Jim Shepard - Paper Doll

Robin was Robin Lea, an Englishwoman who lived with her mother two villages over. She was in training as a Civil Defense clerk. They’d seen each other four times and she’d charmed and fascinated Bryant each time. She had spoken to him persuasively about the failures of appeasement and the sorts of insects they’d find, were they to dig up the earth ridging the hedgerows. She was kind and patient with what he felt to be his stupidity. He had confided to her his fears of inadequacy and she had assured him that many of his friends, Lewis included, probably felt that way too, and that it was most likely a reflection of his growing knowledge. He had danced with her the third time they’d been together and she’d worn a green silk dress that had flexed and shimmered with light. He thought she was very beautiful.

Lewis and Snowberry were mainly interested before meeting her in finding out if she had what it took. He’d done his best to describe her and had finally settled on comparisons and had left them with the suggestion that she was a “heavier Gene Tierney.” It had gotten a big laugh. They’d never forgotten, and Lewis’s adoption of Gene Tierney as his pin-up love afterwards had not been a coincidence.

Bryant had protested their laughter, and Lewis had responded that he didn’t like the sound of that “heavier.” “You can tell us,” he had said mildly, with paternal sympathy. “Is she a lard-ass? Is that the problem?”

“In England, the term is ‘overlarge,’” Snowberry said. “As in, ‘That freight car is overlarge.’”

“Aw, the hell with that,” Lewis had said, wrapping an arm around him. “Looks aren’t important.”

Snowberry and Piacenti had hooted and wondered aloud if Lewis liked boys.

Lewis said, “What we need to know before we give our blessing is this: has she got a good heart? Will she take care of him?”

“He says she looks like Gene Tierney,” Snowberry said.

“He’s right,” Lewis said. “She’ll take care of him.”

They had been watching a dull three-legged race organized by the special events, or morale, officer. He was a gawky and shy Iowan so useless his duties had since been unofficially assumed by Stormy, the weather officer. Snowberry had gone from finger to finger on his outspread hand ticking off his reasoning. “Here we’ve got a good crew, a Christian crew, a stable crew, and what happens? Cheating, fornication: Could the Axis Have Planned It Better?”

Bryant had protested, feeling the color coming into his face. Piacenti had looked dubious. He had asked Bryant if Bryant had told Lois about their “just seeing each other.” Bryant had hemmed and hawed.

“There it is,” Snowberry had said. “We know what Bryant wants and we’re all disgusted. Why don’t we just come out and say it?”

“C’mon,” Bryant said. “I don’t know what to do. We haven’t done anything. I don’t even know if I should keep seeing her.”

Lewis wondered aloud just who was in the driver’s seat.

“This is stupid,” Bryant said.

They had cheered for their team in the three-legged race, Lambert Ball and Willis Eddy, who were trundling along the course dead last. “Bigger question,” Lewis had said. “Is it just the hots? Is the Brit better? Now didn’t he compare what’s her name — Lulu—”

“Lois—”

“Lois — to someone else, for us? Another movie star? Before he met Gene Tierney?”

“Yes he did,” Snowberry said. Snowberry had always claimed to be the smartest kid in his high school, and at times like these Bryant could imagine it: the wise-ass kid, always ahead of the teachers. “Remember? Jean Arthur, he said.”

“She does, sort of,” Bryant said miserably.

“I’ve seen her picture,” Snowberry reminded them. “I think he means Chester Arthur.”

“How about Sergeant Bryant?” Lewis said. “Two movie stars, not one. And he claims he’s got troubles. You’re wasting our time. And taking advice from those who truly need it.”

“Who’s Chester Arthur?” Piacenti asked.

“So one knows about the other but not the other way around,” Snowberry said, summarizing. “Well, it’s the Army way. Though you’re not going to meet my sister.”

“Look,” Piacenti had finally said, irritated and trying to bring a little common sense to bear on the subject, “so you got a girl back home and a girl here. I don’t see the news. Some girls, you know.” He made a motion with his fist. “Other girls you marry.”

“It’s not like that,” Bryant murmured.

“It’s not like that,” Piacenti repeated. He looked at Bryant as if he’d messed himself. “Look: what’s so difficult? I got a fork, I use it for meat. I got a spoon, I use it for soup. How complicated you want to make this?”

“Everybody repeats everything I say,” Bryant said.

“Listen to Il Duce , there,” Lewis said. “He made the trains run on time.”

Bryant’s sulk had petered out without attracting much attention. Everyone was staying inside because of the drizzle. A small boy peered around the side of the hedge delineating the base perimeter. “Hello,” the boy said.

Bryant said hello. He thought, Why is he standing in the rain?

“Are you working?” the boy said. He was round-faced, with light hair. “Are you planning a bombing mission?”

“They’re all planned,” Bryant said. “Now I’m reading letters.”

The boy hesitated. “That’s very nice,” he eventually said.

Bryant opened Robin’s letter. “What’s your name?” he asked. The boy was wearing black shorts so large his knees were covered. He was scratching a leg with his shoe.

“Colin,” he said. Bryant made a show of starting to read. “Are you from Texas?”

Bryant shook his head. “Rhode Island.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where that is,” the boy said after a while. The mist fused his light hair together at the ends and darkened it. Bryant pulled Robin’s letter from the envelope and counted the pages.

“Do you know anyone from Texas?” Colin asked.

“I may,” Bryant said. “I’m not sure.”

The boy was apparently working his courage toward something. Bryant waited a moment before beginning to read.

Dear Bobby ,

Your letter made me happy and sad — happy because it recalled you so vividly to mind, and sad for the same reason. You are too far away. You have a worrisome occupation. I am alone, save Mother. Those are enough reasons to be sad for now, I think.

Mother’s visiting her eldest sister, my aunt Susan, for the week, and I’m rattling around the place alone (save the geese). In my training program there’s some sort of confused reorganization going on, or consolidation, so I’m perfectly idle this week and the next two. Mother has suggested that there are many things I could do in town. I’m trying right now somewhat unsuccessfully to persuade myself that I am not afraid of spiders in the bath or baby bats in the shed. If I want to live in the country so much, I tell myself, I have to get used to the night creatures and night noises of a house.

The house: the house is a lot of work as well as pleasure. I have barely any time at all for my painting. There is little that doesn’t need help, from the garden to the roof slates. Another thing I can do with this time to myself. I’m trying to do as much myself as I can. Mother should be spared a good deal, if possible, and if you and Gordon are able to come up and take advantage of our local Civil Defence muddle (Jean, by the way, informs me that Gordon claims to be absolutely certain about visiting), I won’t want the four of us to spend our time tidying up. Today I painted the iron lattice garden gate and those nails you were gracious enough to admire are now largely a very inelegant black. Which makes me wonder if painted nails belong in the countryside. I fear not. Weren’t you the one who claimed to be incapable of imagining me in a farmhouse?