Hullo? intoned an essentially still asleep James into the plain white telephone by the bed. The man had since returned to his civilian job, and was enjoying the temporary lapse back into the full eight (usually ten or eleven) tie- and jacket-clad hours behind a desk, followed by good company and his beloved family later. He didnt miss the military side of his existence, and the circumstances allowed that to be honorable, but he wouldnt think of taking one more day of leave past the prescribed month. He had two weeks to go, and relished the prospect.
Oh. Oh, God, no. No. Yes. Ill come.
James hung up the phone successfully after two or three attempts to get the receiver set right on its cradle, eased out of bed, gathered his wartime accoutrements including his carbine and sidearm, and stole into the bathroom to get dressed. He didnt want to wake Lily; it would be bad enough when she chanced upon his hastily scrawled note. In ascetic silence, he marched out. This time, it was even less the norm. There were two more weeks left to recline in the company of loved ones and friends. But then there werent. James didnt realize that his son, up to use the small toilet beside his own room, heard, peered around the door, and caught sight of James camouflage uniform slipping finally and completely away.
Irina clasped her hand to her mouth and Robert went a bit limp, though still holding the revolver in a safe position.
You must go back to the bedroom. I think it is over, but I cannot say. It is not safe.
Herbert, no more. Robert should go, but I will be staying.
Me too.
No, Robert; you go. Please. Irina, please go with him.
Only now did Lily even notice the latecomers, and snapped back, breaking into tears.
No. Its all finished now. Herbert, please draw the door and bolt it. Its done. They finally came to our town. To our neighborhood. Thank God James was hurt and is resting safely in that hospital. Oh, how insane is that to say?! God, hes done enough.
Lily waited for the knock; in her intense rumination behind the front door she could guess to the foot which part of the flagstone walk the unseen figures occupied at any moment on their way. Subconsciously and defensively numb, she felt it her duty to play her part in this tradition exactly as scripted. She also prayed the knock would never come; that the occupants of the auto should suddenly realize they were going to the wrong house and that in seconds she would see the slit-beams of the headlights pull the vehicle away down the street. Yes. Maybe that was it. The knock should have come by now, but didnt. But then it did. Lily played her part, beginning with an hospitable door-opening.
Good evening, Major, Lieutenant.
Lily didnt know the two men, but had become adept at recognizing military insignia.
Evening, Maam.
As they coalesced, an outdated, overworked bus, perhaps in another era a school bus, noisily and tentatively made its way toward the park. None noticed really, but then it stopped just so. Most whose eyes did linger upon it for a second likely figured it carried a detachment of shut-ins or elderly who could not come to the affair on their own. Perhaps more disabled or aged veterans. But disembarking was a contingent of about a dozen folks of all ages and both genders, each carrying a folder of some sort under an arm. Most also toted cases of varying sizes. They were ushered to places on the platform, and Herbert could be seen to break into a beaming grin.
Papa? Inquired his wife tentatively. The boys smile rivaled that of his mentor, though he also fluttered with apparent excitement.
Son? Lily fairly parroted her friends query. Before any answer came, one of the contingents members stepped up.
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