Love’s Awareness
Before she stood facing me on the deck, silently but through her eyes telling me there was possibility for us, I had grown so weary of being in the hospital. She lessened the anguish of my recovery period by wheeling me out where we could look over the navy yard, watching ships going off to God knows where, carrying men who had either been in battle or would be for the first time.
“Brigit.” How I wanted to reach up and bring her down to me and kiss her. She placed her hand on my shoulder and I my hand atop hers.
“I wish. Oh God, I want to get out of here and be with you. There’s so much ahead. How or when this f . . . . . . ,” I stopped before finishing the word and heard a slight chuckle. “Naughty Lt.” I laughed. “I know you’ve heard it all before. Admit it. You use it too.”
“I do, but I have to be really angry, so don’t ever get me mad, Greg.”
“Look at the U.S.S. Constitution over there. You know, I used to read about the sea and wish I could have been born then so I could sail on a ship like that, climb the yardarms. But what a horrible and dangerous job those men had.”
“And just what do you suppose you’ve been through on that little wooden boat of yours?”
“I’m a very lucky guy,” it suddenly hit me as I spoke to her. “We lost every other boat in the squadron. What saved us?”
“G . .” and she stopped. I think she didn’t know if I believed in God nor did she know what it was like being Jewish. She had told me she was Catholic. But so what? My mom is.
“Brigit. I’m not sure if I believe. But you know my mother’s Catholic like you. My dad wanted us brought up Jewish, and she didn’t care. Well, I did later and hated it, all religion.” I had no idea how this would haunt me one day.
“Are you religious?”
“I went to a convent school.” She smiled. “I didn’t like it at times, but there was a nun I liked who kept me from becoming a bad girl,” she laughed.
How people’s minds work. That deck, the silly talk but still serious. Eventually, when they allowed me to leave the hospital, an Admiral came in when I had just gotten into my dress uniform. He pinned a couple of medals on me. Yes. It was nice. My family would be proud, and the town, I feared and dreaded it, would welcome home the hero or another hero.
The last ceremony was receipt of my discharge from the navy. I was sad. I liked the navy, but there was a life ahead. Some life. Look at me. I’m sweating from this fucking CLL. Chronic lymphatic leukemia. Some joke. Survive the fucking war for this? Think of something better, you damn fool.
Yes. Brigit watched when they put the medals on my chest and smiled at me and put her hands together in a clap. I couldn’t let that be the end, and I know she wanted no end to us either.
After the ceremony and when the crowd had disappeared, she lingered. I couldn’t help myself and said it, “My golden red-haired goddess.” “Be careful what you wish for,” she answered with an enigmatic smile. I ignored that as teasing. I looked to see no one was about, placed my arms about her. She didn’t stop me. We were looking in each other’s eyes with desire and surrender. We kissed, short at first, but then I kissed her longer and she kissed me back. “I believe, Brigit, I love you.” She didn’t answer, just smiled, her eyes brightening still more. “We’re going to see one another. Right?” She shook her head and then whispered, “I’m never going to let you go,” and she held and turned to hold herself against me so I could feel the softness of her breasts in my chest and kissed me, placing her tongue in my mouth. “And don’t forget that.”
“When I get back from home. No. I’ve got it. You come to Cape Astraea.”
“Cape Astraea? I’ve been there, Gregory. You’re the one who went with Lynne. I didn’t meet your parents. You think I should?”
“I don’t have to think. Lynne?? No kidding. I hope she didn’t tell you too much.
“Just get a few day’s leave and come. I’ll expect you.” We kissed again, not wanting to leave one another.
“I’ve got you now. No Lynne.” She smiled. “I know what you did with her. You think you’re going to do that to me?”
“That depends.” We laughed together, kissed again, separated, sliding our hands along our bodies and slowly withdrawing from one another.
~
I left the hospital, when, February, March – I don’t quite remember. Why? What’s wrong with my head? – early, anyhow, 1945. I had been in the hospital so long. My leg was worse than they originally thought. The allies were finally, moving slowly at times across France, approaching the Rhine after having been surprised and stalled by the German offensive that became known as the Battle of the Bulge. My brother was in that. In the Pacific we were about to recapture the Philippines. By that time I was safely recovering with the help of Brigit who seemed, though we cared dearly for one another and were getting well acquainted, to have these mysterious healing qualities about her that no matter how close we may have been at the time seemed inexplicable.
She would touch me, lovingly I felt, and my mind would relax, and I would feel safe with her. She encouraged me, not like Deirdre who doesn’t care if I live or die, probably wants the latter and my money – as if she hasn’t accumulated enough with those peculiar art and archaeological deals of hers. Where does she get it all? How? Oh, the hell with her. I can’t trust her. If it weren’t for the girls. . . my daughters, I mean.
Brigit. I swear she had a special quality about her that came from far off, a place no one would ever know except Brigit. Oh, my beautiful, loving Brigit. How I loved her. I still do. I wonder if she can sense it. She knows, doesn’t have to sense.
But I could get along, even walking with a cane. I applied for med school. Brigit and I had discussed that. Hmmm. It’s funny. It’s almost like the time with Lynne when she said she’d wait for me. But I thought Brigit would even marry me if I pressed hard enough. Then again, maybe not. The religion thing. Yeah, I know. Catholics, my mother and Brigit. It’s peculiar and makes you wonder. But we just agreed to wait until after med school. I also told my father and mother. My father was ecstatic, my mother pleased but I know wondering whether I could take the intensity of the study. Even the admissions office wanted to know whether I was sufficiently recovered, the asses. You either have the desire and the brains or you don’t.
~
When I was home in Maine, it was almost as though there had been no war for me. At least, I felt so comfortable, as in the past, my mother in her music room practicing, listening to her thrilling voice. Occasionally she would travel to Boston to be with her maestro. My father was at his practice.
So, alone, there were times I moped around the house, time going slowly. The fellows I had known were in the service. My mother came home one day soon after I returned wearing my uniform and ribbons, hobbling along. “Oh, what happened to Gregory, Jocelyn? Is he all right?” After the usual answers and “Yes, he’s going to be fine. He has his father, if anything bothers him.” My father was a marvelous diagnostician and let the rule go about doctors never taking care of their families. Yet, he was helpless, sometimes, even my mother’s music when I became depressed or lonely for Brigit, for the men I had gotten to know in the hospital, those on my ship. I would wonder what had happened to our last minesweeper. After the invasion of Southern France, I finally heard that my boat was decommissioned and the men sent to the Pacific. It was a terribly difficult time. I looked forward to the Fall and starting med school. What really kept me going was Brigit, thinking about her, dreaming of her. Marvelous dreams in which we made love. Sometimes she would withdraw or hide her face in her shoulder, as if telling me it was never to be, or maybe because she was a virgin in the dream. In fact I don’t know whether or not she was, but in that dream she didn’t want to arouse me. Those were lousy dreams. The others rejuvenated me. I would wake both pleased and happy, then sorry because she was after all not beside me.
Summer came. June. The gruesome Battle of Okinawa was over. Aside from reading and thinking about the war, Brigit and I we talked on the phone, telling one another how we missed being together. Then she told me she got a seven-day leave and was coming to Cape Astraea. There was such strength in her voice when she said it. “Gregory. Your parents. Can they stand having me for that long? You’ve told me so much about your mother and your father’s being well known for his evening clinic. I’ve seen articles in the paper about him, your mother too.”
“Well, he’s semi-retired now since we moved to Maine and takes the train to Boston three days a week in time for clinic hours. The new director, for courtesy’s sake, defers to him. When the time comes, and he wants to keep busy, he’ll see patients in a Portland practice that said it would welcome him. Anyhow, forget what you’ve read about them. They’re just good parents you’ll enjoy and vice versa.”
“I’m just a farmer’s daughter – well, rancher’s. I didn’t meet them when I was up there with the Brocks after graduation. But don’t forget. I know about you and Lynne. Greg, she writes me. I’m not going to compete with her, if this war is over by then. Do you think it will be?”
She was afraid of meeting my parents and just had to talk without my interruptions. Finally I said it. “Stop. Right now. My parents are going to love you. And you’re not competing with anyone or ever will. Just come. I’ll take you to Crawfish Cove, we’ll swim,” She laughed but never said she was thinking of Lynne and me and what she heard. “We’ll go into Portland, to the art museum. We’ll listen to music. My mother will sing for you. You’ll have a private concert. Hurry, Brigit. Good heavens. My heart’s pounding.”
“Well, mine is too.”
“Brigit,” I wanted to say it to her looking in her eyes, the brightness of those eyes but couldn’t help myself. “I love you.”
There was hesitation, a deep breath I heard from her. “Gregory.” She stopped, “Gregory. I’m kissing you. I wish I could feel your lips; you’re mine though. But it won’t be long.”
At first my mother wanted Mary to drive to the station, but I insisted everybody wait at home. I had driven some and was beginning to feel more comfortable in the car. Here it was June. The war in Europe was over and the Pacific would be over soon. My thoughts, however, were on the train and watching that lovely woman coming down the steps.
She appeared in her navy summer uniform. Seeing me she waved, and as she stepped carefully down holding a suitcase, I watched the curve of her hip, and there she stood, tall, her red hair showing below her cap, the litheness of her even in uniform. We were together, our arms about each other, kissing. The marvelous softness of her mouth.
“How’s my hero?” She smiled, moving back from me to look. We both did at arms’ length, but holding onto one another.
“Oh, Brigit, I never thought this would happen.” I started to laugh slightly. “You know what? I’m thinking of all those guys in the hospital and the way they would makes passes at you.
And I’m the lucky one.”
“It isn’t luck, mister.” She hit me lightly on the arm. “No woman is luck. Oh, those nasty comments about all of us. Like all women are for one thing. Oh, I should stop this. Except, you’re beautiful, Gregory, well, handsome, and you look so good I could lick all the frosting off you right in front of everyone.”
I took her bag, although she tried to stop me. “Listen, nurse, I’m O.K.”
“I’m still a little nervous, Greg.”
“Listen, they’ll take a look at you, and that’s all they’ll need. And when they hear your voice. C’mon. Wait til you see where I live. Of course, we don’t have those huge swaths of land your family does.”
We looked at one another, our eyes holding us. From her movement, it seemed Brigit felt a chill. I believe she wanted my arms about her, the warmth of them, the feeling throughout her body when I held her. “Gregory, I want to kiss you right here.”
I didn’t hesitate and took her to me and kissed her, my tongue seeking hers.
Though she kissed back, she pulled away, “Not here in public. Coming off the train. O.K.” Her face was a bit red. “You feel so good.”
At home, I insisted again on taking her bag. She looked at the house. With Lynne she had only glanced at it. Now, she pulled lightly at my arm. “I want to look. I love it. Oh. Those beautiful doors. And the long windows.”
“Come into my shelter, dear one, and be safe from the world. I’ll carry you back in time,” I hesitated, wondering if that were true. We could not escape the war. Could she forget? Inside were often frightened parents, like the time during the European war they saw a photo in Life Magazine of a captain, a doctor, killed, only his shoulders and rank showing, the rest of his body buried in mud. Was it James? The fright was unbearable. When after a week or so later a letter arrived from him, my parents relaxed some. I was home. Matthew was writing, but each time they saw a picture of a bomber going down or men in parachutes, they shivered. I felt much the same as they, even experienced a little guilt, before the war ended in Europe in May, that I was home. I’ll admit, too, I fantasized looking at the ads in Life that showed the women in the stylish two-piece bathing suits, a bra top, short skirt; or the bra ads and light, zippered girdles. I’d wonder what Brigit looked like in her underwear or in one of those suits. I’d find out soon, at least about the bathing suit.
I introduced her to my parents waiting at the door. My mother, who was never overly demonstrative, I could see, was taken by the attractive young woman standing somewhat nervously before her. My father waited for my mother to talk. “Brigit. Welcome to our house. It’s time you came. Gregory would unhinge us, talking about you, wondering if you would ever come.”
“Some sailor, my son. Brigit, you’re welcome,” my dad warmly said.
Brigit’s smile and eyes, the redness of her hair, her lithe tallness, surely appealed to my parents as one would expect.
Then my mother, uncharacteristically, asked, “Would you mind a hug?” She may have wanted relief from her worries about my brothers. Brigit didn’t answer but stepped toward my mother, more relaxed, as both women reached for one another. My father was smiling, and I, I was ecstatic. Mary stood back, waiting her turn, knowing Brigit, and having told me how she liked my choice and how fortunate I was. There was a peace in the house that had left it when we went to war. It made little difference how long it would last, even if for the week Brigit would be here. I looked at two handsome women, both about the same height, hugging lightly, both apparently happy with one another. My mother whispered something to Brigit that Brigit told me later, that my mother was aware how deeply I felt about her and that perhaps the best thing to happen to me was her arrival. It wasn’t like my mother to judge quickly. Usually she would wait to analyze and finalize her judgments. But I knew my mother would still watch and judge us. My father? He’d get me aside, and even knowing the months that Brigit and I had been together in the hospital, that she had nursed me, med school was just ahead. “Don’t do anything hasty. Don’t propose or marry while in school. Your mother and I went through that.”
~
I’m sweating and starting to cough. Thoughts. Dreams. Nightmares.
~
Brigit and my parents got along so well. My mother told me later how much she liked her and how good my mother knew she was, how lovely she looked in her uniform but how feminine in her night clothes and some new fashionable, knee-length dresses she had bought in Boston to wear while at home. My mother felt sorry for her, because it had been so long since she had seen her parents, away for about two years. I felt that Brigit would have a home here, that she could come whenever she chose; for as the week passed, my parents and Brigit found the beginning of a parent-child love, perhaps another daughter.
Dinner was usually around 7. So there we were seated at the table. There was talk about Cape Astraea, a little gossip thrown in, but mostly about the war, wondering whether James and Matthew would be coming home or sent to the Pacific, wondering when the war would end. It seemed as though it could not last much longer. Yet, the Japs would never surrender until the entire country was wiped out, obliterated. The fire bombings did not seem to have had any effect on the Emperor – I could picture that ugly man riding on the horse, hear the Banzais. “You’d think they’d know when they’re beaten,” I said angrily. “What they did on Bataan, the bastards all ought to die.” I was getting excited, thinking about the German bombers and our men dying as they waded ashore. Everyone was silent as I ranted until Brigit placed her hand on my arm to calm me.
Here I am struggling to stay alive, like we all did during the war. I can still feel that touch and the caring and the love in it. I suppose she didn’t want to say anything with my family there. But everyone noticed the effect on me.
I turned to Brigit, fighting to calm myself. “I’m all right, Brigit.”
She seemed embarrassed in front of my folks and weakly smiled as though she were apologizing for interfering. But my mother would have noticed and not cared, seen the love in that touch, as well as the dismay in her eyes. I think that is probably the time that Mary really felt close to Brigit, perhaps remembering the incident in the hospital. Perhaps, too, the three women communicated with one another, sensing the warmth.
“Let’s try to forget the war,” my mother said, though that was impossible. I doubt she had ever had a good night’s sleep ever since we had all gone away. Sometimes I would see her standing alone, placing the back of her hand to her eyes. And my dad. His false stoicism. All of us frightened, if the doorbell rang and we weren’t expecting anything.
Although Brigit was supposed to wear her uniform when she went out, she didn’t in Cape Astraea, except when we went out to eat. We drove to the different beaches, would walk along the shore or just sit, she in her two-piece bathing suit, a bra that just covered her uplifted breasts, the short skirt of the suit with the cloth that covered her pubic area. Oh, I looked there and, obviously, my imagination overwhelmed me, seeing in my mind those breasts and nipples and her genitalia. We would sit, watching the water, the waves, when the wind increased, the rolling and spraying white caps against the rocky shore. Here it was so peaceful. I would look at the horizon and think of what was beyond, of ships sinking and men dying. As I managed to make those thoughts recede, I would feel Brigit against me. We would sit, sometimes never saying anything, perhaps thinking the same thing about peace and war, our arms about each others’ shoulders or back, our skin touching, both aroused. I would look around to make sure there was no one in sight, bring her to me, or she would do that to me, and we would kiss, fondle one another, kiss on the lips, behind ears or on the neck. I would get hard and wondered whether she were feeling a sensation below. It was then, a couple of days later when we were sitting that she nuzzled against my neck, raised her head a bit, blew in my ear, and whispered, “When are you taking me to the Cove?” She placed her hand on my hardness. “Oooh. You’re big.” I started to place my hand on her breast, but she stopped me. “It’s too open here. I want you to take me where you and Lynne made out.” I laughed. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not, but I have this feeling,” and she stopped. Blushing, she whispered, “Well, you know where.”
We drove to the cove. I was glad we had bathrobes with us. Coming around a curve, she sighed loudly. “You took all this time to show me this. It’s beautiful.” The land jutted out into the water. Far off was a lighthouse. In the distance you could watch waves striking against rocks.
We walked along a path to the part of the beach surrounded mostly by bushes, yet with just enough sand to be comfortable.
I took her hand trying but unable to walk fast. “Come on.”
“What’s your hurry, Mister? Don’t you know we women don’t like to be hurried. Slow and easy,” and she turned my head toward her, her alluring green eyes gazing in mine, “Lovingly.” She laughed. “You’re funny. Don’t you know I’ve been waiting?”
I placed the soft blanket on the sand, held her arms as she sat. “Ah, so this is the spot. Wait ‘til I write Lynne.”
“Oh. Would you please stop talking about her? That was high school.” She laughed again. “I know that.” She lay back and gently pulled me down beside her, not wanting to hurt my leg. “Now what did you do?” “Stop that, Brigit.” “You’re annoyed. I’ll stop.”
We kissed more. She rolled over on me. “I feel you,” and she moved up enough to be sure my hard penis would be touching her clitoris and a little below. I started to move up and back. Pushing against her faster until I came. She lay there a few moments, then rolled back to the ground. I turned on my side and asked her to loosen her bra. She untied it at the top but would not take it off. I placed my hand over one and then the other, then started to move lower. After a while, I asked her to rub me. “It feels like a brick bat,” as she placed her hand inside my bathing suit, took hold of me and gently rubbed up and down until she felt me jerk and took her hand away as I came again.
I reached to the edge of her bathing skirt, went inside, feeling her hair. She took my hand and moved it outside but allowed me to rub. “Gently,” she said. Suddenly, as she became more aroused, she took my hand and placed it inside directing me how to rub along her clitoris. I placed my fingers inside her where she opened after spreading her legs. She pushed against me, moaned softly, arched her back as she orgasmed. We lay quietly, breathing, resting. “You think I’m a hussy,” she whispered as she laid her head on my thigh. “No.” For a long while we lay there saying nothing, just feeling ourselves against one another, satisfied, yet wanting more but knowing not for now.
On the Saturday evening before she left, she and my mother went to mass, my mother knowing she believed in prayer and her religion. Perhaps my mother thought she could pray for both of them, though the few times I went with my mother, the few times she went, I would watch her kneel and cross herself. She would also light a candle. There could be no doubt she was thinking of her sons, praying they would come home safely. I don’t know. Maybe her prayers brought me home even with the fucking Germans having crapped up my leg. Anyhow, I didn’t go with them. I wanted them to be alone, to have time together.
On Sunday we all went to the station. My mother and dad told Brigit to remember them to her parents, that they wanted her to come again. Mary hugged her tightly. Later, Mary told me what she said. “Don’t let him go. I hope you’ll marry him. Aside from his temper, he’s a terrific brother.” My mother actually used the word love that she rarely did unless it was for her family. While she was hugging Brigit, she whispered to her, “You’re a love, and you have mine. Now you take care of yourself.” I saw Brigit’s eyes tear. My dad kissed her on the cheek and told her to return. Then the three of them left us alone.
“Brigit. Oh God, I wish you weren’t leaving. I love you, dearest. Remember that. Oh, how I love you.”
Not taking her eyes away from me, “I love you too.”
~
At home I went to my room just wanting to be alone, to dream, to be in my imagination with Brigit as we had been at the Cove or as when we walked around the town, went into some of the shops for people to meet her or to look at some clothes. She’s so beautiful, intelligent. We belong together.
Mary was with my mother at the time. I heard this later, again from my sister. She told our mother, “She’s the one for him, mom.”
“I think you’re right. I hope you are.”
~
In September the war was over. We had dropped the A-Bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Jap warlords had been eliminated or would be, and the Emperor issued the surrender, trying to save what was left of his Banzai country.
That September I started medical school in Boston. James and Matthew would come home on the Queen Mary, Matthew in that stormy sea at that time. The family was whole again, James picking from where he left off with his surgical training, Matthew going off to New York, eventually becoming known for his art work.
My schooling meant seeing Brigit again who would not be discharged until 1946.
So we were both busy, she taking care of wounded sailors, I with my first-year science studies. We did, however, when there was time, visit the art museum or on an occasional night attend a concert at Symphony Hall. The most exciting of these was when my mother appeared. We sat in the balcony overlooking the stage, our favorite seats. My mother appeared in a dark gold-fringed evening dress that clung to her upper body and swirled at the bottom, especially as she kept in time with her notes and the music’s urging. Her solo was Strauss’s “Klänger der Heimat.” As I listened to the soulfulness of being far from home, it reminded me of my longing to be in Cape Astraea when I was away at war.
Brigit sat motionless, mesmerized by the music and my mother’s voice - her beauty. How, I wondered, could there be three such women as my mother, Jocelyn, Mary, and Brigit who I was determined would eventually be my wife.
Now I was in my mid-twenties and finally in med school that I had for years dreamed about, influenced, no doubt, by my father and brother James. The first year was study of the sciences. The second year seemed much more interesting, because it was the beginning of our clinical studies. I suppose I was somewhat surprised when male and female students had to examine one another. Oh, I had had a couple of women in Europe, but looking at a female classmate, thinking whether Brigit looked the same, tantalized and annoyed me. No two people are alike no matter where, from mind to genitals. And then I wondered what it must have been for the female students handling us, poking their fingers inside to the prostate. Finally, I realized the foolishness of my teenage thoughts, and we went about our clinical rotations ignoring that phase. So, from then on, actual clinical work became more complicated with more to think about and being asked questions by the doctor professors, pushed to answer, some disgusted if one of us made a mistake. There we were, as our learning passed into pediatrics, psychiatry, oncology, epidemiology, ob-gyn. As we advanced I believe most of us became more confident. We saddened when one of the class failed.
One day, walking into the hospital, it hit me. I would enter research. Medicine was on the edge of isotope research, and I wanted to be part of this.
~
Oh. I remember when it happened. The night Brigit stayed late at my apartment, and we decided she’d sleep over and get off to work early enough. I had studied. She had made dinner. We barely made love. Then how I sat as she stood before me and unbuttoned her blouse and dropped her bra. Glancing sideways at me as she turned and pulled down her panties, she then faced me; but again standing sideways she ran her hands along the sides of her body and to her oval straight, enticing breasts, caressing them, raising them. No, We didn’t do it. She just walked slowly to my bedroom, I hard but satisfied by how I had never seen her before but had always wondered and wanted. Her body was so glorious. She knew I would like it and not be angry. She knew I wanted to see her, perhaps thinking, This is what you’ll get someday, Gregory.
~
When would someday be?
On a week during the summer of 1947, we took the train to Cape Astraea. The house was large enough for Brigit to have her own room down a step at the end of a short hallway. It was now known as hers and was always ready. I’m sure other guests used it; but when she came, it seemed to me either Mary or my mother would spray a faint perfume to feminize the bed covers and the rest of the room.
Mary, by the way, had been engaged to a medical resident. She broke with the fellow when she decided against hiding her sexuality. I love her for that. She would, after her fellowship, come back to practice near Cape Astraea. Anyhow, it seems my family had a difficult time staying away from medicine. I told Brigit about Mary. She was at first shocked but then must have decided if they were to be sisters-in-law, she had to accept it. I know they cared for one another. I did wonder, though, how much Brigit appealed sexually to Mary. I’d never know. They would go off by themselves, shop, go to other towns where there was still more shopping and one they liked in particular because of the sandwich-coffee shop, Dugans, in Mansfield. Oh yes, another wealthy town. Other times, when Mary could get her away from me, they went swimming alone and tell me I could catch up later. However, Brigit and I managed to get away by ourselves. We would swim and then go to that part of the cove where we could sexually satisfy ourselves, make promises. Promises. I despise making promises anymore. Who promises me? They are a façade for lies. Lies. Isn’t life a lie? That isn’t so when I think about Melinda and Pamela. They and the thought of Brigit keep me alive. Brigit just walked by my door and looked in, sneaking that look, she thought, to make certain I am all right. I’ll call her back. But Pamela appeared before I could call Brigit, so I asked, “Pamela, have you finished your writing?”
“For now.”
“Satisfied?”
“I guess.”
“Come here, dear.” She came to the bed. “I know you’re upset with being home.”
“Dad. I got over that some time back. It was mom’s fault anyhow. You fought her over Wellesley, now grad school. I heard your arguments. It was my decision to wait, for now, anyway, so I could be with you. And mom – now where is she? Overseas? The house is full of that art crap of hers.”
“Listen, I didn’t ask you to come in here to complain,” I smiled at her. “I just want you to know I love you very much.”
She smiled. “I love you, dad,” and she came to me and hugged and kissed me on the cheek. “Do you need anything?
“Nope. I’m going to get up in a bit. I’m sick of lying here. I’ll make myself a complete invalid if I keep it up. Maybe it’s to keep you and every so often to get Brigit here. You know what, I’d like to drive over to Crawfish later. O.K.? We can watch the ocean. The breeze will be causing some magnificent waves. But just leave me here for a bit. O.K.?” I wanted to dream a little more. “Do you mind going?”
That was a silly question. Unless some boy friend was after her. She was now twenty-two. But before she left the room, she said, “Dad, we have a letter from Melinda, one for you and one for me. How could I forget that?” She continued, “Dad, she’s an intern. Don’t we have enough of that in the family?”
I just laughed and said, “What’s a few generations?”
What are a few? For Brigit, for me, for all of us? Deirdre didn’t need any generations. She made her own, What the hell is she up to? Crap on it.
Oh that week with Brigit. My mom would sing and play for us. My dad would have Brigit come to his office. She even helped one day. I was angry, because it was a waste of our vacation. Anyhow, there was that night. Brigit and I stayed up later than everyone and went softly to her bedroom. She pushed me lightly to sit on the bed and stood before me the way she had that night at my apartment. She seemed shy at first and went to her large closet and started to undress. I pulled off my clothes to my underwear and threw them on the floor. She walked out in her underwear and slowly took off her bra and panties, came to me, kissed me, fondled below, kissed me harder and pulled off my underwear. “Get up,” she commanded and threw back the covers. We climbed in the bed at about the same time, looking at one another, fondling. I lay her on her back. She spread her legs. I entered with her pulling at my sides and raising her legs to place about me. As I continued, she moved to meet me. Then she was on top, rubbing and sitting. She tightened. It was exquisite. Later, when we lay side by side, she said softly, “Simultaneous expression.”
“Not just once I answered.”
“I’m all wet, my own and yours.”
I turned and took a box of tissues from the night table. She stood, wiping, asking me not to look. I was actually wishing I had made her pregnant, but I knew she wouldn’t have done it if she thought her body would respond to that. She had faith in her monthly cycle.
~
The summer of 1947 Brigit had a call from home. The Southwest summoned her once again. Her father was sick. They needed her. Despite her father’s illness that bothered her terribly, she looked forward to seeing everyone. Ellen and Marie were now married. Maureen was often alone with Luke. Brigit left Boston immediately. Though her sisters were not far off, they weren’t nurses. Brigit also looked forward to seeing the desert and the ranch again. She told herself she would heal her father.
I had not been to the Southwest yet. At school I would read about it, look intently at the pictures, imagine her sitting beside her father, doing whatever she thought was necessary to make him comfortable while also consoling her mother and sisters. Brigit was a strong woman who many times tried to hide her tears from the others. She would look at her father, soothe him running her soft hand across his face. Once he looked up at her and said, “You’re such a loving and lovely daughter. That boy friend of yours. Does he know what you think, what you feel, how good you are?”
“Daddy, what woman tells a man, especially a special one, what she’s always thinking. They’re supposed to guess. Right?”
He smiled. “Brigit, your mother still confounds me at times. I was watching her one night making dinner. A smile appeared on her face. When I asked her what she was thinking about, she said, “Oh, the usual, and then something about you and me, about the girls, remembering when you-all would scream at one another in an argument. Can you imagine Anne, oh, Sister Angelina, screaming in the convent?’ She laughed, ‘Remember how we wondered how we would last through all that running and screaming, and then the love among them, whispering about boys.’ Then she looked right at me, you know, Brigit, the way a woman looks at a man, telling him without words how she loves him.”
Brigit turned away momentarily from her father. Rubbed the corner of an eye. She was thinking about her family but also about Gregory and that night at his home, felt a slight thrill along her spine. She heard also the rush of the waves, their crash on the rocks, thought of the peace they could now bring the world when before they had helped destroy, almost killed Gregory. She loved the water now as much as the desert. She thought of how they sat on the beach, their arms lightly about one another looking out to the horizon, feeling part of that vast Atlantic, spreading themselves along the rounding horizon, they and the sea one. There were times when she thought I may never have known Gregory, never have received the love I have from him. God saw to it, and no matter what happens, he’ll always be mine. You’re mine, Greg, and don’t you forget it. I have that power in me. I was born with it. That’s how I know I’ll cure my father. I don’t care what the doctors think. How can I be so fortunate as to have so much love in my life? I’m smiling. The way I look at myself in the mirror and put on all those come-hither looks, make sure I’m fetching. No other man is going to come near me, Gregory. I promise you that. But I’m stumbling in my head. What if something happened to you, or even me? She felt her heart beat a little faster, and she said aloud, “I’ll destroy any woman who goes near you.” She stretched her fingers, her nails noticeable, allowed to grow while at home, as she involuntarily raised her hand and her eyes narrowed. She was now jealous and angry about an unknown rival, her eyes showing her fury. No one could be more alluring than Brigit, although reasonably she knew it was possible. She sat by herself continuing to think of Gregory, a handsome man for her, thinking of how other women might see him, how he could be lured by a perfume, by a dress revealing those female’s attributes, a touch, a flirtatious look, and flip of the hair. Only in those few moments did she feel unsure of herself. So far away. So necessary. She perked up. He loves me every bit as much as I love him. That a war, that barbaric war, should have brought him through a sea of fear to her. Nothing could change that. The war would forever be a part of them, as would the suffering. No matter. Love exists despite atomic weapons, death, whatever attempts to subdue it. It is the ultimate victor. Oh, Greg, how I wish I could hold you, want to right now so we could be as we were in Astraea – in my bedroom. I did think of my virginity, how I was taught, and how I overcame it, not caring because of our love. She laughed. Oh, how I wanted to take a shower – with you. We were too afraid we would wake the family. Did they ever guess what we were doing? Greg, that morning shower after you sneaked to your room, was a cleansing of doubt, of hesitation. I committed myself to you and NO ONE. NO ONE – will ever take you from me.
After her musings she went with her mother to the hospital to see Luke, lying fretfully waiting for them. Occasionally when he looked at Maureen and Brigit he thought he was seeing twins. No one could take Maureen or his daughters from him. He did not want to believe his doctors, for he did not want to leave them behind. He would not. Brigit would see to that. And then there was Anne, Sister Angelina, who sent whatever she thought he might be able to digest, though many time the nurses took her small gifts from him. She wrote him notes of how she prayed for him; and occasionally, accompanied by another nun, she would receive permission from Mother Superior to visit her father.
Luke, thinking of the past, appreciated the wealth of his life, especially when they walked in the room, Maureen kissing him on the lips, Brigit on the cheek, and soothingly running her hand across his chest and face. “I’ll make you well, daddy. Believe me I will.” He smiled at her certainty and his wish.
That night Brigit sat alone again on their front porch swing, above a valley where from a distance lights were seen but rising above them the dark peaked shadows of mountains, a Southwest night of a dark sky adorned by the myriad of stars, the entire universe laid out for her. She lay back on the swing, smiling, causing the glide to move gently. She placed her hand on one breast, then the other, passed it over herself, imagining it was Gregory. She was with him. She reached for the button nearest her neck, unbuttoned until she reached above her bra, stopped, realizing it was fantasy, smiled and whispered, “I love you.”
It was then she decided that no matter how long it would take her to cure her father, she would go back east to see Gregory who had been asking her in letters to come to Boston and Maine just for short stays.
~
Brigit decided she wanted to spend right after Christmas through New Year’s 1948, in Cape Astraea with Gregory. It was the last of many vacation times, the end of his class studies and start of clinical introduction. After that there would be little time, but they had written and promised one another they would manage.
Luke was at home now, and Brigit felt she could leave him for a week, though she worried about his nursing. She decided, however, that Maureen had become fairly well accustomed to looking after his needs for that short time. She seemed to forget her mother’s strength even in her sadness that Brigit saw each day, the fear. It burned in Brigit, but there were times the two women would sit together, holding one another, softly crying, their hands caressing through each other’s hair, kissing cheeks. Brigit prepared Maureen, giving instructions, Maureen occasionally smiling and telling her, “I know, dear. You go to your boy. If I need help, I’ll call the doctor and even your sisters. You need your love. I see it, feel it in you every day, that desire to be with him, that loneliness. You deserve the time with him. Go and don’t worry. Besides, isn’t this probably Gregory’s last whole week’s vacation before his clinical work? You seem to forget how much you have told me and how much you talk about him. Don’t you think I know how lonely it can get, what it was like for me before your father and I were married? I would lie in my room at night and imagine him holding me, talking to me.” Her eyes teared. “And now, my darling, I’m going to lose him. It is going to happen. But it still makes no difference, does it? C’mon, let’s not be morbid. You are going, and you are going to be happy.”
Brigit flew to Boston. When she took the train to Portland, she purposely sat by a window so she would see the countryside and the snow that, despite the cold, she missed. She enjoyed New England and the changing seasons. More, she longed to watch the winter sea, believing because of some unknown spirit she would gather more strength, more curative power from across that windy cold ocean. She would never tell anyone what she believed or why she felt this, for she could not explain it to herself. It was a feeling, a knowledge and sensitivity that had been born with her from ancient times. She did not realize this yet. Was she real? Her feelings, though, were real, how she sensed others, her agile mind that understood not only her emotions but those in other women and men. In this way, perhaps she was no different from other women. But she was aware of something others weren’t. Perhaps this would protect her in later years, even protect a loved one like Gregory.
When Gregory met her at the train, he watched her as she held the car’s exit handle, how, in a short passage of time, she stepped down carefully, her hip pointed outward, her long, slim leg stretched attractively, sensually, her skirt pulled up above her knee. She stepped on to the platform, quickly straightened her skirt, all the while smiling, looking for Gregory. Some men, as was usual and what she expected, passed her, turning to look, perhaps wishing they knew her. They reminded her of the naval hospital, unpleasant remarks, disgusting voices, and scenes that would never be forgotten.
While she was temporarily lost in those thoughts, Gregory rushed to her, and they were hugging, kissing, unwilling to let go except that they became self-conscious as people passed, looked, smiled. It was as though the war was still in the minds of all.
The three-quarter hour ride to Cape Astraea was talk of both homes, their parents, brothers, sisters and then just about the two of them and how they would use the vacation.
Brigit concentrated on his profile, thinking how endearing it was. Intuitively she placed her hand on his neck, moved closer, putting her hand on his thigh and kissing him on the neck and below his ear. He hunched his shoulders. Watching him, she laughed and whispered, “Will you come to my room?”
“Don’t do that to me when I’m driving.”
“Poor baby.” She enjoyed the sound of his voice, his accent so different from hers. Suddenly she asked, “Do you still sing? You used to sing to me.”
“I’m too busy at school. Fool. Sure I do, but not as I do to you.”
She stopped teasing him, thinking of the few inches difference in height between them, how easy it was to raise her head and mouth for their lips to meet. “I want to kiss you right now.”
“We’ll crash.”
“No good. But I still want to, and I want your hands caressing me. Are you getting excited?”
Gregory smiled, looked at her, brushed his hand over her face, “How was I ever so lucky? And if you aren’t more careful, I know where there’s a wooded path where I could take you.”
“You mean you never took me there? Why not? Oh. It was special for you and Lynne. I know men like you. Do you ever hear from her? I do. She’s in the med school hospital in San Francisco, loves it there.”
“Truthfully, yes, I took her there. Do I hear from her? Never. Do I hear about her? Yes. From her folks.” He forced a short laugh. “She’s terribly attractive. What a woman. Her mother showed me her latest photo. Jealous?”
“A little. Is she really as lovely as when she and I went to school?”
“Brigit. Don’t take me seriously. Yes, She’s just as attractive, more so. But beautiful. No. I fell in love with a beauty.”
“Then it’s just my looks you’re interested in.”
“Well, no. Dearest, if it ever comes to that, you should leave me.” Gregory slowed the car before coming into town, pulled under a tree that he hoped hid them, turned and gently moved her face toward his, and kissed her. “I’ll never leave you, give you up.”
As she kissed him, an unpleasantness occurred to her. I wonder, and her jealousy rose as she thought back when she threatened that imagined unknown woman. “Love me, Gregory. Be faithful. I’ll always be to you.”
“Silly. What’s wrong? Look at your face. It’s almost drawn. Why?”
“I was thinking of my father,” she lied. She bent his head toward her and kissed him hard, long, he responding, placed her tongue in his mouth, in his ear, wanting to see him shudder. He did. “Yes. You do love me. I have it. When you become a doctor, I can be your office nurse. O.K.?”
“It’s a deal. But when you have kids, what then?”
“We’ll think about that a bit later,” she smiled. Then she laughed. “I can be my own midwife.” She grimaced a bit thinking of the delivery room and some of the women who had suffered so. She would not be like that.
“We’ve got to get home.”
Why am I thinking of fate? What does it hold or portend? “Look. There’s your folks and Mary. You’re a fortunate fellow, and don’t you ever hurt them.” Am I thinking of myself?
“I never will. That too’s a promise.”
_______________