Chapter 2: The Bookworm, Asimov

“Are you planning to rewrite your résumé to find a job?”
“That too. After the injury, the boss definitely won’t want you anymore. You’ll need a new job...”
“Just take it easy, Enni. You can rest a few more days.”
“Let your dad suffer a little longer.”

Mary said this matter-of-factly; after all, Enni had always been a hardworking young man.

“?”

George peeked over his newspaper, a look of confusion on his face.

Coming back to himself, he looked at Enni and asked, “Do you need a fountain pen to write your résumé? Mishi has pencils.”

In these times, stationery wasn’t cheap, so most common folk used pencils or disposable dip pens.

But Enni was someone who pursued quality. If he was going to write, he insisted on having a fountain pen.

Enni shrugged and said nothing more.

He’d figure out the fountain pen on his own. As for writing, he planned to wait until he received his manuscript payment before going further.

It wouldn’t do to brag about it now...

He certainly didn’t want to be seen as an unemployed 18-year-old dreamer fantasizing about being a great writer at home.

“Oh, one important thing.”

“Your workers’ compensation has come through. Remember to go collect it later.”

George put down his newspaper and fiddled with the radio, hoping to catch the ten minutes of the morning program, Today’s Europe.

This was a CBS show broadcast twice daily, reporting the latest developments on the European front.

[Dear listeners, this is Today’s Europe, bringing you the latest battle reports from the continent.]

[Just yesterday, May 14th, the German army’s tank and motorized divisions formed the spearhead of the first echelon, piercing swiftly through the Ardennes region like a sharp knife.]

[They have now forced a crossing of the Meuse River at Sedan, at the junction of the French Second and Ninth Armies, dealing a severe blow to the Allied defenses...]

The broadcast poured forth from the radio’s speaker, the reporter’s voice steady and urgent.

George muttered, “Keep your workers’ comp for yourself—buy that fountain pen or something.”

Then he furrowed his brows and resumed focusing intently on the news.

Enni smiled softly.

After a moment, lifting his coffee to sip, he walked over to the radio and said to George, “Given the current situation, the Germans will soon break through the Maginot Line, and France will quickly surrender.”

“The situation is indeed grim,” George looked up at Enni and said, his tone somewhat dismissive.

To him, Enni’s deduction seemed a bit extreme.

But Enni remembered how events would unfold soon: the Dunkirk evacuation, followed by the German advance straight to Paris, occupying the heart of France and launching attacks behind the Maginot Line...

Then, the well-known humiliation of France would ensue.

“Europe’s war is none of our business,” Mary said indignantly, her fair cheeks flushed.

“God, fix our own roads first before worrying about other countries’ messes!”

In these days, still reeling from the Great Depression, Mary, as a housewife, longed to see the domestic economy recover rather than meddle in foreign affairs.

“World War I was a lesson. We’re being dragged into war by bankers and arms dealers.”

“The Jewish bankers in New York want Americans to fight for their European brethren.”

George nodded in agreement. Born in 1899, having experienced the horrors of the First World War, he was firmly anti-war.

Enni simply refilled his coffee and responded with murmurs, “Uh-huh, yeah,” to George and Mary.

Though Roosevelt had explained the importance of aiding Britain and France in his Fireside Chats, most Americans favored isolationism, believing European wars were none of America’s concern. This fostered many conspiracy theories.

Not just common folk like his parents; even university professors preached isolationism.

Newspapers deliberately published gruesome battlefield photos to stir public aversion and fear of war.

Although Enni knew what was right, this was the tide of the times, and he could only go with the flow.

It was a pity he wasn’t born into power; otherwise, he would have mobilized every resource immediately to aid Britain, France, and the Asian fronts.

* * *

“Tap tap tap tap...”

While chatting, Mishi, swinging her sleek blonde hair, finally finished dressing and came out for breakfast.

She stuffed corn bread slathered with strawberry jam into her mouth, the sticky red smear at the corner of her lips.

Hearing the family discuss war, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, chewing thoughtfully, “If the Führer rules Europe, we’ll be next.”

That immediately earned a dismissive wave from George. “You should go to school.”

“Hmph!”

“Mishi, what do you think?”

The sulking girl looked to Enni for support.

“I see it with my own eyes.”

“Go on, get to school. I’m off to collect the compensation.”

Enni ruffled Mishi’s hair. His sister was gifted with strategic insight—a rare clear thinker—understanding the war America couldn’t avoid, but as a young girl, her voice carried little weight.

So Mishi obediently slung on her canvas backpack, pocketed 30 cents for lunch, and trudged off to catch the bus.

Not long after, George left for work.

Enni helped Mary with the morning chores before setting out himself.

In this era of traditional gender roles, it was rare for husbands and sons to help with housework, so Mary was overjoyed, feeling that no hardship was too great.

Enni wiped the water droplets off his hands, then brought his precious secondhand bicycle inside through the balcony window.

He had bought it for $20 after working a few months.

Though America’s automobile industry was advanced, cars were still luxury items; even in New York, bicycles were more common.

* * *

On Fifth Avenue, ladies in fur coats and high heels entered and exited department stores. Across the street, several ragged children chased a stray dog, laughing and playing.

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