“My brother died,” she said after, lying in the crook of his arm. “In the Pacific. I’d only just come out of the worst of it when I got your watercolor. I knew you’d gone, of course, but after Irving died I realized that if not for me, you might be tucked up safe somewhere. I’d actually tried to shame you. I suppose that’s part of what drives this whole thing, isn’t it? Everybody wants everybody else to suffer as they are. People wish things on others they never could have imagined. They do things they couldn’t have imagined. When your painting arrived, all I could think was—what have I done?” She lifted her head to look at him. “If not for me, would you have gone?”
“I think so. You have power over me, but not that much. Don’t feel responsible.”
She dropped her forehead onto his chest. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Me too.”
“My husband’s in the Mediterranean.” She looked up again fiercely. “I do love him.”
“I didn’t think this meant you didn’t.”
She settled back down, tugged gently at his chest hair. “So blond,” she said. “You turned out wooly. I wouldn’t have expected.”
“I’m as surprised as you.”
“Did you know one of your Alaska paintings was in Life magazine?”
“Yes, they told me.”
“Have you seen it?” Naked, unembarrassed, she got out of bed and extracted the magazine from her handbag. They leaned against the headboard together, and she flipped to an article about the Aleutians. His painting was of the airfield on Adak: a plane kicking up spray as it landed under an approaching storm.
He studied the reproduction. “I never thought I’d be a propagandist.”
“Is that what they want from you?”
“No. Surprisingly, no. They’ve given me almost total freedom. Well, as much freedom as anyone has in the navy.” He drew her close, rested his chin on top of her head. “This reminds me of when you’d come up to the attic to help me look through the art. It was the most alone I ever felt with you.”
“We had clothes on then.”
“I desperately wished we didn’t.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Sometimes. I didn’t quite know what I wanted.” She was still looking at the magazine. “You get used to thinking of the war happening in black and white because of the photos.”
“Mmm.” He thought of the Japanese soldiers blowing themselves apart. “There are colors.”
“This painting does something different than a photograph because you’ve bent the perspective ever so slightly. It has a feeling that’s informative in a different way than strict reality.” Her foot moved against his calf. “It’s still your work. It’s still you.”
He got out of bed, went to his satchel, came back with the sketchbook he’d had on Attu. He opened it to a page he’d filled with blotches and scribbles and handed it to her. “I made these during the banzai charge. I thought I was drawing what I was seeing.”
She turned the pages. “Weren’t you?”
“I mean, when I looked at the paper, I actually saw realistic images. Figures, you know. Scenes.” She was quiet. “I killed three men,” he said. He hadn’t told anyone before. It would have been strange to tell anyone in the Aleutians. Superfluous. He churned with nerves, though he was not haunted by the memory of the three dead men; he was haunted by the medical tent, the shapes moving under the canvas.
“It’s a war,” Sarah said.
“Would you mail this to my sister for me?” he asked about the copy of Life. “I’d like her to see it. I don’t know if I’ll have a chance before I’m sent off again. I’ll give you her address in England.”
“She’s in England?”
He told her, as best he knew, about the ATA and about Marian’s years in Alaska and also, eventually, about Barclay.
After a hesitation, Sarah said, “I should say that my mother told me about when Marian came here. Not at the time but recently. After I last saw you. Don’t worry, she would never tell my father. He has no idea about most of what she does.”
“It was a kindness. More than that. She gave Marian a new life.”
“Yes, I think so, too, now that I understand. I’m embarrassed about how I reacted before, last time, when you said Marian didn’t want to have children.”
“It’s all right. I’m embarrassed about some things I said, and also because I didn’t find out anything really about your life. Will you tell me now?”