“The draft numbers have now reached one hundred thousand. One of every five men who is of age has been selected to join the war and fight for his country. It is an honor and a privilege to serve the…”

            “Turn the tele off, Grant. I don’t want to listen to it anymore,” Natalie said to her manager. “I’m sick of hearing about the war.” She continued wiping the bar in the tattered pub, The Wandering Well.

            “All soldiers are given a military uniform along with their draft card, which must be put on at once. Any man who attempts to dodge his draft into war will be hunted down by government officers and hung for high treason.” The television droned on. “All government officers will continue to be stationed throughout local towns to ensure all draftees mandatory departure.”

            “They keep drafting more and more men,” Grant said solemnly.

            “Yeah, anymore and you’re going to run out of customers,” a drunken man said. He was the only person remaining at the bar.

            “You just keep drinking that whiskey, Jerry, and hope you don’t get drafted,” Natalie replied in a playful tone.

            “They’d never draft an old man like me,” said Jerry before he gulped the last of his drink with a laugh. Natalie’s eyes focused on Jerry’s wrinkles, stretching and contracting as he spoke. His worn, black suit clung to his body. “You’d better watch out for yourself, Natalie,” Jerry continued, “At this rate they’ll start drafting women and you look just the right age.” He finished his sentence with another drunken laugh.

            “Think it’s ‘bout time you head home, Jerry,” Grant interrupted. “We’re closing up here.” Natalie peered at the clock that hung behind the bar and saw it was almost two in the morning. Jerry, listening to Grant, got up from his stool and staggered to the door.

            “Wait!” Natalie called out. She handed him his striped handkerchief with the initials JR, which had fallen out of his suit pocket and onto the bar.

            “Ah, thank you! Have good night, you two, and watch out for that draft letter, Natalie,” Jerry said, laughing as he tripped through the door and into the chilly, moonlit night.

            “Why don’t you go home,” Grant said, turning to Natalie. “Looks like everything’s pretty much wiped down. I can restock the rest of the glasses.”

            “Oh, thanks, Grant,” Natalie said with a smile. She walked around the corner of the bar and made her way towards the door. “Have a good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            “You too, Nat. Get home safe,” Grant replied as he hung glasses on the rack behind him.

Brisk night air sent a chill across Natalie’s shoulder blades as she pulled on her coat. The street lights leading to her apartment six blocks away were always dim, but the moonlight created a pleasant glow. Two government officers were patrolling on the opposite side of the street. Seeing them made Natalie uneasy so she picked up her pace, keen on making it home. Since the war began, patrolling officers created an unnecessary sense of danger in the city.

Halfway to her apartment building she paused, hearing two men speaking in a dark alleyway to her right. She couldn’t make out their appearance, or even what was being said, but one man’s voice sounded familiar, with a drunken tone. Its corresponding voice was stern and taut. Her unintentional eavesdropping ended abruptly with the fire of a gun, and a following outburst of agony sent her running down the street towards her home. The patrolling officers ran towards the alley and one shouted in her direction, “Get off the street!” Once reaching the tall, red door of her apartment building, she jostled a key out of her pocket and looked behind to see if the officers had apprehended anyone. But two more sounds of gunfire reversed her attention to the door lock. Once inside, she went up the stairs two at a time until reaching her apartment, the first door on the left. Locking the door behind her she moved to the window, peeking through the blinds to get a glimpse of the street below. The only thing in sight was a sewer rat scampering across the street and into the gutter, leaving the mysterious gunshots unresolved. Still filled with adrenaline, Natalie poured herself a glass of whiskey to calm down. She sat down on her sofa and flipped on the television, hoping to catch news of the shooting on her local channel. 

***

Natalie awoke sprawled out on the sofa with her feet resting on the coffee table, an empty whiskey glass still in her hand. The morning sun streaked into her eyes through the blinds. Still groggy, she got up and headed into the bathroom. The living room clock struck ten thirty.

            Taken aback by her ruffled up brown hair and flattened eyelashes reflecting in the mirror, she let out a sigh. After a long shower the process began of powdering her face, curling her lashes, and straightening her already straight hair. Now a quarter to noon, there were still a few hours before she had to work.

Natalie took a seat on her couch and grabbed a book from the coffee table entitled 100 Golden Acres. The television in her neighbor’s apartment rang through the walls as usual, “and the lucky contender has chosen option number four. Let’s pull the curtain aside and see what they have won!” But Natalie ignored the overbearing discord, as she routinely did.  She slid the bobby pin, which was taking place as a bookmark, off a page in the middle of the book and reentered into the story.  

A young girl named Josephine lived with her father on one-hundred acres of farm land. Since her mother died from asbestos in the ceiling, the farm had been deteriorating. The fence posts bent with the wind, the wooden shed rotted from termites, and the feed supply drew low. Her father hired a new farm hand, Sam. He was thin and unconfident, but in time his ability to run the farm improved, and Josephine’s attention turned his way. It reached the point where they could no longer refrain from each other and a kiss was planted, watered, and bloomed. On that night Josephine led Sam into the barn and they made love on the hay stacks. But before reaching the morning hours of the two lovers, Natalie was interrupted by the clock turning the hour. Begrudgingly, she set down the book, made a small lunch, and left for work.

***

It was a typical night at The Wandering Well. Men and women came and went in pattern. The television spoke in the background, carrying the mood of the bar. “Another stalemate in the war today. Fifty-five enemy soldiers were killed by ground gunmen and fifty-four government soldiers were killed in an air-trooper ship flying over enemy territory.” Natalie let out a groan of resentment as the news reporter continued, “An incident last night near The Wandering Well pub left three dead, including two government officers.”

            “Grant, turn it up! This happened last night when I was walking home.” Grant reached up and pressed the volume controls on the television.

            “We have confirmed the other death was a citizen named Jerry Rungal.” Natalie gasped as they showed a picture of his younger self on the screen. “We have reason to believe the suspect is a draft dodger. There was a draft uniform found at the scene of the crime and Jerry Rungal was found in his undergarments. We currently have a man in custody. More information will be released at a later time.”

“Poor Jerry,” Grant said as he lowered the volume back down. “But at least they got the guy.”

“I guess so,” Natalie murmured out. The thought of never seeing Jerry at the bar stuck in her head. She thought of his drunken face and how his old, playful voice would never chew at her ear again. But she pushed back the remorse to take drink orders when more people strolled into the pub.

            The evening carried on and customers drank to their merriment and sorrows, most without realizing the loss of their fellow drunkard the night before. Natalie slid a pint across the bar to a customer who caught the glass in his hand, giving a confirming nod in her direction. The door creaked opened and she turned to greet the newcomer. He took a seat at the bar, looking around cautiously at the unexceptional crowd. Natalie looked him over, intrigued by his handsomely cut, wavy brown hair, slick black suit, and his firm jawline covered with a dash of stubble. She walked over to him, a little giddy at heart. Their eyes locked and she became entranced in the lucid blueness of his. She quickly broke the connection and asked him what he would like to drink. A hint of nervousness disguised her voice.

“A Manhattan on the rocks. If you please, Miss,” he replied. His voice was deep and indulgent. She made his cocktail and after serving it to him, received a simple thank you. Natalie smiled in return and tried not to blush, gazing once more into his tempting blue eyes. More customers demanded drinks and kept Natalie busy. But she never stopped peering over at the man in the suit, secretly hoping he would never leave.

With the night pressing on, the bustling crowd of dinky drunkards slowed. The last billiards games were being played, and the women had long left, leaving their men to finish their drinks in solitude. The man in the suit still sat at the bar, nursing his drink. After refilling a pint for a lone man at the opposite end, Natalie walked over to him. “So, do you have a name?” she asked.

            “It’s probably best I keep that information to myself,” he replied.

            “Well then, Mr. Blue Eyes,” she said laughingly, “you won’t make many friends around here with that kind of approach.”

            “You’re right,” he replied softly. “My name is Samuel. And your name is?”

            “Natalie,” she said, smiling.

   “Well, Natalie, where are you from?” She told him how she grew up in the city, not far from the pub. The more she spoke the more eagerly he listened. She told him about her father and mother, and how they both worked for the newspaper, the former working the printing press, while the latter edited the articles. Every time she would ask something of him he simply replied, “There isn’t much to tell about me. I am much more interested in you.” And with his genuine smile and alluring gaze, Natalie couldn’t resist carrying on about her childhood friends, or how she was saving money to attend classes on literature.

            Soon the only remaining customer in the pub was Samuel, still hanging on to every word Natalie spoke. She was telling him of the book she was reading, 100 Golden Acres, when Grant’s monotonous voice startled her. “Think it’s time we close up, Nat.”

            “Yes, of course,” she said disjointedly, not realizing how long they had been talking. She grabbed the empty glass in front of Samuel, gave him a smile, and turned to wash it out in the sink. Grabbing a rag and wiping down the bar she faced him again. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue this conversation for much longer.”  

“Well, perhaps I could walk you home?” he asked. Natalie blushed at his show of interest.

            “I think that would be a good idea, Natalie,” Grant interrupted. “Especially with that shooting last night.” Natalie turned to the man and graciously accepted his offer. She grabbed her coat and walked around the bar.

            “It’s just not safe anymore with the war going on,” Natalie said to Samuel. “I heard a shooting last night on my way home.”

            “You don’t say?” Samuel replied. Natalie locked arms with him and walked out the pub. Outside the cold air stung their faces, and they walked hastily though the dimly lit street.

            “That’s where the shooting happened.” She pointed down the dark alley. But his attention was fixed on the two government officers across the street, stuck in conversation. He turned his head and stared into the alley, as if reality had escaped him.

“We better get a move on then,” he said after a long silence. They hurried the few more blocks to the large, red door of her apartment building.

“Here we are,” Natalie announced.

            “Seems like a nice building,” he replied. Natalie slowly pulled out her keys and fiddled through them.

            “Thank you for walking me home,” she said. Her fingers became more restless with her keys. Her cheeks grew scarlet, and she shakily asked, “Would you like to come in and see my place?” The man grabbed her hand to stop the jingling of her keys.

            “I’d like that,” he replied. Natalie was startled by the soothing grasp of his hand. His blue eyes moved in closer to hers and their lips pressed together. After a few seconds Natalie pulled away and opened her eyes with a provocative smile. She unlocked the door to her building, grabbed Samuel by the hand, and led him up the stairs. Quickly unlocking her apartment, she flung the door open and brought him inside. He slammed the door shut behind them and, grabbing her by the waist, pushed her up against the wall. Their tongues became entangled and he pressed her harder into the wall, their bodies intertwined. He quickly slid her shirt off, only breaking their kiss to pull it over her head.

They moved towards the couch and Natalie grabbed at his suit coat, slowly peeling it off. In the hastiness a handkerchief fell out his front pocket and dropped to the floor. Natalie looked down at the crumpled hankie and noticed its unique stripes. She stopped her dalliance for a moment, reached down, and picked it up. Once straightened out, the initials JR showed on the wrinkled garment. 

“This… is Jerry’s handkerchief?” she began. Samuel had already taken a step back. She took a more careful look at his suit and realized how the chest hung too low, and the cuffs ran too far down his wrists. “That’s Jerry’s suit,” she said in worriment.

            “I was worried you saw me last night, Natalie. But you truly are naïve,” Samuel said.

            “You’re the one who killed Jerry,” her voice was rising. “You’re the draft dodger!” she accused.

           “I’m sorry, but I won’t be sent to die in this war.” And in one swift movement he took out a gun, tucked in the backside of his pants, raised it to her forehead, and pulled the trigger. Her body toppled to the floor with a thud and in the background the neighbor’s television rang through the walls.

            “Breaking news. The suspect in custody for the killing of two government officers and a citizen last night by The Wandering Well has been released. The true assailant is still at large and we urge everyone to take caution. Please report any information or suspicious activity to government officials at once.”

# # #

Jay Tanji is a student at the University of Colorado at Boulder studying finance and creative writing. His hobbies include snowboarding, hockey, playing guitar, reading, and writing.

Photo credit: Dirk Dreyer  www.dreyerpictures.com