Machine Dreams

army,” Gladys said rapidly. “He brought a telegram. It’s not as bad as it could be, Danner—they say Billy is missing.”
    “Missing?”
    “Yes.”
    Silence.
Secret signal.
My thought was,
he ran away. He ran away from the army.
I held onto the black receiver hard with one hand, and I put my other hand flat on the big desk.
    “Since Jean was taking her vacation time and staying home,” Gladys said, her voice low and rushed, “I came by to bring the pattern for that skirt she wants to make you. While I was here, he came to the door. Just a minute ago. Danner?”
    “Gladys,” I said, “what exactly did he tell you about Billy?”
    “He says Billy is listed Missing In Action.”
    “I’ll be right home.”
    I faded into some automatic zone; I only had it in mind to hurry. I walked back to the classroom—I had my mother’s car and the keys were in my purse. My thoughts moved along meaninglessly, like words flowing by on a screen. Did my father know yet? What did the army do with divorced parents?
Kill them, like they kill everyone.
I opened the door of the classroom. The room was in a sort of friendly chaos. Mrs. Smith was putting the honeysuckle branches into a mason jar and Junior was watching her carefully, keeping his own counsel. He looked up at me. I said to his eyes, “I came back to get my purse. I have to go home now.”
    Mrs. Smith must have assented in some manner, but I didn’t hear her. I found the purse, walked outside past the brokenbushes, unlocked my mother’s big blue Buick. I got in, breathing the heat, shivering, and rolled down one window as I started the engine. I drove the nine blocks to my mother’s house and parked in front of Gladys’ old Chrysler, behind an unmarked Ford with a Hertz rental sticker. I got out of the car and stood up, looking at the house, at what was in the house. Back when we lived in the country on Brush Fork, Billy and I tried to stay in the summer fields way past dusk, catching lightning bugs in jars. Glass jars, the metal lids punched through with air holes. Mom called and called but we wouldn’t come in. Finally she would yell at us from the cement back porch:
I want you home this minute. Right now.
She couldn’t see us; she just yelled into the dark.
    I walked up the sidewalk and into the house. My mother was sitting on the couch; when she saw me she burst into tears. I sat beside her and put my arm around her and held her. Her body was shaking and the telegram was in her lap. I read the words through, black words, yellow paper.
A hostile force.
I thought of the dark-haired women crawling into the trees with their heavy guns.
    Gladys stood over us. “Danner, this is Sergeant Dixon.”
    She moved away and the soldier stood behind her. Green dress uniform with gold buttons, tan shirt, black tie. In his hand, a billed cap with a green, saucer-shaped top. In the center over the black bill, a brass medallion with an eagle.
    “Miss Hampson,” he was saying, “I’m deeply sorry to inform you.…” He went on to repeat the contents of the brief telegram, his voice soft and southern.
    “Are you from Fort Knox?”
    “No, ma’am, I’ve come from Fort Meade, in Maryland, but I grew up in Georgia.”
    Did he think I cared where he grew up? Somehow, I thought they would have sent someone who’d known Billy.
    Gladys sat down beside me. “I’ve called Reb Jonas.”
    “Why?”
    “For some medicine for Jean.” Gladys tilted her head to one side. She looked very old, powdered and faded. “She may need some medicine, later.”
    “My mother doesn’t need any medicine,” I said. “She needsthem to tell her what they’ve done with Billy.” I took the telegram out of her lap. “
Information Received.
What information? Whoever wrote this out wasn’t even there, they don’t even know.”
    “Honey,” Gladys said, “I doubt anyone knows.”
    “Gladys, someone has to know.” I looked at Sergeant Dixon.
    My mother held my wrist tightly. “No one we can talk to,” she said, weeping. “He might as well be on the moon.”
    Gladys gave my mother a Kleenex. We heard someone on the steps at the door, and Gladys stepped over to open the screen door for Dr. Jonas. He walked in empty-handed, without his doctor’s bag, inclining his head a little as though the ceiling were too low.
    “Gladys,” he said.
    “Reb.” She nodded.
    I think Sergeant Dixon introduced himself and they shook hands. Reb walked over near Mom and me, pulled a chair close to