The Lords of Discipline (70 page)

There was a loud shuffle of feet in the alcove and a knock on the door. John Kinnell, the R Company commander, came through the door first. He was followed by the other seventeen seniors in R Company.

“Supreme Commander,” I said to John, “to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“We’re having a meeting of the R Company seniors and we thought we would use your room.”

“Thanks for asking, John,” Tradd said.

There were twenty-one of us left of the sixty frightened boys who had entered R Company as freshmen in 1963. We were the veterans of a thousand formations together, a hundred parades, and countless hours of the easy camaraderie that is so simple and uncomplicated among boys bound by a common goal. They came into the room loosely, joking and slapping ass, and took their seats on the desks and floor and racks. But there was a seriousness to their visit belied by all the humor and banter.

“Hey, McLean,” Jim Massengale said, “you can date my sister for the Graduation Hop if you buy a flea collar.”

“Who’s going to pay for the roach tablets to kill all those bugs crawling around the hair on her legs?” Henry Peak added, poking Jim in his fleshy stomach.

“OK, fellas,” John Kinnell said, motioning for quiet with his hands. “Let’s get this meeting started.”

The room fell silent. It was always wonderful to me how John could control a group of cadets by virtue of his shyness and interior serenity. He was the antithesis of the prototypical cadet leader. He lacked aggressiveness, manipulation, and all those drives and instincts that marked the others in the Corps. We had selected him as company commander for his modesty, his quiet integrity, his simple goodness, and none of us had ever had a single regret.

“We wanted to have this meeting up here tonight because we’re worried about you two,” John said to me and Mark. “Something strange is going on in this room and none of us knows what it is. Now you don’t have to tell us if you don’t think it’s any of our business. And I mean that, Will and Mark. You know that I mean it. But after what happened on the tracks and after seeing the DL tonight. . . well, the guys and I started putting things together and we’d like to know what’s going on. If we can, we’d like to help you.”

“Who ever heard of a senior getting thirty demos on a DL?” Murray Seivers said. “Knobs don’t even rate thirty on one list. Maybe I can understand you racking up that many, Will. You’re a fucking load militarily, but Mark is as sharp as anyone around.”

“Something stinks in Big R, boys, and you’re not letting your classmates in on it,” Jim Massengale said.

“We’ve been through too much shit together, man, to let you guys get run out right before graduation.”

John said, “We haven’t heard anything from Will or Mark. Tradd, do you know what’s going on?”

“Someone wants to run Will and Mark out of school,” said Tradd simply.

“Why?” eighteen voices asked.

“Because we found something out,” I said. “We can’t tell you about it now, guys. Because that’s the only thing we’ve got going for us, that no one else knows. But if it looks like we’re not going to make it, we’ll tell you everything.”

“You’ve got Romeo Company going for you, Will,” John said. “And if we can help you out, we will. We wanted you to know that.”

“Thanks, John. Thanks to all of you guys,” I said. “But we’re not out of here yet. We’ve just got to make it through the next two weeks. And it seems like the smartest thing for us to do is keep our mouths shut and hope for the best.”

“To keep your mouth shut, Will,” Tradd said. “That might be too much for your nervous system.”

“Let’s tell them everything,” Mark said suddenly. “Let’s tell them that we’ve got some mean mothers out to get us.”

“Who are they, Mark?” Webb asked.

“Don’t, Mark,” I said. “That will only make it worse. Then we won’t even be able to bargain.”

“We can’t bargain now,” Mark said, agitated and moving about. “You see anyone in this room trying to bargain with us? Show me the son of a bitch and I’ll bargain my ass off.”

“Sorry, Mark,” Tradd said soothingly. “Will’s right. If you keep quiet this might blow over. They might be bluffing.”

“If you guys can’t tell us what’s happening,” John said, maintaining his calm, “then there’s no way we can help you. You’ll have to go it alone. We don’t even know if anyone’s really after you or not.”

“Someone is really after us,” Mark said directly to John. “I’ll prove that to you.”

“How?”

“No matter how Will and I shine up for inspection tomorrow, no matter how many knobs help clean up this room tonight, I will bet good money that he and I get murdered.”

“Forget getting knobs to help,” Murray said, looking at his classmates. “We’ll clean your room. Twenty-one seniors cleaning a room ought to make damn sure that you sloppy bastards don’t get burned tomorrow.”

“All right,” several voices said as the seniors of R Company began picking up brooms and dustpans, pulling our shoes and brass out of our presses, singing the R Company song as they worked.

“We
will
clean this gross room, gentlemen,” said Harry.

“We
will
receive a merit or two, gentlemen,” said Eddie.

“Who’s going to bathe McLean?” said Murray.

“Not me,” said Jim. “I’m in charge of burning his uniforms and disinfecting his socks.”

“If a fly shits in here, wipe his little ass for him,” said Webb.

“Negative, put diapers on him before he shits,” said Eddie Sheer.

Mark, Tradd, and I watched our classmates in silence. Then we began the long preparation for the most important inspection of our lives.

W
hen I Walked out onto the quadrangle for inspection the next morning, my shoes were astonishing things, all black dazzle, glittering in the bright sunlight like two small lakes seen from a plane. I felt as if I were wearing two pieces of furniture instead of shoes.

The seniors gathered around me and Mark, inspecting us with their trained and expert eyes. Henry Peak brought out his shine rag and removed a smudge from my breastplate. I felt hands straightening my webbing from behind, adjusting my cartridge box, and wiping the lint from my shako.

John Kinnell brought me my rifle as if he were delivering good news to the king. I took it from him gingerly.

“This rifle better be clean, dumbhead,” I said to him. “Mudge better not find any oil on this deadly anachronism.”

“I boiled it down last night,” John replied, winking at me.

“That’s illegal, son. That’s against all the rules of the Institute. I feel it is my duty as an exemplary cadet to report you to the proper authorities.”

“Go ahead and report me,” John said. “The inside of that rifle is as clean as a new baby’s asshole. You could perform surgery with that mother and not worry about infection. If Mudge gives you any demerits for that rifle, then I’m going to tell him after inspection that I was the one who cleaned it.”

“Thanks, John. Thanks for everything.”

“I’d like to see them give you a single demerit,” he said. “You look good. You almost look as good as me.”

“I feel like a jewel,” I said. “A fucking jewel. I just love shining up. I think I’m turning into a military dick.”

A cadet in full-dress salt-and-pepper looked like a baroque piece from a nineteenth-century chess set. The uniform blouse, with its shiny bronze buttons and its tight cut, emphasized the curve of the chest and shoulders and the strength of the young back. The starched white pants came up high against the crotch, and the emphasis again was boldly erotic as you felt the tightness around the buttocks and the pull against the groin. Inspection, like parade, was fraught with sexuality.

I never felt entirely comfortable in the everyday cotton fields we wore to class, but in full dress I felt like an absurd and fantastic hybrid. But on this morning I felt pure and untouchable. There was a snap and cleanliness in the air and I was soldierly. I was ready for the Major. I stood there, alert and frisky, the sharpest son of a bitch in the regiment.

I watched as the Major approached R Company in his familiar erect swagger. I did not hear the Bear approach me from the rear. I smelled his cigar and saw the smoke come over my left shoulder. I remembered the picture of the Bear watching the elimination of Poteete.

“I thought you were dead, Bubba,” he said. “I haven’t heard from you in a while and the Bear gets nervous when one of his lambs deserts the flock.”

“I’ve been right here, Colonel,” I whispered. “Shining my shoes and bucking for rank. You know how I am.”

“Unfortunately, I do, Bubba,” he said. “You are a bum, McLean. A blight on the reputation of the Institute, a living, breathing sacrilege against all the ideals for which this school stands. Why have you rolled over and played dead with me, Bubba?”

“I know everything now, Colonel,” I said. “The game is over and you don’t have to play it anymore. They should have told you that.”

“Told me what, Bubba?” he said, coming around in front of me, his cigar blazing near my face. “Who should have told me what? Answer me, mister.”

“You set me up, Colonel,” I said in a flat, emotionless voice. “You set me up and I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.”

“Bubba, the Bear has never been good at riddles. That’s because the Bear is slow sometimes and stupid at other times. I’ve checked on Pearce and he’s riding high over in second battalion. They’re treating him like he’s setting up E Company with free black poontang. But I’ve just gone over last night’s DL and someone sure does have a hard-on when they walk into your room.”

“Big shock, huh, Colonel?”

“Bubba, if you get smart with me, I’m going to burn out both your eyes with this cigar and give you an extra nostril or two in the big Irish nose. Now I don’t know what’s going on, but you and I are going to have a heart-to-heart before this week is up.”

“No, sir,” I said firmly. “I have nothing to say to you, sir.”

He reached in his pocket, pulled out a handful of white slips, and waved them in front of my eyes.

“Do you see these, Bubba?” he said. “Major Kleber handed me these slips this morning. He inspected your room yesterday and tore it apart. You picked up ten demerits and that somber dago you hang out with picked up sixteen. What’s going on, Bubba?” the Bear said, speaking so low no one else in the platoon could hear. “There’s talk in the Corps that something’s up.”

“You know what’s going on, Colonel. You’re part of what’s going on. I’m finished with people like you. It’s going to be over soon.”

“You aren’t kidding, Bubba,” he said. “You’ll be filling out applications to Clemson in a few days if you don’t tell me what this is all about.”

“I don’t need your help, Colonel.”

“Bubba, you come see me tomorrow. That’s a direct order. You come to my quarters or to my office or so help me Jehovah I’ll crucify you without nails. I’m giving you a direct order to report to me.”

He left quickly, angrily. A plume of smoke hung in the air where he had been standing as Mudge approached my platoon for inspection.

He spent five minutes inspecting Mark and I could tell things were going badly for my roommate. Then he rapidly went down the lines of cadets. I would be the last cadet he inspected in R Company. I did not feel quite so splendid when he crossed into my field of vision. He squinted as though he was observing me through unadjusted field glasses.

I snapped the bolt of my rifle open for his inspection. He snatched it from me expertly, examined it, peered into the barrel, then presented it back to me.

“Gross rifle—SMI,” he said to the guidon corporal, who marked down my infraction. I could see the look of astonishment on John Kinnell’s face out of the corner of my eye.

Then the Major’s eyes traveled from my shoes to my waistplate, to my breastplate, to my shako. He shook his head negatively, sadly, disgustedly.

“Gross Personal Appearance—SMI,” he said. “Try to do something about your shoes, Mr. McLean. They’re a disgrace.”

“Why are you doing this, Major?” I said. “What did they promise you? You’re a West Pointer, not one of them.”

He did not answer me, but he looked both surprised and amused. He turned again to the guidon corporal and said, “Improper Behavior at SMI.”

He looked back at me and smiled.

Then he left the barracks.

Mark and I both had received fifteen demerits apiece. We were the only cadets in R Company to be burned. But it was the first error of judgment The Ten had made since they had taken Pearce out of the barracks. It alerted the seniors of R Company that two of their classmates were victims of a conspiracy, a conspiracy sanctioned by the only tactical officer any of us had ever had at Carolina Military Institute.

I did not pass one hundred demerits until the following Friday, when Major Mudge conducted a morning room inspection. Mark passed that watermark of expulsion later in the day. A sense of torpor and resignation had entered the room and infected us spiritually with that species of painless despair which comes when you have accepted the inevitable and know how things inexorably must end.

We dressed for Friday’s parade in absolute silence until Mark said, “It’s over, Will.”

“It looks that way.”

“I don’t want you two to talk about it around me,” Tradd said, close to tears. He turned toward the open window and stood there watching two faculty wives playing a game of tennis. “I can’t bear that any of this is happening. All of this has been so upsetting and there’s not a single thing anyone can do about it.”

“We’ve got to take it like men,” Mark said, looking very much like a boy. “We won’t crawl before those motherfuckers, Will. OK? We’ll go out of here like champs.”

“I’m not going to give them my ring,” I said.

“You’ve got to give it to them, Will,” Tradd said. “You’ve got to play their game or they won’t give you your records or transcripts or recommend that you be admitted to another college. And you can’t blackmail the General with what you know about The Ten because he’ll make sure you never graduate anywhere in this country.”

“Fuck him,” I said. “I earned this ring and I’m going to keep it. I paid for it. It’s mine.”