The Great Santini (26 page)

"Who married a damn 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 Saturday 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 Saturday 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 homo."

"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 homo. 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 Saturday 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 attitude 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 Saturday 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 passed 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 advertisement 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 bumper 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 passion 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 brass 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 embarrassing 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 boy friend. 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."

"Basketball's nothing. An absolute zero. Jim Don plays basketball and that's the only reason I even like to cheer at the games. He's captain of the football team, you know. I never saw you at any of the football games. Where'd you normally sit?"

"I never went to any games."

"Boy, you sure are eaten up with school spirit, aren't you, Ben? My daddy's trying to break me and Jim Don up. But he'll never be able to do it. I just hope Jim Don doesn't see us tonight. He beat up one boy that dated me."

"Oh, that's great," Ben said, instinctively checking the rearview mirror.

"He's insanely jealous. But he's so sweet. I just hope he doesn't see us tonight. He told me he'd be out cruising looking for us."

"We won't go anywhere where he can see us."

"Oh we have to. We just have to. We have to make the scene at the Shack. My daddy told me to show you where all the gang hangs out. Jim Don has a new Impala. He packed tomatoes last summer and made enough money for a big down payment. Are those Weejuns you're wearing?" she asked Ben.

"What?" Ben asked.

"Weejuns. Loafers. Everyone at the school wears Weejuns."

"No, they're just loafers. I don't know what kind they are."

"That's a Gant shirt, isn't it?"

"It might be. Mom bought it at the PX yesterday."

"No, it's not Gant," she said impatiently. "The PX doesn't sell them and there's no loop at the back."

"It's Ivy League, though," Ben offered. "It's got buttons on the collar."

"That's no big deal."

"I've never been to the Shack," Ben said.

"It's real close to the colored high school. The cutest colored boys in the whole universe work there. They'll just die if they see me with you."

Ansley turned the dial until she heard the Ape bellow from WAPE in Jacksonville. "Every car in the Shack will be tuned to the Big APE," she said, singing along with the music.

Ben turned into the parking lot of the Shack as Ansley slid down in the front seat until her head was not visible to anyone looking in through the driver's side of the car. To his mortification, Ben could see people laughing as they spotted the squadron decals on the side of the car. Choosing the loneliest, most desolate spot he could find, he backed under an overhanging tree in the far corner of the lot. Only then did Ansley's eyes rise to window level and make a peremptory examination of the other cars.

"You don't mind if I say 'hi' to a few of my friends, Ben. I see some cheerleaders and their boy friends parked over there under the light. Order me a cheeseburger without onions, a Coca-Cola, medium, and a large order of fries if Lewis comes while I'm gone," she said, blowing him a kiss through the window. She seemed shamelessly gratified to be escaping Ben's presence.

Ben rolled down the window and leaned his elbow on the door. He tried to tighten up his face into a mask of insouciance, worldliness, and control. His stomach, though, felt like a ship breaking up on invisible shoals. As Ansley went from car to car, Ben watched her secretly, watching her leaning her breasts into other boys' arms, flirting with a self-indulgent expertise that seemed vilely calculating from Ben's observation post. Her perfume lingered in the car and attacked him in the soft places of his boyhood. He saw her point his car out to a crowd of faces he half recognized, then he heard her high-pitched giggle and the laughter of her companions; he turned the radio up louder. He stole another look and saw how achingly pretty she was, this curving, mindless nymphet who had perfected the insensate cruelties and the small meannesses of adolescence and sent them marching in snickering battalions toward Ben. Sitting there in the half-darkness, Ben felt cheapened, irreparably damaged by this girl he had known most of his life. But he was not surprised. He knew intuitively that girls like Ansley would elude him always, dance away from him, mocking him, whispering about him in those savagely thoughtless clusters of children living in the pure oxygen of their ordained season. Ansley was part of an aristocracy that brooked no intrusion, at least not now, Ben thought.