Author's note: New chapter is up, and this time around I hope this particular chapter is much relevant to the story than the previous one.
Legal Junk: I don't own Hey Arnold, but Nickeloedeon does and Mr. Craig Bartlett created it. But this fic belongs to me. Clear? Good.
Chapter 3: Something odd.
Everybody in the room watches grandpa as he raced up to the bathroom. They can't help but to be amused by it. Miles had noticed something is amiss about his father for a long while, and thinking this was a great opportunity to ask, he turned his head at Gertrude to ask her regarding it.
"Mom, have you noticed there's something odd about dad lately?" Miles asked.
"Oh, thank goodness I'm not the only one; yes indeed, he has become a bit of a neat freak, and he helps me out a lot around the kitchen lately."
"Yeah, not only that, dad usually doesn't like to hear about his war stories, let alone talking about it."
"What are you talking about Miles, Arnold is doing all the storytelling here," Suzie said.
"Yeah, but don't you see, he's letting him, he wants us to know about his war experience. And that's not the usual dad that I know of."
"But he did tell us about that Cham story," Arnold added.
"Don't you remember what I said, Arnold? That story is a false one he made up. The real one is much worse." Miles clarified.
"Who told you all these?" his mother asked to inquire.
"A platoon buddy of his; forgot the guy's name, sadly." He said nonchalantly. "I met him at the airport, we exchanged some conversations, then he started to tell his war story, and things just took off out from there. Then I asked dad, he said yes. And I promised him not to tell anyone about it as long as he's still alive. If I really had to, I'd just have to tell the fake one. It's a promise that I tend to keep."
"Gracious me, and I'm the man's wife; he never told me any of his war stories before. Well, aside of course from the letters he sent to me during the war."
Arnold felt he had no place to talk with them, so he excused himself from the table, bringing the letters with him to the living room. Curiosity envelops him, as he wanted to know more about his grandparents' past. In the living room, he could still hear chatters from the dining room about his grandfather, although indistinctly. The sound that came from the television from the next room didn't help either as he wanted to be in complete solitude. He took a seat and began to read another set of the letters.
December 12th 1943
Dear Gertrude,
I'd like to apologize for not replying to you sooner, as I was very busy in the last several weeks and couldn't seem to find the time to write at all. I also couldn't write a letter out because my Captain issued an order not to write until further notice. Maybe he wanted us to concentrate more on the frontlines than our family back home. It doesn't help either that my platoon fellas are getting jealous because I received so many "Dear John" letters. "Dear John" letters are what we call letters that we received from the broads back home. I told them many times that most of the letters I received are from my friends, nothing more, but that doesn't convince them though.
I guess that I won't be back for Christmas sadly, due to the fact that we still have a war to fight. But there is a bright side to it. My regiment and I are now in England to further our training and to assist fresh new recruits that just graduated from boot camp. They will replace us in Italy. Guess what? I just got promoted to Private First Class. We heard rumors the all these preparations are for what can be described as the --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------. They haven't told us yet when will -------------------------------------------------------------. I have already written a letter to my parents about it, and I guess they must be devastated to hear that their son won't be back for home for the joyous season of the year.
The letter was censored. Grandpa must've written something important that would jeopardize the Allied plans, if it were fallen to the wrong hands. "Well, at least he didn't lie about his rank." Arnold thought.
To tell you the truth, I'm glad that we're in England now, rather at the frontlines in Italy. We were stationed in the countryside near some town called ---------. Everything is calm and peaceful here, with the exception of the hoots and hollers from the men and drill sergeants that comes up every now and then from the training field nearby. It is so peaceful to the point that we actually forget that we are in war. Last week during the weekends I even took the time off to wander around town to clear my mind, rather than joining the guys at the local bar. From time to time, we had some 'friendly' competitions with our British counterparts during our break, such as playing cards, throwing darts, hold drinking games and playing their version of football.
Most of the British guys I've met are friendly, with exception of one: my nemesis that I've known since my childhood, Rex Smythe-Higgins. And I thought that idiot is off my back forever ever since he moved back to England years ago. Well, it's expected I guess to see him here, now that I'm in England and all. Good God, I hate that man with a passion. He's the most arrogant, snobbish, untrustworthy, egoistical person I've ever met in my entire life. I even had a scuffle with him earlier today due to the most trivial things and he blamed it on me. Can you imagine that? If he was the enemy I would've shoot him sooner. He's in the British Armored Division, driving them tanks.
"Man, even during the war they hated each other." Arnold said to himself in disbelief.
I got my first impression of London a week ago when we first arrived there. We've heard it all on the radio and the newspapers, and indeed it was devastating. The Blitz destroyed almost everything and anything in sight. As the truck we were riding drove us through the city, we could see the aftermath of the bombings. The smell of death still lingers in the air. Buildings destroyed, burnt to the ground and crumbled down, like a cookie. People lined up to get food and clothes from the nearest aid station. I asked one of the locals, her home was destroyed and she had to take her kids to shelter in the subway. I felt so miserable when I listened to her. She then broke down crying, and to show sympathy I offered her my rations, just to lessen her misery. Some of the reconstruction work is being done, to show the enemy that their morale is still high, in spite of the devastation.
Arnold's eyes were brimming in tears when he read that. It was hard to imagine what would happen to him if he were in that situation.
Yes, I finally found Margaret a few weeks after I wrote my last letter to you. She was weary from all the work she had done, but dandy nevertheless. She told me she had to go to England to help the wounded civilians there, since there's a shortage of docs in England because most of them are in the warzones all across the world. After that brief moment with her, I never heard from her again since that. She should be safe here in the British Isle, so don't worry about her much. I swear I will look after her. And as for our other friends, I'm glad that they've find something to contribute. Heh, you and Cindy can be so childish sometimes.
Please don't stop writing, Gerthie. Your letters actually keep my spirits soar, my morale high and it brings comfort. I don't know why, but the letters from my family doesn't work like that, though I am glad they sent to me. Maybe you have something special, deep down inside, like a gift maybe. Well, I'm off to the mess hall now, because I am very hungry. And I heard they're making raspberry pie today. My favorite pie of them all. I know it'll be late by the time this letter reaches your grasp, so have a Merry belated Christmas. I would've sent you a card, but I think this letter should be more than enough.
P/S: I've met your brother Craig; he'll pay you the money after the war is over. He's off to Italy in the next two weeks to replace our regiment. And those bodies were the German SS units.
Sincerely yours,
Phil.
"Grandma has a brother?"
Even after reading that rather lengthy letter, the conversation in the dining room was still going strong; and so does the shouts coming from the next room. Arnold assumed that Mr. Hyunh, Oskar and Ernie are watching a daytime talk show. Grandpa still hadn't come out from the bathroom. Feeling that he got nothing better to do, since he hated daytime television and less than enthusiastic to join in the conversation with the individuals at the dining room, he continued to read the letters. To make himself comfortable, he lied on the couch, as he read the letters. He also noticed that like the previous letter that his grandmother wrote, this particular one also had some trace of dried up teardrops on the paper's surface.
February 2nd 1944,
Dear Phil,
I'm afraid I have terrible news to tell. I am crying as I'm writing this down. It's just I couldn't accept the fact that my best friend Margaret died. The War Department's telegram said her ship was brought down by an enemy mine during her voyage to England. I was informed through her sister, who was working at my usual lunch hangout. I broke down crying when I listened to the terrible news, and my supervisor even let me took the rest of the day off. Marie, Lisa, heck, even Cindy came to me and tried to console me. It's amazing, even the worst of rivals can be friends when tragedy strikes, Cindy and me. Her funeral service was held last week and I was one of the first to attend. I saw her parents were so miserable when the service was conducted. I symphatized her mother the most, she was wailing in grief throughout the service. May Margaret, my best friend, rest in peace.
"Oh my God…" Arnold said quietly in shock. "No wonder Grandpa looked sad when I read that first letter. He broke his own promise."
This paragraph and its latter is written a few days after the first one, because I was too sad to write anything after that. I even put a block of wood (which I usually use as a paperweight) over the said paragraph right now just to make sure that I'm not going to read it. I was quite taken aback when I received your last letter Phil; because it was the first time I see your letter got censored. But yours are still tolerable to read, in contrast of my brother's letter. They blacked it out and even cut it up like a Swiss cheese to the point even myself can't bare to read it. I wonder why they even bother doing it; it's not like it going to fall on the enemy's hands anyway.
I'd like to congratulate you on being a Private First-Class. Does that mean you can boss people around now? Asking the boys on the lower ranks to fetch you coffee or something? And if you really want to make me proud, go up to the ranks of Sergeant, then we talk.
You call us childish? Speak for yourself. You and Rex had been bitter way before me and Cindy started to hate each other. Remember that stupid Tour de Pond competition when we were nine years old? The one where you actually lost the race fair and square? You couldn't accept the result, and instead of appealing to the judges you went over to him and punch him right in the nose! No wonder they dismissed you and declared him as the winner. At least Cindy and I didn't argue about the most trivial of things. Well, after the funeral, we did had a chat at the diner where Margie's sister is working, and suffice it to say, it was constructive and, I can't believe I'm saying this, we actually enjoyed each other's company.
For shame chin-boy. If Cindy and I can get along together, why can't you and Rex? What will your kids and grandchildren say about it?
Arnold chuckled at that, "Well grandma, I'd say grandpa was right all along, Rex did cheat. And he is a jerk." he said to the letter, as if he was replying to his grandmother.
Don't be bothered the snide remarks that your platoon buddies said. They're just jealous that they haven't received any letters from the girls they are missing. And by the way, if you pretend by saying me being your girlfriend or something, I swear when you get back home, I will pummel you so hard that you will begging the War Department to send you back to the frontlines. Don't think this as an idle threat either, because I will do it. And don't think that I wouldn't know about it too, since I have 'someone' in the army, and he is watching everything that you do. Do not forget about it.
"Wow, grandma was just as mean as Helga when she was young."
Well, Christmas wasn't so jolly this time around, with Craig is still out there and my mother is getting worried sick about him. The Christmas tree in the living room still hasn't been thrown out, since mom decided to keep it there until Craig gets back. It kind of depresses me actually, with its ferns starting to turn brown and falls off to the ground making a mess. I tried to talk my mom out to throw it away, but she just wouldn't listen. I can't blame her for that, for I too miss the little guy a lot. Dad is away in Washington, but I never seemed to miss him like I miss my brother, probably because my brother is not as big of a jerk like my father is. Actually, I don't miss my father at all.
The New Years was also quite somber, there weren't any parties to go and to celebrate at all. In each and everyone's mind, there's only one thing they can think of, the war. Just for the heck of it, and to clear my mind from it, I spent the night during the New Year's Eve with Lisa and Marie at the local swing club. Some stupid out of town sailors and army men tried to flirt with us, but as always, I answered them with a punch on their stomach. Lisa had a ball, but I don't know about Marie though, she seemed upset.
Well, Phil. It seems that you've done a darn good job of making me keeping writing letters to you. I should've stopped writing to you months ago, but my gut instincts tell me that I should go on. Maybe you have that kind of charm with the ladies, maybe that's probably why your guys are so jealous of you. Well, in your own words, deep down inside, you do have something special.
"Hmm… Grandma's letters are getting pretty more friendlier and less sarcastic as time goes by." He thought.
Sincerely,
Gertrude.
"Arnold? There you are. I've been looking all over for you," Miles said as he entered the living room. "What've you been doing? Napping?"
"Huh, what?" he startled, "Oh… no dad. I was just reading these letters." He clarified.
"Well, let's go back to the attic. Our work there is still not done."
"Yeah, okay, sure." He nodded. He then got up from the couch and followed his father to the attic. Phil was already inside waiting for them.
"You bunch of slackers. In the old days there was no such thing as taking a break; we would do our job diligently until the sun sets!" Grandpa scolded jokingly.
"You were the one who suggested to us to take five, dad…" Miles thought, but he won't argue with him since he knew that he was joking.
They then quickly went to work again. After more than twenty minutes, everything was clean and tidy. The three of them scanned around the attic, proud of the job well done.
"I've never seen this place so clean before, thanks to you boys," he said with a smile to his son and grandson, "AND NO THANKS TO THOSE THREE BUMS DOWNSTAIRS!" Phil shouted loudly from the attic.
"Thanks dad. We should head back home now, it's getting late." Miles said. Phil was surprised, "what, and eat your dinner at home? No offence, but your wife's a terrible cook. Come on; wait for a while for yer mother to finish cooking dinner."
"Uh… thanks, but no thanks dad. I'll just have what Stella makes for dinner today."
"Well, suit yourself. How 'bout you short-man?"
Arnold was reluctant to answer that. Grandpa's words did have some merits in it, but then again he doesn't want to disappoint his mother. "I… I think I just have dinner at home."
"You're making your grandma sad short-man. Hey, wait a sec, that means more food for me!"
Miles and Arnold grinned pathetically when hearing that. Grandpa then put his hands around their shoulder, and walked them to the front door. As they went pass the living room, Arnold saw the letters he was reading earlier lying on the coffee table.
"Oh, crap! Grandpa, I forgot to give you back the letters."
"Oh yeah, about that. You can keep it Arnold."
"Huh? Why would I need those letters for? Sell it on EBay?"
"I dunno, just keep it. It might be useful someday. You could use it as a reference or something."
"But, grandpa…"
"No buts," grandpa cut him, "just take it. It's not like I'm going to read it again anyway. Think of it as a history book."
He nodded, but still puzzled at his grandfather's decision.
And that's the end of Chapter 3: Stay tuned for more.