This is the first installment of what I hope to be a regular feature for 2010, The Short Story Soiree. I tend to read short stories in their collected volumes and generally on short public transport trips, so my experience with short story anthologies is more interrupted than with a novel, and I find it hard to discuss a collection of stories as a whole. The Soiree is an opportunity to focus on a particular story I’ve enjoyed.
Kicking off 2010 with an extremely short story, Richard Yates’ “Bells in the Morning” from The Collected Stories of Richard Yates, which comes in at just under three pages long. Its brevity, however, does nothing to diminish the power of Yates’ stark prose. “Bells” is the story of two men, Cramer and Murphy, in Germany on the battlefront. On a cold, rainy morning the artillery stops and they hear the feint ringing of church bells in the distance. Aware that it is unusual for the church bells to be ringing in the time of war, Murphy suggests that perhaps the war is over. Cramer runs through this in his head, realizing it adds up, war could be over, he tells himself to remember the details of the moment but then he recalls that it is Easter Sunday and the civilians are likely attending church services.
“In a little while they were comfortable, swallowing coffee and smoking, shivering when fingers of the first yellow sunlight caressed their shoulders and necks. The grayness had gone now; things had color. Trees were pencil sketches on the lavender mist. Murphy said he hoped they wouldn’t have to move out right away, and Cramer agreed. That was when they heard the bells; church bells, thin and feminine in tone, quavering as the wind changed. A mile, maybe two miles to the rear.”
Most of the story is dialogue or Cramer’s thoughts which works without becoming banal but then there are lines like “Trees were pencil sketches on the lavender mist” which are beautifully evocative, even more so in contrast to the context.
“Listening, they sat smiling shyly at each other. Church bells on misty mornings were things you forgot sometimes, like fragile china cups and women’s hands. When you remembered them you smiled shyly, mostly because you didn’t know what else to do.”
One of my general notes of the other stories in the Yates collection is that they all seem to hone in on the split second, often retrospective, realization of personal failure. This comes into play in “Bells” as well, the hope that war is over builds slowly until further information is recalled and shatters their illusion. War also plays a strong role in masculine experience in Yates’ short stories, if not the defining experience of his male characters. Yates himself served in World War 2 in France and Germany. The bells, the false signal of hope and peace are described as being “feminine in tone” which is something to consider. The camaraderie between Murphy and Cramer is not warm or friendly, but there is a strong sense of familiarity between them suggesting they’ve been on the frontline together for a while: “It was better that he didn’t, for Murphy would have answered something about only trying to help you, kid.” “Bells” isn’t representative of Yates’ stories which tend to take place in the familial/domestic or work/business realms, but it is indicative of the great emotional power that Yates instills in his narratives.
“Son of a bitch. Easter Sunday.”