Free Prisoners of the Williwaw by Ed Griffin Page B

engine.
    "How are we going to get to our house if this car won't start?"
    "Don't worry.It'll start.   I want to show you this place.   It's fine."
    He wasn't answering her questions, but in any case, she thought, it might be interesting to get an idea of Navy life.    The US Navy, unlike many others - the Russians, the Japanese - had learned to live on these islands. They had rec. centers, hobby shops and even a McDonald's.It wasn't the devil wind that defeated the Navy - it was peace with the Russians.
    She smiled."Let's take a look."
    "All right," he said enthusiastically and opened his door.
    "Wait," she said putting her hand on his arm.   "My luggage, my dishes, where are they?"
    "Not to worry.   They're in the trunk."
    "Gil, you're sure?"   It wasn't really the dishes, the platinum-edged Grace china, that were important.   It was the old heavy cast-iron skillet.   More of her mother was in that skillet than in the china.   Her mother's early married life, frying bacon for her husband as he struggled through medical school.   Even later when they had a maid.   A week before she died, Latisha found her out of bed, stir-frying some onions and peppers in the skillet.   "This skillet is gonna be yours, Latisha," she said.   "Be sure you don't go scrubbing it too deep.You'll wipe out your father and me."
    That skillet was all she had left in the world.    Just a layer of carbon on an old skillet, some platinum-edged china, and a marriage about to undergo one last try.
    She had to do what she could.
    "Come on," he said, "bundle up.   I'll show you."
    He got out and opened the trunk.   There was her luggage, the china, and the heavy-looking box marked kitchen.
    Seeing her dishes made her want to get settled.   "I can't wait to get to our house.   Right after we do this tour, we go home, okay, Gil?"
    He smiled and closed the trunk.   "Let's go.   It's raining."
    They ran for the covered entrance.   As he rounded a corner of the building, the wind and the slippery grass sent him sliding to the ground.   "Shit," he said.
    Green stains and muddy, sandy dirt covered one side of his blue prison pants.
    "Jesus Christ, what a place!" he exclaimed.
    In the entryway they loosened their parkas and walked in. She noticed his eyes exploring the walls of the entryway.   He touched the walls.
    "Need paint?" she asked.
    "No.Great place for posters."
    The door to the club was ajar.    Old dusty offices lined the wall on the left.   They had military titles and letters on the doors.   To the right there was a ballroom with a stage up front.Through the dusty darkness of the room they could see a broken window and a stage curtain billowing in the wind.
    "Gil, a ballroom!"   She clutched his hand tightly and smiled.   "Our daughter will have her first dance here."
    "Slow down, fine lady, we haven't even - "    He paused and squeezed her hand in return.   "A ballroom."
    "Take me around the floor once, like you used to, Gil."
    He held her and moved her around to the music she hummed.   "Jesus, Jesus, it's good to be with you," he said.   "Thank you for coming here.   I love you."
    She hugged him. "Ah, Gil, come on, we can see this place another time.   Let's go home."
    He turned her back toward the entrance to the ballroom.   "Look at that bar," he said pointing across the hall. They walked across and looked at the polished wooden bar, the round tables and chairs, neatly stacked in the corner.   The walls and the bar were done in a nautical motif and old anchors, fishnets, and harpoons were scattered about.
    "This is perfect!" he said.   He glanced back at the series of offices.   "And offices and - let's keep going."
    As they walked down the hall a middle-aged man in coveralls walked toward them, his eyes on the ceiling, following an exposed water pipe. He had been a few ahead of them in line at the air terminal.   He reminded Latisha of the handyman in her apartment, not that they looked alike, but that they