Certain Things Happened

CERTAIN THINGS HAPPENED

By Bert Brun

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Bert Brun

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Chapter 1

The red American Legion Staten Island ferry tooted twice as it prepared to head towards its Manhattan battery terminal slip. Heeding the warning, a rusty freighter tooted back and altered its heading to avoid interfering with the ferry’s course. By now, as the ferryboat glided by Governor's Island on its starboard flank, the first few passengers were beginning to move slowly toward the vessel’s forward area.

Julia Andersen yawned and stretched then turned toward her older sister, Nora, who gazed dreamily out the ferry's big window beside her. Julia, slightly taller than her sister, was blond with a squarish face and green eyes. Blue-eyed Nora was more slight with dark straight hair.

Nora, you're a thousand miles away, Julia said.

What? Oh, Julia, I'm sorry. I was just imagining the exotic places that rusty old boat is headed for. Remember the song, Faraway Places?"

Julia smiled. My day-dreamy Nora. Come on, we'd better get started.

All right. Nora closed the book of poetry in her lap. There's a poem in here by Edna St. Vincent Millet. About riding the ferry all night, being merry.

You and your poetry. I think I remember that one, though. From Miss Williams and her honors class in English.

Dad told me once that he'd thought about becoming a merchant marine. Before he met Mother.

Julia thought for a moment. But then we might never have been born.

Of course, her sister realized. Our brother either. What a strange idea.

The two young women rose and joined the stream of passengers headed toward the front of the vessel, which was now starting to ease its way inside the bulwark pilings in front of the gangplanks. The water churned and bubbled, as the ship's engines maneuvered for a good approach angle.

Speaking of Dad, Julia said, Mom had a letter from him. He may be coming back to Staten Island soon. The airfield’s just about finished up there in Newfoundland.

Nora’s long, pallid face lit up. Won't that be great? He's been gone so long.

Almost two years, I guess.

Do you know how many times I prayed he and Mom would get together again?

Julia hesitated before replying. But I wonder how Mom feels about that. I couldn't tell from her reaction. I sure hope he's not drinking anymore.

I'll bet he stopped. I've missed him. Even though he never says much about it, I think it would do Bertie a lot of good to have a father again… By the way, our brother told me he wants us all, especially Mom, to start calling him Kurt now instead of Bertie. He says he hates it that Mom and Dad gave him that silly Norwegian Bertel for a first name because the kids at school tease him and call him ‘Bertel, the turtle’ all the time.

You know the reason, don’t you? Dad wanted to have the name connected to his mother, Berte. At least they gave him a better second name; I think Kurt is fine, don’t you?

Nora nodded.

By now they were about to take their first steps up the wide metal gangplank to quit the ferry. The low tide made the ascent steeper than usual. At the terminal exit they became ready to part company.

Nora, Julia said, How about meeting up later for a lunchtime bite to eat—just a Nedick’s orange drink and hotdog? I'll treat, if you’re broke.

Oh, Julia, what a nice idea. I'm not broke, but I'd better not. I'm behind in my filing and besides I've made my cheese sandwich. She patted her purse.

The inevitable cheese sandwich, Julia laughed. Okay, Sis, some other time. See you at home later.

Nora leaned forward to give her sister a quick peck on the cheek. Then she set off northward up Whitehall Street, while Julia headed westward across a small park towards her shipping office on Battery Place.

* * *

Bus Andersen glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen of the second-floor apartment on Scribner Avenue. It was eight thirty already. She and Kurt had to leave right away. She called to her son, Bertie, are you ready? We have to go.

Bertel Kurt Andersen’s small face appeared at his bedroom doorway. Mom, I told you. Can’t you say Kurt instead of the baby-sounding ‘Bertie’? Okay, I’m ready. Did you make my lunch?

I have it right here. Come on now, we don't want to be late, do we?

Kurt preceded his mother down the shadowed stairway. At eight, he was blond haired and slight of build. He negotiated the shadowed stairs carefully. Behind him, his sturdy mother descended with more confidence.

They set off down the steep Scribner Avenue hill. Have you got all the books you’ll need? Bus asked.

The boy looked down at the two books he carried in his right hand. I think so, Mom. Each was covered with a brown paper cover he'd fashioned from large grocery bags. In his left hand was his lunch, in a smaller brown paper bag.

The drably painted frame houses they passed were mostly two-story, sitting on narrow lots, much like the one where the Andersens rented. Typically they contained a downstairs apartment occupied by the owner, while the upstairs was rented.

The Andersens had lived in various such quarters on Staten Island ever since migrating from Brooklyn five years earlier, not long after Eric had landed the Manhattan WPA job. For the family it was a huge relief to quit the Brooklyn Bjorndahls’ unheated attic where they'd ridden out the worst of the Depression years.

Mother and son reached the foot of Scribner, where Jersey Street then carried a noisy parade of slow-moving passenger cars, trucks and the No. 5 bus toward Richmond Terrace and then eastward to the ferry terminal; earlier, her daughters had used the closer 101 bus, which traveled down Hamilton Avenue to reach the same destination.

There was no school crossing person there and Bus usually escorted Kurt across the busy street during a brief lull in traffic. She bent to kiss the boy's cheek.

Be careful now up the hill to school, she said. And extra careful crossing back over Jersey Street this afternoon.

Oh Mom, I'm eight now. You shouldn't worry so much.

It's something mothers can’t help doing, Kurt. His mother watched her son turn at the end of an alley and wave just before going out of her sight behind a building.

Bus smiled as she waited to re-cross the street. Kurt was a good child. Obedient, eager to please. Perhaps a little timid, but maybe that was to be expected without the presence of a father.

She hurried toward the bus stop, so as not to miss the eight thirty bus. The thought of her husband had not quite left her mind. Eric's letter had indicated that he expected to be able to get on board a ship returning to New York within the next three weeks. That meant he’d be home within a month or so.

What would that be like? A vague uneasiness crept into her mind. His letters had been nearly like clockwork, each month containing a money order for $200, which, she couldn't deny it, had helped immeasurably to supplement the modest sum she took home from her part-time job at the Children's Aid Society.

But he never mentioned alcohol, nor did she ask, when she wrote back. Would he be affectionate? Would she feel affection? Two years without a man in the family had been perfectly agreeable to her. He’d probably want to resume marital relations. She wasn't sure about how she'd react.

She sighed. Down the street she could see the red bus approaching. She reached into her purse for the five cent fare.

Chapter 2

Nora trudged up the stairs at 101 Scribner Ave. Her father was inside the apartment reading the local newspaper.

Hello, Dad, she said. She kissed his cheek. Where's Mom?

She's gone to a League of Women Voters meeting, straight from work.

Are you hungry? I can fix something.

It's all right, darling. She left a sandwich in the icebox for me. He paused, frowning. Your mother certainly has changed since I went to Newfoundland.

What do you mean?

League of Women Voters! He snorted. No, I guess I shouldn't really say that. Ever since Roosevelt was elected she's become interested in politics. Even though she knows it irritates me. What do women know of such things? And don't they realize it's always been a man's world and probably always will be?

She practically idolizes Eleanor Roosevelt.

Eric scoffed again. What's the word for her, that woman,—a gadfly?

I suppose so. To be honest though, I sort of like the First Lady, too. She helps keep morale up.

Not my morale... I'm sorry, sweetheart. I must sound like a grouch.

It's best to let one's feelings out, though.

Maybe. He smiled at his elder daughter. How did your day go?

Pretty boring, to tell the truth. The worst of it is that my mind seems to wander from the eternal filing, which slows me down, and then my boss criticizes me.

You need to focus more, Nora.

I know, Dad, but I keep thinking of our boys over there, especially in the Pacific, fighting and dying for our country.

The war is not going so well, it seems. Not much better in Europe, or even in North Africa, where the troops landed. That Rommel Nazi general, his tanks are tough…. Norway under the boot of the Nazis, it makes my blood boil. I tried to find out if they'd accept me for some kind of military service—after all I was in the Norwegian Navy during the first war. But they told me the age limit was 45. I tried to talk them into it, told them even though I'm two years over, I'm in good shape, but it didn't work.

I'm proud of you though, Dad, for at least trying.

Well, nothing is turning up in the way of work here. And your mother probably wouldn't miss me.

Oh, Dad! I wish you wouldn't say that. What about Julia and me? We'd miss you. Kurt too, I'll bet.

I'm not so sure. He seems scared of me. He’s still a bit of a sissy, I think, thanks to your mother coddling him.

Where is he, anyway?

In his room reading, as usual.

Dad, I wanted to ask you about something.

What, darling?

Well, you know what I was saying, about worrying about our sailors over there fighting the Japanese?

Yes.

I heard that there's going to be a new service organization for women. Sort of like the Women's Army Corps, but for the Navy. They're going to call it 'Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service', WAVES, for short. Isn't that clever? Anyway, they'll be starting up in August. What would you say if I tried to join up?

Eric paused before answering. Then, Why, sweetheart, I think it would be the best thing in the world for you. He got to his feet, grinning, and hugged his elder daughter. And it's my turn to be proud of you.

Nora smiled back. A tear rolled down her left cheek. Daddy, thank you... I love you, Dad.

Another sailor in the family! And helping out our boys, too.

Yes, that's what I thought. Doing my part so a young man can get over there for the really hard part, to win this awful war.

The door to the apartment opened suddenly and Julia came in. Nora hurried to her sister and hugged her.

Julia, surprised, said, What's this all about, Sis?

I'm going to join up! Dad thinks it's a good idea. Nora went on to fill her sister in on the idea.

Julia, after reflecting, said, I think it's a good idea too, Nora. Getting away will be exciting for you. Being away from home for the first time!

I know. Now I'm so revved up I can hardly wait!

Julia said, What time is Mom coming home?

She said by seven, Eric said. She left me a sandwich but I've already had that and I'm still hungry.

Julia and I can fix up something, can't we, Sis? Nora said.

Sure, just let me change my clothes. She went first to the refrigerator and peered in. There's not much here. Some eggs. And we've got potatoes and onions.

There's Spam too, I think, in the cabinet, Nora remembered. Seems a long time since we had ration coupons for a nice roast or something.

Kurt, his father, and both sisters had already pushed away their empty plates when Bus came in.

She was taken aback at first, especially by how merry everyone seemed. After a cup of coffee from the pot the girls had brewed, she settled down.

So, Mother, said Nora, You agree with my idea?

"Yes, dear, I