RETURN FROM GLORY
"I can't help noticin' you're wearin' the Big Red One, Sweetie. You
get that Purple Heart at
"No Ma'am, I wasn't actually with the First Division until the war
was over."
"Oh really? What unit was you with?"
"I was with the Seventy-Ninth Infantry Division," he said.
"Don't think I ever heard of that one. Yall see much action?"
"Yes Ma'am, enough to last awhile, I reckon."
"I'll bet you did," she said. "I know most of the units
by now - at least the famous ones. I been hangin ' around this station since
the war started. Say, you ever know any of them airborne guys? They're cute and
crazy put together if I ever saw it."
"No Ma'am, they pretty much keep to theirselves."
"Shame. I always liked them paratroopers." Then she looked
around the room and seemed to notice that it was empty for the first time. She
looked into the ticket office and made sure the night agent was busy; then she
spoke softly. "You waitin' around town for a bus, or somebody to take you
home?"
"No Ma'am, I'm home now."
"I swear. You from around
here?"
"Outside town a ways."
"Don't say. Then why you sittin' around this dusty old train
station?"
"Just thought I'd sit here a minute before I walked out to the
house."
"Ain't that something - come home from the war. Say, where 'bouts
you say you got wounded?"
"In the
"Never heard of that. It up by
"No Ma'am. It's in
"I'll swan," she said. "Old boy from
"I guess they was just glad I didn't get killed," he
said.
'Well I reckon." She eyed the ticket office again. "Say hon',
you want a little company before you go?"
"Ma'am?"
"You know, one last skirmish before you get back to the farm? I got
a room over cross the street at the Railroad Hotel." She looked at him and
smiled.
The man flushed the way she had seen hundreds do. She had always thought
it a little funny about men, the way that they got embarrassed so easily. With
other men they would say and do anything, but you let them get around a woman
who wasn't afraid to talk about things and they would light up at the drop of a
hat. "Whatcha' say Hon? I got an “end of the war special” on for boys like
you. Say, what's your name anyway?"
"It's Timmie, Ma'am. Timmie Hinson." He seemed glad to
redirect the conversation.
"Well Timmie Hinson, I'm Carla June. Carla cause my Daddy's name
was Carl, and June cause guess when I was born?"
"June, I reckon."
"Ain't you the smart one! Say, you sure you wasn't a
paratrooper?"
"No ma'am, I was just in a rifle company."
"Hey, somebody had to come in behind the airborne, didn't they?
Whatda ya say, Tim Hinson. You feel like a little fun?"
"No Ma'am. I got to be leavin'. It's five miles to the house and
I'd like to get there before the sun comes up." He started to rise but
stopped and looked at her. "I wish you the best of luck, though."
"Hon, the luck's done run out for me. I guess the war's over for me
just like it is for you. I don't know about you, but I know it's gonna be the
best four years of my life."
"Guess things have gotten a little bit slow around here."
"You don't know the half of it; but I'll make it all right. I got a
girlfriend wants me to come out to
"Yes Ma'am, I'm sure."
"Well," she rose and shook his hand, "Mr. Timmie Hinson,
if you ever get to
"Yes Ma'am I will," he said and watched her as she walked out
of the waiting room, across the dimly lighted street, and into the hotel.
He took his bag to the ticket
office where the night agent had just started to doze.
"Mr. McMillan?"
"Hello Timmie. I thought that was you come in while ago. You done
soldierin'?"
"Yessir, I reckon."
"Corporal, I don't think you realize what we're offering you. Do
you have any idea how many enlisted men are trying to get a spot in the regular
Army?"
"Yessir, Captain, but I reckon they need me back home."
"Hinson, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but what's one
hillbilly more or less where you come from?"
"I ain't really from the hills Sir. I come from down in the delta
country."
"Son, that ain't the damn point. You've been a good soldier and I'm
offering you a permanent spot in this unit."
"I'm obliged, Sir. But I think they'll need all the help they can
get. Farmin's a hard business where I come from."
"Well, you go bust clods the rest of your life, but do me a
favor."
"What's that Sir?"
"Every once in awhile you think about these three squares a day
that you're missing."
"Yessir, Captain. Thank you Sir."
He laid his bag on the floor by the agent's desk and looked at the
clock. "Reckon I could leave this here until I get back to town again?
Nothin' but Army clothes and I don't want to walk all the way home with
it."
"Sure thing. Got any souvineers in it? Always wanted me one of
those Jap swords, myself."
"No Sir, I was in
"Too bad, you could have sold one of them swords."
"I reckon. But it's just Army clothes. I should be back in a day or
two."
"No hurry. I'll tell the day man. Why you so long gettin' home?
"I didn't have enough points to
go home in the first bunch so they transferred me over to the First Division
for awhile. You working nights now?'
"Oh I'm really retired. Just helping out during the war. Won't be
many trains through here before long. By the way, did you hear about
Sheila?"
"No Sir, I ain't heard from nobody for awhile."
"Done got herself married."
"You don't say."
"I sure do. They say she calmed down some after Robert died. Married
that Maleson boy. I reckon you remember him don't you?"
"Yeah, I remember him."
"I bet he remembers you."
"I reckon."
"Whatcha doin' Mr.
McMillan?"
"Just sittin' here thinkin'
Timmie."
"Bout what Mr. McMillan?"
"Bout how this town needs a
hero, Timmie."
"A hero? What for?"
"Well, you see old Loonie
Hoggard, the shoeshine boy?"
"Yes Sir."
"Well, you watch him. Every day
that Maleson boy comes out from his Daddy's store and kicks his shine kit out
in the street. And then kicks him out in the street."
"Yes Sir."
"Well a boy that would break
him of that habit would be a real hero, I reckon. Don't you?"
The agent smiled at the old memory like it was the forgotten taste of
some fine meal. He reached over and pulled the bag behind the desk. He was glad
this boy came back even when there were so many that didn't. This country was
going to need boys like this and he was glad for the boy and for the country.
"I'll take good care of it. You go on out and see your folks."
"I will."
"I see you didn't take Carla June up on her offer."
"No Sir. She said she was goin' to
"She ain't goin' to
"No Sir, I reckon not," he said and started for the door.
"Timmie?"
"Yes Sir?"
"He never kicked old Looney again after that."
"I'm glad."
"I never saw anyone hit someone as hard as you hit him. Don't
reckon he'll ever kick over anybody else's shoeshine kit."
"I'll be seein' you, Mr. McMillan," he said and stepped out
into the night air. He felt cold, but knew that he would be warm before he had
walked far. The streets were deserted and most lights had been extinguished, a
habit formed during war time rationing. Still he could see that few changes had
been made and he thought that by mid morning the street would be full of
familiar faces. Older, perhaps, and changed by the war as he was, but familiar
and as lasting as the Delta itself.
"Hey Hinson, who was that
back there?"
"A new guy. He came in while I
was in the hospital. Name was Rose, I think."
"Oh yeah. He was from
"Stray shell. Piece of shrapnel
took his whole head off."
"Don't say. Anybody else get
hit?"
"Don't think so. They pushed us
on through the gate when it happened. He was just standing there waiting in
line when it hit."
"Goes to show, don't it?"
"Yep. He was the shortest guy
in the squad too."
"I thought the war was over.
Why they still shelling way down here?"
"Just for something to do, I
reckon. Maybe they just want to get rid of all their ammunition before they
surrender."
"You keep your ears open. This
here would be a damn poor day to get killed."
"I reckon."
He hit an easy stride before he passed the last light of the town and
before long the familar smells and vague sights began to envelope him the way
the cheap perfume so highly prized by the German women would encircle one and
fill a room. He was glad for the full moon, not so much to light the way, for
he would have known the way without light, but more for the fact that he had
always thought this country looked best by moonlight. And tonight's moon seemed
to flatter more than ever. He was glad he had decided to walk.
"Johnson?"
"What?"
"You ever think about the
stars?"
"What about them?"
"That they're the same."
"The same what?"
"The same back home as they are
here."
""Gee, I never thought
about it, but you're right. Wonder if my girl's watching them same stars right
now?"
"Naw. I think it's daytime back
there."
"That German there that dug
this hole - he ain't gonna see no more stars, is he?"
"No. I don't reckon he
will."
"Wonder which one of us got
him?"
"I think it was you."
"No, I think it was you."
"Maybe he just died of old
age."
"Yeah, maybe."
He was well out of town now and could feel, more than see, and sense,
more than smell, the cotton fields on either side. They've starting picking by
now. He was thinking. Despite the darkness, he could see the white balls like
thousands of pieces of ripe fruit hanging among the dead, curled leaves. When
he stopped, he could here the leaves rattle against the shriveled stalks. Funny
that something hanging from a dead plant could affect so many people. He felt a
chill in the night like there might be a storm soon. He thrust his hands into
his pockets and walked on.
"You all right, private?"
"Yes Sir Sarge, I'll be
okay."
"That your first one?"
"It's the first one I ever saw
up close."
"Well, that makes a difference,
don't it? You want to swap places with him?"
"No, I don't reckon."
"That's what I figured. Son,
you take a good look at him. That's what you're here for, and that's the only
thing that's gonna get you home."
"I know, Sarge, I'll be all
right. I just thought they was older, that's all."
"He's as old as he's ever gonna
get, Hinson. Now you get on up with the squad."
"I'm coming, Sarge."
Before he could see the bayou, he knew it was ahead. He knew that it's
coffee colored water was rising from the fall rains. Without looking he could
see its surface roiled with eddies and dotted with the debris of another delta
summer. Therein, no doubt, also flowed the dreams and adventures of a season of
children, as his own had flowed years before. He stopped on the bridge for a
moment and contemplated the hours spent there along the stream's dark and vine
encrusted bank where indians had camped so many years back and where animal and
children tracks would still, on a summer day, mesh into one in the fecund
earth. It's a long way from the
"Private, what in the hell do
you think you're doing?"
"I'm layin' here like they told
us Sir."
"Like who told you?"
"Sergeant did Sir. Somebody
started shootin' at us and he told us to hit the dirt."
"So you did?"
"Yes Sir, I sure did."
"How long ago was that?"
"I don't rightly know
sir."
"Well, your squad moved out ten
minutes ago. You think maybe you might better go with them?"
"Yes Sir, I guess so. I just done
what he told me to."
"I know private. You just
joined us didn't you?"
"Yes Sir, last week."
"It's a little different when
they shoot back, isn't it?"
"Yes Sir, it is."
"Well, you ain't playing cowboys
any more. Your squad's up by that farmhouse yonder. You get your ass up there
with them."
"Yes Sir, Lieutenant. Thank you
Sir.
He was halfway there now. The bayou separated the families who
"lived just outside of town" from those who farmed in earnest on the
rich, bottom land, farms. The road narrowed now and there would be no more
houses until he came to his own road. Cotton fields bordered either side of the
road and he felt as if he were in a sea of white that stretched for miles, as
far as those who tended them had been able to clear the thick forest and
replace it with the ordered rows of cotton stalks. Each year, as a boy, he
watched the forest retreat and that order expand like it was some organism
slowly eating its way across the land. No doubt it had slowed during the war
due to the lack of manpower, but he knew it was waiting like some leashed
animal to resume its march. This time, he would be its instrument.
The thought of the effort involved in clearing and tilling so much land
surrounded him like the fields themselves and he slipped into an ordered
reverie that let him cover the next mile easily. Ahead of him, he saw a void in
the starry night and he knew that it was the oak tree that stood where his road
met the main one. He was almost home. I'll get there right at sun up he
thought, and then he thought how funny it was that a boy who had never stayed
up past midnight, hardly, could become such an expert on when the sun would
come up. Guess the Army taught him something after all.
"Private, what are you doing
still up?"
"Standing guard Sir."
"I'm a sergeant son. Mind
telling me why you're still standing guard? What's wrong with Johnson? He
dead?"
"No Sir, Sergeant, we was just
doin' like you told him. I'm standin' guard tonight and he'll do it tomorrow
night."
"Son, the man pulled one over
on you ‘cause it's your first day. You was supposed to stand two hours on and
two hours off with him tonight. Hell, he may not even be here tomorrow."
"You want me to wake him
up?"
"You can do what you want but
I'd kick his ass if I was you. Now you two be on the lookout. They say there's
some German's out there."
"Yes Sir. Sergeant?"
"What?"
"What should I do if I hear
them coming?"
"Well Son, there again, you can
do what you want. But if it was me, I'd shoot the sons of bitches. You do know
how to shoot that rifle, don't you."
"Yes Sir."
When he was within a few hundred
feet of the side road, he saw the headlights. Then the heard the car racing
toward him and the motor straining as the driver shifted through the gears. He
stopped and waited near the intersection. It took longer for the car to reach
the corner than he had anticipated, no doubt because the sound traveled so far
at night. When it did reach where he was, he stepped onto road bed and waved
into the headlights, a move which obviously startled the driver who brought the
car to a sudden stop.
"Hey soldier, you tryin' to get yourself hit?" the driver
yelled when the car had come to a complete stop on the other side of the road.
"I just got this car last week and I ain't takin' the ditch for no
dogface."
"Not even for you own brother?"
"What!"
"It's me, Roland. Where you goin' in such a hurry? And where'd you
get that car?"
"Timmie?"
"Corporal Hinson, to you."
"Timmie, I swear!" the other yelled and tumbled out of the car
and across the road. "Is that really you?"
"It's me all right."
The two brothers stood in the road facing one another. Neither spoke for
a moment and there was no other sound except the idling of the car and the
chorusing of the night insects. Finally the younger one spoke.
"This is sure somethin'. We didn't expect you for another
month."
"Didn't Daddy get my telegram?"
"If'n he did, he ain't mentioned it. Boy, you sure look good."
"Thanks. I feel good. Everybody doin'
all right?"
"Everybody's fine. They's sure gonna be glad to see you. You kill
many Germans?"
"I shot at a few, I reckon. Where'd the car come from?"
"We bought that with some of the money you sent home so's I could
get to work."
"Get to work?" he asked.
"Got me a job in a fillin' station," Roland said. "They
let me open up in the morning. That's where I'm headin' now."
"They gonna let you off to pick cotton?"
"Daddy said you and him could handle it when you got home. I figure
I can help some on the weekends."
He studied his brother. It was remarkable what the last three years had
done. It seemed that the difference in their ages had disappeared, somehow, and
he was talking to a stranger. Roland looked at his feet, and then up at the
other.
"Guess I better get to town. I see you this evenin'."
"Yeah, I'll see you then," he said and watched as his brother
climbed back in the car. Before he closed the door, he paused.
"You ain't heard about Sheila, have you?"
"I heard she got married."
"Married Ricky Maleson. He's workin' down by Dupree Bayou on his
brother's place."
"Sounds like she done all right."
"She don't have too much to do with the old bunch now. I heard she
told somebody that you was the reason Robert died."
"I'll see you this afternoon Roland."
"I'll be seein' you," he answered as he slammed the door and
started into town."
After the lights of the car had died away, it seemed to him that the
night was darker than ever. For the first time that night, he felt alone. Maybe
it was seeing Roland, or maybe his Mother was right in that the darkest part of
night was just before dawn. Whatever it was, he knew that he ought to feel
better than he did. He tried walking faster and then began to count cadence to
himself.
"Hup two three four.
"Hup two three four."
"You don't tire very easily, do
you recruit?"
"No, Sir, I don't guess
so."
"Where you from, boy?"
"
"Why hell! That's the reason.
You just think you're behind a mule doin' a normal day's work. Ain't that
right?"
"Yes Sir, I guess so."
"You don't like it here much do
you, Hinson?"
"Yes Sir, it's all right."
"You don't like me much, do
you?"
"I don't know. I mean yes Sir,
I guess so."
"How far could you march before
you got tired?"
"I don't know Sir."
"I think I'm gonna make you a
bazooka man. You knock out a tank and I'll make you a Corporal. How'd you like
that?"
"No Sir, I'd just as soon not
be no Corporal."
"You just shut up and keep
marching, Recruit."
"Yes Sir."
He was walking due east now, and he suddenly realized that the sky was
lighter and that the sun was rising. With it, his spirits rose, for in the east
he could see the outline of a grouping of trees that he knew was home. He felt
a stinging, then a wetness, in his eye. He blinked, and a single tear slid down
his cheek. He felt it, hot at first and then growing cold as it traveled the
length of his face. Memories locked away for four years stirred within him like
the awakenings of an animal and for a moment he felt too tired to
continue.
The sun rose higher and framed the plain farmhouse in a yellow-red
circle which seemed to pull him toward its glow. Then he caught a certain smell
in the breeze for the first time. It was only a hint of familiarity that
lingered briefly like the first breeze of a summer storm. Then he caught the
full strength of it and knew it was the smell that had been missing from a
thousand lonely mornings Now the tears flowed full and strong and unimpeded. It
still didn't seem real, but he was home. As he walked on, he felt safe again
and knew that soon he would be warm.
"You boys get in here. What's
happened to you Timmie?"
"He fell in the bayou, Miz
Hinson. He's all right. Just wet, that's all."
"Timmie, how in the world did
you come to fall in the bayou?"
"Robert pulled me out Mamma.
Sheila made me do it but Robert jumped in with me and saved my life."
"Shore he did son. Now you stop
cryin'. You boys get over here by the fire and git them wet clothes off. Robert
you ought not to be gitten' wet sick as you's been."
"Yessum, I reckon."
In the house, the woman was frying eggs in a black skillet. A plate lay
next to the stove and two thick pieces of ham were steaming in the still cold
room. A kerosene lamp burned on the table, a quick black swirl of smoke rising
from the chimney. She was wearing a full-length nightgown and her hair lay in
grey pigtails across her back. She lifted the skillet and turned to the table
as the man walked through the kitchen door. He placed a bucket of milk on the
counter and began unbuttoning a worn winter jacket.
"They's all right?" she asked.
"She still ain't had that calf," he answered. "I figured
it would be there this mornin' but it ain't."
"It'll come when its ready," she said. "They always
do."
"I just hope she don't start havin' trouble while I'm over crosst
the field," he said as he pulled back one of the wooden chairs and sat.
"I'll check in on it after I get dinner on to cook," she said.
Then she turned and saw the figure standing in the other doorway. "Son,"
she said, startled, and then "Poppa looky here. It's Timmie."
"Hello, Mamma," he said and, then, to the man who had turned
suddenly in his seat. "Daddy, I've come home."
"My God, hit's Timmie," said his father, standing up suddenly
and knocking over his chair.
"Son, you like to scared me to death," said his mother.
"Is that you, sure enough?"
"It's me all right Mamma. Got in on the last train from
"How'd you get here?" she asked.
"Walked."
"Well I'll be. You just missed Roland."
"No, I seen him up at the state road."
"Lord, Son, it's good to see you. We's just fixin' to eat
breakfast. You sit down here and have mine. I'll fix some more."
"All right Mamma. It's good to see yall too."
He sat at the table and she busied herself with the food. He just looked
at them for a minute. It seemed to him that they had aged but he couldn't tell
exactly how. Finally, his father spoke.
"Was you hurt bad?"
"Not bad; I got knocked out of a window by a sniper but it wasn't
too bad."
"Reckon you can still drive a team of mules?"
"I reckon. I thought maybe I had sent enough money that we could
buy us a tractor. I see Roland spent some of it on a car."
"We let him take a job in town," his mother said from the
stove. "We thought it might be good for him to have a regular job for
awhile."
"Hit ought to still be enough for a tractor though. How'd you send
so much money home?"
"I sold my cigarettes and had the other boys to send the money here
by money order. Course I sent all of mine. We couldn't send home more than we
made, ourselves."
"Hit shore came in handy," his father replied. They ate in
silence for awhile and his mother observed his appetite with pride.
"Ain't they been afeedin' you?"
"Not like this, Mamma. You know that."
"You know that Tucker place back 'air behind ours?" his father
asked.
"Yes Sir," he said.
"Well we can get that if'n we want to clear it. I figure me and you
could get it ready to plant in a couple of years."
"You think we need more land?"
"Why shore," his father answered.
"One of these days, this place gonna have to support three families."
"Three?"
"Why son," his mother said. "You and Roland be startin'
your own families afore long."
"Son, Sheila got marrit," his father said.
"Mr. McMillan up at the train station told me," he said.
"Then Roland mentioned it."
"Air's plenty of women, Son," his mother said.
"Sure, Mamma."
"You ready to go to work?" his father asked him.
"I reckon so," he said. They had finished their breakfast and
the room was getting warmer now. He stood, and took off his jacket.
"What's them patches mean, Son?"
"That's a unit patch, Mamma. That there's the First Division patch.
"I heard somebody up town talk about them, I think. Wasn't they in
on D-Day?"
"Yes, Ma'am. So was the unit I was with. The First Division was in
the first wave. They was just about everywhere in
"When did you get in that bunch?"
"Well, I wasn't in that unit until the war ended. They sent my unit
home but I didn't have enough points so they transferred me to the First
Division. They call that the Big Red One. They was in World War One too."
"Well I'll be. You go ahead son
and take them clothes off. Your clothes is in there right where you left them.
I'll hang these up where there won't nothin' happen to them." She started
into the next room with the jacket but stopped in the doorway. "You know
what, Son?"
"What, Mamma?"
"That First Division. That sounds kinda nice. I think I'll just
leave this here patch sewed on it if'n its all right with you."
"Well shore hit's all right with him. Ain't it Son?"
"Yeah, Daddy. I guess it is."
"My boy come home from the war," the woman said. "I shore
am proud Son."
"Hit's gittin' late Son," the man said. "You better git
yore clothes on."
"I'm comin' Daddy," he said, as he started to take off the
rest of his uniform.
"We're gonna be a family again, just like that war never happened,
ain't we son?" his Mother asked.
"I don't know Mamma. I reckon so."
No comments:
Post a Comment