heart.”
Tish said, “Set the table, Mabel; tell him you want a ring.”
“I can’t tell him that!”
“Sure you can,” Louise said. “Not directly, just…” Her face brightened. “You want me to write him? I can say something about how happy I am, and ask when he’s going to propose to you!”
It might not be a bad idea. Julian liked Louise a lot. He wouldn’t object to the question coming from her. Maybe he’d even give her a straight answer—he treated Louise differently than he treated Kitty. More…seriously.
Kitty shrugged. “Okay.” Now she felt better. “Get me some tea, Tish.”
“Kiss my foot.” Tish continued reading another one of the letters she’d gotten that day. Then she said, “Hey, listen to this. This guy, Ron Berman, he’s stationed in Malaysia? And the natives there say ‘light belong cloud’ for lightning. Isn’t that funny? And when they want a haircut, they say, ‘Cut-im grass belong head belong me.’ And a mirror is ‘glass belong look-look.’”
“Pidgin English,” Louise said, continuing to write her letter to Michael.
“How do you know?” Tish asked.
“Read something sometime, why don’t you?”
Kitty busied herself putting a new nib on her pen. She hadn’t known, either.
Tish laughed loudly. “‘New fellow moon he come up!’ That means the first of the month. Oh, brother.”
“You couldn’t speak their language at all, Tish,” Kitty said. She thought of how, in one of his letters, Hank had talked about what a great anthropological bath the Army experience was—how encountering so many different kinds of people, so many different ways of thinking, had broadened him in a very important way. “You shouldn’t act as though you’re superior to people just because they don’t speak English. They might teach you some things, you know? Why, they—”
“Aw, muffle your face in your mouchoir,” Tish said.
A wounded silence. Kitty supposed world peace was a difficult concept indeed; she couldn’t even get along with her sister at their kitchen table.
Again, Tish began laughing. “Just one more,” she begged.
Louise put down her pen. “What.”
“This one’s the best,” Tish said. “This one means ‘accordion.’ ‘Lik lik bockiss’—‘bockiss’ means little box—‘Lik lik bockiss you push him he cry you pull him he cry.’” She looked at them, tears from laughter bright in her eyes.
“That is funny,” Louise said, but she wasn’t smiling. She was writing to Michael, who had heard he would soon be transferred to an active combat zone, and there was nothing funny about that.
Tish started to read more, but Louise told her, with uncharacteristic sharpness, “Be quiet!”
Kitty touched Tish’s hand. She would listen. Her sister whispered in Kitty’s ear, “If you need a bath, they tell you, ‘Skin belong you be stink.’”
“All right, but better not say any more, now,” Kitty whispered back.
“There isn’t any more!” Tish said, triumphantly.
Kitty stared into space while her sisters scribbled away. Those natives and the Scottish and the English and the Americans and the Indians and the Italians and Nazis and Japs, too. A representative from every country at a round table, just like King Arthur’s.
Now, boys, let’s see if we can’t come up with a better solution.
She turned back to her V-mail form and wrote Julian that she missed him, that she’d write him tomorrow night to tell him what had happened with her application, signed
Love,
and began another V-mail to Hank, about her peace plan. She’d tell him her concerns about Tommy, and she’d ask what Hank had been like as a little boy. Yes. She would like to know that. She’d asked Julian once what he was like as a little boy, and he’d answered, “Shorter.”
She’d tell Hank that the sky today was a Fra Angelico blue. Then he would see that she knew something about art, anyway.
“I’m telling Michael to put a little pressure on Julian to pop
Tish said, “Set the table, Mabel; tell him you want a ring.”
“I can’t tell him that!”
“Sure you can,” Louise said. “Not directly, just…” Her face brightened. “You want me to write him? I can say something about how happy I am, and ask when he’s going to propose to you!”
It might not be a bad idea. Julian liked Louise a lot. He wouldn’t object to the question coming from her. Maybe he’d even give her a straight answer—he treated Louise differently than he treated Kitty. More…seriously.
Kitty shrugged. “Okay.” Now she felt better. “Get me some tea, Tish.”
“Kiss my foot.” Tish continued reading another one of the letters she’d gotten that day. Then she said, “Hey, listen to this. This guy, Ron Berman, he’s stationed in Malaysia? And the natives there say ‘light belong cloud’ for lightning. Isn’t that funny? And when they want a haircut, they say, ‘Cut-im grass belong head belong me.’ And a mirror is ‘glass belong look-look.’”
“Pidgin English,” Louise said, continuing to write her letter to Michael.
“How do you know?” Tish asked.
“Read something sometime, why don’t you?”
Kitty busied herself putting a new nib on her pen. She hadn’t known, either.
Tish laughed loudly. “‘New fellow moon he come up!’ That means the first of the month. Oh, brother.”
“You couldn’t speak their language at all, Tish,” Kitty said. She thought of how, in one of his letters, Hank had talked about what a great anthropological bath the Army experience was—how encountering so many different kinds of people, so many different ways of thinking, had broadened him in a very important way. “You shouldn’t act as though you’re superior to people just because they don’t speak English. They might teach you some things, you know? Why, they—”
“Aw, muffle your face in your mouchoir,” Tish said.
A wounded silence. Kitty supposed world peace was a difficult concept indeed; she couldn’t even get along with her sister at their kitchen table.
Again, Tish began laughing. “Just one more,” she begged.
Louise put down her pen. “What.”
“This one’s the best,” Tish said. “This one means ‘accordion.’ ‘Lik lik bockiss’—‘bockiss’ means little box—‘Lik lik bockiss you push him he cry you pull him he cry.’” She looked at them, tears from laughter bright in her eyes.
“That is funny,” Louise said, but she wasn’t smiling. She was writing to Michael, who had heard he would soon be transferred to an active combat zone, and there was nothing funny about that.
Tish started to read more, but Louise told her, with uncharacteristic sharpness, “Be quiet!”
Kitty touched Tish’s hand. She would listen. Her sister whispered in Kitty’s ear, “If you need a bath, they tell you, ‘Skin belong you be stink.’”
“All right, but better not say any more, now,” Kitty whispered back.
“There isn’t any more!” Tish said, triumphantly.
Kitty stared into space while her sisters scribbled away. Those natives and the Scottish and the English and the Americans and the Indians and the Italians and Nazis and Japs, too. A representative from every country at a round table, just like King Arthur’s.
Now, boys, let’s see if we can’t come up with a better solution.
She turned back to her V-mail form and wrote Julian that she missed him, that she’d write him tomorrow night to tell him what had happened with her application, signed
Love,
and began another V-mail to Hank, about her peace plan. She’d tell him her concerns about Tommy, and she’d ask what Hank had been like as a little boy. Yes. She would like to know that. She’d asked Julian once what he was like as a little boy, and he’d answered, “Shorter.”
She’d tell Hank that the sky today was a Fra Angelico blue. Then he would see that she knew something about art, anyway.
“I’m telling Michael to put a little pressure on Julian to pop
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