Even As We Breathe

by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle

  I needed him to tell me quickly. I couldn’t breathe.

  “I think your mother and Bud must have had an affair.”

  I wanted him to pull over. I wanted to hit him—hell, maybe even kill him—for saying something like that. But he looked as defeated as I felt. “Cowney. Just stop and think for a minute. Why would I tell you this if it weren’t true?”

  “Tell me how all of this is supposed to make me feel better?”

  “It’s not, but Bud has been shouldering a lot. He blames himself for your father’s death. And up until that night, he probably saved your father’s life a half dozen times, between fistfights at basic and tripwires on our marches. And you also need to understand that your father loved your mother so much he couldn’t bear to remember anything imperfect about her. He was holding two pictures when they recovered him. One of her and one of you just after your birth.”

  “Why did Bud tell him? He’d never’ve known. Bud could have just kept his fat mouth shut and I’d still have a father.”

  “Maybe he did know. Maybe Bud just needed him to know to clear his own conscience. I’m not sure. Like I said, I only caught pieces of their argument.”

  My body began to cool a bit, or numb; I can’t be sure which. “So, you think it was a better idea for me to go my whole life thinking my father was a coward instead of Bud?”

  “Neither were cowards. Both served their country. Both loved you. Probably both loved your mother.”

  I was too mad to cry, so the tears pooled inside me until I almost drowned from the inside out.

  Craig, still sweating, cracked his window. “I understand if you never forgive me for telling you. I do. But don’t go another day without forgiving Bud. Neither of you deserve that. He’s not well, Cowney. You can see that.”

  I let my face rest in the palms of my hands and inhaled the smell of my own sweat, earthy pine from resting on the trading post bench, and leather from clutching my suitcase handle. I lifted my head and exhaled. “Okay.” I nodded, not that I intended to do as he suggested. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. No. That’s everything I know in the world.”

  “Good. I guess I’m my father’s son because I just don’t think I can take anything else.”

  “Cowney, you are your father’s son and because of that, you can take a hell of a lot. He’d be proud of you.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Lee greeted me, standing hands on hips in the main corridor as I entered. “Sure didn’t expect to see you walk through the door.”

  “Hello to you, too.” I smiled, grateful to have something to smile about. I set my bags down and reached out to shake his hand.

  “Would have thought you’d call first.”

  “I know, but I got your letter and also got word that the colonel had settled down a bit. Thought I best come on before you gave away my job.”

  “Well, glad to have you back. Go drop off yer things. Best check in with the colonel, too. Just so he doesn’t get all riled up. Then it’s back to work, straightaway. We’re working in here today. I’ll meet you back at the front desk.”

  “Yes, sir,” I agreed. “Glad to be back.” I picked up my bags and turned to seek out the colonel first. I figured it would be best to get that out of the way. Unfortunately, I turned directly into Sol, who had apparently arrived in the building shortly after I had. “Sol.” I nodded.

  “Mmm. You’re back.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes.” I almost asked him if he missed me, but thought I best not push my luck so early into my return. “’Scuse me.” I ducked my head and headed toward the colonel’s secretary’s office. Sol stepped aside and stared as I passed.

  Colonel Grigg’s secretary wasn’t very friendly, though I couldn’t blame her. If I worked for that man, I’d be grumpy, too. “Can I help you?” she asked as I entered.

  “Yes. My name is Cowney Sequoyah. I’m here to see Colonel Griggs.”

  She was accommodating enough to point to a worn couch and a pot of coffee. I poured myself a thick, black cup and positioned myself on the couch so that I could see who passed by the office’s glass wall and who entered.

  The inn seemed more hurried than I remembered. Soldiers and workers alike scurried across the wooden floors. Even guests were out in unusual numbers. Some carried suitcases, some waved papers as they entered and exited the officers’ offices.

  “What’s going on today?” I asked the colonel’s secretary.

  “Nothing special,” she responded without looking up from her desk. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just seems busier than usual.”

  “When was the last time you were here?” She looked up at me, peering over her small square-framed glasses. “Been a couple of weeks.”

  “Several of the guests are leaving in the next couple of days. All should be gone within a few weeks.”

  “Really? Where are they going?”

  “Now, Mr. Sequoyah. You know I can’t say.” She raised her eyebrows and returned to her paperwork.

  “Of course,” I conceded, turning to watch the hurry again. Brooms and bags and files. The inn’s grand entrance had turned into a railway station without a train. There was worry on some faces and anger on others. And navigating between the two were reassuring smiles on the faces of still others. None of them were directed at me. I felt invisible behind the glass, though I was far from it. Because I’d spent so little time in the main building, the sharpness of the men’s suits and the vivid colors of the women’s dresses and hats drew my gaze. They were beautiful. All of them. The fathers and mothers and children. They danced across a backdrop of khaki and green military uniforms and baby-blue maid’s dresses.

  And then a small piece of the backdrop moved forward, and the dancing stopped. She stepped forward, feather duster in hand, and made her way down the balcony staircase, sliding the feathers in rapid motion with each step downward. Essie. I watched her as she reached the final step and started toward the front desk. She leaned across it and spoke with the receptionist. They smiled and laughed. Then the receptionist pulled a folded piece of paper from her uniform pocket and slid it across the desk to Essie. I could see Essie’s mouth form the words “Thank you” and she turned away. She was walking right toward me. I sank down in the couch as far as I could and grabbed a newspaper from the coffee table, holding it over my face.

  “Cowney.” I dropped the newspaper, relieved to hear my name from a male voice.

  “Follow me,” Colonel Griggs ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” I agreed.

  As we entered his office, he nodded to a club chair, indicating for me to sit while he lit a cigarette. “I see General Craig got ahold of you.”

  “Yes, sir. Drove me in this morning.”

  “Well, wasn’t that just sweet of him,” the colonel drawled. “Too bad he didn’t stick around to say hello. I guess he’s told you that we have the bone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You best be glad your friend Essie had a change of heart about what she did and didn’t remember.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I imagine she was scared. She didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Well, she managed to get herself in some deep trouble. And if they weren’t scheduled to ship out in a few days anyway, she would have gotten her boyfriend and his whole family in deep trouble, too. And don’t you think for a second that we’re done with you. We’ll have a report from Raleigh soon.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m just here to work as long as Lee needs me.”

  “Luckily for us both, that won’t be long. Go on now. Just remember, I don’t want to have reason to talk to you again.”

  I wasn’t sure why he had wasted my time. I guess he wanted the final say. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” As I walked out of the door, I laughed to myself. Perhaps I should ask the colonel for a reference letter. I bet it would be a doozy.

  My smile did not last long. Standing at the end of the hallway, the only exit I had the option to
take, was Peter. His face was so stern that I had to reassure myself that I was not the one who should feel guilty.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm. “Let me go,” I demanded.

  He released his grip. “Please. Just give me a chance to talk to you.”

  I could not see any way around this confrontation without drawing attention that I did not need. “I’m listening.”

  “I guess you know by now that I said some things that may have caused you some extra grief.”

  “You almost cost me my job and definitely cost me two weeks’ worth of pay.”

  “I know. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I don’t know why you’d say those things in the first place, but why do you care all of a sudden what I think?”

  “I didn’t mean for them to accuse you.” Peter’s face was pale and his breathlessness made me nervous.

  I craned my neck toward Peter. I could not hold back my anger any longer. “And what did you think would happen?”

  “I wasn’t thinking.” He lowered his eyes. “I mean, it is all just one big mistake, all of it. It happened so fast.”

  I rubbed my forehead hard enough to leave noticeable reddened indentions. “It’s more than a mistake,” I almost whispered. Then my voice grew stronger. “And it certainly wasn’t my mistake!”

  “I would have lost my job, been court-martialed. I have a baby on the way. This is international. Goddammit. They’d string me up if it affects what’s going on in Europe.”

  “What are you saying? What did you do?” But I did not need him to answer. Nausea crept into my gut for the second time in one day. It was his work the photograph showed. As much as I had tried to expand or contract the background of that picture, it had always been a soldier I had blamed for the crudeness of the fence. I knew as soon as I realized the wires had been cut and pulled back from the inside of the property. “How does it make it better to be my fault?” I shook my head.

  “I didn’t frame you. I didn’t accuse you. I just had to get them off my tail. Oh, God, Cowney. What am I going to do?” Peter paced the floor.

  “You didn’t have to. Don’t you get it? You didn’t have to gather evidence. You didn’t have to plant my fingerprints or pretend to be an eyewitness. All you had to do was give them a reason. Make it okay to restart their hatred for me and of anybody who dares to share their space and not be one of them.” I was the brown boy they needed.

  Peter clenched his jaw. “I just told them to question you again.”

  “You say it like they ever stopped questioning me.” I glared back at him.

  “They let you go. You could have just told them the truth about the bone. Shown it to them. They would have left you alone.” Peter bared his palms, pleading to be understood.

  “Why should … how could I tell them the truth if you refuse to?” It was obvious that the colonel had not shared Essie’s confession and submission of the bone with the other men. He probably thought it better if suspicion remained firmly intact for the remainder of their duty.

  “They don’t need my truth,” Peter reasoned.

  “And they don’t want mine,” I sighed. “My God! That little girl. Who speaks for her?”

  Peter paced, eyeing the exits. “Tell me what to do, Cowney. Tell me what to do.” His body lurched forward as if he were about to vomit, but he recovered, hands grasping his knees, bending over in search of his next breath.

  I walked over to him, placing my hand on his back. I didn’t want to touch him, but I needed him to gain some sort of composure to tell me what happened. “First I need to know what you did?”

  “I was out by the property line, shooting at targets during my break, when I noticed that the girl was standing at the fence crying.” Peter went to a window and looked out without actually looking at anything. “The back of her dress was hung on a piece of barbed wire. It must have been hanging down and she backed into it. I told her to stay still but she must not have understood. I don’t know if she even spoke English. She was scared. Her hand was bleeding. She kept pulling no matter how much I told her to stand still. I yanked hard on the wire and she screamed and flung her arms out. She knocked my sidearm from the holster and fell to the ground.” His hands cupped his mouth as he drew in a deep breath. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

  “And it went off.” I finished his sentence.

  “Yes. One shot. There was nothing I could do.” Peter grabbed my arms, pulling me toward him. I pushed him back hard. His desperation disgusted me. I have never felt such a desire to hit another person. I wanted to lay him out—to make him feel pain over and over again until it dulled, drowning him in the numbness of violence. I wanted him to know what it is like to be a thrown-away person. I wanted to make him unrecognizable so he, too, would be forgettable.

  “Help me, Cowney.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell the colonel what really happened?”

  “She was a goddam diplomat’s daughter. It was bigger than me. The bullet went right through her heart. She was gone before I even realized what happened.” He looked at me, angry but still composed. “Her face, Cowney. I can’t shake that.”

  “So where is she? What did you do with the girl?” I didn’t want to hear what I knew was coming—another white man taking the life of a brown girl, then moving her like a slain animal.

  “I knew that I had to get her off the property, so I pretended that I wasn’t feeling well and asked to drive into town for medicine. I took her body to Riverside Cemetery, waited until dark—”

  “You buried her? Jesus Christ!”

  “I know. I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I could make it look like … Cowney, I even rigged the fence so they would think that she just ran off through a gap, but—” Peter was shaking, trying to steady himself with one arm on a high-backed chair.

  “But you found a better story.” I shook my head. Wire cutters—one of the tools he had taken from the shed. I had almost forgotten he was the one who had borrowed them.

  “I’m sorry, Cowney. I’m so sorry. I’ll be judged by God Almighty. I know that. I didn’t mean to. Just tell me what you want me to do. They’ll find more evidence. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Why do I have to make any decision? This is not mine to own. And you didn’t mean to? You may not have meant to murder her, but you sure as hell thought you had a right to take her body from her family—make her disappear to make your life easier. You tried to erase her like her life meant nothing.”

  “You’re right. I … I just don’t know what to do. My family. They’ll go through hell. If I go to jail, they’ll have no one.”

  I saw the terror spreading through Peter’s body. “Your family? Goddammit, she had a family, too!” I wanted to grab hold of him and shake him. For the way he had betrayed me. But also for how stupid and callous he had been. He might not be a murderer, but to have taken that little girl’s body and buried her in some secret spot that way was unforgivable. He had been the only soldier to speak to me as friend, but he had betrayed me just as easily. He deserved whatever was coming to him.

  “I killed her, Cowney. I didn’t mean to. I’d change it if I could.” He had gathered some sort of resolve, as if he were already beginning to convince himself of his complete innocence in the midst of his confession.

  “I know.” I nodded.

  Peter turned from the window and faced me. “You don’t get it.” His voice slowly rose. “I buried a child in an unmarked grave. I destroyed a family not unlike my own. I was so eaten up with evil, trying to protect myself, I almost got you killed. I can’t forgive myself for that. I can’t keep going like this. I can’t run anymore.”

  My eyes welled with tears. My body was suddenly too heavy to raise and steady Peter. I felt pity for the man. Pity. These thoughts are the shame of my youth. How could I feel pity for Peter—because he might go to prison after killing an innocent child, stealing her body, denying her the sanc
tity of burial, lying to the people who loved her, throwing me to the wolves to save his “good name”? Had I been trained to react this way? It came so easily to me to want to help him. No one would help that little girl. No one would help her family. I once had to be quiet to survive. I didn’t have to be anymore.

  So it came as a great relief to me when Peter nodded, acknowledging that he, too, would not choose silence.

  When all was said and done, the government—like it has done many times before—shaped history the way it wanted. There was a war to tend to, so the story of a little girl was easy to bury. After his confession, Peter was born again. Free to continue his life on his terms. The incident was deemed an accident; his only censure for covering up the death was to be named a civilian. The little girl was erased. All I know is her first name, Sakura. That’s all I ever heard. Her first name. But it is important for me to speak it, to you, in this moment. So that she is not completely forgotten. They tried to erase her. Though it meant one less body lying in these mountains in some unknown grave, her story was buried—was buried until now. I don’t talk much of ceremony, a term so misunderstood and strip-mined, but that is all I know to call this. I offer her this rite.

  I walked Peter back across the wide expanse of the entrance hall, bypassed the colonel’s secretary, and stood with him in front of the colonel’s door. I knocked, knowing Peter’s hands were too shaky to do so.

  “Sequoyah,” Griggs blustered. “I thought I told you that I didn’t want to see you again.”

  I looked to Peter and nodded, without offering a reply to Griggs. Assured by the fear and the clarity in Lieutenant Peter Franks’s eyes, I turned and left, to finally deposit my bags in the dormitory. I would likely never see Peter again. His daughter might not either. War shouldn’t be important enough to take another father from another child. It had already taken far too many fathers from far too many children. But when men in power continually make that choice for the rest of us, I am more than willing to sacrifice one of them for a semblance of justice.

  It was barely noon, and I felt I had just lived ten years’ worth of pain. I added another five years when I found that Essie had left a note on my cot. The note was simple, excruciatingly simple. Its coldness, like everything else she had done, was unforgivable.