'68 - A Novel...

CHAPTER 15: SUNDAY, MAY 5


John Harris stood on the sidewalk on the north side of N Street, taking in the well- maintained vista of Capitol Park in Sacramento. He took Martha’s hand as they started down the broad walkway that led past the east entrance to the Capitol Building. They came to a spot near an ancient magnolia tree and John came to a halt. Across the grass and through the trees, he could see the landscaped grotto that housed the monument.

“There it is, Martha.” John gestured toward the structure in the grotto.

“I see it, honey. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Just give me a few minutes.”

He was there at his doctor’s suggestion, to confront his demons, to see if they could be beaten back, or at least controlled. If he could do this, then maybe the nightmares would subside. Maybe he could even sleep through the night. He continued north along the walk and then turned right onto a paved path named for former governor Hiram Johnson. And then he was standing in front of the monument to the USS California.

The California was John’s ship. He’d joined the crew in January of 1944 when she sailed from Bremerton, Washington. The Puget Sound Navy Yard had repaired the damage sustained at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, and the California would go on to fight in battles all across the Pacific, exacting a heavy measure of revenge against the Japanese. Her great 14-inch guns became an important part of the battery that would be arrayed to pound each successive island before the Marines went ashore, firing shells the weight of a small car against the shoreline defenses.

Then came the day during the battle of Lingayen Gulf when a kamikaze came screaming out of the clouds, leveled off and roared into the California’s superstructure. That was January 6, 1945. Forty-four men died that day; more than 150 were wounded. Emergency repairs were made on the spot: ship and crew fought on. When the job was done and the battle won, more than two weeks later, she steamed back to Puget Sound for permanent repairs. John was reassigned and he finished the war out of harm’s way. But the California returned to service in the Pacific, first at Okinawa and, finally, supporting occupation forces in Japan.

For John Harris, it was only the beginning. He would relive January 6, 1945, over and over in his dreams. He would see himself frantically feeding ammunition to the anti-aircraft gun, see the kamikaze glide into a level path headed for the ship, see the gunner firing desperately at the plane, and watch helplessly as it sailed overhead to explode against the ship. In his dream, he could feel the heat from the fireball, and he could hear his shipmates scream in agony amid the flames.

Now he was standing in front of the monument. It was a simple structure: two square stone columns supporting a stone cap across the top with the inscription: U.S.S. CALIFORNIA. From the crosspiece hung the ship’s bell, its clapper removed. The California was sold for scrap in 1959 and this bell was all that remained of a once mighty warship. The carved legend on the left column read: ONLY BATTLESHIP BUILT ON THE PACIFIC COAST / LAUNCHED AT MARE ISLAND NAVY YARD NOV. 20, 1919 / SHIPS BELL DEDICATED AND RUNG FOR THE LAST TIME BY EARL WARREN OCT. 27, 1947. On the right column, the World War II battles were listed in order: PEARL HARBOR / MARIANAS / LEYTE GULF / SURIGAO / LINGAYEN GULF / OKINAWA / JAPAN.

John read the inscription on both columns, and then read it again. When he got to the line that said RUNG FOR THE LAST TIME, he felt his blood begin to boil. RUNG FOR THE LAST TIME… It should be rung every year on November 20, the day she was launched at Mare Island. RUNG FOR THE LAST TIME… It should be rung every December 7, once for each man who died at Pearl. RUNG FOR THE LAST TIME… It should be rung every January 6, for the men who died in the flames at Lingayen Gulf.

His chest was heaving now, his breath coming in great gasps. Sold for scrap in 1959. Sold for scrap? How do you sell steel for scrap when it has been washed in the blood of brave men? She should be afloat today, with a special berth at Mare Island, open to the public. Let people stand under those guns and imagine the roar and how they lit up the night sky. Let them stand on the spot where the bomb penetrated her hull at Pearl. Let them touch the scorched and twisted steel plate where the kamikaze hit. Let them see, and touch… and maybe even feel.

His breathing was returning to normal now. He removed a handkerchief from his back pocket to mop his forehead and dab his eyes. He felt Martha touch his elbow gently.

“John… are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m fine now.” He took two steps forward and placed the palm of his right hand against the surface of the bell. Finally, he stepped away. “Okay, Martha. Let’s go.”

She wrapped her right arm around his ample waist as they walked away, heading back to N Street and the entrance to the park.
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CHAPTER 16: FRIDAY, MAY 10


“I don’t get it. What exactly do they want?”

The regulars down at Skip’s looked up at the television, bearing witness to the rioting in the streets of Paris. After a week of protests all across the country, 10,000 students had marched through the streets and straight into the cordon of helmeted riot police. Tear gas hung in the air, concussion grenades were fired, and the police laid into anyone within reach with their hard rubber truncheons. The injured included 130 policemen and more that 440 civilians.

“I think what they want is to get rid of old General de Gaulle.”

“Yeah, but he’s their great war hero.”

“Ah hell, he thinks he is France. It’s time for him to let go.”

“Remember what Churchill called him? ‘The Cross of Lorraine.’”

“Well, he was something during the war. And after, too, when he cleaned out all those Vichy collaborators.”

“I hear that all the labor unions are going out on strike. They’re gonna shut down the whole country.”

“Well, the General’s gonna have to do something.”

“Yeah, like declare martial law.”

“I still don’t get it. What the hell do they want?”

“It’s just like all those kids at Columbia in New York City. Columbia, for God’s sake! Bunch of spoiled rich kids, occupying buildings, tearing down their daddy’s institution.”

“Hey, it’s more than that. They’ve got something to say, and we’re gonna have to listen, whether we like it or not.”

“Well, I still don’t know what the hell they want.”

They sipped their beer and watched the French students heaving stones in the direction of the police. They could tell from the awkward throwing motions that baseball was not the national pastime of France. But apparently the students’ aim was good: ten months later, Charles de Gaulle stepped down.
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CHAPTER 17: SATURDAY, MAY 18


They cuddled together spoon-fashion on John’s bed, his right arm around her, the fingers of his right hand interlocked with hers. Bobbie’s eyes were closed, her face a picture of contentment. Was she sleeping? John lifted his head a little, propped up by his left arm, so that he could look at her in the mirrored doors of the closet. His eyes scanned her long, lean, naked body from the top of her head to her feet, tangled in the rumpled bedding. She was wearing a gold necklace that fit closely around her neck, a matching gold bracelet and earrings. The contrast of the bright gold jewelry against her black skin was striking, and again John conjured up the image of Bobbie as a queen, the beloved monarch of some powerful nation. He continued to gaze at her image in the mirror and he felt a stirring in his loins. She felt it too and her eyes blinked open.

“Good Lord, Johnny, don’t you ever get enough?” She met his gaze in the mirror and smiled at him.

“No. Never. Not ever enough.”

“Oh my… you horny little devil.” She laughed and pressed her backside against him. “Are you sure your family is gone for the day? Wouldn’t be good if they walked in on this scene.”

“Yeah, they’re gone for the whole day. We have the house to ourselves.” He paused a moment, then continued: “Look at you. God, you are beautiful. I can’t believe you. You’re too beautiful to be real.”

She was quiet for a moment, studying their image in the mirror. Then slowly her face began to change, her lips trembled slightly, and tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes.

“God, Johnny, look at us. Who are we kidding? How can we do this? We can’t make this work…”

“Shhh… it’s okay… sure we can make it work. We love each other…”

“Your family can never accept us. Your father would kill you if he knew. My father would kill me…”

“That’s not true… my folks will love you when they get to know you…”

“Are you serious? Your daddy? From Junction City, Arkansas? My God, Johnny…”

“Shhh… it’s okay…”

“You know this could get me lynched… in several states… and get you tarred and feathered…”

“We don’t live there… we’re here, and I love you… we’re okay…”

“I love you too. I really do. But there isn’t a place in this world where we are okay.”

“Shhh… don’t cry… we’re here now and there’s nobody but the two of us.”

She looked in the mirror, struck again by the contrast in black and white, and then she couldn’t look any longer. She turned slightly in his arms, then turned again to face him, her head buried now against his chest.

“Hold me, Johnny… just hold me, and kiss me, kiss me about a thousand times.”

She tried her best to be like him, to live completely in this moment, no history to worry about, no consequences to fear, just this instant in time. He did as she asked and kissed her a thousand times, in places she’d never been kissed before, and they made the moment last for one unforgettable day.
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Next week: Remember the Scorpion? And what about Rohwer, Arkansas?
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