People made way, of course—Alex never had to raise his voice to be obeyed. It was something in the tone that made you do what he asked almost before he’d finished the sentence. But people looked past him to me, alarm on their faces. A woman pulled her child away by the hand, and two girls, arm in arm, stepped back. Influenza had begun its deadly sweep, leaving piles of bodies in its wake. I tried to look normal, to meet people’s eyes and give them a nod. Not influenza, no, no. I had the presence of mind to catch one woman’s eye and discreetly pat my stomach. Immediately I saw the relief on her face.
“Make way, please. My wife is unwell.” Alex maneuvered me to a bench on the platform, that someone—whoever it was, I never saw—immediately vacated, and sat me down. He crouched in front of me, balanced on those long legs of his. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said.
Now that I was sitting and I could see all of him, I felt a little better. I had a clear view of the long, lean shape of him, the dark wool trousers I’d watched him put on that morning, his heavy boots. The hem of his winter wool coat rested on his thighs, and he’d partially unbuttoned it, so I could see the uniform he wore beneath. He set down the rucksack he’d been carrying over one shoulder and leaned in toward me, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What is it, Jo?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I didn’t feel like this until this morning. I know I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”
He spoke nearly in a whisper, to avoid alarming anyone who could overhear. “If it’s influenza, for God’s sake . . .”
“No, no.” I smiled at him. “I really do feel better now that I’m sitting down. It’s nothing like that at all.”
I hadn’t convinced him, I could tell, but his train was leaving in minutes. He glanced behind him at the track, then turned back to me. “Can you get home?”
“Yes, of course.” I blinked as pain shot up the back of my head as if I’d been speared with a knitting needle. “This is stupid. I’m here to say good-bye to you, not to make you worry. Please don’t.”
He glanced back at the train again. In one motion, he pulled off one of his heavy leather gloves and touched his fingers to my face. His skin against mine felt icy, and I realized it was because my own was burning hot. The touch was almost painful, as if my skin was swollen and thin as rice paper, but still I leaned into him as the world tilted a little.
“I can’t miss this train,” he said.
“I know,” I replied, my eyes drifting half closed. “The war awaits.”
“I want to tell the war to fuck itself,” he said, his coarseness shocking me into a smile, as he’d intended. “I do. There’s part of me that would do it in an instant. But, Jo . . .”
I nodded and put my gloved hand over his. “I hate the war,” I said. I felt strange, disconnected, as if I were listening to someone else. My spine ached.
“Jesus.” Alex pulled off his other glove and put both hands to my face, the effect like icy blades on my skin. “Promise me you’ll see a doctor. Today.”
“I promise.” Again someone else was speaking through my lips, making words I barely understood.
There was a high, shrill whistle, a warning that the train was about to leave, that threatened to split my head in two. I focused on staying still and not throwing up from the pain and the dizziness, still smiling at Alex as if nothing were wrong. He was leaving. I mustn’t worry him.
He glanced at the train one last time, then picked up his rucksack and put it over his shoulder. He took my face in his hands again and leaned close to me, his clean-shaven cheek against mine, his breath on my ear. “I have done everything wrong,” he said to me, “everything, and you will never forgive me. But stay alive and I will come back to you. I will come back to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. No, my mind screamed, as high and shrill as the train whistle, though my tongue could not form the words. No, no, don’t leave, I love you, don’t leave.
Then he kissed my lips and let me go.
I gasped. My mind scrambled through its fog. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey me. Alex vanished into the crowd—gone, gone. Had he looked back at me? Already I couldn’t remember. It had all been so fast. What sort of kiss had it been? I knew all of Alex’s kisses, what every one of them meant. Had it been one of his passionate ones, or one of his sweeter, gentler ones? I didn’t know.
I finally levered myself from the bench and pushed myself through the crowd. Now I was just a flushed, red-eyed girl like dozens of others on the platform, stumbling about in grief. I tried to get to the train—I had no idea how long I’d been trying when the train gave a whistle and pulled away. I was pummeled on all sides, pushed and pulled by the crowd, by women waving handkerchiefs, crying children. My cheeks were wet with tears.
Had he looked back at me?