Brother and Sister Read Online Free PDF Page A

the groin. He thought he was going to be sick or that he would die. But neither happened. The plane kept going over France toward home.
     
    ***
     
    The plane landed three times. First, at some place in Scotland; then in Newfoundland; and, finally, at Maguire Air Force Base in New Jersey. That much of the trip, three thousand miles, the Air Force took care of. From there, he was on his own.
     
    He took the bus up to New York, and went to the Port Authority building where he got another bus for home.
     
    It was the first time he’d ever been in New York City, but he didn’t even look out the bus windows. He was concentrating on the gnawing pain inside him, paying exclusive attention to that, because that was all that was real. And it was real now.
     
    On the second bus, headed through the late evening darkness, south along the Eastern Seaboard, he began to blame the Air Force. The Air Force had taken him away from his parents. It had been more than a year since he had seen them and now he would never see them again. That was because the Air Force had taken him away.
     
    And the Air Force had brought him to Germany where he had met Ingrid. The Air Force had known what Ingrid was, but no one had told him. And the Air Force had kept his promotion away from him because he had refused to let his wife be a whore.
     
    I’m not going back, he thought. No matter what happens, I’m not going back.
     
    The bus roared south, stopping now and again, and at one rest stop he realized suddenly that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours. He hadn’t slept either, except for a little nap on the plane shortly before they’d reached Newfoundland. Still, he wasn’t tired. He was only hungry. He felt as though that were a betrayal -- his parents dead and he hungry and able to think of food. But he had a hamburger and a glass of milk and then got back into the bus and they went on.
     
    The bus was supposed to arrive at eleven fifty-four -- it was eleven minutes late. He had forgotten to send a telegram, forgotten to tell anybody he was arriving. Well, maybe the Red Cross would have told them he was coming home.
     
    He carried his suitcase and his canvas bag out of the bus depot and got into a taxi. He had only seven dollars left, but couldn’t stand the idea of waiting for a bus. He was suddenly filled with urgency. He had to get home.
     
    The cabbie tried to overcharge him and Paul boiled with rage. He reached across the seat, grabbed the cabbie by the throat and screamed at him, “I live here! This is my home! You can’t cheat me. I’m not a stranger.”
     
    “Jesus!” cried the cabbie, trying to get away. “Jesus, leggo! What the hell’s the matter with you? Leggo!”
     
    Paul let him go, carefully counted out the exact fare, leaving no tip. His hands shook with rage and he dropped a dime, refusing to get out of the cab until he found it. Then he got out, dragging the suitcase and the canvas bag after him. He glared after the cab until it disappeared around the next corner. “I’m not a stranger,” he whispered after the cabbie. “This is my home.”
     
    He turned and went up the walk, thinking, I’ll have to mow the front lawn. He went up the stoop, thinking, I better give the porch a coat of paint. He pulled on the screen door and found it locked.
     
    That enraged him again. He dropped the suitcase and the canvas bag and pounded on the wood of the door. How dare they lock him out! This was his home!
     
    All at once, the inner door burst open and his Aunt Sara was standing there, staring out at him, wide-eyed. “Paul! We didn’t know when you’d get here. Why didn’t you send us a telegram?”
     
    “Let me in!”
     
    Aunt Sara looked at him as though she were terrified of him. She unlocked the screen door and opened it for him. He ran into the house, leaving his suitcase and the canvas bag on the porch. In the living room he found Angie sitting on the sofa with the dark-green upholstery.