Louis Shalako: Heaven Is Too Far Away, Chapter Twenty-Six. Louis Shalako.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Meeting the Folks

I haven’t said much about Jennifer. Maybe that’s for the best.

We did continue to see each other. It was good to have someone else to think about.

My officers and men were busily engaged in landing practice, firing practice, high-altitude practice, and aerobatic practice. Even now, we had just received three new pilots, more technical trades, and more soldiers to provide additional security were expected shortly.

Having a spare moment to think of Jennifer, our last conversation ran again through my already stressed-out mind, a jumble of facts, figures and potential problems. All were momentarily pushed aside by thoughts of her. And I couldn’t quite figure out if I loved her or not. That just seemed so unfair. Let me tell you, I was happy enough in not having sex with her. It was kind of sweet, in a way I personally didn’t know much about.

Back on the farm, a few of my buddies had sweethearts. My best friend was married. He and his wife had a little boy. He couldn’t even be drafted because he was the head of the household of a family farm, which I told him was excellent. He had the candor to agree, but asked me not to put it around too much.

He loved his wife and little boy something fierce, and he had this look in his eye, a little too much white around the edges.

“Best thing is to live with it, under the circumstances.” That’s what I said at the time.

People used to worry about being called a coward, after some young girls gave out white feathers on the streets of Toronto, or Montreal. It’s all so long ago.

I stand by that, actually. Just because those of us who went were condemned men, and we understood that after a while, there wasn’t much sense in dragging a bunch of other innocent bastards into it. There were some guys who felt differently, in fact a lot of men felt different. They were just griping, mostly. These were the guys who were later credited with cheerfully sacrificing their lives for the upper-class establishment.

I can assure you of one thing. They were not, fucking, ‘cheerful.’

Voices could be heard outside of the command building as men began to unload truckloads of engines. Because we needed the trucks, we moved crate after crate to the rail siding and our guarded lockup. This was built from hastily-requisitioned (stolen) wire and timbers. Guarded twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We were all getting tired of that shit. Oh, well. It’s lonely at the top. We were so short-handed, sometimes I was the only one who could be spared.

***

Jennifer.

Jennifer’s parents lived in the fashionable west end of London. I went around to meet her parents. It turns out her dad wasn’t a cabinet minister, but some government bigwig nevertheless. Her mom and dad were very nice.

Apparently, she told them all about us going for a ride on the bike, and explained why she hadn’t been home at all that night. Members of the capitalist, or leisure class, they could probably live on the interest or income from their properties and ventures. And yet they couldn’t just walk away from power either, could they? Money and power go hand in hand. Members of a social class, her folks were used to their daughter arriving home at dawn after some gay ball, but when she didn’t come home at all, they were a little worried.

They wanted a look at me.

Dinner was a semi-formal, yet fun affair, complete with liveried servants, glittering silver-domed plates, and the usual mucking about with thirteen different knives, forks and spoons. Her family wasn’t stiff. The conversation was a scintillating blend of weather, politics, gossip, invective at a particularly offending ‘Member’ of the Opposition, whom I wasn’t familiar with, and puckish jokes from Jennifer and her sisters three. Her old man Ralph had an earthy sense of humor, punctuated by colorful, slightly risqué, but still suitable-for-family-company stories.

He told them pretty well, always with one eye on his wife and one on myself, ‘The only other ally he had.’

The butler grinned. Apparently he was a friend of the family and belonged to generations of O’Ryellys or some such. Family retainers, is my interpretation. Badly wounded, he seemed pretty grateful to have a job.

Lucky to survive, by the looks of him. My host began another tale.

“Ralph.” His wife Mary chided, and he changed anecdotes in mid-stride. I couldn’t help but grin anyway, because with my own quick wits I could see where the story was going.

My eyes traveled over the wealth of family history displayed upon the walls.

“He fell on his bum.” Chimed in Zoe, the youngest, a bright-eyed child of maybe three and a half years.

We all laughed. She had kept us all going since walking in the door. Perhaps she was on display as well, if you can imagine their pride. I was on display. That much was clear, and the house was aquiver with the romance of it all. This strange, tall figure was their eldest sibling’s, ‘beau,’ with all that the word implies.

Number two sister.

Thank God, I just wore a plain old dress uniform, no over-decorating. Having made it through dinner all right, the adults and the oldest sister withdrew into another room while the table was cleared. The small ones stayed behind to pester the servants with their cheerful banter.

I followed Mr. and Mrs. Bolteman in, with Jennifer at my arm.

By now her kid sisters worshiped me. I could just imagine them sitting on the bed late at night and discussing me in fine detail. Lord save us from women, eh?

It’s like they had it all planned out.

“So tell me about this Member.” I prompted.

“Oh, he’s not so bad.” Mother replied for him. “He gets his point across, and of course that annoys Ralph and his cronies, noisy old bunch of hens that they are.”

I could see that old Ralph might have a hard time of it, but he seemed to have thick skin where the sweet wife was concerned.

His ‘better half,’ or some such ilk.

“She’s right of course.” Winked Mr. Bolteman. “We have a drink together from time to time, and we get along just fine. It’s just that some of his tactics are simply juvenile.”

My Jennifer sat there on the sofa, and it really sucked when the old fellow cleared his throat and asked the old, “So where do you plan to go in life, young man?”

A surprise attack, and pretty nice work by the way.

“What are your credentials for dating my daughter?” He continued.

And for whatever reason, it kind of floored me. But then I had no idea of why it was a good idea. None whatsoever, unromantic as that may be.

The most aggressive pilot wins.

“Daddy.” Implored Jennifer, while her sister Deanna giggled, and stared unabashedly.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m gainfully employed, free, white, and twenty-one, as the saying goes.” I began diffidently enough, although the age part was a lie. “I have no criminal record. No visible infirmities. I’ve never declared bankruptcy, and I’m in a pretty good state of mental health, with no communicable diseases. I have a good employer, although my future prospects may be limited by the duration of the war, which I am assured will be over by Christmas.”

Oh yeah, I could go on and on.

Old Man Bolteman and his wife roared with laughter, and gave each other a knowing look. He leaned over from his chair and slapped me on the knee.

“That’s a good one.” He chortled.

Jesus H. Christ. Jennifer’s parents were, like a lot of the bourgeoisie, ‘crazy like shit house rats.’ All one can do sometimes, is to sit there red-faced, and take it like a man.

“Well, my daughter assures us you’re a gentleman.” Said the old man.

“And you’re always welcome in our home.” Mrs. Bolteman told me kindly. “Don’t let old Ralphie get your goat. He just forgets that not everyone is a political animal.”

She trailed off with a smile. She seemed like a pretty genuine old lady.

“With your skills in diplomacy, you might take the Civil Service Exam, and apply to the Foreign Office.” Suggested old Ralph.

So what are your qualifications towards courting my daughter, young man.

She winked at me from behind her teacup.

At some point the younger daughter began to practice on the piano. While she was pretty bad, I enjoyed the homey atmosphere of it. Jennifer and I sat quietly as her mother Mary picked up an embroidery bag. She began to sort through it in an absent fashion.

Plink-plink-plink…plunk. Ah. Beethoven’s Third. I can name that tune in four notes, and one of them is wrong.

I heard of a guy, his lady’s dad asked him, ‘What are your intentions towards my daughter?’

The guy said, ‘Buddy, I intend to fuck the ass off your daughter.’

He got chased down the stairs and out into the street with a red-hot poker, as I recall.

I see diplomacy as an extension of war by other means. And I really don’t give a shit what her old man thinks. Nice as the folks are.

“Where’s my spectacles?” Murmured Mister Bolteman, having picked up a paper and tried to read it.

He should have learned by now.

“Here they are, daddy.” Said Jennifer.

She brought them over, and as she was beside him, she tipped me the wink and a grin. Then she came and sat near. This was a hard conversation to begin. Idly my mind wanders back to the point. But there won’t be another chance and it’s late already. A long drive in the dark to the aerodrome. Hours of driving ahead of me—and I’m the CO.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit again.” I began, and it kind of choked me up, feeling all wooden as I was at that point.

All I could do was to ignore her folks and soldier on.

Maybe I was tired, I don’t know. She was holding my hand, her chair angled up close to mine. She looked down quickly.

Cough, cough. Something tickled my throat and burned at my eyes.

It’s hard to know how to begin. Something really needed to be said here.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be coming back.” I managed. “I don’t plan on getting killed or anything like that.”

She looked up suddenly, that’s for sure.

“I mean I’ll be coming back to you.” I tried to explain, but it just wouldn’t come out right.

Oh, yeah, I guess I knew by then. The fact that we were in love. Maybe it was obvious to everyone else, but we males are always the last to know. And I knew it would be all right. I don’t know if you’ve ever had that feeling? I just knew it would be all right. The room was very quiet. I just sat there and stared at the carpet between my feet, as if to memorize the pattern for future reference. Her folks must have packed up and left in a hurry, and I didn’t even hear ‘em go. How they managed the sister, I’ll never know.

She came and sat on my lap and said, “I love you, Will.”

And it was good. There must have been some other conversation then and along the way, but it’s not important. My heart thudded deep in my chest, and a strange rush of adrenal juices shot through me. We were both taking ragged breaths, and there were tears on the verge of gushing out.

“I love you too, Jennifer.” I said.

A pretty genuine old lady, and that's a good thing.

There was some kissing, on the lips, face, nose, eyes, chin, forehead, ears, and at some point she put my hand on her breast. My heart pounded. That was the first time I ever touched her that way. She put my hand over her heart. That’s what I meant to say. She put my hand over her heart.

I could see glistening tears in her eyes.

“Please come back to me.”

“I promise.” I kissed her again, a little more thoroughly.

I meant it, too. And I gave her breast, er, I mean her heart, another little squeeze.

END