The Last Time We Met

6

After four days on a ship, and another four days on a train, I was ready to never smell another man again. There were nurses on board with us to tend to the wounded and help them wash as best they could, but the only saving grace was that each stop left more of them behind.

By the time we reached San Francisco, I was ready for solid ground beneath my feet and a home-cooked meal and my own bed, which I could hardly remember. At the station I hefted my pack and that of Paul, the man on the crutches who had been my seatmate for the past twelve hours, and disembarked. I had sent a telegram to Henry from our last stop, telling her of my arrival time, and I searched for her eagerly before remembering the extra weight and turning to ask Paul where I should set his bag. A woman in a rose-colored jacket flew at him, nearly knocking him off his crutches. I waited, sneaking glances around for Henry, before Paul and his wife turned to me and I offered to carry the bag to his car.

A strange sinking sensation had settled in the pit of my stomach. If Henry was still stationed at Camp Kearny, she must have received my telegram. Perhaps she had not been granted the time away. Somehow, I had not considered that Henry would not be released from her service as well. Would I end up in our empty home, forced to scour the cabinets for what canned goods we might have left behind a year ago? I imagined slimy okra or creamed corn. I'd rather have army rations.

"Would you like a ride home?" Paul asked from the passenger seat of their Dodge Touring. "My wife is an excellent driver."

I glanced around the station again. There was still a rather large crowd, people awaiting their rides home. Turning back to Paul, I forced a smile.

"Henry will come for me, don't worry."

"Have a good night, then," Paul said, waving as the vehicle lurched forward and then sped off, narrowly avoiding an oncoming horse-drawn carriage.

Hefting my pack, I made a circuit of the station. Still no Henry. I found an empty seat and settled in. I was rather hungry and unsure of how long I might have to wait. There was a hot dog vendor on the corner, and the scent made my stomach rumble. The army might have taught me to endure some discomforts, but they did not often have food cooking when we were hungry.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and suddenly felt as if I was falling backwards, through time.

A momentary fear that I would find myself back in plague times gripped me, but instead it was the bustle of a busy street, animals being led and carriages hurtling through, shouts of street vendors in a language I could understand, though I knew it was Bengali. A scrap of my robe was drawn up over my face as I traversed the dusty streets, yet I could still smell the sharp spices coming from the street vendors' fires. Around me flies swarmed the dung left in the roadway. It seemed I was one against the tide. Carriages creaked under the weight of belongings tied in haphazard fashion on the cart beds, the beasts straining under the load.

I hurried to the bright blue door that marked my home, my skirts swirling at my sandalled feet, and entered. Immediately the scent of sewage accosted me. Basket swinging from my elbow, I rushed to the bedside where I could see my husband vomiting into a clay pot.

"Darling," I said. "I have brought medicine."

He could not speak, even after he had expelled. This had gone on for days. His lips were cracked and dry, and I did not know how he might have anything left inside of him.

The small stoppered bottle had cost a small fortune but if it might save him, I would have paid anything. "Darling, please, open your mouth." Those cracked lips parted.

"Darling, please, close your mouth."

I startled awake, momentarily alarmed to find myself in pants and seated. I closed my mouth and squinted up at Henry. The sun made a halo about her head, casting her face in shadow, but I knew her voice and I knew her shape.

"You look like an angel," I said.

"And you looking like a gaping trout," she said. "How could you have possibly had time for a nap? I'm only a few minutes late."

Glancing up at the clock above the ticket booth, I said, "Perhaps the telegraph operator misheard me. The train arrived at three." I stood, brushing off my pants, and held out my arms.

Henry pursed her lips. "Why didn't you ring the army base, then, instead of sleeping here like a vagrant?" But she sighed and stepped into my arms. I could not hold her tight enough to cement the two halves of this whole.

"You've cut your hair," I said, my mouth full of it.

"Do you hate it? It's much simpler to care for. Irene says it's all the rage, and she reads those fashion magazines so I suppose she'd know."

I pulled away long enough to drink in her face and touch the glorious brown curls that now framed her face. "I love it."

She broke into that toothy grin I had fallen in love with. "Good. It would have been a shame to divorce you over a haircut."

"I had another vision just now," I told her as I hefted my pack into our old Model T.

"Another vision? Was I dying again?" Henry jerked the door open.

What could I do but tell her the truth? "Yes."

"Then let's not discuss it. Tonight we shall celebrate! I'm on leave until Sunday, and there's a jazz club on Powell Street that promises to be a grand time."

I gripped the door as Henry set off, but happily she did not drive as recklessly as Paul's wife did. "Jazz?"

"Yes. Apparently it's the sort of music that 'appeals to the lowest elements of human nature,' according to the Chronicle." Henry threw her head back and laughed.

"A glowing review," I said.

"The Chronicle has also called it 'obscene, indecent, and demoralizing.'"

"But those are all the elements of a good time."

Henry tossed me a grin. "Exactly."

After my nap, I felt rested and yet restless. Donning my civilian clothes felt wrong, somehow, and the filth of that vision led me to spend a long time at the wash basin. Henry came in and "helped", caressing those scars I now had that she had never seen.

"Perhaps we should spend the evening in." She pressed her lips against my shoulder.

The temptation pulled at me, though the promise of inebriation to erase the creepy sense of dread pulled harder.

"We have no food, and I must insist that we begin our debauchery outside the home. Tomorrow we shall spend the entire day abed."

We kissed in such a way that I could not be certain we would be able to avoid the bed, but then Henry pulled me to the closet. "I want you to wear your red shirt tonight, and I shall wear my red dress."

Together we dressed, kissing in between each row of buttons, each turned cuff. I gelled my hair while Henry applied ruby red lipstick, and then she let me drive.

It was after three bourbons and several lively dances that we collapsed into our seats and I finally felt relaxed enough to ask. "Have you heard of this Spanish flu that's going around?"

Henry was mopping at the sweat on her neck, and she stopped to gape. "Spanish fly?"

My face went hot, though I was certain it had been red before from the alcohol. "No! No, no, flu. Influenza. Spanish influenza."

She laughed. "No. Is that something you encountered on the warfront? I do apologize, some of your letters were rather long and I skimmed..."

"Oh, I don't believe I ever wrote about it. I mean, I was in the infirmary for quite some time, and some of the fellas fell ill, and they talked about this 'Spanish flu.' Well, glad to hear it hasn't come home with us."

That night, as we drove along the dark streets with the full moon overhead, the air so clear the stars looked close enough to touch, it felt like we would have forever.