The Great Santini Part 20

"You Marines breed like mink. I know one sergeant over on the island what had eleven children. Most of 'em boys," Cleve said.

"You'll have to excuse these Philistines, Colonel," Zell spoke up. "I a.s.sure you that the trash you heard in Hobie's this morning is not indicative of the citizens of Ravenel. There are many gentlemen and ladies [he said bowing hostilely toward Bertha] of genuine distinction and cultural awareness."

"Thus speaketh the deadest p.e.c.k.e.r in the family of man. A fossil imprinted with ferns and the skeletons of fish," Bertha said through a cigarette.

"There is no culture or refinement here. That's what I detest about this restaurant," Zell said.

"Why do you think we come here, Zell?" Ed Burns answered from the opposite stool.

Colonel Meecham rose to pay his check. He looked down at his grits and said, "That's the worst Cream of Wheat I've ever tasted."

"That's Georgia ice cream," Doc Ratteree said.

"Every time I eat grits, it becomes perfectly clear to me why the South lost the war."

"We gonna see you again, Colonel?" Hobie asked.

"You boys are gonna have a hard time getting rid of me," Bull answered. "Enjoyed it."

"Give them Russians h.e.l.l today, Colonel," Bertha called as he left the restaurant.

He walked out into the smoky brightness of River Street which was beginning to shake off the inertia of the dawn. It was a moist, hot September day and the air was heavy enough to exact a toll from anyone consuming it. Before the colonel could get to his car, a voice hailed him from behind. He turned around and watched Zell Posey limping toward him.

"Colonel," Zell said, when he reached him, "I just wanted to tell you how much I admire the courage and professionalism of the Marine Corps."

"Thanks very much, Mr. Posey."

"I tried to join the Marines during the Second World War, but they didn't seem to have room for one-legged men. I really wanted to fight with the Corps. I really did," he said, looking past the colonel toward the curving road. "I lost the leg in a boating accident when I was a child. But I wanted you to know that."

Bull was fidgeting as he always did when someone stripped away an outer layer of himself and revealed something intensely personal. Not even a metatarsal of any family skeleton interested Bull Meecham if the family was not his own. But Zell continued to open up until Bull, renouncing his role of confessor, insisted that he had to get to work.

"Of course," Zell said. "But just one other thing, Colonel. Don't take seriously what Bertha says. She doesn't mean a thing by it."

"I know she doesn't," Bull said. "That's some broad."

"She was once my wife," Zell said, turning to walk to his office.

Chapter 15.

Three weeks after the beginning of school, Bull arrived home from the squadron at the precise instant that Lillian was setting dinner on the table. In her career as a Marine wife she had failed in her efforts to train her husband to call when he would be working late or not returning home at all. Bull washed his hands at the kitchen sink, dried them on one of Lillian's ap.r.o.ns, and joined the family for grace. As the pilot said grace, he rubbed his hands together in antic.i.p.ation of the evening meal and spoke the words of the prayer so rapidly that it would take a most patient deity to find grat.i.tude in the stream of rhetoric offered at the Meecham table. Then Bull, in an expansive mood, shouted, "Chow down, troops," lifting a piece of roast from the platter and biting into it before the meat even touched his plate.

"Bull, sugah," Lillian said, "they've invented these weird new instruments. They're called forks."

"Yeah, that's right," Bull acknowledged, still fingering the roast. "They've also got these weird old instruments called hands. They work better."

"I don't think you should eat like that in front of the children," she said.

"Get off my back, will you!" Bull shouted. "I've had a tough day at the office making the world safe for democracy. I'm hungry."

"I'm thinking about having a trough built at your end of the table so you can just stick your whole head into a pile of slop."

"Mama thinks you eat like a pig, Daddy. She's just trying to help you develop good table manners," Karen said.

"I've heard that pigs get sick to their stomachs while eating at the same table with Dad," Mary Anne said.

"O.K., O.K.," Bull sighed, placing his meat on his plate and lifting up a fork with mock delicacy. "Will someone please pa.s.s the Coquille Saint Jack?"

"I'm trying to set a good example for the children."

"They have great table manners."

"That's because their mother happens to be a woman of some refinement."

"Who married a d.a.m.n prince among men," Bull grinned. "If one of the hogs doesn't do something right, let me know and I'll deck 'em."

"That's not the point."

"Lillian, I'm in a good mood. No kidding, honey. And we all know how rare that is."

"Amen," Ben said quietly.

"Hey. I got a great surprise for you, sportsfans," he said to Ben.

"Why am I suddenly finding it difficult to swallow my food?" Ben said rolling his eyes at Mary Anne. "What is it, Dad?"

"I talked to Lieutenant Colonel Matthews at the club this afternoon."

"You never thought to call and tell me you were going to be late."

"You remember his daughter, Ansley, from New River, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Ben answered.

"Well, she's been going steady for two years with this football player at the high school, Jim Don Cooper. Well, Colonel and Mrs. Matthews are trying to put a stop to this little relationship by making Ansley date other people. The long and the short of it is, you've got a date with Ansley Matthews this Sat.u.r.day night."

For ten seconds, the only sound in the dining room was the clink of silver on china.

"Tell him I'm not going, Mama," Ben finally said.

"You might enjoy it, Ben. Ansley is a sweet girl."

"A team of internationally known scientists did a study on Ansley Matthews last year and came to the unanimous conclusion that she is an idiot," Mary Anne said.

"Well, you're going," Bull said, his voice chilling into ultimatum.

"Dad," Ben said looking at his father, "you can beat me or torture me or kill me or do anything you want to me. Just don't make me go on that date Sat.u.r.day night. Tell Colonel Matthews I have leukemia or terminal hemorrhoids. Anything. I just can't go on that date."

"Hey, you never date at all, jocko. You're almost eighteen and you've never had a date. I'm beginning to think you're some kind of h.o.m.o."

"Bull, shame on you for saying that to your own son," Lillian flared.

"When I was your age," Bull declared, "they couldn't keep me away from the girls with a stick."

"He's been sicko all his life," Mary Anne explained to Ben.

"I just haven't seen anybody I want to date in this town," Ben said.

"Ben dated quite frequently when you were overseas last year," Lillian lied.

"Baloney, he's never touched a girl in his life," Bull said.

"I think you're right, Dad," Mary Anne said, sipping from her iced tea. "I think Ben's a h.o.m.o. I see him looking at you real funny sometimes."

"I am not going out with Ansley," Ben said.

"Wait a minute, hog. I ain't asking you whether you are going out with Ansley or not. I'm telling you that you are. The date is set. It is this Sat.u.r.day evening at 1900 hours and you will pick her up and you will be on time and you will have yourself a blast or I will personally ruin your whole day."

"I think the Matthews just want Ansley to date some nice, wholesome boys for a change, Ben," Lillian said.

"Parents love Ben. Girls don't, but parents do. It's like sending their daughters out on a date with young Jesu, the carpenter," Mary Anne said.

"This is just like that time you took me to that church dance up in Arlington, Dad," Ben said, "when you bought me that ugly shirt and the ugliest tie ever made and forced me to go to that sock hop where I didn't know one single human being."

"You ended up having a ball at that dance."

"No, I didn't. I walked in through the front door and right straight out the back door. Then I walked two miles to a library, read for a couple of hours, then walked back to the church, went in the back door and out the front where you were still sitting waiting for me. Then I told you I danced every dance. Of course in telling you this story, Dad, I do it with the firm belief that you won't belt me for something I did two years ago."

"I don't mind belting you for something you did two years ago."

"Hush up, Bull," Lillian scolded, "and try not to act like you're losing your mind. Ben, think of it this way. We've known the Matthews for a long time and you'll just be doing the family a big favor. Eileen is very worried about this boy Ansley is dating."

"She ought to be. Jim Don has a striking resemblance to the Java Man," Mary Anne said. "But that's not really fair. He looks more like a combination of the Java Man and Dad."

"Could you imagine if I said that?" Ben asked his parents. "I'd be airborne, flying toward Mars right now. The girls in this family can say anything."

"Mary Anne, what do I have to do to make you have a more deferential att.i.tude toward your parents?" Lillian asked, as though pained to the point of numbness just to have to ask the question.

"A punch to the mouth would do it," Bull stated.

"Apologize to your father, young lady."

"I'm sorry I noticed the resemblance between you and the Java Man, Dad."

"Go straight to your room, young lady, until you can learn the meaning of the word 'respect,' " Lillian demanded.

"Let me just punch her," Bull said smiling. "You underestimate the power of the fist, Lillian."

"Gentlemen do not punch ladies, sugah. Beasts punch ladies," Lillian stated.

Mary Anne rose from her chair and walked over to her father. "Mom's right, Dad. When you hit me, just try to knock out a couple of back molars so it won't mess up my Ipana smile."

Bull rocked with laughter, picked up his roast with his fingers and resumed eating.

On Sat.u.r.day night, Ben eased his father's squadron car up to the main gate of Freedom Bay, the Capehart housing section that sheltered the Marines stationed at Ravenel Air Station. The car was a 1951 Plymouth that had pa.s.sed down to five consecutive C.O.'s of 367. Two large circular decals featuring the grotesquely salivating Werewolf emblem that symbolized the historical ferocity of the squadron adhered to the sides of the car. The decals glowed with a truculent orange in the dark. Lillian refused to drive the car, declaring that she felt like a moving advertis.e.m.e.nt for a Lon Chaney movie. Though Ben had pleaded for the station wagon, Bull had insisted that the Plymouth was a conversation piece and would help break the ice on Ben's first date.

The corporal on duty at the sentry box braced to attention when he saw the officer's sticker on the front b.u.mper of the car. Lowering the visor and sitting up as high in the seat as he could, Ben nodded at the guard with grandly exaggerated condescension and, mimicking his father, said, "Good evening, son." Ben took a young lieutenant's joy in being saluted.

Turning left on Iwo Jima Boulevard, Ben smiled as he always did when he found himself navigating through the hall of mirrors known as military housing. Freedom Bay was a collection of one thousand brick homes designed by an architect with a pa.s.sion for duplication. The Meecham family had lived in these houses, all of them, at different times in Bull Meecham's career. In the Corps, there was a uniformity of dress, of ideology, of conduct, and of housing. Twice in his life, Ben had walked into his own house only to find startled strangers eyeing him with both fear and outrage until the mystery was clarified and he was directed toward his father's house by laughing captains' wives who claimed they frequently made the same mistake after nightfall. The Capehart housing of Freedom Bay, Ben thought, as he curved down Iwo Jima Boulevard, had all the architectural complexity and stylistic flamboyance of an oyster bed. A small, minnowless creek formed the one demarcation line of significance in the entire housing project. The creek itself was viscous as phlegm, but its indentation marked the beginning of the bra.s.s curtain that separated the officers and their families from the enlisted men and their families. Once he crossed the creek, Ben was in officers' country, his native land.

He picked up Ansley Matthews at her house on Command Circle, charming her parents with a pleasant volubility that marked him as a blood member of the tribe. The child of the Marine officer was a prodigy of the first impression. The old courtesies poured out of him at the approach of an adult. So often had Ben been drilled in the proper manner in which to greet Marines and their wives that his act was no longer an act but an intrinsic manifestation of his personality. Obsequiousness came easy to him. In fact, he enjoyed the worm's-eye view that servility offered to him. Sitting in the living room, Ben had shone brightly in the companionship of Colonel and Mrs. Matthews, overpowering them with the heavy artillery fire of impeccable manners. He wished he could sit in that living room decorated heavily with the dreck of Okinawa, and hold forth with the adults all night, but Ansley entered the room with a look on her face that articulated a strong desire to leave the house immediately.

As he saw her, two thoughts occurred to Ben. One was that Ansley was far too pretty for him to date or to consider dating, especially on his first excursion. He felt toadish beneath her gaze. The second was that Ansley had wanted to go on this date even less than he did. Her face was flushed with anger and resignation. She did not speak to either of her parents as they left the house, Ben filling in for her hostile silences by exuberantly bidding the Matthews farewell again and again.

Standing before the glowing decal of 367 and staring with horror at the dripping fangs of the Werewolf mascot, Ansley put her hands on her hips and shrieked, "I'm not going anywhere with this silly, horrid thing on the side of the car. Do you want to make me the laughingstock of Calhoun? It's going to be embarra.s.sing enough for me tonight without riding around in this disgusting car."

Ben opened the door to the car, his knees so weak that he seemed likely to collapse in the driveway. "This is the only car I could get tonight, Ansley," he said.

She shook her head, clicked her teeth, and slid into the car. Rounding the car, Ben was trembling so hard he wondered if he would be able to drive.

For five minutes, Ansley refused to speak, ignoring every question he asked. Finally, Ben said, "Look, Ansley. I can take you back home if you want. My father and your father set this date up, you know."

"My father forced me to go," Ansley said. "I have a steady boy friend."

"I know you have a boyfriend. My father made me go tonight, too. Do you have any particular place you want to go?"

"I don't want to go anywhere in this car. I'd rather die."

"Do you like being a cheerleader?" Ben said, changing the subject and grateful that at least she had begun answering his questions.

"I'd rather cheer than anything in the world," she said, then looking at Ben asked, "Why don't you play football? You're big enough."

"I don't like football."

"You're nothing at this school if you don't play football."

"You don't play football."

"I guess that's supposed to be funny."

"I play basketball."