Winter of the World

The plane began to lose height as they approached Oahu, the main island. They could see forested mountains, a sparse scatter of villages in the lowlands, and a fringe of sand and surf. ‘I bought a new swimsuit,’ Joanne said. They were sitting side by side, and the roar of the four Wright Twin Cyclone 14-cylinder engines was too loud for her to be overheard.

Woody was reading The Grapes of Wrath but he put it down willingly. ‘I can’t wait to see you in it.’ He meant it. She was a swimsuit manufacturer’s dream, making all their products look sensational.

She glanced at him from under half-closed eyelids. ‘I wonder if your parents booked us adjoining rooms at the hotel?’ Her dark-brown eyes seemed to smoulder.

Their engaged status did not allow them to sleep together, at least not officially; though Woody’s mother did not miss much and she might have guessed they were lovers.

Woody said: ‘I’ll find you, wherever you are.’

‘You’d better.’

‘Don’t talk like that. I’m already uncomfortable enough in this seat.’

She smiled contentedly.

The American naval base came into view. A lagoon shaped like a palm leaf formed a large natural harbour. Half the Pacific Fleet was here, about a hundred ships. The rows of fuel storage tanks looked like checkers on a board.

In the middle of the lagoon was an island with an airstrip. At the western end of the island, Woody saw a dozen or more seaplanes moored.

Right next to the lagoon was Hickam air base. Several hundred aircraft were parked with military precision, wingtip to wingtip, on the tarmac.

Banking for its approach, the plane flew over a beach with palm trees and gaily striped umbrellas – which Woody guessed must be Waikiki – then a small town that had to be Honolulu, the capital.

Joanne was owed some leave by the State Department, but Woody had had to skip a week of classes in order to take this vacation. ‘I’m kind of surprised at your father,’ Joanne said. ‘He’s usually against anything that interrupts your education.’

‘I know,’ said Woody. ‘But you know the real reason for this trip, Jo? He thinks it could be the last time we see Chuck alive.’

‘Oh, my God, really?’

‘He thinks there’s going to be a war, and Chuck is in the navy.’

‘I think he’s right. There will be a war.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘The whole world is hostile to freedom.’ She pointed to the book in her lap, a bestseller called Berlin Diary by the radio broadcaster William Shirer. ‘The Nazis have Europe,’ she said. ‘The Bolsheviks have Russia. And now the Japanese are taking control of the Far East. I don’t see how America can survive in such a world. We have to trade with somebody!’

‘That’s pretty much what my father thinks. He believes we’ll go to war against Japan next year.’ Woody frowned thoughtfully. ‘What’s happening in Russia?’

‘The Germans don’t seem quite able to take Moscow. Just before I left there was a rumour of a massive Russian counter-attack.’

‘Good news!’

Woody looked out. He could see Honolulu airport. The plane would splash down in a sheltered inlet alongside the runway, he presumed.

Joanne said: ‘I hope nothing major happens while I’m away.’

‘Why?’

‘I want a promotion, Woods – so I don’t want someone bright and promising to shine in my absence.’

‘Promotion? You didn’t say.’

‘I don’t have it yet, but I’m aiming for Research Officer.’

He smiled. ‘How high do you want to go?’

‘I’d like to be ambassador to someplace fascinating and complex, Nanking or Addis Ababa.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t look sceptical. Frances Perkins is the first woman Secretary of Labour – and a damn good one.’

Woody nodded. Perkins had been Labor Secretary from the start of Roosevelt’s presidency eight years ago, and had won union support for the New Deal. An exceptional woman could aspire to almost anything nowadays. And Joanne was truly exceptional. But somehow it came as a shock to him that she was so ambitious. ‘But an ambassador has to live overseas,’ he said.

‘Wouldn’t it be great? Foreign culture, weird weather, exotic customs.’

‘But . . . how does that fit in with marriage?’

‘Excuse me?’ she said with asperity.

He shrugged. ‘It’s a natural question, don’t you think?’

Her expression did not change, except that her nostrils flared – a sign, he knew, that she was getting angry. ‘Have I asked you that question?’ she said.

‘No, but . . .’

‘Well?’

‘I’m just wondering, Jo – do you expect me to live wherever your career takes you?’

‘I’ll try to fit in with your needs, and I think you should try to fit in with mine.’

‘But it’s not the same.’

‘Isn’t it?’ She was openly annoyed now. ‘This is news to me.’

He wondered how the conversation had become so acrimonious so quickly. With an effort at making his tone of voice reasonable and amiable, he said: ‘We’ve talked about having children, haven’t we.’

‘You’ll have them, as well as me.’

‘Not in exactly the same way.’

‘If children are going to make me a second-class citizen in this marriage, then we’re not having any.’

‘That’s not what I mean!’

‘What the heck do you mean?’