“Yessir.”
“Something between you and this Hand?”
“Nosir.”
“Why’d you rate him eleven out of eleven? Once the academic year began, he was in the top fifth of his class in aptitude.” Hedges peered at Slaight closely. Slaight caught his eye again, held it this time.
“Hand thought he was all-over-it, sir. Thought he was too good to be a plebe. He was like … like a drain on the squad … sapping everybody’s strength, sucking blood from the squad. Hurt morale. Wouldn’t co-operate with his roommates. Technically, he was a first-class plebe. But he’d never … you know, sir … come around. Time came to rate him, I had to put him at the bottom. He caused that squad more grief than all ten of the rest of them combined.”
“You hate him, Slaight?” Hedges looked away.
“Nosir. I admired Hand … it was weird … he just refused to bend, and I had to admire the kid for that. He had guts.”
“You figure it takes guts to ‘refuse to bend,’ as you put it?” There was a sarcastic tone in Hedges’ voice.
“In Hand’s case it did, sir. I put more pressure on him than any other five guys in the company. Most of the rest of them would have caved in, or quit. Probably quit. Not Hand. He had guts. His kind of guts. I don’t know exactly how to describe it, sir. It was a year ago.”
“I see what you mean, Mr. Sam.” Hedges continued to swim through his papers. Slaight glanced at them, trying to read them sideways, with little success.
“About your conversation with Consor. He told you the kid was a homo. Did he not?”
“He told me he suspected he was, sir.”
“He tell you he figured the kid was murdered?”
“Yessir.”
“You believe him?”
“I believed that he believed his own suspicions, sir. But I’m no criminal pathologist. I don’t know what to think about David Hand any more.”
“Well, Mr. Sam, he wasn’t necessarily murdered. You understand me?”
“I think so, sir.”
“You think?”
“I understand you, sir.”
“That’s better, goddammit. You’re not being paid to think, Slaight. You’ve been here long enough to know that.”
“Yessir.”
“Now. Let’s get back to this autopsy business. I’ve been on this thing, first priority, since it happened. That’s a month now. A month. I’ve seen it all. Every report. The autopsy is just one of them. And this doctor … whatshisname … Consor. His opinion is just one opinion. You get my drift?”
“Yessir.” Hedges was definitely drifting somewhere, but Slaight was finding it difficult to tell exactly where.
“Hand was not necessarily murdered. His death was announced as an accident. Officially, that’s where it still stands. We would not issue a false report on a cadet death. You know that, Slaight.”
“Yessir.” He knew nothing of the sort, but “yessir” was clearly called for under the circumstances.
“So at best, you have only a partial understanding of a small portion of a rather large set of circumstances. Am I correct?”
“Yessir. I guess that’s it all right.” Play. Play along.
“You talked to Consor. Consor gave you his opinion. You formed an opinion about Consor’s opinion. Pretty flimsy when you consider what’s at stake. A man’s death. Don’t you figure?”
“Yessir.”
“And your memory of Hand … while your opinions are still keenly held, your memory has weakened. You said yourself Beast was a year ago.”
“Yessir.”
“Do you see what I’m getting at here, Mr. Sam?”
“Not exactly, sir.” Hedges wouldn’t spell it out, not completely, but Slaight would try to get him to come as close as possible.
“What I’m getting at, my boy, is the severity of the situation we’ve got on our hands here. We’ve got a dead cadet. An accidental death, most probably. Accidental officially, anyway. But it’s the death of a rather peculiar cadet. A homo. You know this because you talked to Consor. True?”
“Yessir.”
“Then you understand the severity of the situation here. This thing … this business about David Hand has implications for the academy, for the army, for the nation, Slaight. You understand? We’ve got a dead cadet, a faggot homo. You know what would happen if this ever got out?” Hedges was grinning.
“Nosir.”
“You can imagine, I presume.” His grin widened.
“I believe so, sir.”
“If this gets out, Slaight, we’re going to have all those faggot communist demonstrators out there … we’re going to have them thinking they’ve got a piece of the action up here at the academy. He was one of theirs, mister. If this gets out, all over the world, they’ll be watching us, and they’ll figure we just let commie faggots in our Military Academy along with everybody else, and then what good you think our military commitments overseas will be?” Hedges chuckled knowingly. He didn’t expect Slaight to buy his line of reasoning. He expected Slaight to take the hint and come inside. He watched Slaight, waiting for the sign that the cadet understood the charade. The cadet’s face was blank. He showed no emotion.
“Not much, I guess, sir.” Slaight almost choked on the words. He knew Hedges was playing out a fantasy, an old, old academy game. We’re special. We’re one of a kind.
“This David Hand business involves national security, Slaight. You understand that?”
“Yessir.” Hedges was looking straight at him now, his hands placed firmly on the edge of his desk, leaning slightly in Slaight’s direction, knowing smile still painted on his face.
“That’s why we can’t have this business about David Hand getting out. And that’s why you’re up here today, Slaight. I want you to keep your mouth shut about David Hand. I don’t want you breathing a word about that autopsy outside this room. I believe you’re going to have a memory failure. Am I correct in that belief, Slaight?”
“Well, sir …”
“Look, mister. I’m not telling you to lie. I’m telling you to forget. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yessir.”
“Now.” Hedges reached for Slaight’s personnel file. He flipped it open. He thumbed its pages slowly. Slaight caught a glimpse of a “Blue Dart” or two in there—the light blue forms with which one cadet could pillory another by writing a special report as an adjunct to the normal Aptitude Rating System. The Blue Dart needn’t be signed by the cadet writing it. The Blue Dart was a classic anonymous stab in the back. Slaight saw a few more. He’d collected his share in three years.
“I’ve been looking through your file here, Mr. Sam. I’ve been giving it my very, very close attention. You are a very interesting young man. A man with great potential. Great potential. Did you know that, mister?”
“Sir …”
“You needn’t answer that. Unfair question. Your file reveals you to be a man of great unrealized potential, Mr. Sam. That’s the key right there. Unrealized. I don’t think you’ve ever really lived up to your promise. There’s talent here. Lots of it. You’re a leader, mister. High marks in Instructor Training. Top of your company in Command Voice. Hell of a job last summer in Beast. Hell of a job. You’ve had your share of problems. I see you’ve spent some time on the area.”
“Yessir.”
“Major Consor was apparently quite distressed at the condition of your feet when you saw him, Mr. Sam. I want you to know that I’ve looked into this … ah … matter … the matter of your feet, that is. I made my discreet inquiries. It’s my job, Slaight. I am, after all, the commandant.”
“Yessir.” Oh-oh. Here it comes.
“I can’t afford to have any of my boys jeopardizing their … jeopardizing their careers out there on the area … And I don’t give a good goddamn who takes a different point of view. The commandant is responsible. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yessir.” He’s going after fuckin’ Grimshaw.
“Let
me put it this way. I will take care of this deplorable … ah … situation in the fall. This most … reprehensible behavior will not be tolerated. This … this … Grimshaw character …” The general paused, his jaws working, grinding his teeth. “This little cocksucker Grimshaw will pay, and there will be no repercussions. I will personally see to that. Understood?”
“Yessir.” Jesus. He really hates the bastard. Slaight wondered if Grimshaw was already in the sling, on his way out.
“I will not stand for such … such … such contemptible weakness.” The general was stuttering now, staring out the window, working his jaws. Several moments passed in silence. Slaight fidgeted.
“Now. We come to this matter of your potential. Your unrealized potential, Mr. Sam. There’s something you probably don’t know about me. You have any idea what it is?”
“Nosir.” Christ, if this guy asks one more rhetorical question …
“I am a man who hates—hates—to see another man fail to realize his full worth. I hate it, Slaight. Hate it. You understand that? You understand what it is to hate something, Slaight?”
“Yessir.”
“Well, goddammit, I hate it when little shits like this … Grimshaw can’t lift themselves out of the scum of mediocrity. Scum. Every real man ought to rise, Slaight. Every real man ought to stand up and take his shot, Slaight. Got that?”
“Yessir.”
“That’s why I’m considering making you a battalion commander, first detail of the academic year. A battalion, Slaight. Your very own battalion. I know this probably comes as a shock to you, young man … but sometimes we … sometimes we commanders get the opportunity to reach out and pick someone and give him a shot at the stars. And if you don’t take the opportunity, then you’re not functioning as a commander should … as a man should. I’ve got this opportunity with you, Slaight. And I’m going to use it. I feel secure, having studied your record, that you are battalion caliber. Easily. Battalion. What do you think, young man?”
“Well, sir … that’s … uh … very interesting.” Slaight got the words out and paused, staring at the general, stunned. It came to him in a flash, sitting there watching Hedges, listening to him ramble on … suddenly Slaight knew: This is the way it happens. One minute you’re just sitting there, and you’re just Ry fuckin’ Slaight. The next minute, somebody reaches out, and you’re touched. You’re chosen. Slaight couldn’t get over it. The sensation was almost physical.
“Well, mister, what do you think? Up to it?”
“Yessir … it’s just that I …”
Hedges chuckled in a knowing way, as if to say: “Listen, kid, one day I was in your shoes. Know exactly how you feel. Bit heavy, huh, kid? You’ll get over it. Knuckle down. Dig in. It’ll pass.”
He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, threw one leg over the other, rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth, staring across Central Area. Slaight watched him. He looked … Jesus … content.
“So how’s your memory doing, Mr. Sam?”
“Sir?”
Hedges continued to rock, back and forth, back and forth, like he wasn’t listening. Slaight held the silence between them like a garbage can lid, a shield against what was coming next. For the first time since he walked in the Headquarters, he felt scared.
The bastard’s making a deal with me. He’s just sitting in his chair overlooking the area, rocking and rocking like this went down every day here! He’s making a deal with me! He’s telling me he’ll make me a goddamn battalion commander if I’ll conveniently forget I ever knew Major Consor, much less talked to him about the autopsy. He knows damn good and well I’m in the third fifth of the class in Aptitude, down there with the platoon sergeants and the file closers and the rest of the firstie dead beats. Got it right in the file, black and white. And Blue. But he’s gonna hand me a battalion, a goddamn battalion, lock, stock, and barrel, like it happens every day around here … Jesus, maybe it does! Maybe most of those fuckers walking around with stripes on their arms made deals somewhere along the line … who knows? It all happens in little manila file folders and behind closed doors and maybe one guy … maybe two … know what’s really going on … and right here sits the commandant, and he sure as hell knows….
Slaight’s mind spun like somebody had boxed his ears. Here he was, Ry Slaight, and the commandant was treating him like one of the guys. It made Slaight feel special. He found the deal, the idea of being a battalion commander, attractive. The whole thing made him feel desired. That was it. Desired. It was the first time in his life anybody had sat down across the table from him and just come out and offered a deal. He had this feeling if he didn’t move right now, the whole thing was going to get away from him. Wait a minute. The feeling was familiar—goddammit, what was it? He had the same goddamn warm thrill he’d had the night he meet Irit, when she just looked at him standing in the middle of that roomful of people and said: Come home with me, Slaight. It was in her eyes. She was making a deal. Come home with me and fuck, and you got a place to stay, boy. Sure, it was subtle and between the lines and unstated, but the truth was right there in her eyes. It was all so goddamn businesslike. That’s what bothered him at first about her. Everything she did was businesslike. Even fucking. No wham-bam-thanks-ma’am thing, but it was like … abrupt. Before he fell in love with her, he followed her. That was it. She led and he followed. The understanding between them was functional. Neat. Uncluttered. Efficient. Slaight was a cadet and he slipped into the scene like he was putting on his pants in the morning. The one weekend … well …
Now he was sitting in the office of the commandant of cadets at West Point, and the commandant was rocking in his chair and he was making a deal, just as casual as you please. Slaight felt … he felt like he’d been complimented or something. Honored. The whole thing meant he was being drawn inside, in there with the gears whirring and the wheels turning, and guys like Hedges standing around with oil cans and wrenches, kicking this wheel, goosing that gear, running the goddamn machine….
But the whole idea of a deal, Jesus, he’d been uncomfortable around the idea of deals since he was a senior in high school, selling clothes in a men’s shop in downtown Leavenworth. There was another senior working there, an Italian kid named Polozzi, and he just had this nose for deals. He’d lurk in the store, watching this customer go by and that one go by. Then he’d make his move, collar some poor bastard who was looking to buy a sport coat and a pair of slacks. Ole Polozzi would crank the poor guy up, turn a hundred-dollar sale into three suits, a topcoat, dozen shirts, six ties, three belts, two pairs of shoes. He’d discount this and that as he went along—on his own initiative, for to do otherwise would have been to drop the flow of things—and before you knew it, Polozzi was standing at the cash register ringing up thirteen hundred dollars’ worth of stuff for the guy. Old Mr. Wolfe, who owned the place, would come out and see the Polozzi discounts, and after work he’d chew Polozzi’s ass, but at the end of the week, Polozzi would win the store’s sales contest … and he only worked part-time, like Slaight. Polozzi must have made a deal with his old lady to leave her womb, they used to joke. He knew goddamn deals. Slaight stood around selling shirts and socks and ties and an occasional suit that walked in and sold itself, but he never did get the hang of making a deal, that magical area known to guys like Polozzi.
Slaight felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t shake it. He’d been sitting there listening to Hedges, trying to clock his every move, gauge his every motive, and old Hedges was bobbing and weaving like the pro he was, a real fighter, a goddamn warrior. Slaight was fascinated. Enchanted. Watching him. Listening to him. But this thing … this off-balance thing … it was like somebody had a hand around his neck and was pulling him over backward. Weird nervous creepy little doubt … this hand on the neck … goddammit … Hedges was so, well, so … seductive … Slaight almost forgot, just sitting there watching and listening like some kind of fool. It popped.
What would my father do?
&
nbsp; Landed like a tight bare first in the solar plexus … Slaight gasped and sucked air and hoped to hell Hedges wasn’t checking out his act because it was definitely fraying at the edges … splitting at the seams … but old Hedges just rocked and gazed the area….
What would my father do? Right here. Right now.
The hand on the back of his neck, tight as a goddamn C-clamp gluing a joint, coming up out of nowhere and clamping down and holding on and not letting go … pulling and hanging on….
First time in his life anybody ever offered him a deal, a real goddamn deal, and he felt that rush … now I’m gonna get mine, goddammit, the moment has finally come and I’m gonna get mine, a goddamn piece … some bitter little notion that’d been sitting around the back of his brain since the days when he was a kid in school and he had to wear last year’s sneakers and everybody else was wearing this year’s loafers … Jesus … the stupid shit it boiled down to in the end, when you really got down to it … a rooty little bitterness that gave you the reflexes of a goddamn cobra … this is it, Slaight. Move, you fucker. Move.
And goddamn if he hadn’t been getting off on it, watching Hedges dealing out his little chunk of power. Goddamn if the whole scene hadn’t sucked him right in, inside, in there where you felt warm, part of it, desired. He remembered the crummy little bitterness with Irit, when they were first going out. Went back to that first night. Cadets were supposed to feel like conquerors, but Slaight didn’t feel like that; he just felt like he was finally getting his. Didn’t matter if she was giving or he was taking. What mattered was getting. That was the way it was. When you got your chance, you reached out and grabbed. It was true with women, and now he knew it was true inside the office of the commandant of cadets.
“Well, Mr. Sam, how about it?” Hedges watched him closely, Slaight with his fist on his neck, holding him.
The old man.
Slaight knew. He just fuckin’ knew. The old man would never buy this act. Not for nothing would he go for the stinkbait Hedges was fishing with. It was always the old man. Every time he came up against something that rankled him a bit, the old man was there, watching him, hanging over his shoulder like a grade school teacher, the kind you could fool … but only once. The old man. You could only fool him once. So Slaight played the game at West Point, but he played it with a tiny kernel of wisdom inside him. The academy had fooled him, slipped one by him early on. But he never let it happen again. He was sensitive to the nuances of the game. He studied them. The game was it. To West Point’s rules, he added one of his own. The old man’s rule. And he stuck by it.
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