It was a fairly busy time at the office. The war had gone on much longer than the year they had projected and everything was in short supply. And high demand. Most of all good assistants and secretaries were in the shortest supply and highest demand. What with the most able men, being sent off to the front and the women following them as nurses or volunteers. I had managed to retain mine much longer than most. And then it happened. She left one day. No word whatsoever. I had come to expect it but had always hoped that she might be the odd one who stayed on well past the norm. She had after all been with me since almost six years. Even before the war started. Lord knows many of my superiors had tried their best to steal her away and yet she stayed. Loyalty or some other such sentiment? I never knew. And like many others took it and her for granted. Then last month, without so much as a thank you or good bye, she had left. Well disappeared. I had made inquiries using precious manpower to find her but they had all come back empty handed. It was as if she never existed.
When Pearl Harbor was bombed, two weeks ago, her disappearance too stopped bothering me. Pearl Harbor had been bombed! Those fools at HQ had ignored precious intel and never bothered to fortify our base there. I could have used her help. We had a crisis on our hands but then would some 20 something air head ever understand. No. I cursed her and the day I had agreed to hire her. Thankfully, Central HQ sent me a complete incompetent to take her place almost immediately. Apparently it was quite common these days. Offloaded her onto me, if I were to be truthful. Some Ms. Mouse or the other. I had not bothered to learn her name yet. On average, a secretary lasted three months these days. The long hours and low pay did not help. In any case my mind was on other things. The bombing of Pearl Harbor had created a strong wave of paperwork and other issues. Since I was in charge of that region staffing and manpower, the job fell on me to find replacements for all those young men and women. A tragedy of epic proportions. Nothing had prepared us for this sort of an attack. And daily the number of people reported MIA or KIA (missing or killed in action to the civilians) kept increasing. I also had the sad responsibility of contacting the families of those young men and women with the news of their passing. If I hated anything about my job it was that part. I never felt so powerless and helpless. I had put in multiple requests to be sent to the front but they had all been turned down. I was, and I quote, “too important” to be allowed to go there. My younger brother, Peter, was among those who were still MIA. I prayed daily for him and for the others.
Today
was no different. My secretary had just dropped off the latest telegram with
another 22 names. Since morning, we had received confirmation of 108 more
bodies having washed up. Some were too damaged to be recognized. They would be
buried there. Their dog-tags were being sent back. Possibly by the slowest
means possible. It sometimes took a month for them to get to my desk. It was
too expensive for the bodies to be shipped back. Besides, we had neither the personnel
nor the means to transport them. Every available transport ship or plane had
been commandeered for the war effort. I
glanced through the new list. Peter was not among them. I did not know what was
worse. The waiting or the knowledge that someone we loved was no longer going
to be home for the holidays. I started filling out the forms to have their next
of kin notified. As I finished with the first few forms, I heard a soft cough.
I looked up and found that my secretary had not left. In fact, she had been standing
there. I wondered why. I raised an eyebrow but she made no attempt to speak.
Completely useless.
“May I help you with something?” I asked her in an
exasperated tone. Did she not have something to do? Clearly the letters she was
to have finished typing two days ago were not important. I had asked for them
when I had come in this morning and she had made some excuse about typewriter
ribbons or the other. Useless. The previous one would have worked the system
and ensured we never were short of anything within reason. I asked her if she
had looked through the drawers. No. She had not. Like I said useless. And now
she stood in front of me again. I wondered if I would ever be able to sign
those letters and send the next three platoons over.
“Oh come on. I don’t have all day you know. Spit it
out, Ms...” I trailed off as I realized that I should have atleast made the
effort to remember her name.
“I am sorry Sir. I was going through the drawers and
found some of Ms. Jones’ personal things. What would you like me to do with
them?” She asked me in her squeaky little voice.
“I don’t know. Throw them out, I suppose. I doubt
she is coming back.” I waved her away. As she turned and was leaving, I felt a
bit sorry. No Jones deserved better. She had left unexpectedly but she had
stuck it out with me in this dreary old office for the better part of six
years.
“NO! Wait.” I called out to her. She turned to face
me. I pondered the dilemma. What could we do with them? “Put them in a box and
leave them in my office.” I finally told her. I would return them to her when
she came. If Jones ever came back. The mouse nodded and disappeared quickly
with relief flooding her face as she did. I knew I had a reputation. Ah well.
These were difficult times.
I left for the mess around 1 o’clock and was back at
my desk by 1:30 pm. I had a ton of paperwork to get through today. I clearly
felt Jones’ departure. Ms Mouse and that is what I settled on after repeated
attempts to get it right, was still out at lunch. Her real name was Ms. Gladys
Maoussie. I could barely pronounce it, let alone spell it. She was part French,
she proudly told me when I was leaving for lunch. I almost tripped over the box that she had
left in my office. Totally useless. Leaving it bang in the middle of the
doorway. Well I could hardly blame her if I were to be totally honest. Every
inch of my room was crammed with boxes and files full of papers and documents.
Those that didn’t make it into these files were piled up wherever there was
room. I picked up the box and carried it to my desk. There as a bit of room
behind my desk and that is where I finally dumped it. The day was long and
passed quickly. Have you ever noticed how the day passes by quickly when we
have a lot to do and stretches out indefinitely when we want it to pass? One of
the officers had been a physics major before joining up, had told me a joke
about the theory of relativity. Some bloke called Einstein had a theory. All poppy
cock if you ask me. Ms. Mouse wished me and left for the day. I nodded and went
back to study the numbers. There was no way we could replace the men in Pearl
Harbor. Not without substantially affecting the war effort in other parts. I
remembered Pollock had a division that was sitting in Africa. I had asked Ms.
Mouse to type out an order for them to be reassigned. I wondered if she had
done that. A quick glance through her desk let me know that she had yet to
figure out who Pollock was. Jones would have known. I uncovered her typewriter
and slowly rolled in the three sheets of paper with carbon between them. All
things have to be sent in triplicate. HQ rules. Took me a while to get it to
work right. Jones had been a natural. It took me an hour to finish drafting the
orders. I had had to use liberal amounts
of white out to wipe out the errors. Thankfully it was done. I signed it and
placed it in the outbox. Tomorrow morning, Pollock would receive his orders and
they would take the first military airplane out to Pearl Harbor. Satisfied, I
went back to my desk, pulled out my pipe and filled it. As I puffed the nice
tobacco, I gazed out of the small window at the setting sun. The Potomac was
clearly lit up by the sheer orange brilliance. My thoughts drifted. I wondered
if Jones was somewhere out there looking at the same scene. She lived along the
banks of the Potomac, I recalled her saying sometime in those 6 years. Six
years and yet I knew so little about her. My eyes wandered to the box. I
wondered what she had left behind. Too unimportant in the grand scheme of
things to take with her? Or just forgotten due to a sudden change in
circumstance? I picked up the box and carefully placed it on my desk atop the
paper and files that covered every inch of it. Not much really. A cheap picture
frame with a picture of her parents and dog, taken not so long ago, a few
cigarettes and some other knick knacks. I was about to close the box when I
noticed the file. A military file. Clearly the incompetent Ms. Mouse had put an
important military file into that box. I shook my head. I would have called HQ
and asked for a replacement but was quite sure that the next one would be worse.
Good ones were not a part of the pool as they called it.
I fished out the file and took it over to Ms Mouse’s
desk. I planned to leave it there, when I noticed the bold red lettering.
DECEASED- NO NEXT OF KIN. I was surprised. How did Ms Mouse miss that? I
wondered who it was. I opened the file. Sgt. Lawrence Markey. 64th
Armored Division. I knew him well. Larry. He used to work for me before he was
deployed. I tried to keep him but an explosives expert had no business handling
paperwork, they let me know. He had been gone almost 2, no 3 years now. I knew
he had died in the landing of Normandy. I noticed now, that a small bag that
also lay inside the box with Ms Jones’ personal effects. Larry’s personal
effects. This should have been sent to storage with the file. Did Ms Jones and
Larry have a relationship? I doubted it. Larry used to hang around the office a
lot but never said or did anything inappropriate. He was too well behaved for
that. I wondered why Jones had kept the file. She was usually very efficient.
Heck what did it matter. They were both gone and I had a report to prepare for
my boss. We needed more nurses in Pearl Harbor. The number of injured were
higher and increasing daily with fresh attacks from the Japs. I sat down to put
together the numbers but no matter how hard I tried I could not concentrate. My
attention kept going back to that box and Larry’s file. Finally, I gave up and
opened the bag. Nothing out of the ordinary. His dog-tags, a few personal
effects- a battered old harmonica, rusted and beyond salvage, some pictures of
him and his mates, a steel hip flask and one letter.
The envelope was dirty
but the seal appeared to have been freshly opened. I tried to read the faded
inscription but dirt and fluids had washed most of it away. Probably was on the
poor soul’s person when he died. I fished out the letter carefully and unfolded
the letter. It was written in pencil. Quite a few pages. I should not read
another man’s personal letter but overlooked my rule this time. It may hold
some clues as to where we could send his effects. It was addressed to his girl. Large portions
had been blacked out. Typical military efficiency.
“Dear Kasie,
I am not sure when or
if you will ever receive this letter. I am writing to you from XXXXXXXX.
Tomorrow, my platoon commander tells me we will be sent to XXXXXX to XXXXXXX. A
lot of troops are being landed at XXXXXX. The XXXXXXXXX push or as you probably
know it, OPERATION XXXXXXXXXX.
I have always wanted to speak to you. No not speak.
We have spoken, albeit sparingly. Not really your fault but totally mine. I was
so happy when you first started working at XXXXXXXX. I still remember the day.
XXX of XXXXXXXXX, XXXX. The happiest day of my life. I remember coming into the
office to meet XXXXXXXXXXXXX and found you seated there in her place. I don’t
know if you remember but I made some stupid comment which I thought you might
find funny. I doubt you did. How could you? I lost all sensation in my head and
knees whenever I met you. I could hardly string together an intelligent
sentence. I was always at a loss for words. I guess the best thing would be to
say that I have loved you since the first time I met you. I used to come by the
office to meet XXXXX. But, truth be told, that was a thinly veiled ruse. I am
sure you and others saw through it. I came by to gaze on your beautiful face.
To lose myself in your pretty eyes. Limpid deep black pools that made me forget
all. Your beautiful lips. So pink so soft. I longed to press my finger against
them. To touch them. To caress your cheeks. To pass my hands through your sandy
curls. Even now words fail me as I see your face in my mind. I have never known what love is. Probably this? Maybe not.
All I knew was that I wanted to wake up every day to
see your face and your lovely face was the last thing I saw before going to
bed. You have given me hope, in these dreary times, hope and the gift of
dreams. Dreams and hope have helped me go on. I wanted to ask you out so many
times, over those years. But for once my courage failed me. The day I learned
that we were being shipped out to XXXXXXX, I came to see you. You told me of
the chap you had just started seeing. Robby. Oh how I hated that name. I had
never met him and yet I hated him. He had the courage to do what I had only
dreamed of doing. I hoped you two would break up one instant and the very next
regretted the thought. How could I wish tears of unhappiness on someone I cared
for....I wanted to ask you then to have dinner with me. But alas, my words
never seem to reach my lips when you gaze on me with those deep brown eyes
hidden behind glasses so beautiful. I mumbled something about trying out the
mess pudding. Some new something and you went along. I tried in all that time
to say what I wanted to say...ask you to go out with me...if only the once.
Once to last me my entire lifetime.
I failed. I watched you slip away that evening into
the arms of another and knew then that I might never have the opportunity. I
made every excuse to come to your office after that. Striking up a conversation
and hoping against hope that you might go out with me. The boys in the motor
pool used to laugh at me. They knew something was up. I would always volunteer
to run things to your office. I did not care. I tried again. And again. To ask
you. Just the once. But one look from your beautiful eyes and I lost all care.
Thoughts and plans, rehearsed speeches, nothing seemed to help or matter. They
were all lost. Lost in your eyes.
My last day before I left, I came to your office. I
saw you. You were busy with some typing. I just stood there and watched you for
as long as I could. When you got up to leave for the day, I tried to make
conversation. Or as usual failed at it. I think I had started to annoy you by
then and so I left. The next morning, I was on a XXXXXXXX to XXXXXXXXXXX.
That night, I wrote to you the first time. A silly
little poem. I still remember the words clearly.
Blue are the heavens above
Aglow in the fires
White fires of the moon
Just as my soul
Burns in her love
Fire consumes all
Like my heart
Lit ablaze
Tormented is my soul
Crying in pain
For peace
In this lonely night
Like the thousand
before
Like the thousand
to follow
and my soul burns
Wracked in pain
Like the moon above.
Time doth pass
At paces glacial
I seek the sun
And her return
Dawn's dew
Quenching these flames
Her return, I await
Each night
If she doesn't
Will the sun
on the morrow shine?
My soul blazes
My heart burns
Scorching the Earth
Burning
like the heavens above
Thirst they do
for aqua alone
As do I
for her presence
Who shall I sing for
What can I truly sing
My songs are hers alone
Just as my soul
Tortured it lies
Ablaze in her absence
Fear do I
Her absence
With the sun
On mornings early
Combing her silken tresses
Oblivious to my pain
And yet I seek
No more than that
Her beautiful face
On that balcony
Each morning
Like the thousand
before
Like the thousand
to follow
and my soul burns
Wracked in pain
Like the moon above
Whilst I await
Her return
On this scorched Earth
Under the burning
Heavens above.
Blue are the heavens above
Aglow in the fires
White fires of the moon
Just as my soul
Burns in her love
Fire consumes all
Like my heart
Lit ablaze
Torment is my soul
Crying in pain
For peace
In this lonely night
Like the thousand
before
Like the thousand
to follow
and my soul burns
Wracked in pain
Like the moon above.
And
I have written to you many times since. No no, it is not the fault of our
postal system. I never sent them. But the very act of being able to write to
you has kept me sane amidst the insanity here. I miss you. I miss that gaze. I
miss those curls. I miss that smile. And yet you are only a thought away. I don’t
know if you ever thought of me in the same terms. I don’t think you do. But I
hope you do. It is this hope that has kept me alive and nourished my soul. The
dream that one day I would be able to come to your office once more and ask you
out. To gaze on your cherubic face and bask in the glow of your angelic smile. I
realize I am not a catch. Probably not the most exciting chap you have ever met.
Nor even the best looking. I realize you have a life of which I know nothing. I
know you have dreams and aspirations. Probably a home. A family. I don’t. Not
anymore. When my grandfather died, he knew of you. I had told him about you. I
probably wore him out with my talk of you. He did not. Rather he was happy that
I had found someone. I did not tell him the truth till his last days. He had
made me promise to ask you out. Only those who dare to dream can achieve
something, he told me in his last hours. I, foolishly, made him that promise. I
would ask you out on my return. He died peacefully. Satisfied, in the knowledge
that I was not to be alone after him. I tried after that to reach you. An
elusive dream and one that I shall never see fulfilled.
Today,
as I write this letter, another that probably will never reach you, I realize
that I will never be able to fulfill my promise to him. He was a very nice man.
You would have liked him. I know he would have liked you. For three years, I
spoke to him of you. Did I ever tell you about him? I don’t think so. He was a
good man. Lived a peaceful life. He knew how much I cared for you....Now if
only I had ....Regrets are no good now. Dawn is only a few hours away. I go
willingly into this fight, knowing that you are safe. My actions and those of
my brave brothers here will protect you and others back home. Home. I wonder if
I shall ever see home again.
I am not a writer. Even now words are hard to string together. But if not now, then when? I doubt I will have another chance. If only I had ...when I had the opportunity. If wishes were horses...ah well...
I am not a writer. Even now words are hard to string together. But if not now, then when? I doubt I will have another chance. If only I had ...when I had the opportunity. If wishes were horses...ah well...
For you are the only one I have ever given my heart
to...and I hope you live for the both of us...I shall always be a part of this world as
long as it has your smile. I shall live on in your eyes. The same that rob me
of everything and bestow me with everything in the same moment.
The Jerries have a strange custom. They never say
good bye.
Auf Wiedersehen –till we
see each other again.
Take Care my love,
Till we see each other again,
Larry
XXX Lawrence XXXXXXXXXX
XXXX XXth XXXXXXXXXXXX
I slowly put the letter down. I wondered who
Kasie was. She was a lucky girl. Someone Ms. Jones knew? Quite possibly. Was that why she had kept his file? I knew Larry had
started hanging around my office quite a bit before he was deployed. I never realized
why. Did Ms. Jones intend to give the letter and his effects to Kasie? Yes,
that was probably why she had kept his file and effects. I may not be able to
help Larry anymore but I would see to it that Kasie knew the young man who
loved her so devotedly. I put the letter away and tried to finish my work. A few
hours later, I left for home.
On a whim, that
evening, I took the letter home with me. My wife would love to read that poem. It
was simple and yet so beautiful. She gave me a look when I entered the house. I
had promised to take her out that evening. It was too late. She knew better
than to ask about Peter. I shook my head and handed her the envelope. She was a
bit surprised when I asked her to read that letter. I never gave her any
official documents to read. As she read, I saw tears start flowing down her
cheeks. She looked up at me once she was done.
“That Kasie is a lucky
girl. True love like this does not really come around often. Jones kept the
effects to give to her.” I told her. She nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell
her?” She asked me as she dabbed at her eyes.
“Tell her? Whom? Kasie?
I do not know anyone called Kasie.” I informed her. Matter of factly. Who was I
to stand in the path of dead man’s last wish?
“Kasie. You know Kasie.
Of course you do....You have known her for so many years.” My wife accused me.
I did not know what to
say. I did not know a Kasie and here my wife was convinced that I did. And then it dawned on me. Ms. Cassandra Jones.
Kasie.
The next morning I
tried my best to find Ms Jones. I called on her house and also asked her
relatives. No one seemed to know. Weeks passed by and then I finally found her as I was finalising a list. She
was on that list of names of personnel who had died at Pearl Harbor but had been
reported as MIA. Mrs. Cassandra Ethel Jones-Markey. Her personnel file told me she had
joined as a nurse a few months after the Normandy landings, deployed at her request as a nurse on board one of the ships at Pearl Harbor and had been reported missing after the bombing. Her body was never identified or found but they found her dog tags washed up on a beach. After six weeks, her status had changed from MIA to KIA. I had signed her approval to be deployed. Due to the sheer amount of paperwork, I had missed
connecting those two folders and names. There was no marriage certificate on file and she had stated she was a widow. I closed their files and sent everything except that letter to be stored away. I keep that letter in my desk. Close to where they first met. Finally they were together. Forever.
