On the other side of me a nurse named Evelyn was fumbling endlessly in her pack, muttering, “I know it’s in here, somewhere, or did I put it in the—” She cut herself off with an “Aha!” and turned to me in triumph to display a compact and a lipstick. “Found ’em,” she said. She flipped the compact open, studied her face in its mirror, sighed, and applied her lipstick with a steady hand.
People used to like to give me books about the war, imagining, I suppose, that I wanted to relive it, and in one of them I read about a nurse who used to let the soldiers watch her put her lipstick on. She said, “It reminded them of their mothers.” I thought, Yeah, sure, that’s what it reminded them of. I mean, were we really that innocent? Or were we just pretending? It’s hard to look back on that time without imprinting on it everything I know now. I can’t recollect it in what may have been its original purity.
In the foxhole beside me, Kay stirred, and then let out a startled sound—a hurt sound.
“Kay?” I whispered.
She didn’t reply for a moment. I couldn’t see her face. I could hear her breathing, which sounded to me like the breathing of someone trying not to acknowledge pain. “Good morning,” she whispered back.
“You’re pretty banged up, aren’t you,” I said.
“Maggie Jean,” she said. She got to her feet so that she could look down at me. “Don’t ever say anything like that again.” She studied my face, not smiling. “Don’t say anything like that to anyone.”
I was hurt, I have to say. She didn’t trust me. She thought I might go to the chief nurse about her. Maybe it was silly of me to be affronted. But I was affronted nevertheless, and I turned away so I wouldn’t have to look at her.
That was a strange day. We spent hours waiting for transportation. Twice the chief nurse made us all line up and do calisthenics. Kay stood at the back and did her best to fake it, waving her arms in a feeble imitation of jumping jacks. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, and then made myself stop looking. She struggled on, and I did my best not to watch her, not to appear concerned. I jumped and kicked and swung my arms from side to side, and the chief nurse shouted out, “One, two, one, two,” in her stentorian voice, and down on the beach a few people stared up at us and wondered what the hell was going on.
When we weren’t busy jumping around like lunatics, we sat and sat. I couldn’t absorb the reality of anything outside each moment. I was hot. The clothes I’d been wearing for three days were stiff with dried sweat and salt water. I was hungry, and then we broke out the K rations, and the crackers were tasteless, the fruit bar so tough and chewy I had to work my jaw over it like a cow. The water I washed it all down with had a sharp chemical taste from the purification tablets. The other girls were sweetening the water with the lemon crystals that came in envelopes in the ration boxes, so I did that, too. What was real—a sip from a canteen of sweet, warm water, the taste of lemon mixed with chlorine, the way the chlorine lingered in my mouth.
I remember at some point Kay said, “I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. I know you wouldn’t say anything. I just . . . I’m doing my best to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I’ll try not to remind you,” I said.
“Will you help me? If I need it?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll protect me?”
“To the death,” I said.
Carrasco
The fog is on the Mountain. For the first time Jennifer understands what that girl meant all those years ago in New York City—a place that, from the vantage point of this window on the foggy woods, now seems like a fanciful notion. Afraid to drive in these conditions, she has kept Milo home from school and canceled her appointment with Margaret. Margaret seemed quite put out at first, but then subsided into understanding, telling her it was of course best to be safe. In truth Jennifer’s glad to have an excuse not to go back today. Yesterday’s interview was strange from the beginning. After the massage, Jennifer set up her tape recorder and settled in for another irritable round of I’ll Tell You, I’ll Tell You Not. But Margaret only said, “Are you ready?” That was all. Jennifer barely got out the yes before she began.
And then when she said, “To the death,” and abruptly stopped talking, Jennifer prompted her. “Protect her?”
“Keep her secret. Help her out when she couldn’t manage something. Keep her from getting sent home. Protect her.”
“Were you able to?”
“I tried.” Margaret looked right at her. Why, whenever she does that, does it feel like an accusation? “Do you know why I’m telling you this story?”
“Because you wanted to make a record,” Jennifer recited, though clearly that’s not the real reason, or Margaret wouldn’t have asked. She has a feeling the reason is nothing she wants to know.
“No,” Margaret said. “Do you know why I’m telling this story to you?”
“Because I remind you of Kay?”
“No!” Margaret smacked the arm of her chair.