YOUR FACE IN THE STARS: A WARTIME LOVE STORY by Ellsworth John

Author:Ellsworth, John
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Subjudica House Press
Published: 2022-04-05T00:00:00+00:00

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At five a.m., she asked Augie to go with her to the bus station and wait in case he tried to leave early to avoid a last-minute scene at the time on his ticket. Off they went, arriving at the bus station and buying coffee out of a machine.

Then they waited.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SUNDAY JANUARY 1968

The bus took a rest stop two hours later. There was a sub shop inside the station and snacks. He went inside and spent twelve dollars, then returned to the bus.

He climbed aboard carrying a Jersey Mike’s footlong Sub; a paperback by John McPhee—which he realized only after he cracked the book that it was a collection of short stories. While Lou loved Updike, he almost felt disloyal for jumping over to another short story author.

In his rain jacket pockets, he carried a Mars Bar, Cheetos, Malted Milk Balls, two bags of salted and buttered popcorn, two tuna sandwiches that Lisa had made, two cans of Coke, and a pair of reading glasses he’d picked up in Walgreen’s when he thought his vision was getting blurry. He’d never used the readers before, but just in case, there they were.

The bus finally finished loading passengers and suitcases and bags and pulled out. He again took the last remaining window seat, located in the last row, and climbed over two passengers to make it over to the seat. The closest to him, one seat-mate was a black man wearing a black suit and a clerical collar. Lou smiled, touched his throat, and asked, “Methodist church?”

“No, presbyterian.”

“Oh. I was raised Methodist.”

“That’s a faithful institution,” the cleric said, then he faltered and barely said out loud, “you could have done much worse.”

Lou laughed. He dug a Coke out of his waist pocket and held it out to the cleric. “Like one? I’ve got two, and they’re cramping my pockets.”

“Why, I don’t mind if I do at all. Thank you, Mister—who?”

“Lou Dombrowski. I’m on my way to Basic Training, so I can learn to kill Vietnamese soldiers. How does your God feel about that?”

“What?”

“Your church’s God. What are his feelings about young American guys killing young Vietnamese guys because some old guys in Washington and North Vietnam hate each other?”

“Well said. Exactly what I think about it, too. It’s an immoral war. My God hates it, but he loves the combatants. He always loves the sinner but hates the sin.”

He was alone and knew no one on the bus, so he asked what he thought was a lame question, but he couldn’t help asking. “Is there any prayer or anything I can do to make this God happy enough that he lets me come home from Vietnam in one piece? I’ll try anything you say.”

“If there is, I don’t have it. My congregation has buried four young men who came home from Vietnam in government caskets. All were closed coffin. I’m sorry and feel so useless that I don’t have a prayer for all of you.” He pulled his steel-rimmed

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