Apparently, Nyack was quiet enough that one could hear gunshots fired from miles around. It didn't matter if they came from the woods, the streets, or even underground. Shots would always be heard. Townsfolk came flooding Main Street's sidewalks once our humvees rushed in. Everyone was there. Well, not everyone. General Vergs, in a bothered stride, marched his way to the end of the road under the belief that our convoy was being followed. Dr. Agatha and Anais—I saw them at the back of the crowd along with the CS and various shopkeepers. Pope and Captain Finer—they weren't there.
"Miller," the general's voice quaked. "Talk to me, Miller. We've got guys scoping out the distance from the buildings, but they can't see anything. You have to let me know and fast. What the hell happened back there?"
"Pope's fucking guys. That's what the fuck happened back there."
"Miller—"
"I swear to you, if these are the pea-for-brains we entrust in keeping the town safe, then we all might as well have our feet chopped up and shoved way up our asses."
General Vergs held onto the lieutenant's collar like he was a dog on a leash. He was sick and tired of the man's rants as with everyone else we rode into town with. "Miller, answer me."
Dozens of folks filled the streets, however the silence was still overpowering.
"You wanna know what happened out there, sir?"
"Want to know? I need to know. It is my job to know."
"Then I will let you know that this whole town is full of stupid! I mean, how stupid does Pope have to be to hire such stupid people to do stupid runs for her?" He pointed west, back at North Palisades, huffing steam from his nostrils as he told him, "Pope's men spent literal hours on the street, looking for provision, perishables, whatever the fuck they could only to find French bait on a street, and guess what… They didn't suspect a damn thing! They didn't bother spreading shrubs, flipping pebbles, or any of that shit. They came and gobbled that shit up."
"So, they didn't have a hunch?"
"Nada, sir. Ze-fucking-ro. For someone so high and mighty, Pope ain't necessarily the brightest bulb in the tree."
General Vergs rebutted, "Pope's not dull."
"I thought you hate the old hag. Ain't that what you said?"
"'Hate's' a pretty strong word, but she's not slow." The general lowered his voice, "These volunteers—they're entitled to being less knowledgeable than you and I when it comes to warfare, but Pope's way smarter than you think, and I don't dislike her because of her forces." He placed the telegram on the lieutenant's chest and said, "It's because of this."
"This? And what the hell is this?"
"Read it, Miller."
Dear Gen. Mitchell Agustus Vergs & Dr. Emily Agatha Betancourt:
On behalf of Nyack's HOR-integrated Postal Services, I am informing you that, due to the unstableness of eastbound government pay systems and the dormant state of the IRS, military pay has been delayed. Instead, Congress has allocated funds to the rehabilitation of Mercado Lane. As you know, the Montefiore Hospital is currently under reconstruction as a means to expand Rockland County's range of services. As compensation however, troops and their families will be receiving care packages consisting of assorted perishables, water, toiletries, and general medications biweekly until the Montefiore Hospital is completely restored. Regiment funding will commence on November 1st.
Thank you for understanding.
Sincerely,
County Executive Helena Maurice L. Pope & Inspector General Cassidy
The lieutenant asked, "And who the hell is Cassidy?"
General Vergs told him, "Pope's friend from health services. Notice how she said 'I am informing you' and not 'I regret to inform you'. It's because she doesn't regret anything at all. And look…" He pointed at the last section of the letter. "She follows it up with 'thank you for understanding'. What a joke. I know cabinet suck-ups who put up better facades than whatever that is."
"Health services as in 'HHS'? What, is she power tripping?"
"Looks like it." He took the letter from the lieutenant's grasp and stuck it down his pants. "She has the power, the network. Hell, if I had that kind of influence, I'd be making bold moves just like her."
"What kind of moves?"
"The kind that speeds us up and slows 'em down." He then asked, "Jesus, what happened to that jeep? Did you guys roll it down the mountainside? Looks like it's been through hell and back."
"Well, it has been through hell and back." Lieutenant Miller told him, "I situated Baby inside that unit, but the guys kept trying to shoot her down."
"Shoot her down?" The general faced me and assessed the cuts and bruises all over my hands and neck. "Christ… Baby, why didn't you say anything?" He told Lieutenant Miller, "Before we continue this discussion, I need you to bring the ADC back to our place. We'll have her treated there."
"On it," said the lieutenant.
Funny how every time I went out with the squad, they faced the threats while I came home with the battle scars. I had one notch on my belt and a few dozen scabs all over. They didn't hurt that much. The only catch was that when those wounds healed, they scarred up and made me look tougher than I actually was. I didn't like that. They didn't look good on me.
* * *
I was treated on the second floor of the Vergs residence by Dr. Agatha. We were in a guest room—Anais' sleeping quarters—that had nothing but a nightstand, a chair, and a narrow hospital bed which I sat on. It was a good thing she lent me that coat. If it weren't for that, my shirt—maybe even my torso—would have been torn to shreds. My hands and neck were swelling from the crystal fibers.
Again, despite the discomfort, they were all shallow cuts and bruises. I learned to just rub some dirt on it and carry on. There was nothing more that the doctor could do either. My hands were wrapped, and I was dressed in a breathable turtleneck sweater.
"You shouldn't head out too often, Elisabeth," Dr. Agatha told me. "It's dangerous."
"I'm afraid duty called, ma'am."
"Well, that saying shouldn't apply to you." She then pointed to Lieutenant Miller who was standing in the corner of the room. "And you," the doctor made her way over to him and wiped his face with a moist rag. "Who put you in charge of the ADC? You shouldn't be giving her orders without the captain's permission."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, Baby insisted on following me up to North Palisades, and all for what? Another entry in that little diary of his?"
"Miller—"
"Ma'am, it's not fair that if she were to get lynched out there, her being her own person, that nonsense would be plastered on my conscience. It doesn't work like that." It didn't matter who he was talking to. Even if it were Pope, General Vergs, or his own mother, I presumed he'd still bark. He spoke back to the doctor like she was just another vendor down the lane. "You said the same thing about this gal when you talked to Big Papa about her 'permission slip', right? That she's her own woman? That the girl has her own responsibilities? Isn't that what you said?"
Dr. Agatha answered, "That's right."
"Then how come, when she starts making her own decisions, magically, she becomes my responsibility?"
"There's no magic to it, Miller." The doctor told him that, "You pledged to die for this country. When you do that, you pledge to die for its people."
"She's not from here, ma'am. The broad's a Canuck." He did it again. He looked west. I could tell because the wind only ever blew from that direction. "Also, where is Finer? He hasn't been down Burd Street yet. He also hasn't visited you guys here. I know because you sound like you haven't seen him all day. Where is he?"
"I don't know," the doctor muttered. "Probably having a late lunch with Pope." She set down the rag and cleared the nightstand of all her tools. "I'm pooped. There's still some food on the kitchen table downstairs. Feel free to dig in and whatnot. I know you're both starving. You especially, Elisabeth." She then grabbed Lieutenant Miller by the arm and sunk her nails into his skin, reeling him in like a fish caught on a line. "I don't know where this nasty attitude is coming from, but frankly, I don't care. Manners, Miller, you don't have them, and I can see this causing a stir in the regiment if you don't acquire some soon. I need you to be calm and collected. Is that clear?"
The lieutenant scoffed. "Calm and collected."
"Don't make me write to O-Peck." Maybe O-Peck was what he was always looking back at. I mean, after all, Overpeck was west of Nyack, and he'd always flare up about it the same way he'd flare up upon hearing the French be mentioned in any context. Dr. Agatha repeated herself, "Is. That. Clear?"
"Crystal, ma'am."
The lieutenant and I were left in the guest room to recuperate. He pulled the chair away from the bed and sat on it, driving his knuckles into the palm of his other hand, but not in a way to appear tough and scary. The lieutenant was gathering the courage to look me in the eyes.
Well, he didn't, but he told me that, "My assholery is genetic, believe it or not. My kind of temperament—it runs in the genes. It's a curse."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "Is this your form of an apology? Your version of saying 'I'm sorry'?"
"You wanted that O-Peck story, didn't you?" The lieutenant fiddled with the ring on his finger. "Look, I got a girl. She's west of here, waiting for me to head her way, but I got zero plans of going back there. I mean, fuck that noise. I'm a problem on two legs, Baby. I'm a liability to her. So, to answer your question earlier, yeah. I broke a heart. Are we good? Will you shut up about it? Will you stop interrogating me?"
It took me a while to respond. "Lieutenant…"
"Hmm."
I could see glossy films draping over his eyes. "Lieutenant…"
"What?"
"Are you alright?"
He wiped his eyes and immediately stood from the chair. "Peachy." He then patted the door frame upon exiting the room and said, "Tell me if you run into the captain. We rode into town together, but not seeing him around is starting to make me question if we really did. I just need the confirmation."
"Yes, sir."
"As you were."
I heard plates and utensils clanking downstairs. I thought Dr. Agatha was fixing up the table for the lieutenant and I to dine on, but once I made it down the steps, I caught her swaying against the kitchen sink. The lieutenant was nowhere to be found. He must've stormed off. The doctor's knees trembled and so did her shoulders. Her body, fragile like a daisy, got pulled and dragged by the wind in the room.
"Doctor?"
Seconds later, she dropped the dishes into the pool of water in the sink then fell back onto her chair which I guess she had strategically placed behind her since her legs were giving in. I rushed to the doctor, pale in complexion out of fear and worry for her safety. As she laid back in her seat, she coughed up a storm, spraying her palms with droplets of blood that slipped through the gaps in her teeth.
"Doctor—"
"I'm alright, Elisabeth." She waved me away with her bloodied hand and said, "If you could just fetch me a glass, I'll be okay."
Hurryingly, I ran a glass under the tap then offered it to her. After that, I brushed her hair then wiped her mouth dry with the cuff of my sweater all while nursing her stomach as that was what seemed to have her in discomfort, like she took a shot to the gut. I knelt by her side, waiting for her to tell me why she was in such bad shape all of a sudden.
She tittered. "I take it you'd like to know?"
"You don't have to if you don't want to, ma'am."
"I want to." The doctor brought her seat back to the table and sat there, downing her glass of water and scooping me up a serving of what she had prepared earlier. "I'm sick, Elisabeth." My heart sank when she told me that. "Endometrial cancer… Have you ever heard of it?"
"Cancer of the uterus… Bad business."
"Indeed." She had a bottle of Xemperil rested in her grasp. It's a kind of PD-1 inhibitor. She stroked it like it was a lucky charm. She said, "There aren't enough of these in the world to keep Mitchell from worrying about me so damn much. At night, I can't move. I just can't. And without this, even in the day, I just cripple. It gets harder and harder every time… Every time."
"Anais… Does she know?"
"Oh, god, no. She mustn't… ever. We have too many things going on. This? I don't want this for her. That fear, that lingering anxiousness which looms for days or months on end… She's too young to be feeling any of that."
"I understand, Doctor. I can't imagine the stress and pain you and General Vergs must be going through."
"Don't bother imagining, Baby. In this day and age, all you can do is hear about it and move on. There's no time to think. There's only time to do." She handed over my permission slip and said, "Mitchell wanted me to let you know that he and Pope have their differences, but they will always be put aside for you and for everyone else. You're not involved in whatever competition they've got going on, and so, you shouldn't be ashamed of asking favors from either of them. They're not kids. They're not petty. Well… they are, but I'll say this: they're not jerks about it to other people."
I asked her, "Not that I care to preserve my image, Doctor, but what will the regiment think about this?"
"The troops neither love nor hate that woman. The only reason they let her be is because—" She froze like she almost let something slip. "Do you… Do you know Pope's relevance to the regiment? You know, other than keeping things under control here in Nyack?"
"I don't think so, ma'am."
"I see…" A faint smile added a little hue to her gray skin. She looked out the window, gazing at the flowers in the garden. "On the other hand, Pope wanted me to inform you that you start working at the postal office tomorrow at precisely ten fifty in the AM. Clerical work if I'm not mistaken. I'm sure she won't be that hard on you."
"I'm grateful for any task at all," I responded. "Also, for the nth time, I'm grateful for you. I don't know how I can ever repay you for everything that you've done for me—"
"Don't you dare think that, even for a second, you owe me in any way, sweetie. Selflessness, if applied in a healthy manner, rewards a person. If you can help at no cost, then just do it. There's nothing wrong in making things a bit better around here. I mean, I'm a medical officer. It's my duty to make things better."
"Then let me be selfless for my own sake." I asked her, "Is there anything I can do for you? Any favors? Anything at all?"
It was the 8th of October, and the time was ten thirty.
I politely knocked on Pope's door, ready to begin my tasks for that day. On the other side of it, I could hear General Vergs arguing with her in a similar way I heard him argue with the doctor during my first day at Big Indian. I was expecting one of them to storm out of the room and put up some facade to make it look as if everything was fine—the typical response—but instead, Pope opened her door then waved her hand at me, telling me to come in. It's like she knew I was there just from sniffing out my scent. They caught my attention at the same time. General Vergs referred to me by my surname while Pope called me "Lisa".
The county executive said to the room, "Am I the only sane person here? Am I the only one making the sound decisions? Logical decisions?"
"Sound decisions?" The general clapped back. "Pope, the troops are starving—"
"And for the greater good, they will have to starve. Can't you learn how to read between the lines? Can't you see the light at the end of the tunnel?"
"There is no light wherever you are taking our people."
She waved her letter in his face, telling him that, "Cassidy has a list of doctors, nurses, medical practitioners who are already onboard with this plan. Once the hospital is up and running, it starts running. HHS will provide the manpower, the supplies—"
"And to hell with all that," the general interrupted her. "At what cost? Starving the already hungry? Your decision won't seem that logically sound after you let that thought simmer."
"My God, Vergs, Emily is sick—"
"Don't bring her into this. Don't you dare."
"What are you bringing into this?" she asked him. "What's your reason? Me—I have networks to reestablish, a system to revive, a coast to restore. We are all hungry, lost, and ill. Don't give me that crap about troops needing their compensation. I've seen their quarters. I've seen Burd Street."
"Oh, no," I fretted under my breath.
"And I don't think illegal substances are going to solve their problem. The delay exists for those two reasons. In what other way can I not be logically sound? You tell me."
"You had no right to halt our pay," General Vergs said in a tone so deep that it was barely heard. "You had no right to appeal to Congress as if you can just change the rules whenever you please—"
"I have control over this office," Pope pointed at her chest and answered back with conviction. "And I have control over the entirety of Rockland County. I had every right to do what I did, and you are in no position to tell me otherwise. You think I am doing this to hog your money? Do you think I want your money? You think I didn't initially consider requesting for a separate aid? HOR doesn't have the luxury of just giving away funds, and I hope you know that."
"And why couldn't you ask for more funds?"
"Because the DMZ isn't the only thing that needs funding," she answered him. "Have you seen the Canadian border?"
"Why?"
"Hexagon soldiers are slipping past us and some, unfortunately, manage to ride across the Canadian border. The only reason why you haven't received any calls about OECs getting ambushed is because U.S. troops tightened their security up there, and that keeps Congress from calling you up, especially that we have the damn Hudson to worry about."
They weren't forming hives near the border after all—they were crossing it.
"Am I getting through to you? Am I logically sound now? Yes, if your troops receive their respective cuts, it nourishes Mercado Lane's economic system, and that's great and all, but it wouldn't be at a quick enough rate to trounce even a spec of what Hexagon territories are reeling in. They've got Master Camps and, I don't know if you've heard, but they're the kings of trade. Now, you can succumb to that. You can succumb to using French currency from here on out, but that money doesn't make our world go round. You can't grow that back. When you're out of it, you pilfer, and when you pilfer, you fight. When you fight, you die, and there doesn't need to be any of that."
"Pope—"
"I just want a chance to prove that civility yields something way better than hate and violence. It takes time, but it's the only path that preserves what we have now. It keeps the peace pretty damn well."
"You've spilled blood just to get to this point."
"There was no other option. I had to fight to earn this position, to win the seed of my vision." She begged the general, "Please. Don't make it all for nothing. It was a scary time, and it need not be repeated."
"Pope—"
"Vergs… please."
As a way of acknowledging Pope's reasoning, General Vergs responded by saying, "Then you stick to your word. Food, water, medicine biweekly. No exceptions. Are we clear?"
"Yes… Yes, we are."
"Then I must get going." General Vergs walked over to me and bowed his head. "Ill manners should never be displayed. I'd like to apologize for you having witnessed them, Baby."
"No worries, General," I replied.
He then took a quick glance at the county executive. "Pope, you, too."
Soon after the general left the head office, Pope plopped down on her chair like a sack of potatoes, catching her breath as if she had just finished running a marathon. Obviously, I wanted to make sure that she was okay, but the old woman insisted that I sit down as well. I submitted the signed slip to her and lent my ears. She said, "I too would like to apologize for that minor altercation. General Vergs—he has a… a thick skull, really. And as it turns out, so do I."
"It's alright to feel frustrated from time to time, ma'am. There's nothing wrong with that." I checked my watch and asked, "May I know why you called me here this morning?"
Pope opened one of the many drawers of her desk then brought out a black, vintage typewriter that had a matted shine to it.
"I need you to draft me a letter addressed to Captain Mapleman requesting that O-Peck joins the regiment in defending the northern border of the DMZ. I don't know if Vergs told you the full extent of the mission, but the reason why the dogs were stationed at Edgewater in the first place was because the Department of Defense stated that they will only deploy reinforcements granted that the regiment operating near Hoboken—that's you guys—neutralizes seventy percent of French-occupied hamlets around the N.Y. region."
"Seventy percent is a lot for just us, ma'am, even with militiamen."
"Uh-hu, and you thought my expectations were unrealistic."
"Is General Vergs okay with requesting O-Peck's presence?"
Pope told me, "That's why he was here in the first place. We were brainstorming on how to fortify the troops. It was a silent exchange of judging gazes that made that whole discussion transpire into a 'pointing-fingers' contest. But yes, he's onboard with O-Peck."
"May I know how O-Peck came about?"
I was told that, "There's a prison somewhere along Teaneck Creek. Hemingway Correctional Center. That's where U.S. troops deliver French captives. If that Renata girl was never taken in, she would be rotting her days somewhere there. O-Peck was part of the Teaneck regiment and was stationed on the bridge to prevent eastbound enemies from coming in and causing a ruckus."
"I see. But there's a gap. French boats found an entryway through the creek and were on route to Fort Lee. Congress didn't think that far ahead? When I look back now, they should've seen that coming from a mile away."
"Sweetheart," she sounded like my mother, "Congress doesn't care about what their forces do once they're deployed. All they need to show the public is that they've done something on their end. They don't care if there's a loophole in their plan. They also don't care if the guys die or not, but I do, and although it seems like a foolish choice to remove O-Peck from their station, the DMZ is more of an apparent matter than just doing morning-to-evening details around a block in the woods. There's really no other way to go about this. Captain Mapleman's the closest connection we've got and the most viable option for backup." She slid the typewriter over to me and said, "Go on. Work your magic. Actually, pen and paper first. Ink's sparse."
I have to say I found it rather difficult to please the woman when it came to drafting that letter. Every now and then, she'd smack her tongue against the roof of her mouth or wag her head at me. I wondered why she did that. There weren't any errors in my letter. I made it short, cohesive, and professional.
Perhaps, I wasn't listening to the pointers she was giving me. Perhaps, I was side-eying the home across the street. I remembered it molding away underneath a thick coat of wild vines and slanting trees, but it didn't look abandoned. It was a two-story house with purple panels, a tiled roof, and a smoking chimney. I suspected that it belonged to Pope given that it shared the same hanging plants like the ones spinning in her office.
"Eyes on the desk," she told me.
Hoping to start some kind of light conversation, I chimed, "That house across the street looks lovely."
"It is lovely."
"Is it yours?"
The county executive asked, "The plants are a dead giveaway, huh?" She cleaned the windowsill of withered leaves then sat on the ledge, picking flowers which thrived on the outer walls of the postal office. "No. It belonged to my mother-in-law. Actually, it was their ancestral home. That's another reason why I had to spill blood. I had to take back what was rightfully theirs. Though I must be honest. It does hurt to see it in the condition that it's in. I'd have it fixed, but we're not very liquid right now."
"I understand."
"You always understand." While I was stuck in an endless loop of scribbling words and crossing them out, Pope said to me, "I want to know more about you, Lisa. I want to understand something about you. You seem awfully quiet whenever you stroll around. I'd like to know what's on your mind. I know everyone else like the back of my hand, but you? You're a quiet little lady."
"I'm afraid I don't really know what to talk about," I responded. "I guess I was just brought up this way. As a kid, I was always told to keep my head down and my words to myself, but I don't think there was anything wrong with that. Frankly, I believe that's what kept me alive all these years."
"Keeping quiet?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Safe—yes, you will be—but what about exposure?" Pope said that, "Surely, someone who keeps themself doesn't have that much of a presence in the world if you know what I mean."
"I think that lack of presence spared me many times over."
"I don't mean to pry," Pope replied. "I just can't wrap my head around it." She then asked me, "Doesn't it get lonely? Before all this, what was it like?"
I answered, "Tranquil. Tommy and I—we lived calm lives in the countryside. T-SIAP was in the city of course, but the ride to and from wasn't so bad."
"How was work?"
"Work was okay. Glass offices, hot coffee, quiet coworkers. That was all I wanted." I was happy to reminisce. "Dr. Harriet was our project head. He was the only one I was close to. A father-figure. Hold on…." I reached for the memoir and pulled a photograph from the pages. It was a picture of me wrapping my arm around his as he walked me down the aisle. I had another one of us doing the father-daughter dance, but I lost it a long time ago. "I've been using this to bookmark Tommy's journal, but that's him at our wedding."
"Oh, how sweet." Her smile turned into a look of confusion once she took the photo from my hand. "A garden wedding? I thought you were a woman of God. Agatha told me at least."
"Well, Tommy wasn't a believer, and I didn't want to force that on him. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with the family he was marrying into."
"You put the needs of others before your own." Pope nodded her head. "I respect that." She placed the flowers on the desk then pressed her damp fingers on the paper. "You're just like my son-in-law. Very quiet, very obedient, does what he's told. I swear, that man would go through hell and back for anyone who'd ask him to."
I smiled and said, "Sounds like he was a proper gent."
"Why, he is. My sweet Noby."
Noby… It kind of sounded like Noble.
* * *
#52 South Broadway Street, Pope called it the "Purple Home".
By the way, even when we weren't driving out of town, I carried those two pistols everywhere I went. The escort was in my holster while the .38 special slept in my parka. That old coat paired well with an orange shawl that the captain found for me. The market goers, the vendors—they all had some form of tool for defense: planks, cleavers, brooms, mops… even frozen fish.
They were all used to the sight of troops resting firearms against their own guts, though I didn't want to scare the ones who weren't. I didn't want them to be scared of me at least, so I made sure that my guns were hidden at all times. Also, I thought it would be rude to enter Pope's home with those firearms tainting the place, and I didn't want to displease whoever was watching over it.
Knock, knock.
Now, I'm no wood expert, though I remember that front door feeling and sounding so crisp and clear, like I was tapping my knuckles against a mahogany tree somewhere in a dry forest. The door wasn't shaven down nor was it painted. It was literally a thick slab of bark shaped into a rectangle then bolted onto gold hinges. It gave the home a mystical sort of feel. I fell in love with it.
"Hello?" I spoke to the door. "Pope sent me? I'm here to return her typewriter."
The tree bark door swung open and into the dark of the room beyond it, revealing Captain Finer standing on the other side with a broom in his grasp. He was the housekeeper. The captain rested the broom on the door frame and took the typewriter from my shaking arms, telling me to come inside.
"How do you like Nyack so far?" he asked.
"It's not so bad. I didn't know you were Pope's housekeeper. I was wondering where you were this entire time."
"I'm sorry. I offered to keep the place tidy for her just to steer clear from Burd Street. I heard that Miller turned the place into a pigsty. I wouldn't pay them a visit if I were you."
"Regretfully, I already did."
"Oh… then I'm sorry I wasn't there to redirect you."
"Don't be." I closed the door and hung my parka on the coat rack, slipping my holstered pistol into one of its pockets. "The lieutenant's probably cleaning that place up as we speak. I scared him the other day, telling him that I was going to write to Pope about their problematic behavior if they didn't shape up."
"Oh, really? And what did he say?"
"He didn't say anything about it, but he did look scared."
"Atta girl," he nudged me on the shoulder and laughed. "There always needs to be someone snapping him back in place every once in a while. I'm surprised you get to do that, though I am sorry you have to deal with his rude behavior. I'll stick around to make sure he's not that hard on you. I promise."
"Thank you, Captain."
"So, is Mrs. Pope hard on you too or is she…," he did a so-so gesture with his hand, "alright?"
"She's been sweet to me."
"Awesome. She's sweet to sweet people, you know what I mean? She, uh… 'reciprocates' whatever people project on her. And I know you. You're kind and patient."
I asked him out of the blue, "Do you happen to know a 'Noby' by any chance?"
"A what-now?"
"Noby," I repeated.
"Noby? Maybe it's short for 'nobody'," he spoke in a rather silly tone. Captain Finer then asked me, "You wanna check upstairs?"
"What's upstairs?"
"I wouldn't wanna ruin the surprise."
"I don't mean to be a pessimist, though I am rather sick of surprises. They're not good for the heart." I made him laugh with that remark. "What are the chances of this one scaring me to death?"
"Zero. It'll be a pleasant surprise, trust me."
He led me to the second floor of the house and brought me into Pope's bedroom where vine and moss covered the walls. Tiny lizards and buzzing insects thrived inside the small space, but it didn't feel icky. Her sheets were clean and so were her drapes. The floors were moist yet spotless, and even though the air was damp, it was clean. Way cleaner than the air in the postal office. It felt like it was healing my lungs. It was so clear.
I muttered, "She's really one with nature, isn't she?"
"Yeah. She's a woman of peace. It doesn't seem like it on the outside, but she is." He sat by her home office and played with the typewriter after setting it down, pressing on its keys. "A lot of people call her out for a lot of things, and I don't like it. She's like a governor that the people are trying to overthrow, but why? Public service—that's her duty. She stepped up because no one else was going to. If you ask me, she has a reason to be harsh. Those guys—they're ingrates."
P-E-L-E-T-I-E-R. I saw him type those letters in that specific sequence, though I didn't think much about it. My maiden name was common, and for me at least, it looked interesting to read. Maybe it was interesting for him as well. I sat on the corner of Pope's bed and looked through the window, staring into her office from across South Broadway. I saw her still crossing out words and phrases from my draft letter.
But something caught my eye.
A single Swamp Rose Mallow danced in the corner of the windowsill, just below my elbow. Blushing petals, vibrant leaves, golden dew. It was the most colorful thing I had seen in gray Nyack. It reeled me in, my body mindlessly inching toward it like a moth drawn to a flame. I couldn't help myself. I romanticized the idea of that specific flower harnessing luck like it was a charm.
"Ah," Captain Finer saw me reaching for the flower. "I see you spotted our version of a four-leaf clover, huh?"
"I guess I have. Ever since you told me about the Lady Baltimore, I've developed a fixation about it. I fell in love with the idea. I…" I didn't want to be alone. "I thought it was sweet."
"That's nice." He pointed at the wilting flower and said, "Go on then. Pluck it."
"But it looks like it's on its way—"
"Nonsense." He went over to the windowsill and stroked the stem of the dying Rose Mallow. "If an ounce of luck—a droplet of it—were a physical, tangible thing, people would be fighting tooth and nail over it, but just because it isn't doesn't mean it's pointless. You know, Helen told me that we take a lot of things for granted in this world, especially things that take only the form of a word or a concept, like love or hope." Captain Finer pointed to his temple then said, "It's crazy to think how far a mental construct can get someone."
"What about you?" I asked him.
"What do you mean 'what about me'?"
I plucked the Rose Mallow from the windowsill and raised it up to my chin. I asked him, "Wouldn't you be needing something like this? From the two of us, I believe you'll be faced with more trials and tribulations."
"I need luck—that is true—but my mother always told me that flowers were meant to rest on a woman's ear if ever they parted from the ground. Also, it suits you more than it suits me."
Captain Finer guided my hands as I slid the flower into my hair, letting it sit there and rest for how little time it had left. Nothing was said after that. He looked off to the side, sliding away as if he wasn't allowed to be seen with me. Minutes passed, and I followed him downstairs so he could find a new ink ribbon for the typewriter, and I must say, he knew the layout of the place like it was his own.
Yes, he was the housekeeper, though he didn't move like one. For me at least, a housekeeper would move calmly and steadily, knowing that the place isn't theirs. Not only that, but Captain Finer, if I hadn't said before—I'm sure I have—was a gentleman. Tommy was one too, and the only place he was able to drop his chivalrous behavior was in the comfort of our own home. The captain paced the first floor in a groggy manner like he had just woken up. He pointed to the fridge and offered me a glass of OJ. He even told me to pay no mind to the cracks in the ceiling as he was "getting to it".
I eventually stopped following and let him wander into the living room by himself. From a good distance away, I broke the silence.
"Are you Noby?"
He put his hands on his hips and bowed his head. "Me? Yeah."
"Why didn't you tell me at first?"
"Well, I don't really make it a point to let people know that the county executive's my mother-in-law. We try to keep our connection private as it isn't anyone's business nor should it be."
"I apologize."
"No, it's okay." He pointed at the flower in my hair and said, "I guess it was the, uh…"
"Oh, yes. It was a dead giveaway." The captain offered to let me sit in the living room where they had an abundance of folders scattered all over the place. I queried him regarding the home. "So, you've been here before?"
"Once or twice, yeah. But Mrs. Pope's letting me lodge here for the entirety of the militia's stay in Rockland County." He then asked me, "May I know where they assigned you?"
"A small place along Duryea," I told him.
"Are you sharing?"
"No." I made a box with my hands and joked that, "I don't even think you'd fit in it. The place is big enough for a family of cats or dogs, but for me, it's just right for my size. I like it there. Nice and quiet."
"I see." Captain Finer cleaned the clutter of folders before my feet. "Actually, from the get-go, I kinda knew you weren't much of an extrovert. You and Tommy both." He then stacked them in a pile on top of the coffee table and sat on one of the living room chairs. "Usually, volunteers would be warming up to the regiment by now, speaking their minds, shaking hands, greeting people on a first-name basis. Tommy didn't do that. You don't do that either."
"I hope I don't offend by not doing so."
"You don't. It's okay."
I pointed to the files on the table. "What are those?"
"Oh, those? Records on Franco-Soviet activities. I mean, all of them are. Some of this stuff dates back to the 1940s. German occupation, France's provisional government. They all tie into this one way or another."
With how far I had come, I still didn't know anything about the opposition. Who were we fighting? Who were we after?
I decided to ask the captain, "Do you know anything about General Bernard?"
"Not much. The only thing I know is that he and General Vergs knew each other way before all of this. Friends or enemies—I'm not sure." He handed me a letter which he claimed to be salvaged from the Barren Buffer Zone.
"And what's this letter about?"
"Fort Lee, 10/11/92" was all it said.
"We've read enemy bulletins—official papers—about the DMZ's northern border receding, U.S. troops falling back, and Hexagon ships advancing. Whenever something happens, the French are always updated via these bulletins as in printed documents. But a simple hand-written letter like that? It means smaller circles. Lesser people."
"Is that good or bad? You think the Hexagon's been infiltrated by another militia?"
"No." The captain asked for the letter and stashed it away in the pile. "We think that the Hexagon's seeking assistance from squads, units… highly-trained individuals… 'Eyes and Ears'. Maybe they're closing in, and that's gonna be a problem if we don't fortify the frontier."
"The snipers?"
"The snipers, their bugs. Sounds like reconnaissance if you ask me."
I informed him that, "General Vergs and Pope are requesting the assistance of O-Peck. Maybe that levels the playing field for us."
"It does, but that would mean that they'll be the ones defending Fort Lee. Believe it or not, as rusty and as headstrong as we are, Pali' Recon's more fit to deal with those damn snipers."
I had faith in the regiment—let's make that clear—but Pali' Recon going up against French marksmen? The idea was a longshot. I doubted him quickly.
"What makes you say that?"
Captain Finer simply responded with, "L'Enfant Du Diable… 'Devil Child'… a wolf in sheep's clothing," then said nothing more.
Dear Capt. Christopher Mapleman:
As a result of Hexagon troops occupying the DMZ, we request the aid of your squad, O-Peck, in defending the regiment's outpost in Fort Lee, the northern border of the Barren Buffer Zone. It is believed that the Hexagon is set to advance once more on or before the 11th of October with plans of shrinking the buffer zone and invading towns up north, possibly requesting reinforcements from a highly-trained unit operating under the title "Eyes and Ears". We will be awaiting your response upon receiving this letter.
Sincerely,
Gen. Mitchell Agustus Vergs & County Executive Helena Maurice L. Pope