War Effort

by George Slanger




Pretty soon Kathy or Steve would come, or he would go over there to skate. It was summer and they didn't have to go to school. He would put his legs straight out while Kathy or Steve used the metal key. The place for the key was underneath and hard to reach by yourself. As the metal clamps squeezed in on your shoe soles, you could feel it through the bottoms of your feet, as if your feet were getting heavier and heavier, fastening you to the world, giving you more and more security. "Security" was a word he heard his father and mother use. His father went to war so they could all have security. He liked the words grown-up used, and when he heard one he liked, he would say it softly over and over to himself.

After they had done his skates, he would do theirs. Then he got to use the key. It had a big bow-shaped handle that filled your hand and a short, square blunt part. It looked like nothing could break it. Because the bow part was so big and the blunt part so small, you could put your thumb on top of the bow and your fingers underneath and twist very hard. You could tighten anything. You could tighten the world if the world had a square metal rod that would fit the key. After they had their skates on, he would stand up and take a few tentative steps, feeling the heaviness in his feet, anchoring him down to the world so it was always a surprise when the skates slipped and deposited him on his backside.

Nicholas and his mother lived in Baker across the tracks where hoboes came asking for food or money. He sometimes heard people talking bad about living across the tracks, but he didn't mind. Living across the tracks meant living close to the tracks where there were fun places to play. After the trains took on ice, slivers of ice lay all around on the gravel and you could pick them up and suck on them, sitting in the sun on the hot iron of the track and looking down to where the two tracks got closer and closer because your eye got fooled by the distance. His mother said that was perspective. Things further away looked smaller.

Sometimes they put pennies on the track and watched the train run over they them, and afterwards the pennies were small ovals of copper with a gentle curve in them. Once they used a nickel, but then felt bad because they could have used it to buy a candy bar or nickel coke at the fountain. When he showed one of the coins to his mother, she said it was pretty, but she worried about his playing by the track, so he hid the pennies now in the garage he and his friends used as a clubhouse.

When he sat with his mother in the Chevy at the tracks waiting for the trains to pass, he could see the hoboes sitting in the open doors of the boxcars with their feet dangling out. He liked to sit in the car beside his mother and watch the trains. By relaxing his mind he could feel the train was still and the car was moving. But then by thinking about it, you could know it was the train moving. By thinking you could start and stop the train and start and stop the car.

Because it was the war, the flatbed cars sometimes had tanks and armored cars or even cannon strapped to them, painted brown and green for camouflage. He liked the word camouflage. It meant to paint things so the enemy could not see them. When the troop trains came through, he and his friends would run down to the tracks. The soldiers would lean out the window to laugh and joke. Sometimes they would throw chocolate bars on the ground. He and his friends would scramble to get them because you couldn't buy chocolate, even with coupons. All the chocolate had to go to the war effort, and rubber tires too, and most of the coffee. Because of the war effort, people planted gardens and saved newspapers and painted two dots and a dash on the sides of buildings, which meant V for victory. He liked to say the word "war effort."

"What's the name of this burg?" a soldier would shout.

"Baker," he or his friends would shout back.

"Baker where?"

"Baker, Montana."

"Where's Montana?" You could tell by the way they laughed that was a joke so you didn't have to answer.

"How far to the front?" they would shout. The front was where his father was.

"It's in another country," he shouted once, and the soldiers laughed. They were always laughing.

"How's the night life here?" they would shout. At first, he didn't know what night life was. Steve said it meant girls who let soldiers come into their bodies for money. That was sex. Steve said that all babies came from sex and that everyone's mother let their fathers come into their bodies in the place where they went to the bathroom, but that was all Steve would say. He thought it had something to do with noises his mother and father sometimes made late at night when they thought he was asleep. He asked his mother once if she and his father hurt each other at night. She laughed and said no, they were just pretend wrestling, something married people did to express their love. He left the puzzled look on his face, trying to get her to say more, but she said she would tell him more when he got older.

 

"Thos're nice skates," the hobo said. Nicholas looked down.

"My mother got them for me."

"Is your mother home?" the hobo said.

Nick nodded.

"Is your Daddy home?"

"My daddy's in the war. He's at the front."

"How about going to get your ma? Tell her a stranger needs some help."

Nick knew that was not the right way to ask, and he didn't like the word "Ma," but he was only a little afraid. He got up now, stepping back from the legs of the hobo. He picked up his skates by the straps and carried them because he didn't like to think about the hobo standing there by his skates. He kept the skate key in his hand. He knew what his mother would do. She had what she called a policy. He liked the word policy. She would make them a sandwich but they had to take it with them and eat it somewhere else. She would not have them in the house or even sitting on the back step said told her friends. "I know that maybe isn't right," she would say. "But I have to have some limitations or I can't help them at all."

 

"Run quick, boy. I'm hungry," the hobo said.

Now he was afraid because the Hobo's voice was mean. He wanted his father back, who was away at the war, in Italy, they thought, though he was not supposed to talk about it except with his mother. At the Post Office was a poster that said "loose lips sink ships." His mother explained that we talked with our lips, so loose lips meant being careless about what we said. Spies might hear and send information to the enemy on secret radios in their basements. If the enemy knew where the troops were being sent, they could send submarines and torpedo them. Loose lips sink ships. That was rhyme, his mother said, like nursery rhyme.

He felt sorry for his mother. She was alone and had to help the hoboes. And he didn't help her as much as he should.

Father Spielmacher told him when he went to confession that he should help his mother more. His mother took him to confession once a month. He waited in a pew while she went in and then he would go into the box with the screen between himself and Father.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned," he would say. "It has been two weeks since my last confession."

"How have you sinned?" Father would say.

"I played by the railroad tracks when my mother told me not to."

"You should obey your mother. That's the fifth commandment. Your mother knows the tracks are dangerous."

"I know, Father."

"What else?"

"We teased Mary Ann Bloss about being fat."

"You were cruel?"

"Yes, Father."

"The Jews were cruel to Our Lord. Do you want to be like the Jews?"

"No, Father."

"Whoever is cruel to a human being is cruel to Christ. Christ suffers with all who suffer. He suffers with Mary Ann Bloss. Christ suffers with you as well. When we suffer we are closest to Jesus. We touch the hem of his garment. When you tease Mary Ann and make her suffer, she can look into the face of Christ. She is very blessed. Then he paused. But we must not be the occasion of another's suffering if we can help it. Do you miss your father?"

"Yes."

"Do you worry about him?"

"Yes, Father."

"Your mother worries terribly. Do you help your mother with chores?"

"When she tells me."

"You must do so even without being told. You must do all you can for her. The war is very hard. Hard on everyone. We must pray for it to end soon. You must pray for your father and mother. You may pray that your father is brought back soon. But we must accept what the Lord sends."

Nicholas knew Father was saying his father might be killed at the front. Elizabeth's father was killed. He died for his country, Father said. He died that we all might be free to worship as we please. He came home on the train in a casket with a flag on it. He and his friends watched the casket being taken off the train, at a distance, away from Elizabeth and her mother and the priest. Later, he went with his mother to the rosary. Elizabeth and all her family sat in front. His mother said some of the Hail Mary's.

"Is that all?" Father said.

"Yes Father. That's all I can think of."

"You are a good boy. Do you know the act of contrition?"

"Yes, Father."

"Say it now, while I say the absolution." So while the priest murmured to God in Latin, Nicholas murmured in English: "Oh my God I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the the help of thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life." They finished talking to God about the same time.

"Say three Our-Fathers after you leave here," the priest said. "Your sins are forgiven. Now go and sin no more." In the quiet, Nicholas left. After confession, he held his mother's hand and they went for ice cream. For a whole package of ice cream at the store, you needed ration stamps, but for just a cone, you didn't. He could say the Our-Fathers later.

He did what the hobo said, walking to get his mother. On the way inside, he let the screen door slam as he wasn't supposed to. The kitchen was empty, so he put the skates down and went back into the living room and on through to the dark hallway where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. He could hear his mother in the bathroom.

"Mom," he called.

"What, Nicholas?" Her voice was muffled.

"There's a hobo outside. Will you make him a sandwich?

"Did he ask for a sandwich?"

"No, he asked me to get you." she was quiet for a moment.

"All right."

When she came out, he could see again how beautiful she was. He never told her how beautiful she was, but he thought it all the time. He stood aside to let her pass him the hallway and followed her toward the kitchen. She turned the corner from the dining room before he did and let out a little cry of surprise like she did when he showed her a frog or garter snake in a box. He came up beside her and saw why. The hobo was in the kitchen.

Standing beside her, he could feel his mother's body stiffen.

"I'll make you a sandwich, but I'll ask you to wait outside while I do," she said.

"Maybe I don't want to wait outside."

"Then I'm sorry. I can't help you."

The hobo looked around the room, past his mother into the cool shadows of the rooms beyond the kitchen.

"I got not place to lay my head, lady. I just need to sit down."

Nicholas remembered the words no place to lay my head from Sunday School. Jesus had no place lay his head. Birds had nests, foxes had holes. He looked at his mother. She looked like she was going to cry, but she also looked angry like she did when he did something bad. She started to back away.

"Look, all I'm asking for is a sandwich," the hobo said. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to come into the kitchen." He looked around. " You think you got a hard life, lady. You don't know nothing about hard. You got a house. You got a warm place. You got a check from the government cause your old man's gone to the war. Even the Army won't take my kind lady. They don't take bums. They find something wrong with us. I got a bad gut and arthritis from riding the trains and I got me the clap so I ain't good enough to go to war and get my ass shot off and catch more clap from some French trot. I don't need no one who's had better luck than I have telling me I ain't good enough to come into your kitchen and eat a sandwich. You had my kinda luck you'd a been some lumpy whore working some street corner in Miles City, rottin' out with disease same as the rest of us.

"You're right," she said. "Sit down." She pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and turned it at an angle toward him. Then she took bread from the tin box on the counter and made a sandwich. She put the sandwich on a plate and put it on the table, then stepped back. She seemed to be in a kind of daze. Then she remembered milk and poured him a glass. "Wait," she said, "wait a minute. Don't start eating just yet." She went into the other room and came back with two cloths, a plain yellow one and grandma's lace. She took the sandwich off the table, and the salt and pepper and napkin holder, the sugar bowl and put them on the kitchen counter. She spread the yellow table cloth out and then the lace over it, so the pale yellow showed through, just like she did on Thanksgiving in the big table in the dining room.

"I've got candles too, " she said, and went into the next room again for the silver candle holders that used to be Grandma's until his mother inherited them. Nicholas remembered the word "inherited" from when Grandma died a year ago. She taught Nicholas to polish them with the funny-smelling paste. She put the candles into the two silver candle holders. She took a match from the metal match dispenser by the stove. It held a box of matches and dribbled them out into a round bowl at the bottom. She went to the refrigerator and got milk in the glass bottle that the milkman brought on Mondays and Fridays. She poured a glass and put it by the sandwich.

When the table was spread, she stepped back. The hobo looked at the food and at his mother.

"I don't know why you doing this, lady. You making fun of me?"

"No, no, I'm not. You have a hard life, just like you say. I'd go this for my husband, but he's not here, so I wanted to do something nice for you.

"I can't eat this lady. I can't eat off of stuff this nice. I don't know what you're up to, but I ain't hungry no more. I know you're trying to be nice, lady, but I don't get it, and it's killing my appetite."

"Then at least take the sandwich. Take the sandwich and get the hell out. She was crying. Nicholas clung to her. He hated it when she cried. The hobo was trying to gather up the two pieces of the cut sandwich. "Oh, for God's sake," she screamed. Let me do that. She grabbed the sandwich from his hand and flung herself against the kitchen counter to pull out what they called the junk drawer, where they kept things that didn't seem to go anywhere else, potholders and odd clothespins, along with the waxed paper. It was where he kept his skatekey. She pulled it out so far it fell on the floor, scattering potholders, pencils, glue, and a screwdriver across the floor.

"Mama," Nicholas wailed, but she ignored him while she bent down to get the waxed paper, stood, expertly wrapped the sandwich and handed it to the hobo.

"Now, go. Please, go."

I'm gone, lady. I'm sorry. I thank you for the sandwich, lady. I know I done something wrong. I'll just go. Thanks." And he was gone. Nicholas noticed he didn't let the screen door slam behind him. Now his mother had knelt down in the middle of the scattered potholders and was weeping more loudly than Nicholas had ever heard her weep. He stood beside her, afraid to touch her.

"Mama, what shall I do?"

"Go get Edna," she said through her sobs so thick Nicholas could hardly understand her. But he ran to get Kathy's mom, who lived down the block and as he ran, he heard car horns blowing and blowing in the distance. Kathy was headed out the door, carrying her skates, but Nicholas burst past her, into the kitchen where Kathy's mother was.

"My mom's crying. She said to come get you, Nicholas said.

"Is she hurt?" Edna asked.

"No, but she's crying terrible."

Edna ran down the middle of the gravel street with Edna and Nicholas trailing far behind. When they go there, they stood outside the screen looking into the dark kitchen into the shadows. They could just the shape of Edna kneeling beside Nicholas's mother and they could hear Edna saying over and over, "Ruth, it's on the radio. The Nazis have surrendered unconditionally. The war in Europe is over. The men will be coming home."

After while Edna and Ruth picked up the potholders and pencils and scotch tape and put them back in the drawer. It took a long time to get the drawer to go back into the cabinet properly. When it was closed, Nicholas opened it a little and put in the skate key. His hand has been clutching it so tight for so long that he had to use his other hand to make his fingers let go and there was a dark, red crease in his hand where the bow had pressed. Then they got in Edna's car and drove up and down Main Street he and his mother in the backseat, Edna and Kathy in front. At first, they kept the windows up and the doors locked because the radio said there could be danger because people in the cities were hurting each other in riots. Nicholas asked his mother what riots were. She told him, but there were no riots here, so after while, they rolled down the windows. Edna let Kathy sit beside her and blow the horn, adding their noise to the others. The streets were full of people and Nicholas could see many of them were going in and out of the bars. The sidewalks were littered with streamers of crepe paper and clothes and even mattresses which Edna said people had thrown out the windows of the apartments where people lived who were too poor even to live across the tracks. Many had fireworks which they had been saving, and they lit them in the streets and sidewalks. The firecrackers made loud explosions and the Roman candles lit up the people's faces which looked twisted with happiness. He saw his teacher, Miss Kellogg, and hardly recognized her. She had her arm around the waist of man he did not know.

In the backseat of Kathy's car, he and his mother huddled close together and sometimes his mother would cry softly. After while, Nicholas became very tired and wanted to sleep but he could not. He asked his mother if they would able to get chocolate now and ice cream in cartons at the store. She said yes, and tires too so they could take a trip when his father came home.

He looked down the street where they drove slowly and saw how the road went on, just like the railroad tracks, past the elevator, past the city dump, past where Crazy Hong the Chinaman lived, to where he had never been. He said the words "surrender conditionally" over and over to himself and then, dozing, began to make a list of other words he liked, "security" and "war effort." Main Street became a path of words, broad at his feet and disappearing around a hill and then reappearing later on, narrower, bits of curve shining in the sun.