Thomas Keneally - The Daughters of Mars

She took the letter out of the mess—where it had been delivered to her—and read it standing under a pewter sky on a frozen ground. Of course—observing herself as if from a distance—she took the luxury of weeping in the usual plain way. Tears were a necessary river in the case of her and Condon.

But there were other reasons for these tears. He’d come through again—just a few coin-sized bits of shrapnel near the shoulder blade, he wrote, and a few on the hips. Metal had, he said, kindly avoided his spine. She knew spines metal had chosen to enter.

And so it was set. It must be said to him. The plan to murder a mother was not diminished by the plans to murder divisions of men. Trustworthy Nurse Sally Durance had pilfered rescue, designed it to seep all the way to her mother’s heart—her gracious and unsated heart. But Condon would not be told the Naomi part. I planned murder, she’d say, and would have done it. That’s what I’m capable of.

Under the frosted, sullen sky, Sally understood that part of her still belonged to that sickroom twelve thousand miles away. That it was as close as the resuscitation or gas wards. And thus she could not prance around galleries with Charlie as another girl might. Even if—when she told him—doubt would afflict him and she might find herself back safely and terribly on her own.

For three minutes the hope and uncertainty of the coming meeting kept her out there in the cold. Then exhaustion and shivering drove her inside and to her bunk. It lay in the new-built nurses’ hut, divided into rooms for three or four women set on either side of a central corridor. Even here she had stuck with Freud and Leo. To hell with being called cliquish. She slept profoundly through artillery and aircraft grinding their way to the sky’s apex and then rose to savor Charlie’s letter and its promise of grace. Until a four ack-emma clanging signaled a new convoy had arrived and the sharpness of self was submerged again by busyness.

Later in the day she spoke to Matron Bolger and wrote back to Condon with the dates offered her by that sturdy woman.

In the first days of December they were told the clearing station was being moved—with all its instruments of operation and mercy—away from Deux Églises to a place not yet announced. Sally had her trunk packed in case the move occurred while she was in Paris. She took a smaller bag to the capital to meet Captain Condon. She caught a truck to Amiens—one of the eight-tonners that supplied the clearing station. In the train from Amiens to Paris she slept—but woke in time to team herself with two Canadian nurses as unwilling as she was to negotiate the Métro with their luggage and willing to share a taxi fare from the Gare du Nord. They had time to compare notes briefly. The Canadians worked in a hospital near Arras and had had a tedious journey down to the train. Their faces looked a little hollow—they had the drawn look of women overworked. Do I look like that too? Sally wondered.

The taxi took them to a Red Cross hostel for nurses in Rue de Trévise—one of the Canadians was from Montreal and could thus tell the driver in French that it was close to the Place Vendôme. And—she confided under her breath to the others—the Folies Bergère. Charlie would not arrive until the following morning, so Sally accepted their invitation—as they were being given the keys to their reserved rooms—to join them in the plain dining room that night. They’d hit the town tomorrow, they said. After a needful rest.

Arriving in the dining room a little after six she saw her companions were already at a table. Its linen was fresh and solid-cornered with starch. There was one other woman at the far end of the room and—alone at her table—she seemed well advanced on her meal. Her back was to them. Even so, her shape and the way her shoulders moved minutely at the duties of devouring bread and casserole were acutely familiar. Sally was shocked but immediately filled with a sense of intrusion. It was obviously Naomi sitting there, maintaining the downcast, chaste gaze of a woman eating alone in public.

She must first tell her new companions and excuse herself. She crossed to them and said, I’m a bit astonished. My sister happens to be over there. She hasn’t seen me yet.

They wanted to know where Naomi was working.

In Boulogne, said Sally.

You’re welcome to join us, said one of the Canadian women, but we understand if… Not a lot of chance sisters get to meet and talk about home.

That’s what we’ll do, Sally thought. We’ll talk about home. We’ll talk home squared or to the power of three. We’ll get it settled.

Naomi had by now heard the voices and risen from her table. Sally felt a gust of affection at the solemn, peaked, mature features.

I have leave, Sally told her stupidly. Naomi clasped her arms around Sally and Sally did the same in return. It was so much easier now.

Naomi led her by the elbow to a seat opposite her own place and then—overcome with the hilarity of the coincidence—bowed her head down onto Sally’s shoulder like a confiding schoolgirl.

Well, said Naomi when they had sat opposite each other. You obviously need building up—a tonic.

I was thinking the same about you.

Oh, everyone works themselves too hard at the Voluntary.

I’ve got a week’s pass, Sally told her. What about you?

Two days, said Naomi, waving at one of the Red Cross volunteers who served as waitresses at the hostel. A pity it’s so short.

I’m meeting up with Charlie Condon tomorrow. He’s going to show me the galleries.

That’s wonderful, Naomi said.

What about you?

Ian Kiernan’s coming tomorrow and we’re going to see our Committee of Clarity.

Sally had never heard of such a thing and shook her head.

I’m sorry. I presumed I’d told you about it. It’s the committee that’s overseeing our engagement.

Your engagement?

Yes, I told you in a letter.

I didn’t get it, complained Sally, though she knew she sounded rancorous—especially at the postal corps. Then of course the true force of the news struck her.

He’s someone worthwhile then? she asked, anxious that her grand sister might be eroded.

Naomi laughed. You know him, she said. You know the man he is.

Yes, Sally admitted. A sturdy sort of bloke all right.

And… despite its highfalutin name, this committee’s job is to make sure we’re… genuinely keen on each other.

Sally watched as Naomi laughed at her own use of slang. Naomi was very happy. How could she manage to be so simply happy with Kiernan and their engagement when she’d used the hypodermic that night? If they could talk about it, Naomi might be able to instruct her. Sally could not eat her soup when it came, though she inspected it at considerable length.

What’s the matter, Sal?

Do you ever think of our mother? Sally challenged her. I mean, think of her as more than the dead we see each day?

Of course. I forget for an hour. But she returns. I was with her when she went. Many would think that grief. But it was also a privilege.

Enough of that, Sally decided. You heard of Honora? she asked.

I did. And I think any of us could end like that, with a bit of bad luck.

But it was back to the main question. Will you tell your Committee of Clarity that you gave her the injection? Sally said. Or wouldn’t they understand?

She looked up now and saw what she thought was confusion on Naomi’s face.

And have you told Ian Kiernan about it? Sally asked.

No, said Naomi. Sally…

I’m going to have to come clean with Charlie… I can’t have him not knowing. That would poison us. I’ll take the blame for planning the business. No mention of you. Because I always intended the whole thing even if it was you who stepped in—purely out of generosity. I’ve never thanked you—I couldn’t manage it till now.