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Show Kathleen Norris Says: These Wartime Giddy Wives BWU Syndicate .WNU Features. I 'Doris cried bitterly on the dark day I said 'goodby' lo her." By KATHLEEN NORRIS SOME of the husbands who are enduring terrible hardships in far-away places are naturally worried because the little woman at home is having such a hard, dull, lonely time. Other husbands have the problem of Capt. Jerome Blank, who writes me from Guadalcanal. "There is not a man down here," says his letter, "who is not sick for home. Every one of us talks of it. dreams of it. Through heat and fatigue, fa-tigue, Insects and prickly heat long hikes through rough grass, long waits under the simmering midday sun, the men talk of trees, and the shady porch at home, and Mom's cooking. We know we have to get through this and we'll get through it, but Lord, how we want the day to arrive when we can start for home) "Well, what I'm writing you about, Mrs. Norris, is my wife, Doris. Dor-is. I'm 42; she's 28 and extremely lovely. Sometimes I don't dare let myself think how lovely she is. After a most unfortunate first marriage mar-riage I was divorced 11 years ago; six years later I met Doris, who had also had an unhappy young marriage. Both our former partners part-ners have found other mates, so that we felt entirely free to marry, and for two years our love 'story was unclouded and exquisite. Then came the war, and I came out here. Doris cried bitterly on the dark day I said goodby to her, and the memory mem-ory of her lonely little figure turning away haunted me. "But now it's all different. She is living in a group of friends, who like herself are idle, with plenty of money. She is having a whirl of a good time. It is all dancing, drinking, drink-ing, card games, country clubs She goes to races and night clubs, buys new frocks and hats; is in Florida with one friend, going to Santa Barbara Bar-bara with another; she visits a luxurious lux-urious Adirondacks camp and 'never in her life had such a gorgeous time.' One Man's Name. "Of late months the name of one man has been In her letters, or rather rath-er has been conspicuously dropped from her letters. But my Jealousy supplies his name. He Is a rich and attractive young fellow, debarred de-barred by a mild stomach complaint com-plaint from active service; Idle, amusing and unscrupulous. Dislike of him and envy of him have been burning me up for weeks; I cannot get him and the thought of his admiration ad-miration of my wife, out of my mind. "Now comes a letter from Doris that has set me on fire. She Is making a long stay with her mother, moth-er, a thing she never wanted to do before. She says she 'is a sorry and ashamed little girl who played too long with fire,' and that when I come home 'there Is something I must forgive her.' Also I am not to believe anything Margaret or Sally Sal-ly write me. These are my sisters. She says she is 'done with Tony forever.' "Mrs. Norris," the letter ends, "this has thrown me Into a stste of Indescribable agony. I cannot eat mlli smugneti el home. , , . AGONIZING SUSPICION Far harder to bear than tropical heat, galling insects and the danger jrom the enemy ene-my is a soldier's haunting fear that his wife may be wandering wander-ing from him in his absence. When he has her veiled admission ad-mission in writing that she has been unfaithful, the bitter chagrin is almost maddening. What can I do, asks an unfortunate un-fortunate officer. "I am in a state of indescribable agony. I cannot emt or sleep. If she has really betrayed me, I can never forgive her." or sleep. My mind is filled with his detestable triumph, his smugness smug-ness at home while I flght through hot day after day down here. At one moment I want to write her a scalding scald-ing letter, at another I find myself weakening Into tears of pity and love. If she has really betrayed me, I can never forgive her. But how shall I know? If she has just been foolish but no, those phrases I quote above mean more than that. I am miserable, miserable, miserable. miser-able. What position shall I take? What can I do?" You can do, my dear Captain Jerome, what thousands of other husbands and wives, with all sorts of new problems to face, must do after the war. You can come home, meet your wife, look your changed circumstances in the face, decide where you will live and what line of work you want to take up, find a house, settle down to matrimony and forget the past. If you want to be happy if anyone wants to be happy hap-py after this war, it must be by a heroic closing of doors. It may be that Doris' charm and beauty and leisure were not proof against temptation. temp-tation. Well, you chose her for those very qualities; you didn't want a sensible, modest, faithful little woman wom-an who would keep your house and your memory safe. War develops sbnormal situations, In which men and women act as they would never act ordinarily. There Is going to be an enormous amount of straightening and adjusting adjust-ing to be done when the war is over. It is for every one of us to lessen the grand sum total of that uncomfortable uncom-fortable process as much as w can. It Is for every one of us to overlook, forget, forgive In every direction; not to demand explanations explana-tions not to rake up the past, not to Indulge suspicion and curiosity. Doris is evidently a little frightened fright-ened herself at the length to which she has carried this flirtation. But being beautiful, young, Idle and rich, she will presently embark on another. an-other. Steel yourself not to bothei your head about them. When you come back, expect a welcome from loving wife, build your lives together to-gether as If there had not been this grim Interruption, and whatever you do after you have given peacetime peace-time marriage a fair trial, let matters mat-ters go on as they are now. and solve tomorrow's problem when tomorrow to-morrow comes. |
