"Thank you, General. That is most generous. I am honored," Sciafani said, shaking Uncle Ike's hand.
"Let Sergeant Sarafian know whatever you need. Now, excuse me, I have to play the gracious host." He gave us all his famous grin, that friendly gaze right into your eyes. It got me every time.
"He is a great man, and gracious," Sciafani said.
"Yes, runs in the family, they say," I said.
"Tell me, Enrico, is it true that losing one's memory causes a swelled head?" Diana asked.
By the time we explained the double meaning in English, we were seated, drinking fine red wine, and laughing like old friends. The room glittered, and Diana's voice was like champagne, sweet and heady, making me aware I was blessed every time her eyes turned to look at me. Once I saw Uncle Ike talking with General Alexander, and as he listened, he glanced toward us and smiled. We were blessed. Alive, together.
Late that night, in Diana's quarters, we lay in tangled sheets under mosquito netting, our uniforms scattered on the floor where we had discarded them on our way to her bed. It was a small room in a local hotel that had been taken over for women officers. I was glad she wasn't in a tent with a rickety cot.
"Billy?"
"Yes, I'm here." I ran my hand down her back. Tiny beads of sweat decorated her backbone.
"I'm going back to the SOE. They said I was fully recovered."
"Did they order you back?" I could feel my heart sink, and I was ready to protest the injustice of it all.
"No."
"You volunteered?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to lose you, Diana." It came to me then. On the beach, she'd said either of us could be killed any day.
She faced me. "Those dreams we had, about losing each other? Those weren't about the assignments we were on, or the danger either of us was in. It was about how we'd let Villard come between us. It was about how separated we had become, even when we were together. Don 't you see? As long as we love each other, nothing can get in the way."
"Are you certain? About volunteering, I mean?"
"I have to, Billy. All I do here is shuffle papers from one damn meeting to another. Some captain asked me to make tea for him last week!"
"One of the first things your sister told me about herself was how she brewed horrible tea and coffee, just so they'd stop asking her."
"She truly made horrible tea. I can't imagine her attempting coffee."
We laughed, and I watched the happy memory turn sad, and then saw the return of her smile, as the joy of recollection overcame the pain of loss. It's not that time heals all wounds, it's more that it lets you stay happier for a bit longer every day when you remember someone you lost.
"I miss her," she said.
"Kaz does too. I doubt a minute goes by he doesn't think of her."
"Poor Kaz. We 've got to find him a woman, Billy. Someone he can have a bit of fun with."
"Wait a minute!" I wasn't going to allow myself to be distracted. "Weren't we talking about you and the Special Operations Executive? Secret missions and all that?"
"All right. I have to make a contribution. Knowing I can and not doing it is driving me crazy."
For me, the opposite would be true. I would much rather Diana stayed at headquarters.
"When?" I asked.
"I have no idea. Nothing is on right now. I'm all yours, for these few days at least."
"Well, what's done is done."
"Right," she said. She drew closer, nestling into my arms. I realized that although I was afraid of losing her, I wasn't surprised at all that she'd volunteered to go back. It was who she was.
"Remember who you are," I said softly. I felt her breath on my arm as she fell asleep. I couldn't tell if she had heard me. It didn't matter. She knew well enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
"Trauma to the head, psychogenic amnesia. Return to the Zone of the Interior authorized. Honorable discharge due to medical reasons."
I read the paper in the file the nurse had handed me. It was signed by the doctor who had talked to me after a bunch of other doctors had examined and prodded me all morning. The file held a bunch of other papers. Travel priority AA. Orders to report to Fort Dix, New Jersey, for separation.
Zone of the Interior. That was the States. Honorable Discharge. Separation. Home.
Words that I'd waited more than a year to hear. Beautiful-sounding words.
Separation.
I was fine physically. The last doctor was a psychiatrist. He thought I was OK, sort of, but didn't like that amnesia episode one bit. It was grounds for a discharge, and that's what he gave me. I was sure he expected thanks, but I couldn't take it in. I left his office to wait for the paperwork. Then I stood outside the hospital tent, reading my orders over again. Home. Boston by way of Fort Dix. Travel priority AA. Not the highest, but not bad. I could get on an airplane bound for the States as soon as there was an empty seat or I could bump some poor schmo with a single A priority.
Nothing seemed real. I walked the mile to General Eisenhower's villa, watching the trucks and jeeps roll past, everyone going somewhere in a hurry. Going to war. I was going in the opposite direction. Home. Zone of the Interior.
All of a sudden I was returning the guard's salute and standing in front of Sue.
"Is the general in?"
"No, he flew to Algiers this morning. Anything I can do for you, Billy?"
"Sure. Can you call the airfield? See if there's a seat for me?" I gave her the folder. "Do you have a paper and pen I can use?"
"Sure, Billy. There's stationery on Marge's desk. Is this for real?" She flipped through the folder and looked at me. Couldn't blame her really; I did have some experience with forged orders.
"They're real. Top secret, OK?"
"Mum's the word." She picked up her telephone. I sat at the other desk and found a fountain pen. I thought about what to say and the best way to say it. I wrote a long letter, long for me anyway, and then sealed it in an envelope. I scrawled a name on the outside and stuffed it in my back pocket. Sue hung up the phone.
"With these orders, you can get on a plane at 1400 hours. Are you leaving now? Without-"
"See ya, Sue. Thanks for everything."
I hotfooted it over to our tent. Sciafani was sitting in the sun, reading an old Life magazine.
"Big Mike around?" I asked.
"He is at lunch and is coming after that to drive me to the POW camp. Nothing worked out last night?"
"Nothing, Enrico. Sorry. Listen, I need a favor. Will you drive me to the airfield?"
"Should I be driving a military vehicle? Here?"
"Hey, you've been in the army. Come on, you'll be back in time for Big Mike to take you to the POW camp."
"Well, it was in a different army, but what can they do to me?"
"Right, come on. There's a two o'clock flight." I enjoyed using civilian time, a lot more than was normal. Maybe it was like a connection, like Big Mike carrying around his shield.
Big Mike had drawn a jeep from the motor pool to take Sciafani south to the POW camp. We got in and drove down the busy road to the airfield.
"Thank you for everything you've done," Sciafani said, speaking loudly above the road noise.
"I didn't get anything done."
"I mean back in Sicily. It was remarkable, really."
"Stubborn is more like it."
We pulled up at the gate and I showed my orders. The sentry waved me on. I followed the markers to a waiting transport. A line of officers and civilians stood near it as GIs loaded gear into the rear. An MP held up his hand for us to halt.
"You on this flight, sir?"
"Got the orders right here."
"Both of you?"
"No, just one."
"OK, get your gear out, have your orders ready, and then get this vehicle out of here." He blew his whistle at another vehicle and stalked off to tell the driver to get a move on.