Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  The general was quiet.

  “Seamus, I need some assurance from you,” she said. “Harris is our only son. Our only child. We want what’s best for him, and we want him to be happy, too. He came out to us when he was still in high school. He must’ve been about seventeen. Bruce and I were stunned. We had no idea. For a long time, we thought it might be just a phase he was going through, that he’d get over it and be just like other boys. But it didn’t happen, and we’ve accepted that. I didn’t know the first thing about the gay life, and believe me, I wanted to know. I wanted to understand. So I started reading and researching. I started talking to people and getting involved.”

  I, and probably my mother, too, expected some follow-on question or comment, but the general had none. For a minute, all I heard was the pouring of more coffee and clink of spoon against cup.

  “You know, Seamus,” my mother continued, “it may not have been my first choice for Harris to be gay, but he is. As long as he’s content, I wouldn’t wish him to be any different. If he wants to bring his boyfriend home, I’ll support him all the way, and so will Bruce. That’s what parents do. Harris intends to spend the rest of his life with you. Is that what you have in mind, too?”

  Eternity passed.

  I’ve never known my mother to have much patience and I silently blessed her for holding her temper on this occasion. She tried again, attacking from a different angle. “Seamus, what exactly are your intentions? I know that sounds old-fashioned. I’m sorry. But I’m a mom, and I’m allowed to be old-fashioned. And I’m certainly allowed to be concerned.”

  “You’ve no need to be,” the general said.

  “I’m not so sure,” my mother said. “Harris told me you were married before.” Here it comes, I thought.

  “Ten years.”

  “And now you’re divorced.”

  “Yes. Just after I was selected for promotion to full colonel, about five years back.”

  “Why?”

  “The divorce wasn’t my idea, Jane. My wife had enough by then, I reckon.”

  “Don’t tell me you were running around on her, chasing boys on the side.”

  “Oh, no. No.” The general sounded truly alarmed, even offended. “Never. I remained strictly faithful throughout the marriage.”

  “Well, that’s admirable, at least. But when she asked for a divorce, I suppose you didn’t argue.”

  “Nope. I never gave her any reason to suspect, but she may have guessed the truth anyway.”

  “And what truth would that be?” My mother would make a good district attorney.

  “Jane—”

  “Seamus.”

  He sighed. “All right.” The direction of the conversation clearly unsettled him. “Career military officers are expected to get married. No exceptions. If you don’t, it hurts your chances for promotion. Everyone wonders why you remained single, and they usually reach one conclusion, even if there’s no evidence.”

  “And the conclusion they reach is that an unmarried officer is gay?” My mother wanted an answer. In the silence, I could hear her expectancy, and I suspect the general could, too.

  He sighed, deep. “Yes. Yes. Gay. All right?”

  My mother refused to let go. “Your poor wife. What a despicable thing to do to her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to tell me you’re sorry. I’m not the one you married,” she said. “Isn’t it easier now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For gay officers. With ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ out of the picture.”

  He exhaled, long. “Well, it’s a bit soon. The policy change is still relatively new.”

  “Harris came out at work as soon as he could. He told us. He sent us a copy of the article from the newspaper after the Pride Parade in June. Did you march, too?”

  “Oh, no.” He sounded truly alarmed.

  “You didn’t? Why not?”

  “Well, I haven’t actually, uh…”

  “You mean you haven’t even come out of the closet yet?”

  “Well, a little.”

  “That’s like being a little pregnant, Seamus. Either you are or you aren’t. The closet door is open, or it’s shut.”

  “Well, uh, Harris knows.”

  “Oh, he does? Isn’t that a surprise?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Don’t you think you should let some other people know, too?”

  “It’s no one’s business but my own. My private life should remain private.”

  “Don’t you think you have a moral obligation to come out?” Her inflection suggested indignation, if not actual outrage. “That’s what a leader is supposed to do. Set an example.”

  “I set an example every time I put on the uniform.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You may look the part, but isn’t it a little phony if you’re keeping that secret? Whatever happened to ‘be all that you can be’?”

  “That was an Army slogan,” he said. “They’re not even using it anymore.”

  I could almost hear the general climbing on his high horse from my spot in the hall.

  My mother continued. “That’s not the point. How can you have any self-respect? And why should Harris risk his future on a man who—”

  He interrupted, and I could hear the effort required for him to stay in control. “Harris isn’t the only one taking a risk. Have you any idea what I’ve put on the line just to be sitting at this table? I’m the gambler here.”

  “Oh, you think so?” my mother countered. “Just exactly what kind of gamble is it if you choose to stay in the closet? The hardest thing you’ve had to do is keep a secret. What kind of risk is that?”

  He cleared his throat. “As commander of Sixth Air Force, I oversee six air wings spread out across nine installations,” he said. “That’s over five thousand square miles of real estate.”

  I rolled my eyes. The general went through the entire speech he’d given me when I turned up for my interview, about the full extent of his domain and all of his responsibilities. He delivered this monologue flawlessly. My only thought was that my mother was exactly the wrong audience for such a speech, though she was extremely patient to let him get all the way to the end of it. Surely she recognized his remarks were as freeze-dried as the meals sold for backpackers at my father’s store. When the general concluded with, “I have a lot on my plate,” he paused to take a breath, and my mother pounced.

  “You’re just blowing smoke, Seamus. When you look at the big picture, of course you have a lot of responsibility. I get it. But nobody lives in the big picture. You live in a house on a street in a town, and you interact with people you meet every day. You say that it’s too early to expect attitudes to change about gay people in the Air Force. Well, they won’t ever change unless the people in charge make it happen. A general who’s out can do more for those six thousand people than a dozen who are too scared to come out of the closet,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a leader. So lead!”

  “I’m a general,” he said. I could tell he was running out of patience, too. “I lead by default. Those stars on my shoulders should tell you everything you need to know about my qualifications and abilities.”

  “Don’t you throw rank at me,” she said. “I’m a civilian. I don’t have to salute you or follow your orders. Those stars might make people jump at your Air Force base, but they don’t mean a damn thing—excuse my French—in my kitchen. Generals may have the power to start wars, but it’s mothers like me who make sure those wars come to an end.”

  In a debate, I’d want her to be on my side.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a man in a bathrobe with a cup of coffee, and I’m still waiting for you to give me even one good reason why you deserve my son!”

  I held my breath.

  My mother said, “I’m putting you on the spot, Seamus. I know. It’s not hard to figure out what Harris sees in you, but I get the feeling that you’re keeping him like a dirty secret, and I don’t like
it one bit.”

  My mother would not back down, and I suspect he knew it. Finally he cleared his throat. “Jane, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been caught up in anything like this before, and I’m scared as hell.”

  “What are you afraid of? Certainly not me. Not Bruce.”

  “No. Not you, and not Bruce. Y’all are wonderful people, and I’d be pleased to count you as my friends under any circumstances.”

  “Then why are you scared?”

  The general sighed. “I’ve never known anyone like Harris. I can’t believe he’d even give me the time of day except out of professional courtesy. But he seems genuinely fond of me. Maybe I’m afraid because I’m convinced it’s all going to disappear, sooner or later. I’m not sure I deserve his attention,” he said, “but I want it, all the same, and I won’t let go of it. He actually likes me. Me.”

  I could hear the wonder in his voice.

  “I don’t understand why he’d want a damn thing from me, Jane. But as long as he does, he’ll get it. Whatever I can give him, and however long he’s willing to let me provide it.” I was startled to hear him put such sentiments into words. “Jane, he’s teaching me that one man can be with another man, and it can be the right thing. The real thing. The only thing. When I’m around Harris, I want my hands on him all the time, and I want his hands on me.”

  From my spot in the hallway, I was beginning to get an erection. Not now, I told myself. Inappropriate.

  “I’m sorry,” the general said. “That’s not what you want to hear about your son. But there’s no one like Harris. No one. I’ve been in the Air Force for more than thirty years, and I’ve always resisted temptation to get seriously involved with anyone, especially with a…a man.”

  He told my mother about his single-mindedness, of which he was very proud. And he told my mother about the first time he saw me, how he felt as if he were shot through with electricity, how he had to go out of his way to hide from it, how perhaps, early on, after I’d started working for him, he went a little overboard, going too far in the other direction to prove to himself that he didn’t really want me.

  From my place in the hall, I was learning all kinds of things.

  He concluded. “But the way I felt about Harris wouldn’t stay hid. It had to come out, I reckon.” A pause.

  My mother sighed. “Harris was hardly even born when you joined the Air Force. Doesn’t that bother you? Exactly how old are you, anyway?” She already knew. I guess she simply wanted him to admit it to her.

  He sighed. “Age is just a number.”

  “And that’s just a cliché.”

  “I’m fifty-one.”

  My mother shook her head. “Good God. Seamus, I’m fifty-three, and Bruce is fifty-seven. What am I supposed to think?”

  The general didn’t say anything. Was he embarrassed? Did my mother’s common sense even dent him? I don’t know what I wanted to be the truth. But I wanted him to spring to our defense—his and mine. My mother pressed her advantage. “What can you possibly offer Harris at your age?”

  When he finally spoke, he’d clearly opted for a different tactic. I suspect he needed to come up for air. “He’ll be well provided for,” he said. “And I still have my own teeth and my own hair.”

  That did it. Both of them laughed.

  “Don’t be so modest,” my mother said. “You’re quite handsome, too, I must say.”

  I cringed. The general, however, took it in good spirit. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re a fine figure of a woman yourself, speaking objectively, of course. But flattery will get you nowhere, because I’m already spoken for.”

  “Come to think of it, I am, too,” she said. “Plus, don’t you prefer guys?”

  Another laugh between them.

  Then he sighed. Stirred his coffee again. I could hear the spoon against the cup. “I want to be his electric blanket. His easy chair. His safe-deposit box. His knight in slightly tarnished armor. Anything he wants and everything he needs. Ridiculous, huh?” He laughed, short, nervous, harsh. “Jane, I’m a practical man. I’m a pilot, an Air Force officer, and fifty-one years old, for God’s sake. I should have outgrown all this foolishness a long time ago.”

  My mother was curiously gentle. “Why? No one ever outgrows wanting to be loved. To be needed.”

  “I’m a general.” As if that rendered him immune. I could hear the storm in him.

  “Even generals, Seamus. Just like a mom, the heart doesn’t recognize rank either.”

  “I feel like a damn fool, talking about this stuff. Harris and me. It’s all so impractical, so—”

  “Yes?”

  “So…so wonderful.” He was beaten but not vanquished, and he rallied. “Jane, what if he honestly, actually wants me in spite of the fact that I’m a general and fifty-one and a bullheaded, pompous ass? In spite of the fact that he could do so much better? Suppose he doesn’t want to look any farther than me. Wouldn’t it be all right for me to love him back?” He paused and took another deep breath. “Wouldn’t I be a damn fool not to?”

  My mother didn’t say anything for a long while. I heard the general get up and pour himself more coffee and then sit down again. I heard the clink of the spoon in his cup again as he stirred in his sugar, and then he set the spoon into the saucer and waited.

  “Yes,” my mother said, finally. “You would be a fool. But after talking with Harris yesterday, I wonder if you’ve ever told him how you feel.”

  “I guess I really haven’t. Not in so many words.”

  “Seamus, if you end up as our son-in-law, I don’t care what your age is. You’ll never be too old for me to give you a piece of my mind if I think you deserve it. And I’m going to tell you right now that you’re a bigger damn fool than you think you are if you love him and don’t tell him. Harris may have the patience of a marble saint up to a point, but you’re going to lose him if you don’t let him know.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  My mother was exasperated. “Seamus, how can you be fifty-one and still be so stupid? Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

  I could almost hear him squirm.

  “Great heavens, Seamus! How did you get to be a general when you don’t know the first thing about people? If you want something, especially if it’s something off the beaten path, you better go after it.” She paused, then began a little more gently. “If you feel that way about Harris, tell him. Show him. I think one of the best ways to do that is to come out. Show him you’re not ashamed of being gay. Because if you’re ashamed to be gay, then you’re ashamed of him, too.”

  The general let that one sink in.

  “That’s not a secret you can ask him to keep, Seamus. It’s not fair, and you know it.”

  “Jane, I’m just not that brave.”

  I didn’t like to hear him talk that way, probably any more than the general liked to admit weakness of any kind.

  “Seamus, it’s in there somewhere. I know it is. Dig deep. I think you’ll find it.” I could tell she wasn’t finished with the subject, but I think she recognized the general needed a break from the inquest, and she changed the subject. “Tell me, Seamus. What is it he calls you? It’s not your name.”

  “Traveler.”

  “Like someone who travels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He wasn’t comfortable using my first name, so we had to find a nickname. And one day—this was months ago—I was rattling off all the places I’d been in the last thirty years, and he said, ‘Well, you certainly are the traveler.’ And it just seemed to fit.”

  “Do you like it?”

  He sighed. “Every time Harris says it, I get shook up. It’s so different. I’m different because of him. It reminds me that what we have together is so special I can hardly put words to it.” I’m sure this outpouring of emotion embarrassed him, but he continued anyway. “I haven’t gotten used to it yet. Maybe I never want to. Maybe I always want him to take me by surprise. Every time
he calls me Traveler, it’s like coming home. I can finally take off the mask and just be myself. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like him.”

  I knew the general was perspiring under her barrage of questions. I was, too. The time had come for me to step in. Quietly, I backed myself down the hall and tiptoed upstairs. Then I took a deep breath and bounded, noisily, down again and into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Mom.” I kissed her on the forehead, and she gave me a quick hug.

  “It’s about time you got up, sleepyhead,” she said.

  That did it. “Mom, I’m not six years old anymore!” I was in the mood to get angry out of frustration as much as anything. “Dad’s the one who sleeps until noon on Saturday. I’ve been up for a while. I just didn’t come downstairs right away.”

  “A good thing,” the general said. “Your mom’s been making like Perry Mason in here. It hasn’t been pretty.”

  I had to pretend I didn’t know. “Have you been giving him the third degree, Mom?”

  “Nothing of the sort. I’m just exercising the mother’s Bill of Rights.”

  “And what might that include?” I said.

  “When you’re a mom yourself, you’ll get the memo,” she said, tart.

  “I’ll give you the short version,” the general said. “She wants you to come to your senses and throw me over.”

  “Maybe after breakfast,” I said. I sat down as the general excused himself from the table, fetched a cup and saucer from the pantry, and fixed coffee for me. Then he bent down and gave me a quick hug from behind my chair, a prelude to rubbing his two-days-unshaven chin against the back of my neck like a belt sander. I yelped.

  “Wake up,” he said.

  I pushed him away, and he zeroed in for one more quick strike before taking his seat again, laughing. I stirred my coffee and sipped, trying to recover my dignity as my mother picked up the thread of her conversation again.

  “Harris, I’ve been trying to get to know your…and just what is it I’m supposed to call you?” she said, addressing the general. “Boyfriend? Significant other? Partner? Or just his boss? Enlighten me.”