to him for a few minutes, remaining on his feet. Then he came over to me and sat on the corner of my table. He had never done this before.
"Eve," he said.
"Yes?"
"I’ve got orders to leave," he said. "Overseas, tomorrow morning."
"Yes," I said.
"Look at me," he said. "You are not weeping, are you?"
"Only a little," I said, "because you never called me Eve before."
"I want you to stay the night with me," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"And I won’t ask you out and give you dinner," he said. "I can’t stand sitting for two hours opposite you at a table."
"Yes," I said.
"Go home now and eat," he said, "and I’ll come round and fetch you at eight o’clock. Will that suit?"
"Yes," I said.
"I’ll take you to the flat tonight," he said. "I passed it on to a colonel, but I shoved him out for tonight. We’ll be on our own."
"Yes," I said.
I did not speak during that night at all, and he spoke only three times. Once, he said, "Human relationships are the most interesting thing in life." Then he said, "Never mind the past and never mind the future. You are warm, you are safe, you are here." The third time, he said, "You are my one and only love. Go to sleep now, my love. I want you to be asleep when I go."
ABOUT A MONTH after the Major had left, Sergeant Parsons stopped by my table and said, "I thought you’d like to know, ma’am. The Major is in the north of France. And he isn’t a Major anymore, because his gold leaf has turned to silver."
"Charmed, I’m sure," I said. "That makes him a half colonel. I’ve always wondered, you know, why in the American army silver is above gold."
"Why don’t you write and ask him?" he said.
"I may," I said.
Though I did not show it, I was glad of what the Sergeant had told me, because the Major when he had written had only told me of his being "somewhere in Europe," and he had not mentioned his promotion. This was late in 1944, and he was in charge of a hospital for German prisoners of war.
Soon after this, it was decided to move the Office of the Chief Surgeon to London, together with other branches of the U.S. War Office, and this brought about a split in our crowd. Claudia, June, and Betty were going to London as a matter of course, to be united with their lovers, but Beryl said she was "sick of the Yanks" anyhow, and did not see why she should forsake the safety of Bathdale for the bombing raids of the capital. I was pleased at the chance to get to London; the mild, heavy, wind-still climate of Bathdale, called "relaxing" by the inhabitants, had never suited me. I would have moved, in any case, with our office, because the Major had written that he wanted me to do so; thus he would always be able to find me, no matter what might happen. There were many other losses, too—among the most regretted the Merry Widow, who stayed behind, and the Big Bad Wolf Danielevski, who was posted for service overseas.
Thus we restarted the Zone of Interior in London with only four of us, headed, as before, by Sergeant Parsons. I found a room off the Bayswater Road, a district of imposing residences, stretching along one side of the park, fallen into neglect and converted into private hotels and lodging houses. It was the first time that I took up life in a bed-sitting-room, where the bed was represented by a narrow couch called a "divan" and the sitting by a tub chair of wicker. It was the first time, too, that I had to obtain heating by dropping a sixpenny piece into the slot of a meter, and that I experienced the fear of missing being called on the telephone if I went to the bathroom. But I could always still my dejection by repeating to myself the phrase with which the Major had closed his last letter to me, which was the one he had used on our first night together: "There is nothing to think about and nothing to worry about."
I had chosen Bayswater for two reasons. It was a cheap district, with a still decent address, and there were three buses coming from Notting Hill Gate down the
"Eve," he said.
"Yes?"
"I’ve got orders to leave," he said. "Overseas, tomorrow morning."
"Yes," I said.
"Look at me," he said. "You are not weeping, are you?"
"Only a little," I said, "because you never called me Eve before."
"I want you to stay the night with me," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"And I won’t ask you out and give you dinner," he said. "I can’t stand sitting for two hours opposite you at a table."
"Yes," I said.
"Go home now and eat," he said, "and I’ll come round and fetch you at eight o’clock. Will that suit?"
"Yes," I said.
"I’ll take you to the flat tonight," he said. "I passed it on to a colonel, but I shoved him out for tonight. We’ll be on our own."
"Yes," I said.
I did not speak during that night at all, and he spoke only three times. Once, he said, "Human relationships are the most interesting thing in life." Then he said, "Never mind the past and never mind the future. You are warm, you are safe, you are here." The third time, he said, "You are my one and only love. Go to sleep now, my love. I want you to be asleep when I go."
ABOUT A MONTH after the Major had left, Sergeant Parsons stopped by my table and said, "I thought you’d like to know, ma’am. The Major is in the north of France. And he isn’t a Major anymore, because his gold leaf has turned to silver."
"Charmed, I’m sure," I said. "That makes him a half colonel. I’ve always wondered, you know, why in the American army silver is above gold."
"Why don’t you write and ask him?" he said.
"I may," I said.
Though I did not show it, I was glad of what the Sergeant had told me, because the Major when he had written had only told me of his being "somewhere in Europe," and he had not mentioned his promotion. This was late in 1944, and he was in charge of a hospital for German prisoners of war.
Soon after this, it was decided to move the Office of the Chief Surgeon to London, together with other branches of the U.S. War Office, and this brought about a split in our crowd. Claudia, June, and Betty were going to London as a matter of course, to be united with their lovers, but Beryl said she was "sick of the Yanks" anyhow, and did not see why she should forsake the safety of Bathdale for the bombing raids of the capital. I was pleased at the chance to get to London; the mild, heavy, wind-still climate of Bathdale, called "relaxing" by the inhabitants, had never suited me. I would have moved, in any case, with our office, because the Major had written that he wanted me to do so; thus he would always be able to find me, no matter what might happen. There were many other losses, too—among the most regretted the Merry Widow, who stayed behind, and the Big Bad Wolf Danielevski, who was posted for service overseas.
Thus we restarted the Zone of Interior in London with only four of us, headed, as before, by Sergeant Parsons. I found a room off the Bayswater Road, a district of imposing residences, stretching along one side of the park, fallen into neglect and converted into private hotels and lodging houses. It was the first time that I took up life in a bed-sitting-room, where the bed was represented by a narrow couch called a "divan" and the sitting by a tub chair of wicker. It was the first time, too, that I had to obtain heating by dropping a sixpenny piece into the slot of a meter, and that I experienced the fear of missing being called on the telephone if I went to the bathroom. But I could always still my dejection by repeating to myself the phrase with which the Major had closed his last letter to me, which was the one he had used on our first night together: "There is nothing to think about and nothing to worry about."
I had chosen Bayswater for two reasons. It was a cheap district, with a still decent address, and there were three buses coming from Notting Hill Gate down the
Similar Books
