Armistice Day

When they found out I was a soldier back from the war they ask me how many Germans I've killed, to which I replied, "A few." My answer satisfies them enough because they don't ask again.

"Hey, mister Graham," Billy calls out. "See how fast you can bowl?"

Back in my valley my teammates called me Flash, our opening bowler, fast as a flash of lightning and guaranteed to take wickets and keep runs to a minimum. I've been going easy on the kids, sending down slow balls aimed at the rubbish can they use for wickets. However, Flash wants to show his stuff, rising to Billy's challenge when I walk back to my mark at the end of the lane, steaming in, ball at my side, other kids fielding along the lane, approaching the crease now, arm over, index and middle finger either side of the seam of the tired old ball, sending it down, line and length and pace, a tad short of a yorker, past Billy's bat and smashing a dint in the centre of the bin with a loud crash, knocking it over.

"Woah!" The kids say, but I've doubled over, coughing my lungs up, crouching, one hand on the cobbles, fighting for breath.

"Are you alright, Mister Graham?" When I look up it's Grace, the wild girl of the group. Her eyes are piercing blue and in some ways she reminds me of Gisela, Will's youngest sister who is a tomboy if there ever was one, and who Will always said was like the little brother he never had, teaching her to bat and bowl and ride horses and fish and hunt, often taking her with him where ever he went, little Gisela rarely leaving Will's side. Everything reminds me of Will in some way or other, and when I do think of him I also I think of his other sisters too, Anna, Ava and Martha, and his mother and father, Frieda and Ludwig.

Most of all I think of his wife Mary and son Jack.

Coughing more, I get to my feet, the kids crowding around me in excitement, Billy telling the others, "It's the gas, those bloody Germans and their gas. If I get my fucking hands on those bastards, I'll make them pay, for you Mister Graham, and for Waz's Dad and brother, and Jeremy and Grace's brother too."

"And for the King," Jeremy says.

"And for country," Grace and Harry laugh.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry, but I do neither, smiling, shaking my head.

~0~

On a Monday I tell Carmel I'd like to go into town, draw some money from the bank and buy some civilian clothes. She offers to show me about if I'd like and I accept, not knowing Melbourne or anyone else here, all my cobbers from the ship having dispersed for the time being. Carmel takes her time, looking smart in a white dress and hat, and I dress in my army uniform. It's a little tatty, but clean and pressed so I'll look smart.

We ride the tram, the city full of men in suits, women in dresses and hats similar to Carmel's, sailors and soldiers of all ranks here and there. I visit the bank, then a menswear store with a tailor, while Carmel peruses the windows of women's stores.

"How do I look?" I say, spinning around in my new clobber, the fanciest suit and trousers and matching hat I could afford.

"You look fine," she says. "Impressive. The women will be swooning!"

We laugh and I hold up two bulging cotton bags. "I've saved my pennies, so I bought a casual outfit too, something more practical for when I'm helping out around the house and garden. And if you'll allow me, I'm going to buy you lunch."

She smiles, tries to refuse, but I don't take no for an answer, so we dine in a nice restaurant. Outside we see an increasing number of people gathering in the street. A gentleman walks into the restaurant and another man asks what's happening out there.

"There's a rumour going around that the war is over."

Carmel looks to me across the table, asking, "Do you think it's true?"

I shrug, barely stopping cutting into my roast lamb sitting among a sea of boiled carrots, potatoes and peas. "I bloody hope so."

She grits her teeth, but is grinning all the same. "Shhh, keep your swearing down."

"Sorry," I say, but we're both grinning now.

In the afternoon we follow the crowd to where it gathers out the front of various newspaper offices, people saying an expected announcement will soon be made and speculation is rife it's about the signing of an armistice in Europe.

People are singing and dancing, others cheering, many people waving flags, and we know the war is over before the newspapers confirm it. The crowd is thick around the front of the news building and someone has put up a board in the ground floor window for everyone to see, large black lettering stating -- ARMISTICE SIGNED!

Carmel laughs and impulsively hugs me, pulling me against her ample breast. "It's true! Oh, Alfie, the war is over!"

I can't describe the feeling coming over me, elation mixed with sorrow, but it's hard to feel sorrow with the mood of the crowd lifting each other up, and I take Carmel's hand, leading her into a dance in the street, not caring if anyone is watching. Other men and women are dancing and a few kiss immodestly, and I look down into Carmel's face and consider kissing her too. She's smiling, so happy, and I smile back, looking into her eyes, wanting to kiss her, deciding not to ruin the moment.

It's late in the afternoon and men pour into pubs for the six o'clock swill as last drinks have become known since restricted trading hours were introduce two years previously.

Several strangers slap me on the shoulder, a girl or two smiling as they dance by, and a small group of soldiers enters a pub in front of us. Carmel asks, "Do you want to have a drink with your mates?"

"Nah, I don't know any of them. I'd rather enjoy this moment with you."

Just as well too, because people are getting drunk and rowdy, and a fight breaks out among two men in suits, swearing and fisticuffs, the crowd cheering both on and someone admonishing them for behaving like schoolboys, and I take Carmel's hand, leading her away.

"Let's walk by the river," she says, sliding her arm through mine. It's pretty down here, even if the river is brown, and there are less crowds. Although we've strolled together along the river twice before there was always distance between us, never walking arm in arm. I confess it's lovely to have a woman on my arm, even one more than twice my age.

"I suppose you'll head back to Queensland soon?"

"I can't leave till the doctor discharges me," I answer, "He doesn't want to see me for another two weeks. But I do need to see my family first. And I need to see Mary to tell her Will loved her and make sure she's safe and provided for like he asked."

Carmel nods. "Yes, your friend Will's wife. Do you think...?"

She doesn't finish her sentence, so I ask, "Do I think what?"

"Oh, never mind, I was...my mind was wandering."

"Do tell?"

"I was going to ask if you think you expect to marry her. You'd previously told me she has a young son, so I suppose she will need support and if there's the prospect of a handsome husband..."

"I haven't thought about it." I lie, of course. I've thought about Mary on many occasions. Like most of the boys in our valley, when I'd first laid eyes on Mary Hamilton I immediately thought perhaps she was the most beautiful girl in the world, with golden curls and clear blue eyes and a smile like heaven. She smiled at us all, making our hearts beat faster, but Will was the boy who made her blush and look shy, and he was the man who courted her, making the rest of us wish we were in his shoes. We knew we didn't stand a chance and I'm ashamed I've thought many a terribly guilty thought, of returning to our valley where poor widowed Mary will offer me her gratitude when I deliver Will's final message, and perhaps she'll accept me into her life to look after her and Jack, and maybe if things go a certain way...

I shake the thought, feeling terribly guilty, for Will was my cobber and I shouldn't even think I can come close to filling his shoes. Not even if my lungs were pure and healthy, which they aren't.

"It was rude of me to ask, sorry," Carmel says. "I shouldn't have misspoken."

"Don't be sorry. Anyway, I don't think I'll make much of a husband for anyone. With lungs like mine physical work like I used to do is out of the question. And what woman will put up with my nightly coughing?"

"You sell yourself short there, Alfred. There will be plenty of work going with so many young men lost...oh, dear, such a terrible thought, but I suppose it's an unavoidable truth."

"But my lungs will prevent me from doing anything too demanding and all I've known is farm work and timber working."

"There are plenty of non-physical jobs. For example, you could work for the newspaper, perhaps, like those men we saw today among the crowd with cameras and note pads, asking questions. And someone has to set the printers up or maintain them." Carmel tightens her grip on my arm, but her voice is cheeky now. "And as for a woman to be your wife, I imagine many young lassies would feel lucky to be on your arm. I saw several ladies glance in your direction today."

"Sure," I say, thinking she's joking. I try and think of something to say, smiling. "Mary kissed my cheek when Will and I were about to ship out to Europe. She kissed all our cheeks. She said it was for good luck, but I don't know why, perhaps she was caught up in our jubilation, even if she shed a few tears with Will...I never told anyone but I think it was the first time anyone kissed me."

"A young man kissed me recently and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Missed my cheek altogether and landed his lips on mine! I've even thought about the moment once or twice since, thinking it was the first time I'd been kissed in years."

I laugh and so does she, but then I'm coughing and she's apologising, rubbing my back. "And then he coughed."

She laughs again. "I'm sure you'll be fine, young Alfie. Women will swoon and overlook the cough."

The night air is warm and pleasant, so we walk all the way back to Carmel's house, where we drink whisky and eat cheese and crackers in her front lounge room. I play the piano, some songs I'd learnt from my mother, but most I learnt in England during my convalescence. I've kept a music book I bought in London, stashed in my kit-bag, where I'd picked up British songs like Keep the Home Fires Burning and It's a Long Way to Tipperary, the French La Madelon, and an American song, Over There. Carmel asks me to sing and I oblige even if my voice isn't much chop, while she dances around the room behind me, humming along even if she's unfamiliar with these songs.

"Dance with me," she whispers, and I stand, taking her hand in mine, the other around her waist, and she continues to hum. She holds my gaze and says, "You will do perfectly fine when you return."

We dance slowly now, our bodies close, and I'm sure she's not at all oblivious to the swelling in my trousers. She ignores it but I can't and eventually pull away, asking, "Another drink?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Clinking glasses, we make toasts, and soon she tells me, "I'm about done for the night."

"Yeah, same," and we each carry a lamp up the stairs. Reaching the landing, I turn to Carmel as she stands outside the door to her bedroom. "Good night, Carmel."

"It truly has been a good day and good night," she says, smiling. When I turn to climb the next flight of stairs to my room in the attic, she quietly calls out, "Um, Alfred..."

Turning, she's standing in her doorway, suddenly unsure in the dim light. I think I know what she's asking and take a step towards her, asking to be sure. "Yes, Carmel?"

"Young women are not dissimilar to young men in their needs and desires. And older women like to think they're still young at heart." I reach my free hand out and she takes it. "It doesn't bother you I'm old..."

"You're wonderful."

"You're wonderful," she whispers, pulling me through her doorway, smiling, seemingly on the verge of giggling. "And I'm a little tipsy."

Our eyes don't leave each other when we place the lamps on her bedside table, then she sits on the bed and pats the sheets beside her, so I join her, holding her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I know it will only be fleeting and you will leave, but I'm sure."

"I could stay..."

She laughs, softly. "No, you will go, because you've spoken about nothing more. And you should, but now we should stop talking."

Gently placing my fingers on her chin, drawing her face to mine, our lips touch, softly. Opening my lips over Carmel's, softly nibbling, tongue probing, where at first Carmel keeps her lips closed, but when she opens them, ever-so-slightly, my top lip fills the space, my tongue running along her bottom lip. She tastes of whisky, her tongue caressing my lip, our mouths opening some more, tongues meeting with the gentlest touch.

She pulls back slightly, and I can see her eyes on mine in the dim lamp light, a smile on her lips. "No one has ever kissed me like this before."

"Did you like it?"

"Very much so, yes."

"It's how the girls in Paris kiss."

"I don't need to know details of how you learnt to kiss a woman, Alfie," she whispers, then we kiss again. My hand finds hers, our fingers entwining, then after a while our lips part. Carmel's sigh is heavy, eyes on mine, and she says, "However, those Parisian girls taught you well. Did they teach you how to help a lady out of her dress?"

"Um, I um, have some experience."

She laughs softly. "Oh, Alfie, you naughty boy. I hope you're clean."

"Very clean, I assure you. The doctors are obsessed with it and check us out all the time."

"So they should! All these virile young men out and about on the streets of Paris."

"And London."

"And London! Very naughty man of the world indeed!"

"If it worries you, a lass from New Zealand named Miss Ettie Rout ensured we troops were supplied with protection to keep us clean."

Her smile is coy. "I'm sure you were a very naughty but clean boy, Alfie."

We undress, where I help remove her dress before removing my own clothes, taking in her beauty in the lamp light. Carmel's not a small woman by any means, but everything about her appears perfectly proportioned, her body a treasure of magnificent curves, big and beautiful and soft, her breasts well rounded if a touch saggy, but more than pleasing to my eyes, her nipples perfectly hard.

She wriggles up the bed and beckons me with a smile. "What are you waiting for, handsome, a gilded invitation?"

"You're very beautiful," I whisper, meaning it.

"Oh, you...come on, before I change my mind."

Carmel's smiling and I climb onto the bed where she spreads her legs, and I'm crawling between them, kissing her body with relish, lips all over her lovely soft breasts, sucking and tonguing nipples, all of which makes her gasp and sigh. My shaft feels hard as it can be, her hands on my shoulders then back, more gasps from her lips, my hardness against her wet opening, our mouths crashing together as my length slides past her hairs, finding her most intimate place, pushing inside her without hesitation, feeling our bodies merge as one when she pulls me against her, skin against skin and both of us squeezing each other desperately tight.

Rocking together, we find a rhythm, but alas, I must've pushed too fast, because Carmel whispers, "Why the hurry?"

Almost stopping, I whisper, "You want me to slow down?"

"I think it would be sweeter, don't you?"

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She kisses me and we pace ourselves, our bodies squishing against one another and joined in the most intimate manner possible, her breasts massive, soft and lovely against my chest, my mind going crazy, and despite our change in pace to a gentle slowness, the build-up is intense and before I can help it I climax, pulsating and emptying everything into her.

"Not slow enough," I whisper, drained of my seed.

"Perfectly slow, you needed to get it out of your system." We're kissing again, holding one another tight, but I roll off, falling from her, a sticky mess where we disconnect. "Don't go far."

"I'm not going anywhere, not tonight, anyway."

"If you want another..."

"You want to?"

"It would be nice. If we take our time I think you might last longer a second time, and believe me, many a woman appreciates a man taking his time if he gives her the right attention."

"Give me a moment."

"In the meantime, please kiss me like before. Your lips are delicious."

We're kissing again, lips and tongues, and my hand strokes her creamy thighs, between them, the products of our lovemaking dripping from her. She takes my hand, guiding my fingers to her vulva, slowly rubbing me against her, and soon she gasps and I'm hard and I ask, "Are you ready?"

The look in her eye is an intensity I've not seen in a woman. "Never felt more ready in my life."

We make love again, our bodies joining with a slow and steady rhythm, staring into one another's eyes in the lamp light, holding each other tight, kissing softly, and occasionally she whispers my name, and I whisper hers.

My lips find her neck and she gasps again, and my manhood touches a part of her deep within, causing her to gasp even louder, moving under me but pulling me deeper, more gasps when I hit the spot again, and a groan when I kiss her ear and whisper, "You're beautiful."

"Oh, you're perfect my young handsome lover," she replies, her voice breathy, and my hands are in her hair, her hands on my back, our rhythm increasing, the sensations of pleasure and love building, but slowly, a journey to be cherished.

Carmel's breathing hard now, her gasps deeper, she's moaning more and more, unlike any of the girls in Paris or London ever did, our rhythm's tempo rising. Lips crash together with great passion and she squeezes me tighter, our bodies sweaty, the smell of our love making conspicuous, and soon she's whimpering every time I push into her.

"Oh, Alfie," she gasps, but she's still meeting my thrusts, both of us seemingly trying to push our bodies through one another, her eyes on mine, her lips apart, gasping, finger nails in my back, pain and pleasure, tingles of wonder building, and I know I can't last long now.

Our climax happens, simultaneously, Carmel gripping me, our eyes never leaving each other as she moans, my everything pumping into her, and she moans again. It's forever before we begin to relax, holding one another, still joined, kissing, cuddling, whispering, and then I'm coughing.

"Oh, Alfie," she whispers as I roll off her, and she rubs my back. "Sweetie."

"I'm sorry..." I say between coughs.

"Don't be, my sweet. Don't be."

Eventually my coughing subsides, Carmel soothing me, her whispers and arms are warm and sweet. Lying in one another's arms, we fall asleep.

~0~

Though the Armistice has been signed, the horrors of war return to me in the early hours. This time I see the face of a German soldier, a boy who appears to be around my own age and who visits me often, whom I may have been mates with if we'd met under very different circumstances. His expression betrays surprise and fear, real fear, because he intends to kill me but can't get his rifle around quick enough, and my Lewis gun is trained on him only a few feet away, my finger on the trigger.

I'm awake again, trying to wipe the image burnt into my conscious and subconscious, listening to Carmel's light snoring, the blanket covering her rising and falling in the moonlight. Laying there, I use the memory of our lovemaking to drown out the horrors, but later I'm coughing again, and she's awake, soothing me, and of course I'm apologising, but she won't have it, saying not to worry.

~0~

This morning I fix breakfast; bacon, eggs, spinach from the garden and buttered toast. Carmel sits at the kitchen table, watching me cook. "You'll make a fine husband to some lucky girl."