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Authors: David A. Adler

Don't Talk to Me About the War (9 page)

BOOK: Don't Talk to Me About the War

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Dad tunes the radio to “old people” slow classical music. I hear enough of that in school, in Music Appreciation! I like swing, the new sound. Sometimes, when I listen to it on the radio, I tap to the beat and not because I want to. I just do. And I never tap to the old stuff my parents like. I go to my room and read some history, but at nine, I’m out again. I want to hear Lux Radio Theater.

Each Monday night it takes a popular movie and makes it into an hour-long radio play, usually with some of the stars from the movie. It always begins with, “Greetings to you from Holly Woooood.” That’s how the producer of the show, Cecil B. DeMille, says it, like Holly and Wood are two separate words.

After some talk about Lux Flakes, Mr. DeMille says, “And now the curtain goes up on act one of
Vigil in the Night.
”

The first scene is in a hospital. Two sisters are nurses and one of them makes a tragic mistake and a child dies. I look at Dad. This won’t help Mom have happy thoughts.

“It’s late,” Dad says quickly. “I’m turning this off.”

He gets up and reaches for the radio.

“No,” Mom tells him. “I’m not a child. I can listen to a program about nurses and a hospital. You know I look forward all week to Lux Radio Theater.”

Dad sits again. I listen awhile longer. I usually like the Lux show but this one depresses me, not because a child dies, but because it turns into a love story between a doctor and one of the nurses. It’s too much like one of Mom’s soap operas. At the end of the first act I say good night and go to my room.

What a good day this was! Mom isn’t really sick. And it was nice of Beth to walk me home. She seemed worried, too, about Mom, and relieved to know the doctor said she was just tired.

She looked pretty today, in her green dress and earrings. She wears them all the time now. It felt nice to be hugged. Today, I really needed that.

Half Blind!

B
ang!
A noise outside wakes me. It sounded like a car backfiring.

I look at the clock beside my bed and realize I forgot to set the alarm. It’s late. I have to hurry. I sit up and see a note taped to the inside of my door.

Please be quiet. Mom is sleeping.

I hope that car didn’t wake her.

I skip breakfast and hurry out. I’m anxious to get to Goldman’s. Then, as I’m about to enter the coffee shop, a man pushes past me. It’s Mr. Simmons. He grabs a
New York Times
from the bench and quickly looks through it. He drops it and grabs a
Herald Tribune.
He looks at the front page and says real loud, “It’s not in here.”

People put down their cups of coffee. The shop is suddenly quiet.

“I heard some exciting news, and it’s not in the papers.”

I slip past him, sit beside Beth at the corner table, and listen.

“They’re getting away,” he says all excited. “They’re getting on boats, all sorts of boats—fishing boats, rowboats, sailboats—and they’re getting away.”

“Who’s getting away?” a woman at the table next to us asks.

“The trapped soldiers. The Allies. It started Sunday night. There’s fighting in the air with airplanes shooting it out. Dogfights. And all these boats are taking Allied soldiers across the Channel, from Dunkirk to Dover. It was quiet and steady—an amazing rescue. At first, I don’t think the Germans knew what was happening.”

People begin to talk. Mr. Simmons drops the
Tribune
on Beth’s table and sits next to me.

“It started Sunday night, European time. That’s the afternoon here. Now it’s Tuesday. There should be something about it in the papers.”

Mr. Goldman is standing by our table and asks, “Where did you hear this?”

“On the radio. WEAF, on the half-hour European news program.”

Mr. Goldman hurries behind the counter. He tunes his radio to WEAF, turns up the volume, and we hear some man singing.

“No!” a woman calls out. “That’s the Gene and Glenn show, a half hour of songs. Try WMCA. They mix news with music.”

The woman and others gather by the counter and Mr. Goldman turns the dial to the left. We hear music. It sounds to me like Glenn Miller’s band.

I look at my watch.

“Beth, we have to go.”

“Wait,” she tells me.

Mr. Goldman turns the dial again and finally gets some news. The announcer says, “Reports have been confirmed. In an amazing rescue, thousands of Allied soldiers have escaped capture at Dunkirk.”

Beth leaves her seat and gets close to the counter, so I do, too.

“They were transported from the shore at Dunkirk,” the announcer says, “across the Channel in an unlikely armada of boats of all kinds.”

“Did you hear that?” Beth asks me.

Of course I heard it.

“Right now there are boats waiting on the coast of France to take whatever men can get to them, Allied soldiers who until now seemed lost to the German onslaught. This, while the enemy flies over and drops bombs on the coastline and into the water to stop the withdrawal.”

“We really have to go,” I tell Beth again. “It’ll be in the afternoon papers.”

We return to the corner table and fold the newspapers. Beth is especially slow this morning gathering her books. I guess she doesn’t want to leave until the bulletin ends.

“The rescue comes along with the disappointing collapse and surrender of Belgium’s army. Stay tuned to this station for all the latest news.”

Now we can leave.

Beth puts the newspapers on the bench as we walk outside.

“That’s the second bit of really good news this week,” Beth says. “First your mother and now this.”

It does seem to be a good week.

We’re in front of the bakery and I hear the newsie call out today’s headline about the surrender of Belgium’s army and King Leopold’s ministers, escape to England. Someone should tell him about the rescue.

We’re almost at the corner now and Beth says, “Thursday is Memorial Day. No school. Let’s meet at Goldman’s at about noon for lunch or ice cream. We’ll celebrate.”

“Sure.”

I look at Beth as we continue walking. She’s wearing her white dress with pink and yellow stripes. It’s my favorite. Of course, she’s wearing earrings, too. These are small silver hoops. They look nice.

Sarah is at the corner waiting for us. I take a few quick steps ahead, so I can tell her my news before Beth tells her about the soldiers. I tell Sarah that Mom seemed to be so sick, that her hand shook, her legs were stiff, and that yesterday she went to the doctor. That’s why I looked so worried.

“The doctor said she just needs to rest.”

Sarah smiles.

“I am happy for you.”

“And listen to this,” Beth says, and repeats the news report we heard at Goldman’s, almost word for word.

“The soldiers are safe?” Sarah asks.

Beth nods.

“This is very good. It is a victory,” Sarah says.

“Well, not really. The Allies didn’t defeat the Germans. They just got away.”

Sarah has more questions, but Beth can’t answer most of them, so after school Sarah will go with her to Goldman’s. It’s sure to be in the afternoon papers.

We walk up the wide steps and enter school. Dr. Johnson is standing there, as formidable as ever, and I can hardly believe what Beth does. Sarah and I are anxious to get by as quickly as we can, and Beth stops to talk.

“Did you hear the good news?” she asks the principal.

“Move along,” Dr. Johnson says. “Go to your homeroom.”

He stands there with his chest out and his feet apart, as if his sergeant just said, “At ease, soldier.” Dr. Johnson’s eyes dart from side to side, checking students as they enter the building.

“The Allied soldiers, the ones trapped by the English Channel, have been rescued.”

Dr. Johnson looks down at Beth. There’s an odd expression on his face, one I haven’t seen before. It’s almost a smile.

“How do you know this?”

“I just heard it over the radio.”

Beth starts to tell Dr. Johnson what we heard, and he’s no longer interested in the children walking by.

“I’m going to class,” I tell Beth and Dr. Johnson.

“Yes. Yes,” Dr. Johnson says. “Go to class.”

I enter our classroom and Mr. Weils tells me to go to my seat. “I’m just about to take attendance.”

The bell rings and Mr. Weils starts.

“Donner . . . Dorf . . . Dorfman . . . Doyle.”

“She’s here,” I call out. “She’s in the hall talking to Dr. Johnson.”

“Are you Beth Doyle?” Mr. Weils asks.

“No. Of course not.”

“Is she in this room?”

I shake my head.

“Then she’s absent.”

Mr. Weils continues with the roll. When he calls out my name, I raise my hand.

The bell rings at the end of homeroom and finally there’s Beth with Dr. Johnson. They’re standing by the door.

“Don’t mark her late,” Dr. Johnson tells Mr. Weils. “She was with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Weils responds.

I look at Mr. Weils and smile. His right hand is at his side. The fingers are together and stiff—like he is ready to salute.

Beth and I walk together toward our first-period classes. I have math. She has science.

“Where were you? What happened?”

“He has a radio in his office. We went there and listened to the news.”

We are by Mrs. Dillon’s room, where I have math. Beth’s science class is down the hall.

“You went to Dr. Johnson’s office?”

Beth nods. “I’ll tell you more later.”

She smiles and rushes to her science class. I enter Mrs. Dillon’s room and see her by the blackboard drawing triangles and labeling the angles and sides.

During math, I wonder about Beth. What was she thinking when she asked me to meet her on Thursday? Are we just two friends meeting for ice cream or are we more than friends? Will it be a date? Should I pay for both ice creams?

My next class is science, and Mr. Jacobs keeps us late, after the bell rings, so he can finish what he’s saying, only I don’t know what that is. I’m not really listening. I get to history just before the bell starting third period, too late to talk to Beth. But we do talk after class, on our way to our lockers and the cafeteria.

“Dr. Johnson and I listened to the WHN news report,” Beth tells me. “It was the same as the one we heard in Goldman’s.”

We’re just entering the cafeteria.

“You should see his office,” she says. “There is a picture of him with his rifle and uniform and another in front of a captured German tank. He looked so different when he was young, so skinny. He had hair and he even smiled in the pictures. On top of one bookcase is a helmet. He told me it’s the one he wore in the Great War.”

We’re by our table now.

I say, “I bet he still has his rifle, maybe even in his office.”

Roger asks, “Who has a rifle in his office?”

“No one,” I answer, and tell him where Beth was this morning.

“So, you got in trouble again. You were sent to the principal’s office,” Roger says, and shakes his finger at Beth.

Beth ignores Roger and describes the rescue at Dunkirk. Charles, Sarah, and I listen as Beth talks about the soldiers and the power of the German Army, how it so quickly conquered Poland, Denmark, Norway, and Holland, that it’s marching through Belgium and France. She describes the amazing rescue. I don’t think Roger is real interested, but he listens, too.

After school, I walk with Beth and Sarah to Goldman’s. I don’t stay to read the newspapers. They’ll only tell me what I heard this morning. Also, I want to be home to help Mom, so she can rest and get better.

As I walk home, I realize I’ve been smiling all day. Good news will do that.

I have to study history for tomorrow’s test, but before that, maybe I’ll listen to the radio. The Dodgers aren’t playing this afternoon, but the Yankees are. They have a doubleheader against the Washington Senators. I’m not a Yankees fan, but they have some good ballplayers, DiMaggio and Dickey. The games are on the radio, so if Mom isn’t listening to her soap operas, maybe I can listen to the ball games.

I greet the two old women sitting in the lobby of our building and go upstairs. I unlock the door to our apartment and hear someone crying.

Mom!

I rush to her.

Mom is in the parlor, sitting in the big chair. She’s bent forward with one hand over her left eye. And she’s crying.

“What is it, Mom?”

“My eye,” she says through the tears. “It hurts.”

“Does it hurt
that
bad?”

Mom shakes her head. It doesn’t.

“But I can’t see! I can’t see out of that eye! I’m half blind!”