Outside it was May dusk. Everyone had gone, the hardstand was empty. A stillness had fallen. A lone car came along the taxiway from the hangar, someone from maintenance who waved as they passed and turned down towards the gate, red taillights flashing on as they stopped and the guard came out to motion them by.
Across the base, in the housing area, the banks of lights were beginning to show. They would grow brighter as the buildings themselves faded. In the end they would float through the darkness, freed, like a liner at sea. Isbell stood for a while. He could smell the wetness in the earth, the world turning green. Each day it seemed stronger.
Far to the east, toward Mannheim, the sky was a scrawl of white tracings brilliant in the last light. The final encounters. He watched them as they slowly faded and disappeared, lopsided circles falling off into vertical drops. A last pair, fresh, were moving across the distant sky—Canucks probably, out of Zweibrücken. Slow as an eclipse they sped along, pencil thin, seeking.
Everything was quiet. The boulevards of the field were deserted, the intersections empty. It had been a day. It had been clear since dawn. Everybody had been up, searching like foxes, eager to meet. Up and over they had rolled in dogfights, filled with excitement, the ground above their heads, smoke rising blue from the towns, heaven beneath their feet. They had fought the crazy Canucks. They had fought the other groups and squadrons, they had fought one another, landing and hurrying in afterwards to shout about triumphs.
He stood complete and weary. He felt content. The last two contrails had straightened out. The Canadians were heading west again, going home to sneak in just before dark.
Chapter III
“Well, this is a surprise.”
Outside the store, Godchaux turned.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Dunning.”
She shook her head slightly. “I thought I told you about that.”
“Mayann,” Godchaux managed to say.
“What in the world are you doing here?”
Godchaux gestured towards the interior which was tiled in white. “Buying mussels,” he said. “I told Jackie Grace I was coming down here and I’d get some for her.”
Mayann Dunning made a face. “I’d rather eat pigs’ feet,” she said. “How do you cook them?”
“Gee, I don’t know. She’s going to cook them. I’m supposed to get three pounds. I was coming to Trier anyway, so I just…”
“Coming to Trier to do what?”
“Just look around.”
“Look around for what?”
She had looked at him many times, in fact it was difficult not to look at him, but she had never had the opportunity with no one around. His skin was smooth and clear, his eyebrows dark but fine. Feeling her stare, in defense he smiled. His teeth!
“Where’d you get your eyelashes?” she said.
“I don’t know.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “They just came.”
“I’ll come in with you while you get the mussels.”
“I was going to get them on the way back.”
“You don’t want me to come in with you.”
“No, it’d be fine. I was just not going to do it right now.”
“Well, I’ll come with you while you’re doing whatever else you’re doing.”
“Just walking around.”
“Jackie’s cooking dinner?” Mayann asked as they walked.
“Yes, ma’am. We’re all going over there.”
“That’s nice. She takes care of the bachelors in the flight.”
“I guess she does.”
“Sews on your buttons.”
“She doesn’t do that.”
“Who does?”
She liked talking to him. Perhaps she would never really talk to him, but it was pleasant trying.
They walked on. Trier was an old town of dark red brick, a town dating back to Roman times. It was historically important but not particularly interesting. There were the remains of a large amphitheater somewhere—Mayann had gone with the wives’ club to see it—some Roman baths, and vineyards up in the hills.
“I’m hungry,” Mayann said. “What time is it?”
“Almost twelve-thirty.”
“Do you want some lunch.”
In a restaurant with windows of brownish glass in rows of small circles, Godchaux ordered a beer.
“Do you like the local wine?” Mayann asked.
“Moselle, you mean? I’ve tried it. It’s all right.”
“Then you don’t like it?”
“I guess I like the beer more.”
“You know what I always say. I always say you should have what you want.” She was opening the menu. “But only…”
He waited, slightly nervous. He could not imagine what she was going to add.
“Only after you know what you want.”
The waitress was nearby. Godchaux said to her, “I’ll have the wine.”
“Moselle?”
“Ja, Moselle. Another glass of Moselle.”
It was yellowish when it came. He drank it without much enthusiasm but ended up having a second glass of it.
“Have you ever played this?” Mayann said. She was laying out matches she had torn from a book of them. They formed a pyramid, five matches in the bottom row, three in the next, then one. Godchaux shook his head.
“No,” he said.
The rules, she explained, were simple. From any one row any number of matches could be removed. Then it was the other player’s turn, and so forth. The loser was the one who picked up the last match.
“You go,” she said.
Godchaux looked at the matches for a minute or two and picked up the single match. Mayann picked up two from the row of five. Godchaux casually picked up the remaining three from the same row. That left three matches in what had been the middle row. Mayann picked up two of them.
“I get it,” he said.
She laid them out again. This time he looked longer at the matches and picked up one from the row of five. She took away two from the same row. Godchaux took away one from the row of three. Mayann picked up the lone match from the top row.
Godchaux sat examining the situation. He saw he had lost again. If he picked up one or both matches from either row, she would remove both from the other row or just one.
“You win,” he said. “Is there a trick to it?”
“No trick.”
“There must be some trick.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You always win.”
The waitress was bringing their order.
“Not always,” Mayann said. “You look like someone who wins.”
He glanced up. She was not looking at him but at the plate being put before her.
“Danke schoen,” she said to the waitress.
“How did you and the major meet?” Godchaux said as he began to eat.
“We met in college.”
“Before he went to flying school.”
“I was pregnant when he went to flying school.”
“Oh, you were already married.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I was pregnant,” she said, “but I took care of it like a good girl.”
Godchaux didn’t know what to say. He nodded a little vaguely and, stealing a glance at her, continued to eat.
“Bud thinks the world of you, I guess you know that.”
Godchaux said nothing.
“He thinks… well, what do I need to tell you that for? Don’t you want to know what I think?”
She had often teased him. She did not seem to be teasing now.