by Dan Berick
Whenever I think of my brother, I remember that fall afternoon and the big blue Plymouth sedan. Nick was in Korea, and I was walking home from school like every other day. Not in any hurry, just kicking at the leaves, thinking about baseball and that new girl in my class, and why did Sister Rose always have to be so mean. But he wasn’t much on my mind that afternoon until I saw that big sedan crawling slowly down the street from the other end of the block.
Our neighborhood – it was just street after street of little yellow brick bungalows – wasn’t the place to find shiny new Plymouths. And after the last war, everyone knew what it meant when that big dark sedan pulled up to the house in the middle of the afternoon.
I must have started walking faster – whose house was it going to? There were a bunch of guys from our block in the service – George Manos who had those three pretty sisters, that prick Jack Gorsky who always picked on us younger guys, Tommy Palko…a lot of guys.
But I guess I already knew it was our house – and I was running, man was I running. It felt like I was going in slow motion, like when you’re running in a dream. I can still see the sun and the leaves and the shadows on the street, and hear the sounds of my breath and my school shoes pounding up the sidewalk.
Ma’s English wasn’t too good at the best of times, and she was gonna lose her mind at the sight of that big blue Plymouth, unless the Navy had sent someone who could speak Polish.
I got to the door right while Ma was cracking it open. They’d sent a lieutenant j.g. who looked like Nicky coulda busted him in half. He’d left a pimple faced sailor waiting in the car. I guess they were worried one of us DPs would steal the hubcaps off the Plymouth or something.
I was out of breath and Ma had her face buried in her apron, crying, and the kid Lieutenant was blushing and stammering. Tough first day on the job, maybe? A helluva lot better than being in Korea, pal.
“What’s happened to my brother, Lieutenant? Is he okay? My ma don’t – doesn’t – speak English too hot.”
“Ma’am, is this the residence of Fireman’s Mate Second Class Nick, um, Marsuhzich?
“It’s “Marczyk”, I blurted out. “‘MAR-sick.’” Ma swatted her apron at me. “What’s happened to Nicky?”
“Ma’am, your son’s ship, USS Magpie, has been sunk as a result of enemy action. I am directed by the Chief of Naval Operations to inform you that your son has been reported missing in action, and that as soon as further information is available you will be informed. Your country is grateful for your son’s service and sacrifice.” I can’t remember the rest of the speech, just the look on Ma’s face as she tried to understand what he was saying.
***
Anyway that was sixty-five, seventy years ago now. And that Polack big brother of mine is still alive and kicking. And he’s still driving the Plymouth he bought when he got home.
Dan Berick is a writer based in Cleveland Ohio USA, a husband, father, and lawyer, and a graduate of Columbia University and The University of Chicago. His work has appeared in “Gulf Stream Magazine”, “The Storms”, and “The Interpreter’s House”, and many other magazine.
