Don't You Know There's a War On? by Avi Read Free Book Online Page B

I was missing and worrying about him a whole lot, so I was pretty pink to see that letter. But the rule in our place was, Only Mom could open his letters. So we left it on the kitchen table by the saltshaker, where she always checked for them.
    With Gloria plugged into the radio and reading a book, I went over to a friend’s house. The weather being good, a bunch of us played stickball in the middle of the street.
    One guy was amazing. He could hit the ball really far. And let me tell you, that ball was dead, being made of wound-up electrical tape. Still, every time, triple or homer.
    Anyway, we had a good time, and I didn’t think about my pop or Miss Gossim, not even once. It was kind of a relief.
    When I got back home—maybe six-thirty—Mom was there. She looked beat, the way she usually did when she got home from the Navy Yard. Her job was to put in rivets in armor plate on ship repairs. She said it was hard, dull work. But she was forever saying she had to do it right. What if the work was done bad? Think of the lives that could be lost! It could even be Pop.
    For instance: She was always telling us this story about a fighter pilot who got shot down in the Pacific. He lived because he clung to his life preserver. Okay. But see, it turned out it was his own mother who packed that preserver in some factory somewhere. Hey, Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You could look it up.
    So, anyway, when I got back, Mom was at the kitchen table reading Pop’s letter. Gloria was sitting beside her.
    â€œHi,” Mom said, as I walked in. “Where you been?”
    â€œPlaying ball. What did Pop say?”
    â€œYou can read it for yourself while I make dinner.”
    She put the letter down and opened the cabinet doorover the sink. “We’ll have ravioli and peas,” she said. Took down a couple of cans, staring at them sort of tired. “Even canned goods are rationed now,” she said.
    â€œWe’re out of milk,” my sister said.
    Mom said, “Fetch my purse and ration book, and get some from the store.”
    â€œYou don’t need ration stamps for milk,” I reminded her.
    She smiled. I could tell, something in Pop’s letter had got to her.
    â€œWhy can’t Howie get the milk?” Gloria said.
    â€œBecause I asked you to.”
    â€œCan I get a penny candy?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” Mom said. “Dinner be ready soon. Now scoot.” She opened the two cans and dumped the insides in pots.
    I spread my pop’s letter before me. Holes had been cut into it. You know, the censor slicing things out he didn’t think Pop should be saying. What people called a “Swiss-cheese letter.”
    Dear Lois and kids,
    Well, I got to                  Pretty              crossing.
    We                      ships. The Germans were thick as sharks.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  is built on a hill. The docks are old but amazing. Lots of Irish live here. The Germans bomb a lot, even the cathedral. But we’re safe. We’re not waiting for a convoy but heading right back. I should be home for
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hope so. I could use some sleep.
    And decent grub.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Your loving husband and father,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Mitch/Pop
    I read the letter a few times, trying, you could guess, to figure out what the cutout words were.
    â€œWhere do you think he is?” I said to my mom when I couldn’t figure it out.
    â€œSounds like Liverpool,” she