"Right in the jaw," he said, holding up a fist triumphantly. "I'm going to sock ol' Adolph right in the jaw."
The younger boys cooed reverently as they listened to the boast. They'd heard this story before. They'd heard it last month when it'd been invented, and last week when it'd been given new weight by the news of it's creators enlistment. Today, they hoped some other news would follow.
"You're not gonna slug Hitler."
He looked up from his little audience in time to meet her gaze from across the courtyard.
"Yes I am," he said, not leaving his perch atop the picnic table.
"Yeah," one of the boys whined in defense, "Kim said he's gonna do it, and when Kim says he's gonna do something… Kim do it!"
"He's good on his word," another commented.
"Ain't no liar."
"Ain't never lied in his life."
"Well, he did say he was gonna have a date with the generals daughter that one time."
"That weren't a lie, wise guy—she done rejected him."
"Hey," Kim snapped, "Why don't you go play in traffic?"
The boys exchanged long glances of "Do we have to?" before picking themselves up, dusting off their britches, and scampering away across the schoolyard and out of sight.
"What'd you go and say that for?" Kim asked, after they were well out of earshot.
"You're full of it," she snorted, crossing her arms and locking her eyes with his. Somehow they always ended up like this: a mental and physical staring contest—a battle of the wits, tongues, and occasionally fists. It didn't matter that she was barely half his size; the score was always tied, and they were always looking to break it.
"What do you know?" he asked, "You haven't done nothing for the war yet, and it don't seem like you're about to start now. At least I'm doing something."
"What? Joining up?" she asked mockingly, "You won't last a year."
"Jokes on you," he teased, "With me in the ranks, we won't need a year."
"Don't get cocky. I know what they're saying same as you, but they're always wrong. My brother said they said it about the Great War, and Napoleon before that. He said they even said that about the Trojan War way back when, and that lasted a decade. You won't make it more than a year, and I'll bet money on it. You can pay me when you come crawling home, crying."
His face contorted in rage. What did she know anyways? What did her dumb brother know? He'd joined up a month ago, and he wasn't so tough. If anyone was going to come home crying it'd be Jalil—not him. And what gave her the right to talk like that? She was just a dumb girl. She wasn't going to be the one fighting. She was going to stay home and cook, and sew, and complain that there didn't seem to be as good rations as there were last week.
"You be quiet. I don't have time for your gibberish," he snapped. "Why don't you run along and play with your fancy toys and silver spoons and leave the fighting to the real heroes in this country?"
"What, you?" she laughed mockingly, "I'd make a finer solider any day."
"But you won't," he shot back.
"I can't."
"Hogwash. Maybe you can't enlist, but you can still do your part."
"You mean collecting cans and raising money for war bonds?" she smiled sarcastically, "Gee wiz, Mister; I'd like nothing better than to keep doing what I'm already doing."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" she asked, "You want me to lie about my age and gender to sign up?"
"I just meant there's plenty of jobs for women too. Code talkers, and secretaries and even espionage."
"Now there's a $10 word for you."
"Look," he said, finally hopping off the picnic table, and standing across from her, "it don't matter to me if you're in it or not. I am, and I'm gonna do my duty, so stop messing with me."
"I'll mess with you as long as you keep making it easy," she quipped. "I said you won't make it a year, and I stand by that."
"Do you now?"
"I'd bet money on it, I told you."
"I'll take that bet," he said, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. "I bet my first months salary I'll make it twice what you think. 300 Francs says I'll make it two years easy—if the war happens to last that long."
"And what if we lose before then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We won't. I already told you we're going to win."
"But what if we do?"
"If we lose, I'll buy you a diamond ring, and you can keep it for your jewelry box—no strings attached—or sell it off at the pawn shop."
"That's—"
"But if we win, I'll buy you an even bigger diamond, and you'll have to accept it and marry me."
"Why would I marry you?"
"So that every morning I can wake up next to you and say, 'I told you so.'" He looked her dead in the eye, as he set the scene, "Just you and me, ever morning. 'Do you remember that time you told me I'd never sock ol' Adolph in the jaw, and then I decked him solid, square?' 'You remember that time you told me France'd surrender in no time fast, and then we beat those Nazi clowns within an inch of their lives?' 'Remember that time you told me I'd come home crying, and I came back a hero?' 'Remember that?' Every morning. I'm gonna ask you every morning as long as you live."
"I'll take that bet," she sneered, narrowing her eyes in disgust, "because you're not gonna win." She took a step closer to him, until there was less than an inch between. "And, if you're right in all your boasting, I'll even pay for the wedding."
And with that, she turned on her heals and sprinted all the way home, not stopping to look back even once.
He hadn't noticed it before, but the sun had already begun its decent behind the horizon while they had been caught up in their quarrel. The dim twilight left patches of gold strewn across the earthen floor, broken up haphazardly by the long, dark shadows of trees, and other familiar landmarks that now seemed unearthly against the amber sky.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and made his way to the suburbs. His mother was sure to have dinner ready by now. After all, he was leaving for basic training in the morning, and she'd promised to make his favorite.
That was the last time he'd seen Alix, he recalled, as the transport vehicle jumped and jostled over every rock and dip in the road. The ride back to Vincennes had been far less than pleasant, but he knew it was nothing compared to what he'd likely endure once he arrived back in his hometown.
It had taken a few days to get there—between his mother's aversion to answering the telephone, and the army's refusal to provide personal carriage to the soldier's homes—but eventually he found himself in the familiar suburbs of Paris, standing in front of a familiar house, with a familiar knocker on the front door.
He shifted his weight to his left crutch, and let the right fall against his body as he lifted the heavy, brass handle and dropped it once, twice, three times. He picked up the crutch once again, as he heard a movement from inside. For a moment, he dared to hope. Was it her?
The man who opened the door seemed different than the man Kim had known only a few months ago. He had the same blue eyes, and the same scruffy looking moustache as him, but there was something about his expression that made Kim feel that whoever this was, was much older, and much more worn, than the Mr. Kubdel who had congratulated him on his enlistment not so long ago.
"Is Alix home?" Kim asked, "I have something for her."
Mr. Kubdel's eyes only betrayed his sadness for a split second, before he smiled.
"Kim! It's so good to see you!" he said, "I trust you made it out in one piece? Or mostly?" he asked.
"Busted up leg, sir," he said almost apologetically, "They got me pretty bad."
"Of course, of course," he muttered, chastising himself for not noticing the crutches.
"I was on the front lines my first battle. Got hit, and went down hard and fast. But, Alix, sir; is she here?"
"Alix? No." His eyes looked sad again. This time, they held the expression, and did not shake it. "Alix hasn't been home in several months. She left not long after you."
"Left? Where'd she go?" he asked, somehow still baffled by the turn of events.
"What I wouldn't give to know that…" he replied, not making things any clearer. "Is there something else I can get you, my boy? Or is that all? I really wish I could tell you, but she never even said she was leaving until she was gone."
"No," he responded hesitantly, "I guess I'll leave you be then."
"Yes, very good. I suppose that does make sense," Mr. Kubdel muttered, closing the door behind him.
Kim stood there for a long time after it had shut. It's not that he'd expected Alix to be there—he'd already told the nurse she wouldn't be waiting—but something in him had dared to entertain the notion that maybe she might. Maybe she hadn't left yet. Maybe she was visiting. Maybe she'd found something to do that hadn't required her to leave the city. It was an overly optimistic thought—the kind he wasn't previously accustomed to entertaining—and he chided himself for his foolishness.
Still, he chuckled to himself. The 300 Francs felt heavy in his pocket, and the amber sky felt less vibrant than it ever had before, but as he stared out at the shadowy skyline of the city, he wondered if perhaps this had been a blessing. He may have lost the first bet—he may have been sent home before the year was out—but France still had a war to win; and with Alix on the case, he knew they had nothing to fear. Maybe by the time she got home, he'd have enough saved up to buy her that ring he'd promised.