Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Kara walked into the room inhaling the intoxicating aromas of her birthplace. Her mother’s parents had lived in Gentilly, a neighborhood not far away. Her father had been on a hardship tour in Korea when she was born, so her mother traveled home to New Orleans to have her first and, as it turned out, only child. They spent practically every Christmas with her grandparents, and when she got older, she flew by herself from wherever her father was stationed to spend the deathly hot, humid summers wandering the streets of New Orleans, eating sno-cones and boiled crabs and beignets and drinking bitter French Market coffee with chicory. She felt as grounded within the four walls of Eddie’s as an Army brat could possibly feel. If New Orleans wasn’t exactly her hometown, it was her Lourdes, a spiritual place where spices replenished her soul.

  She walked quickly to the buffet table and picked up a plate. It was piled half-full when Mace appeared awkwardly next to her in line. He spooned a fat mirliton onto his empty plate.

  “What’s this?”

  “Mirliton. It’s like a stuffed squash. The mirliton’s just a shell to hold the andouille sausage stuffing. It’s great.”

  “Weird.”

  “Wait until you taste it.”

  Mace spooned a bit of stuffing into his mouth with his finger. He grinned. “Hey. This is good.”

  “You’re telling me? I grew up on those things.”

  They moved down the line. Mace was piling food onto his plate eagerly now. He popped a fried shrimp into his mouth. “Man, where did you find this place? This is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

  “You haven’t even started. Wait till you get to the oyster dressing.”

  They reached the end of the buffet and carried their plates back into the front room and sat down at a table along the wall. Kara had a bite of oyster dressing, savoring the elegant blend of sea and spice on her tongue.

  “You must taste this,” she said, pointing at a spoonful of mush at the edge of his plate. Mace gingerly took a bite.

  “Jesus! It’s like . . . I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never had anything like it before.”

  “And you won’t have it again either, unless you come back to Eddie’s. That’s the best oyster dressing in the world. Period. No question about it.”

  Mace forked in another mouthful. “My tongue’s on fire.”

  Kara grinned. “So I noticed.”

  He laughed. “Ready for round two?”

  “Anytime you are, Sarge.”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?”

  “Corporal Richards’ mother is taking us to a party at the Fairmont, remember?”

  “Right.”

  Just then a tall, elegantly dressed black man stopped at the table. “Little Kara? That you?”

  She leapt to her feet and threw her hands around his neck. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it!” She broke the embrace and turned to Mace. “Mace, I want you to meet Franklin Washington. He used to own the sno-cone stand at the end of my grandmother’s block.”

  “Still do. Best sno-cones in the whole city.”

  “Franklin, this is Mace Nukanen.”

  They shook hands. Kara pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Franklin. Tell me what’s going on. I haven’t been back in town in years.”

  “Same old same old. Nothin’ ever changes in New Orleans. There’s people still sittin’ on the same bar stools they was sittin’ on last time you was here.”

  “That’s New Orleans, all right.”

  “There’s some new folks bought your grandparents’ place. They got a little girl, ‘bout this high. Reminds me so much of you. Watchin’ that little girl growin’ up is like goin’ back in time.”

  “I’ll have to bring Mace by tomorrow for one of your sno-cones, Franklin.”

  “We closed this time of year. Gettin’ cold, you know. Ain’t sno-cone weather in November.”

  “What was I thinking? Of course.”

  “So you been goin’ ‘round to some of the old spots?”

  “We just got in town, Franklin. This is our first stop.”

  “When ya’ll finish, you come get in my cab and I’ll drive you by the old place. I’m still drivin’ nights. Gotta pay that rent.”

  “Oh, Franklin, that’s okay. We don’t want to impose.”

  “My treat, Little Kara.”

  Kara looked at Mace. He was chewing on a piece of fried chicken. “Okay by me,” he said between bites.

  “That’d be great.”

  “I’ll be in the bar. Ya’ll just come and get me when you’re ready.” He stood up and patted her shoulder with a massive, weathered hand and pushed his way through the crowd.

  “I have such fond memories of those days, Mace. God! It’s like it happened yesterday. I used to get a quarter from my grandmother and walk down to Franklin’s stand, and he’d fix me the biggest, reddest cherry sno-cone, and I’d sit on a tall stool under his awning and watch the people walking by. Franklin, he knew everybody. I mean, he had half the parents in the city stopping there and buying sno-cones for their kids, and he knew every one of them. When I got older, in the seventies, I found out he was one of the sharpest black political organizers in the city. He was in a political club called SOUL, and they got out the vote on election day, and people said they controlled the whole Seventh Ward. Franklin was sitting there running that sno-cone stand all day every day, and nights he drove his cab all over town delivering poll cards and fliers and lawn signs. I learned more about politics sitting on that stool at that sno-cone stand than I learned in four years of West Point political science classes.”

  “He’s an amazing-looking guy.”

  “Not a line in his face. I’ll bet he’s seventy if he’s a day.”

  They trolled the buffet table for seconds and polished them off and paid up. Franklin was standing in the bar talking with several men. He spied Kara in the hall and excused himself.

  “Ya’ll ready to go?”

  Kara took his arm. “Are you sure we’re not interrupting you and your friends?”

  He laughed. “I spend half my day listen’ to those fools flappin’ they jaws. Let’s beat this joint.”

  In the cab, Franklin wound his way over to St. Claude Avenue and went west to Rampart Street, the north edge of the Quarter. “They put the gamblin’ up there in Louis Armstrong Park, but it closed down now.”

  “Must be a lack of fools in the neighborhood,” cracked Mace.

  “Naw, they plenty of fools ‘round here. The gamblin’ folks, they just forgot you cain’t separate a fool from his money if he ain’t got no money.”

  He turned right on Canal Street and headed north. As the taxi passed under the massive live oaks that lined the avenue, Kara felt like they were closing in on a kind of glowing center where she had formed attachments to a past she never really knew. All of her life she had felt like she was slipping away, slipping away, further and further from a place inside her that she was afraid to know. But since she had met Mace, and since she had fallen in love with him, that sense of falling and root-lessness had given way to a warm spot that had grown inside of her. She squeezed his hand. She knew where the warmth came from.

  Franklin stopped the cab across the street from the house and cut the engine. It was a center-hallway cottage with a wide front porch and the deep overhangs of Creole architecture. “There it is,” he said.

  Kara rolled down her window. “There used to be a porch swing, remember, Franklin?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

  “And we used to play in the yard under the magnolia tree, and Grandma was always yelling at us, ‘Keep off that monkey grass, you little hellions!’ I can still hear her.”

  “So can I,” said Franklin. “I could hear that woman all the way down to the sno-cone stand.”

  “You said there are nice people living there now?”

  “Yes, there are. The man, he works for the post office, and the lady, she’s got a job at the school in the front office. They real nice, both of ‘em.”

  “That mak
es me feel good. There are a lot of memories inside those walls.”

  Mace put his arm around her. “Maybe we can get a house like that someday.”

  She kissed him. “I know we can.”

  Franklin started the engine and pulled away. “Sound to me like you two ‘bout headed down the aisle.”

  Kara nuzzled against Mace’s shoulder. She had to admit that for the first time in her life, the thought had crossed her mind.

  At the Fairmont the next night, they took an escalator up to the ballroom. There was a table at the door staffed by a bevy of young women in short black dresses. Kara handed one of them the tickets, and they went inside.

  The ballroom was decorated in black, gold, and purple, the colors of Mardi Gras. There were huge flower arrangements on the tables, and up on the bandstand Dr. John’s sixteen-piece band was chugging through a Delta blues.

  They picked up drinks from the bar and cruised the room. Dr. John segued into a rolling Bourbon Street shuffle, and they put their drinks down and shoved their way onto the crowded dance floor.

  The song ended, and Dr. John stood up from his piano bench and growled that the band was taking a break. The crowd on the dance floor broke up, and they went looking for the table where they’d left their drinks.

  “I was sure they were right over here,” said Mace.

  “No. They’re over on the other side of the room.”

  They were crossing the dance floor for a second time when Kara saw him. She wheeled around, grabbing Mace by the arm.

  “Whoa. I don’t want him to see me.”

  “Who?”

  “Look over my shoulder. That’s General Beckwith’s aide over there, sitting at that table against the wall.”

  “He’s sitting with General King!”

  “I know he is. The other guy, I’ve seen him somewhere before. I just can’t place him. Wait a minute. His name is Teese. He’s a general.”

  Mace took her hand, and they melted into a crowd and found the exit and went into the hall. “Mace, what do you think the aide to General Beckwith is doing sitting at a table with his boss’s arch enemy?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want anything to do with this scene. We should go back to the hotel. General King came to my room when I was in the hospital. He’d recognize me if he saw me. They catch us together here, and it’s all over.”

  “Oh, come on. This party is packed with people. All we have to do is keep our distance. They’ll never see us.”

  “I don’t want to take that chance. Let’s go.” He took her arm and started for the escalator. She stopped and he wheeled around. “Come on. This is too dangerous. We didn’t come all the way to New Orleans to end up at a party where generals are hanging around.”

  “I want to stay, Mace.”

  “What!”

  “You go on back to the room. I’m staying. I’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “They’re cooking up something over there, and I want to know what it is. I’m going to find Mrs. Richards, see if she knows anything.”

  “What if that captain sees you?”

  “I’ll tell him I’m from New Orleans. This is my hometown. Why wouldn’t I be at a function like this?”

  “I don’t know what’s up with this scene, but I don’t like it. I think you ought to come back to the room with me.”

  “I’m staying, Mace.”

  Angrily: “Suit yourself.” He started down the escalator without her.

  Back in the ballroom, the band struck up a shuffle and the General and his wife got up to dance, leaving Randy and the older man alone. Kara took up a position in a crowd at the bar across the room from their table. The band finished the song, and the General and his wife made their way back to the table.

  There was a roll of drums from the bandstand, and an announcer’s voice filled the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, the mayor of the city of New Orleans!”

  A sharp-dressed young black man flashed a wide smile and took the microphone. “My papa used to say there were three honorable professions for a young man in this world. The priesthood, politics, and the Army.” The crowd howled with laughter. “As I look around this ballroom, I can see we have the usual representatives of the former two professions with us tonight, and it is my great pleasure to introduce to this crowd our honored guest and most distinguished representative of the latter profession, that of Arms, General Bernard King!”

  A spotlight searched the room and found General King’s table. Dr. John’s band struck up “The Caissons Go Rolling Along” as General King stood up to thunderous applause. The crowd around his table parted, and he made his way to the bandstand. The mayor handed him the mike.

  “I’m sure you all know that Dahlia and I grew up here in New Orleans, and we were educated here in New Orleans at St. Anthony’s, and that we return home for Mardi Gras when we can, so we can march with the Zulu parade—”

  More applause, much more, at the mention of the only black Mardi Gras Krewe. The General let the applause die down before continuing.

  “But I’m not sure that you know we have decided to buy a house and retire here when that time comes—”

  More applause, people on their feet, stomping, banging on the tables.

  “New Orleans is our hometown, but this city means much more than that to Dahlia and me. It is the place that nurtured us when we were children and made us the people we are today. It will be our home in our twilight years, and I hope we can bring back to this city the rich, enduring values we took from here as we went out into the world. But first, before we return home for good, it looks like my country will call me to duty one last time.”

  At this the crowd leapt to its feet and cheered.

  “And I want the people of New Orleans to know that if this final call to duty comes, I will answer it and carry with me to Washington, D.C., the principles and spirituality that were imparted to me as a boy, right here in this town. Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and good night.”

  The spotlight followed General King as he descended the steps of the bandstand and waded through the adoring crowd. At the table, his wife and mother-in-law stood clapping until he finally reached them. Dahlia threw her arms around him, and Eunice Toussaint beamed.

  Kara was standing against the wall, far across the ballroom.

  So that’s what this party is all about. The city of New Orleans is doing its part to launch their favorite son into the office of chief of staff.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  He was waiting up for her when she returned from the party. Sitting in a chair by the open doors to the balcony, he turned his head when he heard the door close.

  “Have fun?”

  “Mace, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand you’re obsessed with General Beck-with, and it’s going to ruin both of our careers. That’s what I understand.”

  She sat down on the bed across from him. “Nobody saw me. I was very careful.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “You’re acting like I committed some kind of crime.”

  “Kara, the problem is, we came all the way to New Orleans to get away from the Army, so we can be together, and we walk into that party tonight, and the whole thing we left back at Benning is staring us right in the face. And what do you do? You want to take your chances they won’t see us together, and all because you think something’s up with Beckwith. Well, let me tell you something. I can’t afford to take chances like that. The Army is the only job I’ve got. I’ve got less than ten years to get my twenty, and I’m not doing anything to jeopardize my retirement.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Not in so many words. But you said yourself Beckwith called you up and threatened you and me, and you see his aide at the party, and what do you do? You stick your nose in his business.”

  “Mace, he’s spying on Beckwith for General King. I just know he is.”
>
  “Oh, really? And who told you that? What if it’s the other way around, and he’s spying on General King for Beckwith? You ever think of that?”

  “I don’t think it’s very likely. That’s why I’m going to see Captain Taylor in the morning. I found out where he’s staying. Mrs. Richards said—”

  He leapt to his feet. “Now you’ve got her involved! I can’t believe you, Kara! The whole fucking town is going to know what you’re up to by tomorrow!”

  “I’m going by myself. He’ll never know I’m here with you.”

  “You better believe you’re going by yourself.” He walked over to the closet and started pulling his clothes off the hangers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving.” He threw his overnight bag on the bed and stuffed the clothes inside.

  “Mace, I don’t want you to leave.”

  “You don’t? Then why don’t you just do what Beckwith said? Why don’t you close the case and get out of his way? This guy is going to be the next chief of staff, Kara! He’ll step on you and he’ll step on me when he gets up there in the Pentagon! Who do you think is going to stop him? I know it doesn’t matter to you, because you’ve got a law degree, and you’ll end up in some big law firm pulling down twice what you’re making in the Army. But what about me? I get kicked out of the Army, and what am I going to do? Huh?”

  “You’re not going to get kicked out of the Army, Mace. I’m not going to do anything that would possibly hurt you. Beckwith isn’t going to do anything to us. You’re forgetting that I know he was having an affair with Sheila. We’ve each got something on the other. He can make big noises, but he doesn’t have the balls to turn us in.”