What’s a little joke between friends, and I shouldn’t ask him any questions for now
I could not recall how I had made my way back to the hospital, nor did I have chance to say goodbye to Aaron, but the day after his departure for Honolulu I got a note, a mischievously cryptic note from him, telling me he had played a little prank on someone and used my name, but hoped I would forgive him for it, because what’s a little joke between friends, and I shouldn’t ask him any questions for now, because he wasn’t prepared to answer, not yet, but I would soon find out, and not to be angry with him, because he had done it on a whim, and because he knew what I really wanted even if I didn’t know it myself, and even if I did, I was too slow to admit it even to myself and too shy to act on it.
A week after my onstage stunt I was discharged from the hospital. My shoulder was still hurting, which made me unable to resume military training. Instead I was assigned to mess duty. It offered no glory, only heat, which turned my life into a sweaty existence. There I was, a lowly servant of his majesty, the cook, a man with chubby, greasy hands, whose pots kept spilling over, which provided an ever-present opportunity to order me about.
“Get up early in the morning, before the rest of the company,” he instructed me. “Bring in the wood, start the fire, place food on the sideboard, replenish as needed, and when everyone is done, mop the floors, scrub the tables and then—”
“Then, can I eat?”
“Prepare the next meal.”
The mess call had long died out by the time he allowed me to fill my mess-can and tin cup. Still, there were enough leftovers to showcase his dubious culinary skills:
Soupy, soupy, soupy, without a single bean
Coffee, coffee, coffee, without a speck of cream
Porky, porky, porky, without a streak of lean
By now most of my pals were gone. Some had gone onto guard duty or shipped to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, where they would be put into infantry training. Others had been sent onto battleships. I imagined them in hostile terrains or in stormy seas, deployed to prove their courage in battle. They left families back home, and I envied them for bonds made, for love tested.
Meanwhile here I was, sweating to do nothing meaningful. There was no one with whom I could talk, except for the cook who expected me to listen.
Aaron was gone, too. I was curious as to the nature of his little prank, but how bad could that be? There was no choice but to wait and see.
I thought about him often, because before his departure he had given me a parting gift: his battery-powered Philco radio. I set it next to my bed and passed my hand over it with great awe. A Single piece of wood formed the top and sides, creating an arched shape that was not only practical for manufacturing but also delightfully beautiful. It looked like a cathedral. At night, when I returned to the nearly empty barracks, it helped my loneliness recede into the dark corners.
This trilogy includes three novels, where one begins where the previous one ends, so you keep yourself immersed in the times and in the saga that begins when Lenny and Natasha first meet. Follow them from the US to England to France during WWII.
★★★★★ “Reading Poznansky is like entering a dream, a very real dream – colorful, imaginative and flowing. Highly recommended.”
