Land of Dreams: A Novel by Kate Kerrigan

being, but I’ll probably need to spend a good bit more time out here next year.”
    Was he tapping another nail into the lid of the coffin of our marriage? Or inviting me to beg him not to go? It was not a conversation to have on the phone, but it was a conversation that I was determined to have. One way or another, I could not continue living in this no-man’s-land of a marriage. We would have to move forward or end it. Christmas and the new year would be time enough to tell what would be for the best.
    I was up on a chair, dusting. The ceilings in the apartment were high and their dust-filled edges easy to ignore; dead insects and other debris clumped in the corners, unseen and ignored—I didn’t dare think when I had last given the apartment a thorough going-over. I had spent the best part of my youth and my twenties scrubbing and cleaning—for myself, because I had been reared to believe that cleanliness was next to godliness; and then for other people, to earn money, before I was sure that I knew how to do anything else. By the time I was in my late twenties I had enough sense and money to pay other women to do it for me. Yet here I was, in an old dress, with a scarf wrapped around my hair, choosing to dust and quite enjoying myself!
    I turned the radio up high on Sammy Kaye’s Sunday Serenade ; Jimmy Durante was singing “Inka Dinka Doo,” and Tom danced into the room so delighted with himself that I was afraid he would knock me off the chair. The song finished and just as Tom was begging for more music there was an announcement: “From the NBC Newsroom in New York. President Roosevelt has said in a statement today that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, from the air.”
    The statement was repeated twice, to let us know this was not simply devastating news, but had the gravitas and consequence of history.
    Charles was in Hawaii. I didn’t know anything about why he had gone there or what he was doing. I just knew that he was in Hawaii. Although I could not imagine any reason why he should be near the naval base, I still felt sick.
    I immediately switched off the radio so that the boys could not hear the news, then ran to the bureau in the hall where Charles had left his contact details for Hawaii. It was for the offices of the Communist Party of the United States of America in Honolulu. The CPUSA was by no means in charge of all of the unions in America, but was usually involved, officially or unofficially, in much of the work that Charles did, particularly in setting up new unions or agitating workers to rise up against the unjust and exploitative methods of ruthless corporations—many of which, far from merely surviving, had actively used people’s desperation to enable their own businesses to thrive during the Depression.
    I reached frantically for the phone. It was a Sunday, so of course there was no reply.
    I had to wait. He would telephone. Charles would call as soon as he heard the news, to let us know he was all right. He would know I would be worried. As soon as he could get to a phone, he would call. An hour passed. Two hours. I cleaned. What else could I do? The radio was full of news, although I could not leave it on in case the boys heard what had happened, so I just sneaked into the kitchen and put my ear to the wireless while they were occupied. I would not have them see me looking uncertain or frightened. There was no mention of civilian deaths, and it was the naval base that had been attacked. Charles would most certainly have no business with the Navy. Perhaps it was not as bad as it sounded—although one of the bulletins mentioned that Burma had been bombed, and there was quickly talk of America going to war, but I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted my husband to call and let me know he was safe, so that I could reassure myself and, more important, the boys. Cars had come to a standstill outside our window—Leo called me over to look at a small gathering of our