He was like Theron! She was going to have to come to grips with that fact.
“The most serious problem our society faces,” Professor McKenzie intoned, “is the complete absence of moral fiber in so many of our young people.”
They had finished the pie and were sipping coffee. Jake Grafton let that pronouncement go by without bothering to glance at his host. He was observing Callie, trying to read her mood.
“If they had any sense of right and wrong,” the professor continued, “young men would have never fought in that war. Until people understand that they have the right, nay, the duty, the obligation, to resist the illegal demands of a morally bankrupt government, we will continue to have war. Murder, slaughter, rapine, grotesque human suffering, for what? Just to line the pockets of greedy men.”
After the prologue, the professor got down to cases. Jake had a sick feeling this was coming. “What about you, Jake? Were you drafted?”
Jake eyed the professor without turning his head. “No.”
Something in his voice drew Callie’s gaze. She glanced at him, but his attention was directed at her father.
“Wallace,” said Mrs. McKenzie, “perhaps we should—”
“You volunteered?”
“Yes.”
“You volunteered to kill people?” the professor asked with naked sarcasm.
“I volunteered to fight for my country.”
The professor was on firm ground here. He lunged with his rapier. “Your country wasn’t under attack by the Vietnamese. You can’t wrap the holy flag around yourself now, Mister, or use it to cover up what you people did over there.”
Now the professor slashed. “You and your airborne colleagues murdered defenseless men, women and children. Burned them alive with napalm. Bombed them in the most contemptible, cowardly manner that—”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Gentlemen, let’s change the subject.” Mrs. McKenzie’s tone was flinty.
“No, Mary,” the professor said, leaning forward with his eyes on Jake. “This young man — I’m being charitable here — is courting our daughter. I think I have a right to know what kind of man he is.”
“The war’s over, Mr. McKenzie,” Jake said.
“The shooting has stopped, no thanks to you. But you can’t turn your back on all those murdered people and just walk away. I won’t allow it! The American people won’t—”
But he was orating to Jake Grafton’s back. The pilot walked through the doorway into the hall and his feet sounded on the stairs.
Mrs. McKenzie got up abruptly and went to the kitchen, leaving Callie alone with her father.
“You didn’t have to do that, Dad.”
“He’s not the man for you, Callie. You couldn’t live with what he did, he and those other criminal swine in uniform.”
Callie McKenzie tapped nervously on the table with a spoon. Finally she put it down and scooted her chair back.
“I want to say this just right, Father. I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time, but I’ve never known just how. On this occasion I want to try. You think in black and white although we live in a gray world. It’s been my experience that people who think the dividing line between right and wrong is a brick wall are crackpots.”
She rose and left the room with her father sitting open-mouthed behind her.
In the guest room upstairs Jake was rolling up his clothes and stuffing them into his folding bag. The nylon bag, Callie noticed listlessly, was heavily stained. That was the bag he had with him in Olongapo last autumn.
“I’ve called a cab,” he told her.
She sagged into a chair. “My father…I’m sorry…why do you have to go?”
Grafton finished stuffing the bag, looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, then zipped the bag closed. He lifted it from the bed and tossed it toward the door. Only then did he turn to face her.
“The people I knew in the service were some of the finest men I ever met. Some of those men are dead. Some are crippled for life, like your brother. I’m proud that I served with them. We made mistakes, but we did the best we could. I won’t listen to vicious slander.”
“Dad and his opinions.”
“Opinions are like assholes — everybody has one. At his age your father should know that not everyone wants to see his butt or hear his opinion.”
“Jake, you and I… what we have might grow into something wonderful if we give it a chance. Shouldn’t we take time to talk about this?”
“Talk about what? The Vietnam War? It’s over. All those dead men! For what? For fucking nothing at all, that’s for what!” His voice was rising but he didn’t notice. “Oh, I killed my share of Vietnamese — your father got that right. They are dead for nothing. Now I’ve got to live with it…every day of my life. Don’t you understand?”
He slammed his hand down on the dresser and the photo on top fell over. “I’m not God. I don’t know if we should have gone to Vietnam or if we should have left sooner or if the war was right or wrong. The self-righteous assholes who stayed at home can argue about all that until hell freezes. And it looks like they’re going to.
“I took an oath. I swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States. So I obeyed orders. I did what I was told to the absolute best of my ability. Just like your brother. And what did it get us? Me and your brother? You and me? Jake and Callie — what did it get us?”
He took a ragged breath. He was perspiring and he felt sick. Slightly nauseated. “It isn’t your father. It’s me. I can’t just forget.”
“Jake, we must all live with the past. And walk on into the future.”
“Maybe you and I aren’t ready for the future yet.”
She didn’t reply.
“Well, maybe I’m not,” he admitted.
She was biting her lip.
“You aren’t either,” he added.
When she didn’t answer he picked up the folding bag and carry-on. “Tell your mom thanks.” He went out the door.
She heard him descend the stairs. She heard the front door open. She heard it close.
Then her tears came.
Almost an hour later she descended the stairs. She was at the bottom when she heard her mother’s voice coming from the study. “You blathering fool! I’m sick of hearing you sermonize about the war. I’m sick of your righteousness. I’m sick of you damning the world from the safety of your alabaster pedestal.”
“Mary, that war was an obscenity. That war was wrong, a great wrong, and the blind stupidity of boys like Grafton made it possible. If Grafton and boys like him had refused to go, there wouldn’t have been a war.”
“Boys? Jake Grafton is no boy. He’s a man!”
“He doesn’t think,” Professor McKenzie said, his voice dripping contempt. “He can’t think. I don’t call him much of a man.”
Callie sank to the steps. She had never heard her parents address each other in such a manner. She felt drained, empty, but their voices held her mesmerized.
“Oh, he’s a man all right,” her mother said. “He just doesn’t think like you do. He’s got the brains and talent to fly jet aircraft in combat. He’s got the character to be a naval officer, and I suspect he’s a pretty good one. I know that doesn’t impress you much, but Callie knows what he is. He’s got the maturity and character to impress her.”