Sgt. Tracy
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.
Thus began Charles Dickens's classic novel A Tale of Two Cities. For Cindy DeGroot, the year 1945 was much the same. It was the best of times in that first Germany and then Japan surrendered, bringing an end to the Second World War. The armistice was marked by celebrations across America as sons, husbands, brothers and friends came home. On the other hand, in a true Dickensian contradiction, it was also the worst of times, for many of the brave warriors would never return, and some who did were not the same young men who had left American shores to fight in Europe and the Pacific.
Cindy, a nurse at a sanitarium located north of Boston, had firsthand experience with young men who, due to the trauma of war, experienced acute behavioral changes. She was familiar with the symptoms of what was once referred to as shell shock but what doctors were now calling combat stress reaction. These included fatigue, confusion, memory loss, mood swings, slow reaction times, indecision and disconnection from one's surroundings. Several patients at the sanitarium suffered from one or more of these symptoms in varying degrees.
When Nurse DeGroot reported for work on the morning of September 30, she was advised by Opal Crimmins, the head nurse, that a new patient was to be admitted to her ward.
"Another one suffering from CSR?" Cindy inquired.
Her superior nodded her head and replied, "This one has got it worse than any of the others we've seen. From what I've been told, he's practically comatose."
"Oh, the poor man!"
"That he is, but given what he must have seen ...."
After she had piqued her subordinate's curiosity, Opal became silent.
"What do you mean?" the young nurse prompted.
"He was present at the liberation of Dachau."
Mention of the infamous concentration camp made Nurse DeGroot's face drain of color.
"What he saw there must have hit him hard," Opal explained. "After the liberation, he was reported missing in action, but he was later found wandering in the woods by a unit of British soldiers. For five months, he was in a London hospital; but when his condition showed no improvement, the doctors there decided to send him home. Anyway, you'd best get a move on or we'll have no clean bed to put him in when he gets here."
Cindy went into the linen closet and collected a set of sheets, a pillow and a blanket. Then she went to an empty room on the ward and made up a bed for the new arrival.
At 10:45, an ambulance arrived, and Sgt. William Tracy was brought up to Room 102 on a gurney. Two burly orderlies lifted the soldier onto his bed.
"He's all yours," the ambulance driver told the nurse.
"I'll take good care of him," Cindy promised.
"I doubt the poor bastard even knows where he is. Sorry, Miss. I forgot myself for a minute."
"That's all right."
Once, the nurse would have been offended by such language, but she was no longer the innocent young church-going girl she had been before Pearl Harbor. The war, it seems, had changed everyone in one way or another.
Later that morning, just before she took her lunch break, the nurse returned to Room 102 to check on the new patient. When she crossed the threshold, she was surprised to see him awake.
"Hello, Sgt. Tracy. I'm Nurse DeGroot. I'll be taking care of you during the day shift."
There was no response from the patient, but then Cindy had not expected any.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. You're here to rest, not to socialize."
The patient might as well have been a department store mannequin for all the emotion he displayed.
You poor thing, she thought, trying hard not to let his handsome face erode her professional detachment.
For the next several days, Cindy kept a watchful eye on Sgt. Tracy. Although she spoke to him every time she went into Room 102, he had yet to acknowledge her presence. Notwithstanding the total lack of communication, the patient was far from helpless. He was perfectly capable of feeding and bathing himself as well as using the bathroom on his own.
"He's like a wind-up doll," she confided in Dr. Foster Wyman when the physician made his weekly visit to the sanitarium. "He mechanically goes through the actions. I keep looking at his face, but I see no awareness there."
"It's been more than six months since the British found him," the doctor said, "and there has been no progress. We must accept the possibility that he may never recover."
The doctor's words stabbed at Cindy's heart. Surely, his prognosis was wrong.
That evening when the nurse made her final rounds before going home for the night, she stopped in Sgt. Tracy's room. For several minutes she stood beside the bed and watched him sleep. Despite her resolve not to become emotionally attached to the patients in her care, she was drawn to the sergeant. In a gesture of compassion, she reached out her hand and brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his forehead.
"You will get better," she whispered.
After one last look at the handsome face sleeping so peacefully on the pillow, she dimmed the light and walked toward the door, unaware that the patient's eyes had opened and were following her every move.
* * *
During the next several weeks, the leaves on the trees turned vibrant shades of red, orange and gold. Soon after, they lost their glorious color and began falling from the trees.
"I love the autumn," she announced wistfully, as she gazed out the window of Room 102. "I know most people prefer the spring and summer months, but not me. I wish it were fall all year long—the colorful foliage, the pumpkins, the apples, the crisp chill in the air."
In her peripheral vision, she thought she saw Sgt. William Tracy turn his head in her direction.
Is he looking at me? she wondered. If he is, that could mean he's getting better, that I somehow managed to penetrate the wall his tortured mind is hiding behind.
"Do you like the autumn?" she asked, her heart racing with hope.
When the nurse turned to face him, the patient stared ahead without replying.
"Can you hear me? If you can, please give me some indication. If you don't want to speak, then nod your head or blink your eyes."
Nothing.
"I'm not going to give up. There must be some way to reach you."
When Cindy turned back to the window, there were tears in her green eyes.
* * *
It was the first week of November, and Sgt. Tracy still showed no sign of improvement. After concluding her morning rounds, Cindy poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Opal Crimmins in the nurses' lounge.
"What's that you're looking at, the Sears catalog?" the younger woman asked.
"No. it's Montgomery Ward. I want to start my Christmas shopping. The holidays will be here before you know it."
"Don't remind me! Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away, and then before you know it, it'll be Christmas."
"What's the matter?" Opal asked. "Don't you like the holidays?"
"Of course, I do! It's everything leading up to Christmas I'm not too keen on: decorating, shopping, wrapping, sending cards, and then finally all the baking and cooking. My favorite part of the holiday is when the gifts have been opened, the meal has been eaten and the dishes have all been washed and put away. Then I can relax in front of the fire with a glass of my grandmother's homemade eggnog and relax."
"I'm just the opposite. I love all the preparations. In fact, there's nothing I like more than decorating a Christmas tree with my family."
Cindy sipped her coffee and then suddenly said, "I wonder if Sgt. Tracy has any family."
"It doesn't say anything about family in his medical records," Opal replied after circling the product order number for an eighteen-inch Ideal Miss Curity doll. "And I don't recall anyone ever coming to visit him."
"What if the Army never notified his parents?"
"I'm sure they did."
"But what if they didn't?"
Opal's eyes narrowed.
"Why all the interest in Sgt. Tracy?"
Cindy blushed and turned away.
"I just think it's odd. Here's a brave America soldier who returned home from the war, and no one bothers to come see him. If he had visitors, they might speed up his recovery."
"Maybe he has no family," Opal concluded after using a slip of paper as a bookmark and closing the catalog.
"I suppose that's possible."
As Cindy finished her coffee, she decided she would try her best to find out if such were the case. That evening when she returned to her apartment, she wrote a letter to a former patient who was still on active duty in the Army. If he could not help her himself, he might know someone who could.
* * *
On the day before Thanksgiving, Nurse DeGroot entered Sgt. Tracy's room to find him thumbing through the pages of an old magazine. When he looked up and saw her in the doorway, his eyes flared briefly as though in anger. Moments later he assumed the dazed stare he had exhibited since being admitted to the sanitarium.
"You must be getting bored. That's a good sign. Would you like me to see if I can find a radio for you to listen to?"
There was a slight movement in his face. It might be wishful thinking, but it seemed to Cindy that he was attempting to hide his interest in her offer.
He understood me. I'm sure of it.
The joy that swelled in her heart was disturbing to Cindy. She had never felt this happy about a patient even when one who was believed to be on death's door made a miraculous recovery.
Oh, no! she thought with dismay when the truth finally hit her. I've fallen in love with Sgt. Tracy.
Throughout the day, Cindy performed her duties as though she were running on autopilot. Her actions were perfunctory, her conversation banal. She uncharacteristically avoided going into Room 102 except when she brought lunch to the patient. Finally, it was nearly time for her shift to end, and she had to make her rounds to check on her patients one last time. She hesitated a moment before entering Sgt. Tracy's room.
This is ridiculous! I'm a nurse, and he's a patient. I have to get my emotions under control and do my job.
With great effort, she put a false smile on her face and walked through the doorway of Room 102. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw that the handsome soldier was sound asleep. She felt the unwanted physical attraction mount as she neared the bed.
Cindy stood above her patient, gazing down at his striking features, fighting the urge to touch him.
This has got to stop! she vowed.
Although she dreaded the idea of confessing her weakness to Opal Crimmins, the young nurse had no choice. The emotions she felt were too strong for her to control. Her only option was to have Sgt. Tracy assigned to a different ward, one where she would not come into contact with him on a daily basis.
Perhaps with time I can get over this hopeless love I feel.
But the thought of his leaving pierced her heart, and unshed tears burned her eyes. With no thought of the impropriety or complete lack of professionalism of her actions, she leaned over and kissed the patient lightly on the lips. It was meant to be a bittersweet gesture of goodbye, but when she felt Sgt. Tracy return the kiss, it became a declaration of love. A moment later, she pulled away.
Startled, she stared down at him and asked, "What are you ...?"
"Do you wake all your patients in such a pleasant manner?" he asked.
"You've recovered!" she cried with elation.
"Not completely. I'm afraid my memory is still shot to hell. I can't remember anything before coming to this place. But, what does it matter? I live in the moment and look forward to the future. What do I care about the past?"
He then pulled Cindy toward him and soundly kissed her again.
"No," she said, reluctantly pulling away from his grasp. "I'm your nurse. This is completely inappropriate behavior."
"Then call the doctor and have him get me out of this place so that you and I can both get on with our lives."
Cindy was overcome with emotion. Sgt. Tracy not only returned her affections, but he also wanted to build a life with her once he was released from the sanitarium.
"I'll contact Dr. Wyman first thing in the morning," she promised. "But you must get some sleep tonight, sergeant."
"Come now, Cindy," he said, in a voice that kindled a warm sensation in the pit of the nurse's stomach, "we've gone beyond the Sgt. Tracy-Nurse DeGroot phase. You must call me William or, better yet, Bill."
"All right, William it is. We'll keep the 'Bill' for when you get out of here. Now, you close your eyes and get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning."
The patient smiled mischievously, his blue eyes alive with mirth.
"I'll lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. Hopefully, I'll quickly fall asleep and dream of you."
* * *
Dr. Wyman was encouraged by Nurse DeGroot's report on the patient's progress but surprised at his memory loss.
"Although some loss of memory is a symptom of combat stress reaction, I've never known a patient to experience complete amnesia."
"Well, you said yourself, William—I mean Sgt. Tracy—had an acute case of CSR."
The doctor picked up the patient's file and once again read the comments made by the British physician who examined Sgt. Tracy after he was found in Germany.
"There's no mention of a head injury—or any other wound, for that matter."
"His scars are emotional, not physical," the nurse commented. "But he's improved so much since he was admitted here."
"Still, I don't think he's ready to leave just yet."
Cindy's heart plummeted.
"Work with him," the doctor suggested, unaware of the tender feelings the nurse and patient shared. "Talk about the war and what he might have experienced. Don't be afraid of bringing up bad memories. They must come to the surface if he's to be healed."
On her lunch break, Cindy went to the local newsstand and bought several magazines that featured articles and photographs by war correspondents. That afternoon, she went to William's room and showed him the pictures.
"Do you know who this is?" she asked, pointing to a photo of Adolf Hitler.
"No."
"He was chancellor of Germany. He was also a Nazi, a ruthless dictator and a madman, responsible for the deaths of millions of innocent men, women and children."
"He doesn't look like a monster. In fact, he reminds me of that comedian—what's his name? Chaplin, yes. Charlie Chaplin."
The patient remembered Chaplin. That was a good sign.
"There's nothing remotely funny about Hitler," Cindy declared, turning the page.
After showing William pictures of Roosevelt, Churchill, Stalin and Truman, she pointed out photos of the destruction in London, Berlin, Hiroshima, Pearl Harbor, Hamburg and Dresden. None of the images stirred his memory. Finally, she picked up the last magazine.
"Perhaps you'll recognize this place," she said, turning to the centerfold spread of horrifying photographs of the atrocities at Dachau and Auschwitz."
Did Cindy imagine the slight tightening of William's lips when he saw the piled skeletal corpses, the ovens and the half-starved survivors?
"Do you remember being at this place?" she asked, pointing to Dachau.
"No. Why should I?" he replied defensively.
"Because you were present when the camp was liberated."
"I told you, the only memories I have are of this hospital. Besides, if I was at that camp, why would I want to remember? For that matter, why would I want to remember anything about the war?"
"But what about your childhood? Your parents? Your friends? Don't you want to remember them? They might not know you're alive."
"I'm sure my memory will come back—eventually. I remembered Chaplin; that's a start. Meanwhile, why don't we just enjoy the moment?"
"Because Dr. Wyman doesn't want to release you while you're suffering from amnesia."
There was no mistaking the signs of William's anger: the flashing eyes, the pursed lips, the heavy breathing.
"Then I shall try my best to remember," he said in a tight voice.
* * *
The following week when Dr. Wyman returned to the sanitarium, he entered Room 102 to talk to Sgt. Tracy.
"How's the memory?" he asked, not expecting much improvement.
"Getting better every day," William replied with his warmest smile.
"Really?" the amazed physician asked. "Did the photographs Nurse DeGroot showed you strike a chord?"
"No. But I've been able to remember my childhood home, my school, my best friend. I even remember the dog I had when I was five. His name was Rex."
"That's wonderful."
"So, I can leave here then?" the sergeant asked eagerly.
"Well ...."
"Doctor, there's no reason for me to be here. Haven't I suffered enough? I'm a returning soldier, eager to resume the life I led before the war."
"And what was that? Where did you work? Were you married? Engaged?"
Sgt. Tracy's jovial demeanor abruptly changed.
"I'll remember all that ... soon," he said, clearly keeping a rein on his anger.
"Then you will be released ... soon," the doctor replied.
After the doctor left, Nurse DeGroot went into William's room. Unlike her patient, she was in high spirits.
"I've got wonderful news," she announced. "There's an apartment in my building that will become vacant the first of the month. I spoke to the landlady, and she said she would be willing to hold it for you if I put down a fifteen-dollar deposit—so I did. You shouldn't have any problem paying the rent since the director said he can give you a job here at the sanitarium."
"That's great, sweetheart. Now all we need to do is convince Dr. Wyman that I'm well enough to be discharged."
"He said you'd be able to leave soon; that could mean any day now. There must be some way I can help you remember. Maybe I can take a few days off, go to your hometown and take some photographs to jog your memory."
"No!" he shouted harshly.
Cindy was taken aback by his reaction, but then she remembered that mood swings and sudden bouts of anger were common in patients suffering from combat stress reaction. William was immediately contrite for losing his temper.
"I'm sorry, darling, but I want to do this myself. Let me remember in my own way."
"All right. But if you change your mind, let me know."
* * *
Over the next three weeks, Sgt. Tracy's memory continued to improve. Even Dr. Wyman was impressed by his rapid progress.
"And your parents?" the doctor asked.
"I've been able to recall quite a few events from my childhood. If I close my eyes, I can see my mother's and father's faces. I can hear their voices. But I'm not sure what's become of them. I'm hoping they're still alive, but ...."
"I'm sure the Army can locate them."
"No. Once I'm released, I want to find out for myself. I don't want to receive a letter from some unknown Army officer, telling me my parents are dead."
"I understand," the doctor said.
"Does that mean you'll let me out of here?"
"I'll go start the necessary paperwork now. I'm afraid you'll have to endure our hospitality one more night, but tomorrow you'll be a free man again."
As William had expected, Cindy was overjoyed by the news. Despite her resolve to maintain a professional decorum while on duty, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.
"I have some good news for you, too!" she said, gushing like a schoolgirl. "I wanted to surprise you, but I was never any good at keeping secrets."
"What is it?"
"I've located your sister. She's coming here tomorrow. She can't wait to see you!"
William swore beneath his breath in what sounded more like German than English.
Cindy stared at him in horror.
"I ... I don't know what came over me," he said, clearly shaken by his own outburst. "I remember now. Seeing all those poor souls when we entered the camp—Dachau I think it was called. One of the Nazi guards shouted that word at me. I ... I ... wanted to kill him, not just for what he said to me but for the inhuman way he and his people treated the prisoners at the camp."
"Oh, my darling!" Cindy whispered soothingly in an attempt to comfort him. "I can't imagine the horrors you must have seen."
William hugged her tightly.
"I'll be all right once I get out of here. When did you say my sister was coming, tomorrow? Morning or afternoon?"
"Afternoon. She'll be arriving on the four o'clock train. That will give you ample time to get settled in your new place before she does."
"Good," he said, smiling once again. "That will give me plenty of time."
Before she went off duty that evening, Cindy stopped by Room 102 to check on William.
"You try to get some rest," she advised after kissing him goodnight. "Tomorrow's a big day for you.
"I'm too excited to sleep."
"Here, these ought to help," she said, giving him a bottle of sleeping pills she had taken from the head nurse's medicine cabinet. "Take two and you'll be out like a light before you know it."
Cindy, however, was not able to take her own advice. Despite a hot, relaxing bubble bath and a soothing cup of hot cocoa, she found it impossible to fall asleep.
"Tomorrow is going to be a big day for me, too."
After another hour of tossing and turning, she sat up in bed, turned on the light and picked up a magazine that was lying on her night table. It was one of the periodicals she had purchased to help William regain his memory. When she turned to the centerfold and saw the pictures of Auschwitz and Dachau, a shiver of revulsion went down her spine.
No wonder William shut out his memories of this place! How can anyone not be affected by such brutality, such ....
Cindy suddenly reached for her glasses on the night table and more closely examined the photograph of a group of American soldiers taking a number of Nazis prisoner during the liberation of Dachau.
It can't be! she thought.
But it was.
* * *
After waiting for the night nurse to start her rounds on the other side of the ward, Cindy tiptoed into Room 102. Thanks to the medication she had left for him, William was sleeping soundly. As she stood above the bed looking down at the patient, she was once again struck by how handsome he was.
Not allowing his good looks to deter her, she silently walked across the room, opened the closet and took out another pillow. Then after one last look at the features she had grown to love, she put the pillow over his face. He struggled briefly, but in his medicated state he was no match for a nurse who was used to helping grown men on and off bedpans and in and out of wheelchairs. Cindy removed the pillow only after the patient stopped breathing.
* * *
The following morning Nurse DeGroot reported to work as usual. Opal Crimmins was standing in front of Room 102 waiting for her.
"I have to talk to you," the head nurse said.
Cindy felt her knees go weak with fear as she followed her supervisor into the nurses' lounge.
"Sgt. Tracy died during the night," the older woman tersely announced. "I've already phoned the police. They should be here soon."
Cindy's knees finally gave out and she flopped own on the sofa.
"The police?" she echoed, on the point of tears.
"Yes. It's standard procedure to call them in cases of suicide."
"Suicide?"
"I found an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside his body. The way I figure it, he finally recalled all those dreadful memories he had suppressed of the concentration camp. The poor man couldn't live with them, so he stole the pills from the medicine cabinet. Of course, I'll have to be sure it's properly locked in the future."
"Will there be an autopsy?" Cindy asked fearfully.
"I wouldn't think so," Opal replied. "Dr. Wyman examined the body, and he concurs that the patient died of an overdose."
"He did?" Cindy asked, feeling like Alice after she had stepped through the looking glass.
Opal Crimmins closed the lounge door and lowered her voice so no one passing by could overhear.
"I never trusted that man. I've been a nurse since before you were born, and I've seen more than my share of men with CSR. I couldn't prove it, but I knew he was faking his symptoms. I'll bet he was nowhere near Dachau!"
"I saw his photograph in a magazine. He was there when the camp was liberated, but ...."
It took all the strength she could muster to finish her sentence.
"He was not one of our soldiers; he was a guard at the camp. A Nazi! That's why I ... did what I did."
The revelation did not surprise Opal one bit.
"I wonder what's become of the real Sgt. Tracy," she said. "That evil bastard probably killed him, took his uniform and made a run for it."
"What about me?" Cindy finally found the courage to ask.
"What about you? You don't think either Dr. Wyman or I want to lose a good nurse, do you?"
"But after what I've done ...."
For the first time since Cindy had met her, Opal's normally stern demeanor softened.
"My sister's boy was in the 82nd Airborne and died in Nijmegen. Dr. Wyman's oldest son was killed when the Allies stormed the beaches at Normandy. Most likely, both of us would have done the same thing in your position."
"I don't know what to say."
"There's no need for you ...."
Opal was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Nurse Crimmins, are you in there?" one of the orderlies asked. "The police are here."
Cindy trembled, afraid the authorities would suspect her of murdering the Nazi who had been masquerading as an American hero.
"You stay here," Opal told her. "There's no reason for them to question you. You weren't on duty last night. That's all they need to know."
Cindy smiled with gratitude. She would remain in the nurses' lounge until the police left and the body of the man she once loved was removed. Nurse Crimmins was more than capable of handling the situation.
Did he care for me at all or was I just a means to an end, like the real Sgt. Tracy? Cindy wondered. Either way, he's dead, and I'm the one who murdered him.
Oddly enough, neither his passing nor her part in his death upset her. But then as she had said before, the war had changed everyone in one way or another.
Salem, do you really think I believe your story that you were trying to liberate the parakeet?
