June 30th, 1984—Schweinfurt, West Germany
The cashier did a double take when she saw Aric choose her ne and get in line. She returned her attention to the customer who was checking out, but a smile lingered on her face.
Aric thought she looked old enough to be some GI’s wife, but also young enough to be the daughter of a senior officer. Bird Colonel or higher. On Ledward Kaserne there were a ton of the former and few of the tter.
“Hi!” said the woman whose name tag read Cathy. Aric smiled back and her blushing face broke into a wider grin. “Did you find everything you needed?”
“I did, Cathy. Thanks for asking.”
The sound of her name brought a giggle bubbling up before it escaped.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before,” she said as she started ringing up Aric’s purchases.
“I’m visiting from Regimental S2. I’ve only been here a few days. Thought I’d show my friends what a real Fourth of July looks like.”
Cathy had no trouble believing it. Hot dog and hamburger buns, three packets of hot dogs, condiments of every color. And a rge watermelon.
“Chinese hot mustard?” she asked.
“It goes with the sauerkraut. You’ve never had that on a hot dog?” he asked. “It’s a baptism in fire.”
“I bet. Sport peppers?”
“Chicago style hot dogs. My friends are used to pin sausage on a roll with a bit of mustard. I wanted to give them a treat.”
“Or a heart attack,” she answered with a ugh. She knew how Germans loved Bratwurst on Br?tchen with a healthy line of dark or bright mustard. If they washed down their American hot dogs with as much beer as they did their local favorite they would survive the experience.
Aric flirted with her just enough that even the thought of asking anything about him, his stay, or how he got onto the guarded barracks was erased from her mind. He handed her his cash, she wrote on his receipt and handed it to him along with his change.
“Thank you, Cathy,” he said with a smile, “See you next time.”
Her giggling was the only response he received.
Aric pushed his shopping cart out and into the parking lot. He walked all the way to the back before taking his bags out of the cart and looking around. He stopped at a car that had its trunk right next to the fence and looked around. No one in sight. He kept his eyes on the parking lot as he phased through the fence then continued to step backwards until he was hidden from view by some trees and bushes. He checked his watch just before his feet left the ground.
Not quite an hour since I left.
His return to Guildford would take a bit longer. Not because of the added weight of the six bags of groceries, those would weigh nothing. They wouldn’t add additional drag either, they, along with him, were wrapped in a spheroid of energy. It was just that he needed to get away from popution centers before generating a sonic boom as he crossed the sound barrier. The residents of West Germany were much more used to the sound than those in Guildford, but not on a Saturday.
Roz had heard the doorbell, but she was in a groove, and didn’t want to stop. Her fingers flew across the keys, and the sound of the small hammers striking paper sounded like tiny machine guns. She found her inspiration—the angle she’d been looking for—and the chapter she was writing poured out of her like water. When the doorbell rang again—ninety minutes since she’d heard it st—she was reading the pages she’d just typed, and was in a better frame of mind to stop and investigate.
It was Aric, carrying six full cloth shopping bags that she recognized as belonging to her father. It had been two weeks since they’d had tea. Since yers of her brain had begun to peel off and melt under the shock of his linguistic demonstration. She still hadn’t found a way to just ask her father—anything. She had no idea where to start, or even if she should start with him.
But he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t blinked. Wouldn’t anyone else have been just as surprised as I was?
Maybe not. No one else knew just how improbable what Aric had done was.
She had seen him twice since then, but only for short times, or in the presence of the entire research team at dinner. Nothing long enough, or private enough, for her to drum up her courage and ask him one of the several thousand questions that rolled around in her head. What her brain settled on was a surprise.
“What’s all this?”
“This,” Aric said before lifting out the rge green melon that looked like it weighed ten kilos, “is for the fourth of July.”
“More or less,” Ed said as he watched the contents of his shopping bags appear.
“More or less?” she asked as she picked up the bottle of bright green relish that almost hurt to look at.
“The party will actually be on July 8th.”
The celebration would indeed be held on Sunday, July 8th, and for one very important reason.
“This is an outrage!” Delphine cried, her mock indignation highlighted by what Ed was sure was an augmented accent. “You celebrate American Independence, but not French Independence? They wouldn’t have gotten independence without us!”
“Is that what Bastille Day celebrates?” Carlos had asked. “French independence?”
“I thought it was the day in France when everyone went on strike,” Carol expined.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Alex added dryly, “that could be any day.”
“Any week day,” Edith piled on with a wide grin.
“Mêlez-vous de vos affaires,” Delphine riposted. Mind your own business.
“The storming of the Bastille, a notorious prison, is usually considered the beginning of the French Revolution,” Ed expined. “So in that respect, you could say that it celebrates French Independence from the tyranny of the monarchy.”
“Well said,” Delphine said. “Just like the Americans revolted against the tyranny of the monarchy.”
Edith pointed a finger. “That was different.”
“Pourquoi?” Delphine asked with raised eyebrows.
“Because that was our monarchy they were revolting against.”
After a short dey for the ughter to recede it was decided that their celebration would be moved to Sunday, July 8th—four days after, and seven days before the two holidays whose celebration they were combining.
But when the expnation was finished Roz’s face was a mask of concern.
“That Sunday is when mum and Peter are driving up to visit.”
Ed palm-spped his forehead. “Christ. I completely forgot.”
Aric didn’t see the problem. “So they get a combined visit and party. Win, win.”
Ed expined. “I’d pnned to make myself scarce, so Roz, Maggie and Peter could have some time to themselves.”
Aric thought he understood. “You’d rather not see them?”
Ed shook his head as he looked at his shoes. “It’s not that. I thought Roz would prefer it. I thought Maggie would too.”
Roz’s displeasure came out clearly through clipped words and tense jaw muscles.
“Well, if you had asked me first I would have told you that I prefer to have the four of us all together.”
Ed’s eyes came up to his daughter’s. “And your mum?”
Roz held her hands out, palms up. “I never promised her that you wouldn’t be here. If you’re not here she’ll wonder why.”
Ed’s face was serious as he stepped forward and took her hands in his. “She’ll take one look at me and faint dead away.”
Aric smirked. “You’re not quite that bad looking.”
“Who asked you?” Ed asked as he shifted his eyes to his test subject.
Roz hugged her father. “I was shocked when I saw you. I admit it. I got over it. So will she. Rip the pster off, Dad. If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”
Ed shook his head. “It’s too early for Shakespeare. Fine. Have it your way.”
Roz smiled after Ed’s capitution.
“Help me find a pce to put all of this,” Ed asked his daughter as Aric returned the now empty bags to their hook in the hallway closet.
Most of the items would do well in the kitchen cupboards. Some would do better in the cool celr. Some needed to be refrigerated.
“American hot dogs? And buns?” she asked as she picked up separate items. “What are the round ones for?”
“Hamburgers. It’s ground beef, fttened and—”
Roz rolled her eyes. “I know what a hamburger is. I’ve eaten a few of them myself. I’ve just never seen real American buns. I didn’t know you could even get them here.”
Aric tilted his head down to avoid making eye contact. “You have to know where to look. The rest of the menu will arrive on Saturday.”
“You still want me to buy unshucked corn?” Ed asked.
“Corn on the cob is a staple at any fourth of July cookout. And don’t forget the charcoal.”
Aric said his goodbyes and left. It was just after that, while sorting through the items on the table, that Roz discovered the receipt.
AAFES PX Ledward Barracks
June 30, 1984. 10:55 AM
Below that was a list of groceries totaling 48.54. At the bottom was a scrawled line of text.
Enjoy 4th of July with your friends! Look me up the next time you’re in Schweinfurt.
10:55 AM. Today. She looked at the kitchen clock which had just passed Noon.
He was in Schweinfurt an hour ago? Where the hell is Schweinfurt?
She had to consult her Dad’s Encyclopedia Britannica for that answer. What she found discussed the bombing raids over the city during World War 2, and the huge losses that the air crews suffered in the process. The article was accompanied by a map showing the city’s location in the lower half of what at the time was a unified, besieged Germany.
Jesus, that’s in Bavaria.
He was in Bavaria an hour ago.
Her mind refused to accept the facts that were id out in front of her in American groceries.
HE WENT SHOPPING IN BAVARIA AN HOUR AGO.
She sat down in the nearest chair, the receipt still in front of her. Her father reappeared from the celr.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her after seeing her face. She wasn’t dribbling tea down her chin, but her mouth hung open again.
“Hhhh-” she began before stopping. Her eyes found her father’s. “Who is he?”
Ed didn’t understand for a moment. “Him?” he asked, using his thumb to point to the front door through which Aric had just left. “You met him already. You know who he is.”
“No,” she said, “no I don’t.”
Each word out of her mouth was more confused, more desperate.
That was when he noticed the receipt on the table. He picked it up, and once he gnced at it he understood her question. Aric had revisited the base he’d been stationed at for two years. He’d insisted on authentic buns for the hamburgers, and real American everything for the hot dogs. Ed looked at his daughter, and she looked back.
“I don’t know him,” she said more upset with every word. “I don’t know anything about him!”
She was pleading for understanding and Ed’s heart ached in response. But the dangers, the consequences of what they were doing, and learning, were real.
“This is just an old receipt from my sabbatical in Stuttgart,” he said. A terrible lie. A weak attempt at evasion that his daughter immediately shot down.
“IT’S GOT TODAY’S DATE ON IT!”
Ed sighed as he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. Everything still in sight was American made. Most of it was not avaible in Engnd. He was out of options. Out of excuses.
“Who is he?” she asked him again. Painfully. Pleading.
He folded the receipt into a neat rectangle, making it smaller with each successive fold.
“I can only tell you so much, but I guess you have a right to at least know that.”
Saturday flowed, eventually, into Monday.
In the space between, Ed had time to consider how to break the news to Aric.
