The Ring

That part of my life was gone. I never thought I could relive it. Too many years had passed. I was a different person. Yet a letter from Florence opened the possibility. During the war I was stationed in Italy and participated in the invasion of Sicily. I never thought I’d survive. My mother had given me her wedding ring as a lucky charm before I left Halifax. I wore it on a chain around my neck. It reminded me of my parents’ love, and it represented the love I would have with someone special when I returned. Its presence kept me grounded, connected. I never forgot where I was from or where I was meant to be. My army buddies constantly ribbed me about the ring. What was a wet behind the ears twenty-one-year-old virgin doing with a wedding ring? When I told them it was my mother’s, the ribbing got worse. I became momma’s boy. No matter how down and dirty, macho or heroic I became, I couldn’t shake the moniker.

“Who saved me? Was it the Momma’s Boy?

Those were Steve’s first words when he regained consciousness when I risked my life saving him. I was in a bunker when I saw him fall in the meadow about fifty yards away. No one else seemed interested in leaving the safety of the bunker. So, I took the initiative. Risking my life, I crawled the fifty yards amidst German gunfire and dragged him back. I guess I shouldn’t have been so sensitive about the question but a thank you would have been more appropriate.  Momma’s Boy did not seem to fit six-foot ex-football player and brawler. Even the bloody noses and broken teeth did not seem to deter my platoon mates. I would be forever stuck with that name. I considered hiding the ring in my rucksack, but I couldn’t do it. It meant too much to me. Besides, maybe it was my lucky charm, and I would survive the godforsaken war.

The Sicily campaign was brutal. We survived hunger, rain, long mountainous, marches, bullets and bombs. My feet were blistered and painful and I lost thirty pounds. When we landed in Pachino, in southern Sicily, there was very little resistance. My lucky charm was working its magic. However, as we advanced inland, we encountered heavy resistance from the Germans. I lost several of my friends. There were days where soldiers on either side of me fell and I marched on. It was as if I had a force shield around me. I never thought of myself as superstitious but maybe the ring was my lucky charm. When we reached Valguernera on July 17, I was exhausted and dispirited. One hundred and fifty members of my platoon were killed during the battle. It was painful to see them fall. Some had limbs or even their heads blown off. I held a few in my arms as they bled to death and begged me to send messages and even prewritten letters to their families. It was almost more than I could take. I began to become reckless and ran into oncoming fire. I no longer cared if I lived or died. As I ran up the last mountain into enemy territory, I was stunned by a grenade and lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was on a stretcher, being carried by two medics. My first impulse was to move all four of my limbs to see if they were intact. Thank God, they were. Then I moved my hand over my abdomen. There were no holes. My scalp was bleeding, and my ears still rang, otherwise I was unscathed. The medics said I probably had a concussion. Later I would discover I had a perforated eardrum and would be deaf in that ear for the rest of my life. It was a small price to pay.

I was evacuated to a small hospital in Etna. When I regained full control of my senses, I realized the chain with my mother’s ring was missing. I asked the nurses if anyone had taken it from me when I came to the hospital. When they assured me that no ring was among the possessions that accompanied me when I arrived, I almost cried. It was my lucky charm but even more important, it was my connection to my family. What would I say to my mother when I returned home?

***

The war ended soon, and I was transported by sea back to Canada. When I walked down the gangplank to shore, my parents were waiting for me. My mom, a big buxom woman with gray hair was in tears. My dad, a short thin solidly build bald man, was beaming.  I was still in uniform and carried a large duffel bag over one shoulder. My mom gave me a bearhug and then stepped back and looked me over.

“Oh, Eddie my son! My prayers have been answered. When we heard you were wounded, we didn’t know what to expect. Look at you! You’re more beautiful than ever. I’m not sure I like your beard, though.”

 I shook my head at her last comment but couldn’t hold back the tears of joy. It was good to be back and in my family’s embrace. There was just one thing that gnawed at me. I had lost my lucky charm, my mom’s wedding ring. My shirt was buttoned up to my neck so I knew my mom wouldn’t notice its absence, but I had to confess.

“Ma, I missed you so much. Your ring kept me connected to you and was my lucky charm. It’s probably what kept me safe through the war. The bad news is that when I awoke after I was hit by the grenade, it was missing. I’m so sorry.”

My mother looked at my father, shrugged and smiled.

“Eddie, your dad will buy me another one. The more important thing is that you’re here and you’re safe. Rings can be replaced but you can’t”

I felt some relief but irrationally the guilt of its loss stayed with me. As we walked to the car, my dad took my duffel bag and put his arm around my shoulder. He was a man of a few words, but I felt his love and warmth. On the trip back home, my parents outlined their plans for me. They had enrolled me in the GI bill, and I was to attend the School of Pharmacy at Dalhousie university. I had worked part time in a pharmacy during high school but never dreamed of being a pharmacist. Football was to be my future. My parents always thought it was a pipe dream. I guess they were right.

***

I completed an accelerated pharmacy course and earned my degree. Soon I was working in a local drug store and was offered partnership. I kept in touch with several army buddies. None of them knew anything about my mom’s ring. Irrationally, I was still racked with guilt. Still, I got on with my life and even started dating Bernice, my future wife. When it came time to propose, the loss of the ring had become more acute. My mom told me before the war that the ring would be passed down through the generations to my future wife. So, I began in earnest to track down all the survivors from my unit who had been with me on that fateful day in Valguernera. Most of them lived in Canada, a few in the States and some of them had remained in Italy. Weeks passed without response but then it happened! I received a letter from Steve, the guy I had saved from certain death. He now lived in Florence Italy and had information about the ring.

I hadn’t been in Italy since the war and decided to take a trip there and see Steve in person. His letter had been cryptic, but he obviously knew something. The mail was too slow. I needed answers. I would have invited my future wife, but it was nineteen-fifty. Both our parents would never approve. So, I had a bittersweet departure from Halifax. Nightmares haunted me during the whole voyage over. When I disembarked in Livorno, I took a taxi to the rail station. I was pleased to learn that I was still fluent in Italian. It was my only gift from the war. I grew up in an Italian neighborhood and was able to master the language when stationed in Italy. Steve had given me his address in Florence. I had written him about the details of my arrival but wasn’t sure he had received my letter. He owned a butcher shop near his house, so I thought I’d start there.

When I arrived in Florence. I took a taxi from the train station to his shop. When I arrived, suitcase in hand, a bell rang when I opened the door. A stalky man with graying hair and a droopy moustache looked up from the counter. It took me a few moments to realize it was Steve. He was a little older and heavier.

“Momma’s boy!”

I winced but smiled.

“How are you, Steve?”

“Couldn’t be better! I’ve got a beautiful wife and two sweet bambinos. And you?”

“Also doing great. I’m getting married soon and that’s partly why I’m here. I want to give my fiancée my mother’s ring. As I said in my letter, it disappeared after I got wounded. You know I wore it on a chain around my neck.”

Steve looked at me sheepishly and raised a finger then motioned me to follow him. We went through a door behind the counter into an office. In the corner sat a safe. Steve opened it after a few twists of the combination lock. He produced a velvet bag and handed it to me. To my delight and surprise, it contained the ring.

“How, where why?” I mumbled incoherently.

Steve pursed his lips and took a seat behind a desk before answering.

“When you fell during that battle, I thought you were dead. I knew how much the ring meant to you and your family. So, I took it with every intention of sending it to them. I also knew it was your lucky charm so I thought it might help me survive the war. Unfortunately, my luck ran out a few hours later.”

 Steve stood and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a prosthesis and then continued.

“I was unconscious for days. When I awoke, I had partial memory loss. I couldn’t remember where I got the ring. All I knew was that it wasn’t mine. Your letter jogged my memory. I know I could have done some research and found you earlier, but life got in the way. I’m sorry.”

I was over the moon and couldn’t thank him enough.

“Steve, buddy don’t apologize. You just returned to me and my family one of our most cherished possessions. I had all but given up hope, I would ever find it. I thank you, my family thanks you and so does my future wife. You can call me Momma’s Boy any time you want, and you and your family always have a home in Canada.”

I embraced Steve and over the next few days spent time with his family. I found a jewelry shop in Florence and bought a new chain for the ring. It never left my neck again until I placed it on my wife’s finger during our wedding.