The Woman, The War and The Planes

The Woman, the War and the Planes

The planes flew over head. I could hear them clear as day. The genius who invented them is truly

that, a genius. I always did. Truthfully, I always wanted to fly one of those machines. Magical, truly

magical. Although I would not use them for my country’s purpose, but my own. Realistically I’d never

be able to fly one. My husband came at the door.

“Sarah! Bring dinner to the shelter!” he screamed, panicked and angry.

“But deer, there is but food for one,” I replied calmly, still listening to the planes.

“Ok then, bring my dinner down to the shelter!” he screeched.

“But deer, what shall I eat?” I asked, wary of the answer and my husbands rage that would surely

come.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you were slow enough to cook only one meal!”

I listened wistfully once more to the planes and left to the shelter carrying a meal for my husband. When I got there I said “might we share it and halve the food still inside later?” He merely looked at me strangely and slowly came to terms with what I had said. He slapped me harshly.

“HOW DARE YOU ASK TO EAT FROM MY PLATE!?” I did not speak the rest of the night. My face stung, although I would never admit that to him, but my heart was empty and that hurt more. A woman could never fly a plane. And even if I could, I would never for destruction. Eventually the comforting engine noises left and the all clear sounded. Inside, I served the rest of the food onto a plate for myself. My husband was sitting at the table. When I sat down with the food he looked at me expectantly. I took a bite.

“That is my food, is it not?” he asked accusatorily. Calmly, I spoke. “But deer, you had your share in the shelter, did you not?”  He screamed in outrage.

“If I don’t eat now, then neither do you!” He flipped the plate and the contents flew onto the floor and myself. Potato decorated the walls and gravy stained my dress.

“Clean this up now!” he yelled. As he left, he stopped at the door.

“And Sarah? Do learn your place.” He went to bed while I was left to clean the mess he made.

******** One Week Later *********

After a relatively calm week with but a few minor outbursts from my husband, some unexpected but expected news came.

“Sarah, I have been called upon to serve the country in the front lines of defense. Do not misstep and act if I weren’t here. I will know if you do anything out of line or will find out when I return, yes I will return.” So with that (and without a goodbye or kind word), the following morning he left to go to war with the Germans. I relished the little freedom I had previously but now it was so abundant I almost drowned. I had any meal I pleased with any proportions. I could select what I wanted to clean when (though it all got done in the end) I even read some books! Most on how to fly. My, how I wish I had a plane. But the best part was during the bombings, I could stay in the house as long as I wanted and listen to the mechanical rattle of the aircraft that fascinated me so. It was fabulous. There were no outbursts and I felt, for the first time in years, safe. Honestly, the war that frightened most did little to terrify me. Actually, it disgusted me that grown men were actually doing something so silly. Lives were lost. No, the war did not scare me. However, my husband did. So this was the first time I had felt safe in years. After a while, I gathered the courage to go to the library. It wasn’t illegal for women to read or enter the public space but my husband would have scolded me so severely. I selected books on history and some fictional works and even one on astronomy. But the five I loved most were those on how to fly a plane. They were so interesting, and I learnt more than I ever could from my husband’s small collection of illustrated works, being as dim-witted as he is. The day was a good one. However, come night, everything fell to pieces. I was sitting on the couch, reading a book when in comes my husband in his muddy uniform. He starts screaming at me. Usually I can maintain strong but this time, I broke down. I started to cry and sob while he yelled. “How dare you read! How dare you relax! How dare you eat the food only a man can eat!” With each insult came a slap. Finally, he picked up the book and began to tear it. I woke up. I was so scared that I started crying on my bed. The next morning great news came. The post man knocked on the door but this time it wasn’t the regular one. He handed me an envelope. I opened it and read it with shaking hands. My husband had gone missing in action. I was so happy. I was finally free. Though in the weeks to come I put up a sad façade. Although on the inside, my wishes had been handed to me on a silver platter. I ate any meal I wanted, I read so many books, I lived with out fear. My neighbours became my friends. I even met a sweet young man who respected women. Jack. Jack and I lived well. He purchased a plane just for me and we both learnt how to fly. I was happy. I got my fair share of food, I wasn’t forced to complete all house hold chores, I was his equal. We had children and they became great people. All was well after the war. Almost all. Every night, I would sit for a minute, waiting for the seemingly inevitable moment my previous husband would return and scald me. I’m still waiting.