When Alexsandra Malof invited Aussie Lewis to her home in the old Jewish autonomous region near Khabarovsk, she introduced him as an Australian soldier who, as Australians often did, fought next to his American friends.
“You’ll be here long?” her father asked him.
“Depends, mate,” Aussie said.
When he got back to camp, Choir asked him about wedding bells.
“Never know, do you?” he said, shocking them.
“Little beaver for the winter eh, Aus?” Sal joshed.
“Hey, hey!” Aussie said. “Enough of that talk, sport.”
“You’re not serious,” Sal said. “Jeez, you couldn’t go a week without cussing.”
“That a bet?” Aussie said, sitting down on his bunk.
“What — yeah. Yeah,” Sal said. “That’s a bet.”
“I’m in,” Choir said.
Aussie lowered himself down gingerly on the bunk, the shoulder still hurting. “David, how about you? Ah, sorry, forgot your cheek’s so puffed up you can’t talk. Thumb up for ten bucks.”
David put up two thumbs.
“Oh, all right,” Aussie said. “Ten bucks for Bullfrog Face.” He looked over at Choir and Sal. “You guys wouldn’t be in on a setup here would you?”
“No,” Choir said indignantly.
“Fair dinkum,” Sal said. It was an Australian term Aussie had taught them and it meant “fair drinking” in the gold fields where everyone had to get drunk before playing cards-then everyone was equal.
“All right,” Aussie said. “You’re on.”
Frank and Lana agreed on a wedding date in late May, and while they were discussing the wedding plans, Douglas Freeman was studying the street plan of Beijing.
