know if he got the letter.
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THEN ONE MORNINGMary-Lynn met me at the door of my office, and she d been
crying.
She wouldn t let me inside. Mrs. Black called. You have to go home, she says.
Right away. Oh, Mr. Black, I m so sorry! She wiped at her nose. I was in
shock. I pulled my handkerchief from my suit jacket and handed it to her.
She put her hands out as if I was going to pass out. There s a . . . there s
a car out there . . .
Not . . . I couldn t say the word. It would make it real. My boy. Never
coming home? I couldn t make myself believe it.
They ve got a car there and Marines oh, your wife says please, please come
straight home . . .
The spring sun hit my shoulders like something I d never felt before. What
right did the sun have to shine here? The trees in Crandall Park were fresh
and green, and the gardens at the big corner house where they always spent a
mint on flowers looked like something out of the first day of the world.
How did they dare? My boy had been shot. Other men s sons had been shot in a
green hell they should have burnt down to ash.
A voice broke in on the radio.
. . . the American Embassy has closed its gates, and the Ambassador . . .
Ambassador Bunker has refused evacuation . . .
He d have been there, my son. Firing into the enemy, not wanting to fire, I
knew that, but there d be a wall of Marines between the VC and the panicked
crowd and the diplomats they had sworn to protect. . . .
I had people to protect too. I put my foot hard on the gas, peeled round a
slowpoke station wagon with three kids and their mom in it, and roared up
Fifth Avenue.
. . . We interrupt this program . . . there is a rumor that Ambassador Bunker
has been shot. . . . We repeat, this is a rumor, no one has seen his body . .
.
Sweet suffering Christ! Damn that red light, no one was around, so it wouldn t
matter if I crashed it.
Didn t want to smear myself all over the landscape before I got home; Margaret
would never forgive me if I got myself killed coming home to her now, of all
times.
God damn siren! I thought of giving the cop a run for his money, but you don t
do that in
Youngstown. Not ever, and especially not if you re a lawyer.
The man who got out of the car recognized me. Hey, Counselor, what you think
you re doing?
You were going seventy and you crashed that light . . . He sniffed at my
breath, then pulled out his pad. You know better than that. Now I wish I
could let you off with a warning . . .
A fist was squeezing my throat. Finally, it let up long enough for me to
breathe. It s my boy . . . I
said. Then I laid my head down on the steering wheel.
A hand came in over my shoulder and took the keys. I m driving you home. The
way you re driving, you could get yourself . . . Come on, Counselor.
I made him let me off up the street. No telling what Margaret would have
thought if she d seen a cop car roll up to the door. The Marine car was in the
drive. The men got out of the car and followed me. I made it up the front
walk, feeling like I was walking off a three-day binge. Toni
Carlson opened the door. She was crying, but Margaret wasn t. Sure enough, the
living room and kitchen were full of women with their covered dishes.
I called Steffie s school, Margaret said before I could even get to her. She
had Barry s service photo out like they do in the newspapers. His face grinned
under his hat. God, he was a good-
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looking boy. Her plane gets in this afternoon.
I m going to pick her up, said a voice from behind me.
Sir, began one of the Marines. A fine young man. I had . . . I have . . . a
son like him.
He shook my hand and bravely said the things they re supposed to say. Sir,
the President of the
United States and the Secretary of Defense have asked me to inform you that
your son . . . The boy s voice faltered, and he went on in his own words.
Missing. Presumed dead. My son was . . . is . . . a hero. But presumed dead.
After Ambassador
Bunker died (that wasn t supposed to get out yet, but he supposed I had a
right to know), the surviving Marines were supposed to withdraw. But Barry
gave his seat to a local woman and a child.
Probably knew them from the orphanage, I muttered.
No doubt, sir, said the Marine. It wasn t his business to comment. He d be
glad to get out, even if he had more families hearts to break that day. Lord,
I wished I could.
At least he didn t have a damn flag. As long as you don t get the flag, you
can still hope. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]