Every New Year’s Eve
since 1946, Nate Meyer has ventured alone to Times Square to listen for
the ghostly church bells he and his long-lost wartime lover vowed to
hear together. This year, however, his grandson Blaine is pushing Nate
through the Manhattan streets, revealing his secrets to his silent,
stroke-stricken grandfather.
When Blaine introduces his boyfriend to his beloved grandfather, he has no idea that Nate holds a similar secret. As they endure the chilly death of the old year, Nate is drawn back in memory to a much earlier time . . . and to Walter.
Long before, in a peace carefully crafted in the heart of wartime tumult, Nate and Walter forged a loving home in the midst of violence and chaos. But nothing in war is permanent, and now all Nate has is memories of a man his family never knew existed. And a hope that he’ll finally hear the church bells that will unite everybody—including the lovers who hid the best and most sacred parts of their hearts.
When Blaine introduces his boyfriend to his beloved grandfather, he has no idea that Nate holds a similar secret. As they endure the chilly death of the old year, Nate is drawn back in memory to a much earlier time . . . and to Walter.
Long before, in a peace carefully crafted in the heart of wartime tumult, Nate and Walter forged a loving home in the midst of violence and chaos. But nothing in war is permanent, and now all Nate has is memories of a man his family never knew existed. And a hope that he’ll finally hear the church bells that will unite everybody—including the lovers who hid the best and most sacred parts of their hearts.
Nate, a Jewish American recruited
during war time to take surveillance photo's over Europe. And Walter a
wartime nurse, that came to Nate's aid when Nate's plane was shot down. We also
have Nate's Grandson, Blaine and his boyfriend Tony.
This story starts out in present
time, with Blaine and Nate about to head out to Time Square in hopes to
hear the Church bells ring. This was a promise, meeting made by Nate and Walter
during the war. That Nate has been ding ever since. Tony is meeting the
Grandfather for the first time, which is a big step in the secret relationship
that Tony and Blaine have. Since the Grandfather has played such an important
role in Blaine's life. Blaine has been telling Nate all about Tony, but
unfortunately, several years ago Nate suffered a stroke so all of he's thoughts
are done like inner dialogue. And Nate was never able to tell Blaine about
Walter. As we wait for the church bells, Nate starts his flashback to
1946, before he meets Walter and the crash. The rest of the story is the lead
up, crash, and afterwards. And the very end is back to present day for a page
or two.
First, I have to say, I've not read
a huge amount of this authors work but the ones I've read I've enjoyed. So
giving this one a 3 was hard. But I was disappointed by it over all. I
understand that it must have been a hard subject to write and research. Gay
men, Jewish, military in during 1946-47. And I applauded those efforts.
And the details of the fight and plane being shot down was amazing. However,
over all I just wasn't impressed, touched or moved emotionally by the story or
the characters.
I’ve always believed that little moments make
up a romance. In this case, we see Nate
recovering from his illness—and also getting to know the companion who pulled
him out of the wreckage and saved his life.
Nate admires him—very much—but it’s important
to remember the day and age they were living in. Both men have made a study of
keeping the parts of themselves that would get them in trouble hidden deeply
inside. They give each other hints throughout the first month of their
relationship, each one hoping the other will pick up on the hint but afraid to
give more.
In this case, we know Jimmy admired Walter’s
body, and Nate has felt horribly alone.
It’s not enough, not now, but it adds up. Eventually it will add up to love.
But he didn’t
want to get up yet, because he would need help, and he didn’t want to wake
Walter.
Morning sun made
its way through the boards on the windows and illuminated his companion’s face.
Eighteen— young—and terrifyingly resourceful. He’d applied himself to Nate’s
convalescence with an astounding single-minded resolve. The abandoned house in
the woods gave them many amenities—Nate would be the first to recognize that
without shelter and clean water he would have been better off staying in the
plane and hoping for rescue before he stopped breathing.
But Walter had
nursed him through the fever, fed him broth made from old salt and a new
rabbit, and brought him an empty can to piss in. He’d wiped down Nate’s body, giving
an efficient, welcome sponge bath. Once, when Nate could smell his own sweat so
strongly it troubled his stomach, Walter had washed his hair using warm water
and some soap he’d found in the bathroom cupboard. Nate could still smell the
perfume on the milled soap, and he hadn’t sweat as much since the bath, so the
smell remained comforting.
He’d laughed with
Nate, as well—or at him—but then, Nate remembered being foolish often in the
throes of the fever. But the fever was gone, and he was no longer foolish.
Tired, and his
body ached but not excruciatingly so. He wasn’t foolish, only a little bit in
awe.
“What’re you
looking at?” Walter muttered, rolling to his side to talk to him. “You been
burning holes in me for about five minutes now.”
Nate grimaced.
The man was admirable, but he was also blunt.
“I have to
relieve myself,” Nate said with some embarrassment. “I would rather use the
washroom than the mason jar, if that is all right with you.”
Walter grunted
and swung his legs around to sit up. “That’s fair enough. But I been using
outside. There’s still an old outhouse there. They had a running water line to
the bathroom, but it’s been turned off—water closet doesn’t flush.”
Nate blinked and smiled
slightly. “What is this place?” he mused.
“I been thinking
about that,” Walter said, standing up and stretching. He wore pants, tailored
for someone much taller and larger than he was, with suspenders to keep them
up, and he had folded the cuffs multiple times and tacked them, probably with
the surgical thread he’d used to stitch Nate. They seemed to float around his
small waist, almost like clown pants. Nate eyed the boy critically, wondering
if watching his own mother tailoring his clothes was enough to give him the
expertise to fix Walter’s.
Walter stretched
his hands over his head then, in a curiously catlike gesture, and the knit
undershirt he was wearing hugged what appeared to be a trim, almost-gaunt
little body.
Walter lowered
his arms and grinned at Nate, not abashed in the least at another man’s regard.
“I’m scrawny, I know it.” He smirked. “I got the body of a turnip in a drought,
or that’s what . . .” His smirk faded, and he
swallowed. “That’s what Jimmy used to say.” It had cost him to finish his
sentence. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get sad on you.”
“Not at all,”
Nate murmured. “There is no shame, I think, to miss a friend.”
Walter glanced at
him sharply. “That sounded all Jewish and stuff. Is that like . . . like a
saying or a proverb or something?”
Nate searched his
mind. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s mostly common sense.”
That grin came
back, stretching Walter’s cheeks, making him look about ten years old. “Well,
it’s good sense, but it sounds awfully damned Jewish.”
Nate grinned back
and sat up creakily. He envied Walter’s scrawny body and the ease with which he
moved. “I take it you haven’t met many Jews.”
“In Beauchamp,
Iowa? Are you kidding? Indians, yeah, we got some of them, but they mostly stay
on the reservation.” Walter’s face fell. “Seemed a shame. There’s a bunch of
kids near us when I was growing up. Liked to play stickball. My dad was a real
bastard to ’em, but they let me play anyway, when I could get away from him.
So, like, I heard about the Jews getting shut up in ghettos, and I thought
about them kids on the reservation, except not ever getting to come out. They
were nice kids.” He smiled uncertainly at Nate, as though he wasn’t sure how
this bit of information would be taken.
“I’m jealous,”
Nate said, because honesty had served him well thus far with Walter. “You had
peers. Children to play with. I was always . . .” Too shy. Too different.
Too Jewish for the goyim, not Jewish enough for the Jews. Too afraid of looking
too long at the wrong person. “Alone,” he said after that pause.
Walter grimaced.
“Yeah, well, I’ll bet you wish you could be alone to take a leak, don’t you?
C’mon, let’s go.”
Amazon || Barnes & Noble || ARe
Amy Lane exists happily with her noisy family in a crumbling
suburban crapmansion, and equally happily with the surprisingly demanding
voices who live in her head.
She loves cats, movies, yarn, pretty colors, pretty men,
shiny things, and Twu Wuv, and despises house cleaning, low fat granola bars,
and vainglorious prickweenies.
She can be found at her computer, dodging housework, or
simultaneously reading, watching television, and knitting, because she likes to
freak people out by proving it can be done.
I love the excerpt!
ReplyDeleteTrix, vitajex(at)Aol(Dot)com
The book sounds really wonderful and enchanting I'm looking forward to reading it.
ReplyDeleteEvery time I read the synopsis for this story I become more and more interested in the story. I can't wait to read it.
ReplyDelete