Some Tender Charm

“You must be the most perfect creature of all God’s creations” his voice was raspy from sleep and the early morning light had created a line bisecting his beautiful face, but still he looked at Henry and called him perfect. Henry chuckled, reaching into his boot where he’d stored his cigarettes and matches the night before. Three left, he’d have to stop for more before they went back to camp. “I’m serious,” Joe sat up the stripe of sunlight leaving his face.

“I know you are,” Henry spoke around the cigarette he was lighting, taking a long drag before kneeling back onto the bed, plucking the stick out of his mouth and placing it between Joe’s perfect pink lips for him to take a drag and laying his head in the other man’s lap, watching his jaw move as he inhaled the smoke. “I know you’re serious,” he whispered up to Joe.

~

“Private Cahill,” the soft voice jolted Henry out of his thoughts and suddenly he was not in the tiny boarding house anymore, he was back at camp in the sticky summer night air, looking down at the packet of cigarettes in his hand. There was one left, he’d forgotten to stop for more.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the voice said again and Henry looked up to see a nurse’s pretty white face in the dark.

She had red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. He should say something charming and flirtatious, it’s what she would expect from a soldier but his voice felt trapped inside of his throat. He stood instead, shoving his cigarettes back into his pocket.

“The doctor has finished, Private Jones is out of surgery,” Henry made to step towards the medical tent before a soft, white hand stopped his shoulder. “He’s still asleep,” Henry nodded, trying to be understanding. “I’m not supposed to but, it’s going to just be me tonight so if you’d like to stay and sit with him,” Henry’s eyebrows creased together, heat rushing to his face and he opened his mouth to defend the thinly veiled accusation. “I won’t tell anyone,” she finished her sentence. His protest died on his lips, he should say no, or something about the brotherhood of war, but he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat, around the memory of Joe’s blood on his hands.

~

Everyone thought they’d picked up girls in the village. When they marched together down the empty streets of the city, guns loaded but not poised at their shoulders.

“C’mon Cahill, how ugly was she? We know you can’t afford a pretty dame,” one of the boys behind him shouted up the line.

“Shouldn’t talk rude about your sister Maxwell,” Joe shouted back, nudging Henry in the ribs with a wink. Everyone interrupted in laughter and indecent shouts about each other’s sisters.

“I don’t get leave until next month, you gotta give me somethin’ boys,” Maxwell shouted up again. He’s green, Henry thought, his father had taken him down to the recruitment station and signed a waiver for him to join up, signed his death warrant.

“I’m not one to kiss and tell,” Henry started, a grin dancing on his lips. He looked to Joe who’s shoulders had tensed and the tops of his ears began to blush. “But, it was one of the best nights of my life, if you know what I mean,” the boys behind him erupted again in whoops and hollers and wolf whistles.

Joe seemed to have relaxed and Henry let his hand swing down by his side so his fingers brushed Joe’s for a brief moment. Joe smiled up at Henry and for a split second Henry wasn’t thinking of the war, or the dead, or the fact that he may never get to go home. All of his dread and worry and cynicism was gone with the warm breeze, as long as Joe would never stop smiling at him like that.

All of a sudden a second split into a million pieces, hung suspended in the air around him fractured like broken glass, each shard reflecting Joe’s smile, then the church on Joe’s side of the road exploded in a wave of brick and dust, and all of his men were blasted away from the road and each other. His ears were ringing when he blinked up at the sky, Henry was vaguely aware of his own body, his fingers wiggling, his boots that he’d laced too tight around his ankles, he didn’t have his gun. He could hear some shouting far away, it sounded like his name, it couldn’t be, he didn’t exist here, not here where a church was a weapon and the sky was still blue despite his bloody hands.

“Henry,” he heard it again, remembered his neck and tested if it were still working, aching but it did turn side to side, he squinted his eyes to the light. Smoke billowed around his vision and he saw stars when he tried to sit up. “Hen, Henry,” he tried to find the source of the sound but it was too far away.

He looked around, a boot lay separated from its owner, the foot still shoved inside of it. Shots fired somewhere to his left, someone was screaming a Hail Mary, and there, behind his right shoulder, Joe was propped up against a brick wall, his gun poised over his thigh, he was breathing heavily and his face was grimey from the debris. For a moment Henry wanted to smile, to wipe Joe’s face clean with his handkerchief and kiss his nose. He crawled over to Joe, it took all of his effort to cross the small road by the time he arrived at his side he was exhausted.

“Hen,” Joe said with relief, lacing his voice.

“What happened?” Henry said slowly, his tongue felt heavy.

“We were ambushed, it looks like they just wanted to spook us, no one has come up on us,” Joe said looking around the deserted village. “Hen, listen, you’ve got to get us back,” he looked wildly down at Henry.

“You're the highest rank, you should-” Henry began before Joe cut him off with a bloody finger over his lips.

“I can’t lead the march back, Hen,” he said, putting his hand back over his stomach. Henry followed his hand to see the poppy red blood staining Joe’s jacket, growing darker by the moment.

“Holy shit, fuckfuckfuckfuck Joe shit,” Henry sat up, ignoring the nausea that flooded his mouth, putting a hand over Joe’s stomach as well, looking around for a medic. Joe shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed tightly and breathing heavily.

“Jenkins is dead, I saw him, we have to get back to camp now,” Joe said, his voice laced in authority. All Henry could do was nod, his hands were shaking, his ears still ringing and his stomach turned as he felt the hot blood flowing freely out of Joe.

“O-okay,” he said.

“You can do it Hen, just do what I would do,” Joe took Henry’s chin in his hand, holding tightly. “You can do it,” and there in the abandoned city, surrounded by injured soldiers and debris and a church on fire Joe kissed Henry’s lips.

~

The medical tent was more humid than outside and Henry wiped the sweat off of Joe’s brow with a wet cloth, trying to cool him off. His torso was bare except for the white gauze that wrapped his stomach, making an X across his shoulders and holding his stitches together. Henry could see the dark streaks of bloodied skin through the gauze and for a moment his stomach rolled with nausea again. The nurse, Jaqueline her name turned out to be, had brought Henry a chair to sit in though currently it held mostly his jacket while he leaned forward on his elbows to be close to Joe.

“I’m right here, Joe, I hope you can hear me so you know I’m right here,” he whispered to Joe’s sleeping face. From the neck up, he could have been sleeping, just a small cut on his eyebrow from the explosion but his face had been cleaned and his hair combed.

He looks just like a prince from a fairytale, Henry thought to himself. He checked over his shoulder for anyone passing by before reaching for Joe’s hand, it was warm and his fingertips were calloused but it was still his hand, his pulse was still his pulse, and Henry leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of Joe’s hand.

He didn’t know how long passed before Jaqueline came to check on him again. There were few other men in the tent, most injuries didn’t require staying overnight.

“How you doing over here?” she asked softly, she seemed nice enough but Henry still let go of Joe’s hand like it had burnt him.

“Uh, fine, I think,” Henry said, clearly flustered. Jacqualine leaned over to check Joe’s temperature and jotted it down onto a chart she held. She looked over his bandage and began to press against his chest. Henry felt sick, he leaned back into the chair, realizing how tired he was. Jacqualine looked over, and smiled nicely.

“Hey, I could get you a blanket if you like,” she offered. Henry shook his head but watched her closely as she picked up a thinning threadbare blanket off an empty cot and placed it onto his shoulders.

“Does Private Jones pray?” she asked the quiet into the silence between them, it hung there in the air so thick Henry could practically see it lingering between them.

“Joe’s catholic,” Henry said, squeezing Joe’s fingers tightly. “He said hail mary’s the entire march back to camp. I could hear him from the stretcher, but his rosary was still back here so he didn’t have a way to count them,” Jaqueline nodded.

“Some boys like to pray when they got someone in here,” she said softly, wiping the sweat off of Joe’s forehead with a wet rag. Henry just shook his head, he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling thinking of the villa and Joe’s tanned shoulders hunched over his rosary.

“I don’t know how,” he rubbed his face. “He tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t remember all the lines in order,” he looked up at Jaqueline sheepishly. “My folks didn’t take me to church, I used to tell Joe I had sinned too much to be taught,” she laughed at that and Henry bristled at the sound, was she making fun of him?

“There aren’t lines to memorize Private, you just speak from the heart,” she pulled a necklace out from under her nurse’s uniform and handed it to him. The gold chain was so delicate he thought it would crumble in his fingers, and the crucifix at the end was thin and parts were tarnished from being rubbed. He looked up at her but she’d already turned and started walking away.

“Wait,” he called after her, she looked back over her shoulder. “Who do I talk to?” She smiled softly at that.

“Whoever you like, it’s just nice to think there is something bigger than this, listening to us,” she walked over and sat on the edge of the cot next to Joe’s calf. She closed Henry’s hands over the cross pendant and nodded at him to close his hands. “Start with, ‘Mother Mary full of grace,’ your Joe would like that,” he took a shuddering breath. Your Joe. Mine. My Joe.

“Mother Mary full of grace,” he started. Jaqueline’s hands left his and he heard her footsteps fade away. “You have to save Joe, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job but Joe,” his chest hurt. “Joe is the best of us,” he thought of the villa again.

~

Joe woke up with a strangled cry and sat up straight in the tiny bed. He was panting, and his face was cold and clammy with sweat. Henry sat up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Joe,” in his raspy sleepy voice. “What’s wrong?”

“We crashed,” Joe said easily, though his chest was still heaving deep gulps of air.

“What?”

“My dream, I was flying and you were on the gunner seat. We got shot down and you, you, you” he stuttered, fat warbling tears ran down his cheeks. Henry scooted behind Joe’s back, his thighs sandwiching Joe’s. Their naked bodies pressed together and Henry pressed a kiss to the middle of Joe’s back. He kissed all over his shoulders and neck before he put his chin onto Joe’s shoulder, lips next to his ear.

“It’s okay Joe,” he whispered. “It was just a dream, just a nasty nightmare of this fucking war”.

“It was so real Hen, I saw you lying there in the field,” he shivered slightly. “I can’t see you like that, I’ll die,”

“Hey,” Henry sat up straighter, turning Joe’s chin to look him in the eye. “No talking like that, neither of us are dying here,” Joe shook his head unconvincingly. “You still have to take me to that dive bar in Cleveland, with the waitresses dressed like mermaids, and they sing for tips,” Joe smiled slightly at the memory. “You promised to take me,” Joe nodded again, this time with vigor.

“Neither of us are dying,” Joe repeated. “I’ve got to love you forever, and we’ve only just begun,” Henry smiled at that.

~

“You can’t take him, we’ve only just begun,” he whispered over the crucifix pendant. He opened his eyes to see Jaqueline lingering over Joe’s face. She’d paled considerably since leaving him to pray.

“Private, I need you to step out, I’ve called the surgeon and he’ll be here soon, we’ll both be in trouble if you’re caught here,” she strained to remain calm.

“What’s wrong with Joe,” Henry asked but she had already grabbed him by the elbow and was pulling him towards the tent entrance.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, just don’t want you to be caught here,” a soft pained groan came from Joe’s cot.

“What’s wrong with him,” Henry said frantically. He’d been pushed out of the tent as the surgeon approached quickly. He stood there staring at the canvas of the tent while the doctor and Jaqueline whispered frantically. A strangled cry came from inside the tent and Henry moved without thinking into the tent, towards the cot.

“Joe,” he began, but Jaqueline stopped him as the surgeon was hunched over his wounded stomach, staunching the bleeding with rags, cursing like a sailor.

“Henry you can’t be here,” she whispered frantically. Joe cried out again, the sound shattered through Henry’s ear drums, he felt it in his bones.

“He needs me,” he began through his tears.

“He needs the doctor,” Jaqueline countered.

“Nurse, now,” the doctor called from the cot.

“Outside, Henry I won’t be so nice next time,” she scolded as she pushed him out again.

Henry stood outside again, eyes overflowing with hot tears. He fell to the ground, hundling around his knees trying to block out the sound of the surgeon cursing, of Joe’s pained groans. The crucifix was still clutched tightly in his hand, the points dug painfully into his palm but he couldn’t loosen his grip, his body wouldn’t let him.

“Mother Mary, full of grace,” he whispered through his tears. “Mother Mary, full of grace, Mother Mary full of grace, mother Mary full of grace,” he didn’t know how long he sat out there in the dirt, repeating the phrase over and over. Long enough for his tears to stop, for the pained groans coming from the tent to quiet, for his voice to start rasping as if he’d spent a long afternoon at a football game.

It was long enough for Jaqueline to come outside again. She was covered to the wrist in dark red blood, already cracking as it dried. Her eyes were red from crying. She kneeled in front of Henry and put her hands over his, and then Henry was crying again. She held him tightly while he wailed into the night, cursing her and the surgeon and the sky itself. The surgeon had cleaned up and left already, not wanting to face Henry with the news, not wanting to admit what he surely knew by now.

Jaqueline let him back into the tent to say goodbye. Joe was tucked neatly under a sheet, he could have been sleeping if it weren’t for the stiffness in his body. Henry sat there with him until the sun began to rise, until the other soldiers came in to transfer the body, they would send him home that morning. Back to Ohio, where his mother would receive the news that her only child was gone, that she was truly alone in that house.

Henry was dismissed not long after, discharged for exhibiting manic behavior. He volunteered for any flight he could get, and refused to take leave. He slept in some of Joe’s clothes he took from his bag before they packed it. He wore his rosary around his neck. His boots on the ground in Brooklyn felt like a cruel joke. While he watched other soldiers reunite with their wives and girlfriends. While father’s slapped their sons' shoulders proudly, he rubbed his thumb over the beads of Joe’s rosary, no one was there to greet him.

He took a train to Cleveland, he had to ask around for the Cahill house and people looked at him sadly when they gave him directions. They pitied him, thought he was coming to pay condolences to the family, but really he needed to be consoled. His folks were long gone and he wanted a hug from his mother, but Joe’s mother would do. When he knocked on the door he tried to pull down his soldier mask, to be calm and controlled. The woman who answered the door had the same laugh lines around her eyes as Joe, she was shorter than him but had the same dark curly hair, and Henry couldn’t not cry.

She’d known him of course, Henry had always been jealous that Joe and his mother were so close. She knew everything, absolutely everything, even what Joe couldn’t say out loud. He’d sent her a photograph of the two of them from basic training, he’d told her about their first kiss, about Henry’s fear of spiders, about how he didn’t want to die without telling her about his first love.

Mrs. Cahill held onto Henry in the doorway for a long time, there was still a yellow ribbon around the tree in the front yard even though Joe had been laid to rest weeks earlier. She poured him cup after cup of coffee and told stories about Joe as a child. Henry stayed there for a few days, and when it became clear to both of them that he wouldn’t be leaving she took him shopping for some new clothes. Everything from Brooklyn fit in his duffle bag he’d brought with him, and she let him stay in Joe’s room, which smelled like his aftershave and honeysuckle from outside the window.

They needed each other, her needing a son to care for, him needing something to do with his hands, he fixed her roof, built a shed in the yard, worked on her car when it made an annoying clicking noise, and they both needed to feel closer to Joe. He could tell her stories, real stories about their time together. How Joe would trace on the back of his hand when they sat next to each other. How the other men made fun of them for being codependent “worse than a couple of hens” they’d say.

She could talk about the boy she’d raised, how he’d chase around the neighbor's chickens until they flew out of the coop, how he briefly collected only orange pebbles from the river bank, and how she found them in his pockets for years. They grieved together and laughed together and Henry started going to church with her on Sunday’s. He found it difficult at first, the incense and speech of it all reminded him of Joe too much and the church building made him nervous and gave him nightmares of flying debris but soon it was like being close to him again and he began to look forward to it.

They had both lost so much but found each other and in certain ways they each filled a hole Joe had left in them. Henry still screamed to the sky on the hard days, still cried in the dark night under the stars, and still cursed at God for not taking him instead, but on those nights, even then, he felt Joe watching over him. He imagined him chuckling and shaking his head.

~

“You wouldn’t know grace if it hit you over the head, that’s what I love about you Hen, you just are what you are, no fuss about it,” he said, lips pressed into the skin of Henry’s chest.

“You won’t always like it,” Henry countered.

“Yes I will,” he said fake offended, “I have the patience of a saint, I’ll love you forever,” and he kissed over Henry’s heart before they both fell asleep. The soft breeze blowing the sheer curtain on their room in the villa and the bright light from the moon soaking them both in the glow.