Dead Harvest

The summer of 1944 was one of the hottest the city had ever seen. The streets of Manhattan seemed to ripple in the midday sun, and the bitter stink of sweat and garbage clung heavy to anyone who dared to venture outside. Even the breeze off of the harbor offered no relief from the oppressive heat. Every night as I made my way back home, I watched as passengers crowded three deep at the bow of the ferry, eager to feel the wind on their faces. But the air was still and thick with diesel fumes, and all they got for their trouble was a sheen of sweat atop their brows and angry glares from those they jostled.

  Home back then was a tenement in the New Brighton neighborhood of Staten Island, about twenty minutes' walk from the ferry terminal. The place was ramshackle and overcrowded, and the racket from the munitions factory across the street was as constant as it was maddening. Still, as I hobbled up the stairs, I was greeted by the heavenly aroma of garlic and onion, so I couldn't much complain.

  Inside, Elizabeth was standing by the stove, her back to me. A Benny Goodman number drifted across the room from the radio in the corner, and she tapped her foot in time. When I closed the door, she started, and then smiled. I crossed the room and gave her a kiss.

  "Sam," she said, blushing, "you know the doctors said you shouldn't do that!"

  "To hell with them. You're my wife – I'll kiss you if I damn well please."

  "How'd it go today?"

  I shrugged off my suit jacket and yanked the tie from my collar, tossing both across a chair. "Same old story. They said I'm more than qualified, that my references are sound, but there's just no way a gimp like me is gonna keep up with the demands of the job."

  "They actually said that to you?"

  "No, of course not – they said a man in my condition."

  "Ah," she said, as if confirming something she had already known.

  "What do you mean, ah?" I snapped. "Just because the words they use are flowerier doesn't make 'em any likelier to hire me, now does it?"

  Tears shone in Elizabeth's eyes. She blinked them back and looked away.

  "Liz, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just frustrated, is all. I'll find something eventually, and then we'll get you better – you just wait and see."

  I put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged me off and returned to the stove.

  "Whatever you're making smells fantastic," I said. Though her back was still to me, I could see her posture relax.