"We visited the Duarte tomb," Beatrice went on, "and of course ours. I left flowers on Mommy's casket and Daddy's."
"I haven't been there in almost a year," Frade said, thinking aloud.
"Humberto said I shouldn't ask you, because you wouldn't know," Beatrice said, "but I have been wondering, Jorge, do you -think there was a mass when they buried our Jorge?''
"I don't know about a mass, Beatrice, but I'm sure there was a priest. They have chaplains in the German Army, as we do. Beatrice..."
"And I would really like to know, Jorge," Beatrice said, looking at him, "whether you thinkafter this horrible war, of coursethere are chances of our bringing him home, to put him to rest in Recoleta, with the Duartes?"
"Actually, Beatrice, that's why I'm here," Frade said.
"Excuse me?"
I don't think she will understand what I have to tell her. Thank God Humberto is here.
"There has been a radio message, Beatrice. Do you remember Juan Domingo Per?n? El Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n?"
She considered that a full fifteen seconds before shaking her head no. There was confusion all over her face.
"He and I were lieutenants together. And then we were at the Command College. He's in Germany, studying welfare and retirement, and social services for the poor."
Beatrice laughed brightly.
"Whatever are you talking about, Jorge?"
"It appears that the Germans are arranging to send Jorge home, Beatrice," Frade said. "Per?n was called to the Foreign Ministry and introduced toactually, he was asked to approve ofthe German officer who will escort the remains."
"The Germans are sending Jorge home?" Beatrice asked.
"Odd, that you were told and not me," Humberto said.
Frade was genuinely fond of his brother-in-lawdespite his penchant for taking offense when none was intended. He was annoyed with him now, but kept that from his voice when he replied.
"I'm sure there will be a formal notification. Probably by the German ambassador. But Per?n knew Jorge was my nephew, and he sent unofficial word to me through our military attached By radio. The mail service is nonexistent these days. Rather than telephoning, someone from the Defense Ministry took it all the way out to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. As soon as I received it, I brought it here."
"When are they sending Jorge home?" Beatrice asked.
"I don't know that yet, Bea," Frade said gently. "I'm sure as soon as the details are known, you will be informed."
"We can have a mass, a high requiem mass, at Our Lady of Pilar," Beatrice said. "I'll have to tell the Bishop."
"There will be time for that, mi amor," Humberto said.
"And Jorge, there are still those lovely cedar caskets at San Pedro y San Pablo? Aren't there?"
Years and years before, their father somehow came onto a stock of cedar. He had a cabinet maker at the estancia turn it into caskets. It was not, Frade thought, the only odd thing the old man did after he turned sixty. But at least half a dozen cedar caskets remained stored in the rafters of the old carriage house. All that had to be done to them was to outfit the interior.
"Yes, there are," Frade said.
"That will make it nice," Beatrice said. "We will put Jorge in with the Duartes, but in a casket from Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo."
God, she's out of her mind. If she had had more than the one child, she would be far better off.
"Yes," Frade agreed, "that would be nice."
"I must talk to the Bishop and see what is involved," Beatrice said.
"Beatrice, it'll wait until tomorrow," Humberto said.
"Nonsense," she said. "I've known him since he went into the seMi?ary. He'll have time for me."
She walked out of the room.
When he was sure she was out of earshot, Frade asked, "What is she taking?"
Humberto shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know. Something the doctor gives her."
"She is not herself," Frade said.
"Of course she's not herself," Humberto snapped. "She's lost her only child in a war he had no business being involved in."
"That's not what I mean, Humberto," Frade said.
"When she doesn't take her pills, she weeps. For hours, she weeps," Humberto said.
"She is your wife," Frade said.
"Meaning what?" Humberto snapped.
"Meaning that while I am concerned to see her drugged that way, it is not really any of my business."
"The doctor comes every day," Humberto said. "I can only presume he knows what he is doing. And of course it's your business. She's your sister. You love her."
"I wept when I heard what happened to Jorge," Frade said. "I have some small idea of what you are going through."
Tears welled in Humberto's eyes.
"Why don't you make yourself a drink?" Frade asked.
"Yes," Humberto agreed quickly. "Will you have another?"
Frade shook his head no, and murmured, "No, gracias."
When Duarte was at the chest-of-drawers bar, with his back to Frade, he said, "Jorge, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you have done. I don't know how we would have managed without you."
"I have done nothing," Frade said.
"But you have, dear Jorge," Humberto said, turning and walking to Frade and handing him a drink. "And we both know it."
Frade put his arm around Humberto's shoulders and hugged him.
"And what of your boy?" Humberto asked. "I realize I do not have the right to ask, but..."
"My latest information is that he has entered the Marine Corps..."
"The what?"
"The Marine Corps. They are soldiers, an elite force. He will be trained as a pilot. Presumably, he will soon go to the war. As I understand it, the Marine Corps is fighting the Japanese in the Pacific."
"I will pray for him," Humberto said. "Now, after what has happened to my Jorge, I will pray very hard for your boy."
With a masterful effort, Colonel Jorge Guillermo Frade controlled his voice and replied, "Thank you, dear Humberto."
[THREE]
3470 St. Charles Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
1615 1 November 1942
It was growing dark enough for people to turn their headlights on, and it was raining hard, the drops drumming on the convertible's roof. It hadn't been raining long enough, though, for the rain to clean the road grime from the windshield, and it was streaked. As he drove down St. Charles Avenue past the Tulane University campus, Clete noticed a couple walking slowly through the rain, sharing the man's raincoat. He had done that himself, more than a few times, when he was at Tulane.
They're in love,he thought, or at least in lust.
He'd noticed similar couples on the Rice University campus in Houston. And he'd admired a spectacular brunette in Bern's sorority house, when he was taking tea with the house mothera "ceremony" that gave Beth and Marjorie the chance to show off their brother, the Marine Aviator Hero fresh home from Guadalcanal.
He even went back to his hotel and put his uniform on for that. Protesting, of course, and telling himself at the time that he was doing it only to indulge Beth and Marjorie, who actually wept when they saw him standing in the foyer of the sorority house. They were going to miss their father at least as much as he did, he told himself then. And since there was little else he could do for them, putting on his uniform so they could display their Brother the Hero seemed not so much of a sacrifice.