Isaac waved their questions away, putting up his hand like they were on maneuvers and he’d just called a halt. This drew Stanley’s attention to Isaac like he was sighting his rifle on the enemy. Except Isaac wasn’t the enemy. He was Stanley’s friend, the one who’d begun the friendship as they stood in line to get kitted up at the beginning of basic.Hi, I’m Isaac. He was also the one who professed not to care for chocolate, and who usually gave Stanley half of his ration, and then broke the other half to two pieces to give to Bertie and Rex.
The memory of Isaac’s kindness brought more images to the surface of Stanley’s mind. Of a young man turning from his work to make sure that Stanley had all the oranges he wanted. Who fed him steak and gave him fresh, sweet milk to drink. Who gave Stanley a warm spot to sleep, and who let him take a shower with an endless supply of hot water. Who made Stanley feel safe. And whose green eyes looked at Stanley with something like fondness, no—it had been more like affection.
Where had he known this dark-haired man? What was his name? It was on the tip of Stanley’s tongue—the dark-haired man had typed on something while the rain fell outside the thick glass windows and the air smelled clean and felt warm against his skin. But where was that place? Stanley shook his head because it was just a dream, all of it.
That place had never been. Before the war, Stanley had worked on a farm outside of Harlin, Colorado. Isaac had worked in a cannery in Brooklyn. Bertie and Rex had both delivered newspapers, working their way up through the ranks of newsies to be in charge of routes. Nobody had worked at a desk. None of them had come from gentle office work, so it couldn’t have been any of them that he’d talked to that way, or interacted with that way.
Besides, all of them had believed that the war was necessary anduseful, and that they’d win all the battles and come home inside of a month, decorated with medals, proudly wearing their crisp dress uniforms. Rather than the reality of it, which was the exact opposite. It had been over a year and they were covered with mud and no closer to winning. The truth of it was they were closer to losing everything, at the end of which their lives would be forfeit.
In Stanley’s mind, a voice said,It was such a futile thing, but they gave it their all.
He shook his head, almost spilling his coffee, trying to locate and stop the buzz that rattled the bones of his skull. It was so loud he was sure Isaac and the others could hear it. He looked at them, questioning with his face as if they were under silence orders, but then the buzz disappeared like he’d snapped his fingers and stepped through an open doorway.
“What’s the matter with you, buddy?” asked Isaac. “Why do you look like you’re going to barf all over my boots?”
Stanley placed his tin mug on the canvas strip next to his thigh. The mud beneath it was lumpy, so he used his fingertips to adjust where the mug was set so that the coffee wouldn’t slop over the edges. Why that mattered was beyond him; if the coffee spilled, it would soak into the mud and become just another layer of ugly brown that nobody would notice.
The chaplain came out of the bunker with the scout right behind him, and both men turned and went to Stanley’s left, along the trench toward the mess area and the kitchens behind that. He thought they were headed to get more coffee, though why he thought that, he didn’t know, and besides, the coffee was terrible, anyway.
Lt. Billings remained in the bunker with his head down, looking at the map. His finger was on a spot near the edge of it. Stanley couldn’t see whether that spot was where they currently were or where they’d be if they went into retreat. It wasn’t his place to ask, and it’d be a far braver man than him to walk into the bunker just then and peer over Lt. Billings’ shoulder to see if he could find out.
“I’m going to go in there,” said Rex in that way of his, full of seriousness and intention, as he seldom said anything he didn’t mean.
“No, you better not,” said Bertie, who was as serious in his way as Rex was, having been in charge of a whole pack of newsies before the war. He talked and joked more, though, and seemed to enjoy getting Rex riled up because the more Rex resisted, the more Bertie would try, and on it would go.
“No, don’t bother the lieutenant,” said Isaac. “We’ll stay put until he comes out. If he asks us our opinion, we’ll give it, and if he doesn’t, we won’t. Okay?”
Stanley turned his head sharply to look at Isaac, his ears ringing with the way he’d said the wordokay. The dark-haired man in Stanley’s memory had often saidokayto him in just that way, like he wanted only the best for Stanley and wanted to make sure Stanley was on board. Stanley strained to hear the echo of the word in his head, but it faded away as though it had been said by a ghost.
Stanley shook his head. It must have been the fact that Commander Helmer had deserted in the night that was making him feel so strangely, looking at every act, every word his buddies uttered, as though it was an experiment he was doing, where any gesture by him, any movement, was likely to set off a chain reaction. It was as if he knew that Rex was going to say what he’d just said, and then Bertie would disagree with him, and then Isaac would have the final say. And there they would sit, waiting for the lieutenant to come out of the bunker, all in a row like the obedient soldiers they had trained to be, had signed up to be.
From these thoughts came an odd impulse that Stanley couldn’t fully identify, but he knew there was something he needed to do.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hey fellas,” said Stanley as he wiped his upper lip clear of the nervous moisture that had suddenly formed there. “Why don’t you come and sit on the other side of me.”
“What?” asked Isaac. “We’ll just be in the way when he comes out.”
“No, it’s dryer over here. I’m sure of it,” said Stanley. He made acome heregesture with one hand while he patted the damp mud on the other side of him. He got up and tugged the strip of canvas from beneath him and spread it over the mud. “You can even sit on the canvas, so your asses will be a little bit more comfortable.”
“Hey, I gave that to you,” said Isaac.
There was mock dismay in his voice, but his eyes were sparkling, as though Isaac approved of Stanley giving up his own comfort for that of his buddies because in wartime, that’s what you did. You looked out for each other. Except nobody was moving, and it felt urgent, somehow, that they should. Right now, this minute.
“Please,” said Stanley. He moved his face into its most put-upon expression, his mouth in the shape of a pout, like he was three years old and having his buddies move to the other side of him his dearest wish. “I promise I’ll give you all my next month’s ration of chocolate.”
“Does that include what Isaac gives to you?” asked Rex. He lookedlike he was about to stand up, but he hadn’t yet, and Stanley felt his heart start to race.
“Yes,” said Stanley. “All the chocolate that Isaac gives to me I will give to you and Bertie. Upon my honor, all of it, for the rest of the war.”
“I’m in,” said Bertie. He stood up and straightened his uniform like he was getting ready for inspection.
“Me too,” said Rex, going through the same motion of pulling his woolen tunic into place while at the same time jabbing Bertie’s ribs with his elbow.
“What about me?” asked Isaac. “I don’t care for chocolate, you know that.”
There was a twinkle in his eyes, but even as Stanley looked at him, he was drawn to another memory, another pair of eyes, so hard it was painful. He knew his heart was breaking, so he stood up to distract himself from the sinking feeling of loss and regret and having touched something so beautiful and sweet.
