The Miriam Project by Tom Radigan

Author:Tom Radigan [Radigan, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Action & Adventure, War, War & Military, General Fiction
Amazon: B00433TYCK
Publisher: Amazon
Published: 2010-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“Lieutenant Devereau Jarrett, United States Navy!” he said, knocking on the fifth door in as many minutes. Turning to the others, “in two years time, half this town’s citizens could have died from illness, starvation, lack of water, and a hundred other things, not to mention whatever military presence has had its way with them.”

“I just saw a drape move, Dev,” said Sam. “At that house, two over. Nothing now, but somebody’s in there.”

Walking across several overgrown, weed invested lawns, Jarrett made up the concrete steps to a small wood plank veranda, knocked, and delivered his announcement.

“Maisie! Maisie!” yelled a voice from inside. “If s the liberation! The occupation’s over! Get your ass in here, dearest!”

A door swung open to reveal an elderly man Jarrett judged to be mid-eighties dressed in pajamas and sporting a toothless smile bright as a morning sun. He began dancing at the sight of the Navy man, making tight circles at the threshold, lifting high one scrawny leg after the other, oversize pajamas flapping all over the place in his rapture. A woman of equal years, but of sounder proportions and wrapped in a bulky pink bathrobe came around a hallway corner, gently pushing her ecstatic husband to one side.

“Don’t look or smell much like liberators to me,” she said, eyeing the group head to foot from behind folded arms. “What’s your business?”

“Need a doctor, ma’am. This man is dying,” said Jarrett, nodding toward the sleeping figure of Nat in Russell’s arms. “And we are Navy.”

Maisie nodded and rubbed her chin as she considered the pathetic scene and Devereau’s matter-of-fact representation. “Harold, quit that fool dancing, and take these folks out back while I warm up some stew. By the way, we are the Cliffords. I’m Maisie, and Harold here is my husband.”

Harold, still dumbstruck over arrival of soldiers not of the Asian variety, said, “sure, sure, Maisie. Ya’ll come along. Get you hosed down a bit before you arouse what’s left of the neighborhood with that aroma ya’ll carrying. Hogs, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “hogs for sure. Nothin’ like it in the world. Whoowhee, ya’ll stink!”

Harold led them to the backyard and a concrete patio area abutting the house. Next to it, four wooden posts rose to a height of about six feet in support of a platform constructed of the same wood. On top sat what appeared to be an old but very large steel tub of a type used in bygone eras to wash clothes, only significantly bigger. A plastic shower curtain with faded images of Mickey and Minnie Mouse hung from a circular rod just below the tub.

“From my kids’ old bathroom,” said Harold, “but it’ll still cover your privates. Now wash yourselves up. There’s some strong ho me made soap on the rack in there. Use lots of it. Toss those clothes you’re wearing into a heap. There’s no savin’ ‘em. I’ll burn ‘em. Maisie’s got lots a old clothes in the house from when the kids were still here, and when I was a lot huskier.

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