have a radio here, Bobby?’ He seemed very excited.
‘It’s right here, Billy. Right between our beds.’
‘My uncle is a pilot. He flies big planes that drop bombs. Can you turn it on?’
‘Sure, kid.’ Mr Savo turned on the radio, found the station with the same announcer who was coming over the other radio, then got into his bed and lay back on his pillow. The three of us lay in our beds and listened to the news of the invasion.
Mrs Carpenter came up the aisle. She was still a little angry over all the noise in the ward, but I could see she was also excited. She asked me how I was feeling.
‘I’m feeling fine, ma’am.’
‘That’s very good. Is that your radio?’
‘Yes, ma’am. My father brought it to me.’
‘How nice. You may sit up a little if you wish.’
‘Thank you.’ I was happy to hear that. ‘May I pray with my tefillin?’
‘Your phylacteries?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I don’t see why not. You’ll be careful of the bump on your head, now.’ .
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’
She looked sternly at Mr Savo. ‘I see you’re behaving yourself, Mr Savo.’
Mr Savo looked at her out of his left eye and grunted. ‘You’d think I was dying.’
‘You are to remain in bed, Mr Savo.’
Mr Savo grunted again.
She went back up the aisle.
‘Tough as a ring post,’ Mr Savo said, grinning. ‘Turn it up a bit, Bobby boy. Can’t hear it too good.’
I leaned over and turned up the volume of the radio. It felt good to be able to move again.
I got the tefillin and prayer book out of the drawer of the night table and began to put on the tefillin. The head strap rubbed against the bump, and I winced. It was still sore. I finished adjusting the hand strap and opened the prayer book. I saw Mr Savo looklng at me. Then I remembered that I wasn’t allowed to read, so I closed the prayer book. I prayed whatever I remembered by heart, trying not to listen to the announcer. I prayed for the safety of all the soldiers fighting on the beaches. When I finished praying, I took off the tefillin and put them and the prayer book back in the drawer.
‘You’re a real religious kid, there, Bobby boy,’ Mr Savo said to me.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked at him and nodded and didn’t say anything.
‘You going·to be a priest or something?’
‘I might,’ I said. ‘My father wants me to be a mathematician, though.’
‘Yon good at math?’
‘Yes. I get all A’s in math.’
‘But you want to be a priest, eh? A—rabbi; you call it.’
‘Sometimes I think I want to be a rabbi. I’m not sure.’
‘It’s a good thing to be, Bobby boy. Cockeyed world needs people like that. I could’ve been a priest. Had a chance once. Made a wrong choice. Wound up clopping people instead. Lousy choice. Hey, listen to that! ‘
The correspondent was saying excitedly that some German torpedo boats had attacked a Norwegian destroyer and that it looked like it was sinking. There were sailors jumping overboard and lifeboats being lowered.
‘They got clopped,’ Mr Savo said, looking grim. ‘Poor bas—poor guys.’
The correspondent sounded very excited as he described the Norwegian destroyer sinking.
The rest of that morning I did nothing but listen to the radio and talk about the war with Mr Savo and Billy. I explained to Billy as best I could some of the things that were going on, and he kept telling me his uncle was the pilot of a big plane that dropped bombs. He asked me if I thought he was dropping them now to help with the invasion. I told him I was sure he was.
Shortly after lunch, a boy came in from the other ward bouncing a ball. I saw he was about six years old, had a thin pale face and dark uncombed hair which he kept brushing away from his eyes with his left hand while he walked along bouncing the ball with his right. He wore light brown pyjamas and a dark brown robe.
‘Poor kid,’ said Mr Savo. ‘Been in the ward across the hall most of his life. Stomach’s got
‘It’s right here, Billy. Right between our beds.’
‘My uncle is a pilot. He flies big planes that drop bombs. Can you turn it on?’
‘Sure, kid.’ Mr Savo turned on the radio, found the station with the same announcer who was coming over the other radio, then got into his bed and lay back on his pillow. The three of us lay in our beds and listened to the news of the invasion.
Mrs Carpenter came up the aisle. She was still a little angry over all the noise in the ward, but I could see she was also excited. She asked me how I was feeling.
‘I’m feeling fine, ma’am.’
‘That’s very good. Is that your radio?’
‘Yes, ma’am. My father brought it to me.’
‘How nice. You may sit up a little if you wish.’
‘Thank you.’ I was happy to hear that. ‘May I pray with my tefillin?’
‘Your phylacteries?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I don’t see why not. You’ll be careful of the bump on your head, now.’ .
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’
She looked sternly at Mr Savo. ‘I see you’re behaving yourself, Mr Savo.’
Mr Savo looked at her out of his left eye and grunted. ‘You’d think I was dying.’
‘You are to remain in bed, Mr Savo.’
Mr Savo grunted again.
She went back up the aisle.
‘Tough as a ring post,’ Mr Savo said, grinning. ‘Turn it up a bit, Bobby boy. Can’t hear it too good.’
I leaned over and turned up the volume of the radio. It felt good to be able to move again.
I got the tefillin and prayer book out of the drawer of the night table and began to put on the tefillin. The head strap rubbed against the bump, and I winced. It was still sore. I finished adjusting the hand strap and opened the prayer book. I saw Mr Savo looklng at me. Then I remembered that I wasn’t allowed to read, so I closed the prayer book. I prayed whatever I remembered by heart, trying not to listen to the announcer. I prayed for the safety of all the soldiers fighting on the beaches. When I finished praying, I took off the tefillin and put them and the prayer book back in the drawer.
‘You’re a real religious kid, there, Bobby boy,’ Mr Savo said to me.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked at him and nodded and didn’t say anything.
‘You going·to be a priest or something?’
‘I might,’ I said. ‘My father wants me to be a mathematician, though.’
‘Yon good at math?’
‘Yes. I get all A’s in math.’
‘But you want to be a priest, eh? A—rabbi; you call it.’
‘Sometimes I think I want to be a rabbi. I’m not sure.’
‘It’s a good thing to be, Bobby boy. Cockeyed world needs people like that. I could’ve been a priest. Had a chance once. Made a wrong choice. Wound up clopping people instead. Lousy choice. Hey, listen to that! ‘
The correspondent was saying excitedly that some German torpedo boats had attacked a Norwegian destroyer and that it looked like it was sinking. There were sailors jumping overboard and lifeboats being lowered.
‘They got clopped,’ Mr Savo said, looking grim. ‘Poor bas—poor guys.’
The correspondent sounded very excited as he described the Norwegian destroyer sinking.
The rest of that morning I did nothing but listen to the radio and talk about the war with Mr Savo and Billy. I explained to Billy as best I could some of the things that were going on, and he kept telling me his uncle was the pilot of a big plane that dropped bombs. He asked me if I thought he was dropping them now to help with the invasion. I told him I was sure he was.
Shortly after lunch, a boy came in from the other ward bouncing a ball. I saw he was about six years old, had a thin pale face and dark uncombed hair which he kept brushing away from his eyes with his left hand while he walked along bouncing the ball with his right. He wore light brown pyjamas and a dark brown robe.
‘Poor kid,’ said Mr Savo. ‘Been in the ward across the hall most of his life. Stomach’s got
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