“Where is he?”
“Here. He needed to get away and a place to flop after getting out. I accommodated him.”
Anthony walked with the phone, almost tripping over the cord. “Can I talk to him?”
“Marcus! The phone!”
“Hello.”
“Hi, Marcus. This is Anthony Andrews, a reporter. I—”
“Means told me about you.”
“Well, first—congratulations on beating your case.”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
“And congratulations for getting out of ’Nam alive.”
“Thanks again.”
“So you understand I’m trying to find out what happened?”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you doing now, Marcus?” Anthony asked.
“I’m lookin’, man. The best I’ve found is a porter job I guess I’ll take. I can’t find work in my field.”
“Which is?”
“I studied mechanical engineering.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. But don’t give up. Never give up.”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I want to talk to you about the mission.”
The phone was silent.
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Can we do that?”
All Anthony heard was a sniff.
“Marcus?”
“Not yet.”
Anthony’s stomach sank. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
Anthony was at a loss for words. How could he explain how well he understood? “Wouldn’t anybody know better than you, Marcus. Would you contact me when you want to talk?”
“Okay.”
“Can I talk to Means?”
“Yeah. Anthony?” Means asked.
“Is there any way you could persuade Marcus to talk? It’d be in his best interest if I’m able to get enough information to prove these soldiers were railroaded.”
“Yeah, but he’s got to do it at his own pace, Anthony.”
Anthony understood only too well. Moving at one’s own pace was important. It was the way a man stayed in control.
Chapter 50
P
iece by piece, Anthony thought as he tapped his desk with a pencil. A little information here, a little information there, and hopefully the puzzle would start to come together. He looked at his notes and stopped at Furman Soledad’s name. What else might he know?
Anthony wished he had something new to share with Soledad, but quite possibly, Soledad might have something for him, he thought as he picked up the phone.
“Mr. Soledad?”
“Yes. You find out anything, Mr. Andrews?”
“Not yet. Sorry.”
“Oh.”
“But I do have some questions.”
“Yeah?”
“So when we last talked, you mentioned Jeremiah being herded somewhere with other soldiers. You remember him saying anything about the other men?”
“He mentioned a soldier named Sampson he went to basic with.”
“Do you remember Sampson’s full name?”
“Mitchell, I think.”
“Anybody else?”
“No. He didn’t have many friends besides me.”
“Okay. That’s helpful. I’ll be in touch.”
Anthony sat on the couch staring out the window as the dusky gray light darkened into nightfall. At first he refused to acknowledge that his singular focus was on finding The Seven to the exclusion of anything else. It had become, he admitted to himself after making fifteen calls to find Myron Turner with no luck, a progressive addiction—one that was becoming as strong as his need had been for alcohol.
Because besides uncovering the plight of the soldiers, his quest might provide answers to a question that to date had eluded him—how to get the war out of his head and get his wife and daughter back.
Myron Turner and Leroy Casper never returned Anthony’s calls. Robinson was polite enough but hung up after five minutes of conversation. And even though he had their numbers, no one answering could tell him how to get in touch with Xavier Warfield, Clarence Bankston, or Raphael Holland.
Warfield’s mother was somewhat helpful. “Xavier stayed with us for about a month, then he told us he had to get a place of his own. We haven’t talked to him since then. If you talk to him, tell him we’re worried about him, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
“Clarence is moving to Cleveland,” Bankston’s mother said. “He wants to be around his army friends. He told us they’re the only ones who understand him. I expect he’ll call once he gets settled.”
“Raphael? Don’t nobody know. He out in the street somewhere,” the voice on the other end said.
“Okay,” Anthony had responded to each of the three. “Please tell him a reporter called who wants to help with his situation.”
Anthony waited for the phone to ring. He hoped to talk to and convince at least one of The Seven he had their best interest in mind. When he went out, Anthony checked his answering machine as soon as he returned home. No messages. Not even someone trying to sell him something.
Anthony became so discouraged he considered having a drink before mentally slapping himself in the head. Was this where it ended? The story never told? Each of the men going his own way—scared, scarred?
But then, maybe they weren’t. Maybe he was the only one. Maybe he was the only weak one. But that couldn’t be. If they weren’t affected, why didn’t they talk? Was it the other-than-honorable discharge, or did the mission play a part? Did they talk to each other? It appeared they did if Bankston was moving from Mississippi to be with them, but why wouldn’t they talk to him?
He sat back grimacing. The thick folder with his notes and articles lay on the kitchen table where it had remained unopened for the past three weeks.
What else could he do? Without their cooperation, nothing would happen. Anthony sighed. The least he could do was to get away for a while, go to Cleveland, and visit the Williams family as Chucky had suggested. But he was torn between leaving home—risking not being there if Carla returned—and getting some comfort and answers from the Williamses who were like another family to him.
Anthony hung his head. Fat chance of the former happening. Carla’s father had been clear: Even if she returned, he still was not where he needed to be. He had more work to do.
“Raymond?” Anthony asked over the phone.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Anthony.”
“Anthony! Your ears must be burning.”
“Why. What happened?”
“Cread just asked about you. Wondering how you are and why you haven’t stayed in contact.”
“Man, if you only knew. But that’s why I called. I’m coming to visit.”
“Great!”
“How’s everybody?”
“Everybody’s good. They’ll be happy to see you. When are you coming?”
“About two weeks. I’ll be staying at the Majestic Hotel on 55th Street.”
“No you won’t.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll stay with me. I’ve got an extra bedroom.”
“I don’t want to interfere with you and Myra.”
“We, um, we’re not together anymore.”
“Aw, man. I’m sorry.”
“Things happen.”
Anthony toyed with the phone for a few seconds. “I’ll call you a few days in advance?”
“That’d be good. It will be good seeing you.”
“Same, Raymond.”
Anthony placed the phone down, wondering what had happened between Raymond and Myra, who were as close as he and Carla had been. Was their break up a harbinger of things to come?
Nah, he thought running his hand over his jaw and looking at the ceiling. Nah.
So many issues pulled at Anthony as he drove the highway. Could a person be both elated and depressed? He looked forward to seeing the Williamses, a family with whom he’d bonded with as
a reporter for the Arkansas Sun seven years ago. Had it been that long?
The inability to connect with any of the missing soldiers wore on him, but the sadness foremost in his mind was the disconnection between him and his family. He had to make things right.
Chucky’s suggestion to visit Cread, a hardened World War II veteran, was a good one. Cread had admitted the war had changed him, but he’d seemed okay with it. But how? Anthony glanced at the list of the soldier’s names he had placed on the passenger seat. Cleveland had helped him grow when he’d visited before. Could Cleveland also help him heal?
Driving down 105th Street brought back vivid memories. There had been a riot a year earlier, and some of the buildings Anthony remembered had been demolished. He smiled as he approached Massie Avenue. Riley’s pool room and the Café Tia Juana bar still stood.
Raymond had told Anthony to meet with him, Cread, and Uncle Thompson at Thompson’s house that evening. Before Anthony reached the screen door, his adopted aunt, Ludie, ran out to smother him with kisses.
Thompson smiled broadly as Anthony entered the house.
Anthony hugged his adopted uncle. “Uncle T.”
Cread and Raymond hugged Anthony.
“Anthony,” Thompson held Anthony at arm’s length and looked into his eyes. They stood like that for a while before Thompson spoke. “You’ve changed, son.”
Thompson turned to his brother and nephew. “What do you think, Cread? Raymond?”
They both nodded.
Ludie laughed. “He’s just tired.”
“Naw. Something’s different,” Raymond said. “I noticed over the telephone.”
“It’s been a while,” Anthony offered.
Cread smiled knowingly. “It’s not just time.”
After the men had eaten and cleared away the dishes, they remained at the dining room table. Thompson put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “So, Anthony, enough with the small talk. We’ve brought you up to date about us. What have you been up to these past years?”
Anthony clasped his hands. “Where do I start?”
He told them about his job and how much he enjoyed working with the people at the Post.
“What about Carla?” Ludie asked from the living room.
Anthony’s face reddened. “She’s okay, Aunt Ludie.”
“You still have just the one child?”
“Yes. Mali. She’s six now.”
“Yes. I remember now. I always liked her name. Next time you must bring them, too,” Ludie responded.
“I will.”
Thompson smiled as he studied Anthony’s face. “I remember Carla being sharp as a tack.”
“She still is, Uncle T.”
“So you report on local news or what?” Cread asked.
Anthony smiled briefly. “Mostly local, Cread.”
Cread raised his eyebrows waiting.
Although Anthony was eager to share his battle experience and tell them of his broken marriage that had caused him so much grief, he deferred. Compared to what the Williams family had experienced having to leave Arkansas so quickly rather than be jailed or possibly killed by Klansmen, his problems were insignificant. And he was afraid his inability to cope would make him look weak. “Nothing important.”
“Really?” Cread asked as if reading Anthony’s mind.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
Feeling as if he should offer something, Anthony said, “I’m working on one story, though.”
“What about?” Thompson asked.
“I was attached to the 25th Infantry Division in Cu Chi, Vietnam and found that fifteen mostly non-combat soldiers were sent on a secret mission. Just seven survived. The Army covered up the real story, so I‘m trying to interview them since six of the men live in Cleveland, but I’m not having any luck.”
“That would be international news,” Cread said with a half-smile. “Did you know Raymond was in Vietnam?”
“What?” Anthony jerked around to look at Raymond.
Raymond nodded.
“When?”
“Got out about a year ago.”
Anthony hung his head. “Wow. I have been out of touch. What unit?”
“I was in the 27th Infantry, Wolfhounds.”
“You see any action?”
“Yeah,” Raymond answered as he got up to go to the kitchen.
Cread watched Raymond leave and then leaned back. “He’s still working out some things, Anthony.”
“I understand.” Anthony took a sip of water and let out a deep breath. He took another sip before setting the glass down. Embarrassed his hand had begun to tremble again, he moved it to his lap. “I was in a battle, too.”
Cread cocked his head. “But you were a reporter.”
“Not that day.”
Raymond returned from the kitchen, having overheard. “So what happened?”
Anthony told all that had happened to him but left out the part about Carla leaving him because of his temper. He told the full story of The Seven as the men listened without interruption. He lowered his head. “I want to tell their story—set things right for them—but I’ve hit a dead end. So I thought seeing family again might at least give me some comfort.”
“Let’s talk after dessert,” Raymond said. “I might have some ideas.”
Chapter 51
Y
ou said you had a list of names?” Raymond asked.
“Yeah,” Anthony responded.
“Let’s see it.”
Anthony pulled it out of his hip pocket. “It doesn’t matter. None of them will talk anyway.”
Raymond squinted as he read the seven names. “None of these sound familiar.”
“They probably arrived after you left.”
Raymond handed the list back to Anthony. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing.”
“I want to visit my Aunt Cordelia who arrived here from Mississippi. You want to come? After Aunt Ludie’s breakfast, you’ll need the walk.”
“Sure.”
“After that, we can see if we can get with some of the guys on your list.”
“I’ve just about given up.”
“How long you been at it?”
“About four months.”
“Four months doesn’t seem that long to make things right for those soldiers.”
Anthony remained silent for a few seconds before responding. “You’re right.”
“So how are you doing, Raymond?” Anthony asked as they walked down Massie Avenue.
Raymond looked down. “I’m better. I’m at Cleveland State working on my bachelor’s degree. Everything’s working out.” Raymond hesitated. “I’m best when I’m alone, though, you know? Solitude works for me. I’m betting on time taking care of the rest. At least it’s what Cread tells me.”
“You’re lucky to have Cread and the rest of your family around you.”
“I am. What about your family, Anthony?”
“Carla and Mali?”
“No. How are your mother and father?”
“They’re good. I talk to them at least once a month.”
“Too bad they aren’t nearer.”
“True. But they would never leave Arkansas.” Anthony thought briefly about his parents. His father would have been jealous he chose to visit the Williams family instead of his own. His mother would be, too. But dad seemed to have some special dislike for the Williams. Probably because Anthony bragged about them so much. That in addition to the Williams being a working-class family as opposed to the upper-class with whom his father identified. So, he chose his second family over his first? Oh, well.
“At least you have your wife and child.”
Anthony bowed his head. “They left me.”
Raymond stopped to look at Anthony. “Why?”
“I developed a temper. It got out of control. I did and said stupid things, so Carla took Mali and left.”
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” Raymond paused. “I’m
not sure why Myra left me. When I got back from ’Nam, she was gone. Nobody knew where. I guess I was gone too long.”
“I’m sad to hear it, man. She was such a beautiful young lady. I hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.” Raymond patted Anthony on the back. “At least you know where your wife and daughter are. And your temper, it’s probably a temporary situation. You’ll heal. It doesn’t happen overnight, though.”
Anthony looked down. “I’m a little embarrassed telling you this.”
“Why?”
“From what you told me, you were knee deep in battle several times. I was in one firefight.”
“True,” Raymond said, “but I was mentally prepared for it.” He laughed. “As much as you can prepare.” He stopped and turned to Anthony. “You weren’t, and from what you’ve told me about the seven soldiers, they weren’t either. It can make a difference.” Raymond continued to walk. “I can tell you, I’m better than I was. Every day is a better day. It’s what I tell myself each morning, and then you make it happen.”
“You know, Raymond, every time I’m with you, you give me something to think about.”
“I’m just the messenger, Anthony. My uncles and cousins gave me their knowledge. I’m just passing it on.”
Anthony looked down. “I probably need to work on making it happen for me before I try helping anybody else.”
“You know what I remember about you, Anthony?”
“What’s that?”
“You are smart, and you are dedicated. Don’t get hung up on whatever shortcomings you think you have. Don’t let your situation stop you from making a difference in those boys’ lives. I believe you can do both.”
Anthony pressed his lips together and nodded. “I guess I’ll have to. I’ve gone too far to turn back now.”
“You still shoot?” Anthony asked as he pointed toward Riley’s pool room as they turned onto 105th Street.
“So much going on, I don’t have the time to practice.”
Anthony looked up and down the street. “The Five hasn’t changed too much.”
“Not in this area. One Hundred and Fifth Street is about the same way you left it. The Glenville riot took out a few buildings, though.”
“Nothing like the riots overseas,” Anthony said.
A Long Way Back Page 16