FALLING STARS
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Summer, 1967
Rose hurried into the kitchen to answer the
insistently ringing phone. "Hello?"
"Hello, Mom?"
"Harry! We haven’t heard from you in a
couple of weeks. What’s going on?"
"I just got a draft notice in the
mail."
Rose put her head in her hands and sank down
to the table. Another son going to war. How many time would she have to go
through this? One of her grandsons, Lloyd, had already been drafted, and, much
to the displeasure of Andrew, had promptly disappeared across the border into
Canada. She’d heard from him, but hadn’t informed Andrew of that fact.
"What are you going to do?"
"You know how I feel about the war, Mom.
I was thinking of going to Canada, trying to find Lloyd, but then I thought
about how I’m always talking about how people shouldn’t be forced to fight in a
war they don’t believe in, and how hypocritical it would be of me to just run
and hide, when there’s so many people getting drafted and sent overseas. I’m
going to answer the draft notice, even though I don’t agree with it, because I
think that I need to know more about what we’re protesting, and what’s really
wrong. Not just what we see on TV and in the newspaper, but see for myself
what’s really happening."
"Well, Harry, you know that your father
and I will support you, whatever choice you make. Just...be careful,
okay?"
"I will, Mom."
"This will certainly make your brother
happy."
"Who cares what Andrew thinks? I’m not
going to support the war, I’m going to learn more about it. Hopefully I’ll come
out of it alive."
"I hope so, too. And don’t speak so
disparagingly of Andrew, Harry. He’s your brother."
"He’s a pig."
"Harry! That’s enough. I know you
don’t believe in what he stands for, but you’d best keep a civil tongue."
"Right. Right. Sorry, Mom."
"When do you have to leave?"
"In three weeks."
"Will you take the time to come out here
first?"
"I’ll be there in a week, as soon as I
finish my project."
"All right, Harry. We’ll see you
then."
"Bye, Mom."
"Bye, Harry."
Rose hung up the phone, and sat at the table,
looking blankly at the bowl of fruit in the center. Another son going to war,
the third one. There had been so many wars--too many. At seventy-two, she had
seen four wars, and had lived through another, though she had been too young to
remember it. Five wars, she thought. It seemed like more than a person should
live through in a lifetime. There had been only a few years of uneasy peace
since 1941, those marred by the ever-present threat of nuclear annihilation.
She thought back to the end of World War I, when they had almost believed that
it truly was the war to end all wars, a time when they could still believe that
technology could solve all their problems, instead of creating a world of fear.
She sighed. Harry had never known Adam, of
course, as Adam had died some eight months before Harry’s birth. They had told
him about his older brother, of course, and there were still pictures of Adam
around the house, but Harry had never had the chance to meet his brother. He
knew Gregory, of course, and Andrew, and had been almost as close as a brother
to his nephew Lloyd, who was only two years younger than him, the youngest of
Gregory and Emily’s children.
Ruth hobbled into the kitchen, supporting
herself on her cane. "Who was that, dear?"
"Harry. He’s been drafted."
"Oh, dear. Is he going to go to
Canada?"
"He says he’s going to obey the draft
notice."
Ruth looked at her skeptically. "I’ll
believe it when I see it. The government’s caught themselves a live one this
time. Even if he goes, he’ll give them a run for their money."
"He’ll go, if only to aggravate
Andrew."
"That boy needs some aggravating."
Ruth still thought of Andrew as a boy, though he was thirty-eight. But, at
ninety-seven, that was her prerogative. She often complained that everyone else
kept growing younger, at least, younger than she was at their age.
"Now, Mother..."
"Andrew’s too big for his britches, and
you know it. One of these days someone will take him down a notch or two, back
with the rest of us."
Rose shook her head. It was true. Andrew had
a very high opinion of himself, and of his chosen career. He had risen swiftly
in the military, and that had been the cause of numerous arguments between him
and his younger brother. Harry was an avowed pacifist, protesting the war from
the start, and, after he had graduated from college, he had moved to
California, joined the burgeoning hippie movement, and become a very vocal
protester against the war. He had even attempted to debate the governor of
California at one point, though he had been unsuccessful in that endeavor. He
had made his living painting murals, having inherited his father’s talent for
art. She could only pray that he would come home alive, and in one piece.
Ruth took a banana from the bowl on the table
and peeled it, eyeing her daughter. Up until two months earlier, she had lived
independently in the aging mansion she had inherited from Nathan Hockley in
1915. Finally, though, she had decided that the huge house was more space than
she wanted, and had sold it to a historical group and moved in with her
daughter and son-in-law. At ninety-seven, her mind was still as sharp as ever,
but she was growing frail, and no longer wished to live alone.
Jack and Rose had been considering selling
their house and moving to a smaller one, now that all of their children were
grown, but they had never quite gotten around to it, and had had plenty of
space for Ruth when she decided to join them. Ruth hadn’t asked first. She had
simply assumed that her daughter would want to support her, and for the most
part, Rose didn’t mind having her mother around. However, both women were used
to running their own households, and this had initially caused some conflict,
as Ruth wanted to have a say in matters that Rose had always decided for
herself. Jack and Rose had finally arranged it so that Ruth had her own
apartment in the house, which she made the decisions on and ran on her own,
while Rose ran the rest of the house. That had reduced the conflict a lot, and
the three residents got along well.
Rose stood as she heard the front door open,
signaling that Jack was home. Although he had technically been retired for ten
years, he hadn’t slowed down much. For Jack, retirement was an opportunity to
do all the things he hadn’t had time for while he was working. He spent hours
each week out and about in Philadelphia, sketching whatever he found
interesting, and he and Rose had taken the time to travel extensively over the
past ten years, making another journey to Europe, this time on a cruise ship,
and visiting their children and grandchildren throughout the United States. Two
years before, the had taken a trip to Mexico, and the previous year they had
acquired a pick-up truck and a tent trailer and had traveled throughout the
United States, visiting all the wild places they had only dreamed about in
earlier years. They had finished their cross-country journey with another visit
to Santa Monica, once again riding horses in the surf, much to the surprise of
numerous beach-goers. Their children sometimes worried that their parents were
too old for so much travel, but Jack and Rose had waved off their concerns,
assuring them that they would know when they got too old, and would stop then.
Jack set his portfolio on the coffee
table--the same well-worn one he had been carrying around since Rose had given
it to him for Christmas in 1912--and walked over to Rose, giving her a kiss.
Rose smiled. Even after almost fifty-five
years, they were as much in love as ever, and not afraid to show it. She
wondered what her arrogant young grandchildren would think if they knew that their
old grandparents still enjoyed the occasional roll in the hay. She wasn’t about
to tell them.
She sobered then, thinking of what Harry had
told her. Jack noticed immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked,
worried.
"Harry’s been drafted."
"Shit. What’s he going to do?"
"He says he’s going to obey the
notice."
"He’ll set the army on its ear, no
doubt."
"That’s what Mother said. She said he’d
give them a run for their money."
"He did inherit your fire."
"And your stubbornness. The army may
never be the same."
"Or Vietnam."
"If he goes there. I’ve heard that some
draftees get posted in the United States."
"But most go to Vietnam. I just hope he
comes back alive."
"So do I." Rose hugged him, both of
them remembering the son who had gone to war and hadn’t come back.
"He’ll be here a week from today,"
Rose told him. "I told him that whatever he chooses, we’ll support
him."
"God forgive me, Rose, but I wish he
would flee to Canada like Lloyd did. I’ve seen war, and it isn’t a pretty
sight."
"I think he already knows that. He says
he wants to learn more about what is really happening, instead of just what he
can see on television and in the newspaper."
"I just hope this doesn’t prove to be a
fatal lesson."