The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [236]
He stepped down onto the platform, the place noisy, crowded, too much chaos. The shouts came from paperboys and vendors, news about the bombing of Nagasaki, what Adams had already seen in a newspaper in San Diego. He hoisted the bag on his shoulder, searched the crowd, wasn’t sure what he expected to see, smelled something wonderful, saw a hot dog stand, a man stabbing one of the thick dogs with a fork, stuffing a bun, squirting mustard all over the bun and his own hand, the mess handed to a boy who jammed it into his mouth. Adams was suddenly ravenous, hadn’t eaten anything on the train, felt in his pockets, no change at all, nothing but military scrip. It had been his own mistake, forgetting to change the bills for real money, and he ached now, angry at himself. The crowd was more annoying to him now, too many happy people, people with hugs and kisses and hats askew. There were friendly greetings and slaps on the back, the two officers talking boisterously to another pair, big talk of big adventures, lies upon lies. Adams backed away from them, wondered what Captain Bennett would do to them … and now he heard his name.
“Clay!”
He wasn’t sure, too much noise, too many voices, but it came again.
“Clay! Private Adams, you dumb son of a bitch!”
Adams turned, saw the crowd parting, some forcefully, saw the stocky thickness, the massive chest, a limp, unexpected, and the beaming face of his brother.
“Jesse! Oh my God!”
Jesse didn’t slow, shoved himself right into Adams, picked him up, bag and all, crushing his ribs.
“You skinny-assed little peter! There’s nothing left of you!”
His brother set him back down now, and Adams saw only smiles, strangers around them watching the scene.
“Mom’s here! Come on, this way!”
Jesse pulled him by the arm, forcing their way through the crowd, people pushed aside, but the faces of the two young men told the crowd everything, their enthusiasm spreading all across the platform. He saw her now, a faint wave, the frail, exhausted woman, more frail, older, more gray hair. She was crying, still waving, and Adams slowed, Jesse still pulling at him.
“Yeah, okay, go give her a hug. If you’d have written more, she wouldn’t be so damn worried, you know.”
Adams ignored his brother’s scolding, moved up to her, realized suddenly how short she was, and he felt his brother pull the bag from his shoulder, kept his eyes in hers, red and wet. He slid his hands onto her shoulders, then around, pulled himself to her, felt her thin bones, her soft voice, “My boy. God bless you. You’re safe.”
“Yeah, Mama. I’m okay.”
They hugged for a long silent moment, and he couldn’t stop the tears, didn’t try. Finally, Jesse’s voice was in his ear, “You can do that when we get home. Got someone you need to meet. Whole damn greeting party here.”
Adams was mystified, still looked at his mother’s tears, said, “Who?”
He turned now, saw Jesse move back behind his mother, pulling a young woman by the hand.
“Okay, I got a surprise for you, kid. Well, two surprises. But first things first. Nancy, this sorry-looking bag of bones is my little brother, Clay. He’s a Marine, but we try to overlook that. Private Clayton Adams, this gorgeous example of womanhood is Miss Nancy Forbes. We’re engaged.” Jesse leaned closer now, faked the whisper. “She’s a damn nurse. Makes my life a hell of a lot easier.”
Clay saw the beauty in the woman’s face, tears there as well. She held out a hand, said, “Clayton, it’s a pleasure. Your brother’s told me a great deal about you. Mostly things you wouldn’t want repeated, I’m sure. He thinks paratroopers ought to rule the world, and Marines make … good busboys. Sorry. He insisted I say that.”
Adams was overwhelmed, took the softness of her hand, caught the amazing scent of perfume.
“Wow. Engaged? Uh … well, it’s nice to meet you.” He looked at his big brother now, saw the pride, the smile, the couple looking at each other now with that gooey storybook grin. “Damn, Jesse, you serious?”
“Watch your damn language.