The Last Time We Met

8

In November, the army contacted me about coming to photograph the infectious disease wards. They rang on the telephone, which Henry and I had avoided using per the guidelines - the number of telephone operators had been reduced to maintain appropriate distance between each worker. The ringing of my telephone in a house quiet after Henry's departure for work alarmed me, and I answered breathlessly, expecting to hear that Henry had fallen ill.

Instead, I was told my services were required at the base. "The American people need to see that the army is doing all we can do during this time, and your records indicate that you are a skilled photographer," said the commander's crackling voice through the line.

I asked a few questions, namely about precautions I would need to take. I could not exactly refuse the duty, not when I'd had no clients for over a month. After I agreed, I was told an army vehicle would arrive shortly to escort me to the base. There was just enough time to dress in my uniform, gather my equipment, and put on a gauze mask before the rumble of a truck drew closer.

Stomach churning, I clung to the door as the driver, a soldier named Morgan, whipped us along the streets. Carriages and cars saw the truck coming and moved aside. They might have assumed we were on an important mission to save the lives of flu patients. Henry was the one they ought to move aside for, not me and my camera.

There had been rumors that the end of the war was coming, not that one could tell from the activity at the base. Large white tents had been erected in the training fields, and soldiers were busy loading and unloading cargo from large trucks. Trucks with red crosses painted on the sides trundled up and down the road, a line of five passing us as our vehicle parked at a low stucco building labelled OFFICE.

"Check in with the commander," said Morgan. "I'll wait here."

Three soldiers stood before the commander's desk when I entered. I hadn't expected to enter directly into his office, despite the sign outside. I waited while he instructed the three soldiers on where to unload a shipment, then they all saluted and filed out. Suddenly remembering my training, I straightened up when I saw the commander watching, and waited for his signal to approach.

"Sergeant Shaw, you've been recommended as an excellent photographer," he said, looking up at me without a hint of a smile.

"I don't know about excellent, sir," I said.

He cut me off. "This isn't a compliment. I need photographs of the current infirmary and the new facilities set up, and I need the photographs and negatives in hand by tomorrow. Is that clear?"

I swallowed. I'd have to spend half the night developing the film and the photographs to have them ready for tomorrow. "What time tomorrow, sir?"

"As soon as possible, soldier. By midday, if you can handle that."

A denial could be considered petty disobedience, if not treason. So I gave the only response I could: "Sir, yes, sir."

"Grand. Cadets Tucker and Mullins will assist." He nodded toward two soldiers who had been standing at ease, so still I'd barely noticed them other than the color of their skin: both Black men. I hadn't known the army to be desegregated. "Morgan, your driver, knows the locations. Take as long as you need, and I'll expect to see you back here tomorrow at 1200 hours."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I snapped a salute. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Tucker and Mullins followed me out and climbed into the back of the truck, cramped along with my equipment. The doors barely closed before Morgan hit the gas and we sped toward the first location. I hoped it might be where Henry was working.