there! A wild fear sweeps
over her that the army has already swallowed him.
"Robert!" she calls. The apartment so small
he can surely hear her wherever he is.
"I'm in the bathroom," he says.
He comes and sits down on the bed. "What is
it?"
He seems so calm, so self-assured, that she
doesn't want to mention her fears. "I just wanted a good-morning
kiss."
"I'll give you more than that," he says,
reaching under the sheets for her nude body. "Then we have to get
going."
A few minutes later she slips out of bed and,
shrugging on her robe, goes into the tiny kitchen to get coffee
started and the cereal set out. Robert joins her at the table, a
rosy flush on his chest visible between the edges of his robe. They
eat in silence except for "Please pass the milk" and "May I have
more coffee?"
"I'll be right back," Robert says, heading
for the bedroom.
He'll be putting on his uniform, checking one
last time, she knows, that his boots are shined, his insignia
pinned on correctly.
She’ll write in her journal today, she tells
herself. She hasn’t written anything – the pages all virgin white.
Yet today she’ll record her feelings of watching her husband leave
to become part of the war machinery.
Robert reemerges from the bedroom in his
uniform, carrying his uniform hat, and stands in front of her for
inspection. She wants to say "good luck." The words stick in her
throat – don't these words imply the opposite is feared? She says:
"You look terrific."
And he does look terrific if you like men in
uniforms.
He kisses her good-bye at the front door. She
stands on the balcony and watches him down the stairs to the car.
He waves and mouths "I love you." Then he's gone.
She is without wheels and all alone.
She picks up the journal. There’s a knock on
the door.
Anne announces: "I want you to meet
Elizabeth, one of our other neighbors."
Humidity droplets slide down Sharon's bare
arms and legs in the few short steps to a downstairs apartment in
the building on the right. The landlord waves as Anne knocks on
Elizabeth's door.
Elizabeth is a small woman with blond hair
pulled into a tight French twist and expertly applied makeup. She
wears a flower-print dress, nylons, and heels, not the shorts, top,
and sandals both Sharon and Anne have on.
A large wall-hung wedding portrait in a gilt
frame overpowers the small living room. Elizabeth in a Scarlett
O'Hara gown and her husband in his army uniform stand together
under crossed swords.
Elizabeth follows Sharon's eyes. "Mama said I
had to bring it. Wouldn't be a proper home without it. I also
brought my silver. An officer's lady has to be ready to assume her
duties."
Anne laughs. "Can you tell she's a
Southerner? Even if she didn’t have an accent. These Southerners
are in love with the 'noble duty' of the army – that's why so many
officers are Southern – even if it means going to Vietnam."
There, someone has said the word –
Vietnam.
Elizabeth smiles. "How can a man get ahead in
the army if he hasn't had at least one combat command? If my
husband decides to go regular army – make the army a career, he has
to get ahead."
Sharon mentally runs through any number of
responses to this statement. No words leave her mouth. She has
promised Robert.
Now, as she waits for Robert to return home,
Sharon again thinks how Southerners are truly crazy. Robert told
her Southerners make up a disproportionately large percentage of
the army officer corps. This love of the military, can it really
come from losing the Civil War and thus wanting to prove their
manhood?
Below her a young woman dusts off a huge
Chrysler. "Why are you dusting the car?" Sharon calls down to
her.
"My husband just washed it yesterday," the
woman says, "and I promised to dust it off if I drove it
anywhere."
Unbelievable! Along with the soap operas that
Anne and Elizabeth watch faithfully each day – "Whose program is it
now?" they had said to an amazed Sharon – this seems to be the main
activity for army
Learning to Kill: Stories