For What He Could Become Read online

  Peter looked at Bill. “Think we can make it another mile?”

  “Absolutely,” Bill said. “My feet aren’t even bloody yet.”

  The 106th was reformed and detailed to guard the Prisoner Of War Camp at Remagen on the Rhine River. At noon on May 7, 1945, Bill and Wayne were dismissed from their guard duties. It was the first warm, beautiful spring day after the worst winter anyone locally could remember. Poplars and willows were blooming, their leaves full—overpowering the stench of the camp. They got in line for mess.

  His kit full of food, Bill found a seat on a table outside the mess tent. For weeks they had debated how long the Japanese would hold out after the Germans surrendered. Today the Germans had surrendered, and everyone in the camp was happy. The local war was over, and what they didn’t know about the Pacific Theatre would fill a truck. Some said they would all be sent over there until the Japs surrendered. Some said they would be sent home as fast as the troop ships could take them. Let the Brits and the Frenchies guard the krauts. They were going home.

  “What now for you?” Wayne said, taking the seat next to Bill.

  Bill turned and looked at him. It had come to him as the war ended that Wayne had no village to go home to. The reservation was no village. The tribal life there had fallen apart long ago, and everybody knew how squalid it was. He didn’t know how he felt about leaving Wayne. He lifted his glass.

  “First - I’m going back to the village. Gonna see what Ilene thinks of my letters and wear my uniform down the only street in town. Then, I don’t know what. Use the GI bill to go to school, find a job, learn how to make money.”

  Wayne snorted. “For hell’s sake, there’s nothing in your village—like there’s nothing on the reservation.”

  Bill thought of fish wheels and duck hunts and caribou coming through the hills in a herd that stretched for miles. He could see the caribou coming into the village in the winter and hear the dogs barking at them and the old people laughing. He could close his eyes and smell his grandma’s fresh bannock and taste the dried black meat they dipped in seal oil they got from trading with the coast Eskimos.

  “Ilene’s in the village. I’m gonna visit, relax, count my money and figure out how to get ten thousand dollars and a house then ask her to marry me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The flight from Fairbanks to Arctic Village took less time than Bill remembered. It was the speed of everything that had happened that threw him off. The train, then the boat, then another train, and now this flimsy airplane that drifted through the clouds following the Chandalar River and was about to land on the tiny dirt strip.

  As the pilot circled the landing strip, he banked the plane and Bill could see the trail he had taken from the river on the day of his bear hunt. The memory did nothing for him. Too much had happened since that day.

  He couldn’t even remember now the names of the dead in his platoon, and at the time he’d been sure he would never forget them. He could remember those in his squad, but he’d lost the platoon guys somewhere between the Bulge and his mustering out. They weren’t close friends, just guys who were trying to stay alive like him and hadn’t made it.

  He could close his eyes and see some of them on the battlefield, but mostly he didn’t, because when they died he was totally engaged in staying alive and keeping the Germans away from his position. He hadn’t had time to look around.

  The pilot flared the plane and touched the wheels down on the dirt strip. No one knew Bill was coming home, so he didn’t expect anyone to be there. A pickup was waiting at the far corner of the field, and the pilot brought the plane to a stop near it.

  The pickup driver got out and walked over to them.

  “Hi, Bill—you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Jack Gould,”

  “You old enough to drive now?”

  Jack laughed and nodded. “Let me help you with your stuff.”

  “Here, you can carry my duffel. That’s it.”

  “You didn’t bring anything else?”

  He’d just wanted to get out of the army and come home. He hadn’t thought about bringing souvenirs, presents, things he could have gotten when he mustered out and boarded the train for Seattle.

  The pilot tossed a mailbag into the back of the pickup and set a bag of groceries in the front seat. Jack handed him the outgoing mailbag.

  “See you next week.” The pilot threw the mailbag in and climbed in the seat. “See if someone can’t fill in that marmot hole about halfway down the runway before I come back, okay?”

  “That ain’t a marmot hole,” Jack said. “That’s where Ted Sheeley’s digging for gold.”

  The pilot shook his head. “Tell him he’s messing with government property and I’ll kick his ass when I come back if that hole isn’t filled in, gold or no gold.”

  Jack waved and turned to Bill. “I’d like to see that pilot find Ted Sheeley, let alone kick his ass.”

  Bill tried to place Ted Sheeley but couldn’t. They got in the pickup and drove down the one-track road into the village. Bill had a strange feeling from looking at the village as they approached that everyone in it was dead except for Jack and him. He didn’t see anyone moving around on the streets or near the houses, and he found the feeling hard to shake.

  As they rounded the corner and entered the main street he could see people and he relaxed. Jack stopped the pickup in front of the general store, flung open the driver’s door, and picked up the groceries. “Would you grab the mail?”

  Bill lifted the mailbag. He walked into the general store and placed the mailbag on the floor by the desk that served as the cash register, credit counter, pencil and paper collector, and magazine stack.

  “Why—hello Bill,” Irem said. “You look good in that uniform.”

  “Thanks, Irem. If you’re not too busy running the store could you tell me where Ilene is?”

  “Uh—you seen Carl yet?”

  “No. Just got in on the plane.”

  Irem’s eyes darted to the window then back to Bill. “I think Carl’s out on the river. Ilene could be over to Herb’s place.”

  “Thanks.” Bill got a warm feeling walking toward Herb’s cabin. Nothing in town was very far. He stopped on the porch, unsure of whether to knock. The door opened.

  “Ilene…?” he said.

  She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. She was prettier than he remembered. Still slim, slightly shorter than him, and beautiful hair around a face that was serene and perfect. The blend of Russian and Athabascan blood had benefited her in all ways. Slim like the Russians but with the Indian dark eyes and black hair, she was an outstanding product of a mixed marriage.

  “Bill? You’re back!” She looked stunned. “How’ve you been?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Right now, I’m great.”

  “You’re heavier.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I am. You’re prettier.”

  “Have you seen Carl?” Ilene rolled up a sack and put it under her arm. Her eyes cut to the door and back.

  “No, I just got in on the plane.”

  She took a deep breath, let it out… “Bill….”

  “I’m so glad to see you, Ilene. You don’t know how much I missed you. Sitting in the fox holes, guarding the prisoners…I thought about you day after day. There’s so much I’ve got to tell you, and…”

  “Bill, stop—please just stop.” She lowered her head. Her breathing was uneven, shaky. Slowly she lifted her eyes, the tears gathering in her lower lids. “Carl and I got married…”

  He felt a roaring in his ears. At first he couldn’t speak, and when he did, his voice sounded far away.

  “Ilene…y-you didn’t ever write. You—.”

  “I had nowhere to write—no address. And I didn’t hear from you.”

  He half turned not knowing whether to walk or stay. Then he spun and held up three fingers. “I wrote you three letters.”

  Slowly she shook her head. “Bill, I didn’t get any letters from you. Ever.”r />
  Bill bit his lip and stared at the floor. Then he raised his eyes to hers.

  “Well—I wrote them. Every one of them asked you to wait for me.” The anger in his chest fought with the urge to grab her and hold her and put his face into her long hair.

  She shook her head slowly again, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t know.”

  His throat hurt. He couldn’t hear anything for the ringing in his ears. He began to rock back and forth wanting the ringing to stop, for his mouth to open and say something that would make the world right again. It had been three years and despite what he had done, where he had been, he was here now standing in front of her and nothing would come out.

  He looked around for his duffel bag, scrapping his feet on the bare floor. The silence was desperate and in it his thoughts bounced around in his brain not knowing whether to attack or retreat, yell or cry, demand or beg.

  “Ilene—I love you. I’ve loved you since high school. I wanted you to have my children. To grow old with you. I want to look out at the sun set and see you with me and see you in the morning when I awake.”

  She wiped the tears touching her lips. Bill watched her. She was perfectly still but her image was blurred and his voice sounded to him like it was coming through a fog, distant and willowy.

  She shook her head. “There is no way—nothing.” She took two steps. “It can’t happen.”

  His jaw muscles tightened and he swallowed hard. Through his mind flashed the image of he and Wayne having lunch on VE day, describing their plans and dreams. How he was going back to the village, separation pay in hand, and a proposal to Ilene on his lips. Wayne had been right. There was nothing for him in the village anymore. Bill shouldered his duffel bag.

  “Do you want to come stay with us?” Ilene said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “We have room in our house…your dad built…. I’ll ask Carl and see if—”

  “And just what do you think that would be like for me? To see you every day, living with Carl, smiling and moving around the cabin and doing everything with him I thought we might do together someday—no Ilene.” He felt the rush of blood in his face. “I’ll stay with Herb or Charlie.”

  She touched his arm. “Bill…I’m sorry.”

  Bill headed back to the general store.

  “You gonna need anything?” the storekeeper said. “You need any credit?”

  “Not now, Irem. I’ve got my mustering-out pay.”

  “Well, you need anything, we’re here. Good to see you back. You gonna stay, you think?”

  “Don’t know, I just got here. Irem, do you recall seeing any letters I wrote to Ilene over the last three years? You’d have put them in the box, wouldn’t you?”

  Irem leaned on the counter, his lean body angled at the waist while he thought. “Yeah, I do, come to think about it. Couple of them were in pretty poor shape, but you could read the address all right.”

  “Do you recall her picking them up?”

  “No. Carl always gets the mail.”

  Bill walked out the door and looked up and down the street. A narrow dirt street with partially buried log houses dug in along both sides. The small building that passed for a church when the visiting priest came by in the winter on dog sled and in the summer by boat or plane. The school that doubled for a community hall—where, it was rumored, the first telephone would be placed. It looked a lot different from the villages in Belgium and Germany and France and England, but not one bit different from the way it had looked when he left it.

  At Charlie’s house he knocked on the door as if he thought he might be waking someone from a nap. There was no response. He pushed the door open and saw Charlie reading at a table. As light entered the room from the door, Charlie turned his upper body and peered over his glasses.

  “Hello, Charlie.”

  For several seconds Charlie just stared hard at the figure standing in his doorway.

  “Bill? Come over here and let me see you.” He put down his magazine. “My God, my God, it’s you sure enough and dressed in a government uniform. They give that to you to keep?”

  “Well, sure, Charlie. I fought for them for three years, they gave me clothes and food and some money. Still got the clothes and money.”

  Charlie tested the material of Bill’s jacket between his thumb and fingers, “This gonna keep you warm up here?”

  “There’s a coat comes with it and that sure does. Kept me alive in Belgium.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Europe. Where I was fighting the war.”

  “Oh.” He took his glasses off, carefully folded them and put them on the table. “We heard some stories about that. Well…you’re here now. Now you can start your life again. Find a girl, get married, have some kids. There’s a lot of opportunity here now. Furs are up, and they’re looking for workers on some of the mines over east.”

  Bill nodded. “Any chance of staying with you here, Charlie?”

  Charlie looked around. It was dark inside and the air carried the mixed scents of old man’s clothes and cooking oil that had gotten too hot. He waved his arm around the room like he was showing off a hotel suite,

  “You can share this with me. I’m a little deaf and I snore, but I can cook good. What can you do?”

  “Well now,” Bill said, “I can cook K-rations over tree bark at twenty below, shoot a machine gun without burning up the barrel, crawl under a barbed-wire fence in the mud with my head down. What else do I need to know?”

  Charlie laughed. “They taught you some really good stuff.”

  Carl burst through the door. Bill was emptying his duffel bag on the bunk in the corner, and it took Carl a second to spot him.

  “Hey, little brother.” He extended his hand.

  “Hi, Carl.” Bill thought he might be tugged off-balance, so he stuck out his hand and mentally braced himself. Carl grabbed his hand and instead of pulling, shoved him backwards and toppled him on the bed.

  “Well, you may be older and stronger, but they didn’t teach you any smarts, did they?”

  “Maybe they did.”

  Carl looked at him. “You look bigger—are you bigger?”

  “Guess I am.”

  “How much?”

  “A couple of inches and twenty pounds.”

  “Come here – sit down. Where’d Charlie go?”

  “He left to go find you.”

  “Well, tell me all about it out there. Start at the beginning. You were supposed to write every three months – you didn’t do that. Now you gotta tell me what it was like.”

  “What happened to the letters?”

  Carl spread his hands a partial smile on his face. “Those weren’t letters to your family telling us how you were. They were from a teenage kid trying to stir up old love memories.”

  “You had no right to keep them from her.” Bill bunched his fists.

  “I had every right. She was my girl and she didn’t need to be confused by your ramblings.”

  “Did you read them?”

  “I burned them.” Carl’s eyes narrowed. “You left here, not me.”

  “What’s that have to do with it?”

  “Everything. I asked her to marry me and she said yes and that was that.” He leaned back in his chair and looked straight in Bill’s eyes.

  Bill took a deep breath. “I learned a lot of things in the army. I could drive your nose into your brain or break your leg with one move—but brothers don’t do that to brothers. Brothers also don’t steal a brother’s girl. You stole my letters to Ilene and didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t give her a chance—to choose—to decide for herself. I fought a war so people could have some freedom but you don’t even let her have the freedom to read my letters. You had to cheat—burn the letters, pretend I was gone for good. You took her choice away from her because you thought she might choose me. You’re a no good lousy son-of-a-bitch and I hate you for it. I thought she was waiting for
me—and all the while, she’s married to you and not giving me a thought.”

  Carl stood up and Bill saw that he had grown taller and heavier than Carl. Despite that, he flinched inside.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did,” Carl said. “I’ll give you a free swing at me.”

  “Jesus, Carl! I’ve killed guys. I can’t fight you anymore.”

  “Just take a swing.”

  “No. I’m not going to do it.”

  Carl sat down on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “I can see from your point—“

  “You can’t see anything from my point of view. You can’t get there from here.”

  Carl spread his hands. “What can I do?”

  “Do? What can you do? Hell—I don’t know Carl. I don’t know.” Everything was there—the energy, the desire, the knowledge. Hit the soft spot under his chin, follow that with a punch to the solar plexus and it’s all over. He could picture himself standing over Carl, looking down at him as he gagged and writhed on the ground. What good would it do? It wouldn’t nullify a marriage—or give him Ilene—or restart his life. He was right—there were some things brothers didn’t do to brothers. This had to be one of them.

  “It doesn’t surprise me, you know.”

  Bill struggled out of his thoughts. “What?” he said.

  “That we both love the same girl.”

  They talked up to dinnertime with Bill telling about the AlCan Highway, life in the army, combat missions, like a reporter might give in a radio report. He didn’t mention the names of his army buddies or the towns they fought through or the escape. By the time he’d covered most of the three years he’d been gone, he was hungry.

  “Do you think Charlie’s coming back with any food?” he said.

  “You’re coming over to our place. Ilene and Verda are making dinner for all of us. You can meet Rusty.”

  “Who’s Rusty?”

  “Verda’s husband. He’s from Fort Yukon—you’ll like him.”

  Bill doubted it. Verda was the girl he’d liked best, except for Ilene, and now she was married too.

  There were seven plates on the table. Herb and Charlie sat at opposite ends, Carl and Ilene on one side, Verda and Rusty on the other, and Bill, the seventh plate, on a corner between Carl and Charlie, the space so tight he had to hold the silverware he wasn’t using in the hand he wasn’t eating with.