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( Chapter Nineteen: A WOMAN'S BATTLEFIELD )
THEY NAMED HER SYLVIA. Sylvie.
That was her battlefield. There were no khakis, no Germans, no guns and no bayonets. No — this was the old fashioned warfare of women. Childbirth.
She kept screaming about how much she wanted to wring James' neck for not being there beside her, but there wasn't much either of them could have done about that. She just wanted his affection and his soft cheekbones and heart-shaped face. She just wanted the comfort of someone who truly cared. It was an awful period of time. Her throat was raw and her hair was stuck to her forehead, but after all that, she was just tired. It was a God-awful feeling; exhaustion and sweat and all.
Once the midwives left her alone, she just cried for a little while. The baby cried too.
She never wanted to feel lonely again. Not ever — and now, she wouldn't. Sylvie was a little bundle of joy — yes, she hadn't yet opened her eyes, but she was already the light of Robin's life. Not only that, but Olive was a massive help in looking after the baby, and she would always have her company on standby.
The young mother was being very careful when bathe the newborn baby in the sink, cupping water in her hand and smoothing it over little Sylvie's soft skin. She cooed, "... And you have to look even sweeter than usual, Daddy's coming home today so we have to look good, don't we? I think that's why you came early, isn't it? You wanted to see him come home."
"Are you ready to get her dressed?" Olive asked impatiently from across the room, laying out a set of tiny knitted clothes on the kitchen table, "If they're on time, the train'll be arriving in half an hour. We need to leave as soon as possible if we want a spot on that platform. Everyone's going to be there, you see; Easy Company haven't been in Aldbourne for months. All those young swinger girls with their pin curls are missing their GI sweethearts. I hear them talking about them at the factory all the time, with all the silly military nicknames they're given by their comrades: Skip, Peachy, Jigger, Dip."
"Moe," Robin Winifred added to the list, shaking her head and imagining what the parents of these girls would have been thinking when their daughters asked to go to the pictures with their sweetheart Jigger. Olive got Sylvie dressed as Robin hurried upstairs to change out of her pyjamas and put on something more socially acceptable. She put on her best blouse and prettiest skirt, and the saddle shoes Hermia had got her the Christmas before.
The weather was glorious — it was May 8th, and Jim had been busted by his higher officers and sent home for being constantly drunk on the cherry-flavoured gin he'd looted, discharged with three Purple Hearts and a Bronze Star. He'd sent a letter that detailed: ever since we found one of Hitler's gin warehouses, we've drinking all the time. A week back, Popeye slept for two days straight. The champagne is the best I've ever tasted. It's the expensive stuff, too. I'll bring some back for you, that is, if I don't finish it first.
