Mirror Image, page 34
"Yes."
"My God .. . can you be in Reims at five o'clock tomorrow?"
"I don't know, " she said honestly. "I think so. Where is it? "
"About a hundred and fifty miles southeast of you. If you can get someone to drive you there, they can come right through the back country behind it. There's fighting there, but it's not as bad as in Soissons nearby. But you'll still have to be pretty careful." And then he smiled into the phone, wondering why she had come so far to participate in a war that her government wanted no part o President Wilson was still determined to stay out of it at all costs, and the costs were incredible so far. Five million men had died since war had been declared the previous summer. And seven million more had been wounded.
"Find someone with a car, " the voice at the other end went on, "and get there if you can. We have a delegation of volunteers coming down tomorrow. Are you a nurse? " he asked hopefully.
"No, I'm sorry, " she apologized, wondering if they would still want her.
"Can you drive? "
"Yes."
"Good. You can drive an ambulance, or a truck, whatever they tell you to. Just be there tomorrow, " he said, and was about to hang up when she stopped him.
"What's your name? " she asked, and he smiled at her naivete.
She was obviously very new at this, and he couldn't help wondering again why she had come here, to risk her life in a war that belonged to other countries. Others had come too, but most of them were older, and had complicated stories. She sounded like a child to him over the telephone, and then he told her that his name was unimportant, he wouldn't be there. "Who do I look for then? " He sounded irritated again. "Any one who's bleeding. You'll find a lot of them, I'm afraid.
You'll have your work cut out for you when you get there. Ask for the captain in charge of the area, he'll direct you to the hospital, or the Red Cross if we're there. You'll find us, don't worry. It's a small war, with a lot of people in it. You can't miss us." And he hung up then. She thanked them at the desk and went back to her hotel room.
She had a good dinner that night, and the owner of the hotel negotiated with a driver for her. He was a young boy with an old Renault, but he said he could get her where she was going, by the back roads. He said it would take all day, and he wanted to set out early in the morning.
And she guessed as she looked at him that he was younger than she was.
His name was Yves, and she paid him in advance just as he asked her.
He told her to dress warmly and wear heavy shoes. It would be cold when they left, and if the car broke down he didn't want to have to carry her to Reims because she had high heels on. She looked annoyed at the remark, but he laughed anyway, and she asked him bluntly if the car broke down often.
"Not more often than it has to. Can you drive? " he asked, and she nodded. And then he left and told her he'd see her in the morning.
Victoria lay awake in her bed all that night, she was so excited she couldn't sleep. This was why she had come here. But it was harder to remember the next morning. It was cold, and it was damp, and she hadn't slept all night. She was glad to find that the hotel had packed a lunch for them, and the boy had brought a thermos of coffee given him by his mother.
"Why did you come here? " he asked as she poured the first cup, on their way to their first stop on the way to Doullens. It was going to be a long journey.
"I came over because I thought I was needed here, " she said, wondering if she could explain it to him. It was hard enough explaining it to herself these days, let alone a boy from Calais who barely spoke her language. "I felt useless where I was, because I wasn't doing anything for anyone. This seemed more important." He nodded. He had understood her. It sounded noble, even to her, the way she expressed it.
"You have no family, " he said, assuming she didn't. She didn't tell him she had a husband and a stepson that she had left behind, or he really would have thought she was crazy, or at least rotten.
"I am a twin, " she said to him, Jumelle, " which seemed more interesting and it was a word she knew in almost every language. It was a word which always made people brighten. And it did him, as he glanced at her.
"Antique? " Yves asked her with interest.
"Ouch." She nodded.
"Tres amusant." He nodded his approval. "She did not wish to come with you? "
"No, " Victoria said firmly, telling the lie that she had created in order to come here, "she's married, she couldn't." He nodded that he had understood, but in truth he had no idea how complicated it all was.
He just thought he understood it.
And after that, they rode on for a long while in silence. They passed farms and churches, and the occasional country school, and fields that hadn't been planted that year. There were no young men to do it.
He tried to explain that to her in pantomime, and she got it. And then they rode in silence again for a while and she lit a cigarette and had another cup of coffee.
"Vousfumez? " He looked impressed. French women of her ilk didn't do that. But she nodded. "Tres msderne." He nodded and laughed.
She was "tres moderne" even in New York, in fact a little too much so.
And then they drove through Montdidier, and after that Senlis, and it was long after nightfall when they finally got to Reims. She had long since missed her five o'clock rendezvous with the Red (ross and the had long since run out of coffee and food, and she t V and Yves could both hear guns in the distance. They sounded closer than they were, and there was the occasional rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns.
"It's not good for us to be here, " he said nervously, glancing around him, but they were coming in to Chalons-sur-Marne exactly . the way they'd been told to, and a few minutes later, they saw a field hospital and she told him to stop there. There were stretchers being carried in and out, and men in bloodied aprons standing in little knots conferring, and nurses rushing to help dying men, or wounded ones.
Yves looked uncomfortable, and Victoria just stood there and stared at the action around her. She felt as though she had been awake for days, and her whole life had been turned upside down, and yet she felt a sudden surge of excitement just to be there.
She asked someone standing by if there was anyone from the Red Cross there, and they just smiled at her, and moved on, although she was sure they spoke English. And Yves said he had to go then. He was going to just leave her there and let her work it out for herself. But she hadn't hired him to be a guide for her for the rest of the war, her private chauffeur. He waved as he got back in the car again and she shouted "Merci" as he drove off, but he was obviously in a hurry to get out of Chalons-sur-Marne, and she didn't really blame him. But she had no idea what to do next as she stood there.
There were people hurrying in and out of the tent, and a few stared at her. She looked so clean and so untouched as she stood looking somewhat forlorn with her suitcase. And finally, not knowing what else to do, she asked an orderly for the nurses' station.
"In there, " he said vaguely, motioning over his shoulder, as he hauled a huge bag of refuse away, and Victoria shuddered to think what was in it.
But the nurses were too busy to talk to her, a fresh group of wounded had just come in, and no one had time to waste on a greenhorn.
"Here, " an orderly said suddenly, throwing an apron at her as the last nurse ran away to a man screaming in the corner. "I need you.
Follow me." He moved hurriedly between two hundred stretchers Lying on the ground, twelve inches apart, and she had to move as quickly and carefully as she could, not to step on them as she followed.
There was a smaller tent beyond being used as an operating room. And there were men lying on the ground waiting to be carried in, some of them moaning softly, others shrieking piteously, some of them mercifully unconscious.
"I don't know what to do, " Victoria said nervously. She had l .
expected to meet someone, to have them explain things to her, to drive an ambulance, or do something she knew she could do, not be here with these men, so badly savaged by explosions and shells and shrapnel.
There were hideous burns, and many of them had been poisoned by the phosgene and chlorine gases the Germans were pelting them with. It was so new and so cruel that the Allies had no comparable weapon with which to fight it.
The orderly she was following was short and wiry, he had bright red hair, and she had heard someone call him Dither when they passed him.
She was very grateful he spoke English. And she almost fainted when she realized he expected her to help him care for the men who had just been brought in from the trenches. All of them had been severely gassed, and many of them were incoherent. He pointed out a group of them to her, and spoke in an undervoice in English.
"Do what you can for them, " he said quietly amidst the hellish din.
She was suddenly reminded of the people she'd seen around her in the sea when the Lusitania went down. But this was so much worse, and they were still living. "They won't last the night. Too much gas. We can't help them." There was a man at her feet with green vomit oozing from his nose and mouth, and Victoria clutched Dither's arm as he moved to leave her.
"I'm not a nurse, " she said, gagging on her own bile. This was too much for her. She couldn't do it. She knew she shouldn't have come here.
"I can't .. ."
"I'm not a nurse either, " he said sharply, "I'm a musician ..
.
are you going to stay or not? " he asked her bluntly. This was her trial by fire. This was what she had said she wanted. "If you're not, go.
I have no time for this .. ." He looked angry at her, as though she had come here for nothing, a dilettante, to show off to her friends.
But the look in his eyes challenged her, and she nodded.
"I'll stay, " she said hoarsely, and knelt slowly toward the man closest to her. Half his face had been shot off, and there were bloody bandages covering him, but the doctors in the surgery had decided not to waste their time on him. He was too far gone for them to spend hours on him.
In a proper hospital perhaps, but not here. He'd never make it.
He'd be dead within hours.
"Hello .. . what's your name? " he asked in a voice already tinged with death, "I'm Mark." He was English.
"I'm Olivia, " she answered, giving him the name she had to use now.
She felt helpless, as she took the boy's hand in her own, and held tightly to his fingers, trying not to look at him and see the wound, but something beyond it.
"You're American, " he said softly in a Yorkshire accent. "I was there once .. ."
"I'm from New York." As though it mattered.
"When'd you get here? " He was clinging to life, holding on to her, feeling that if he talked to her, he would make it through the night, but they both knew he wouldn't.
"Tonight, " she said, feeling very green again, as she smiled at him, and another boy yanked at her apron.
"From America, I mean .. . when did you come? " Mark asked her.
"Last weekend .. . on the Lusitania, " she said numbly. There were so many of them. All she could hear were their sobs and their screams.
It was just like when the ship had been sinking.
"Bloody rotten thing of the Jerries to do .. . women and children .
.
. they're animals they are, " he said, and she could see it from what they had done to him. And then she turned to the other one who was calling for her, he wanted his mother and he was thirsty. He was seventeen, from Hampshire, and he died holding her hand twenty minutes later. She talked to hundreds of men that night, and dozens of them died as she watched them. She did nothing in particular for them, held a hand, lit a cigarette, she gave all of her own away, gave them water though they shouldn't drink, but it didn't matter anyway, some of them had no stomachs left, or no lips, or lungs filled with gases. It was horrible beyond belief, and she wondered if she'd been of any use at all as she staggered out of the tent again in the morning. She was covered with vomit and blood and spit, and she had no idea where to go, or where her suitcase had gone the night before. She'd forgotten it and all else as she knelt beside the boys who called her name, held her hand, or just died in her arms as she watched them. She'd helped Dither carry them outside on stretchers and lay them on the ground until i l other men came to carry them away to be buried. There were thousands of them now, all so young, buried in the hillsides.
"There's food in the tent over there." Dither came by on his way to get fresh supplies, and he pointed to a larger tent just far enough away that she wondered if she'd make it. She hadn't slept all night, and every inch of her ached, but he looked tireless as he smiled at her.
"Are you sorry you've come yet, Olivia? " he asked. She was so tired she almost slipped and told him Olivia was her sister. But while she was here, it was her name now.
"No, " she lied with a tired smile, but he knew she was Lying.
She'd worked hard the night before, she might actually be worth having around, if she stayed. Most volunteers didn't. They stayed for a few days, and then ran away, shocked by what they'd seen, and happy to go home again.
Others, the hardy ones, the ones who could take it and they were rare, came and stayed forever. Some of the volunteers had been with them since the beginning. It had been nearly a year now. But he didn't think she'd be one of them. She was too young and too pretty. She had probably just come for the excitement, he figured.
"You'll get used to it. Wait till winter, you'll love it." They'd been up to their hips in mud for months. The rains had been relentless.
But it was better than what had happened to the Russians, freezing in Galicia. But as she listened to him, she realized that by winter she wouldn't be there. She'd be back in New York again, with Charles and Geoffrey. They seemed so far away to her now, as though they didn't even exist anymore. The only one who still seemed real to her was Olivia, she seemed to live in her soul, and Victoria could almost hear her talking to her at night sometimes. It was uncanny.
She left Dither then, and staggered toward the tent that he said was their mess hall, and as she approached it, she smelled coffee and food and unfamiliar smells, and she suddenly realized that despite the carnage she had seen, she was starving. She helped herself to powdered eggs and stew that was mostly gristle, and a thick slab of bread that turned out to be so stale it was like a block of wood, but she ate it anyway, softening it in her stew. And she drank two huge cups of strong black coffee. A few of the nurses and some of the orderlies said hello to her, but everyone was either busy, or exhausted. They seemed to have a whole city organized there, with tents as barracks, a hospital, supply depots, the mess hall.
There was a small chateau well behind them where the senior officers were billeted, including the general who was their commanding officer, and there was a farmhouse too, for the rest of the senior men. The others all stayed in the barracks. And Victoria still had no idea where they would put her.
"Are you here with the Red Cross? " a pleasant, heavyset girl asked.
She was wearing a nurse's uniform, and eating a huge breakfast although she was covered with bloodstains. Twelve hours before Victoria might have been horrified, but now it suddenly seemed normal.
"I was going to be, " Victoria explained. The other girl had said her name was Rosie, and like many of the others here, she was English.
"I think I missed them yesterday. I don't know what happened."
"I think I do, " Rosie looked at her with an odd expression, as Victoria waited. "Their car was hit in Meaux. There were three of them.
They were all killed yesterday afternoon on the way here." The horrifying thought was that she might have been with them, if she'd tried to join them in Paris. Thank God she hadn't. "What are you going to do? " she asked quietly, and Victoria thought about it for a long moment. She wasn't even sure she was going to stay yet. This was a lot rougher than she'd expected. While she was still in New York, and listening to lectures about the war at the consulates, it had seemed so clean and so definite, the ideology so pure, the problems so simple. She was going to drive for them. But drive what? Dying men?
Corpses to their makeshift morgue?
She had never really understood it till she got here. But she also knew now that if she wanted to be, she could be useful.
"I'm not sure, " Victoria said hesitantly. "I'm not a trained nurse or anything. I'm not sure how useful I'd be to anyone." Victoria looked at Rosie shyly, which was unlike her. "Who should I talk to? "
"Sergeant Morrison, " Rosie said with a smile, "she's in charge of the volunteers, and don't kid yourself, girl. We need all the help I l we can get, trained or not, if you can stand it." That was the question.
"How do I find her? " Victoria asked carefully, still trying to decide what to do about staying.
Rosie laughed at her question and poured herself another cup of coffee.
"Wait about ten minutes, and she'll find you. Sergeant Morrison knows everything that goes on here. And that's a warning." She grinned.
And she wasn't wrong. Not five minutes later, a gigantic woman in a uniform strode rapidly over to them and seemed to measure Victoria with her eyes. She had already heard from Dither about the new arrival.
Sergeant Morrison was six feet tall, she had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she was Australian, from Melbourne. She'd been in France for nearly a year, and she'd even been wounded. She worked her volunteers like slaves, and according to Rosie, she put up with no nonsense.
"I understand they put you right to work last night, " she said to Victoria pleasantly, and the young American felt herself quake as she looked up at her in amazement.
"Yes, they did, " she said, sitting up very straight, and suddenly feeling like a private. It was odd being here, it was all so orderly and so civilized, in the midst of chaos. Every one knew what they had to do, and what was expected.
"How did you like it? " Sergeant Morrison asked bluntly.
"I'm not sure like' is the right word, " Victoria said cautiously as Rosie left them to go back to the operating room. She had another twelve hours of work to do. They worked on twenty-four hour shifts there, or till they dropped, whichever came first. She had actually worked thirty hours straight once. "Most of the men I took care of last night were dead before morning, " Victoria said softly, as Penny Morrison nodded briskly, but her eyes were not without emotion.
