Joseph leant in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Want to go for a walk?’
‘Sure—if you’re up to it?’
‘It’ll do me good,’ Joseph said. He took his jacket from the coat-stand and opened the door for Velda. ‘After you, ma’am.’
Velda curtseyed. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’
‘Do you have anywhere you want to walk to?’ he asked.
With Joseph at her side, she didn’t care where she was in the world. ‘I don’t mind,’ she replied, linking her arm through his.
They ambled slowly down the cold street. It was several seconds before either of them spoke.
‘So, I should hear back from my attorney any day now. Audrey was given the divorce papers yesterday.’
Velda nodded but said nothing.
‘Can you believe it—she’s moved Dwight Kalinski into the house—my house—the house I’m paying for. I mean, of all the things. Can you believe it?’
Velda could believe it. It was Audrey Fuller they were talking about, after all. ‘Expect the unexpected as far as she’s concerned.’
‘The woman just has no moral decency,’ Joseph seethed.
‘She’ll get what’s coming to her, one day,’ Velda said.
‘One thing’s for certain—she hasn’t got a legal leg to stand on—I’ve got a whole truck-load of witnesses who’ll say she was carrying on with him behind my back, while I was out there fighting for my country—her country.’
‘Almost dying for your country,’ Velda corrected, gently stroking his arm. ‘But I must say, you’re recovering real well, Joseph. You’ll be running around the block again in no time.’
‘Just walking’s good enough for me.’
‘You’re a tough one.’
‘I think me being still alive is more to do with the accuracy of the gooks. Six bullets—all of them missing major organs and arteries—that’s got to be some kind of record.’ He took a long, appreciative breath and squeezed Velda’s arm. ‘Jeez, I’m glad to be back here. There are a whole bunch of guys out there who won’t be so damn lucky.’
They walked without aim, ending up in a small café on Fillmore Street. Velda kept their conversation light, despite her yearning to discuss the future. People close to Joseph had implied that once divorced, he would likely waste no time in proposing to Velda. Her friends had begun to discuss the wedding. At first they had talked in loose, general terms, then specific dates, styles, floral arrangements and venues had been mooted. They had debated where the couple might live and how long they would wait before trying for their first child. Velda now found herself with a clear image of her wedding to Joseph in her head, despite his having never uttered a single word about it. Whenever they were alone together, a small part of her was anxiously anticipating his proposal.
‘What do you say we go catch a movie?’ Joseph suggested as they drank the last inches of their sodas.
‘Sure—I’m in no hurry to get home.’
‘Great—let’s go.’
They left the Grand Theater on Mission Street just under two hours later, having watched Destination Murder.
‘Well, I’m sure glad you didn’t get any ideas from that movie,’ Joseph chuckled.
Velda playfully slapped his arm. ‘And what do you mean by that?’
Joseph shrugged and laughed. ‘Woman ducks out from a movie theatre in the intermission, goes and murders someone then returns with her alibi intact.’
Velda’s face scrunched into pretend thought. ‘Hmm…could I get up to Twenty-Fifth Avenue and back in five minutes?’
They both laughed and began to stroll away from the theatre.
‘Why did you do it, Joseph?’ Velda asked, finally finding the courage to voice a question that had been bothering her since he had returned home. ‘Why did you risk your life like that in Korea? You could so easily have been killed.’
Joseph took a moment to answer. ‘You know what? The reason I joined up in the first place was to escape the mess at home—with Audrey, I mean. Out there I was free of it—didn’t have to think. Do you know, Velda, she wrote me just once in the whole time I was out there? Once. So it was okay not to think about home—easy, even. Then the letters started coming—folk telling me what she was up to.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Velda said, a bubble of deep anger welling inside her. She had been one of those letter-writers.
‘Anyway, things started playing on my mind all the time and there was nothing I could do about it, you know? That day…the day that it happened…I wasn’t myself…I wasn’t concentrating. Me and the other guys got ourselves pinned into a corner and I was shot in the arm,’ he said, touching his right bicep. ‘We were like sitting ducks—waiting to be killed. I knew the only thing that could save us was one of us making it to the machinegun emplacement and I just couldn’t ask it of the other guys. At that moment I just saw clarity—complete clarity: if I made it to the gun me and the other guys would live; if I died then I got myself a way out of the mess at home.’ He emitted an ironic kind of laugh. ‘It’s funny—I get a medal for bravery but actually it was driven by cowardice.’
Velda squeezed his arm. ‘Of course it’s not cowardice—you wanted to save the men around you and you did. You made it to the machinegun.’
‘And received another five bullets in the process and had to kill three men.’
‘That must have been hard…’
‘It was like nothing else. It sure is a strange quirk of humanity—there’s nothing—no amount of money—nothing—that could make me take someone’s life.’ He gestured to the people wandering the sidewalk in his view. ‘I just couldn’t do it. And yet out there, in a war when it’s kill or be killed, I didn’t have a problem. A bullet in each of their heads and bayonet through the
