near an impossible feat. He’d been thrown out of that house after his temper had erupted once too often. And he had been on his own ever since. Often, in those early times in Brooklyn, he went hungry for days and had a bath and clean clothes only when he could finagle a deal. Soon trouble became his middle name. And trouble finds trouble. The local gang of street boys was well into a life of crime, running numbers and doing shady errands for local smalltime mobsters, by the time Reuben had decided that getting out meant living longer. He’d seen enough of what happened when the low men on the totem pole got into a disagreement. The ones on the ground got squashed. Life held no guarantees, but of one thing Reuben was certain: He’d never go back to Brooklyn.
The long gray barracks were just ahead, low shadows in an already gray background. Only the yellow lights dimly penetrating the ice-glazed windows gave him direction. He couldn’t wait to get out of his wet clothes, clothes that would never dry. In the morning he’d have to put them on again and they’d stick to his body like leeches. Well, he’d worry about that tomorrow. Right now he was going to shed the wet wool, slip under his blankets, and pray for the pounding in his head to let up.
No sooner had he opened the door than a chorus of voices surrounded him. “Here he is!”
“Now we can feast!”
“Come on, Tarz, let’s get it together here.”
“Yeah! Lady Bountiful was here and left you a basket of goodies. Good, loyal soldiers that we are, we didn’t touch a thing. Divvy up.”
“What do you have that the rest of us don’t, Tarz? That’s what we want to know.”
Reuben grinned halfheartedly. His bunkmates had been riding him ever since Madame Mickey had made her first appearance at the barracks. At first he’d thought she was just another generous Frenchwoman who wanted to help the Americans. Then his buddy George had explained her mission. “My body!” Reuben had squawked. “She’s twice my age!” The first night in the barracks after her visit, the men began to talk.
“What a knockout!” George had exclaimed.
“Did you get a load of her legs? Sheathed in the finest silk stockings.”
“That perfume of hers is enough to make you want to crawl after her on your hands and knees.”
“She’s a fool for black hair and gray eyes. I heard her say your eyes were gray. ‘The color of the sky before a snowfall!’”
“I’ll bet she’s got beds with silk sheets and monograms and the same kinds of towels. Real soap that smells nice and a telephone in the bedroom. White carpets…”
“You’re making all this up.” Reuben had laughed with the rest of them.
“No,” George said seriously, “Madame Mickey’s a living legend around here from what I’ve gathered. And I’ve been up and around longer than you have.” He pointed and flexed his healed arm. “She comes almost every day in a big sleek Citroën, bringing a mountain of goodies just like you’ve got right here. She’s got a warm word and a dazzling smile for anyone who needs it. And always, always, looks good enough to…”
“Eat!”
“Devour whole!”
“Make love to!”
“Get lucky with!”
Each soldier had his own idea about what he would do if offered the honor of her company.
“No problem for you, Tarz, right?” they’d heckled.
He remembered how he’d laughed then, and his stomach churned. After that, her special visits to him became routine. She persisted. And persisted. Now he was still unsure of her intentions, but he was ready and willing to go along with anything she said. Why not?
“Well?” the men chorused as they watched him undress.
“Whooeee, look at those haunches! Check those sinewy thighs! And that big broad chest…whooeee!” they heckled.
“Go ahead, eat whatever she brought. Just tell me how it tastes so I won’t have to lie.” Drops for his eyes. He needed them badly, so badly that his hands shook as he fumbled with the dropper. It was George who noticed his trembling, and with a wave of his hand he cut the heckling short and reached for the cobalt-blue bottle.
“Jesus, you’re frozen. Toss me a couple of blankets. Now lie still and I’ll put these in your eyes. You should’ve said something, Tarz. Sometimes you gotta ask for help.”
“How’s Daniel?” George asked. “Do they know yet if he’ll be able to see?”
“They’re removing the bandages tomorrow. He gets the cast off at the same time. It could go either way.”
“That’s pissifying,” George grunted. “I hope the kid’s okay.”
Reuben lay quietly on his bunk, careful not to move his head. Within thirty minutes the pounding was only a dull ache. Maybe he could sleep. The others had moved to the far end of the barracks to allow him the quiet time he needed. They were good guys; he appreciated them and liked them. He knew he could have been tossed in with a bunch of hardnoses.
Before he drifted into sleep, Reuben did something he would do only three times in his life: he prayed. This time it was for Daniel. Then he crossed his fingers for luck the way he’d done so often when he was a boy. Surely Daniel’s God would listen to a Jew.
That night saw the end of the three-day sleet storm that had nearly paralyzed the activities at Soissons Hospital. Reuben thought it miraculous that Madame Mickey had ventured out in it to deliver the basket of treats.
Rolling onto his side as the last notes of reveille died away, he was uncertain whether or not to leave his bunk. His buddies had cleared the barracks at the first sounds of the bugle and had filed out into the deep shadowy dawn. Even here the army had its regulations and methods for making a man miserable. He felt sorry for George and the other men; they’d soon be receiving orders to return to their divisions. Odd as it seemed, none of them appeared to resent the fact that their two comrades would escape a return to the front. Reuben supposed that in some vicarious way, Madame Mickey and her resources represented a kind of hope for all of them.
It was warm beneath the blankets, but not as warm as Reuben would have liked. He was tempted to gather blankets from other bunks and wrap himself like an Indian, but he had a scheduled treatment for his eyes this morning, and at noon Daniel’s bandages were to come off. And at some point he had to get in touch with Madame Mickey to give her the news of Daniel. Now, that particular assignment deserved a second thought.
George had warned him not to chase after the famous lady. He’d coached him for hours. Do this, don’t do that. Don’t fetch and carry, and for God’s sake, don’t appear grateful. Be stubborn. Parcel out your favors. Flatter the lady, but always make her think you might be lying. Then look into her eyes and say something genuine, something soft and sweet. It had been all he could do to stifle his laughter when old George issued instructions on the exact way sweet talk was to be delivered. But because George was older and wiser in the ways of women, Reuben had listened. He stored away all the little nuggets of information and knew he’d probably have a use for them before long. He stretched his leg, feeling the tendons and ligaments pulling in the muscles of his thigh. He’d carry that scar for the rest of his life, one of the doctors had told
