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Back in the U.S.A. I got back to Madison in mid-November on or about my twentyfourth birthday, and when my normally demure mother caught sight of me at the station, she let out a whoop heard by everybody meeting the train. "He flew missions," she cried to passersby, each of whom became an instant friend sharing her happiness. Mother-love can be incandescent. But I don't think either of us had a very clear idea of what my homecoming would be like, so after our tight hug and automatic small talk, we stepped back to see, as we sometimes can, even in the briefest moment, the state ofthe other. She had last seen me as a splendidly tailored young Air Force dandy, with innocence written all over my boyish face. Now I was turning twenty-four and could admit to having caught a glimpse, now and then, through the gates of Hell. I may have had a slightly different cast about the eyes. It was a tearful scene-a showy display; but even discounting her tears, and considering that she'd be fifty-five in another two weeks, her youthful face as I'd remembered it had aged. She, a World War I widow, had also looked into the gates of Hell, and for a second time. 167 Return from Berlin "They're not going to send you back again are they?" she sniffled. "N M h' " 0, om, t eyre not. I'd come home rich. We took a taxi to the best place in Madison and had the finest dinner that wartime shortages could allow, and then some, with a ten-buck tip up front. All in all, though, I was ready to lighten up. Some new guy had taken my place in Deenethorp, and I wished him luck. My sense of duty had just about run its course, so after a protracted hero's welcome lasting until Christmas, I took the train to the Santa Ana Air Base near Los Angeles for reassignment, with a deep resolve to goof offand mark time for the duration-plus. When a number ofmy fellow returnees and I had arrived and unpacked our B-3 bags, the base commander called a convocation to give us some advice. "These Hollywood babes are going to want to marry you guys," he said with a straight face that brought a roar of self-assured laughter. "No kidding, guys, it happens all the time; so don't drink too much, and be careful. Ifyou can't be careful and it happens, Officers' Record Section can help you fill out the application forms for dependent allowances." That was the sum ofit. I don't remember another word, no more than a briefing for fair-weather milk runs. Well, after two weeks I did marry one. She wasn't exactly a Hollywood girl but an art student from Washington University in St. Louis who was visiting her older sister and brother-in-law during her winter break. The brother-in-law was at the time a famous artist, an American Degas or Renoir whom I contrived to meet almost immediately. The combat ribbons and wings on my tunic and my all-butoverly -confident air opened the door for me, and the artist was cordial beyond my expectations. Over several martinis we sat for a whole afternoon discussing French painting, and when I rose to 168 Back in the U.S.A. leave he assured me that I was more than welcome to stay for dinner. Much later that evening, he warmly invited me to come back during my stay in Santa Ana to draw in his studio, with the cute young sister-in-law as a model. That's how things could be in time ofwar. After the mentioned two weeks, during which everything went swimmingly, I got my orders to leave. When I told the cute little sister-in-law, I asked playfully ifshe'd like to come along. She replied that of course she couldn't; she was about to return to school. So I said, "It's been real nice. Let's keep in touch." When I got back to base I packed my B-3 bag, and while I was checking out a chute at the operations office and filling out the manifest , a smirking sergeant called, "Hey, lootenant, some babe wants you on the phone." You guessed it, or rather, I already told you. I got a delay...

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