is Christmas soon. What difference would it make? How many Christmas days have passed you by? We’re worlds apart.

  1st November 1950

  I really resent this un-needed worrying. ‘I’m fine’ would be accepted. I’m angry. Pissed, we call it.

  4th Nov

  Shall I tell you I slept with Jerry again? Would that make you angry enough to write? Or type about your kid Jack?

  11th Nov

  He hasn’t asked about you in a long time. He is definitely your son! And that’s no joke.

  20th Nov

  I’ll be grateful, resentful, glad and guilty when your letter ever comes. Work is shit.

  I’m posting this. It haunts me and it’s for you – even though you’ve forgotten us. Will you feel bad when you get this? Do I hope you will? Will you reply?

  If you are suffering Jacques – then you are a selfish fool and I have no memory of your being either of those things – so, I assume you’re not suffering.

  Get your head up – Look West.

  It’s where the post comes from.

  S.

  75

  I’m a little drunk and he’s in my bed – third night in a row. A bad dream, he wakes up, comes to sleep with me. Bullying? No father? French? He’s unsettled. I’ll talk to his teacher.

  He’s big! In the bed. And warm. And suddenly needy. And so-o good to hug.

  I feel frightened for the first time in five years. Of my future. It could be Comfortable.

  I see you in pouring rain – and I have an umbrella. I see you in sleet and I have snow boots.

  And him here, breathing – almost snoring – I didn’t know children could snore – but he’s troubled and so am I. Wind of change blowing.

  I’ve been worlds apart from you. Tonight I miss you and remember you snored. Did I?

  I feel five years younger and ten years older.

  Have you started the roof? Two days later.

  I went to check the price of sailing tickets. Take your time roofing, mister. It’s expensive.

  Jacques – do you still have the money Duthileul gave you? It’s not in a bank, like I told you, is it?

  That paper is worthless. It’s antique.

  We have to save for this.

  We will save – and this will happen.

  I believe it now I know. It will, believe me, take Time. So, I can’t quit the damned job.

  Drinking is contradictory. Promises one thing – gives it – then gives something else you didn’t want. It’s two-faced.

  Tired now. Lights out.

  Clara’s husband’s in jail. For rape. I hope he stays there.

  Simone.

  76

  Plain post-card.

  I write long letters. I want long letters.

  77

  Plain post-card.

  Korea; Oh no.

  78
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br />   Dear Jacques.

  Changes.

  Last year The Russians exploded their own bomb like the ones in Japan. And people here are afraid Russia will attack. It’s insane. How could Russia attack? No-one can attack America, surely? I know The Japanese did but after what happened to them no-one could ever consider it again, surely? But it doesn’t matter what’s true or plausible – what’s important is what people (are encouraged to) believe. The economic necessity of the Threat of War. And now The Russians have invaded South Korea.