1947
Rudy was ten when his pa came back from World War Two, in 1946. He and his mother Eunice had been waiting and waiting, and when he came home they made him a big dinner and gave him lots of hugs, and things were going to be good again. His mother had been so down and lost without him. Her letters didn't always reach him. After all, he was fighting on the battlefield. And the few letters he managed to write didn't always reach them. He wasn't always in the right frame of mind to write.
But now that he was home again, life was going to look up.
Rudy watched his mother's face light up as his father held her in his arms. "Welcome home, Jim."
But where his pa should be smiling or laughing, he was crying on her shoulder. She wasn't sure what to do except pat his shoulder and tell him everything was going to be all right, but it wasn't all right, because he wasn't all right, he'd come home a changed man.
Rudy thought he could put a smile on his pa's face by showing him some of the new animals on the farm. The new calf, the new colt, the new piglets. Rudy had grown sturdy and strong in his father's absence. He'd been the man of the house and man of the farm, but now all he wanted to be was just a little boy again. Specifically, his pa's little boy.
"I missed you, Pa," Rudy said looking up at him.
They were standing just inside the barn and Rudy was showing him the baby animals.
But Jim's mind was elsewhere, maybe back in the war. He couldn't sleep at night, he didn't eat, he walked the floors and covered his ears when loud trucks popped and cracked as they drove by.
It wasn't right, Rudy thought. His pa was different. His mother had waited so hopefully and excitedly, kissing his photo in the frame, telling little Rudy of their courtship days, writing love poems that she would tuck into the envelopes with letters to him. Sealed with a kiss and Rudy could vouch for that because he saw her do it.
"Can I have your gun, Pa?"
"No, son. Don't you ever touch my gun."
"Not even to go squirrel or rabbit hunting?"
"Not even that."
Jim didn't look very happy with the baby animals, and this bothered Rudy because he thought for sure they would cheer his pa up.
"Are you sad, Pa?"
"I don't know."
"Are you happy?"
"I don't know."
"Then what are you?"
"I'm nothing, Rudy."
That's not true, Rudy wanted to say, but his pa had walked away back toward the house. You are something. You're my pa, and your ma's husband. She's been waiting for you for so long, just like me.
Rudy started in the direction of the house too, and out came his mother to meet his father, but they passed right by each other like strangers.
"Jim?" she asked at his back, but he kept walking inside.
It had been weeks. She saw Rudy's tears and touched his shoulder. "Rudy, don't cry now, be a big boy. Your pa's home, and he just needs a little time to settle down. He'll be all right."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. War isn't nice. But he'll be all right."
"I just know you love him so much, Ma."
She looked toward the house. "Yes, I love him so much, it's true. Let's go in and have dinner. I cooked a nice one for us."
But as they walked inside, a loud blast came from upstairs, and the two knew it was Jim's gun.
The funeral was small and sad, attended by a few townsfolk, Eunice and Rudy, and the preacher.
The preacher read from the Bible about living again after death and being with loved ones again someday. Then he said a prayer over the flag-draped coffin, then everyone but the gravediggers left, who stood off under a shade tree smoking until the mourners were gone, as that was the professional thing to do and polite.
Rudy found his mother crying at the small desk in the living room where she'd sat and wrote his pa letters and poems and kissed them closed. Rudy had never heard that tone in his mother's voice before, not even when he was gone so long in the war. It was a low, deep, wailing sound like a ghost coming from far inside her stomach, lonesome and wrenching.
"Ma," he said putting his hand on her shoulder. "Please stop crying. Don't be sad anymore. I can't stand to see you like this. Just... it'll be all right, I know it will. Everything will be all right."
When she kept weeping, he put his arms around her and patted her back. But nothing seemed to help. She cried for days and days. She walked the floor like his pa had. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't sleep. Would she die too? Would she ever be happy again?
She was in her silent, crying state for days. No one came to check on them. The preacher had other funerals. The neighbors had their own homecomings to tend to.
"Ma, please," he said taking her hand as she paced the big braided rug in the living room. "Please stop. Please sit down. Be happy again. I want you to be like you were before when you were waiting on him to come home. That was good. You were happy then."
She didn't answer him. She just kept walking and crying, so he went out to the barn to feed and water the baby animals. When he left, she was sitting in her rocking chair, rocking and crying and staring into space.
When he was out in the barn and tending to the animals, he prayed for her, then thought of a way to make her happy again and have his mother back. He hitched the horse to a wagon and tossed in the ax and the shovel.
It was almost dark when he got back with the horse and wagon. His clothes and hands were dirty, and his face had dusty sweat dripping down from his wet hair where he'd been digging with the shovel.
"Ma!" he called toward the door as he hitched the horse to a post and waited at the back of the wooden wagon for her. "Ma! Come out! Pa's home again!"
She came running to the doorway and looked out, her face radiant and happy and expectant again.
"What? What, Rudy?"
Rudy patted the wagon, proud.
"Come see Pa."
The end
Short story writer.