The Stone Frigate

by Kate Armstrong

  Waves of relief flooded over me. It didn’t make sense to kick me out if they hadn’t expelled Jake, but he’d never been in trouble. My legs felt weak. My armpits were cold with sweat and my hands hung limp. It was still possible that I would enter this office as a third-year cadet and leave as a civilian, one moment to the next.

  General Pratt had the corner office in the Mackenzie Building, complete with a sitting area and a fireplace. He sat behind a massive wooden desk, elbows on the arms of a vintage chair, neck jutted forward, and fingertips tented together. His lips were full and his eyes were framed by Coke-bottle lenses. The curve of his belly pressing against his green uniform looked hard. His hands were plump and thick fingered, like paddles. He looks like a turtle. I instantly flushed with embarrassment at my insubordinate thought; my future life rested in his hands.

  “Stand at ease, Miss Armstrong,” he said. “This is your chance to be heard. Please share your version of the events.” General Pratt listened attentively, seeming almost sympathetic as I repeated my story.

  “In this case, there is a fine line to be walked. It’s a tricky business entering the bedrooms of our cadets. The question is, just how far do we go without interfering with your human right to a personal life? Under the circumstances, I’d say quite far,” he said. “All the way, if you will excuse the pun,” he added with a little smile.

  His style of speaking wasn’t quite British but had a similar affected quality. “Naturally, I take a very serious view of any breach of college rules. At the same time, I don’t want to be perceived as tacitly sanctioning a witch-hunt mentality.”

  A small tingle of relief tickled the back of my neck.

  “I can’t ignore the charges, but without proof, I will not take the correction to the full extent possible, which in your case, given the previous three breaches of conduct, may have tipped the scales to expulsion.”

  I felt the colour drain from my face.

  “Yes, Miss Armstrong. Your career is on the line. Your issues seem to stem from a difficulty in conforming to general conduct expectations. Now that I meet you, I don’t get an impression of malicious defiance. Perhaps a better characterization would be ‘spirited’?”

  I couldn’t stop myself. I smirked. I fucking smirked.

  “It seems you need earnest direction to keep you on course. I’m sentencing you to twenty-one days on charge.” My face turned to stone. He saw my reaction and held up a sausage of an index finger. “Hold on, don’t panic. The twenty-one days of charge will be given under a ninety-day suspended sentence. If you stay out of trouble for the next ninety days, all this will be behind you. However, if you commit a single infraction which results in fresh charges being laid against you, you will automatically serve the twenty-one days on charge without the courtesy of a breach parade and be expelled from the college upon completion of your sentence.”

  I trained my eyes on the wall behind his head, trying to regain my inner balance.

  “You need a dose of concentrated effort in keeping out of trouble — and in learning how to play the game as if your life depended upon it,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me drive home the seriousness of what’s at stake.” He turned in his chair and read aloud every word of his commissioning scroll, issued by the Queen to all commissioned officers in the Canadian Armed Forces. Then he swung back to me. “I hope one day you will get one of these, Miss Armstrong.”

  “Me too, sir.”

  “I suggest that you keep this correction close to your chest. The last thing you need to do is invite additional scrutiny.”

  “Yes, sir. To tell the truth, sir, I’m terrified of anyone finding out.”

  In Jake’s room, we talked in low voices, with the door open a crack. I filled him in, and he told me that the general had given him a ninety-day suspended sentence with no charge days to be served in the event he committed an infraction — he’d just be expelled immediately. Pratt had lectured him about how the cadet wing was both “self-protecting” and “self-cleansing.”

  Jake said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking about how the cadets run this place. That’s what Pratt said. If my classmates want me gone, I’m gone. They have the rest of the year to make it happen, especially in the next ninety days.” We sat in silence for a moment. “I want to fucking kill pizza-face Floyd.”

  “Why not Geoff?”

  “It’s not Geoff’s fault. He had no choice.”

  “Are you kidding? He could’ve talked Floyd down, convinced him to drop it. Geoff was the one who pressed the actual charges.”

  “It’s a game, Kate. Geoff is deep in the game. He wants to be CWC. Talking someone out of pressing charges for a serious conduct breach is not a smart career play to become top cadet.”

  “Exactly. He did it for his own gain. He didn’t protect you.” I stood up indignantly. “I’m going now. I hate being here with the door open.”

  Jake stood and we hugged briefly.

  31

  HERMIT

  One day in early November, General Pratt summoned me back to his office immediately after class. This time, when his matronly secretary led me in, I was surprised to discover a full tea service had been laid out on the coffee table. The general sat in a wingback chair next to it with his legs casually crossed. His tea had already been poured. He motioned me to the couch across the table.

  “Anything you’d like to report yourself for?” he asked.

  “Being a hermit, sir?” I said.

  “Well, that won’t do. The whole idea of the suspended sentence was to keep you active in your cadet life. Help yourself to tea and a biscuit. I wanted to chat with you about being a lady cadet at RMC. You struck me as a woman who is willing to say what’s on her mind, rather than telling me what you think I want to hear. Are you up for a fireside chat about the college life experience of Miss Kate Armstrong?”

  “Of course, sir. If you really want to know.”

  “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Of course not, sir,” I said, astounded at being asked permission to do anything by the most decorated and important person I had ever met in my life. “I consider it an honour to be invited to share my experiences with you.”

  “The price of admission is the willingness to be honest.” He tapped a cigarette against an engraved silver case. As he leaned toward the flame of his lighter, his neck stretched; he really did look like a turtle poking its head out of its shell.

  For the next half an hour or so, I told the highlights of my story, without embellishing: the daily glares, lewd comments, and horrible jokes; the nickname “sweats”; the Love Boat; the bet; Eddie Byrne; Blackwood; and my second-year charges. He smoked and asked the occasional question. When I used the “Ban the sweats” buttons as an example of toxic behaviours, he interrupted.

  “Would you like to hear how that story ended? Are you able to keep this information to yourself?” he asked sternly.

  “Of course, sir,” I said.

  “By midmorning, Mr. Snyder stood before me, much as you did. I told him to hand in every single button to me by end of day Wednesday or he could pack his things and say goodbye to his military college career,” he said.

  “In no time at all, I received an urgent phone call from Major General Dickie Snyder,” he continued. “Dickie ranted that he would have my job if I dared to threaten his son again, and that I had better get a sense of humour about boyish pranks. I replied that was all very well and good, but it wasn’t a threat and I didn’t consider this form of prank, at the expense of the lady cadets, as acceptable behaviour for a gentleman cadet.”

  He took a sip of his tea. “Come Wednesday afternoon, Mr. Snyder appeared in my doorway carrying a box of buttons which he painstakingly counted out in front of me. One button was missing but he was adamant that it must have been lost, so I took his word for it. The entire box is lying on the bottom of Navy Bay as we speak, but that’s another story. Carry on, Miss Armstrong, with yours
.”

  I wondered if he would share my secret charge parade details with other cadets as part of their “professional development.” I resumed my narrative by saying that I didn’t have much more to add except that I thought the dating rules were unfair.

  “Sir, I understand that the rules are supposed to protect junior cadets from being preyed upon by senior cadets in positions of authority.  The trouble is, we’re all young and love is uncontrollable.”

  General Pratt laughed. “This institution is a military college. Nothing is uncontrollable.”

  “Of course, sir, but we’re all officer cadets,” I said.

  “Yes. Understood,” he said. “Fair enough. But the framework of the college is meant as a training model to emulate rising through the ranks as a military officer. Dating subordinates is not on.”

  “Sir, in our combat motivation class, we were taught that it’s natural for men to want to protect women and that a mission might be placed at risk for a ‘damsel in distress.’ But my experience has been the total opposite. I’ve been treated with more aggression and malice than my male peers. I know the dating rules are supposed to prevent favouritism, but I’ve stood by watching hockey, rugby, and football team members advance junior teammates in meal lines, get them out of wing duties, and generally treat them as special for years. If anything, I feel at risk of being fragged — being taken out by any means — for being a woman.”

  General Pratt glanced at his watch. “I’m familiar with the concept of fragging. You’ve raised some interesting points. I’ll give the matter of dating rules serious consideration. Is there anything else?”

  “Sir, there is one thing. The first-year lady cadets have been told that it’s mandatory for them to carry their military-issue purse when they have their period.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

  “I know, sir. It’s like wearing a banner.”

  “Well, you’ve brought forward one concern that is immediately rectifiable. That’s a good start. With that, let’s call it a day. It’s time for me to go home for dinner with Mrs. Pratt.” He stood and brushed loose ash from his tunic. “Thank you for a frank discussion, Miss Armstrong. It’s been illuminating.”

  “Sir, I’m honoured to have been invited.”

  “Yes, well, it would be a bit awkward to refuse an invitation for tea from the commandant,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. Especially when I thought you’d called me here to kick me out.”

  “If anything else needs my attention, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I appreciate your candour and courage. Good luck with your suspended sentence. I’m cheering for you,” he said as he opened the door for me on my way out.

  32

  TIME OUT

  Jake and I had agreed not to spend time together until things cooled things down a bit, but I missed him horribly. If I wanted to see him, I had to go to him. I finally broke down and went to his room. He had come to the Frigate only once so far this year.

  He barely said hello before turning away and sticking his face back into his textbook.

  I dropped my books on his bed and sat down. “Have I done something to upset you?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done — that’s what I’m asking,” I said, my eyes brimming with tears. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  He blew a long exhale through his nose and came over to sit beside me. “I feel choked at you. I hate being in trouble, even though it was my idea to mingle. I’ve lied to my parents. I’ve lost my bars. I’m living under this fucking suspended sentence.”

  “I hate it, too. I’m terrified every time I leave my room. Now I come here and we fight,” I said. The pretense of everything being normal was taking more energy than I had. I caught my breath. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?”

  “No. But I feel like a loser,” I said. “Like I’m a chump chasing someone who doesn’t want to be with me.”

  “I want to be with you. It’s complicated.”

  “I’m going to leave … and let you show me. Come visit me in the Frigate. From now on, I’ll only come here if you invite me.”

  “Kate,” he said, “to tell you the truth, I am terrified of going to the Frigate. It’s so … public, walking across the square.”

  I got up and started collecting my books into a pile. Hastily, he asked what I had been hoping to hear. “Can I walk you home?”

  I struggled between longing and fury. I wanted him to come with me; I never wanted to see him again. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “Come on. Let me carry your books,” he said.

  “Sometimes, I really don’t get you.” I kissed him on the cheek and left.

  Jake and I struggled along. He never came to the Frigate. We argued when we saw each other, and I caught myself acting like my mother, making mean comments or giving him the cold shoulder. Finally, after a month of this, I went to his room and we decided to take a break but not break up. I wanted to feel upset, or passionate disappointment, or fear, or something. But all I felt was numb.

  My new social life revolved around sticking close to the Frigate and going to class. I spent more time studying than ever, even forming a mini study group with two fellow commerce classmates, Adam Lennox and Steve McIntyre, both Frigateers newly arrived that year from Royal Roads. Still, it didn’t take long before the feelings of being on the outside crept back over me. Richie, Adam, Steve, and a bunch of other guys from across the square formed a group of buddies nicknamed the Groovers. When I’d pass them in the hall, on their way to class or out to town as a gang, they’d grow loud and boisterous, absorbed in each other. I knew they saw me. I would lower my gaze and walk faster, feigning indifference at being excluded. I hated myself for being too loud and too brash, and even more for pretending I didn’t care when I cared more than I thought it was safe to let them know. I revived the tea emporium and even made some unexpected new friends from across the square. A few of the guys in my class started dropping by more often and hanging out, and a first year from Four Squadron, Jane Quigley, became a regular visitor for tea.

  After the Christmas holidays, I moved to another room, with a huge amount of floor space, facing the parade square. Geoff Hampstead had been appointed the cadet wing commander for second slate. Nineteen more days and my suspended sentence would be complete. Academically, I was tied for first place in commerce with Adam Lennox, my study buddy from Royal Roads. Walking on eggshells and avoiding Jake was obviously good for my academic performance.

  One evening a few weeks into the new term, First Year Jane Quigley showed up at my room, anxious to tell me something about her Christmas vacation. “But you have to swear not to tell anyone,” she said. “Do you swear?”

  “Of course,” I said easily. “I promise.” Jane got up, peeked out the door, looked up and down the hall, and closed the door carefully.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her.

  “The most amazing thing happened,” she said in a half-whisper. “I haven’t told anyone.” She sat back in the lounge chair. Her skin was pale and flawless, a touch of pink in her cheeks. “I’m in love with the most amazing man.”

  “That would have been my first guess,” I said, laughing and handing her a hot mug of tea.

  “Believe it or not, I met him in my hometown,” she said.

  “So, he’s civilian? Nice.” I said, smiling.

  “No, he’s a cadet. We met at the Oakville Christmas party hosted by the ex-cadets alumni. He noticed me and came over to talk to me. I would never have dreamt of speaking to him.”

  “Of course he noticed you. You look like freaking Wonder Woman. How could he not notice you?” I said. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “I want to tell you the whole story. You’ll definitely know him.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “Is he out of bounds for you?”

  “Yes. But just wait,” she said with an excited wave
of her hand. “So, he asked me on a date. We went out together in Oakville, and I can hardly believe that he likes me. Kate, I’m so in love, I can hardly bear it. We agreed to wait until after his grad to be together, but it’s so hard.”

  “So, he’s a fourth year?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “You are not going to tell anyone, right? You promised.”

  “I promise,” I said. “You can trust me. I’ve been in your exact shoes.”

  “We’ve been sending notes back and forth in the wing mail. He gave me a bear for my room.”

  I laughed out loud. And then I felt a twinge of envy remembering my intense feelings during the early days with Eddie Byrne compared with the current strain between Jake and me.

  “What’s so funny?” She looked a little hurt.

  “I’m having flashbacks. Eddie gave me a bear, too, when we were trying not to — well, you know, trying not to.”

  Jane nodded and continued. “One night, he talked to me in the dining hall and told me to meet him at three a.m. in the women’s changing rooms for the pool. I dressed in my sweatpants and running shoes to be super quiet. It was scary sneaking down there at night alone. We made out. It’s our secret place to meet up now — no one ever comes there.”

  “Holy crap, Jane. This is serious. You need to be very careful. You’re dating a fourth year and you’re having sex on the college? You could get kicked out for both.”

  “I know, but once we crossed the line, it felt impossible to wait until grad to be together again. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life,” she said. “What am I going to do?”

  “You know what to do,” I said. “You need to be careful, and really, you need to stop.”

  “I know, and it’s so much worse because of who he is. Especially now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need to tell someone,” she said, her face pale.