One Final Hour Before
“One hour,” Hosea thought. He did not say it. To have said a word would have broken the silence of the place. Hosea glanced down at his watch. “Just one more hour until the train leaves and I am off to war,” he thought again, and he looked across the length of the sanctuary. Each pew was aligned with military precision. The floor was pearly white. Scarlet carpet poured between the aisles like a bloody river. The church rose around him and did not feel as if it was built by human hands; it was organic, a part of airy and intricate nature. Hosea was not standing in a building but on a forest floor with a canopy of trees high above his head.
Hosea looked from the pews up to the altar. The banner that hung from the altar was a deep purple. The Chi Rho was gold. A dark mural had been painted above the altar. A blue-clad Mary with her back turned stood in the foreground. The Christ hung limply on a cross. Golden light graced his body. A rag covered his loins. Every rib stretched black and long across his abdomen. His eyes were open, but his face did not show pain. Clear sadness tinged the man’s face like a scarlet dye on white cloth, and his eyes seemed to take in the entire sanctuary as if it was the source of his sadness.
“Angel of God,” Hosea whispered. A few more words went through his mind before he let his lips move again, “Ever this day, be at my side.” Hosea’s eyes moved from the god-man to the lofty ceiling high overhead. “To light and guard, rule and guide.”
Then Hosea became silent. His eyes ran across the ceiling. He looked at the gothic peak at the front of the church. He beheld the ragged body on the cross and the sorrow-stooped figure of the virgin. For a moment, less than a moment, his eyes met the eyes of that dying man, then he looked away from the Christ. He looked down to the altar, down to the pearly white floor, and finally down at the pew in front of himself.
“Today is the day,” Hosea thought his thoughts aloud. He glanced to his watch again. “Fifty-seven minutes,” he said, though he did not believe the number. It seemed such a great length of time while at the same time being less than a moment.
Hosea lowered himself and sat on the pew behind him. He was calm, calmer than he had expected when he thought of this day arriving. He knew in fifty-seven minutes his life would be changing. When the United States entered the war, the future became cloudy for everyone, but Hosea still had the expectation that the United States would win and win in short order. The nation was marching forward in the Pacific. Though the Nazis still held Europe, the war in the west was turning in the Allies’ favor. Japan was expected to fall within the year. And once Japan fell, the United States could put the full force of their economy behind the war in Europe. Though these things often seemed certain, the world’s future was blurry, and now, as he existed within that final hour before he left on that train, the future was worse than blurry. His future was a black veil. Many men had not come back from the war. Dying was not out of the question. If he died, it would not be a surprise to anyone, especially himself.
This understanding did not worry him though. He did not feel fear. He felt calm. All the stupid worries of the world and been scoured from his mind. Those unimportant things were scraped clean, and he seemed to see the world stripped down to what it was at its core. Though he could not understand or explain that core fully, even to himself, it left him in a state he had not been in since he entered his teens: peace.
Only one misgiving filled his mind as he existed within that peace. He did not consider it a worry. It was not due to an overactive and worrisome imagination. This misgiving sprang up from his new perspective on the world. Hosea was leaving. He was not abandoning his family. He was doing what so many young men had already done, but something told him that if he went off to war, his family would be missing a key piece. He had an important part to play, and if he was not present to play that important part, gaps would exist in the lives of his parents and his four brothers. Everything would continue to function, but everything would continue to function like an engine deprived of oil. The pieces would move. Friction would cause heat. Heat would warp the parts, and, if everything was left this way long enough, such heat and pressure would be created within this engine that the engine would explode.
Hosea continued to stare down at the pew in front of himself. He admired the golden color of the wood, and he shook his head to shake away the thought. Even though the world seemed clear and simple now, he told himself life was not so simple. The depth of reality looked simple. Perhaps it could be contained in a canon of books. Perhaps it could be contained in a chapter, a paragraph, or even a single sentence, but whatever the simplicity with which reality could be understood, that drop of reality had no end when placed under a microscope. Hosea knew he would only be gone a year, two at most. And even if he died in the war, everyone would adapt. Perhaps a gap would form in the lives of each member of his family, but each would learn to live with that gap. Each would see that gap not as a ditch that would break their ankles. Each would see that gap as a deficit to overcome, to help them grow. No one’s lives would go spiraling into chaos. In the end, each would grow stronger because of the absence.
Besides, Hosea knew the world needed him more. He, and every young man with him, had to do his part. He could not allow tyranny to go marching across the globe. Hosea knew he was needed somewhere else far more than he was needed here. And now that he had made his peace with God, he was prepared to never hold another’s world together ever again.
***
Hosea pushed himself from his back up onto one arm. Jeremiah (or this person who claimed to be Jeremiah) had already left the room moments before, and Hosea now looked across the room. On one side was a large bookshelf filled with books of all different sizes. Some of these books were heavy, technical volumes. Some appeared to be classic literature, and others appeared as if they were the cheap pulp fiction that could be bought at the counter of any corner convenience store in the city. To the side of the bookshelf was a desk with Daniel sitting on top of it, and though Hosea strained to see what was behind himself, he could only see the high back of the couch.
“So, that is Jeremiah?” Hosea asked. He turned his attention to Daniel as he spoke and pushed himself higher up onto his elbow.
Daniel remained as still as a gargoyle on a gothic cathedral. “That’s Jeremiah,” he echoed. Though Daniel glanced toward him, his eyes quickly darted back toward the door. Hosea could see that those eyes were filled with expectation. Daniel was waiting for Jeremiah (or whoever the hell this was) to come back. He was waiting for news. Who was breaking into the building? Why? And how were they doing it?
“And where am I?” Hosea asked. He strained his neck to look behind himself once more, but he only saw the back of the couch once again.
“My office,” Daniel answered in the same quiet voice as before. His eyes remained locked on the door. His body remained motionless.
Hosea’s eyes swept from the door to the bookshelf to the desk Daniel sat on before answering. “Why?” He squinted his eyes in confusion as he spoke. “Did I ask to come here?” he continued, and he felt dizziness wrap from the back of his head and around his forehead as he spoke.
“You were in danger, ah, convulsing,” Daniel answered.
Hosea only half-listened to the words. The dizziness grew greater. His vision blurred. Heat washed through his body. This heat was followed by a quick shiver of cold that dropped Hosea back onto the couch. Another wave of heat washed through his body. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he brought an arm up to wipe it away. He was hot, so hot. He was cold, so cold. He wanted ice. He wanted blankets. He wanted the cold of winter and to be dropped into the Sahara Desert all at the same time. But he could not have either, and he knew he could not have either, so all he did was let out a long groan.
“You alright?” Daniel asked. Hosea barely heard the words.
“Hosea?” Hosea heard concern in the word as Daniel spoke. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that statue of Daniel stand up and move toward him.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Hosea groaned out the words between a wash of dizziness and heat. Hosea’s eyes remained closed as he asked. His arm still rested on his forehead. “I’ve. . .” he sighed out. “I just need to calm my stomach,” Hosea sighed again.
Hosea saw Daniel’s dark figure tower over him. He saw his younger brother stretch toward the desk and pick something up with a swipe of his hand. As Hosea felt another wave of nausea move through him, he saw Daniel with a cigarette held between two fingers.
Though Hosea reached up for the cigarette, Daniel pushed his hand back down. As a harsh shiver moved through Hosea, he felt something dry between his lips. “There you go,” Daniel said, and as Hosea drew air through the cigarette, he tasted the bitter smoke passing over his teeth and into his lungs.
“You okay?” Daniel asked.
“I’m. . .” Hosea took another long drag from the cigarette before answering, “. . .just a little bit under the weather, if you can’t tell.”
Daniel grunted at Hosea’s comment, but Hosea did not care. He only took another pull on the cigarette. “Oh, that’s the good stuff,” he muttered to himself, and he opened his eyes to look at Daniel. Though he felt another wave of dizziness and heat wash over him, neither was as strong as it had been before. Hosea looked up at Daniel. “So, this is your office?” he asked through the haze of smoke that was now forming above his head.
Daniel nodded.
“And that is Jeremiah?” Though the question was serious, Hosea could not help but let it out as a half laugh.
“It has been five years, Hosea,” Daniel answered. “He’s seventeen.”
Hosea winced as nausea curled in his stomach and then he smiled up at Daniel. “God damn,” he said. “Seventeen, huh?” He brought a hand up to adjust the cigarette in his mouth before continuing. “That’s almost the age when I went off to war, you know,” he told Daniel. “How about that? How about that?” he muttered to himself, took another drag on the cigarette, and looked past Daniel to the ceiling.
Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but before he was able to, a crash filled the room. Hosea heard a smaller crash following this first one and then the sound of rhythmic slapping. Hosea’s eyes returned to Daniel, and as they did, his brother jerked his attention back to the door where Jeremiah had appeared. Hosea heard a curse and heavy breathing from the young man’s mouth. As Hosea propped himself up to see Jeremiah, he saw and heard as the office door was slammed shut.
“Guns,” the boy hissed across the room to Daniel. “They’ve got guns.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked. Hosea heard the surprise in his brother’s voice.
“What the hell do you think I mean?” Jeremiah hissed back.
***
Hosea looked at the small room. One of the beds was still made. The other, his, was already stripped down to the lopsided mattress. His dresser was already empty. A small garbage can in the corner overflowed with crumpled, colored paper. A few nails on the walls were now bare. The clock on the wall told him he only had thirty-seven minutes until he had to leave. The only personal item of Hosea’s that was left in the room was a sage-green duffel bag. All other personal items of Hosea’s were packed into boxes in the basement. Whether he came back from war standing or laying down with his face covered, he would not live in this house again. Just a few weeks ago, he had turned eighteen, and he had already decided that he would move out shortly after his birthday. It was time to grow up. It was time to leave. It just happened to be the case that the war was the thing that was pushing him out.
Hosea walked toward the door and snatched the duffel bag from the ground. He flung it over his shoulder and entered the narrow hall. A few steps brought him to the staircase, and this short staircase brought him to a narrow kitchen.
His mother looked up from a stove with its door flung open. She sat on the ground, and she had a black rag in her hand. “Have you had anything to eat today?” she asked.
“I had some toast this morning,” Hosea answered. He brought the duffel bag down from his shoulders and held it at his side with one hand.
His mother answered him with a shake of her head. She looked back to the oven. Her hand reached back inside, and she continued to clean. “What do you want?” she asked without looking up from the oven.
Hosea smiled a small smile. “I’m not really hungry, ” he answered.
His mother continued to scrub out the oven. Her face showed determination as her scrubbing of the oven became more vigorous. “What do you want?” she asked again. Her voice was sharper.
“I have to choose?” he asked.
She nodded. “You do.” She said. She still did not look up at him.
“Grilled cheese,” he said. “That would be fine.”
His mother paused her cleaning. She looked up. It appeared as if she was glaring at him, but Hosea knew it was only her face filled with thought. His mother looked back down at the oven and continued her cleaning. “Okay, grilled cheese,” she said. Hosea thought he heard disappointment in her words.
Hosea waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. The hushing sound of her rag moving across the metal stove filled the kitchen as Hosea moved on to the living room.
Jeremiah lay on the floor in the living room. He kicked his feet up and barely glanced at Hosea as Hosea entered. His eyes were on Isaiah who stood next to the radio, and the radio warbled out static as Isaiah turned the knob.
Jeremiah moaned in his chirpy toddler voice. His legs kicked faster. “When is it going to be on?” Jeremiah’s voice was a half-yell.
Isaiah did not answer the toddler. He kept his eyes on the radio and did his best to spin through the frequencies so as not to miss the correct one.
Jeremiah moaned again, and this moan made Isaiah turn from the radio. “I’m trying,” Isaiah snapped back.
Jeremiah’s face turned into a pout. Isaiah’s face filled with both frustration and panic. Before the pout on Jeremiah’s face was filled with sobbing, Hosea felt a twinge of sympathy for Isaiah and interrupted.
“Jeremiah, Isaiah,” Hosea called loud enough to turn both of his brothers’ heads in his direction. Isaiah took a few steps toward Hosea. Jeremiah scrambled to his feet and followed.
Hosea crouched in front of both. “I’ve got to go now.” Hosea’s glanced at the clock. His thirty-seven minutes was now thirty.
“Where are you going?” Jeremiah asked.
Hosea smiled at his youngest brother. The little boy did not know he was going off to war. Hosea had not told him because he knew his youngest brother would not understand. Before Hosea answered Jeremiah, he glanced at Isaiah. Isaiah’s eyes were filling with tears, but he was not crying. He was holding it together as Hosea had asked him to. Isaiah understood what war meant. Isaiah understood his oldest brother might not be coming back, but he would not tell Jeremiah.
Hosea reached out and tousled Isaiah’s hair and gave him a nod before turning to Jeremiah and answering. “I’m going on a trip, Jer,” Hosea said. “I’m going to get on a bus. I’m going to drive across almost the whole country.” Hosea stretched the vowel in ‘whole.’ “Then,” Hosea saw the light spark in Jeremiah’s eyes with the mention of the distance, “after I get off that bus, I’m going to get on a boat, a boat bigger than church, and I’m going to take that boat all the way to China.”
Jeremiah’s mouth opened wide with a smile. Hosea knew China was fantasy to the little boy, and his little mind was filling with a landscape more akin to serialized pulp novels than reality. To Jeremiah, China was a world of adventure. And in some ways, though Hosea’s destination was Japan and not China, he agreed with his youngest brother. It certainly would be an adventure.
“And what are you going to do there?” the little boy asked.
“Oh, I. . .” Hosea paused. He had not expected the question, and he needed to search a few moments to find an answer. “Well, Jer,” he put a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “There is a mountain in China. This mountain is at the very, very center of China. And it is the tallest mountain in the world, so tall that if you climb to the top, you can reach your hand over your head and touch the moon.” The wide smile on Jeremiah’s face grew wider somehow, and Hosea continued. “At the top of that mountain is an old man, the oldest man in the world, Methuselah himself. And,” Hosea’s voice shrank to a whisper, “I’m going there to find the answer to the biggest secret in the world.”
“What is that secret?” Jeremiah whispered back.
Hosea put a finger up to his lips. He made a hushing sound. “We can’t talk about it, okay?”
Jeremiah nodded back. “Okay,” he said. After he spoke, a smirk crawled up the side of his mouth.
“Okay,” Hosea continued in a whisper. “So, I need you to go into the kitchen and ask Mom if she has something for me.”
Jeremiah nodded, walked past Hosea, and disappeared into the kitchen. His eyes were filled with excitement.
Hosea looked back at Isaiah. The little boy’s eyes were wet with tears, but none had rolled down his face yet.
“I’ll be okay,” Hosea told the boy.
Isaiah looked away. He did not answer.
“Less than a year.” Hosea stood up as he spoke. “And then I’ll be back here, okay?”
Isaiah nodded, but he did not look at Hosea. Hosea nodded his head to the little boy and reached out his hand to tousle his hair again. And he felt regret fill his chest, but he knew he needed to go. He had less than thirty minutes before he left, and even though he wanted to comfort Isaiah and convince him that everything would be okay, he knew he had to go. So, Hosea tousled the young boy’s hair, he gave the little boy a smile, and he went out the front door and left Isaiah to comfort himself.
Ezekiel sat on the porch in a chair that had three legs. He held a forked stick, and a small, green snake was trapped beneath its prongs. Ezekiel, an eleven-year-old, stared down at the slithering snake as it tried to escape. He did not smile. His eyes were filled with curiosity as they ran from the head of the snake to the end of its tail.
“Ezekiel,” Hosea’s voice was gentle as he spoke to his brother.
Ezekiel looked up from the snake. He nodded toward his brother. His eyes remained serious. Though he continued to look up at his oldest brother, Hosea saw a tremor in the boy’s body. He wanted to return his attention back to the snake at his feet.
“Are you going?” Ezekiel asked.
“I’m going, Ezekiel,” Hosea tried to comfort Ezekiel with a smile, but Ezekiel did not smile back. His face remained emotionless.
“Okay,” Ezekiel answered.
Hosea nodded to him, and Ezekiel’s eyes returned to the snake beneath his forked stick.
Hosea looked at the boy for a moment longer. It appeared as if Ezekiel had forgotten him already. His attention was consumed by that little, green, slithering thing.
Daniel stood across the yard. His back was turned to the house. He was bent forward, and his arms rested on the fence. As Hosea walked up next to Daniel, he saw a cigarette hanging limp in the boy’s mouth, and lazy, slithering smoke trailed up from the cigarette. It was an odd image, this young face with that long cigarette.
“Steal that from Dad?” Hosea nodded toward the cigarette as he spoke to his brother.
Daniel drew some smoke into his lungs. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and blew out smoke as if he were a tough cowboy.
“I’m just borrowing one. I didn’t have enough money to get my own,” Daniel answered.
Hosea shook his head. “Don’t steal from Dad,” he muttered to Daniel. He tried to make his voice gentle while at the same time conveying seriousness.
Daniel stuck the cigarette back in his mouth. He did not answer.
“I’m leaving,” Hosea answered the silence.
Daniel nodded. He did not look at Hosea, but Daniel’s face slowly filled with sadness.
“Everything is going to be okay, Daniel,” Hosea said.
Daniel nodded again, barely a nod.
Hosea leaned against the fence so he was the same height as his brother. He put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Dan, don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ll be gone a year, maybe two, and that’s it.”
Daniel nodded again. He looked over at Hosea. His face was filled with sadness. “Sure,” Daniel said. “You’re a liar, but sure.” Then Daniel turned his face from Hosea and pursed his lips.
***
“How much time do you have left?” Evie asked. No sadness was in her face. Hosea knew she was being strong for him. He knew she did not want him to go. She had expressed it countless times, but she did not show him that emotion now.
Hosea glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got a little under ten minutes, Evie.”
“No more than two years?’ Evie asked. She glanced away, and Hosea saw glimmering tears in her eyes. Her lips twitched slightly, but she looked back at him and smiled. It was a close-mouthed smile. Any other person would have understood happiness in it, but Hosea saw the sour pain she felt.
Hosea squeezed her hands. Excitement tumbled through his chest. An adventure was in front of him. He was off to defend the world from tyranny in an alien landscape of islands and water and jungles. Off to training. Off to war. Off to glory. But he could not show her that. Her face was masked sadness. And she masked that sadness well, with a lighthearted smile. Though he was ready to leave this place even as he stood staring into her eyes, he masked his own face with a somber expression. He turned down his eyes. He pursed his lips.
“I’ll be back in a year,” he answered. “If I’m gone two—” he nodded to her as he spoke. “well, I don’t see how the war could last even another year,” he continued. “We’re pushing forward on every front, and I’m just there to clean things up. I won’t even be on the front lines.”
Evie did not answer. She stared at him. She stared at him, and the smile went from her eyes first. Then her mouth fell, and her face was filled with grave worry.
“I love you, Hosea,” she said. The tears brimmed but did not fall. “I love you,” her voice was something like a hollow, defeated martyr who only has enough strength to express an unconvincing creed. “I don’t want to lose you.”
It was at this time that a drop of her sadness fell into him and bloomed like ink in water.
Hosea nodded to her. “You won’t lose me,” he said. “I promise. You won’t lose me.”
Two tears ran down her face, one from each eye. She pulled her hands from his, looked away, and brought a hand up to wipe one eye and then the other. Evie shook her head. “How can you make that promise?” she asked. “Everyone is dying. Why would you be the one to make it home?”
Hosea reached out for her hands, but though he grabbed them, they were limp as he held them. And she was not looking at him either. She was looking past him at the train he would be leaving on.
“Someone just said it was time, Hosea,” Evie answered. “It looks like you have to go.”
Hosea looked at her and then followed her eyes to the train. He could see that other young men were already filing on. Hosea turned back to her. “One year, I promise,” he said.
She gave him a weak smile. He knew she did not believe him this time either. “I’ll come back with a ring, enough money for a honeymoon, a down-payment on a house—”
“Hosea,” she interrupted him. “I love you, but you have to go.” She nodded toward the train.
After she spoke the words, she pulled her hands from him gently. Her face leaned forward. She kissed him on the cheek. As he turned to look at the train and the other young men, her lips left his cheek. He reached up to feel the effervescent spot on his face, and he noticed something was no longer there. The giddiness of adventure had cooled. It was time to go. He did not want to, but he had to. And a sickly feeling filled his stomach. What if Evie was correct? What if he would not be returning? He would never see home again. He might die in some foreign place, a thick and humid jungle, surrounded by ricocheting bullets, ears filling with the babble of the Japanese foe. Perhaps he would be alone. Perhaps he would be surrounded by brothers-in-arms. One thing seemed to be true: he would not be returning. He would die, and he knew he needed to prepare for that.
Hosea turned back to her. “Then I guess I better get going,” he said to her.
“Take care, Hosea,” Evie answered.
***
Hosea heard a crash from the hallway. He saw Jeremiah jump, and the young man scampered across the floor. The boy, the young man (Hosea did not know what to call him), had a face that Hosea did not recognize, at least not fully. Jeremiah had the look of a Fleet to Hosea, but that was it. The Jeremiah Hosea knew was a little boy, twelve-years-old, maybe thirteen. Here scampering across Daniel’s dark office was another person entirely.
“Jeremiah,” Daniel hissed through the darkness. “What did they look like?” he asked.
“Mean, Daniel,” Jeremiah answered. “And one of them looked really big.”
Daniel grunted. Jeremiah stood at the far end of the room and stared at the door.
“Are you two just going to wait for them to shoot all three of us?” Hosea asked his two younger brothers.
Neither responded. Hosea heard Daniel shift on his feet.
“Daniel, do you know who they are?” Hosea asked.
Hosea heard Daniel’s mouth open. He thought he saw Daniel shake his head out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, have you pissed off anyone recently?” Hosea asked.
Daniel took a couple of steps toward the office door. And Hosea could see that his brother was tensed for a fight. “Good luck if they have guns,” Hosea thought.
“Anyone?” Hosea asked again.
Daniel grunted. “Well, I did cancel a business check to a drug dealer,” he said.
“And it had this address on it?” Hosea asked.
Daniel nodded. His eyes remained on the door. His body was still tense.
“Did this drug dealer know your name?” Hosea sighed out the question.
Daniel sighed back. “He knew I was looking for you,” Daniel answered.
“And does this drug dealer have a name?” It was Hosea’s last question, and he hoped he did not know the answer.
“His name was Lyle Ansel,” Daniel responded.
Hosea chuckled. He shook his head. “Then I would suggest you call the cops and put anything in front of the door that you can. He’s come to kill you.”