Seasons of the Heart (13 page)

O’Connor nodded.

“But how can I believe in God when he allows all these horrible things to happen? I mean, I see Jerry Bugleman—a bright, wonderful man with a beautiful wife—and because he can’t get even elementary medical care, he’s going to die.”

“Well, Coulter, three years of seminary didn’t give me answers to such questions. I don’t know why God allows bad things to happen to good people.” He reached out and rested a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being much help.”

The following evening Phillip was sitting with Bugleman, trying to make conversation. The captain seemed more lucid than he had in days, and was sipping a cup of weak tea.

“You should see my wife … She’s a princess. I knew her all my life … wanted to marry her since the sixth grade. And now we’re having a baby. May already be born, for all I know. Hey, maybe I’m already a papa!”

He smiled softly, remembering. “We were going to call it Sarah. Alicia was convinced that it would be a girl.”

“Well, you’ll know soon, Captain,” Phillip said. “Ann and I haven’t gotten lucky yet. Maybe after the war …”

“Yeah, you’ll go home,” Bugleman said quietly.

“So will you, Jerry!”

But Bugleman shook his head. “No. I want you to do something for me when you get back. Go see my wife. I need you to tell her just how much I love her, and that I’m sorry I can’t hang on.”

“Jerry!” Phillip cried. “Don’t even say that!”

Bugleman reached out and grabbed Phillip’s hand with unexpected strength. “Will you cut the bullshit, Phil? I’m your commanding officer, remember? You’ll see Alicia … please?” His voice trailed off weakly.

Phillip looked away for a moment, tears flooding his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The next day Bugleman was dead. The grave-digging detail couldn’t keep up with the flood of bodies and had resorted to mass graves, but Phillip was determined that Bugleman at least be given the proper Jewish service. So he tried to round up ten Jews to say Kaddish but came up one short. Seeing his distress, O’Connor finally approached him.

“Lieutenant, I hear that you can’t find a
minyan
. I was wondering if you could forget the fact that my collar buttons in the back. I could say the Kaddish.”

“Would you be willing to do that, Father?”

“I think Our Savior would insist,” O’Connor said, smiling.

Phillip and eight other mourners stood with Father O’Connor at the graveside. The heat had ripened the corpses waiting for burial until the stench was staggering. But as Bugleman’s body was laid to rest, the final words murmured over his body were the traditional Kaddish chant.

W
EARILY, ANN SWUNG HER
legs over the side of the bed and walked to the window in Phillip’s old bedroom. It was almost the holiday season, but staring out into the chilly gray San Francisco fog, she had very little to celebrate.

Phillip had been gone now for ten months of sheer agony, and Ann found herself cut off from all news except the radio and the daily papers, which had told of the fall of Bataan several months previously. As time passed, she came to assume that he had been killed or taken prisoner. She had received no direct word since the day the
General Pershing
had sailed.

In desperation, she made inquiries at one government department after another, but without success. No one seemed to even know where the
Pershing
was, much less care about her husband’s fate. At times she wanted to scream, to force the rude, harassed clerks to find out something. But during that terrible period of never-ending American defeats, thousands of wives were in the same position as Ann, and the armed forces simply didn’t have accurate casualty lists.

Just before Christmas Ann arrived home to find Eva slumped over on the side of the couch.

Ann ran to her. “Eva, darling, what’s wrong?”

Her mother-in-law’s face was frighteningly distorted, her eyes staring unfocused. She tried to move her lips, but the sound that emerged was garbled. As Ann put her arm under Eva’s shoulders to straighten her, she noticed the yellow rectangle lying on the rug.

With a cry, Ann snatched it up, taking in the message with a single horrified glance:
LIEUTENANT PHILLIP COULTER … MISSING IN ACTION … NEAR CORREGIDOR
.

Forgetting her mother-in-law, Ann burst into tears. Missing in action! But when the first storm of sorrow subsided, Ann told herself:
Missing in action isn’t dead. Phillip may have been taken prisoner.

Forcing herself to be calm, Ann turned back to Eva. When her mother-in-law remained motionless, Ann rushed to the phone and called the doctor.

Eva had suffered a massive stroke, which paralyzed her entire left side, undoubtedly brought on by the shock of seeing the telegram. After a quick examination, the doctor called the ambulance and had her hospitalized.

For the next few days, it was touch and go whether she would live. Ann was at the hospital ’round the clock, while Simon hovered helplessly at his wife’s bedside. It was only after several days of uncertainty that Eva gradually began to improve. A week later, they were able to bring her home, but her side remained paralyzed and her speech was unintelligible.

Simon spent his days sitting by his wife and holding her hand. He had stopped going to work and seemed unable to think of anything but Eva. Ann knew that she couldn’t keep her job and still take care of the two old people. Eva would need constant nursing, and Simon was virtually useless at this point. All the courageous plans she had made for taking care of their future would have to be abandoned. They would all simply have to live on Phillip’s allotment.

Ann found it hard to think positively, but she knew that she was not the only one suffering. Ruthie was equally worried about Kenny, and was struggling to raise her baby, fearing he would never see his father.

On New Year’s Eve the two women decided to see in 1943 together. They sat in the Coulters’ living room, while Ann popped the cork of a bottle of cheap champagne. When the clock struck twelve, they lifted their glasses and drank to Phillip and Kenny. Ann went down the hall to see if Eva and Simon would join them, but the two old people were asleep.

Back in the living room, she filled their glasses again and Ann proposed another toast. “To you, Ruthie. Thank God you’re my friend.”

D
URING THE NEXT YEAR
and a half, Ann knew she would never have survived without Ruthie’s support. One of the few joys in her life was Ruthie’s baby, Jeremy. Seeing him grow healthy and happy, Ann found the courage to believe in the future, to believe that someday Phillip would return and they could start their own family,

But by D-Day, in June 1944, Ann was beginning to think that she would have to live the rest of her life in limbo, that the war would go on forever. Even when Germany surrendered and Ruthie learned that Kenny would be returning home, the fighting in the Pacific seemed to go on and on. According to the papers, nothing short of invasion would bring Japan to its knees.

Still Ann tried to share Ruthie’s joy when they went to the station to welcome Kenny. The train pulled in, and shouting GIs surged off in every direction to find their families. As Ruthie strained her eyes for a glimpse of Kenny, she was reminded of the day he had left. How similar the scene was, yet how wonderfully different. All around her people were weeping, but this time with tears of joy.

And then she was in Kenny’s arms, crying unashamedly.

“Ruthie, oh, Ruthie….”

“Kenny, darling. Oh, darling, I can’t believe you’re here.” She hugged him, feeling how thin he was beneath the well-tailored captain’s uniform.

Jeremy, who had been holding Ann’s hand, impatiently tugged at Ruthie’s skirt. “Mommy!”

Unbelievably, Ruthie had almost forgotten her son’s presence. “Yes, darling.” Then, face glowing, she looked up at her husband and said softly, “Kenny, this is Jeremy.”

Keeny scooped up the little boy. “So this is my son. How are you, Jeremy?” He looked for a long moment at the dark-haired boy in his arms, regarding him with an expression of grave interest. “He looks … wonderful—” He broke off, his eyes filled with tears.

Ann watched the three of them, feeling as if her own heart would break.
Oh, God, why hasn’t Phillip come home like Kenny?
For a moment, she felt a stab of envy, then she forced herself to rejoice for the Newmans.

Kenny put down his little boy and turned to Ann. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Ann,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks, Kenny,” Ann whispered. “I’m so glad you’re home safely. Ruthie needs you—and so does Jeremy. He’s a wonderful little boy.”

Kenny smiled. “Isn’t he, though? And I want to thank you, Ann. I know from Ruthie what a wonderful friend you’ve been.”

Ann smiled but thought to herself,
She won’t be needing me anymore now
….

It was true. Even though Ruthie called almost every day, she was busy now finding a new place to live, trying to make a perfect home for Kenny. Ann now had more time alone to worry about Phillip and wonder if she would ever learn what had happened to him.

Then one day she woke up to learn the United States had dropped a new kind of bomb on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. A few days later the Emperor of Japan surrendered. Ann saw pictures of him handing over his sword. Now, she thought,
maybe they’ll tell me what happened to my husband.

But the months passed, and the troops coming home from the Pacific docked in San Francisco or Oakland, then dispersed across America.

And still the War Department had no information for Ann.

Once again, New Year’s Eve rolled around. The Newmans asked Ann to their house near Twin Peaks, where they were giving a small party. Ann had tried to decline, knowing that being surrounded by happy young couples would depress her, but Ruthie wouldn’t hear of it.

“You’ll just sit at home and brood, Ann. You know you will. I insist that you come.”

“Okay, Ruthie. But I don’t feel very festive.”

Now she sat quietly in Ruthie’s gaily decorated living room, watching the party swirl around her. She looked at Kenny and Alvin Sachs and Irving Cahn, listening to their laughter and easy banter. It was difficult to believe that all these high school buddies of Phillip’s had gone off to war and endured untold terrors and hardship. How could they look so happy, so healthy?

Later, in the dining room, she could barely touch her steak, so she sipped at her burgundy until everything became pleasantly fuzzy. She was reaching again for the decanter, when a hand on her arm stopped her.

Looking up, she saw Kenny’s concerned face. “Can I help you, Ann?” he asked quietly.

Ann’s eyes stared past him, unfocused. “Sure … Bring my husband back, Kenny. That’s how you can help me.”

Embarrassed, Kenny glanced over at Ruthie, who just shrugged.

“Ann, honey, I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“But when?
Why don’t you know?
” Ann said, a rising note of hysteria in her voice.

“It will take a little while to get everyone sorted out over there.”

“But, my God, Kenny—V-J Day was in August and now it’s January!” The other guests stopped chatting, but by now Ann didn’t care if she was spoiling the party.

“It’s too early to give up hope, Ann.”

“You mean I might have to keep waiting?”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe Phillip will never come home. Maybe he’s dead.” Ann burst into tears.

Helplessly, Kenny patted her shoulder. “Come on, now, Ann. Don’t cry.” But he could offer her no real comfort.

Ann drank more wine, then brandy, trying to drown the pain. She was only dimly aware that the other guests were going home. Standing in the front hall saying goodbye, she saw the pity in Ruthie’s face.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Ann demanded. The moment she spoke, she was sorry. “Never mind. I know that you don’t know any more than I do.” She made a brave attempt at a smile. “Forgive me for being a drag all evening. I’ll be better tomorrow. We’re spending the day together, aren’t we? At my place, if you’d like.”

There was an awkward silence as the two women fumbled for the right thing to say. Taking a deep breath, Ruthie tried to explain. She and Kenny had planned a trip to Carmel—they hadn’t been away together since Kenny’s return. Ruthie’s mother was babysitting.

Ann nodded dully. She couldn’t conceal her envy. There was no escaping the fact that Kenny had come home and Phillip had not—and probably never would.

A
NN BEGAN 1946 WITH
little to hope for. Phillip’s view of the future was equally bleak. Sitting on the edge of a hospital cot in Honolulu, he knew he was no longer the same man who had left his wife four years earlier. He stared at his image in the mirror above the sink. It was like looking at a total stranger. His eyes were haunted, and his skin was drawn tightly across his cheekbones. Looking down, he noticed that his pajamas swam around his skinny legs, and he remembered that a fall in the last months of the war had left him with a permanent limp.

Would Ann even want him back? He was so terribly changed. His hair had begun to grow in from where they had shaved it, but there was a large bald spot that refused to fill in. His face was permanently scarred from Nakanishi’s blow with his gun. He was hardly the handsome young husband who had left his adoring bride.

Worse still was the change that didn’t show. The long years as a prisoner of war had sapped his spirit. His ambition had faded along with his hopes for the future. All he wanted to do for the rest of his life was to sit quietly in some safe harbor.

The little room suddenly made him feel claustrophobic. Small spaces had been intolerable to him ever since his stint in the cage. When the Japanese major had wanted to punish a prisoner, he locked the offender in a tiny bamboo cage where it was impossible to stand, sit, or lie down. The victim could only shift position, desperately waiting for death or release. It was Phillip’s worst memory of the war. A week’s confinement had led to his decision to volunteer when the major had demanded reasonably healthy prisoners to work on the railroad the Japanese wanted to build through Burma.