The Wall Crossers

Watching Her Father Closely

Olivia's perspective

At 1745 hours (5:45pm), the stairwell door bangs open, and Clarence appears in my doorway, casually leans against the doorframe. I am wearing what I have been wearing for two days. I did not pack my duffle bag expecting to go to jail! Clarence is still wearing the fatigues, as he was this afternoon, of course.

Clarence says, "Hi, wife." His expression is neither sarcastic nor amused.

I reply, "Wife?"

"Sure. You will be marrying Us in a few days." He purposefully emphasized Us.

I search his eyes. He looks over to my bunk. I look there too, glad that I made it up to high Army standards—his standards! He goes over and sits on my bunk, legs spread wide in boy fashion, as usual, hands on knees. I shift the chair toward him and sit again, crossing my legs. "Am I still doing my call?" I feel anxious.

"Of course," he sucks his lips in and widens his eyes a bit—a new expression for me to interpret—asking if I still want to go through with it?

So I say, "Yeah. Let's do it."

"How did you like... Éléonore, Olivia?" He seems to be trying hard to mask some other underlying feeling with a tone of indifference, but I can see right through it.

I check his eyes, but he flicks them to the window. I hesitate, so he shifts his eyes back to mine. I look down at the floor, "She was..."

"Intense?"

"Yeah," I say, looking back up at him. He checks his watch. I think of the kiss and decide to lay it out on the table, perspicuously, "I'm sorry about the... you know... when she and I..."

He shrugs and quirks his mouth to the right, saying, "Well, look it's..."

"I didn't intend for it to be so..."

"... it's bound to happen," he says too sharply. I look away and leave my thoughts unsaid, but he got it. He stands and comes to me and, surprisingly, pulls my face gently to his belly, which is clothed in stiff starched US Army olive drab (OD, Army colors). "You will be part of our family. And Europeans kiss... I mean, in families."

My eyes are closed, face still pressed firmly to his body. I mumble into his shirt, "Well, it didn't much feel like, you know, a family kind of kiss, and I felt she was encouraging me to..."

He interrupts with a slightly elevated voice, "Éléonore is very affectionate, but also very... vulnerable. We would want you to... need you to, you know, take care of her feelings, like... like you do mine."

He is holding me and rubbing his hand on my head, in back, smoothing my hair. I feel some shock to imagine Clarence thinks I have been taking care of his feelings! It is more like I have been defending myself from his pursuits... like now! I draw back from him and abruptly stand so that he has no choice but move out of my way. "Are we going outside?" I ask, hoping to end this tense and confusing conversation.

"Yes."

I busy myself getting my things—coat and purse. "Do I need anything?"

"No."

I look at Clarence. He has taken my chair and is looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. "Is something wrong, Clarence?" He doesn't answer. So I try changing the subject, "Do you work every day?"

I try smiling. He notices, but doesn't smile, instead crosses his arms and answers, "I was to be off today. The Brigade is on duty this weekend and I was to be working Sunday. I switched with someone and now working today and off all weekend." He sighs.