“Chris wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have pushed back at you, ever.” Even now, guts clenching to stifle fury over my pointless struggle, I couldn’t let Chris down.
Dad shook his head. “You’re wrong. What do you think he was doing when he locked himself in his room? At his age he didn’t know it, but he was setting the stage. And letting only your mother into his room was a battle tactic. Got her on his side. It wasn’t what a man would do, was what I thought. A man would react more like you. Come out yelling. So all I could do was try to put it behind us. I chose to act like he’d done the same. I’ve been so worried it would happen to you, too. Because I don’t know where it comes from. So I’ve been pretty hard on you. Haven’t let your mother coddle you. Haven’t let you get away with things. At least I didn’t fail with you.”
My head started shaking on its own. Voices were sounding off in my brain. Like, You got Chris killed! And, You think I react the way a man would? Then why all the “act like a man” lectures for the past several months? And, Is JJ a failure? Was Chris? The only thing I could think of to say aloud was an echo of something JJ had said to me. “Could you be gay?”
His voice was weak, tired. “What?”
“Because I couldn’t. And JJ can’t be straight. He shouldn’t have to live a lie, just so we can feel more comfortable around him.”
“Paul, that’s not the problem. It’s illegal, and it’s unnatural, and it’s immoral.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Son, you can’t argue with the law….”
“I’m not gonna report him. Are you? And as for being unnatural, sure, it feels wrong to me. It is wrong for me. Because I’m not gay. But JJ, and Chris, probably feel exactly the same way when we try to force them to be with girls. I’ll bet that turns their stomachs.” I realized I was talking about Chris like he was still alive, but to tell the truth it kind of felt like he was in the room with me. It felt like he was smiling.
I thought Dad would bring up the Bible next, like I had with JJ that day, but he didn’t. He just closed his eyes and put his head in his hands again. I wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking—that he’d gotten his own son killed in a misguided attempt to straighten him out. And now he’s about to fire JJ to keep me safe?
“You can’t fire JJ, Dad.”
He looked at me over his fingertips a minute and then dropped his hands. “You swear he hasn’t touched you?”
I tried to smile, but it was a little wobbly. “Dad, he saved my life. He got me a date with a girl. What else can I tell you? No, he hasn’t touched me. He’s got a boyfriend, anyway. What does he want with me?”
He took a couple of shaky breaths and then surprised me again. “Think I’ll go take Dante for a short walk. Why don’t you go home and let your mother know I’ll be along shortly.”
I opened my mouth to tell him Dante had had his walk, but then I realized that wasn’t the point. We left the office and walked toward the stockroom, me to get my bike and him to get Dante. Just before I opened the door I thought about the time I couldn’t get Dante to calm down. I’d tried and failed to do the alpha rollover, and JJ had said that I’d get it. In my head I heard his voice tell me, Not everyone has it in them. But you do. To my dad I said, “I’m going to help Mrs. O’Neil recover Geronimo.”
Dad did the strangest thing. He hugged me.
That night, in bed, I thought I’d never get to sleep. My mind kept trying to line things up and make sense out of them, starting with the fact that my tortured silence had meant nothing. Dad had known long before I did. But Chris hadn’t realized it.
If Dad had known Chris was gay for so long, then all those years when I thought Chris was calming Dad down…what was really going on? Was it that Dad just didn’t want to deal with Chris so he backed down to get away from him, or was it more like Dad knew that if he didn’t back down, Mom would leave?
Was I the only one in the family who thought of Chris as strong and brave? Was Dad unable to see those parts of him because he figured if Chris was a homo he couldn’t be those things, too?
Had I always thought of Chris as Mom’s favorite because she knew she had to protect him, and knew she couldn’t protect me, too, and he needed it more? Or maybe because Dad would go ballistic if she got soft toward me?
Whatever the answers were, one thing kept rising to the surface. Dad had thought he was protecting me. He had thought he was keeping me safe from something he thought was dangerous. In his own weird way, in a way I don’t know that I like, he was loving me. I think he was wrong about the danger, but I was wrong about the love. I didn’t see that.
Now I do.
Chapter 16
Monday, my day off, I went into the store. I got there real early, gave Dante a short walk and then put him on his run. I even beat JJ in. Dad asked what I was doing there, and I said that if he was about to lose one of his employees, maybe he could use me today. He squeezed my shoulder and asked me to let him know when Dave got there.
JJ was in before Dave, of course. I saw his mom’s car in the front when she dropped him off. He looked kind of sideways toward the office like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted my dad to see him. I was feeding the amphibians where I could see if Dave came in without being seen very well myself, but JJ spotted me and came over.
“How’s the hand?” I asked as he approached.
He looked down at it like he’d forgotten it was bandaged. “Okay. Fine. Um…”
“If you’re wondering about any fallout from yesterday?” I waited, and his expression told me I was right. “I think it’ll be okay. Just keep a low profile maybe. Dad’s got a bad day ahead of him for other reasons.”
“That why you’re here today?”
“Yeah. He might need me to be here.” JJ smiled and nodded. I added, “Um, in fact, could you walk Dante for me? He only got a few minutes earlier, and I’m not sure how easy it’ll be for me to get away for a little while. He’s on his run.”
“Sure. Happy to.”
He was out with the dog when Dave got in. I didn’t need to tell Dad he was there; Dad was watching for him.
Dave did not go quietly. There was ranting and railing I could hear right through the closed office door about how he’d served his country and this was the thanks he got and he’d sue and all kinds of crap. Thank God there were no customers in the store at the moment. Alice was there, and she looked frightened, so I stayed near her. On his way out, Dave knocked over as much stuff as he could reach, which fortunately didn’t include anything with animals in it.
Dad came over to help me clean up the mess. I asked, “You okay?”
He reached for a fallen package of dry dog food that was on special and said, “I hated doing that. He’s a vet.”
“And a thief.”
Dad sighed. “It’s not like I didn’t warn him. He’s been doing this for months. I was going to look the other way, but he got greedy.”
I stopped myself just in time before asking why he hadn’t given Chris as much slack. But it wasn’t going to get us anywhere to bring that up.
Tuesday night we had a surprise phone call. I answered.
This man’s voice said, “Is this Paul Landon, by any chance?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Dennis Halpert. I served with your brother. He saved my life.”
Dennis came to see us that weekend, after a flurry of house-cleaning that rivaled Mom’s efforts before Chris’s leave last fall. I ran to the door when I heard his car pull up, and I watched him get out. It took him a little while, and when he came into view, on crutches, I could see that the bottom half of his left leg was missing.
Mom fussed over him, making sure he was comfortable and had anything he might possibly want. Dad and I just wanted him to talk. We wanted to hear about Chris.
Dennis talked. He told us how everyone in the squad looked to Chris for sanity, for clear thinking. How guys used to seek him out to tell him their problems, their worries about girlfriends b
ack home, their fears about a mission coming up. And he told us about the day Chris died.
Mom cried quietly through most of the story of Chris’s last day on earth. Dennis was the second man Chris had pulled to safety. He couldn’t help with the others because of his leg, but he could see Chris coming back with the last guy. The thing I remember best was when he said, “I saw Chris get hit. He was half carrying Tim, who was barely conscious but not seriously hurt, and I saw the bullets hit from behind. All this red appeared on Chris’s chest, and I looked at his face.” Dennis had to stop for a second before he could go on. “He wasn’t surprised. It was like he’d been expecting it. He grimaced, and—pardon the language, ma’am, but goddamn me if he didn’t just keep moving. He got Tim to where Carl could grab him and drag him under cover, and then Chris just kept going. I guess he didn’t want to give away where we were. He kept moving until we couldn’t hear him anymore.”
Dennis rubbed his face for a minute. “After all the firing stopped, Carl crawled out to find Chris. He was a good fifty feet away. I won’t describe what Carl saw, but I’ll just tell you I don’t think I could’ve walked ten feet in that condition.”
Mom was sobbing openly by now, and Dad and I kept lifting our glasses of iced tea to cover our faces. Dennis, unashamed, took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
We gave this story some space, and probably nobody trusted their voices, anyway. But after a while, I said, “Can I ask you something that’s been bothering me?”
“Sure, Paul. If it’s bothering you, I’m sure Chris would want it to stop. He thought the world of you.”
Okay, another second or two before I could trust my voice again. Then, “When he was home, he told us about some of the stuff that happened, but he never said anything like other stories I’ve heard. Like, not knowing who was an enemy and who wasn’t. And who was even dangerous and who wasn’t. Do you know why not?”
Dennis shrugged. “Maybe because that was one of the creepiest things about being over there. I remember just after I got there, it was a question I had. And what I was told was that if a Vietnamese person had a gun, they were the enemy. And if they were dead, they were the enemy, even if they had no gun. It could be a kid with a gun, or an old lady throwing a grenade. It could be anybody. And we didn’t have the luxury of taking a lot of time to figure it out.” He took a deep breath. “I think that’s what will haunt me the worst. The rest of my life. And I know this is no consolation for you, but at least Chris will be spared those nightmares. The war is over for him.”
When Dennis left, I walked him out to his car alone. I helped him get settled and then I had one more question for him. “Did you know Mason?”
Dennis looked up at me like he was trying to decide what to say. “Sure. Mason was one of the nicest guys you’d ever hope to meet.” He laughed. “Though he did have a thing about snakes, and I’m afraid we were a little cruel about that a few times.” We stared at each other a minute, and then he said, “Did Chris tell you how much Mason meant to him?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Did, um, did the other guys know?”
“We all knew. And we didn’t care. We were kinda glad he had someone. Paul, everyone loved Chris. Admired him. He coulda had green hair and three arms and we would’ve loved him just as much. He was about the best friend a guy could have. And he loved you like you were his son.”
“I loved him, too.”
I watched the car drive away, and then I just stood there. And stood there.
Dad went into his study after dinner that night, a very quiet meal, and shut the door. I was really tempted to go in there and tell him the rest of what Dennis had said, how much the other soldiers didn’t care about the part of Chris that Dad hated so much it got Chris killed. But that seemed like such a negative thing to do, and Dad probably already felt like shit, anyway. Maybe some solitary time-out would do him some good. If I wasn’t—weren’t (that’s for you, Mom)—in front of him challenging him, maybe it would be easier for him to let himself admit he was wrong.
Instead, I decided I had two things to talk with Mom about. One was that I was sure she’d like to hear the other great things Dennis had said, now that I knew that she had known about Chris. And the other was that she knew about Chris.
I found her sitting on the back steps, swatting at the occasional mosquito and gazing into the darkening sky. It was a tough choice: leave her to her own thoughts or bring her some of mine?
I sat down beside her, knees up, arms crossed on them. Neither of us spoke for about a minute. Then I said, “Dennis told me the squad knew about Chris.”
I wasn’t watching her, but I could almost feel her stiffen beside me. A cautious glance sideways told me she was still looking out at nothing as she said quietly, “What do you mean?”
“He had a…a lover. In the squad. Did you know that?” I turned my head to see that she had covered her face with her hands. “It was Mason. Dennis says he was a terrific guy.” She shook her head a little but kept her face covered. “Mason died while Chris was home last November. That phone call he made was to Mason’s parents.”
That got her attention. When she looked at me I could see a little light from the kitchen reflecting in the tears on her face. She looked like she was in agony. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and she leaned against me and sobbed.
When she had about cried herself out, blowing her nose on a tissue from her apron pocket, I had something else I needed to say. Ask.
“Did you know how much Dad’s being tough on me had to do with Chris?”
She nodded, and her breath caught a few times. Then she said, “I’m so sorry. I had to choose. Either I could keep Chris safe and let your father be the way he felt he needed to be toward you or I could try to protect you, too, which would have made things even worse. It didn’t seem to me as though you needed my protection nearly as much as Chris did. I had to choose, Paul. Do you understand?”
I sort of did, and I sort of didn’t. I said, “So just because you didn’t think I was gay, and you knew Chris was, you thought he needed protection and I didn’t? Is that what you’re saying?”
Her sigh was shaky. “I suppose so.”
I bit my tongue before I could point out what her protection had meant to Chris, what had happened to him because of it, in the end. If she had protected me, what would it have meant for me? Would things have been even worse for me? Probably.
I could barely hear my own voice. “I guess you made the right choice.” But there was more to say. “Chris thought you and Dad didn’t know.”
“He knew I did. I let him believe his father didn’t. I thought it would make living together as a family easier if they could at least try to act normal toward each other.”
“But…he asked me not to tell you. Why would he say that?”
“Not to tell me? Or not to tell anyone?”
What had he said? It might have been “anyone,” and I put my own interpretation on it. This was all so tangled. I shook my head to clear my brain and sat quietly, thinking. But then I realized that I wanted her to know that just because Chris was gay didn’t mean he was a coward, or a sissy. “JJ is gay.”
She pulled away from me. “What?”
“Yup. Dad knows. I’ve known all summer, but Dad just found out on Sunday night.” I wanted to add that if there was one thing JJ didn’t need, it was protection. But that might have made her feel like she’d done things all wrong with Chris, and what would be the point of that now?
Is this what it means to be a man?
We talked for a bit more about JJ, which seemed to ease the tension enough for me to say good night and not feel like I was leaving her in some emotional state. Up in my room I put on the Cat Stevens album that Chris had been playing the day he’d had Jim Waters in his room, and I stood at my desk gazing out into the odd shapes the streetlight made shining through the leaves on that tree I’d spent so much time staring at this year. On its own, my hand opened the drawer where I kept the SADEYE pellets. I lif
ted one out and set it on the table beside my bed, propped up against my alarm clock so it wouldn’t roll off.
I lay in bed for a while, picturing Chris and Mason and the guys in their squad laughing and joking and talking about home, wondering if the other guys resented that the two gay guys had their lovers right there and everyone else had only letters. But it hadn’t sounded like that, from what Dennis had said. It had sounded like if it hadn’t been for the jungle, and the bugs, and the bullets, that squad was actually the best place for my brother to be.
Mr. Treadwell and Ophelia, not a gnawed spot on her anywhere, came to the store on JJ’s last day. We stood outside near the corner of the building, and after questions about the bandaged hand Mr. Treadwell asked JJ about his plans, what veterinary schools he might consider, where he thought he might like to practice. And then he turned to me.
“Have you been writing at all, Paul?”
“Writing?”
He looked at JJ. “You should have read this short story Paul submitted for extra credit. He told it from the perspective of a medieval French farmer who’d taken refuge with his family in a castle under siege. Blended history and family and emotional trauma together beautifully. It was gripping.”
JJ tilted his head at me. “What’s this? A secret talent? You should pursue that, you know.”
I scuffed a sneaker against the ground. “I dunno. It’s a lot of work.”
Mr. Treadwell said, “JJ, I wish you all the best. Thank you so much for your help with Ophelia. You have a rare gift, and the world will be a better place because you share it.” They shook hands, and Mr. Treadwell led Ophelia away as JJ and I watched.
“Look at her, will you?” he said. “Head up, proud, she’s one happy dog.”
At the end of the day, after everyone else had told JJ how much they’d miss him and how much they’d learned from him, he turned to me. “Paul, will you come with me while I say good-bye to Dante?”
A Question of Manhood Page 32