Rising Tides (23 page)

Ferris hadn’t given much thought to what war might be like. He hadn’t considered what it would feel like to be helpless, to watch his countrymen struggle and not be able to assist. When he thought about it at all, he’d imagined himself far from the scene of battle or directly—and somehow safely—immersed in it.

He hadn’t expected to wait, to run messages and issue useless orders to men who were waiting, too. When the orders finally came for the American ships to take action against the coastal guns, he cheered with the rest of his shipmates.

The
Augusta
was still out of the battle, but her sister cruiser, the
Brooklyn,
and four destroyers began exchanging shells with the enemy. Ferris sought out Captain Hutchins.

“Patton’s fit to be tied,” the captain said with no fan fare. “He can’t get a straight story from anybody, and he’s not going to sit here much longer and struggle with codes and messages. He’s going to want to go ashore with some of his staff.”

“We’ll get the boat ready,” Ferris said.

“They’ll all want to carry their belongings. They won’t be coming back. And, Gerritsen, don’t bother coming back yourself if you don’t get Patton safely to shore.”

Exhilaration surged through Ferris. He had never learned how to wait for anything. Now he wasn’t going to be forced to sit back any longer. An hour flew by. Re ports came in that the destroyer
Murphy
had been hit, but there was no word on casualties. Explosions were reported on shore, but no one seemed certain what had gone up.

He issued the appropriate orders to begin preparing a crash boat for the trip to shore. Then he found a member of the general’s staff, a harried young lieutenant. He explained his mission. “If you get everything ready, we’ll stow it on board so we can leave as soon as the general wants,” Ferris told him.

The young man looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. Ferris had heard that exhaustion was one of the hazards of working with Patton. “I’ll have everything ready,” the lieutenant promised. “The general travels light. A few papers, book, clothes. But I’ll warn you, he always travels with his pistols.”

“Pistols?”

“Yeah, a set of two. Old ones with ivory handles. They go everywhere he goes.”

Ferris grinned. “We’ll find a special place for them.”

Up on deck again, he saw Reavis instructing a gun crew.
Every member looked young enough to be in high school. “French ships,” Reavis told him as he passed. He pointed toward Casablanca. “Headed right toward our transports.”

“Are we going after them?”

The loudspeakers began to roar orders. “Right about now!” Reavis shouted.

Ferris felt the deck tremble as the
Augusta
changed direction. Gunfire erupted. The two closest destroyers,
Wilkes
and
Swanson,
shot forward, and
Augusta
followed behind, pushing a white wave-curl in front of her clipper bow. The ship shook as her eight-inch guns roared into action.

“Jesus!” For a minute, Ferris didn’t know what to do. Then he headed for the bridge. Patton’s landing was going to be delayed.

An hour later, he stood on the side of the deck, supervising the loading of personal effects into the landing craft chosen for Patton’s voyage to the Fedala beachhead. The
Augusta
and her sister ships had chased the French back toward Casablanca harbor and were now standing guard over the transports. Adrenaline surged through him. It had been the best kind of skirmish. The Americans had triumphed, and, to his knowledge, it had been accomplished without American bloodshed. He felt like a veteran.

Patton and his staff arrived. The lieutenant had made a point of showing Ferris the wooden chest with Patton’s prized pistols, and Ferris had chosen a space under one of the front seats. He stood at attention as General Pat ton approached. An impressive man under any circum stances, the general looked every inch the commander today. He chomped on a cigar as he squinted at the crash boat, which was swinging from davits over the side. He nodded without really looking at Ferris as he was introduced. “Let’s go.”

Ferris moved toward the boat. This was his own personal moment of glory. He was taking General George S. Patton to shore. Carried on a wave of adrenaline, he didn’t even feel any fear. He would distinguish himself, and Captain Hutchins would give him more responsibility. Heroes had been made from less.

He reached the boat and stood to one side as Patton began to climb on board. From nowhere, a roar shook the ship. Patton fell backward on to the deck, and Ferris pitched headfirst into the boat. He struggled to right himself, grasping at the air. One hand raked the front seat and the other the floor below it. He slid farther forward as the boat rocked tumultuously. One hand settled against polished wood. He was still holding the chest with Patton’s pistols when he scrambled back on board the
Augusta.
As he righted himself, the crash boat exploded against the side of the ship and splintered into a million pieces.

“Jesus Christ!” Patton got to his feet. “Jesus H. Christ! What the devil’s going on?”

Dazed, Ferris regained his footing as the general’s staff gathered around Patton to make sure he was all right.

“We’ve opened fire, sir,” the lieutenant said.

“Who shot the landing craft to hell and back?” Pat ton demanded.

“I think
we
did, sir. Looks like the French are going after the transports again.”

Another round rang out from
Augusta
’s after turret. One of the men fell to his knees.

Patton stared at the empty space where the boat had been. The davits still swung frantically from side to side. “My pistols. My goddamned pistols!”

Ferris looked down at the chest in his hands. He wasn’t even sure he had the coordination to unclasp his fingers. “I got them,
sir,” he said. His voice didn’t carry. He took a deep breath. “I’ve got them, General Patton, sir. They’re right here. I got them for you.”

Patton, still cursing, turned and stared at him. He fell silent. Ferris, amazed to find he could still move, stepped forward. “Here you go, sir,” he said.

Patton, his hands absolutely steady, reached for the chest and lifted the lid. Satisfied, he slammed it back in place. He examined Ferris from head to toe before he finally spoke.

“What did they tell me your name was, Ensign?”

O
n the day after Casablanca surrendered to the Allies, an exhausted Hugh answered his apartment door to stare at a stranger in a navy uniform. The young man with the military haircut looked like a thousand other cogs in the Allied fighting machine, except for his cocky grin. “Remember me?”

Hugh grabbed Ferris in a fierce bear hug. “I don’t believe it! Where did you come from?”

“Hey, watch the uniform,” Ferris protested. But he didn’t struggle. He stood willingly in Hugh’s embrace.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Hugh said finally, holding his brother at arm’s length. “I never considered you might be out there on one of those ships.” He shook his head. “Holy Mother of God, I’m glad I didn’t.”

“And what were you doing while I was saving your draft-dodging butt?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Hugh examined Ferris, cataloging all the changes. “I’ve been doing my bit for Uncle Sam, too. Behind the scenes.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“The kind that made it possible for you to sail blithely into port.”

“Blithely, hell! There wasn’t anything blithe about it. I almost got killed.” Ferris told Hugh about the boat that was supposed to have carried Patton to shore. “Even with everything else going on, Patton remembered. He spoke to Rear Admiral Hewitt, and he tapped me for his staff. Now I’m in like Flynn.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Well, it gets me away from home. You don’t think I could come inside, do you? I came a ways to see you. That ought to count for something.”

Hugh slung his arm around Ferris’s shoulder and ushered him into his tiny living room, tossing newspapers off his favorite chair so that Ferris could sit.

“What do you mean, it gets you away from home? Is everything all right there? Is Dawn okay?”

“First, have you got anything to drink?

“Dawn’s fine,” Ferris said, a few minutes later, when he was happily sipping a glass of French burgundy from Robert Gascon’s private stock. “She’s ugly. Did you know all babies are ugly? Christ, Cappy’s friends have them in every shape and size, and they’re all just as ugly as sin.”

“I bet Dawn’s prettier than the rest.”

Ferris dug for his photograph and handed it over. “I wish you could have been there when she was christened. They waited until I got leave. Cappy’s mother was sure the baby was going to die and go to limbo before I could get home, but Cappy waited just to spite her.”

Hugh reluctantly handed back the photograph. “She’s gorgeous. You’re a jerk. I wish I could have been there, too.”

“Yeah, then she could have peed all over you. When
she isn’t peeing, she’s crying. And when
she’s
not crying, Cappy is.”

“Sounds like you’re not too happy to be a father.”

“I like it fine, just as long as I’m not home.”

“How’s Mamere? I’ve written her, but I haven’t got ten anything from home in months.”

“Mother’s fine, I guess. She’s working night and day. I guess a little war’s good for everybody.”

“Except the people who get killed.”

“Hey, who knows? Maybe Hitler’s on to something. Maybe some people are better off dead.”

“You’ve grown up, but some things haven’t changed.”

Ferris raised his glass in a mock toast. “Want to hear about the king? He’s drunk a lot of the time. Angry whether he’s drunk or not. Now he’s trying to run the city instead of the state. They tolerate him for his money.”

“And Ti’ Boo?”

“She’s holding things together in Lafourche while her sons are away.”

Hugh realized he’d run out of questions. He was waiting for one about Nicky. Aurore might very well have shared her own concerns with Ferris.

“So exactly what have you been doing all these years?” Ferris said. “Cloak-and-dagger stuff?”

“Close.”

“And you never thought about going home and trying to be a priest again?”

Hugh looked away. “Other things intervened.”

Ferris set down his glass. “Don’t tell me you found a woman?”

“Have you talked to Mamere about me?”

“No. What would I talk about? She didn’t know I was coming here.”

“Then she didn’t say anything about Nicky?”

“Who’s Nicky? She didn’t say anything. She probably doesn’t know anything, or didn’t before I left. She’d have said something to me. The last I knew, she hadn’t gotten a letter in a long time.”

Hugh had written to Aurore twice in recent months, once to tell her that he was in love, and once to ask why Nicky wore Aurore’s picture next to her heart. Nicky’s mother might have been a maid of Aurore’s, or perhaps even a friend, but whatever the circumstances, he wanted answers. He hadn’t told Nicky he recognized the picture, and he hadn’t told her about the second letter. Until he heard from Aurore, he didn’t intend to. Then he was going to have to decide whether the doors to Nicky’s past should be thrown open.

He assessed his brother, the boy who had become a man. “How much have you grown up? You say outrageous things, but what do you really believe? Have you developed some tolerance, or did you take your prejudices into adulthood?”

“I’m old enough to put my life on the line until the war’s over. And I’ve got a kid of my own now.”

“Have you figured out that New Orleans isn’t the whole world? That different people do things in different ways?”

“Hell, I had that figured out a long time ago. Sure, other people do things different ways. The wrong ways.”

“Our world at home was this narrow.” Hugh held up his thumb and touched it with his forefinger. “But there’s a big world out there, big enough for everybody to live in and be happy. We can live together, enjoy our differences, learn from each other.”

“Is this the homily for the day?” Ferris grimaced. “Jesus,
Hap. This isn’t your way of telling me you’ve hooked up with one of these Moroccan women, is it? There’ve got to be Americans here. Even a French woman wouldn’t be bad. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with one of these Africans.”

“She’s not Moroccan. She’s an American, from New Orleans. She sings in a club called Palm Court.”

The front door flew open. Nicky charged into the room. “Hap!”

Hugh leaped to his feet. Her eyes were wild and her breathing was harsh, as if she’d run for blocks. “It’s all right.” He grabbed her and held her close. He stroked her hair, and for a moment he forgot Ferris. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“I was so worried! Phillip and I just got back to town, and nobody seemed to know where you were, or if you’d made it okay. The phones aren’t working. I couldn’t get through.”

She had never seemed more beautiful to him. “I made it fine. We did it, Nicky. It’s all over.”

She hugged him harder. “I’m so glad. But I hated being away from you! I hated not knowing what was going on.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore.” Hugh kissed her; then he glanced past her to Ferris. Ferris looked be wildered. “There’s somebody here I want you to meet,” he said softly.

She backed away a little and turned in his arms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come barreling in like that. I just had to be sure you were all right. I didn’t know what to think.”

Ferris got to his feet.

“This is my brother, Ferris Gerritsen,” Hugh said. His arms tightened around Nicky’s waist. “Ferris, this is Nicky Valentine. The woman I love.”

Hugh felt Nicky tense. Then she put out her hand. “Hello, Ferris.”

Ferris lifted his hand. He was staring at Nicky as if trying
to piece together a puzzle. He extended his hand, then Hugh watched a wave of emotion pass over his face. “Jesus, Hap.” Ferris’s hand dropped to his side. “Jesus!”

Nicky dropped hers, too.

Hugh’s arms tightened around her. The things that had to be said were better said without her there. He kissed the top of her head. “Will you be home later?”

“Unless I’m not.”

“I’ll come to see you tonight.” He released her.

She walked toward Ferris and stopped just in front of him. “Funny,” she said. “I don’t see any resemblance to Hap.”

“She’s colored,” Ferris said when the sound of her footsteps died away. “Or have you been living with these dirty Arabs so long you’ve forgotten how to tell? Maybe she’s light-skinned, but she’s got colored blood, for God’s sake. Colored!”

Hugh told himself that Ferris was his brother, that whatever was said here today could have a lasting impact on both their lives. He phrased his answer carefully. “I don’t care what race she is or isn’t. I’m going to marry her.”

“Marry her?” Ferris looked stunned. “Have you gone crazy?”

“Come on, Ferris. Crazy is hating somebody because their ancestors came from a different continent.”

“They wouldn’t let you be a priest, but you’re still trying to teach the world some stupid moral lesson. Who are you trying to convert, Hap? You sound like a goddamned radical or something.”

“Would you listen to yourself for once? I’m not trying to convert anybody. I love Nicky. Period. And I want to marry her. Her race has nothing to do with anything. We’ll find a place somewhere where we’ll be accepted, and we’ll be happy.”

“Oh, yeah? You mean there’s a place like that on God’s green earth? It doesn’t even matter! Even if there is, you’re still going to wake up every morning and re member you’re in bed with a nigger. Nothing’s going to change that. Nothing!”

“You’d better watch what you call her.”

“Why? Are you going to beat up everybody who calls her a nigger? Are you going after everybody who insults her or you? You’d better take boxing lessons, then, because people’ll be lining up to fight you!”

“I don’t care about them, but you’re my brother! We have the same parents. You have as much of our mother inside you as I have of our father. You can forget all the lies and bigotry he taught you. You can accept Nicky for the woman she is.”

“Hell can freeze over first!” Ferris moved closer. “What’s so wonderful about her, Hap? Do you like screwing her? Then do it! Christ, that’s what her kind of woman was made for! But don’t even talk about marrying her. Fuck her, then marry her off to some stupid Sambo, but for godsakes don’t marry her yourself!”

Hugh punched him. His fist connected before his mind gave permission. Ferris dodged, but not quickly enough. He took Hugh’s blow on the jaw. He charged, head down, and butted Hugh in the chest.

Hugh fell to the floor, but he grabbed Ferris’s jacket and took his brother with him. He had never felt such fury. Even when he had fought with the Riffi, some part of him had felt empathy for the man, who might only be defending his home.

“You little bastard!” He grabbed Ferris by the throat and squeezed. “You’re our father all over again!”

Ferris knocked Hugh’s arms apart and grabbed his shoulders. He slammed Hugh against the floor, but Hugh twisted the second time and forced Ferris to his side. They rolled
over once, then again, crashing into a table and knocking over a lamp.

Finally they ended up against the wall, with no place to go. Hugh straddled Ferris and punched him one more time. Ferris went limp. For a moment, Hugh thought it was a trick; then he realized that he had knocked him out.

His brother.

Hugh collapsed to the floor beside him. Ferris moaned. Hugh lay still. “Are you conscious?” Hugh asked at last.

“What do you care?”

“Get out of my apartment and don’t come back.”

“As far as I’m concerned…you don’t even exist.” Ferris sat up slowly, but Hugh didn’t look at him. “You know, I used to think you were something.” Ferris man aged a cynical laugh. “And you are. You’re something, all right. Something I never want to be.”

“Just get out.”

“I sure as hell hope you don’t come back to the States. I’ve got plans, and they don’t include a brother with a high yellow floozy on his arm.”

“You know what? You’re fighting for the wrong side. You’d be happier with a swastika on your uniform.”

“You think this war has anything to do with who’s right and who’s wrong? It’s about who can grab what.”

“This war is about redemption.”

Ferris got to his feet. “So long, big brother.” He looked down at Hugh. “I hope she’s one great piece of ass.”

Hugh closed his eyes. He felt sick. He heard the door open and close, but he still didn’t move. Sometime later, he heard children shouting outside. He remembered two boys laughing away the stifling heat of a Grand Isle summer. Which of the children in the courtyard would one day betray his brother?

Casablanca was a sea of soldiers and heavy equipment. Tanks lumbered through streets that donkeys had traveled only days before. In the midst of chaos, Ferris found his way to Palm Court and stood across from the building. Blinding white in the harsh November sun shine, Palm Court seemed anything but an oasis. He wondered if this was where Hugh had met Nicky. Had the infatuation begun in the middle of a love song? Had Hugh shed his asceticism between one stanza and the next?

Ferris didn’t blame his brother for wanting Nicky. In the seconds before he realized her race, he, too, had been affected by her sensuality. She moved with the grace of a leopardess, and her smoky green eyes belonged to a leopardess, too.

But he did blame Hugh for allowing his infatuation to get out of control. Hugh was Henry Gerritsen’s son. He had been schooled since birth in the separation of the races. Yet he had allowed himself to be snared. The leopardess had stalked his brother, sunk her claws into him and mesmerized him with her soothing, feline purr. Now she would devour him.

Ferris had looked up to Hugh in a way he had never looked up to anyone else. Now Hugh was beneath contempt, and Nicky Valentine was at fault.

As he stared at Palm Court, a boy came out from the back. He was a colored child, dressed in western clothes. He did tricks with a yo-yo as he watched the troops file by, tossing it at different angles and retrieving it to show off for the passing men. Ferris waited for a break in traffic to cross.

The closer he got to the boy, the more Ferris suspected he was somehow connected to Nicky. He was darker-skinned, and his features were more obviously African, but his face was shaped much the same, and he held himself with the same proud bearing.