Dear Glory,
I’m sleeping, breathing, washing my face, putting on clothes. I’m also back at work for Dr. Aloysius Martin. Is this living? I don’t know. It’s an approximation, and I guess that’s good enough for now.
When I read about the medicine for Robbie, I immediately thought, Sal, honey, investigate it when you get home. I’m talking to him all the time, Glory. Don’t call the white jackets yet, though. I know he’s gone, but like I said, I drew his soul to me to rest, and he came. I haven’t been leaving him alone much, but then Sal was always big on talking. And anyway, that’s what I would be doing if I was going to church, right? Speaking with spirits?
I must say it’s helping. So is Dr. Aloysius Martin. When I first returned he treated me like a porcelain vase with a small crack—one false move and I would shatter to pieces. He also took the map down. First thing I did was put it back up. I want to watch us win this war on the wall in front of me. It’s heating up, but the result will be in our favor. I just know it. My Sal contributed to that. Dr. Aloysius Martin was enthusiastic, to say the least, and even bought be a new set of pushpins. He’s also stopped being so nervous around me.
I like occupying my brain with talk of longitude and latitude, and I like the way a flat map allows one to take in the entire world at a glance. I haven’t been outside this country. When we had a little time and money, we usually visited Sal’s family in Chicago, or my cousin in Atlanta. Once, we took Toby to the Black Hills and watched workers carve away at Mount Rushmore. But that’s pretty much it.
It shames me to admit this, but one of the reasons I was furious with Sal for enlisting was that he would see the world without me. When he’d write about North Africa or Italy I would grow jealous. I’m not proud of my pettiness. I’ve reread those letters over the past few weeks, and now I see he was trying to help me see those places, really see them, through his words, like a picture postcard. I’ve apologized to him for not appreciating his efforts. It’s not enough, though. I’m going to have to find an olive tree that will grow in Iowa. Charlie might be able to help me—he seems to have a knack for obtaining items no one else can get.
For some reason, I’m now comfortable with Charlie’s possible criminality. Maybe it seems such a small offense in the grand scheme of things. Irene doesn’t agree. She’s downgraded her relationship with Charlie to “friendly acquaintance” status. They do seem to be genuine friends, and the only change I’ve noticed is they’ve stopped holding hands at lunch. Still, it bothered me that I hadn’t been in my right mind when Irene made her decision. I showed up unannounced in the library yesterday afternoon, and convinced her to take a coffee break. It took a while to get her talking—it always does with Irene—but after a little prodding it all came tumbling out.
“I fell in love with the idea of having a man,” she explained. “I realized a war was going on, and I was still sitting at the same desk, surrounded by the same books, living the same life I’ll probably be living in twenty years. At first I was just excited. Then I thought he could save me from boring myself to death.”
“I don’t think you’re the first to think it, hon,” I said, patting her arm.
“It wasn’t fair to make someone else responsible for my life. Especially someone I don’t love. As much as I’ve tried to force it, he’s not right for me. I couldn’t keep on pretending he was.” She paused, took a sip of her coffee. “I know you’ll tell me the truth, Margie. Do you think I’m stupid? I’m thirty-nine this year—how many more chances am I going to get?”
I couldn’t answer that question. How much do any of us know the future? I did say this: “You’re very brave, and I don’t want anyone to save you from yourself. I like who you are.”
She smiled and went back to work. I hope she knows I meant every word.
Well, please write and tell me what the doctors said they could do for Robbie. I just adored the dove he drew. That boy is sure talented. I’ve stopped posting his work on my fridge and place it in a real frame instead. He’s turned me into a real art aficionado!
Love,
Rita
P.S. The beans went over really well at the USO. I’ve got one for you. Mrs. Hansen from down the block brought it over a couple of weeks ago when I came up for air.
Mock Veal Cutlets
1 pound ground veal
6 tablespoons fat (or something oily)
2 cups cooked rice
1 cup thick white sauce (Some milk with butter and flour to thicken it—don’t forget to season with salt and pepper. Can’t anything be made better with a dash of S and P?)
6 stuffed olives, minced
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg, beaten
1 cup fine bread crumbs
Cook veal in 2 tablespoons fat until well-browned; mix with rice, white sauce, olives, salt and egg; cool. Form into cutlet shapes; roll in crumbs. Fry in remaining fat until lightly browned. Cover; cook slowly ten minutes. Serve with tomato sauce.