“You think this is the fourth or fifth time? Are you serious?”
“I don’t know, I said.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, please, James—stop whining and think! We’ve been going over this since the third month. Comes up at least once every session. And how many times have I asked you, for example, how old you were when you made the decision to be a soldier?”
“Four, five, I’m not sure exactly.”
“Well I ask you again: how old? Do you remember?”
“Not exactly, no. Pretty young though.”
“And I ask you again, do you remember what prompted it?”
“Yeah. What I told you before. What I keep tellin’ you. Probably just took a beatin’ from one of the Guinnans. Or all of ’em.”
“Well what was your thinking like then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well did you just say to yourself, for example, that when I grow up I’m going to be a priest, so I can hear the Guinnans’ confession? So I can give them absolution, so they won’t have to feel guilty for tormenting me—is that what you were thinking?”
“You kiddin’ me? Priest?! Hear their—get out. Say their funeral mass maybe.”
“Well if you weren’t thinking that, perhaps you were thinking you might grow up to be a soldier? Were you thinking, if I become a soldier I can learn how to defend myself against my enemies, so when these Guinnans pull this crap, I’ll be able to defeat them, did you think something like that?”
“I doubt that’s what I was thinkin’. But it might’ve been some-thin’ like that. Maybe it was, I’m not sure.”
“And do you remember what you answer when I ask if you were influenced to make that decision by watching war movies? Or war shows on TV? Or reading about war?”
“And I’m telling’ you again, for the umpteenth time, whatever, I don’t know. Maybe. But if I was, it wasn’t anything specific. Nothin’ I can remember anyway.”
“Please. Stop with this nonsense about the umpteenth time. That’s ridiculous. I just told you how many times we’ve discussed this issue.”
“Alright, alright.”
“And what do you answer when I ask if you were influenced by a relative? Your father perhaps, or an uncle? What do you say?”
“I say no. Because I wasn’t.”
“Because your father was not a soldier, correct? He’d never been a soldier. And you had no uncles or cousins or siblings, no one in your family, correct? Who was a soldier?”
“Correct.”
“So who does that leave, James, tell me.”
“What do you mean who does that leave?”
“Oh James, James, after your mentor Johnson—you’re the second most calculating soldier in Vietnam—with whom did you equate the VC, the NVA? Who, James?”
“Uh, the Guinnans?”
“Alleluia, alleluia, the man has spoken. He recognizes, finally, that it was all about the Guinnans.”
“Well … yeah … I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Okay. So I don’t guess. Sure. Those pricks … man, every morning, last thing I did before I left our house, I took a leak. And the last thing before I left school too, I made sure I didn’t have any piss left in me. ’Cause the last thing I wanted was to let ’em see me piss my pants ’cause of how scared I was.”
“And, uh, nobody defended you, nobody came to your defense?”
“Nah. My mother, you know, she tried. She went to their house coupla times, when I’d come home with my clothes messed up. They’d lay off for a couple weeks. Then they’d start in again.”
“And your father? What about him?”
“My father, I told you, he had a heart condition. Congestive heart failure. He was lucky he could walk, you know, lucky he could still, you know, still be able to go to work. Had an office job. With the railroad. Down the repair yards. Then he died.”
“And you were how old?”
“When he died? Fourteen.”
“And what about your siblings? Did you have brothers?”
“No. Why you askin’ me? You know I had two sisters. Both older. Fact, when he died, Lorraine, she was already married. Wasn’t livin’ at home anymore. And Louise, she was goin’ to business school. Then she went to work for the state. For the Revenue Department. She still lives at home. Me too.”
“Got a girl?”
“Had one.”
“What happened?”
“She married this guy when I was in, uh, in Nam. My mother sent me the announcement … outta the paper, you know?”
“Never told you herself?”
“Nah. Apparently that, uh, that must’ve slipped her mind.”
“How’d that affect you?”
“Not much. We weren’t that close. Least I wasn’t. Obviously she wasn’t either.”
“Was that another thing you refused to allow to affect you?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. Pissed me off for a while, but, uh … not for that long. I said we weren’t that close.”
“You wouldn’t let it?”
“Yeah. Exactly, I had more important things on my mind right then. Fact, that was right in the middle of Tet. You know, the big NVA offensive? They were supposed to push us into the sea. With the whole population, they were supposed to rise up, kick our asses outta there. Load of shit that was.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you know, every time somebody mentions Tet, they call it the Tet Offensive, you know, with the big capital O, like oh wow, the VC and the NVA, they put on this big offensive, they kicked our ass, changed the course of the war and all that. But that’s bullshit. I mean, in our area, where I was, Tet was nothin’ special. Around Saigon and Hue now, couple other cities, I guess it was, I don’t know, but, hey, every book I’ve read since I’ve been back, they all say the same thing—after Tet, the VC was no longer an effective force. They got hammered during Tet. Now maybe the books I’m readin’, maybe they’re bullshit propaganda, I don’t know. But everybody I talked to comin’ home, and the whole year after I was back, when I was down Fort Jackson, everybody who’d been in the southeast in Nam there, and everything I’ve read, it wasn’t us got our asses kicked during Tet, it was the VC.”
“For somebody who insists he was nothing but a soldier, who was never interested in the politics, you’re pretty vehement about the outcome.”
“Nah. Well. Okay, I guess, yeah. But I don’t like people who weren’t there talkin’ when they don’t know anything about anything.”
“Well I assure you, James, the Tet Offensive made quite an impression here. Whether it was a real victory or a propaganda victory, I’m not wise enough to say, but it certainly made an impression, all those TV images of Saigon practically under siege. I mean after all, that was the capital.”
“So what? It was a civil war. During the Civil War here? I mean, where was Washington, huh? Right in the middle of enemy territory the whole war—I mean, wasn’t it?”
“Yes of course, but it was never brought under siege the way Saigon was—”
“Well maybe Robert E. Lee shoulda thought about it. Maybe old Giap, maybe he didn’t read Lee’s memoirs—or if he did, maybe he didn’t pay attention to them.”
“For somebody who keeps insisting he doesn’t know anything about the politics of war, you’ve certainly got strong opinions.”
“Aw hell, that doesn’t mean I know anything. The books I read, they’re out there for anybody wants to read ’em. Just put what I read up against what I did and where I was, that’s all.”
“Let’s get back to your father.”
“What about him?”
“Did it bother you that he couldn’t defend you? From the Guinnans?”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I knew he couldn’t do much in the way of physical stuff. So, no, I don’t think that bothered me.”
“So did that influence your thinking? About wanting to be a soldier—and not just wanting to be a soldier, but wanting to learn
how to be the best soldier you could be?”
“I don’t think it had anything to do with it.”
“Don’t you think you saw yourself at that time as being totally helpless? According to what you’ve said before, you were fourteen when your father died, so you were what, in ninth grade?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“C’mon, James, no probablies. You had to endure all or some of the Guinnans’ torment for three or three and a half more years— after your father’s death, right?”
“Yeah. Sounds right.”
“Why are you being so hesitant? You know it’s right, it doesn’t just sound right.”
“Okay, alright, it’s right. What’s your point?”
“My point? Oh really, James, c’mon, what’re we doing here? What are you doing here?”
“I guess I’m supposed to be figurin’ out why I didn’t ID myself when I, uh, you know—”
“You guess?!”
“Okay, no guessin’, yeah—”
“Listen, James, and listen carefully. What I’m telling you is, if you want to keep doing this job you say is the only other job you’ve ever wanted—besides soldiering—you’re going to have to come to terms with what you did. And not only for your chief’s comprehension, or for your City Council’s comprehension, but much more importantly, much much more importantly, for your comprehension. Because, James, you’re walking around with a bomb in your mind. And if you don’t start talking about why it’s there, it’s going to go off again. Just like it did in that alley. And when it goes off again, and if you don’t get it resolved here, it will go off again, you’re gone. Not only gone from this job but very likely gone into prison. Because you were extremely lucky this time, James. I know you don’t believe in luck, but even you, when you consider the ramifications of what you did, I mean, my God, James, you cannot deny—can you?—how lucky you are this guy had a really crummy lawyer? Or that he didn’t die? People have died as a result of one kidney rupturing, James, it is not that remote a medical probability. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with a pathologist, huh? So you could hear for yourself how lucky you were?”
“No, thanks. You don’t have to do that.”
“Then talk, James. You want the bomb out of your mind, you’ve got to start talking. We’ve been shadowboxing around this issue for months—it is the issue, James. It’s why you’re here. And there’s something else you should be aware of. You write a monthly report for Balzic? So do I.”
“You think I didn’t know that?”
“I’m sure you do now. Do you also know that he calls me after he reads them?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“And are you sure what his reactions have been? To this point?”
“Well … knowin’ him—and I’m not sayin’ I do, understand? But I figure he’s gotta start bein’ a little, uh, a little impatient with the progress here. Or the lack of it.”
“Bravo, James. Bravo. He signed you up for a year. We’re in the eleventh month. He thought as sharp as you are, it wouldn’t take half that long.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said, sharp or not—and he is sharp—even the sharpest guy can get to be very dull when his perimeter looks like it’s about to be breached.”
“Is that what you think I’m doin’?”
“Yes, James, that’s exactly what I think you’re doing. We’ve talked about Vietnam, about soldiering, about growing up with the Guinnan brothers as your daily nemesis, a twice-daily torment, going to school, coming from school, more if they happened to catch you out and about after school. We’ve gone around and around and around this, and yet somehow, you don’t seem to make the connection between the helplessness you felt every day for twelve years at the hands of the Guinnan brothers, who were much bigger, much stronger than you, and what you saw in this boy’s beating at the hands of his much bigger, much stronger father— which provoked you to attack him. Without warning, James. An absolute no-no for a police officer.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh James, look. You’re a very bright guy. Everybody who was ever your superior whether in the army or in the police training classes you had to pass in order to be hired-—you were tops in your classes, either first or second. Fitness reports from your training partners, they’re unanimous in their praise and commendations. Yet here we sit, as we invariably do, after we have rehashed events I know almost as well as you do, here we are, both of us staring at this apparently impenetrable wall which you seem unable to recognize is there! Here’s what it comes to, James, yes or no, you want to be a cop?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“This is only the second thing you’ve ever wanted in life, correct?”
“Yes, correct.”
“Then, James, listen to me. Imagine it’s not me talking now, but your mentor in Vietnam, Jukey Johnson. Imagine it’s Jukey sitting here telling you this: James, you want to stay alive as a cop? You’ve got to bring all your senses to bear on this one issue. Your sight, your hearing, your taste, your smell, your touch, all of them, if you want to stay alive as a cop in Rocksburg, James, you’ve got to bring them all to focus on this one issue—”
“I wanted to surprise him.”
“You wanted to surprise him?”
“Yeah. I wanted to surprise him. I knew if I said anything he’d turn around. I wanted him to get hit without knowin’ it was comin’. Like it was … like it was …”
“Like it was what, James?”
“Like it was God. Like it was the hand of God come down to strike him for what he was doin’ to this kid.”
“Like it was the hand of God … okay, James. Now we’re starting to get somewhere. Now of course, all you have to do is explain to me—and to yourself—why you thought you were, at that particular moment, God’s agent. Why you thought you were doing God’s work, when everything I’ve learned from you about you says to me clearly that you are a man looking, not for faith, but for information. In all the months we’ve been talking here, you’ve never so much as mentioned the word church—until earlier today. When I suggested that you might’ve wanted to grow up to be a priest, the look on your face was contempt. In all your talk about combat, you insist it is not random, that luck plays no part, and you never say one word about prayer, in everything you’ve said about your twelve months in Vietnam, you never mention the word chaplain, yet suddenly when you start to talk about what you were thinking when you put your hands on that baton, you talk about surprise, you talk about making this man think it was the hand of God come down to punish him for his beating of a helpless child. James, explain please, if you would, because I am now really confused.”
“I … I used to pray all the time when I was a kid. I prayed that God would kill them all, all the Guinnans, their whole family, mother, father, even their dog. Prayed all the time. When I was an altar boy in St. Malachy’s, I’d be doin’ what I was supposed to, bringin’ the water and the wine and the wafer to the priest, standin’ there while he was washin’ his hands for communion, I’d be prayin’, you know, hey, God, please, for me, just this one thing, okay? Please make the cocksuckers die. But he never did. And no matter how many candles I lit, no matter how many times I asked him, no matter what I did, the only thing I could do, uh, the only way I could stand the pain, was to know there was no pee in me so at least they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seein’ me piss my pants. That was all I could do. So … uh, when my father died, I mean I really liked my father. I felt real bad for him ’cause he couldn’t do the simplest things, he’d get all outta breath. But every day, man, rain, snow, sunshine, whatever, he left the house, he walked all the way to the yards, he did his job, he made it all the way home. I respected that. I admired that. Even though he couldn’t help me, I never lost my respect for him. But when he died, when God took him to a better place this priest said, I said bullshit. He took my father but he lets the fuckin’ cocksuckin’ Guinnans live? I said fuck you, good-bye. That’s
the last time you’re ever gonna see me. Never went back to church again.”
“Okay. Okay. I follow that. That’s very plain, very understandable. So how did you get from there to the hand of God coming down to take this man by surprise? How do you get from there to you—you, James Reseta, who at age fourteen says fuck you to God, and then comes out of his MU with his baton without a word of identification of who he is but with his mind filled with the idea that he is to be God’s instrument to take this man by surprise and punish him? How do we make that transition, James, you wanna explain that? Because I’m very interested in that. And because you should be too.”
“I been thinkin’ about it. When I’m alone that’s what I think about. When I’m alone that’s all I think about.”
“So why haven’t you raised it here, why keep that to yourself?”
“Because I can’t put it together.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t make it come out right—I don’t even know how to say this, it’s all mixed up. I know I’m nobody’s avenging angel. That’s the last thing I am—or wanna be. But when I saw that kid takin’ that beating, I thought you motherfucker you. Don’t you feel big, huh? Well how big you gonna feel when I swoop down on your ass like a hawk, like an eagle, an eagle on a fish, whoosh, clamp, you’re in my claws, bingo, up and away, your ass in my claws and nothin’ you can do about it, how you gonna feel then?”
“And what is this, James? Is this the calculated reaction of a police officer to a crime in progress?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s the, uh … it’s the emotional reaction of a boy.”
“To what?”
“To somethin’ that happened … a long time ago.”
“No, James, not that long ago. You’re twenty-three now. Five years ago, what was happening to you? Five years, James. What? Pick any day from your last year in high school.”
“I was takin’ a beatin’ from Teddy Guinnan.”
“Where?”
“In the locker room.”
“Why? What was it about?”
Saving Room for Dessert Page 14
