The Green Glass Sea (26 page)

“That's probably why. I guess the wizard knew what he was doing. ”

“Wizards usually do. ” Suze pointed to the stones. “You can have first dibs. ”

Dewey examined them closely. “I'll take the silver one, ” she said finally. She picked it up and cradled it in her hand. “What are they for?”

“They're the magic stones of the Shazam Club, ” Suze said. She picked up the other stone. “We carry them in our pockets, and no one else knows we've got secret powers. Wisdom and strength and—I forget the rest. ”

“Courage, ” Dewey said quietly.

“Yeah, ” said Suze. She looked down at the stone in her hand, then reached over and chinked it against Dewey's. “Shazam, ” she said.

“Shazam. ” Dewey tucked the stone into the left-hand pocket of her shorts and picked up
Thrilling Comics
by the spine, pinching it shut. She tossed it onto her pillow. “Wanna see if there's anything good at the dump?” she asked.

Suze pocketed her own stone and grinned. “I'll go find my shoes. ”

THURSDAY MORNING,
the twelfth of July, Dewey stood outside the fence of the Motor Pool and watched two dozen MPs load equipment and horses into a line of waiting trucks. The armed men stood guard while some scientists from the Tech Area, carrying small duffel bags, boarded an army-green bus. Then the MPs got on and the small convoy rumbled through the gate.

“Something going on, ” she told Suze when she got back to the apartment. They sat on the back steps, a bag of peanuts between them, watching black clouds move steadily in from the west, blotting out the blue summer sky.

“Another thunderstorm, ” Suze said. She opened the screen door and leaned in to look at the kitchen clock. “It's eleven thirty. Same time as yesterday. I wonder why that is?”

“I don't know, but I hope there's hail again. That was amazing. ”

“Only because you were inside. I got caught by the post office, and it hurt. I'm surprised I'm not black and blue. ” Suze held out her arm, which showed no sign of hailstone damage.

“Besides the thunderstorm, ” Dewey continued. “Do you think the MPs are going to the desert? Is it more important to guard than the Hill?”

“That Trinity place is, ” Suze said. She opened a peanut with her thumbnail. “My dad's down there all the time now. He takes a bag of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and doesn't come back for two or three days. ”

Dewey nodded. They were going to test the gadget. It was an open secret. No one was supposed to know anything, officially, but in private, it was all anyone had talked about for weeks.

Dewey thinks about the gadget a lot. The gadget that will end the war. That is the truth of the Hill, why they are all here. If the gadget works, the war will end and they will all be heroes.

Dewey hates the war as much as anyone. If not for the war, she and Papa would still be living in their cozy apartment across from Harvard Square. He would never have gone to Chicago or New Mexico. Or Washington. The war has taken everything away, but now it is her only hope. Mrs. Gordon has said that she can stay with them for the duration, and that is only as long as the war.

When the war ends, everything will change again. The Gordons will leave, and Dewey will have to go somewhere else. To a home, to an orphanage. Every day she walks around the Hill, relishing her freedom while she has it. Every day she crosses her fingers that they will not test the gadget. Not yet. She cannot wish for it to fail—that would mean Papa had failed—and she does not want any more soldiers to die. But she does not want the war to end.

This is a secret she can tell no one. Not even Suze, late at night, when they talk in the darkness. It is unpatriotic, it is treason. Dewey hides her thoughts behind the pages of the boys' war comics, full of flags and blood and bravery.

It rained for the next two days, violent thunderstorms one after another, roaring thunder, splitting the sky with lightning, clattering hail on the wooden shingles of the cheaply built Sundts.

Mrs. Gordon came home late Saturday afternoon, her hair in damp tendrils, her cheeks red with excitement.

Dewey looked up from
Air Aces
. “It's happening, isn't it?” she asked quietly.

“Hmmph. And they call this a top secret project. ” Mrs. Gordon put her bag of groceries down on the counter. “Not inside the fence, that's for sure. The rumor mill down at the Commissary is buzzing at a fever pitch. ” She looked out the window at the storm clouds massing once again in the west. “But yes, if the weather cooperates, it looks like tomorrow's the day. ”

Dewey felt her stomach tense. “Are you going down there?”

“Nope. ” Mrs. Gordon shook her head. “They offered me a seat on the bus, and it's tempting, but I'm going to stay here with you girls. Phil's going down. He can bring back the skinny. ” She pulled a large white paper-wrapped bundle out of the bag.

“Pot roast tonight, ” she said. “He'll need a hearty meal—Lord knows when he'll get a chance to sit and eat again—and it'll make good sandwiches for tomorrow. ” She pulled a bunch of carrots out of the bag and handed Dewey the vegetable peeler. “If you'll scrape these, I can do the potatoes with a paring knife. ”

“Okay. ” Dewey tore the lacy green leaves off the tops of the carrots, then shaved long thin orange curls into the wastebasket. She worked methodically, carefully. She felt like she was preparing her last meal.

When Dewey woke up Sunday morning, the sky outside the window was a perfect deep summer blue, with only a few high white clouds. But by mid-afternoon it was as dark as twilight. Rain lashed at the buildings, pockmarking the dirt roads, then creating swift gullies of muddy water that surged down every slope. The lightning was blue-white and fierce and thunder rattled every window in the apartment.

Dewey sat on her bed reading
Air Aces
' “Raiders of the Purple Dawn, ” her fingers crossed behind the pages, hoping the storm would continue and the test would be canceled.

But the rain stopped. Mrs. Gordon made a stack of thick beef sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and rousted Dewey and Suze. By 4:00 they were walking with their neighbors down to the Tech Area.

It seemed as if everyone on the Hill was there, holding a thermos of coffee or a sack lunch or a bottle of suntan lotion. Three buses had been painted so they weren't army green anymore. Dewey wasn't sure why they'd bothered, since the buses were going to be escorted south by three official sedans and a canvas-topped army truck full of equipment—jerry cans of water and gas, radios, big coils of wire, and a box with dozens of welders' goggles.

When everything was loaded, Dr. Gordon kissed Mrs. Gordon and hugged Suze and then, as an afterthought, gave Dewey a little salute from the door of the bus, and disappeared inside. At half past five the convoy headed out the east gate, and it began to drizzle again.

“I want you girls in bed early, ” Mrs. Gordon said as they walked home, ducking under overhangs and into doorways every few minutes to avoid the brief downpours. “As soon as it's dark. ”

“How come?” Suze asked. “Have I been bad or something?”

“Not that I know of—” Mrs. Gordon cocked an eyebrow and looked at Suze, who shook her head.

“Then why?” asked Dewey.

“Because unless it's raining cats and dogs, we're going to get up early and have a little picnic. ”

“A breakfast picnic?” Suze sounded skeptical.

“Earlier than that, ” Mrs. Gordon said. “A middle-of-the-night picnic. ”

Suze frowned. “That's kind of strange, isn't it?”

“We live in very strange times, my dear. ” Mrs. Gordon was smiling.

Dewey put on her pajamas and went to bed a little after 8:00. The light through the bedroom window still cast pale, indistinct shadows. She turned over and faced the wall, and when she closed her eyes, it seemed dark enough. But she couldn't sleep.

She thought about the gadget and the buses full of men driving across the desert. She turned over, scrunched up her pillow, and wondered if the air really could catch on fire. Suze was snoring lightly, because her nose was stuffed up, and the noise seemed to fill the small room. Dewey scooted the blanket around with her feet, tried sleeping on her side, then on her stomach, and worried about how many more nights she would sleep in this bed at all.

Finally she put on her glasses and got up to get a glass of milk. Sometimes that helped.

The apartment was dark except for the light over the kitchen table. Mrs. Gordon wore the same clothes she'd had on earlier. She sat with her feet up on a chair, a cup of coffee by her elbow, a cigarette in the ashtray. Her reading glasses lay on top of an open copy of
The Saturday Evening Post
.

“Can't sleep, Dewey?”

Dewey shook her head.

“I'm not surprised. It's pretty exciting. I knew I wouldn't sleep a wink, so I just stayed up. ” She looked at the clock. “It's almost two. I was going to wake you in an hour anyway. Why don't you have a cup of Ovaltine and keep me company?”

“Okay. ” Dewey sat down.

“I filled up the thermos—you girls are still a bit young for coffee—but there's a little left in the pan. ” She tilted the saucepan over a thick china mug and put the Ovaltine down on the table. “It ought to be cool enough to drink. I took it off the burner a while ago. ”

Dewey took a small experimental sip. It was barely warm. She took a deeper drink. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Out to the south mesa, where it overlooks the Hill road. Some of the guys have been out there all night, but I figure we might as well be comfortable until it's time. The show—if there's going to be a show in this weather—is supposed to be at four. ”