Chapter Seventeen Marion
seventeen MARION
Marion had never really had a best friend before. Pat had been the socialite in the family, the one invited to parties and wooed by football players. Marion hadn’t been interested in meeting people. Her mind craved facts, and she wanted little more than to learn. Everything. In high school, instead of sitting with friends, she spent her time in the school library, reading.
Marion had completed grades nine to thirteen, sheltered in that quiet haven. She had been happy, but she couldn’t deny having had moments of envy in those tender teenage years. Of sadness even, that she’d never bothered—or dared—to try anything else. At the end of school every day, she’d passed by the field, where students congregated in little clusters, but their conversations never interested her.
Sassy would have been one of those girls on the high school field, surrounded by friends. Had she carried her guitar to school and performed for them? With those dancing green eyes and her way of making people feel good, Marion had no doubt she would have been popular. Sassy had been right in the elevator: they probably never would have met if they’d been in school together.
Now that Marion was getting to know her, she could see what a waste that would have been. She’d never had a close friend, then all of a sudden Sassy turned up, eager to get to know her. She left Sassy’s apartment on that first night with her arms full of books and her mind buzzing with input. The next Monday, Sassy came to her place after supper and exclaimed at all the differences in their decor, declaring that Marion’s plain white walls were calming.
A week after that, Marion was sipping wine and listening as Sassy stood by her record player, moving from one album to the next, carefully dropping the needle onto the songs she wanted to explain.
“This is ‘Early Morning Rain’ by Gordon Lightfoot,” Sassy told her, looking serious. “I actually heard him play a few years ago at the Purple Onion in Yorkville. He was in a duo then, called the Two Tones. His voice is kind of nasal, can you hear it? But his poetry’s great. Now this one,” she said, moving to the next record, then the next, leaving Marion in a contented stupor. The girl was a whirlwind, and even if Marion didn’t ingest all she was saying about the music, her energy was contagious. She made Marion long for a record player of her own.
Between the songs and the books and the wine, Sassy told Marion about Joey. Left without a mother, in the care of a father who had never stopped grieving, the children had formed a deep bond, finding security in childhood games, and trust when they needed it most. Joey’s decision to go to war had shattered Sassy. Some nights, she sobbed on Marion’s shoulder, thinking of him there, wondering if he was all right.
Marion never said it out loud, but she didn’t think he was. He might have found purpose, fighting communism with his band of “brothers,” but he would have lost so much more. Marion knew what that kind of violence could do to the body and mind of a man. Especially a good one. Sassy asked her once about the topic, wanting to know what she’d seen in her practice, but Marion had little to add to what Sassy already surmised. Men like Joey were not built to withstand the brutalities, the cruelties, the inhumanities of war.
But now Marion had a new source for answers: Daniel Neumann.
“How did you do it?” she asked him one day. “How did you keep going in the face of enemy fire? It goes against human nature not to flee a threat like that.”
His expression hardened at the question, but she saw something deeper within him falter. “I did my job,” he said. “I wasn’t there to run.”
“Do you remember your first encounter with the enemy?”
They were sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs in her office, and her door was closed. They’d come a long way from those days when he’d been shackled to his bed. He was bent over, his forearms resting on his thighs, his heels flat on the ground. He wrinkled his nose at the question.
“I do. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“What do you remember?”
“I was fresh out there, you know? I was the FNG. Seems like forever since that day.”
“FNG?”
He started to speak, then he stopped himself. “The NG stands for ‘new guy.’ I’ll let you guess what the F stood for. Sometimes we called them Cherries.”
She made a sound of acknowledgement and encouraged him to keep going, but in her mind, she couldn’t help but appreciate the different sides to this man. A warrior, a killer, and a gentleman.
“I was by a stream, filling my canteen. The heat out there, it drains every drop from you. The other guys were somewhere behind me. I heard them laughing at something, then someone yelled. All of a sudden, bullets were whipping into the grass around me. Sounded like sharp whispers, you know?”
She thought she could hear them, his description was so clear.
“I got into the water, but that was no good. The stream was dappled by all the bullets, and it wasn’t deep enough for me to dive.”
“What did you do?” she asked, forgetting briefly where she was. He’d brought her with him into the jungle, and his terror rushed through her veins.
“I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen, basically waiting to get shot. Then one of the guys shouted, and that cut through the bullets. It was like a window opened, and I heard everything: the men, the guns, and the enemy screaming something I didn’t understand. I stopped panicking and ran headlong into the fight. I mean, I was trained for that, right? I didn’t go all the way to Vietnam to hide. I started shooting, my hands so sweaty I was afraid I’d drop my gun. I barely even knew what I was doing. It was sheer desperation.”
Her own palms were damp just hearing the story. “What happened?”
“I was standing out there like a target, shooting like an idiot, then Tex ran over and shoved against me, making sure I was paying attention. The authority in his voice saved my life. I followed him, I dropped into underbrush when he did, and I got back to work.”
As he grew quiet, Marion leaned in. “Did it ever get easier? Being out there?”
His shoulder lifted. “Sure. I mean, it’s always a surprise, but we tried to be ready. That’s what it’s all about, right? Getting there first, taking the enemy off guard, getting out alive. I was a pretty good shot. I used to hunt as a kid, and that came back to me almost right away. I wonder if I can still shoot now. I’ve never tried with only one eye.”
Marion paused, considering the question she wanted to ask. Was it the right time? “This is a tough question, and you don’t have to answer. I’m wondering how it felt to kill someone.”
There was no change in his expression. “I know what you’re asking. Am I a man or a monster? It’s not that simple, Doc. Nothing is out there. Fact is, someone’s gonna get killed, and you don’t want it to be you. They die or you do. That’s all. Every man in every war understands that.”
She waited, because he’d lost focus. He was remembering something.
“I used to think I’d have a problem killing someone. That didn’t last. Over there, you’re always hunting, always trying to stay alive long enough to do it. I’ve thought about that a lot. I can picture talking to my dad and my grandfather about it now that I’ve lived it. That’d be interesting.”
Her own father’s face came to her, strained and unsure. Would he ever tell her how it was?
“What about the fear? Did it get better?”
He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that never goes away. If you’re not scared, you’re gonna die. I’ve seen men die because they were too confident. They forgot to listen for the things that didn’t fit. The breathing. A twig snapping under a boot that’s not yours.”
She shuddered. “So basically, you are constantly in fight-or-flight mode.”
“Flight’s not an option.”
“And yet you wish you were still there.”
“I told you. It’s not the place or the fight. I dream about the jungle and the fighting, but what matters is my brothers. I’m a part of them, and they’re a part of me. It’s like, oh, I don’t know. I had an aunt who used to weave baskets. Every straw held the next one in place. That’s how it is.”
“So the brotherhood is the thing?”
He nodded.
“Some men can move past these war experiences, but some never do.” She swallowed, preparing to share. “My dad still fights his war. I see how scared he is when it comes back to him. But I’m learning from you that maybe that’s a good thing. He’s still scared, and maybe that’s why he’s still alive.”
Daniel said nothing.
“You’re calm now,” she noted. “You’re aware. What does it feel like to find the sense of calm after all that chaos? To return to what you were before?”
“But I’m not who I was. I remember that guy, and I miss those simpler days, but I’m different. I’m stronger. People might not see that when I freak out. They might see me as sick in the head, but I know what I’m capable of. I have moments, sure, but most of the time, I’m a stronger, more reliable me.”
Knowing he felt that way made it a little easier for Marion to accept his impending release into society. Daniel should have been discharged already, but he had developed an infection around his eye socket, and she had used that as an excuse to keep him in the hospital’s care for as long as she could. She was concerned, as she was for all her patients, about how he would deal with living on his own, but she had a selfish reason, too. Every time they spoke, she felt strongly connected to him, and she wanted more. More of his stories, more of his perspective. More of his company. More of him.
When Sassy came over to Marion’s apartment later that week, Marion shared some of Daniel’s thoughts on life after war, hoping Sassy could think of Joey in that light. When he came back, he would be different, she told her, but he would still be himself inside. And he would crave a brotherhood of veterans. Sassy listened in silence, her eyes locked onto Marion as she drank in her hope. When she finished, they didn’t speak for a little while.
At the other side of her living room, Marion’s brand-new record player clicked off, so she stood to flip the record over. She’d gotten used to the routine of sliding a record out of its sleeve, placing it over the post in the middle of the spinning turntable, then carefully lowering the needle onto the vinyl.
She’d never planned to buy a record player. A few weeks before, on a sunny Saturday, Sassy had knocked on her door and said she was dying to buy Help! , an LP put out two years before by the Beatles. She asked Marion to grab her purse and go with her. Initially, Sassy’s impromptu ideas had knocked her back a step. Marion’s usual reticence was at odds with Sassy’s impulsive nature. But over time, her reluctance gave way to a new, invigorating curiosity. Now she rarely questioned Sassy’s plans. On that Saturday, they bundled up against the December chill and walked from the apartment to Yonge and Elm, where Marion noticed the huge yellow A&A sign for the first time.
When they entered the record store, Marion thought immediately of a library. Thousands of records stood inside trays, lined up in rows that stretched the length of the store. About twenty people milled around them, flipping through albums. Some of the shoppers were talking to friends, others were silent in their searches, but around all of them wafted music that Marion had never heard before. When a man’s smooth, warm voice soared from the speakers, violins stretching melodies around it, Marion stopped short.
“What’s that?”
Sassy tilted her head, listening. “Nat King Cole.”
“I could listen to him forever,” Marion breathed.
Sassy strode down the row, sorted through a stack of records, then plucked one out and handed it to Marion. The cover was light brown and featured a portrait of a smiling young Black man wearing a yellow tie.
“ Love Is the Thing, ” Marion read. She turned it over and read through the list of songs, landing on “When I Fall in Love, ” the song that had just played. “Are you going to buy it?”
“Yes. For you.”
Marion chuckled. “All right. Every time I come over, you have to play it.”
“No, no,” Sassy said, walking on. “You’ll play it on your new record player. That’s our next stop.”
Marion had balked then surrendered. Why shouldn’t she have music in her home? The most difficult thing about a record player, Sassy claimed, was choosing which record to play. Once they brought it home, Sassy loaned her other LPs, and Marion began to rely on music to bring her calm at the end of the day. She had not expected the impact the little box would have on her life.
Now she lifted Mr. Tambourine Man off the turntable, flipped it over, and started side two.
“Would you like more wine?” she asked, heading toward the kitchen to refill her own.
“Tell me about Daniel,” Sassy requested from the other room. “Not Daniel the patient. Daniel the man.”
Marion brought the bottle out and filled both glasses, frowning. She wasn’t really supposed to talk about her patients, but with all the conversations she was passing between Sassy and Daniel about Joey, it seemed all right. Besides, she never gave out any medical or private information.
Sassy was insistent. “He sounds cool. I hope to meet him someday. You’re, like, so stoked when you talk about him.”
“I’ve learned a lot from him.”
“Maybe so,” Sassy replied, her gaze soft, “but there’s more there. Your aura is so warm when you think about him. Talk to me, Marion.”
Marion had to adjust her thinking, taking Daniel out of the hospital examination room and bringing him closer to home. As soon as his image appeared in her mind, she felt lighter.
“He’s like you, in a way,” she realized. “He’s opened up windows in my mind and shown me life from different perspectives. With you, I am braver about trying new things. With him, I feel like… like I want more excitement out of life.”
“There it is,” Sassy grinned. “Can you feel that glow in your cheeks? I can see it. Marion, he’s your Sonny!”
Marion stared at her.
“Sonny! You know. Sonny and Cher! He’s got you, babe!” she sang.
Sassy kept grinning, and Marion laughed, her heart full. She didn’t know about the whole Sonny thing, but Sassy’s reaction was enough. Growing up, she had wondered if she’d missed out, never having had a best friend. That question no longer mattered.
Now she had Sassy.