Page 35 of The Magic of Ordinary Days

The night after Ray kissed me found me rolling and turning in bed like potatoes boiling in water, and I slept little.

I tried flicking on the light and reading but couldn’t keep my eyes focused on the page.

I kept thinking about leaving the farm, going back and finishing my graduate work, as Abby had suggested.

As a divorced woman with a baby, I wouldn’t be allowed on an expedition to Egypt, but probably I could teach at any of several colleges.

And maybe I could work at an excavation site nearby.

I’d once visited the center of the world of the Anasazi, Chaco Canyon, and found it magnificent.

Much work still needed to be done there.

Or I could take the baby and work at Mesa Verde.

Those Indians who lived on and around Mesa Verde had been Colorado’s first farmers.

And perhaps I’d feel closer to Edward there.

I remembered the first time he and I had talked out on the sidewalk in front of the USO, and how he had smiled when he realized we shared an interest in the Anasazi. Edward had smiled, that crooked smile.

But now I lay still. Which side rose up higher?

Already I was forgetting his face. The father of my unborn child.

I’d never had a chance to take a snapshot of him, so it would be up to me to remember.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture sitting across from him at the snack counter in the bright artificial light.

I took myself back to those precious hours when his face lingered just above mine, kissing me.

But still, hard as I tried to recall, I couldn’t remember the details.

The memory of his face was starting to fade away from me.

Instead, I kept seeing Ray’s face, demanding an answer.

Is there anything you like about me, Livvy?

I made mental lists of Ray’s faults, so I wouldn’t forget.

He had few interests beyond this farm and no good friends beyond his family.

He was inexperienced, but his lack of exposure to women didn’t bother me as much as his lack of interest in the larger world.

He was prejudiced or ignorant; either way, he didn’t see people like Rose and Lorelei as true Americans.

The next evening, I drove over to the camp again.

Rose and Lorelei had invited me to help chaperone a high school dance in the mess hall, a themed “barn dance,” and to bring some bales of hay out with me to be used for decoration.

I arrived in time to help move tables and chairs out of the way after dinner, then we decorated the room with the bales of hay I’d brought out, some pumpkins and gourds and Indian corn, and finally with orange, red, and yellow crepe paper and balloons.

I was surprised to find that the tension between Rose and Lorelei had returned.

They had dressed for the dance—Lorelei in denims cut off just below her knees and Rose in men’s overalls over a plaid shirt.

But they seemed uncomfortable every time they moved near each other, and therefore we worked together in silence until the dance began.

When the music started, we sat in chairs pushed up against the wall and tapped our toes to the beat of the four-boy band, named the Jive Bombers.

The mess hall soon filled with high school boys and girls all dressed in their cotton shirts and rolled-up jeans, some of them wearing straw hats and freckles painted on their cheeks.

The musicians were quite good. After we had listened and watched for an hour or so, Rose and Lorelei looked more relaxed.

Lorelei looked over at Rose and me. “Come on,” she said.

“We can’t just sit here listening all night. Let’s try some steps.”

At first Rose and I didn’t move. Then Lorelei looked at me again, pleadingly. When I told her I knew how to do the jitterbug, Lorelei sprang off the chair. “Oh, please show us,” she pleaded.

Rose jumped to her feet, too.

“This should be interesting.” I half laughed. “I feel much too heavy for dancing.”

Even Rose was begging me now. “Oh, come on. Please try”

I pushed to my feet and we danced together, the three of us.

We practiced the fast steps and swings, bops and twists, taking turns in the lead.

I stood back as Rose swung Lorelei behind her back, and Lorelei slid Rose in between her legs.

Dust came puffing out of the wood floor beneath our feet.

I found myself laughing and saw them smile and laugh, too.

I hoped things would be better between the girls after this.

When we finished trying some Lindy Hop steps, they were panting and brushing the hair off their foreheads.

And when they smiled at each other again, I laughed like no war ever existed.

It made me remember past New Year’s Eve parties.

Our family had listened to the countdown in Times Square on the radio, passing the time by dancing to all the previous year’s best tunes.

Mother would let us girls sip apple juice out of wineglasses and pretend to be grown-ups.

It was the only time we were allowed to stay up until midnight.

And how my mother could sing. She never played the piano or organ, musical skills almost expected of a minister’s wife, but she could sing along with the music so well, it would be hard to distinguish her voice from that of the professional.

Father was usually in one of his better moods for this occasion, and always he took turns with each of us girls, letting us dance on the toes of his polished shoes, moving us about in the dance steps that Mother said once he had practiced with her for hours.

I remembered how Abby, Bea, and I would fight for our turns, and how sophisticated I felt swaying about in his arms.

After the dance ended, I couldn’t face driving back alone to the farm, not yet.

The girls and I found the Umahara quarters empty, and there we sprawled out together across one of the lower beds.

I flipped through the butterfly notebook, the same one they’d carried with them when we had taken our drives during the harvest. Rose stretched out beside me and glanced over at the butterfly drawings before me.

She pushed the curls away from her forehead.

“If you could be a butterfly, what kind would you be?”

I turned another page. “Oh, probably one with very large, false eyes.”

Rose looked me over and shifted forward on the bed so her face was close. In a whisper, she asked, “Livvy, why would you say that?”

I still don’t know why I told them. It was unplanned, escaped from me before I knew it. “The baby isn’t Ray’s.”

Lorelei was right beside me now, too. She and Rose looked helpless, confused.

“I got in trouble. My father arranged this marriage.”

Now they looked wounded.

Rose waited for a moment, then said, “You don’t love him. Your husband.”

I shook my head.

Lorelei barely nodded, then breathed out her words. “You married him for the honor of your family.”

I took in a deep breath, trying to get the weight to lift off my chest. “Yes. I guess so.”

I looked back at the butterfly drawings Rose had long ago sketched in the book.

“It shouldn’t have happened to you,” said Lorelei, a bit louder now.

“I caused it.”

When I looked at her, I saw tears in the hollows of Lorelei’s beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. I couldn’t believe it. Lorelei, tough Lorelei. Now I was consoling her. “It’s okay,” I whispered.

“No, it isn‘t,” Lorelei said and wiped her tears away. “It isn’t fair.” Then she met my gaze. “But no one ever said that life was fair.”

Of course it wasn’t. My penance could have been avoided, but what had happened to them, having to live away in this camp, had nothing to do with them personally. My mistake was about as personal as one could get. They had done nothing wrong, yet they were receiving the worst punishment.

Rose spoke up softly beside me. “It’s how you handle the unfairness of life—that’s what matters most, I think.”

I pictured the rock gardens, the vases made of tiny desert stones, the majorette uniforms. In this city of imprisonment, I had seen faith and optimism, strength and fortitude in the face of adversity. Resilience. I could only hope to grow in that direction.

Lorelei added, “And the bolder you handle it, the better.”

“No, Lorelei,” Rose said quietly.

They were silent. I had to ask them then, “What’s happening between you two? Please tell me.”

Rose began, “It’s the men we’ve met.”

“Rose, don‘t,” Lorelei said between clenched teeth. They continued to stare at each other.

“Have you seen them again? Is there a problem?”

The sisters glared at each other. “We haven’t seen them since the harvest ended, but they call us now. Almost every day.”

“Isn’t that good? I mean, if you care for them, it’s good, isn’t it?”

Rose finally had to look away from her sister. Lorelei answered me while still looking at Rose. “We do care for them. We just haven’t had the chance to get to know them well enough.”

“What do you know of them?”

Lorelei shrugged. “We’re learning more and more as we continue to talk.

” She tried to smile and turned to me. “We discuss important things, just as we do with you, Livvy. They’re still working, guarding the POWs who remain at the Rocky Ford fairgrounds.

They have no means to come and see us, and before long, they’ll be returning to Camp Trinidad, where they’ll be even farther away.

I’m afraid we won’t get to see them again. ”

“I could drive you over if you like.”

Lorelei said, “We couldn’t impose.”

“It’s no imposition, really. I’m always ready and willing to leave the farm. Just let me know when you’d like to go.”

“Really?” asked Lorelei.

“Of course.”

At that moment, Itsu and Masaji came in, ending our conversation.

“I should leave,” I told them and rose from the bed, gathered my purse, and said goodbye to them all.

Itsu held on to Lorelei as I headed for the door, so it was Rose who walked me out on that night.

We walked down the dark passageways between barracks, in and out of elongated rectangles of light streaming out of the windows, arms made of nothing substantial, arms stretched out of shadows.

Rose walked me past the gate and all the way to the truck.

Before I opened the truck door, she touched my sleeve again. “Lorelei seems so strong, so sure of herself.”

“She is strong.”

Rose shook her head. “That’s what everyone thinks. But she’s the one who cries at night.”

“Oh, Rose.”

She hugged me then.

I said, “I’m sorry.” Again those useless words.

She released me and stood before me, holding my arms. “Do you remember earlier when I asked you what butterfly you would be?”

I nodded.

“When you said one with large false eyes, something else came to my mind. About Lorelei. Now I see her as a very old butterfly, one who is trying so hard to keep flying and still losing her colors anyway.”

In my mind’s eye, the vision came easily.

I also could see Lorelei’s wings flapping in a desperate attempt for acceptance and love, and all the while losing the substance of her own being in the process.

Without my studies, without my plans for travel and learning in other parts of the world, I, too, had lost pieces of myself.

“I’m worried about her, Livvy. The things she wants to do ...”

“What things?”

Rose’s eyebrows came together. “It’s the soldiers’ ideas.”

“What ideas?”

“They’re pressuring us.”

“To do what?”

Rose looked down at her feet and shook her head slowly.

“You can tell me.” But as I waited for her to answer, my back began to ache. I placed my palms against the lower half of my spine and began rubbing.

Rose looked at me, then back inside the camp. “I don’t know.”

And still she didn’t tell me.

I should have probed harder, waited longer. Instead I said, “Don’t worry. Lorelei is stronger than you think, and so are you. You’ll both get through this. I know it.” After all, they were both making the best of a situation that was much worse than mine.

Now Rose took a step backward.

“Send for me. Anytime you want to go anywhere or do anything. Promise?”

Rose nodded. “We will.”

Then I drove off, leaving her standing there, surrounded by the dust stirred up by the truck’s old tires.