Dead and Dying One and All
The headless chicken charging toward Veronica Crane was clinging to life against all odds.
Her friend Lizzie shrieked, dropped Veronica’s arm, and jumped back as the chicken ran between them. It was followed by a large, round, and sweaty Hank Price. He charged down his dirt driveway, panting, with a hatchet still in his hand, and blood on his apron. The chicken was now trying to run up the incline to Veronica’s small mill house but, being headless, it was running without direction. Its only motivation came from whatever vestigial brain was left, and was screaming run from the predator behind it.
“Sorry ladies,” Hank called, passing them. “Dang bird got away from me.”
The bird had made it onto Veronica’s porch and was now scrambling around, bumping into things, and dripping blood everywhere. In its own way, it was heroic. The fact that it was sans head, made its attempt even more valiant in a doomed hero sort of way. But these thoughts vanished when Veronica realized that she would be the one having to clean up the blood on her front porch later.
“That was an ugly kill, Hank!” Veronica called, as Lizzie clutched her arm and pulled her down the dirt road that they both lived on.
“Come on,” Lizzie said.
“He should have secured it with something, cut its throat and let it bleed out,” Veronica said, eyes still on the tormented chicken.
“Ugh,” Lizzie said. “Let’s go.”
Veronica rolled her eyes.
“I know you do it in your family, but my brother does it ours. And we don’t do it often as we mainly keep the chickens for eggs.”
“When a chicken isn’t laying anymore—” Veronica began but Lizzie shook her head.
“I know. I know. I know,” she said, as she pulled Veronica onto the paved road that led to the city center.
There were no cars in sight as it was early Saturday morning, and most businesses didn’t open until ten on Saturdays, but she and Lizzie had been lucky enough to get temp jobs at the draft office on the weekends, and they had to be at work by 7:30 a.m.
“Hey, did you hear that there was another cat hanging from a telephone line this morning?” Lizzie asked her as they started down the road.
“Ugh, how many is that?” Veronica asked, grimacing.
“Ten in as many weeks.”
“When did it happen?”
“They must have done it last night,” Lizzie replied. “But they found it this morning, first thing. My brother’s wife’s brother works for the telephone company—”
“You mean Teddy?”
Lizzie nodded.
“And they don’t have a suspect for it?” Veronica asked.
“No,” Lizzie replied, “but it’s cats, you know. I guess Chief Bishop has other more pressing problems.”
“Obviously,” Veronica muttered.
“Ronnie don’t be like that,” Lizzie replied. “CJ’s an okay guy, and his dad is an okay guy. It can’t be easy to be chief of police.”
“Of course not, Harrisville is such a teeming metropolis that it must be emergency calls twenty-four hours a day,” Veronica said, thinking of the short, round police chief. Anyone who had enough food to get fat was never going to get her sympathy. “I bet he even has to skip meals occasionally.”
“You know, people think you are snobby because you talk like that,” Lizzie said.
“Like what?”
“Using big fancy words like metropolis,” Lizzie replied.
“If anyone doesn’t like my word choice, they don’t have to talk to me,” Veronica snapped.
“Wow you are grumpy this morning, did you have any breakfast?” Lizzie asked.
Veronica shook her head.
“Franklin needs the breakfast more than me,” Veronica said softly. “Besides, I’m not really hungry.”
This was lie, and Lizzie knew it. Veronica’s mother had been sick a couple of days last week, and so they were low on money. Right now, there was nothing in their icebox and they were down to the last jar of preserves from the previous summer. Veronica did without so that her mother and brother could have a little more.
“Here,” Lizzie said, pulling an apple from her lunch box and handing it to Veronica. Veronica didn’t argue. She and Lizzie had known each other for too long to put on airs. Lizzie’s family was far from well off, but they always had enough food on their table. The same was not true for Veronica’s family.
“How is Franklin?” Lizzie asked her as they turned onto Broad Street with its tree-lined sidewalks.
“Fine, for the most part,” Veronica replied.
“What do you mean, ‘for the most part’?” Lizzie asked.
“He’s already working full time at the pig farm, but now he just got on at the fire department—” Veronica began.
“Well, that’s fantastic, Ronnie.” Lizzie beamed. “He’s always wanted to be a fireman.”
“Well, he’s not exactly a fireman yet,” Veronica replied. “He’s just helping out for the moment, but it could lead to a full-time job later, if he can pass their test.”
“They have a test to be a fireman?” Lizzie asked, grimacing.
“Mm-hmm,” Veronica responded. “But it’s a written test, so I’m sure he can pass it and the fire chief seems really nice. I hope he is as nice as he seems.”
Lizzie nodded, taking Veronica’s arm again.
“The problem is that he’s already working so many hours, what with the pig farm, and the factory on the weekend, that he barely has time to sleep. And they don’t pay him as much because—”
“I know,” Lizzie said, kicking a stone viciously. “It’s not fair though.”
“No, it’s not,” Veronica replied, as the sincere, handsome face of her brother appeared in her mind’s eye.
They had now entered the part of town where the richer folks lived. The houses were large with wraparound porches. Veronica had always thought that they looked like gingerbread houses.
Even the smaller houses here were larger than Veronica’s. Almost all of them had real front and back yards and about half of them had a second story. Veronica suspected that the people living in these houses had their own bedrooms.
A group of men who worked at the mill walked by and whistled at them. Lizzie laughed and flipped her hair. Lizzie Goodwin was an unquestionable beauty, and everyone knew it… including Lizzie. She was often compared to Veronica Lake, as she had light blonde hair that she curled in waves. Despite her beauty, she wasn’t really vain. Lizzie viewed her beauty as a tool to get her out of poverty by marrying up. Veronica couldn’t rely on her beauty to get her anywhere. She was okay, but far from Lizzie’s level of beauty. Her breasts were too small and her hips too wide to fit the traditional beauty standards. Her hair was a pretty auburn, but she had pale freckles across her cheeks and nose that she hated. Her only vanity was her slate-gray eyes, with a little ring of gold around the center. They were not as beautiful as the blue eyes of her brother or grandma, but they were nice.
As they approached Marvin Bear High School, they saw a group of colored men standing in the street in front of the school. In truth, they looked more like boys than men. They were huddled together, with their heads down. Some were smoking but most were simply talking.
“What are they doing there?” Lizzie whispered to Veronica, although there was absolutely no reason to whisper.
“I heard that we would be processing boys for some colored units,” Veronica replied.
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like that someone wants to fight for their country?” Veronica asked. She knew what Lizzie was implying, and it annoyed her.
“Well, they’re not like us,” Lizzie said. As Veronica had never met, let alone known, a colored person, she couldn’t argue with this.
“You mean you aren’t scared of them?” Lizzie asked.
“Of course I am, but not any more than any other man. Horrible comes in all colors.”
“Well, the police chief thinks that one of the colored folks might be the ones killing the cats,” Lizzie said.
“Who told you that?” Veronica asked.
“Ben,” Lizzie replied, nodding knowingly. Of course, it would be Ben. He was Lizzie’s longtime boyfriend and Lizzie took everything he said as gospel.
“Ben said that CJ also thinks it’s the coloreds,” Lizzie said.
The back of Veronica’s head began to throb. The spot Grandma Janie used to call her “knowing spot.”
“Of course, CJ would say that,” Veronica muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“CJ has too much spare time,” Veronica replied. “If he had to work as hard as we do, he wouldn’t waste his time looking for reasons to hate people.”
Lizzie laughed.
“Wouldn’t you like to have that problem, though?” she said, poking Veronica in the side.
“Hi de ho, hi de ho!” came a loud voice from just behind them. Ben Morton, Lizzie’s boyfriend, squeezed in between them and put his arms around both girls. “What a lucky guy I am.”
Veronica hit at him with her purse and pulled away.
“Did I offend Ronnie again?” He laughed, releasing Veronica, and pulling Lizzie closer to him as they walked.
“I think your breathing offends Ronnie,” Lizzie said.
“Ain’t it always the way?” Ben said, grabbing at his heart. “The most beautiful dames are forever out of reach. So I guess I am stuck with you.”
“For now… if you are lucky.” Lizzie pulled her arm away from him.
“Ouch!” Ben said. “Hey, don’t be like that, sugar.”
“You are paying for my lunch today,” Lizzie snapped.
“I always pay for your lunch—” he began, but Lizzie held up her hand.
“And Ronnie’s lunch,” she said.
“I thought Ronnie always brings her lunch—” he started, but at Lizzie’s glare he held up his hands.
“And anything Ronnie wants to eat, of course. Jeez.”
Lizzie smiled, winked at Veronica, and put her arm through Ben’s.
“Are you taking me to a movie tonight?” Lizzie asked. This was a common game for them. None of them had the extra money for something as frivolous as a movie, unless it was a free film put out by the war department. Veronica was expecting the normal “Sure, baby” response that Ben always gave. Instead, his brow furrowed.
“I can’t, there’s going to be a pep rally tonight,” he said, chewing the inside of his lip.
“Aren’t you a little old for high school girls?” Veronica asked.
“It’s not a school pep rally,” Ben said, his voice softer. “It’s a Knights of Harrisville rally and I’m hoping to be invited.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes.
“Ben, when will you stop trying to be friends with those guys?” Lizzie asked. “They don’t like you. You aren’t a townie.”
“CJ is a good guy,” Ben replied. “The others are nice too. You just don’t know them very well.”
“Neither do you,” scoffed Lizzie.
Veronica turned to go, but Lizzie called after her.
“Ronnie, meet us at the soda shop for lunch.”
Veronica waved her hand and walked alone toward the entrance to the school gymnasium that had been appropriated on the weekends to process army recruits.
As she walked into the building, Veronica’s mind drifted back to the headless chicken. In some ways she envied it. If you were headless, at least you didn’t have to listen to fool’s talk.
*
The gym was split into two halves by white screens on rollers. There was one opening in the screens on the right side of the room, and another opening on the left side of the room. In front of these screens were desks that had been arranged along each wall. At each desk was a chair, a typewriter, and a filing cabinet. On top of each desk was a letter tray.
Mrs. Cartwright, their supervisor here, stared at them as they huddled together. It was early May, but it was still cold enough outside to require a coat. The inside of the gym wasn’t heated, and it was drafty. Veronica’s hands started to ache, so she began to open and close them slowly at her sides. Lizzie ran in to join the group, earning a harsh glance from Mrs. Cartwright.
Looking around, Veronica counted eighteen girls. That was a high number for a recruiting office.
“Ladies, I need your attention please,” Mrs. Cartwright said, as she walked in front of them. She walked and spoke like a military man. Veronica wondered if her husband or father had been in the military.
“We will be processing several busloads of recruits this morning. You will register them and fill in all the information needed on their cards and forms. You can all type, can’t you?”
Most of the girls nodded but a few shook their heads.
“Ugh,” Mrs. Cartwright said, rolling her eyes. “Okay. As they didn’t specify that you needed to type, those who can’t can just write in the information.”
“Once you have processed them, you are to send them past those screens, where they will get their medical exam. But do make sure they go to the correct side.”
“What do you mean the correct side?” asked Missy, a petite brunette who Veronica had known since kindergarten.
“I mean that we will be processing white men and colored boys,” said Mrs. Cartwright. Several of the girls gasped audibly. “Every day, half of you will be working to process the white soldiers and the other half will process the colored boys. The next day, you will switch.”
“Will we be safe?” Lizzie asked.
“There will be soldiers overseeing the operation, so yes, you will be safe, Miss Goodwin.” Mrs. Cartwright’s words were meant to be comforting but they were dripping with condescension. Lizzie was not making a good impression.
“Also, the military is seeing fit to pay you more on the days that you process the colored boys.”
Missy raised her hand.
“Oh, I’ll volunteer for both days,” she said.
“The schedule is neither optional nor flexible,” said Mrs. Cartwright, glaring at Missy.
Clearly it was better not to speak to this woman. Veronica’s hands were starting to throb, and she desperately wanted to rub them, but she just put them behind her back and continued to open and close them.
“I’m going to separate you into two groups. Group 1 will register the white men today,” she said. “Group 2 will register the colored boys.”
As she said this, the doors opened, and five soldiers walked in. Mrs. Cartwright nodded to them. Four of the men went to stand at each corner of the room. The fifth came up to Mrs. Cartwright.
“This is Sergeant Deal, he will be overseeing operations today,” Mrs. Cartwright said. “If you have any problems or feel any discomfort, feel free to raise your hand and get my attention or his.”
“Looks like he got a raw Deal,” Lizzie whispered in Veronica’s ear. Veronica bit her lip and tried not to smile.
“All right, ladies, let’s line up,” Mrs. Cartwright said, clapping her hands.
They were lined up and numbered. Veronica and Lizzie were both assigned to Group 1, the white men.
“I’m not sure if it’s better or worse,” Lizzie said, as they all moved toward their desks. “I don’t have to register the negroes today, which is good, but then I have to spend all night worrying about tomorrow.”
Veronica shrugged and went to her desk. She didn’t care much one way or another. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She agreed with Missy more than Lizzie—she could use the extra money. Her mind was practical that way.
Once the registration began, she didn’t have time to do much besides process the men who came in an endless flow. Missy was sitting at the desk next to her. Veronica occasionally saw Missy sigh and blow her bangs out of her eyes. The gesture was both childlike and world-weary in equal measure, which was a good description of Missy. Her father had died when Missy was two and her family were just as poor, if not poorer, than Veronica’s family.
At about 10 a.m., they were all interrupted by the voice of Sergeant Deal.
“Boy, are you deaf or something?” he bellowed at a group of colored boys in the line. They all cringed backward and cast their eyes downward. All except one.
“YOU! BOY!” the sergeant yelled, pointing at the one boy who was looking at him.
“Are you stupid or something? What are you doing standing in the colored people line?”
All the men froze, wide-eyed, as the sergeant strode toward the line, grabbed the boy out of it and pulled him to the center of the room. The boy he was yelling at was brown haired and tan, but his skin was much lighter than most of those around him and his hair was straight.
“Boy, you must be deaf,” the sergeant barked. “Or are you just so in love with them coloreds that you have to stand with them?”
“I’m Brazilian, I thought—” began the boy, his voice softer and smoother than seemed right, given the fact that the sergeant was right up in his face.
“I don’t care where you’re from, boy,” Sergeant Deal yelled, spittle flying. “Do you look like those colored boys? You don’t, do you?”
The boy had adopted a more stoic expression, eyes down… but Veronica saw a slight smile playing at his lips.
“Get yourself over to one of those white ladies, right now and get yourself registered,” the sergeant yelled, grabbing the boy by the arm, and shoving him toward their tables.
The boy walked over with much more ease and grace than should be expected in such circumstances and came to stand just in front of Missy. Up close, he had a very handsome face with a straight nose and wide-set, dark eyes. His lips were full but not to the extreme.
“I think I am supposed to register with you now,” the boy said. Rather than looking down, the boy looked directly at Missy and smiled. Missy blushed.
“Okay, ummmm, what’s your name?” Missy asked, turning to her typewriter.
“Caio. Caio Silva,” he replied, sitting down.
“Do you have a middle name?”
“L.”
“Does L stand for anything?” Missy ended the question with a little giggle and hair flip.
“No, just L.”
Missy laughed and flipped her hair again. Veronica put her hand over her mouth to suppress a smile, but she didn’t have any more time to watch what was happening with Missy, as her next recruit of the day approached. From that point on she had her hands full with the recruits who came through her. After a few hours of processing, Veronica’s hands had stopped complaining and started screaming.
At around 11:30 a.m., she raised her hand to take a short break to go to the washroom. She didn’t really need to use the restroom, but she did need to take a couple of aspirin for her hands. After she had taken the tablets, she held her hands in water as hot as she could stand for as long as she could bear it. After that, she wiped them gently with the towel on the wall and hurried out of the door—and ran straight into two young men standing in the hallway.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” exclaimed one of them. He was a young colored man and his facial expression was almost comically horrified.
The other was the boy Caio that Missy had processed earlier. Both were dressed in only undershirt and underwear. Veronica could feel her face beginning to burn. She had never seen a man in underwear, apart from her brother.
“This is George,” Caio said. “He was just looking for the restroom.”
“Oh, it’s right there,” Veronica said, pointing to the men’s room, just behind her.
“No, ma’am. I am looking for the colored restroom,” George said. “You have those here, right?”
Veronica nodded.
“Do you know where the nearest one is?” Caio asked her.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” Veronica said, shaking her head.
“Don’t worry yourself, ma’am,” said George. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
“I can’t go in the white man’s bathroom,” George said to Caio.
Before she could stop herself, Veronica blurted out, “Maybe you can go to the white woman’s bathroom.” She giggled. This wasn’t funny and she knew it, but this whole situation felt unreal.
“I doubt white women would appreciate that,” George said.
“I don’t care what bathroom someone goes in, as long as they wash their hands afterward,” Veronica said.
George and Caio stared at her for a moment, and then laughed out loud.
“That is very sensible of you, ma’am,” George said. “I wish you were in charge.”
Veronica smiled, waved at them, and then turned and ran back to her desk.
Have I just flirted with those boys? That just wouldn’t do.
Still, they thought she was funny, and she had a little smile on her face when she sat down. She took off her shoes and settled at the typewriter.
Veronica’s hands gave her a break for the next two hours. So much so, that when Mrs. Cartwright called for lunch break, she realized that she hadn’t had any pain at all in hours.
As Veronica was putting on her shoes, Missy leaned over.
“Did you see where he went?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The boy named Caio,” Missy whispered.
“Why are we whispering?” Veronica replied, in a softer whisper.
“Because he was handsome, wasn’t he?” Missy said, biting her lip and giving a little shiver.
“Yes, but it was strange that he was standing with the colored boys,’ Veronica whispered back.
“I know. I mean it was obvious that he wasn’t,” Missy said. “He said he was from Brazil. That’s in South America, not Africa. So he is American.”
Veronica laughed.
“But people would tease me if I said anything because they would have seen him go into the colored line. I mean, he clearly isn’t colored. He looks almost Italian.”
“How do you know what an Italian looks like?” Veronica asked.
“Hugh’s family has Italian ancestors,” Missy said.
Hugh’s face popped into Veronica’s mind… all white-blond hair and milk-pale skin and she laughed out loud.
“Hugh’s last name is McBrayer, and he’s about as Italian as I am.” Veronica giggled. “He even gave you a Claddagh ring. You don’t get much more Irish than that.”
“He’s Irish on his dad’s side, silly,” Missy said, but she was smiling. “He’s Italian on his mother’s side.”
As far as Veronica was concerned, Hugh’s pale, dark-haired mother looked no more Italian than his father did, but she thought it was time to let this go.
“Are you meeting Hugh for lunch?” she asked.
Missy nodded.
“I’m meeting him at the soda shop. You should get Lizzie and come,” Missy said. “But don’t say anything about that boy Caio.”
“Not a word,” Veronica said, pulling her finger across her mouth.
“He was really handsome, wasn’t he?” Missy whispered, picking up her coat and purse.
“Yes, he was,” Veronica replied softly, realizing with a shock that she had noticed it herself.
Before she had seen Missy blush while talking to Caio, she had never considered whether such a person could be attractive to her. The truth was that she rarely considered any man attractive. Her only real experience with men had been her family. Her brother, who was the most decent person she had ever known, was taunted and bullied for his differences from “normal” men. The only “normal” man she had known well was her father.
And he had taught her that having a man in your life was not worth the pain.
