Tommy and Boom Boom ran into each other ten years later, at Woody’s Bar in Toronto, fell in love and moved in together. Boom Boom died six months ago and Tommy has been raising funds and awareness ever since. That’s how he and Madeleine hooked up again. His hair is even shorter than it used to be, platinum buzz cut. He teaches at a high school for the performing arts.
“I had a huge crush on your brother, Madeleine.”
THE FEW, THE PROUD
To the tune of “The Colonel Bogey March”:
Hitler! had only one big ball
Goering, had two but they were small
Himmler, had something sim’lar
And poor old Goebbels had no balls at all!
Anon.
MADELEINE IS STARING at a spot on the taupe carpet. Feels her mouth in the shape of an upside-down smile, her cheeks striped with tears, nose red with crying, is that the real reason clowns have red noses?
Nina puts a glass of therapeutic spring water into her hand.
She drinks, feels tadpoles in her stomach, contents of a swamp, thickening, things hatching. “I feel sick,” she says, and drops her forehead to her hand.
“Madeleine. Can you close your eyes for a moment?”
She does. Tears seep out.
“What is it?”
“My brother,” she says, and weeps.
“He died,” says Nina.
“We don’t say ‘died,’ we say ‘missing.’” She reaches for the tissues and covers her face with her hands, sobbing. “My poor dad.”
“Were they close? Your brother and your father?”
Madeleine shakes her head, blows her nose and almost laughs. She lobs the sodden wad into the wastebasket, pulls a fresh handful from the box and tells a story.
In the spring of ’69, when Madeleine was fifteen, Mike came home to Ottawa in a United States Marine Corps uniform.
“What the hell are you wearing?” said Jack.
He was supposed to have been out west, working on an oil rig in Alberta. Instead, he had completed basic training at Parris Island. His head was shaved. He was newly muscled, neck straining against his collar.
“Have you got a brain in your head?” asked Jack, white around the mouth. “Are you that stupid?” Smacking his newspaper down on the kitchen table.
“I thought you’d be proud,” Mike said.
“Why in God’s name would I be proud?”
Mike had thought his father would be proud the way he had been proud of the comparatively few Canadians who had fought in Korea—
“They fought as Canadians, not Americans, they were part of a U.N. force!”
“They were fighting Communism,” Mike yelled back, “it was the same!”
“You’ve pledged allegiance to a foreign power!”
Madeleine leaned against the kitchen counter, glazed with shock. Her mother didn’t even light a cigarette.
The Few, The Proud—a slogan of the Marine Corps. Canadians were the few among the few. The invisible among the despised. While scores of young American males objected, stayed in college or fled to Canada to avoid an insane war, Mike was one of a hefty handful of Canadians who volunteered. Many came from Québec and the Maritimes — a preponderance of working-class boys, Irish, French and Native Canadians. They enlisted at recruiting centres located deliberately close to the Canadian border. Mike joined up in Plattsburgh, New York. Shit, shower, shave! This time next month he would be “in country.”
Jack’s hands dangled at his sides. “Go on, get out of here.” He turned and walked away.
“Jack,” said Mimi — Madeleine could hear the shock in her voice.
“He’s Canadian, not American, it’s a foreign war and it’s a foolish war. It can’t be won, they’re not fighting it to win it, he’ll be killed.”
Mimi cried out and covered her mouth.
“Maman,” said Mike, “c’est pas vrai, maman, je reviendra, calme-toi, eh?” He looked at his father. “See what you’ve done?”
Jack rolled his eyes.
Madeleine was rooted to the spot. She was wearing a pewter peace sign on a leather string around her neck. Last week she and Jocelyn had joined a protest in front of the American Embassy against the atrocities at My Lai.
Jack pointed at his son and said, “You’re to stay out of it, mister.”
“You’re just jealous,” said Mike.
“What?” said Jack.
Madeleine shared her father’s incredulity, but she could not bear to see her brother’s cheeks inflamed with humiliation. She was terrified he would cry. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“I’m going to be flying.”
“Flying what?” said Jack.
“A chopper.”
“A chopper.” Slow disdain. “Killing a whole bunch of peasants. From a helicopter. I’m impressed.”
Mike turned scarlet. “At least I’m fighting for something. At least I’m not flying a fucking desk.”
Jack struck him across the face for speaking that way in front of his mother. Mike gasped back his shock — Madeleine could see tears in his eyes, what would be worse? If Mike cried? Or if he hit Dad back?
Mike turned to his mother and said, “Excuse-moi, maman. I didn’t mean to swear.”
Mimi was crying. She reached up and put her arms around her son, hugged him and said, “Va avec Dieu, hein? Mon petit homme.” Stroking his back the way she used to when he was a kid. “P’tit gentilhomme.”
Madeleine could see her brother’s jaw and mouth working as he held their mother, but still he didn’t cry. All she could think was, You big idiot. Stay home.
“You’re to stay home,” said Jack.
Mike turned and left.
Nina says, “Is that the last time you saw him?”
Madeleine smiles. “No. I followed him out of the house.”
He is pulling away in a battered Chevy Nova, pockmarked where rust has been sanded off. She runs after him. He sees her in the rearview mirror and stops.
They pick up Jocelyn.
“Are you for real?” Jocelyn asks him, climbing into the back seat.
“Surprise, surprise, surprise!” bleats Madeleine in Gomer Pyle’s voice.
They drive into downtown Ottawa. It’s surreal — Mike’s crisp summer uniform and bean shave in contrast with the jeans, frayed hems and split ends everywhere — the only people with hair shorter than his are the Hare Krishnas with their orange robes and tambourines.
They walk through the airy light of the early June evening, down Sparks Street Mall — thronging now with tourists, civil servants and hippies, past “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” piped from a record store, past buskers and jewellery vendors, through a gauntlet of stares.
Madeleine is in a cold and lucid dream, on a wagon en route to the stake, naked but for her hair and smock, the crowd may spit and jeer, she will not seek to justify herself. She holds her head up and walks in step with the U.S. Marine at her side.
“Where do you hang out?” Mike asks.
“A little place down on Sussex.”
She doesn’t really frequent the place, but the thought of walking in there with her soldier brother is mortifying, so that’s where she will take him. They walk past the Parliament Buildings, turn left down Sussex Drive and come to a coffee house called Le Hibou.
He opens the door for them. “Ladies first.” Jocelyn rolls her eyes at Madeleine, Madeleine rolls hers in agreement.