The First of July(95)

In the north, the second wave had run over fields of corpses, no avoiding it. There was a third wave, but it broke on a shore of disaster. Better in our sector, they said. “Considerable success.” We kept repeating it. But better in war is always relative. And still we messengers waited.

“Do you think it’s true?” said Isaac. He was so pale, his lips looked blue-gray like slate.

I shrugged. I was tired from watching and hearing, and spooked, I must admit.

“Well, sounds like it was pretty even-handed,” I said. “Higher-ups mown down with everyday Tommies, so I suppose you would approve of that.”

He gave me a hurt look with those great dark eyes of his and his face all bones these days. He didn’t look good. It was a hot day, but he seemed clammy rather than sweating. That cough of his was getting him down, although I felt more sympathetic about the cough by day than at night when I was trying to sleep near him. I’d lie there imagining what it’d be like to press a pillow over his face. But we didn’t have pillows.

“Why don’t you go back to the M.O.?” I said, by way of making up. “You really look rotten.”

“Now?” he said, his voice getting higher as it always did when he was agitated. “Now?” He flung an arm out. “With all those guys blown to bits? I’d have to have my lungs blown clean out of my chest before I could see a medic now.” He looked exhausted even from speaking.

He was probably right. The Army doctors always liked things they could see: missing body parts, rashes with pustules that might be contagious, raging fevers. Things that didn’t depend on a soldier’s say-so. Corporal Byers said he’d had to shit blood on the M.O.’s floor before he’d been sent to the rear with dysentery. What chance a man with a nervous cough? Not that I thought it was all nerves now.

There was something happening. Looked like the reserves were moving up. There was a piercing whistle: not an officer’s silver whistle on a chain, but a two-fingers-in-the-mouth common soldier’s summons. Isaac looked up wearily.

“I don’t think I can do it again,” he said. “Not after yesterday. I was on the go all hours. Not if they ask me today. I’m finished, Frank.”

I eyed him over.

“If they send you out,” said I, “just take it at your own speed. If a message is urgent, they’ll send a runner. Don’t try to ride the bike—it’ll slow you down and you’ll only be a higher target. Don’t put it on your back on your own—you’re not strong enough.”

It was true; I had visions of him snapping backward.

“Use the bike to lean on, to take your weight.”

He looked at me as if I was doling out the wisdom of Solomon.

Then he reached into his pocket. “You’ve been a friend,” he said. “Before the Army I had comrades, but not many I’d call a friend.” He handed me a page from a message pad. “This is my brother’s address.”

“We’ve done this. I’m no more likely to make it than you,” I said sharply.

He just looked at me. “Read it,” he said.

“I’ve read it,” said I, making to tuck it straight in my pocket.

“Aloud,” said he. “If you read it aloud three times, you’ll remember it.”

I was about to tell him to stop all this now when I caught the expression on his face, and it was the look of a man who’d given up.

I opened it up. “Samuel Meyer, 14 Meyer Street, Stepney, London East,” I said and then, feeling a bit of a fool, repeated it two times more, rather more quietly.

“Tell him,” he said, “and he can say Kaddish for me. Tell him I did all right.”

I just nodded. Couldn’t bring myself to look straight at him.

Then we heard a shout that had our name on it. It was Mr. Pierce. There was an NCO next to him. Pierce thought he was staying in the rear, but now he was taking some men forward to support a bunch of Wiltshires who’d gotten cut off. I got up quick, Isaac more slowly. I straightened my uniform, picked up Nora, and wheeled her toward the officer.

“Two messages,” said he. “From H.Q. One for the gunners in Sherwood Forest. And one is for the C.O. of 17th King’s.”

“Blimey,” said a Pioneer Corps private who was hauling one end of a box of ammo, “I wouldn’t want to go down there. That’s right in the thick of it.”

“That’s enough, Perkins,” said Lieutenant Pierce. “Things are much quieter now, as you can hear if you actually listen. And get another man to pick up the other end of the fucking box or you’ll do Jerry’s work for him.”