The Great Santini (20 page)

"How are you feeling, sugah?" she said.

"I'm O.K., Mama," Ben answered, still watching his father. "How are you feeling?"

"My posterior's a little sore, but I'll live through the night, at least," she said.

"You've got fabulous taste in men, Mama, no kidding."

"Don't get smart with me, mister. It's been plenty hard on me today without your getting smart. Remember, I'm the one that's in the middle. I'm the one that catches it from both sides. It's me that's got to walk the tightrope."

Ben sat on his desk, put his gym shoes on his chair, unlaced them, then tied them tighter. He tied and untied his gym shoes as thoughtlessly as he blinked his eyes. It was one of Ben's many nervous mannerisms that worried Lillian.

"If he ever does that to you again, Ben, I'll leave him. So help me God, I'll leave him."

"Sure, Mama," Ben said. "That's what you said the last time. That's what you say every time. You've been leaving him ever since I was born."

"I'm serious this time."

"You were serious last time and the time before that and the time before that. I don't care anymore, Mom. I'm getting out of this family this year. I just gotta make it before he tears me apart."

Lillian was sitting on the foot of Ben's bed. With almost inappropriate grace, she pulled a cigarette from a package of Lucky Strikes. She handed the matches to Ben and waited as Ben clumsily lit a match and held the flame in front of her. Lightly, she touched his hand and inhaled deeply.

"He's working on his temper, darling. He knows he's got to work on it. We've got to help him work on it."

"I don't have to help him. I hate his guts. I don't even want to help him."

"If you don't, then it's going to be bad for Matt and the girls," she said, then added," and for me, of course."

"Let me tell you what I was just thinking, Mama. I was just sitting here praying that we would go to war."

"Shame on you, Ben. That's a terrible thing to say."

"No, let me finish. I was praying for a special type of war. One that required only Marine pilots and I didn't care who we fought against. I thought about Cuba, Russia, and China, of course. But then I decided if it got Dad out of here, that I'd be satisfied with France, Monaco, Vatican City, Florida. It doesn't make any difference. I just want somebody to declare war against this country, so King Kong out there can fight against someone besides me."

"You act like he hits you all the time. Today was the first time he's touched you since he's been home. He's been excellent until today and even you have to admit that."

"Oh, he's been a peach. See, Mom, I know he doesn't hit me every day. But do you know I wake up every day with the possibility of him hitting me? I mean if he gets mad, he goes for me. You got in his way today, so he kicked you a few times. But I'm his primary target. He hones in on me when he's angry."

"He expects a lot from his oldest son."

"That's the funny part to me, Mom. It's not like I was a juvenile delinquent and went around slashing tires and smoking cigarettes. When we lived on base I never got in trouble with the M.P.'s. I wasn't like Bill Poindexter or Larry Kinston; I didn't string a rope across the road and almost strangle that M.P. who was chasing them that night on a motorcycle. I've seen a thousand Marine kids and you and I both know that they're the most screwed up bunch of kids that ever lived. And I'm not like them. I don't do anything and yet I get knocked all over the place."

"Now, Ben," his mother said soothingly," you know he's improved over what he used to be. He's mellowing in his old age. His temper used to be a lot worse when you were younger. You've got to give him credit for that."

"It's a miracle that I've lived to grow pimples."

"Don't be flip with your mother. I'm speaking seriously. I've worked with him on controlling his temper. We've even prayed together about it. He's improved. That's the point."

"I used to keep count of the times he hit me and the reason. I did it for about two years. It makes funny reading now. In October of 1958, I was slapped by Dad for not moving fast enough across the room when I was bringing him a beer. The next year he punched me for striking out three times in a baseball game. Another time he got me by the throat and slammed my head against the wall over and over again until you stopped him. That time, I had woke him up after he had been on a cross-country night flight."

"You're exaggerating again. I don't remember those times."

"Yeah, Mom, you always defend him. I always exaggerate. I always make things up. Look at this scar on my lip. I got that when I ran real fast and threw myself into Dad's fist just for kicks."

"Don't 'yeah' me, mister. It's 'yes ma'am.' And don't be sarcastic. You're a very unattractive person when you're sarcastic."

"Sorry, Mama. I'm upset. What he did was bad."

"I want to talk to you now, Ben, as a boy who is almost a man. You've got to realize that your father's always been under a great deal of pressure in his job. All day long he is under pressure from superiors and both of us know he flies off the handle very easily when things don't go his way or when a colonel gets mad at him."

"Why doesn't he punch the colonel?" Ben said, untying his shoes again.

"Now you're talking nonsense."

"No, I'm not," Ben said, looking up from his shoes. "Why do I get hit when some jerk colonel gets on Dad's back? Dad screws up an assignment in Cherry Point, and I get slapped when he flies back to Ravenel. He receives a reprimand in a memo from Washington and then he gets pissed off at me for breathing too hard when he gets home that night. Well, the kid is out of it come June first. Then Mary Anne will be the prime beef"

"Light me another cigarette, darling. "As the flame came to her she said, looking into her son's eyes, who quickly dropped his, "Your father has many good points."

"Sure, Mom. They're the knuckles on his left hand."

"Don't try to be so clever, sugah. You and Mary Anne always have to verbally joust with the rest of the world and it's not very becoming to either one of you. And one thing you're not keeping in mind, Ben. One thing that is very important. Your father loves you very much."

"Ha!" Ben laughed. "He's got a fabulous way of showing it. "Then a mellowness entered his voice, an exhausted gentleness. "Mama, we've had this talk a million times. It starts out with you leaving him. Then it ends with you telling me all his good points. How much he wants the best for his children. How much he loves us all and sacrifices for us all. Do you know something that I know, Mama? He loves the Marine Corps more than he loves us.

"He's supposed to, son. That's his duty. His job. All men are like that."

"No," Ben said harshly. "It's different. Do you think Dupree Johnson's daddy loved his gas station more than his family? Or Robbie Chambers' daddy loved his doughnut shop more than his wife or kids?"

"Well, you're just talking now. You don't really know what your daddy thinks, but I do."

"No one knows Dad, Mama. No one knows him. He's an actor. He acts out being a Marine. He acts out being a husband. He acts out being a father. In fact, Dad is the only person in the world who has to act out being a human being."

"You're wrong there, son," Lillian said, staring into the bluish plume of smoke she exhaled toward the opposite wall. "There's a lot of people like that."

"But the real secret of Dad is, it's all the same act. It's the same thing. It's all that fighter pilot crap. I bet when you're alone with him, he's still humping right along with his same old act."

"If it weren't for you children and our differences over discipline, we would have the happiest marriage possible. All of our fights are over the children."

Ben untied his shoelaces again and began lacing them up, tighter than before.

"You're going to cut off all the circulation in your feet," Lillian said, but Ben kept on pulling at the laces.

"Do you love Dad, Mama?" Ben asked and Lillian saw that he was blushing.

"Of course I love your father. He's my husband."

"I don't mean that. I mean do you really love him in such a way that you wouldn't want to live with anybody else?"

"What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. I'm very satisfied. Your father is a good provider and he is kind to me."

"I think he treats you crappy."

"He blows his stack at me sometimes, but I let it roll off like water on a duck's back. Harsh words were never fatal to anyone.

"What about harsh fists, Mama? What about when he hits you?"

Lillian said nothing for a few moments. She paused to give her son time to light another cigarette.

"You're smoking these too fast, Mama."

"What ever gave you the idea that your father hits me? He never hits me," Lillian said, looking directly at Ben.

"Gee, Mom, ol' crazy me thought he kicked you today."

"That wasn't much. But I'd leave a man who hit me."

"I've seen him hit you," Ben said, looking into his mother's eyes, and holding his gaze steady.

"You're upset, Ben," Lillian said. "You're starting to imagine things. Your father has never hit me during our entire married life."

"I have seen him hit you at least three times."

"You're exaggerating again, Ben," Lillian answered, laughing to break the tension. "I swear your imagination plays funny tricks on you sometimes."

Ben walked to his bureau drawer and fumbled through several layers of clothes in the bottom drawer. He retrieved a T-shirt, military issue, covered with dried blood. "When Dad hit you two years ago, Mom, I held you in my arms and you were crying. It was on a Friday after happy hour and he came home singing 'Silent Night,' which was strange because it was in March. You met him at the door and started fighting with him because he'd been drinking gin, and you said gin made him wild because it did something to his system. He started hitting you in the face. I ran in and grabbed his legs. He started punching me in the head. Mary Anne came in, and started screaming. He left the house. Your nose was bleeding, and that's how I ruined this T-shirt. I've kept it, Mama, because I wanted it as proof. This is your blood, Mama. Your blood."

"He never hit me," Lillian insisted.

Ben threw up his hands in exasperation, almost despair. "Then I'm a liar."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. I say that he's hit you. You say that he hasn't. So I'm a liar, and I'm going to stay a liar."

"You exaggerate, son.

"No, I lie. I love to lie. Lying makes me feel good. I'm addicted to it."

"You're upset."

"No, Mama, not me. I just happen to be one of those funloving people who enjoy getting a basketball bounced off their heads twenty or thirty times. I like it even better when it's a bowling ball."

"I'm warning you, mister, don't get smart with me. I don't like that, Ben. I simply don't like it."

"I'm sorry, Mama."

"I'm in here because I'm on your side, and I wanted you to let off a little steam. But you've got to understand how hard it is to try and keep peace between your father and you children. All I want is for peace to rule my house. Peace and quiet and good feelings. It's so much easier to have good feelings than discord. I abhor discord."

"We didn't have discord last year, Mama. When Dad was overseas. It was the best year of my life. Why don't you just leave him?"

Lillian reflected a moment, then said," Because of you children."

"Would you repeat that please? I am near hysteria, but I want to be sure of what you said."

"I won't leave your father because of you children. I know what it's like to grow up in a broken home. I know how terrible a broken home can be. I made a vow that my children would never have to go through what I went through."

"Well, I have also made a vow," Ben said, in slow deliberate words. "My children are never going to have to go through what I have gone through."

"Well, if I were you, mister," Lillian shot back, "I'd count my blessings. Other children haven't had your advantages. Some children don't have enough food to eat, others are sickly, others don't have a roof over their heads, others have parents who hate them."

"And some children have diabetes," Ben said, "and some have leprosy, some get eaten by tigers, some are born without arms, some get struck by lightning, and some use leaves for toilet paper."

Lillian laughed to herself. "You're like him in so many ways."

"Like who?"

"Like your father."

"Don't say that," Ben said, as if in pain.

"I can see him in your face. In your inflection. The way you walk. The way you gesture with your hands. He's everywhere in you."

"That's it, Mom. Drive me to suicide."

"Mark my words, what happened today won't make any difference in five years. You'll look back in later years and understand your father a lot better. He does what he does because he loves you, and wants you to be the best."

Ben began to dance around the room, saying," I love you, Ben. Punch. I want you to be the best, Ben. Kick. I think you're great, Ben. Throw downstairs. I want you to be tops, Ben. Slug with brass knuckles. I love you too much for words, Ben. Stomp on kidney."

"You can have your fun, but there's one other thing that's important for you to know. Your father can't live without me. He loves me very much. He worships me."

"You could get other men to worship you. Other men do."

"Your father's my husband."

She took Ben's hands in hers and tried to look into his eyes, but Ben turned his head away from her. The basketball still sounded on the backyard court. Bull was practicing his two-hand set shot from long range. Standing Ben up, she led him to one side of the window, and they both watched Bull shooting and retrieving the ball on the driveway below them. A minute passed without either of them speaking. Finally, Lillian spoke. "Have you ever heard your father apologize to anyone for anything?"

Ben shook his head. "I've never heard him say I'm sorry' to anyone."

"He never has," Lillian said. "But I know him better than you do, better than you will ever know him. Do you know why he's down there practicing his shooting tonight?"