Kinch and Carter were opposites in almost every way. While Carter was bouncy and talkative, Kinch was calm and quiet. Carter wore his heart on his sleeve while Kinch tempered his emotions. And when Carter was waiting for important mail from home, boy, did you know it.
Kinch didn't know what Carter was waiting for exactly—he'd been uncharacteristically mum about the details—but it was obvious when the much-anticipated package arrived. Although why it required a secretive meeting with the colonel, Kinch also didn't know.
And, anyway, it didn't matter. He was waiting on his own important mail. When it would come and whether it bore good news or bad, he didn't know. And neither did anyone else. Nor would they. Unlike Carter, Kinch wasn't one to advertise his life.
Kinch glanced at the envelopes in his hand, quickly reading the return addresses. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was still possible that the letter he was waiting for was there somewhere.
Laying down on his bed, Kinch shuffled the envelopes and pulled out two from his sister-in-law. He weighed both of them and decided to go with the lighter one—if its size indicated bad news, it was better to get it over and done with. He ripped open the envelope. There was a small piece of paper taped to the back of a folded one.
Dear Jimmy,
As promised, no commentary. And I swear Johnny is still in the dark. Your secret is safe!
Love,
Dina
From the outside, anyone observing Kinch wouldn't be able to tell that his heart had skipped a beat. But, if they looked closely, they might have noticed the slight shake in his hand as he unfolded the paper and turned it over.
Dear Miss Cargan,
We have completed our review of your novel The Canary Sings. We are pleased to inform you that we think your work would make an excellent addition to our Gemini Publishing list of titles.
Kinch didn't bother to read the rest of it. Not yet. He needed to savour this moment. He'd done it. After so many rejections that he had lost count, he had done it. He had scrapped, reworked, polished and shined up his novel enough that finally—finally!—it had been accepted. He was going to be a published author. Or, rather, Miss Louise P. Cargan was about to be a published author.
Kinch rubbed his mouth to hide his wide smile.
"Good news, Kinch?" Newkirk asked.
Kinch started and sat up. "What? No. Um, it's nothing," he said, trying to keep his face neutral. From the corner of his eye, he saw Newkirk shrug and pull out a cigarette, indicating he had no interest in pushing further.
With a small cough, Kinch leaned back against his bedpost and picked up the other letter from his sister-in-law.
Dear Jimmy,
If you haven't already read the letter I sent last week, stop reading this one now until you do.
Have you read it? Good.
Oh, Jim, I'm so proud of you! Congratulations! I wish I could tell everyone, but I promise I'll keep this a secret between you and me.
I followed your instructions and had the publishers write the check out to me. I'll make sure your mother gets the money. I'll just tell her that the diner is doing well. She won't take it though, you know. Not really. She'll want to save it all away for Vladimir.
The publishers want to know when they'll receive another manuscript! I haven't divulged all the circumstances, so I told them to be patient, but you better get started! I can't hold them off for long!
Congratulations again. You know, I never would have figured you for a novelist, but I suppose it's the quiet ones that are full of surprises. Funny how you think you can know a person so well and still find new things to admire about them.
Be safe over there. We all love you. Vladimir says "goo" which I think means, "I have the greatest uncle in the world and I can't wait to meet him."
Love,
Dina
Folding the letter back up, Kinch tucked it back into its envelope with a self-satisfied nod. Dina was proud of him and, hopefully, there was enough money from the book to ensure that his mother wouldn't have to work her fingers quite to the bone to take care of everyone.
It felt good. But while Dina might have wanted to sing his praises to everyone who would listen, Kinch was content to keep this all to himself.
Another day, another mail call with news from the outside world. Schultz, as always, entered the barracks with the same sense of trepidation of a man entering a lion's den. He received little mercy from the residents, who mobbed him as soon as the mailbag appeared from behind his back.
When the dust settled, everyone had at least one letter and Schultz went on his merry way.
Kinch sat at the table and opened a letter from his brother when the barracks door opened again.
"Oh, Sergeant Kinchloe," he said apologetically. "I forgot, heh, this little package for you." Looking sheepish, the guard pulled out a package from his coat. It was sloppily wrapped in brown paper, with a string haphazardly tied around it. Arching an eyebrow, Kinch accepted the package and looked to Schultz for some sort of explanation for its dishevelled appearance. "I, uh… That is I had to inspect it to make sure there were no secret messages contained in it!" Schultz said, stiffening his back and raising his chin to appear like a good German soldier. "I was doing my duty to the fatherland!"
If it was possible, Kinch's eyebrows rose higher. "All right," he replied, confused at what anyone could send to him that would warrant further censorship from Schultz. After tearing off the paper and string, Kinch found a copy of The Canary Sings. "Schultz!" he cried. "Did you read this?!"
"Oh ja!" Schultz beamed as he shoved Newkirk over so he could sit beside Kinch.
"Oi!"
"I am sorry, Kinchloe, but I could not help myself. It is not every day we get new books around here. And this one! Oh this one!"
"This one what?" Kinch asked.
"This one is wunderbar!" Schultz said. "I could not stop reading it. And then, of course, Karl had to read it and Fritz and—"
"Say! How long have you been holding on to this?" Kinch exclaimed.
"Only two weeks. It is a…" Schultz grabbed the book from Kinch, ignoring the little squawk of protest, and flipped it over to the back. "A real page-turner," he read.
"So you liked it, huh?" Kinch asked, unsure of how he felt about that. It didn't say much for his writing if the Kraut guards had gone gaga over it.
"Ja! Sehr gut!"
Kinch frowned and grabbed the book back from Schultz. "Well, thanks. Can't wait to read it," he grimaced.
"Maybe you can read it over the speakers and—"
"We're not doing that again!" Hogan declared, coming out of his office. He glanced over Kinch's shoulder at the book. "Hmmm, The Canary Sings. Never heard of it."
Kinch shrugged. "I think it's a new one. My sister-in-law thought I might appreciate it after the whole fiasco with that other book."
"And this one has an ending," Schultz said. "It is very good, Colonel."
"Well that's a ringing endorsement," Hogan said dryly. "All right, Schultz, enough of this kaffeeklatsch. Get going, huh?"
"Go guard something," Newkirk said from the edge of the bench.
Schultz slapped the table and stood. "I have more deliveries to make. Maybe someone else in camp will appreciate my company!"
"Try the flies by the latrine," LeBeau jeered as he left.
"Intellectual peers, they are!" Newkirk chimed in.
"Jolly jokers!"
The door closed behind him. Newkirk settled back into his place, only to be shoved aside by Colonel Hogan who nestled down beside Kinch. "New book, huh?" he observed. The hunger in his voice was evident.
Kinch sighed and let the book tip towards him. "Enjoy, sir."
Hogan clapped him on the shoulder and grabbed the book. "Thanks, Kinch!" he said as he got up and went back to his office.
Newkirk rolled his eyes and looked around before sliding back into his original spot. "You're never going to see that book again, mate. He's going to spend the rest of the ruddy war savouring it."
"That's all right. He works hard. He deserves a bit of savouring."
"Don't you want to read it?" Carter asked from his bunk.
Kinch shook his head. "I'm not sure if I want to, considering it got a glowing recommendation from Schultz."
"He's right about that," Newkirk said. "The colonel must be desperate for entertainment."
It didn't take long, however, before the Colonel's door opened again. Kinch's heart sank as he checked his watch. It had only been an hour and at the rate the Colonel savoured, he figured he could only be a few pages into it. Had he given up on it already?
"Come with me, Kinch," Hogan said as he headed towards the door.
Now Kinch's stomach clenched around his heart. Did Colonel Hogan know he had written the book? But how?
"Where are we going, Colonel?" Kinch asked as he stood up to follow him.
"To Klink's. This is too good to keep to myself. We're going to ask to read it over the PA system."
"Didn't you just say-" Carter started.
"Do you want to listen to the story or not?" Colonel Hogan asked. Carter peered down at the cover and tilted his head, then nodded hastily. "This is the easiest way. And I won't have to listen to Newkirk's ill-founded complaints about how fast I read."
"I thought you savoured, sir."
"Well, now we can savour together. Come on, Kinch." He hurried outside, Kinch on his heels.
"You really think it's good?" Kinch asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "You couldn't have gotten that far into it."
"It's got me hooked already," Hogan confessed. "I don't know where it's going, but trust me Kinch, I know a good book when I read one."
Kinch stopped, his chest swelling with pride. "I trust your opinion, Colonel. I just hope everyone's taste is as good as yours."
Kinch wasn't one to seek praise. He liked to work in the background for the good of the outfit, and if someone threw him a "good job" every once in a while, well, that was just a bonus.
But in this case, he didn't have to seek praise. It was heaped upon him, although unknowingly but those admiring his book. The camp was buzzing with excitement as the chapters unfolded, and every casual conversation around the table seemed to revolve around it. Everyone with their own theories on what twists lay in store, how the romance would bloom, and how the adventure could possibly wrap up.
Part of Kinch's mind told him that these were simply desperately bored POWs with nothing else to talk about. But that wasn't quite true. They were just as busy as ever. In fact, they were so busy that they probably should have dropped the book reading altogether. But Colonel Hogan insisted it was good for morale. And, besides, they couldn't stop even if they wanted—Colonel Klink was also invested in it and insisted on at least a chapter a night.
"Blimey, that ending knocked me for a loop," Newkirk said once the final chapter had been read and Kinch was settled back into the barracks.
"Yeah, buy, boy, did it work! All the pieces just fit together perfectly," Carter exclaimed as he laced his fingers together.
"Ah, sweet Josephine," LeBeau sighed. "She will be in my dreams tonight."
"You know she was the murderer, right?" Kinch said, arching his eyebrow.
"But what a way to go," LeBeau said.
"Well I give it five stars," Colonel Hogan said.
"Yeah, it was good," Kinch agreed.
"Who wrote it again?" Carter asked. "Do you think they have any other books?"
"I think my sister-in-law said there was another one in the works," Kinch replied.
"Ask her to send it along, would you?" Hogan said.
"Sure. I'll write her now." Kinch got up from the table and slipped into his bunk. As he pulled out a paper pad and began to write, his eye caught sight of the small newspaper clipping that was peeking out from another page. He knew what it said by heart: The Canary Sings was a best-seller and critics were praising its author for her smashing debut. Kinch grinned. It was quite the feather in his cap. But as far as Kinch was concerned, all the praise from professional critics in their New York offices paled in comparison to the excited chatter of his friends as they discussed it around a worn table in a lowly POW camp.
