Dog Soldiers (23 page)

“
And the place, mind you — the place was the Men
’
s Bar at the Biltmore Hotel!
”
He slapped Converse on the knee.

“
The same night — the very same night—I went on board the
Carinthia
for Havre. Three days later I was in Spain.
”
He seemed to hesitate for a moment and then poured himself another shot.
“
So I was just like you. I went.
”

“
Douglas,
”
Converse said,
“
the two things aren
’
t the same. Fucking around Saigon is not like volunteering for Spain. I mean, essentially we were on different sides.
”

“
Who?
”
Douglas asked.
“
Different sides? You and me?
”

He laughed and waved a hand.
“
I suppose you
’
re a Fas
cist.
”

“
Objectively, I suppose so.
”

Douglas was delighted.

“
Objectively! Objectively this and objectively that. Elmer
used to talk like that. Did y
ou know he was our political of
ficer? He used to tell us
that there was no difference be
tween Mrs. Roosevelt and Hitler. Objectively! And that wasn
’
t the line then — that was Elmer talking.
”

Converse pulled the sleeping bag over himself and leaned on an elbow.

“
I had a friend at Amherst named Andy Stritch. I
’
ve always thought about Andy. He was killed at the Jarama. And there was a boy from the University of Indiana, his name was Peter Schultz. And there was a boy named Gelb who was only eighteen. He was straight from high school, can you imagine? They were all killed at the Jarama.
”

To Converse
’
s astonishment he began to sing.

“
There
’
s a valley in Spain called Jarama.
”
It went to the tune of
“
Red River Valley.
”
He stopped after the first line.

“
Oh, don
’
t sing it,
”
he said to someone or other.

“
The Moors! They were Moors. I thought — being very young — this is like the
Chanson de Roland
. Moors. They would come up to the wire and pretend to surrender. Some of them spoke English. And we poor little clots, we always wanted to believe them. Some of the fellas would let them come over and get a dagger in the gut for it.
”

“
The gooks are like that,
”
Converse said.
“
Objectively.
”

“
You shouldn
’
t call them gooks,
”
Douglas said.
“
We didn
’
t.
”

“
They call us Thong
Miao. It means gooks in Vietnam
ese.
”

“
I had another Amherst friend — his name was Pollard. They shot him for cowardice. They wanted to shoot me. For cowardice. Not that I
’
d been all that cowardly, mind you. Elmer saved my life. But it hurt my feelings, do you see? It hurt my feelings very very badly. I wasn
’
t in com bat in the Second War.
”

Converse
’
s elbow collapsed.

“
If I
’
d been there, they
’
d have shot me. Somebody may shoot me yet.
”

“
You can
’
t be shot for cowardice in San Francisco, John.
”

“
Yes, you can.
”
On the edge of sleep, something occurred to Converse that made him sit up again.

“
It was Charmian,
”
he told Douglas.
“
All this shit It was because of Charmian.
”

“
Lovely,
”
Douglas said.
“
A lovely old Southern name.
”

“
She
’
s this girl. I
’
m in trouble because of her.
”

“
So,
”
Douglas said,
“
you
’
re in love.
”

“
No. Not at all. I was over there and there was this girl and I wanted to please her.
”
Douglas put the bottle away and stood up. He walked surprisingly well.
“
That
’
s all over for me,
”
he said merrily.
“
Since the Jarama.
”

O
n a faultless morning, Marge and Hicks drove
down to the strip for breakfast. It was clear and warm; a wind had insinuated itself from the
outside world to dis
perse the smog
a
nd the sun shone agreeably on the polished automobiles and on the flesh of the young people in front of Ben Franklin
’
s.

It was a nice day for bod
ies. There was a sensual antici
pation about, an assurance of marvels shortly to be
mani
fest. Marge, deluded, sniffed at it with everyone else.

“
It must have been a paradise here once,
”
she told Hicks as they finished their coffee.
”
If only they
’
d left it.
”

Hicks said he had the L.A. blues.

They were going to see Eddie Peace. If anyone could
move weight, Hicks said, Eddie Peace could.

His house was in a cul-de-sac up Laurel Canyon. There were three cars parked in the cobbled driveway in front of it — a Bentley limousine with fresh soldering on the chassis, a dusty Maserati, and a Volkswagen sedan. Hicks parked his car uphill from the Volkswagen and they walked to the Spanish double doors.

Hicks paused before ringi
ng the bell; there was some dis
turbance of women inside. A lady was shouting in Spanish and a second in English. The Spanish-speaking lady was the more audible.

“
Puta
!
”
she shouted.
“
Puta
!
Puta
!
”
And they heard a door slam inside. Hicks sounded the musical bells.

A small woman in large round sunglasses observed them from behind a length of chain.

“
Hello?
”
she asked, as though she were answering the phone.

“
My name
’
s Ray,
”
Hicks said.
“
I
’
m an old friend of Ed
die
’
s. This is Marge.
”
Marge had been smiling all the way up the canyon.

She looked at them both by turns.

“
Puta
!
”
someone cried from inside.

“
Where do you know Eddie from?
”

“
From Malibu,
”
Hicks said.

The lady removed her sunglasses; her eyes were dull with fear.

“
C
’
mon, Lois,
”
Hicks said,
“
for Christ
’
s sake.
”

“
I don
’
t remember you,
”
Lois said. But she opened the door.

They entered a large white room with a glass partition at one end which was open to a sundeck. From an unseen room came another explosion of shrill Hispanic rage.

“
Shut up,
”
Lois shouted — quite coarsely, Marge thought
“
Shut up already!
”

A baby began to cry. Marge turned quickly toward the sound.

“
It
’
s one of those days,
”
Lois said.
“
I
’
m firing the clean
ing woman.
”

Hicks nodded sympathetically.

“
She speak English?
”

Lois shrugged.
“
Sure.
”

A young Mexican girl came into the room, bared her teeth and gave them all the finger. She was wearing a pink imitation leather jacket with zippered pockets.

“
Wow,
”
she told them,
“
you some boss clique.
”
She went out laughing unpleasantly. The baby, wherever it was, cried louder.

“
Nuts,
”
Lois said,
“
you know
!
A juvenile delinquent.
”
She was looking about the room as though for solace.
“
She
’
ll come back with her boyfriend and rip the place off.
”

They inspected an enormous painting above the fire place. It was a portrait of a clown with a tragic expression. Half-inch acrylic tears ran down the clown
’
s rouged cheeks.

“
Do you like it?
”
Lois asked faintly.
“
Some people don
’
t like it.
”
She began to seem alarmed.
“
But
I
like it. I think it
’
s Eddie.
”

“
Eddie all the way,
”
Hic
ks said. He walked to the parti
tion and looked out over the sundeck.
“
Is he around?
”

“
He
’
s working.
”
She watched Hicks without hope.
“
What did you say your name was?
L
ike I don
’
t remember you.
”

“
Ray. From Malibu. Where
’
s he working?
”

“
He
’
s never in Malibu anymore,
”
Lois said.
“
His Malibu period is over.
”

“
Where can I get in touch with him?
”
From the sundeck
one could see a hillside with growths of ponderosa and scores of sparkling amorphous swimming pools. No one was swimming.

“
At Famous.
”
Lois said.
“
He
’
s working all day.
”

Hicks went to the phone and picked it up.

“
May I
?”

Lois made a small feathering gesture with her hand and stamped her heel silently. He replaced the phone.
“
He won
’
t want to hear from you. He
’
s had it with Malibu.
”

“
This is not harassment,
”
Hicks explained.
“
This is something of interest to him.
”

“
No, it isn
’
t,
”
Lois said.

Hicks smiled and picked up the phone again.
“
What
’
s the matter with her?
”
Marge asked. She meant the baby.
“
Or him. Can I help you?
”