in the army.”
“I don’t think anyone wanted me for intelligence work,” he says, making a joke of it.
“Do you know where they’re sending you?”
“To California by train, then a nice little boat trip to Hawaii where I will lie on the beach and soak up the sun.”
“And then?”
“Come on, Rainy, don’t do that.”
She puts her arms around him and squeezes him tightly. He strokes her head and says “come on” again. And then again.
Then she pushes him away and wipes the tears from her cheeks. There are small wet marks on the chest of his uniform.
“This tea is terrible.”
“Hey, I made it myself,” Aryeh protests.
“That, I could guess.”
“Listen . . .” He sighs. “I lied a little. Not about making the tea. I’m not going to the club to meet girls. I mean, I am going to the club with some buddies. But I’m not meeting girls. Just a girl.”
This is news, and Rainy’s eyebrows rise. “A girl? Singular? Just one girl? You?”
“I kind of like her. Jane. But not plain Jane, very pretty Jane.” His tone is light and carefree and doesn’t fool Rainy for a minute.
“Are you in love? I’m amazed. Have you actually fallen for someone?”
He blows out a long breath. “I may have asked her to marry me.”
That freezes Rainy solid for a full minute. “There’s a problem, isn’t there?”
“See, that’s exactly why you’ll be good at the spying game. Right away you glom onto—”
“Don’t try to distract me with flattery, Ary.” She searches his face intently, as if he’s written the answer there. And maybe he has, because she begins to sense the reason for his caution. “What’s her last name? Her family name.”
“Jane? Oh, it’s Jane Meehan.”
“Meehan?” She sees guilt in the averted gaze. “Meehan? That doesn’t sound like a Jewish name.” His silence is confirmation. “Good lord. Good lord, Ary. Are you serious? You want to marry a shiksa?”
“Don’t you start in with that.”
“Look at me, Ary. Do you think I’m the one you need to worry about? Have you told Mother and Father? No, of course not, I would have heard the explosion. The whole city would have heard the explosion! The building would be flattened!”
“I thought maybe you could help me find a way to explain it to them.”
Her eyebrows achieve their maximum height. “Explain it? Explain to our parents that their grandchildren will not be Jewish? I could more easily explain the general theory of relativity!”
“General who?”
She puts her hands against the side of her face and looks at him, amazed, and, she has to admit, with disapproval. “You can’t marry outside. What are you thinking?”
He shrugs. “I guess I’m thinking I love her, and I don’t see where it’s so all-fired important whether she believes in a single God or a God with a Son.”
“If you say that to Mother or Father, I won’t have to worry about a Jap killing you, they’ll do the job.”
“Which is why I need your help. Because, see, I’m going to marry her before I ship out. So she’ll have the insurance if . . . And so that . . . Um . . . Well, it should have a name.”
And now the full weight of the truth comes crashing down. “No. Don’t tell me she’s pregnant, this girl.”
Aryeh fidgets and suddenly looks panicky. He’s been hiding this earth-shattering truth.
“I’m not leaving her in the lurch,” he says. And now the tears are threatening to fill his eyes, and that, Rainy knows, will humiliate him. But his humiliation can wait. First . . .
She slaps him hard on the cheek. It makes a satisfyingly loud crack, so she does it again.
“I thought you would—”
“You thought? You didn’t think. Or at least you thought with the wrong part of your body!” The fact that Rainy’s tone is an almost perfect reflection of her mother’s voice is not lost on Rainy, but she pushes past that moment of realization.
Aryeh’s miserable but defiant as well. “I love her, Rainy. I mean, it’s the real thing, and she’s pregnant, and I’m going off to . . . to maybe . . . And she’ll be all alone.” And then adds, “And broke.”
“Ah. Here it comes. The final shoe.”
“We’re getting married tomorrow. I can give her my allotment, but it won’t be enough, not in this city. She’ll need more.”
“You want me to help.”
“It’s a lot to ask.”
“It can’t be a lot because I don’t have a lot. A PFC stationed overseas earns $597.60 a year.”
“You’ll be a corporal in no time,” he says with a winning grin.
“Like hell,” Rainy snaps. “I’ll be a sergeant in no time.” She shakes her head in a show of disappointment, but of course she’s already decided to help, and her brother knows it.
“You’re the best, sis. Just don’t tell . . . you know.”
“So you want money and discretion. Swell. Anything else?”
“You’ll help.”
“Of course I’ll help. You’re my brother, how can I not help?”
“Lots of sisters wouldn’t,” he says.
She goes on shaking her head woefully, face grim, sending him the message that this is serious, sending him the message that he had better not screw up any more. But he’s Aryeh, so most likely he will.
“If it’s a girl we’ll name it after you.”
“I’m going to slap you again.”
“I have it coming,” Aryeh says.
FRANGIE MARR—GREENWOOD DISTRICT, TULSA, OKLAHOMA
“So, tell me: what is on your mind, Frangie girl?”
The question comes from Pastor John M’Dale, the spiritual leader of Frangie’s family. He’s a middle-aged man, a serious man, a thoughtful man, a scholar even, cursed (or blessed) with a round, cherubic face. His office is all dark wood, books, dust, a big globe on a three-legged stand, a small stuffed pheasant, and various symbols of his faith and position. The chair Frangie occupies is cracked leather and feels vast. She resists the urge to swivel it back and forth.
“I’m signing up, I guess,” Frangie says. “So I wanted to tell you I won’t be singing in the choir anymore for a while.”
M’Dale sits back and takes a long, deep breath, nodding and looking closely at Frangie. “Your daddy still out of work?”
“Don’t imagine he’ll be working ever again, Pastor M.”
He nods. It’s not the first time he’s heard a story like this. “You think you want to fight in this war of white men killing Japanese or else killing other white men?”
“I don’t aim to kill anyone. I aim to try out for medic.”
“Well, that