Chapter 6

Resignation

Charles

Everything Charles could see was white. The ceiling was white, the walls were white, as were all the bedposts, sheets and bandages. A creaking stretcher rolled past his bed, and Charles could see the outline of a man's body completely covered with a white sheet. He knew the man was dead.

During intermittent periods of consciousness and unconsciousness, his body was both cold and warm. There was confusion in his mind, as he was haunted by uncertain visions of Frank, Arthur and David and always the loathing expression on the German soldier's face just as he lunged towards him with his bayonet. 

One day when his body was wrenching in pain, he saw the faint image of a priest standing beside his bed. He was a rather large man with white hair and a full, round face and spoke with a heavy French accent. As he stood there, he uttered some words in Latin and presently extended one hand to hold Charles's hand lying at his side. The priest held the other hand just above Charles head and began to pray:

"May we pray, recalling the strength and unity of the Holy Catholic Church has graced
this world since the life of Christ. Father, we recall your words spoken through an ancient profit.
Though you walk through fire, you shall not be burned. You shall not be consumed by the
flame for I am the Lord your God, you are precious in my eyes, and I love you.
Console my brother in the truth of these words. May his treatment restore his strength  and
set him on his feet. Lead those who are caring for and treating him, comfort those who love
him and worry for him. May we always know that while we cannot undo the past or see
into the future, the pain of this world can never separate us from your love, and ultimately, there
can be no pain, there can be no suffering, and every tear will be wiped away.
And Saint Jude Thaddeus, my patron and patron of the hopeless,
make my prayer your own. Take it to the thrown of God. Intercede for me, and all my
life, I will be grateful to you and remain your faithful client, until I can
thank you in heaven.  Amen."

The priest smiled at Charles and said, "I will continue to pray for you," and quietly walked away.

Through the following weeks, Charles would sit cloaked in a heavy robe in the hospital ward. He was always cold, and as he inhaled the scent of the coal stoves, he would wonder if the priest had been real or imaginary. It was strange he remembered his prayer word for word and that sometimes gave him strength. Other times, he felt embittered by it. His thoughts often turned to the glittering candles and solacing statues in Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Atlanta.

The doctors worked with him the best they could. His response was not promising, as his wound had done something to his spine. It was difficult for him to accept the obvious that day when they told him, "We've done all we can for you. The spine is one of the very few parts of the body that cannot heal itself."

On that day, Charles had coldly stared at them and softly asked, "Are the heart and mind parts of the human body? What about them?"

____________________

Charles wore his uniform on the seemingly endless voyage on that ocean liner that took him back across the sea to New York Harbor. The passengers were inexplicably gay and lighthearted. Perhaps they were happy it was spring and they had left someplace and were soon to be in another place that would provide them with something they didn't have before. As for Charles, he was happy to be alive, but he knew he would never be the man he had been on the first day he wore his Army brown. Being happy and doubtful at the same time was a curious feeling, but he knew his happiness would soon ebb away, and he would be left with only the doubt.

The day was warm and bright at Fort Dix, New Jersey. The flowers were in bloom, and the pollen did not blend well at all with the dull military vehicles hurrying about the busy post, which offered reflections of both happiness and sadness. Many of the young men had life and resolution in their steps, but then there were those such as Charles, in varying degrees of limitations, waiting to be mustered out of the Army into who knew what.

Charles spirit was by no means bitter but was a peculiar combination of self-esteem in knowing he had done his duty reasonably well. Still, there was always the humbling revelations about himself he had experienced during his time in the trenches. While he was being processed, he sometimes felt sorry for himself and other times felt a manner of thankfulness when he saw those with wounds far worse than his own.

During the train journey back to Atlanta Union Station, he sat with his head against the seat on the Pullman Coach and watched the landscape whiz by. He recalled the faces of the living and the dead and was tormented by the realization he had no plans and limited options. What would he do? What would he say when he saw Mary, Blanche and Loren for the first time?

When the train came into the station, he waited in his seat until everyone else had gotten off before standing, bracing himself with his cane and straightening his uniform. As he slowly walked to the door, it occurred to him that he was wearing his uniform for the last time. He glanced down at the two rows of ribbons just before his quivering legs stepped down the 4 steps to the terminal platform. The train made the same hissing sound he recalled from the day he left for France, while his labored steps struggled to move his left leg, which was stiff, aching and dragged behind him. He could feel the people in the station staring at him. Some smiled and tipped their hats, while others just stepped to one side and turned their faces away.

For some reason he didn't fully understand, he had not wanted anyone to meet him at the station. The April afternoon was cold with a steady wind that chilled him in the canvas-covered taxi as it made its way down Edgewood Avenue. His eyes studied the plants and warehouses along the railroad tracks, and they were dismal examples of places where he knew he need not even attempt to seek employment. Always, there was the nagging question, "What will I do?"

When the taxi turned onto Euclid Avenue, he could see his house 2 blocks away. The budding trees in the yard reminded him of the Argonne Forest, and his eyes impulsively dropped to the ground, as if to look for corpses. The taxi came to a creaking stop in front of the house, and while the driver removed his bag, he saw Mary brush one of the sheer curtains in the living room to one side. He could hear her happy voice as she cried out, "Blanche....Blanche, its Charles!"

The large door swung open, and Mary and Blanche walked to the top of the steps leading down to the front walkway. Both had broad smiles, but tears were running down both their faces. Charles tried to hurry his steps up the walkway, but he could not. His breathing was strained as he came to the bottom of the steps and realized he could not climb them alone. His eyes slowly rose to his wife who gazed down at him for a moment. Then, she looked at Loren whom she was holding in her arms. Struggling to hold back the tears, she said, "Loren, see your daddy."

The infant was wearing a light blue gown and began to jerk his arms and make a gasping, laughing sound before suddenly becoming perfectly still and peering down at his father.

The taxi driver grasped Charles by the arm and lifted him from one step to the other. Charles right leg moved up to each step, and he reached down to pull up the other while leaning against the taxi driver and bracing himself with his cane. When he reached the porch, Blanche and Mary reached out to him just as they broke down into tears. Charles reached out with one hand, embraced Mary and looked at his son. He could no longer withhold his own tears. Deep and uncontrolled sobs rolled from the bottom of his throat as his trembling voice uttered, "They're all dead."

____________________

Arnold

As Blanche sits in her rocking chair, her thoughts are of that day 50 years ago when Charles came home. As so many, many times before the question rings in her mind, where did all the years go? She jerks at the rasping sound of the front doorbell and hurries to see a tall, medium-build man with short, brown hair combed to one side standing on the front porch. He is wearing a gray coat that does not at all coordinate with his brown pants. His loosened tie and unbuttoned collar add to his glaring appearance of mediocrity. He is holding an open newspaper in one hand, and she is relieved when he tells her he has come to answer her add for the vacant room.

"I'm Arnold Gray, and I've come to inquire about your room for rent," he says as his eyes peer up the stairway behind her.

"Oh, how nice," she says as she opens the door.

As the man slowly walks into the sitting room, an intrigued look comes over him, as his eyes search about the rambling rooms. He gazes at the high ceilings, looks at the old pictures with a passing interest and finally says, "This is the first time I've been in one of these old Victorians."

With a brief laugh, Blanche answers, "I'm just the opposite. This is the only place I've ever lived, and quite likely the only place I'll ever live." As they sit down, she looks at him with a somewhat curious expression and asks, "What is it that brings you here? The man that just left was the first young man I've had for a roomer for quite a few years, and I really didn't expect another one would answer my add."

Arnold hesitates and without looking at her responds, "I'm trying to get closer to my work, so I can ride the bus everyday."

A reflective smile comes to Blanche's face as she says, "I caught the bus for 47 years at the corner there. Of course, they didn't call them buses all that time. First there were the streetcars, then came the trolleys and then the buses. I've been retired a few years and don't know what I'd do if I didn't have the house. I'm an old maid, you see."

Arnold hopes it doesn't show, but he finds her reminiscing boring and is thankful when she agrees to rent him the room. In a few minutes, he is in his car, driving back to his apartment in the Buckhead area, which is a section  viewed by those who live there as the pre-eminent section of the city. He was surprised when Blanche seemed interested when he told her he worked as a piano salesman at Rich's and even seemed touched when he mentioned his mother had struggled with him for hours each day when he was a child teaching him how to play the piano. To his mother's delight, all her encouragement and insistence finally produced the virtuoso she had so wanted, but what good had it done him? When he was hired, he was told being a virtuoso was not a prerequisite for the job. Somehow, the department manager seemed to feel most people who bought a piano were more concerned with how it would look in their living rooms rather than the technical skills of the salesman. Arnold was quite disappointed when he found that to be true.

He couldn't bring himself to tell Blanche why he is really moving from his present apartment. The simple truth is he can no longer bear living around those who are so much happier than he. Seeing men's cars parked in the lot overnight and knowing they are spending the night with the women he finds so attractive is beginning to have a strange effect on him. He had actually believed the claims of  those who told him, "All a single man needs to do in this town is to get where the action is, and he'll have more pussy than he can handle." He can no longer tolerate being among the "action" and being denied any of it. Still, he is unwilling to resolve himself to the apparent fact he can never have the career in music he has always wanted or the fulfillment of a woman's love. A man needs some type of relationship with a woman, but he has never been able to achieve that – at least, nothing lasting. Some women seem rather amused with him at first, but always lose interest rather quickly.

So far, he has not permitted his disappointments to completely displace his dreams but little by little, he finds he is resigning to disappointment and moving into a bygone neighborhood is just another example of that. He can no longer continue living in the encirclement of the lifestyle he wants so much for himself, all the while knowing he can have none of it. Accepting reality can sometimes be a distasteful experience – especially for a 37 year old man who sees his options diminishing with the passing years.

Blanche

Blanche sits down and begins to count the deposit money Arnold has just given her, just as Margaret Taylor walks into the sitting room to watch the noon news as they usually do. "We've got a new roomer," she announces. "Another young man, I'm surprised to say – a little older than Randy but I'm afraid not nearly as polished."

Margaret can scarcely be heard as she says, "How nice," sits down on the sofa and begins to aimlessly stare out the window. She seems the complete yield of resignation of someone who has nothing and is alone and embittered as a natural consequence of a life that, from all appearances, has nothing left for her. Blanche looks at her, thinking it is so unfair life is so kind to some and yet so cruel to those like Margaret Taylor. Although Blanche doesn't realize it at this moment, Margaret and Arnold Gray are so strikingly comparable – one simply being a later-day rendition of the other.

Blanche turns on the television just as the news broadcast is beginning. The picture is of some college campus, and there is a mass of students holding up placards declaring varying degrees of protest against the Vietnam War. She especially notices one bearing the message "make love – not war." Some of the young men, who have rather frail bodies, are burning their draft cards, and the girls have long, stringy hair and rather pale complexions. Among them all is the chant, "Stop that war! Stop that war!"

Blanche feels awkward that Margaret is so quiet but can think of nothing to say to her as her eyes turn towards the television and thoughts slip away from Margaret and turn to Loren and Charles. What would they think if they could see such things? She glances at Margaret who now has her eyes on the television screen with the same solitary stare that has become so commonplace for her.

As the chants grow louder and louder, Blanche begins to look about the room. There is the photograph of her brother with Mary and Loren. It is the last one that was ever taken of Loren, and she remembers the day as thought it were yesterday. Soon after that, Charles began to get progressively more feeble until his wound finally claimed him. Fifty was far too young for him to have died. Worst of all was the fact he died in 1939, just after Germany invaded Poland, which although he never said in so many words, must have made the dwindled life The Great War had left him seem all the more meaningless. Still, the 20 years after the war the 4 of them had lived together in this house produced a love and understanding that was so ideally complete.

Weeks after he had returned home on that spring morning in 1919, Charles was finally hired by Concord Radios to train as a radio repairman. The job wasn't physically demanding and permitted him to apply to some degree his skills as an electrician. He always felt they hired him just because they felt sorry for him but during those years, he never seemed resentful and did not complain.

At times, as the years slipped away, he seemed almost apologetic that his weakening condition was so obviously becoming a painful burden on his family. Of necessity, his marriage took on a new dimension and produced an altogether more complete degree of love and understanding between everyone during The Great Depression.

Blanche no longer hears the sounds of the newscast, as she remembers the day during The Depression that Charles lost his job. He was in the house alone when Loren came home from school. It was the first time Loren had ever seen his father crying. After work, Blanche and Mary always rode the same bus home from downtown Atlanta and that night, Charles was just sitting in his chair, leaning forward with both hands at the top of his walking cane. He was still crying as he looked up at them through red eyes with tears rolling down his face and faintly said, "I lost my job."

Until then, he had resigned himself to his limitations but could never accept what had happened on that day. He was never the same. Disappointments and hardships affect different people in many different ways. They humble some, others somehow become more determined because of them, but everyone has a breaking point beyond which he can reconcile himself no more and thus, Charles had finally reached his breaking point. He still never seemed to complain but became more and more withdrawn and solitary – not unlike Margaret Taylor today.

Receiving love and understanding can only carry a person so far. Everyone needs to feel he is giving something in return, but after that day, Charles never had that feeling, as he literally had nothing left to give. He became progressively weaker, seemed to lose his will, and then he was gone – partly a victim of that angry German soldier's last act in his life and partly a victim of a faded sentiment that no longer found the sight of the wartime handicapped quite so inspiring.

Blanche notices Margaret has dropped off to sleep, as the chants "Stop that war" and "Make love not war" radiate from the television and fill the room. The images of the frail, young men burning their draft cards causes a sickly feeling to clench at her stomach. She looks at the chair in which Charles was sitting that night she and Mary had found him in tears. Her eyes search about the room and momentarily stop at the pictures of Charles and Loren. Finally, her head drops in a confused and misapprehending stare at the old poster Charles had framed soon after the war. It is a picture of a mother standing with her two sons during one of the victory parades that followed the war. Both of the young men were wearing their Army browns and had one hand clutched in front of their hearts. The mother was somewhat of a plump lady in a long, black dress, and there was a gentle smile on her face as she looked up at one of her sons. Her body was draped in the American flag.

Randy

Randy Coleman is surprised he has just eaten all that was on his tray. It hadn't looked at all appetizing in the mess line and then too, the appearance of the cooks contribute to blunting a man's appetite. The mess hall is loud with the sound of men talking and laughing as Randy sits staring at his empty tray and tapping his fork against it. Gradually, he has resigned himself to what has happened to him, although he has not accepted it – neither as to the necessity of the draft or the particular requirement a draftee display any uncommon degree of enthusiasm during his time in the service. Randy feels quite the contrary. Since the reception center, he has been in something of a self-imposed trance and has moved at a pace resembling slow-motion replays of TV sporting events. In some cases, he has noticed he is moving faster than many of those around him.

Somewhere behind him, he hears a voice he can identify without even looking around as belonging to someone who is obviously uneducated. The construction of the sentences is juvenile, some words are pronounced incorrectly and every few seconds, the voice will precede a poorly arranged phrase with the expression, "oh yeah." The man seems rattling on about some sort of battalion inspection that is to occur on Saturday, before the first passes are issued to the training companies.

With complete disdain at any suggestion of such childish games, Randy turns around and looks in the direction of the voice and sees a tall, slender man who must be at least 55 years old seated at one of the tables, talking to the first sergeant. The man has gray, thinning hair that is in a crew cut. This immediately adds to the juvenile impression Randy has already formed. He is wearing his Army dress green uniform, and Randy at once notices rows of ribbons above which is a badge sort of pin showing a silver image of an old Kentucky rifle on a blue background encircled by a wreath. A silver star is in the center of the wreath.

Randy snickers and a ridiculing scowl comes over his face as he looks at the cook seated across the table and asks, "Who in the hell is that clown?"

"That's Sergeant Major Price, the battalion sergeant major," the cook answers with a mouth full of mashed potatoes and without looking up.

"What's he got, about a 3rd grade education?" Randy persists.

"I don't know. I never saw his diploma," the cook responds.

Randy shakes his head and laughs as he says, "Well, I guess it's a good thing there's a place like the army to put jokers like that who surely couldn't make it anywhere else." He pauses a moment and asks, "What's that thing at the top of his ribbons?"

"The Combat Infantryman Badge," the cook responds as he begins to guzzle down his tea.

Randy is somewhat surprised he is even interested enough to continue the conversation and asks, "What does the star mean?"

The cook looks back towards the serving line an seems slightly annoyed as he snaps, "It's the second award. He was in a line unit in both World War II and Korea. That old fucker's been around."

With an entertained smirk on his face, Randy stares at Sergeant Major Price who stands up and begins to walk out of the mess hall before turning around, waving his hands at the first sergeant and saying, "Oh yeah, anybody who doesn't pass the inspection will have his pass pulled."

Randy's eyes follow him as he walks out of the mess hall. He continues to shake his head and asserts, "It's a shame he couldn't find anything better to do with his life than waste it in the damn Army."

The cook stands up, throws his fork down into his tray and still without looking at Randy, says, "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. That's what wrong with you."

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