RETURN FROM GLORY

           "I can't help noticin' you're wearin' the Big Red One, Sweetie. You get that Purple Heart at Normandy?" She had eased into the seat next to him after the last of the passengers returned to the train and they were alone in the waiting room.

           "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 Ruhr Valley."

           "Never heard of that. It up by Normandy? I used to correspond with a boy got killed at Normandy."

           "No Ma'am. It's in Germany."

           "I'll swan," she said. "Old boy from Armistead, Arkansas gits hisself shot, over to Germany. Bet it made your Mamma and Daddy proud."

           "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 Monterey California. She says they's gonna keep Fort Ord open and we can make a good livin' on Alvarado Steet. Say," she looked at him again. "You sure?"

           "Yes Ma'am, I'm sure."

           "Well," she rose and shook his hand, "Mr. Timmie Hinson, if you ever get to California, you come see me and it's free, one Arkie to another."

           "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 Europe and they didn't let us keep much."

           "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 California, though, and that I should look here up if I ever get out there."

           "She ain't goin' to California. She might go over to Little Rock and hook up with a cab driver. But she ain't got enough damn sense to get to California."

           "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 Newark, New Jersey. What happened."

           "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 Ruhr River he thought.

           "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?"

           "Arkansas, Sir."

           "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 Memphis, a little after midnight."

           "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 Europe."

           "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."