This is a section from an early draft of Enemies of Doves that didn’t make it to publication. It’s a scene where Clancy is rescued from a POW camp. Though my first editor thought the writing was solid, she felt it out of place since there were no other scenes of Clancy in the camp.
”My name is Clancy Fitchett,” he said to no one. “Clancy Fitchett.” Here he was only Number 0449, but he would not forget who he was, nor who waited for him.
There was no food for freeloaders here. But how could he dig trenches when he couldn’t even stand? He couldn’t work without food, but he couldn’t get food until he worked. A paradox his captors didn’t seem to understand. Unless they wanted him to die. He would have if not for other’s kindness. Still, it was hard for anyone to be overly generous with only a cup of soup and bowl of rice per day. Clancy avoided pools of water, broken glass, anything that showed his reflection. But if he looked like the other prisoners, he was a skeleton. Could explain why he was always so damn cold. Middle of summer, but the cold shook his core. He checked his leg. How was it worse? The ulcer had rotted away all the surrounding skin now, exposing the bone. If the hunger didn’t kill him, this might.
Supposedly the war had ended, but Clancy saw no changes here indicating it to be true. But over now, or over later, he wouldn’t die, not after he had survived. Not after the blows responsible for broken bones nor the maggot infested diet responsible for his bleeding gums and leaky gut. At least the smell from the bucket beside the cotton pad they called a bed kept his captors away. A bed. Besides Lorraine and a hot meal nothing sounded better.
These conditions killed many stronger than himself. Death was normal now. Digging graves felt little different from washing dishes. Yet number 0449 was alive. Clancy Fitchett was alive. He just had to stay positive. Mind over matter. Lorraine over matter. She was out there, waiting for him. He felt so removed from his former life that memories slipped away daily. But he would not forget her; her memory sustained him.
No war lasted forever. And when this one ended, a whole life awaited him. A life with a soft mattress, with ice cubes floating in clean water, with a doctor skilled to fix his leg. A real one, not the witch doctor who oversaw care here.
Clancy tried to force his heavy eyes open. He worried if he closed them, they might stay that way forever. But staying awake seemed as impossible as standing did. He felt himself slipping. Into sleep or away from this world, he never knew.
He dreamed he was a boy at Yankee Stadium. A childhood fantasy fulfilled. Before him, the brilliant green diamond, beside him a soda and box of Cracker Jacks. Maybe this was heaven.
Going, going gone! The crowd cheered as Lou Gehrig ran the bases. It grew so loud; Clancy covered his ears. The cheers still rang out when he opened his eyes. The sound disorienting in a place like this. Someone burst through the door, further jolting him. Clancy raised his head, still trying to transition from his dream world to the real world.
“George? What’s going on?”
“The Brits, that’s what’s going on. Or rather, what’s coming down.”
The words didn’t make sense. George knelt beside him. “Did you hear me, Fitchett? The British are here. Coming down in parachutes! Got food and medicine with them. But the best thing they got? Good news. War’s over, it’s really over!”
Clancy sat up, the pain assuring him he wasn’t still dreaming. George made a choking noise when he noticed Clancy’s leg. “I’ll get you help.” He covered the wound with the blanket. “Hold on, Fitchett. We’ll be home in time to watch the leaves turn orange. See if we won’t!”
Clancy wasn’t thinking about orange leaves, just Lorraine in her orange dress as he forced himself to stand. He only took one step before the collapsed. “My name is Clancy Fitchett,” he said from the ground. “I am alive.”
George found him a few minutes later. “What the hell? Help’s coming. Let’s get you back in bed.”
“No!” Clancy’s muscles tightened in readiness. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Not today, bud. You need your rest. It’ll be a long road home.”
Clancy knew his friend was trying to help, but he shoved his hand away. George was right, it would be a long road home, but Clancy had taken the first step, and he wouldn’t go backward, not ever again.
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7/28/20
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Playlist
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7/28/20
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BONUS Post
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7/29/20
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Top Ten List
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7/30/20
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Review
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7/31/20
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Review
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8/1/20
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Author Interview
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8/2/20
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Scrapbook Page
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8/3/20
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Review
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8/4/20
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Deleted Scene
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8/5/20
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Review
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8/6/20
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Review
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