Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Postcards (08/29/05)
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TITLE: postcard | Previous Challenge Entry
By Paul Mobley
09/02/05 -
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
"Hey Jimmy. Grab a seat."
"What's up ?"
"I just set the phone on top of the radio to see what happens." The phone lines on the base
became a large antenna.
"And ?"
"I just picked up Moscow Molly !" The US Mail was normally our only outside contact with
the world.
Jimmy squatted quietly by the radio in order to hear the weak signal above the background
noise of the monopoly game nearby. We listened to the propaganda. Her numbers for US
production of wheat and electricity were probably correct from publications in the USA. But her
claims that Russia was producing more were doubtful at best.
Presently she ended it with a note that was hilarious for us, saying "The Russian people are so
happy this year for they are getting a new bicycle. " Both of us burst out laughing.
Even that poor unplanned humor helped our mood a little.
"The wind." Jimmy got up and left, with no where to go.
Lonesome howling, isolating us more intensely that normal. The 150 MPH wind had been
howling for three days now at minus 45 degrees. Sudden death waited outside by the wind and a
wind chill well below minus 115 degrees.
Monopoly games, card games, reading, and even paint by the numbers, helped avoid severe
depression. The Inuits word for the effects of the isolation: "piblotoq," described a condition
every one wanted to avoid. Jimmy's eyes had a haunted look, like so many. Short tempers burst
out at the slightest provocation, and harsh words followed. Nerves were raw, sensitive.
Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the wind calmed. No one could dress fast enough in their
arctic clothing. Just getting outside, looking and running around, and everyone talking sensibly
now. The relief was huge.
Jimmy was there, but leaving.
"Where are you going Jimmy ?"
"To operations."
He hoped for a MATS plane soon. All of us turned at his words and quietly watched him walk
away, hungering for the same thing: mail.
The talking and frolicking soon began again. After a bit Roger was standing still looking,
and it got all of us to looking. No wonder. Jimmy was coming and we waited quietly.
No one talked as Jimmy came up. He looked at us, and then smiled.
"A plane took off from Labrador two hours ago. It should be here soon."
A cheer went up.
"And I stopped by the cooks. They are preparing a chicken dinner."
Another cheer went up. Though C & K rations were nutritional they soon became dull. The
cooks would have powdered milk and potatoes, but otherwise tasty food.
"How soon ?"
"In another 30-minutes or so."
Roger again, "Lets go there and wait."
"A chorus of "yeses" followed. So we went.
About the time we finished eating the nosie of the MATS plane was heard. Everyone rose by
silent agreement and started for operations. The plane landed when we arrived.
It took awhile but then the plane unloaded carefully for the engines had to remain running in
order to keep them from freezing up. Distribution began, and mail was first. The relief for many
was obvious, and shortly my name was called. It was a note from a girl in Oregon. She had not
forgotten, and I knew a letter would be on the next plane.
A fellow GI had introduced her and I by US Mail, telling me that she would write. I believed
this fellow Christian. And write she did, never missing a week. She understood what even a short
message meant to me.
Returning to my bunk, I quickly got out of the heavy Arctic clothes and settled on my bunk
with my back to the wall.
Then I began to read savoring every word. Slowly, gently, I caressed the card, and an image
flashed into my mind of Debbie taking my hand, and smiling, "Hi Bob."
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