“They called me ‘Bean’ for a spell during the training. I s’pose it was because I was so tall. I didn’t mind it much… but later, when we was in France, some of the fellas started calling me ‘Mean Mr. Bean.’”
A small laugh escaped Miss Lottie. She eyed Albert. Most times when she eyed him like that, he knew he was in trouble. This time though, he cracked a big grin and gave her a wink to boot, just like Mr. Sam would do.
“Now I never did hurt no one that didn’t have it comin’, but when we was fightin’ in the trenches things got BAD. Miss Lottie don’t want me telling you exactly what it was like so you gonna have to take my word on it.”
This time Mr. Sam got the eye. And there was no smiling or winking. He just stopped, and took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a minute. Then, he let out a long sigh, and continued. “Well, what I can tell you Burty, is that some of them other fellas were the mean ones and the War only made them meaner.”
“How’s that, Mr. Sam?”
“Well, the War was something more than ‘us against them,’ especially for us. Oh, we fought the Germans al’right, and we was glad to do it. Not so much because we hated them or what they was doin’. We didn’t follow the whys so much. All most of us knew was that our country needed us and the World needed us. And the War gave us an opportunity. It gave us a way for us to prove ourselves as men.”
“We saw a lot of things that we never imagined. Never could have. We weren’t raised that way.”
Albert wasn’t sure that he wanted to know, but asked anyway. “I don’t understand, Mr. Sam. What did you see?”
“It wasn’t so much what we saw, Burty, but what we had to endure. Many days we went without food or even a place to sleep and it rained a lot, but we could learn to live with all of that. What was hard to take was all the killing. Now, before you start, I know that there’s killing in wars. That’s not what I’m talking about. That kind of killing is bad enough, maybe necessary due to certain circumstances. Y’see Burty, war can bring out the best in people. It can make heroes out of ordinary men. Fellas you wouldn’t give a second look if they was walking’ down the street, but it can also reveal the worst in’em. When we was out in the country, a few times we came upon bands of roving marauders. They was made up of soldiers who decided that it was their place to make the most of the war for themselves. Sometimes they’d be Germans, sometimes Frenchmen or even Americans. And sometimes, they were a mix of all kinds of bad men. They would kill folks just to get a little bit more. They took things like wedding rings and watches. Things that meant something. We’d try our best to round them fellas up and take them back to be dealt with. Other times…”
Mr. Sam paused here, closed his eyes then shook his head.
“What Mr. Sam?”
Albert didn’t get his answer right away. It was eerily quiet. When Mr. Sam eventually opened his eyes, he looked toward the hickory tree where Bruiser was. Then a squirrel chittered once followed by a crash of dried leaves and twigs from the tangle of scrub startling Albert. A few birds panicked and took flight. The squirrel barked nervously and it was silent again. Albert jumped a second time when Mr. Sam started laughing. He shook his head again, then stopped and cocked it to the side, nodded and smiled.
“You remember that old wooden box I showed ya’ Burty? The one with all those newspaper clippings?” Albert nodded, and wondered where this story was heading. “Do you know where they all came from? Well, I’ll tell you. When I was away, my Mama saved every single clipping she could get her hands on. She was so proud of her Samson. When I come home, she give me that box. And to me, those scraps of paper are the medals I never received from these here United States of America…” He stretched his long arms wide and gave Albert a sad smile. “I used to read through the news stories…” Mr. Sam trailed off. “…the newspapermen, they was doing they part… reporting the war… and I think we darn near surprised everybody with our heroics—sometimes, even ourselves!” He gave Albert a wink and a smile, and as soon as Albert smiled back, Mr. Sam lost his smile and continued. “The thing is Burty, even when they was praisin' us they was still keepin' us in our place. Quick to point out that the heroes in the stories they was writin’ about was just porters, elevator boys, and whatnot but at least they was writin' about us, Burty! Heh heh heh! Yep, things didn't change much after the War, but I sure had.”
Albert took this pause to chance a look at Miss Lottie. She was still ironing. He had never seen Mr. Sam, nor Miss Lottie for that matter, ever wear anything but what they were wearing at that very moment. And Miss Lottie was always ironing. As for Mr. Sam, he was always sitting in his chair in his worn, blue overalls. Albert thought that they must have enough cleaned and ironed clothes inside their house to last them a lifetime.
Miss Lottie was a big woman. Almost as big as Mr. Sam was tall. And Mr. Sam was the tallest man that Albert had ever seen. At least he thought he would be the tallest if he stood up. He had never really seen Mr. Sam get up out of that chair. His mind had begun to stray from his intended prize. Another quick glance and then, with the quietest whisper he thought he could use for Mr. Sam, said “The Shadow, Mr. Sam. You said it was important.” And it apparently was by the way Mr. Sam’s eyes got real big and round. He shot a glance at Miss Lottie, then gave Albert a small nod.
“Not today Burty. Soon.”
Then he buttoned his lips as he eyed his wife again.
End of Chapter
Chapter 3: This Conversation is for the Dogs
© 2009 Michael O’Connell. All rights reserved.
