Early Warning (28 page)

As soon as he said this, she knew David had told her secret. She said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah,” said Jeff. “You do. But I don't think you should take it personally. There are more important things in the struggle than the fate of individuals.”

“I'm surprised you think that,” said Debbie, “when the most important thing to you always seems to be that you have the last word.”

“If I consider my analysis to be more correct, then I have to make sure it's understood.”

“You have an analysis of my father's…illness when you aren't a psychiatrist and you haven't met him and you've never even talked to me about it?”

“I don't have to know particular individuals in order to understand that the ruling class will do anything to retain control of the means of production and of the organs of indoctrination.”

“Yeah,” said Debbie, “Like
1984.
”

“Mistakes have been made.” He shrugged. “Look what they did to Bobby Kennedy. I'm not saying I liked Bobby Kennedy. He remained pretty reactionary, but that's the key. He got just a little out of line and they shot him.”

Nathan said, “They haven't shot Eugene McCarthy.”

“He has no charisma and no chance,” said Jeff. “They know that. You know there's five hundred thousand American soldiers in Vietnam? Why do you think they're there? Culling! We have a big generation.
Once everyone is drafted, they cull us. What do you think friendly fire is? When we've been trained to toe the line, then they'll bring everyone home and put them to work, and you'll never hear a peep out of our generation again. JFK was the first warning shot, MLK the second, and RFK the third.”

“That was in your paper,” said David.

“Yes, it was.”

“You're ‘Kropotkin'?” said David.

Debbie laughed out loud, but it was an angry laugh. Jeff looked right at her. She said, “Everyone in the world knows that communism doesn't work. Even my aunt Eloise knows that.”

“Peter Kropotkin was an anarchist.”

“Party of one,” said Debbie.

Jeff pushed his glasses up his nose. David was staring at his half-eaten slice of pizza. Debbie expected Jeff to start in about Tim somehow. Her fingers were trembling. But Jeff said, in his most superior voice, “What happens after the third warning shot? Well, the revolution begins, and it's about to. Clearly, you think that everyone was upset when Martin Luther King was put out of his misery by a CIA hit man. Don't you recognize crocodile tears when you see them? Ask Eldridge. Whites hated him, even though King didn't really realize that until the very last moment, and blacks with any sense had come to hate him, too, because he didn't understand whites. He thought, if black people were just good boys and girls, then the folks up at the big house would let them grow up. Bobby Seale and Eldridge know better. They're glad he's dead. And, for the same reason, I'm glad RFK is dead. Everybody has to die eventually. But if you are standing in the way, if people think you're going to change everything but really you aren't, you can't, and you don't even want to, because your idea is that if poor people need houses they just need to suck up to big business even harder than they already do, then better to die sooner rather than later.” He pushed his glasses up again and looked around the restaurant. His voice had risen. Now he lowered it. He said, “That's what I think.”

Debbie said, “That is just a bunch of bullshit.”

“You ask your dad the spook. You ask him what is really going on. Go ahead, I dare you.”

Debbie said, “Do you think I would want to live under a government that you ran or set up? It's all very nice to say you're an anarchist, but you only want anarchy for yourself. For the rest of us, you want to make sure we do what you say, think how you think, and remember you're the boss. You ask me why you wear that jacket or give away that piece of crap on the street, even though you know that when people take it they just throw it in the next trash can, or why you wear those glasses right out of
Doctor Zhivago
? You just want to get laid, like every guy. My brother, Dean, thinks playing hockey is going to get him laid. You think pretending you are some Russian is going to get you laid—big fucking difference.” She tossed her head. “You wouldn't mind running General Motors. You hate big business just because you're not the boss. If, by some magic trick, you got to be the president of…of…of Dow, you'd do it, and you would be happy to make napalm, too, because if you don't care about one person getting killed, then you don't care about any person getting killed. You're just a heartless asshole.”

David had already stood up, and now he said, “I think we should leave.”

“I'm not leaving with him,” said Debbie.

“We don't have to,” said David. He took her hand, and pulled her toward the door. Outside, it was hot and very sunny. When they had gotten about halfway down the block, David said, “I guess his dad is in the Teamsters Union in Pittsburgh. They've always been pretty militant. And his grandfather knew Big Bill Haywood.”

“He doesn't—”

“I mean, it's not like he speaks to his dad. I don't think they've spoken since Jeff was fifteen or something. He doesn't agree with his dad, and he always says, ‘If you work in the factory, even if you are in a union, then you are still agreeing that the factory should exist.' ”

“Well, the factory should exist. Is your mom going to make your clothes, and are your sisters going to dip candles and carry buckets of water up from the river?”

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“I told you not to tell.”

“It slipped out. Are you mad at me?”

“I don't know.”

They came to a cemetery. In Middletown, it seemed, you were always coming to a cemetery. She said, “Let's look at the gravestones, and I'll figure it out.”

Afterward, she said she wasn't mad, and they did go to a movie, and he did stay in her room that night, and the next day he put her on the train. His first letter came Wednesday. She wrote right back, and neither of them even mentioned the fight, but she said yes to a date with a guy who went to Vanderbilt, and when the riots broke out in Chicago at the Democratic Convention, she assumed that the revolution had begun.

—

RICHIE WAS IN
Alpha Barracks and Michael was in Gamma Barracks. The one other set of twins, John and Clay Simpson, were in Delta Barracks. Everyone, including the Simpson twins, thought Richie and Michael got along great, though their jokes and tricks sometimes went too far. That was why Richie was in the major's office right now, waiting for the major to come back with his file—Richie had pointed one of the old Springfield rifles right at Michael's head and pulled the trigger; everyone knew the firing pins had been removed. Michael even laughed. And he had pushed Michael off the high dive at the swimming pool. Michael had spread his arms and legs and shouted “Yahoo!” as he was going down.

They were “getting out of hand” once again.

Out the window, it was starting to sleet. That was all they ever had here, sleet. No real snow. The door opened, and the major came in. The major was pretty short—last year, Richie had been about his height, but this year, he had grown six inches (Michael had grown seven), and even without his cap on, he was way taller than the major. He looked down.

The major said, “Corporal Langdon.”

Everyone in his class was a corporal. Then you got to be a sergeant junior year, and an officer senior year. Richie saluted. “Yes, sir.”

The major started shaking his head. “I've been watching you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may not know this, but I was at the swimming pool the other day, and I happened to witness you pushing your brother off the diving board.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He made the best of it, but you took him by surprise, and, Corporal Langdon, I don't think you were joking.”

“I was, sir. He knew I was right there. He was ready for me. It may have looked like I surprised him, but that's because he made a big deal of it. He was—”

“Are you contradicting the evidence of my own eyes, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” Richie said this snappily, his eyes straight ahead and his chin up.

“Finish what you were saying, then.”

“He was going to push me off. He knew it, I knew it. I was just quicker. For once.”

“You two like the rough stuff, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How would you feel if one of you got hurt?”

“I don't know, sir.”

“You don't know?”

“We've never gotten hurt.” In the sense that someone had to go to the doctor, Richie thought.

“Well, think about it.”

“I will, sir.”

“No, think about it now.”

Richie thought about it, staring out at the sleet, which was making the windows of the major's office look wet and cloudy. He often imagined Michael getting hurt. For instance, maybe the major would say that one of them would have to leave the school. This would be Michael, and on the day he was supposed to leave, Richie would take him somewhere and stab him to death. He said, “That would be bad, sir. I know that.”

“Boys can be heedless.”

Richie contemplated the roof of the building across the way. The roof was metal, and steep. If he and Michael were on the roof, Michael might look the other direction, just for a moment, and Richie could give him a push. It was three stories, and Michael would hit the pavement. He imagined that, headfirst.

“I have to punish you, Corporal Langdon. The rules say that, whether your behavior is intentional or out of carelessness, the suitable punishment will bring home to you the gravity of your actions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am not breaking you back to private, but I am warning you that that is a possibility.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tomorrow, and for each of the next three days, you will run six laps around the drill field, carrying your weapon and your pack.”

“Yes, sir.”

“At the completion of the six laps, you will do twenty-five push-ups. You will perform these exercises while the others are drilling, as an example to your fellow cadets.”

“Yes, sir.” Then this would lead to shouts and laughing back in the barracks. Michael always said, “Shit, you run like a girl!” Richie pressed his lips together.

“If that doesn't do you some good, Corporal, I don't know what will. But I have faith in you.” The major reached up and patted Richie on the shoulder. Richie guessed this was supposed to be a fatherly gesture. He stared straight ahead and practiced what he always practiced, which was being a blank brick wall and never letting on.

“All right, Corporal Langdon, that'll do. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Richie saluted again.

M
INNIE HAD INSTIGATED
a spring-vacation trip to the East Coast for junior and senior honors students—first New York, Empire State Building, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Statue of Liberty; then the train to Washington, D.C., where they would go to the Congress, have a tour of the White House, a trip to the monuments, and a day at the Smithsonian. Only two of the fourteen kids had ever been on a plane before. Minnie herself had flown once, to Dallas, for a conference. She said to Joe, “Do we pin the ‘Country Bumpkin' signs to our chests or our behinds?” Joe laughed. Annie, who was sixteen but had the demeanor of a fourteen-year-old, was an honors student; she and Minnie were going ahead of time and staying two nights with Frank and Andy. Janet, now a freshman at Sweet Briar, would be driving up for the weekend. Rosanna maintained, “Janet has adopted herself into Lillian's family, though she acknowledges Frank and Andy in a distant sort of way.” That was kids, if you asked Minnie.

When the plane took off, Annie put her two books obediently into the pocket of the seat back in front of her. When they were flying, she read them like clockwork, half an hour for
The Mill on the Floss
, half an hour for
Love to the Rescue.
Barbara Cartland. Well, better than television, Minnie thought. Minnie smoothed her wool skirt over her knees. That, too, was new—orange. Minnie could never have imagined herself in an orange skirt with an orange-and-green
matching sweater. Annie had gone to Younkers and come out with a new brown dress; Minnie sometimes wondered what Annie would be like if she hadn't lived all her life with the assistant principal (and now, as of next year, principal, the first-ever female principal in Usher County). Annie was soft and affectionate, a bit of a mouth breather, not much like Lois, who did everything right, including sleep in the same room with her husband and show kindness to her children. Lois acted toward Minnie with total correctness, but gave off no warmth that Minnie could see. Annie, Minnie thought, was, as the kids at school would say, clueless, though appealingly so. Minnie knew it was her job to prod her niece, to give her a little spine so that she might make something of her life. The stewardess announced that they were about to land; Minnie realized that she was not going to be able to distract herself from the marriage of Frank Langdon and Andrea Langdon for much longer.

Andy was waiting at the gate. Minnie saw her gaze take in Annie and then switch to her as she stepped forward and held out her arms. Minnie gave her a brief hug, and Andy said, “What a bright and cheerful outfit you have on.”

Andy herself was wearing slender high-heeled boots, black stockings, and a black belted wool coat, way beyond cheerful. Minnie began to see the humorous side of this visit.

Andy said, “Arthur and Lillian should be here by dinner. Nedra is making a leg of lamb. Is that all right? So many of Janet's friends nearly pass out at the idea of eating a poor little lamb. Annie, you look so much like your aunt Claire. Are these your bags? I've parked right out front. So easy. Newark is much more accessible than LaGuardia. Frank should be home when we get there. I thought when he got out of the oil business he would be home more. I thought weapons would have a more relaxed schedule.” She took the keys out of her purse and left Minnie and Annie to wrestle their bags into the trunk of the Cadillac, yellow with a black convertible top.

The trip from the airport was a lesson in the steepness of the socioeconomic slope on the Eastern Seaboard. Seventeen miles, according to the odometer, that began in industrial wasteland, ended in pastures of heaven. The driveway was long, and heavily shaded. Andy pulled up in front of a sprawling contemporary house with overhanging
eaves and tall, narrow windows. It looked like the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Mason City, though not quite as dark and heavy. Andy and Annie tromped right in, but Minnie stopped to gaze at the blooming forsythia. She saw over the hedge that the neighbors had both a tennis court and a swimming pool. She vowed not to look impressed. Nedra came out of the kitchen and said, “How are you, Miss Frederick? I put you in the upstairs guest room.”

Minnie's outfit clashed with every item of furniture in the whole house, so she changed into plain old black trousers and a navy-blue sweater. She was coming down the staircase when Frank walked in. She hadn't seen him since Claire's wedding. He looked gaunt, she thought. When he took off his hat, he was bald over the top. She had only time to think that the shape of his head was quite attractive before he glanced her way and smiled.

He said, “I sense a lurker in the bushes.”

“Just an old nanny goat chewing a few leaves.”

He gave her a warm hug. Andy appeared with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She said, “She made Baked Alaska.”

“Oh, I love that,” said Minnie.

“The Bergstroms invented Baked Alaska back in Eidsvoll, in 1234,” said Andy.

“Really?” exclaimed Minnie.

“No. But they called it a Norski omelette. My aunt always spread the sponge cake with lingonberry jam.” She sipped her drink. Frank kissed her on the forehead and went to the back of the house.

Andy said, “Bourbon, Scotch, vodka, gin, Burgundy, beer?”

“What are you having?”

“Old Fashioned. Only one. Only one. Only one.” Andy smiled.

Minnie said, “Maybe later.”

Andy turned the ice in her glass with her finger, then said, “How is everyone?”

“Fine,” said Minnie. “How do the boys like their military school?”

“Oh, they don't. That's the point. They had to go somewhere where the adults are one step ahead of them.”

“But they're doing all right? That place has a good reputation for keeping the kids active and organized.”

“I would have sent them to Summerhill, in England—”

“Good heavens,” said Minnie.

“My psychiatrist knows A. S. Neill and respects him. He's withstood lots of unfair criticism. Frank wouldn't hear of it, though.”

Minnie was glad of that.

Now Frank came in from the back of the house, just as the door opened to reveal Tina and, behind her, Janet. Tina was wearing black trousers and a shirt dyed black with woodcut flowers in blue and green. Over this, a cape, also in black, that fell to her knees. She was a petite version of Arthur—brown hair, brown eyes—but serious, not playful. Janet had all of a sudden matured. She was Joe as a girl—blue eyes, serious face, full lips, gentle mouth. She was wearing navy-surplus pants with bell bottoms and thirteen buttons, a black turtleneck sweater, and a navy-surplus peacoat. Her hair was nearly to her waist, dark blond now. Janet glanced around, and the look on her face said, as clear as a shout, “Oh, this place again. What a dump.” It was the most beautiful house Minnie had ever seen.

Lillian bustled in, her hand on Arthur's arm, then came right over and put her arms around Minnie as if Minnie had weathered blizzards to get here. No one in Iowa knew quite what had happened to Arthur—some sort of nervous breakdown, some famous hospital, out for the summer, back in for a month in the late fall, out now. Always “not bad, improving,” according to Rosanna, according to Lillian. Timmy's death, it would have been. Rosanna said, “I saw this coming,” and Joe said, “Funny you never said a word about it.” But when he gave Minnie a hug and Andy a peck on the cheek, Arthur was grinning in his usual way, pulling off his hat and gloves, already talking about a VW bus they had seen on the highway, painted like a landscape, green with flowers around the bottom, blue along the roof, faces painted on the windows. “When it passed us, the face in the back window was screaming,” said Arthur. His hair was completely gray.

“Dad wanted to follow it into the Joyce Kilmer Plaza and trade the station wagon for it,” said Tina.

“Straight up,” said Arthur. “Kids thrown in, if need be.”

Everyone laughed.

The lamb was delicious, and so were the au-gratin potatoes and the asparagus with Mornay sauce. Minnie and Annie had wolfed theirs down before Minnie noticed that everyone else was picking politely.
Janet took no lamb at all. Andy seemed to have begun another Old Fashioned.

Arthur and Lillian kept up the conversation, with occasional assists from Tina, who otherwise sat by Annie and whispered to her about rock bands. Annie preferred Creedence Clearwater Revival, but Tina was still loyal to the Stones. Annie said, “I really like your T-shirt.” Tina said, “I made four of them. I can send you one.” Please do, thought Minnie.

“Where are you girls going to college?” said Andy. Minnie wondered if she was mixed up—the kids were only sophomores.

“Rhode Island School of Design,” said Tina.

“She's already working on her portfolio,” said Lillian. “She's been working on her portfolio for ten years.”

Annie didn't say anything.

Minnie said, “It's so funny that all of you were born within a couple of months of one another.”

Andy said, “It's like a genetic experiment.”

Frank said, “Boys take a while, no matter what.”

Lillian said, “How tall are Richie and Michael now? Dean is six four. I don't know where that comes from.”

Frank said, “I was six feet by the time I was their age. I think Richie is five ten and Michael is a little taller. Michael outweighs Richie by fifteen pounds, and it's all muscle. He's a true mesomorph. Richie's a bit of an ectomorph.” He seemed to disapprove of that. Nedra appeared from the kitchen, saw all the food left on the platters, and put her hands on her hips. Minnie said, “My goodness, that was delicious. Thank you, Nedra.” Nedra gave a nod.

Andy said, “She always makes an effort when Frank is going to be home.”

Yikes, thought Minnie.

A tiny muscle beside Frank's right eye twitched.

Arthur said, “Yes, delicious.” He had his arm across the back of Lillian's chair in a relaxed but possessive way, and, maybe without even knowing it, he glanced fondly at her. Well, everyone could see which marriage the old maid should envy.

But Minnie didn't envy any marriages at all. She still loved Frank in the way that ghosts inhabited abandoned houses, but if your job was to monitor the products of all sorts of marriages as they paraded
through your office between September and June, then the whole institution of marriage became suspect, didn't it? Minnie, fifty, could see that little Billy Crocker resembled Mom's brother, who had come to no good, but the parents themselves were stunned, still had hope, still thought Minnie could turn the kid around by talking to him, giving him Saturday detention, making him do some extra work, or agreeing that more beatings might be the ticket. To Minnie, they were all bent twigs, for good or ill.

The Baked Alaska was more successful than the lamb. Nedra had piped the meringue in a neat spiral, then dusted it with brown sugar and burned it with real conviction. Inside, the strawberry ice cream was hard and delicious, and the chocolate cake was steeped in some sharp but tasty liqueur. They all cleaned their plates. In absolute desperation, Minnie got up from the table and went into the kitchen, where she insisted upon helping Nedra with the dishes.

When the dishes were done, the kitchen had been sterilized, and Nedra finally shooed her away, Minnie went back into the living room. The girls had gone upstairs; Andy had switched from whiskey to brandy. Frank's hands were on his knees, and he was gazing steadily at his wife, who was holding her drink in one hand and her cigarette in the other. The ash was an inch long and ready to fall on the carpet. Lillian and Arthur were sitting on the couch, thigh to thigh, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder. When Minnie came in, they looked up at the same time. Andy was saying, “I'm talking general principles only. Nothing personal. But now that we know how chimps operate, we could structure our families like chimp families. Lillian, Lois, and I would have a group house, and we'd stay in there with the children. It would be warm, so we could go everywhere without shirts or bras, and the babies would cling to us, and take breast milk whenever they wanted to, until they were three years old, and then we would allow Frank, Joe, and Arthur, who had been displaying themselves and hunting together, to impregnate us, and then, when those babies were born, the earlier ones would give us a hand with them. That maybe could solve all of civilization's problems.” She was slurring her “s”s and her “t”s. Frank glanced at Minnie. Minnie sat down and said, “What's the control?”