He glared malevolently at Jeannette, blaming her for the loss of his arm ... Could he borrow one of Robinson’s arms? How about Chuck? He didn’t need his arms any more. One might fit. "Does it seem a long time ... a long time ago that you were with Zinc?" she asked, trying to feel her way. "Let’s go inside!" he replied, and shoved at his skull bandage, its awkwardness annoying him. In the hospital corridor, peering at his sliced off shoulder, seeing himself in a hall mirror, he said: "Only fools return to the country that does this kind of thing to them! Only the craziest of fools." "Orv, let’s not talk like that. It will get us nowhere." As she wheeled him toward his room, he said: "When I have gotten hold of a Woolworth arm, let’s get married." "Please don’t joke," she said, afraid of his humor, afraid that she could not bear up. He said nothing more until they were inside his room. She offered him his medication but he pushed it away. "The war news is encouraging. No doubt Germany’s beaten. I can make a try at things back home. A try at living. I’m serious, Jean. Listen to me. Sit down and listen ... "I want to marry you. Will it be all right? Just don’t pity me--understand! We can get married in, in Rethel, if you wish. You can decide where. Will you? I love you ... Let’s try to make a go of it. Shall we?" He asked, and yet he knew how little he had to offer. As a swimmer, he recognized, he was far from shore. Her face softened and became very beautiful. Bending over him, she kissed him lovingly, and then laughed, laughed sadly, agreeing: we’ll likely make out pretty well. "All right ... it’s okay ... we’ll get married in Rethel." "As soon as I can ... soon as you wish." "I’m glad, darling." A red barn and lots of snow, she thought. I’ll be able to aid him, in Wisconsin, in New York. "Please help me into bed ... I’ll do my best ... I have to say it ... it won’t be easy!" Settled under the covers, he lay motionless, stiff, tired, his fingers in hers, the undercurrent of doubt coursing through him: too soon they would be aware of daily dilemmas and responsibilities: plugging through life alone might be more difficult; together they might knock down a few hazards. Probably a B-29 would fly them to New York; on back pay they might honeymoon in the Adirondacks; then, by train--the Black Diamond--to Ithaca; they would rent an apartment overlooking Cayuga. Sometimes he would see his mother. He would obtain architectural jobs. There must be clever ways to produce models. Maybe _papier mâché_ or wood. He remembered his dad ... remembered the island of poplars, shadows on the island, swans, the carved white tomb reflected in the Petit Lac ... he remembered a fire in a Caen stone fireplace, Jeannette on her bike, her hair streaming in the wind. * * * * * If you enjoyed this book, another novel by Paul Alexander Bartlett is