Going Home

            “What is this, O’Brien?”

            The soup was chunky and blood red.

            “What’s it look like, V? It’s minestrone. My family’s specialty.”

            “O’Brien, you’re not Italian. If there was a more Irish looking bastard in the world, I would fly myself over to Berlin and let the Nazis take potshots at my ass.”

            “Hey, screw you, Russkie. If you’re not careful, I’ll let the CO know you’re Stalin’s spy.”

            Vodoprov shook his head, laughing. “Good thing I’m getting off this base today. I won’t have to deal with you or your raw horsemeat stew ever again.”

            O’Brien winked and replied, “I’ll miss you too, buddy.”

            The smell of the soup, at least, was somewhat appealing. The aroma inspired memories of a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in New York, complete with red-and-white, checkered table cloths and placemats printed with a map of Italy; a Labor Day barbeque full of sprinklers, fireflies, and laughter; and a rainy-day bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup with crackers and mozzarella slices. It was a hearty serving of exactly what Vodoprov had been craving for so long. Only a train ride separated him from home.

            As the private in the Army Jeep drove him to the train station, Vodoprov chuckled quietly to himself.

            “How old are you, kid?” he asked the private.

            “I turned 19 last week, sir.”

            “Oh yeah? I was 19 when I joined up. And make sure that’s the last time you call me ‘sir’, all right? Just call me ‘V’.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “What did I just tell you? Anyway, how old are you really?”

            “What?”

            “I’m not an idiot, kid. You barely have peach fuzz on your chin.”

            “Um, well, please don’t tell anyone.”

            “Buddy, I’m never going back to that base. How old are you?”

            “I just turned 17 last week.”

             Vodoprov marveled at the boy. Though it had only been three years since he had left home, Vodoprov felt as though decades had passed since he had been as enthusiastic about the Army as the child next to him. O’Brien’s soup had reminded him how much he missed home, but this young man caused him to remember how excited he had been to go into the Army to begin with.

            At first, the Army had appeared to be a reprieve from life. Vodoprov had never been much of a student. On the rare occasion that he ventured into dusty Mount Vernon High School, he spent more time studying the skirts and protruding sweaters around him than textbooks and chalkboards. He had chafed under the pressure his parents placed on him to be the first in the family to go to college. In Russia, his parents had not even gone to high school. His older brothers had gone into construction with their father. As the first child born in the United States, more was expected of him. The war in Europe was Vodoprov’s opportunity to escape.

            “So, V,” the private interjected. “Did you ever get to kill some Germans?”

            “No, kid, no I didn’t. I had the honor of rotting in San Bernardino.”

            “You never left the base?”

            “Not unless you count skirt-chasing expeditions in town.”   

            “That must’ve been awful, man.”

            Vodoprov smirked.

            “Not as bad as the boys had it in France, but yea, it hasn’t been too exciting.”         

Upon arriving at the train station, Vodoprov learned that his train had been delayed. The empty tracks seemed to mock him as he waited, now several hours after having left the base. The iron bars extended infinitely into the desert, absorbing the hot California sunshine and reflecting the rays into Vodoprov’s unshielded eyes. The few other travelers, scattered randomly across the platform like a spilled bag of marbles, were generally protected with sunglasses, parasols, or hats of some kind. Vodoprov had only his small Army cap to block the unfettered beams pouring from the cloudless blue sky. Vodoprov swung his feet up onto his simple, rotund military duffel, partially hiding the “US ARMY” stenciled in black along its olive green sides. He stared sightlessly at the silent and motionless dust of the platform.

More than mere monotony inspired Vodoprov’s intense desire for home. As he awaited the train, images of the year between school and the Army flashed before his eyes. Though his father had been disappointed in Vodoprov’s decision to drop out of school, he had arranged for Vodoprov to apprentice with a local plumber. Vodoprov enjoyed working with his hands and enjoyed the time with the older men on jobsites. Most of all, though, he enjoyed the plumber’s daughter. She was the only bond to Mount Vernon that had made him question joining the Army. Amidst the growing crowd on the platform, Vodoprov watched a slideshow of their time together. He saw a trip to the Bronx Zoo; cuddling together under blankets as football games progressed at Memorial Field; their first time, in his apartment on Gramatan Avenue; their second time, in the band room at the school; their thousandth time, right before he left for California. 

            The ungodly screech of brakes instantly snapped Vodoprov’s body to attention. He hopped to his feet and glanced quickly from bag to train to passengers to station-dwellers. He took a deep breath, inhaling the harsh odor of grinding metal as the train stopped abruptly. Vodoprov boarded the train, dragging his bag down the aisle with difficulty. He stopped next to an old woman.

            “Excuse me, ma’am, is this seat taken?”

            “Yes, a good-looking young soldier is sitting here.”

            He turned to continue.

            “No, silly, I mean you. Sit down, sit down.”

            Vodoprov threw himself into the lumpy seat, slightly angered at having been made to look like a fool. He closed his eyes in an effort to recover the memories of his girl.

            “So, soldier, what’s she like?”

            “Who?”

            “The girl I’m preventing you from dreaming about right now.”

            Vodoprov knew he would get no peace from this woman, and sat up a bit in his seat.

            “She’s perfect,” he breathed.

            “Hmm, sounds like every soldier’s girlfriend. What makes her special?”

            “She’s gorgeous.”

            The woman laughed loudly, drawing glances from other passengers.

            “Doesn’t sound special to me. There are plenty of gorgeous girls.”

            Vodoprov started to get annoyed. “There aren’t plenty of girls who are all mine, are there?”

            The woman smiled widely. “Looking like you, I’d say there could be.”

            “Look, lady, I don’t know why you care so much, but this girl I’m going home to right now is the most important thing in the world to me. One touch of her skin makes me forget my parents, school, everything. When I’m with her, there is nothing else in the world.”

            “Okay, soldier, okay. Don’t get bent out of shape. I just wanted to know why you seem so anxious.”

            “Anxious?”

            “Yeah, anxious,” she responded. “There is something about this girl that’s bothering you.”

            Vodoprov considered what the woman had said. What was it that was bothering him about her? Her letters, though their handwriting had gotten a bit sloppier over the past year or so, hadn’t spoken of anything disturbing. The most extraordinary thing in them was an increase in the frequency of the headaches she got.

Vodoprov felt his muscles twitch spontaneously. He awoke to a stopped train, his forehead spotted with a cold sweat. He straightened his cap over his damp hair. Did he look alright? Did he look strong and distinguished, like a soldier? Did he sweat through anything? He wiped his forehead with his hand, only to realize that his palm merely made his brow wetter.

            “Well don’t you look fantastic?” he heard as he stepped off the train.

His tired and lonely eyes had never seen so beautiful a sight. The way the warm sun glanced off her silky brown hair accented the mischievous glare in her deep brown eyes. The luscious red of her lips contrasted with her shapely white face and her curve-hugging blue sundress. He allowed himself a moment for the scene to permanently embed itself in his memory.

His emotions barely had time to register before he felt her smooth arms wrapped around his torso. Her mouth tasted fruity as she forcefully pressed it against his chapped lips. The moment seemed to last forever.

Vodoprov could barely speak as he stepped slightly back. “Minhal!”

“That’s a good sign. You managed to remember my name.”

“You expected something else?”

Minhal tilted her head. “I just figured that it’s difficult to remember the names of so many girls.”

 Vodoprov smirked. “Well, I did have to refer back to your last letter, just for safety’s sake.”

Minhal giggled. “I appreciate your concern for detail.”

“Well, it’s more for my sake. It’s important to make you feel special. Wouldn’t want you to know the truth.” He winked.

“And what is that, may I be so bold to ask?”

“You’re n…”

Her sudden embrace ended their pleasantries.

The kitchen was a small rectangular room, in the middle of which sat an elliptical table. On one side a radiator supported various nonperishable food supplies. A family portrait on the far wall paid testament to Vodoprov’s grandparents. Vodoprov surveyed the scene with one eye, the other blocked by the local section of the paper. Minhal bustled across the kitchen, preparing him breakfast before he headed off to the new jobsite to inspect the plumbing requirements. Thoughts of his brother barking commands at him and the other workers raised Vodoprov’s blood pressure a bit, but he was calmed by the plate of eggs and steaming cup of coffee Minhal placed before him.

“Thanks, doll.”

“My pleasure, Vody.”

“So, how’s having me home?”

Minhal looked at him seriously. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

“Me neither, babe.”

“Honestly, Vody, having you around again, I can’t even describe it.”

“I know, Minhal. Looking at your face erases everything else from my mind. I always feel better. I never forgot that back on the base. That kept me going, you know.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Hey, you remember that time we went to that play in Manhattan? That was when I first realized I loved you. My parents had been trying to get me back into school, and holding your hand just instantly relieved my anger.”

Minhal stopped, a look of confusion spreading across her face.

“Babe, you okay? I didn’t ask a calculus question or anything,” joked Vodoprov.

Minhal looked slightly nervous. “I can’t remember going to Manhattan to see a play.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I’m sure we did it. Look, Vody, I wanted to give you some time to enjoy being back, but, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“Shit, can it wait? I just noticed the time.”

“Of course, but…”

“Well, look, I’m sorry, I really have to go. We’ll talk. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Good luck at the site today.”

Vodoprov was distracted as he drove to the new jobsite. The trip felt particularly long. He caught every red light, and even got stuck at the railroad tracks by a seemingly eternal train. Each moment of additional time in the brand new ’47 Chevy gave him more opportunity to dwell on the conversation he had just had with Minhal. He drove swiftly past the squat brick apartment buildings and multi-family homes. Only a sharp last-minute maneuver saved a stray cat that had dashed across the street in a vain attempt to beat the car. Minhal had spoken in her letters about some moments of confusion, but he hadn’t seen it in his time back. Had he been too distracted by his excitement to be with her again to notice something?

Vodoprov was jolted forward as he pulled the car too far into a parking space, hitting the curb. He stepped out towards the partially framed structure on the construction site, glancing at building plans as he walked. He didn’t notice the tall, burly man who approached him on his left.

“V! What took you so long?” the man exclaimed, slapping Vodoprov on shoulder.

Vodoprov, shocked by the intrusion into his thoughts, fell forward, dropping the blueprints and scraping his wrists on the rocky soil.

“Goddamn it!” he steamed. “What the hell are you doing, Sergei?”

“Hey, don’t get pissed off at me, Vodoprov. I’m just trying to be nice to my little brother, considering the fact that he was supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“Look, Serge, I’m sorry. I just had a lot on my mind. I’m a little worried about Minhal.”

Sergei’s face darkened. “Have you noticed something too?”

Vodoprov was surprised. “What do you mean?”

“The other day, Minhal came over to visit Gertrude when I was on my day off. The whole time she was there, she had this really odd limp.”

“And did you ask her about it?”

“It didn’t seem right. Do you ask a lady something like that?”

“Well, you could’ve at least mentioned it to me.”

“It didn’t strike me as particularly odd at first. It was only later, after I thought about it. It was almost as if half of her body had a limp. I mean, her arm was gimpy too… Besides, you’ve barely even been home a week.”

“It’s just that there seem some odd things going on with her.”

“Well, give her my best, all right?”

When Vodoprov came home, he noticed the state of the windowpane in the living room. The old wood grill, with its discolored white paint peeling like sun-burnt skin, encased the translucent yellow glass in four-inch square cells. The window’s joints groaned as they strained against the cold night wind.. He rubbed his rough, calloused hand against the glass, thinking that he would have the money to replace it when he started his own plumbing business. He and Minhal could do a lot of the work the house needed, especially when she started earning money as a bookkeeper. There was nothing to prove that there was anything wrong with her anyway, so he decided not to worry about it.

“Vody.” Minhal’s whisper sounded weak as she came into the room. “Dinner will be ready in a minute or two.”

“Minhal! You look like shit! What’s wrong? Is that vomit on your face?”

“Don’t worry too much, Vody, I just got a little sick. It’s what I wanted to talk about this morning… I’ve just been feeling a little odd sometimes.”

“Have you seen Dr. Staf?”

“He didn’t find anything wrong. He just said it was probably a combination of a virus and my excitement that you were coming home.”

“I don’t know, babe. Maybe we should go to the hospital. I remember your letters. You said yourself that you’ve had some strange symptoms. Then today, with the forgetfulness, and Serge was telling about a limp, and…”

“No, please, just let it be. I’ll be fine. Please. I don’t want you worrying right after you got home. And I feel fine when you’re around. Please.”

As work began on the jobsite, Vodoprov found no solace in drain pipes and physical labor. Minhal’s episodes became more frequent and her limp more obvious. Sergei had continued to get harder on him, since Vodoprov’s fatigue and a constant state of distraction limited his concentration on his work. His hands had weakened and now shook noticeably, betraying their renowned skill. His usually clean-shaven face was now usually hidden behind several days’ stubble. Running from doctor to doctor with Minhal left little time for rest, but each test found nothing wrong.

 As he sat across from Minhal one evening at dinner, Vodoprov examined her face. Its radiance had faded and its skin had become pale, accenting the fact that her cheekbones were now more pronounced. Despite this, he could still see the vestiges of the beauty that had filled his soul when he was younger and had kept him sane in California. He had not forgotten his hopes and happiness that day, and he quickly dabbed at his eyes to hide the emotion the memories evoked.

“What’s wrong, Vody?” Minhal asked.

“Oh, nothing, my eyes are just watering up for some reason.”

“Okay, I just wanted to muhsahr.”

Vodoprov’s jerked his eyes towards Minhal. “What?”

“Juhrmak okwha,” she mumbled.

Vodoprov’s chest tightened. “Minhal? What are you saying? Are you okay?”

“Ag nahep…”

Her face came crashing down onto the plate in front of her, shattering the porcelain and sending peas, corn, and slices of meat to the floor. A steak knife sliced her cheek as it hit the plate, causing a stream of blood to cascade over the edge of the table. Vodoprov jumped up, squashing the spilled vegetables into the spreading crimson stain on the floor. He pulled Minhal upright in her chair, staring into her white rolled-back eyes. Blood crept swiftly up the collar of his white shirt as he rocked her back and forth in his arms. His cries echoed eerily off the red bricks of nearby homes, bringing a sudden flow of neighbors into the kitchen.  

As he sat in the hospital waiting room, Vodoprov was reminded of the California train station several weeks before. Various people were scattered throughout the room, each consumed in his own thoughts and worries. The bright white lights irritated his eyes. He felt sick to his stomach, and his palms were sweaty. This time, though, it was not because of the heat. The room was ice cold, and it smelled of disease and death. The odor of medicine and decay was noxious and pervasive. His ears were pained by crackling PA announcements and distant doctors’ voices.  Vodoprov followed the doctor into the examination room. He saw nothing but the woman on the bed in front of him. When the doctor said “brain tumor”, Vodoprov sat on the bed and picked up Minhal’s cold hand. He kissed her, then climbed into the bed, resting his head against her shoulder.

Minhal was buried the next day. The gravesite looked out on the world from a grassy hill. Its bright green shone brilliantly in the autumn sun. Vodoprov, bundled up against the sharp wind, gazed at the mountains in the distance. They were bathed in mottled fall colors, reds and yellows scattered together under a clear blue sky. He could smell the cold. His mind was swarmed with questions as he watched two nondescript men fill the grave.  How could it have progressed so quickly? Why had she not asked him for help?  The shovels scraped in harmony, occasionally pinging against hidden rocks. Vodoprov walked slowly toward the car, accompanied by the soft thud of dirt hitting Minhal’s coffin.

A slideshow of images flashed before Vodoprov’s eyes as he sat waiting for the train. He saw her making breakfast; their last time, in their house; and the oak swaying gently over her grave. He tossed his small Army cap onto his simple, rotund military duffel, partially hiding the “US ARMY” stenciled in black along its olive green sides. As he heard the train whistle blast, he slipped his cap onto his head, picked up the bag, and prepared to look strong and distinguished, like a soldier.

Josh Kiss is a 20-year-old sophomore from Valley Cottage, NY. He is majoring in biology and is planning to minor in political science.