War Porn (3 page)

Say what?

Dahlia felt him next to her, the pressure of his knee, the coiled power his body held, like he was about to jump on something. They're fucking, right? They had to be, Wendy and her war hero. Didn't seem to matter much to Matt, who looked at Wendy same as always: like he was gonna throw up on her shoes.

“Shit, babe, that's a crazy story,” Mel said. “But what about this other wild animal you brought home? What's with Mr. Fox here?” She pointed her beer at Aaron: “Tell us something about yourself, Mr. Fox. What's your deal?”

His energy shifted, tensing. He smiled uneasily. “Not much to tell. I'm from Arizona, grew up near Tucson. I met Wendy in college. I'm just sort of traveling around right now.”

“Vision quest?” Mel asked.

“Yeah, sure. Taking some time off. I was staying with some friends in Arizona, now I'm visiting Wendy, then I'm going to Colorado to stay with another friend, then maybe Montana or Washington. I'll probably head back to Tucson in December, get back in school.”

“What do you study?” Rachel asked.

“I was doing history. Now maybe poli sci. Maybe something pre-law. Not really sure.”

“Didn't you just get out of the Army?” Matt asked.

Aaron's smile hardened. “Still in, technically. But on my way out, yeah.”

“What did you do there?” Matt asked. “I mean, if you don't mind my asking.”

“You don't have to . . .” Dahlia said, touching Aaron's arm. “Matt spends all his time on the computer and forgets how to talk to people sometimes.”

“No problem,” Aaron said. “I'm what you call a Nasty Girl.”

“A what?”

“Nasty Girl. It's slang for National Guard. I wasn't in the regular Army.”

“Oh,” Matt said. “Like the reserves?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Mel leaned in. “So what was your MOS?”

Aaron sized her up. “Thirty-one Bravo. Yours?”

Mel shook her head. “No, man, I wasn't
. . . 
My dad was in 'Nam, that's how I know MOS. He was a Fifteen Mike—a Huey mechanic in the Screaming Eagles.”

“That's cool,” Aaron said. “My military occupational specialty was Thirty-one Bravo. Corporal Aaron Stojanowski, 3rd Platoon, 858th Military Police Company, 850th Military Police Battalion, Arizona Army National Guard. Military occupational specialty Thirty-one Bravo One-Zero. They called me Sto.”

“Sto?” Rachel asked.

“Like a nickname. Sto.”

“Was that when you were in Iraq?” Matt asked.

“Matt,” Dahlia said.

“Yeah,” Aaron said.

“Wow,” Matt said. “That must have been intense. Well, thank you for your service.”

“Sure,” Aaron said. “No problem.”

“Was it dangerous?” Matt asked.

“Matt, please,” said Dahlia.

“What? He doesn't have to answer.”

Aaron lit a new cigarette from the butt of his old one. “You mean besides people shooting at me and shit exploding all the time?”

“I just, you know, I mean, all we know is what they show us on TV, right? I mean, we don't even know. I can't even imagine. We're totally ignorant of this situation, and I'm just wondering, is it really like how they say? Is it bad? Is it getting worse? Is it getting better?”

“I don't know what to tell you, chief. It's bad enough.”

“But they can vote, right? They have democracy. That's better, isn't it?”

“Better than what?”

“I don't know. Better than Saddam? It just seems like such a waste if nothing good comes out of it.”

“I don't know, man,” Aaron said. “I was just a dumb grunt, you know. I don't know what to tell you.”

“But, I mean, it's such a huge question now with the election and America's role in the world post-9/11, and we have this obligation, right, to try to make things better, but maybe it's really all about oil and
. . . 
I mean, I don't even know what to think. Should we stay? Should we pull out? They say if we pull out, Iraq collapses into civil war. But it seems like that's happening anyway. What do we do?”

“Listen, uh, Matt? Matt, right? That's your name? Well, Matt, it doesn't really fucking matter what we do.”

“But what about . . .”

“Things matter,” Rachel said. “There are serious problems in the world, but people do things to make change happen. We can hold governments accountable. Voices matter. The election matters.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” Matt said. “Exactly. Should we stay? Do we have a moral imperative to clean up our mess, bring democracy to the Middle East, or what? I mean, we can't just leave, can we?”

Dahlia looked at Matt, her lips compressed. How many beers had he had?

“Look,” Aaron said, “Matt, Rachel, you seem like nice people and this is a great barbecue. I'm gonna say this one thing, then
. . . 
Maybe let's talk about something else, okay? Because Iraq's a fucking disaster. The whole thing. Staying's a disaster. Leaving's a disaster. It's a fucking shithole. And it doesn't matter what the fuck we think about it, because the guys who run shit don't give a rat's ass what people like you and me
think
. Or do. Or say. Unless we're blowing shit up or donating money, they could give a flying fuck. So I don't know what to tell you.”

“That's a pretty negative world view,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, well, I'm all traumatized and shit. You know what it's like. You saw the movie.”

“So why'd you go, then, man,” Mel asked, “if none of it matters?”

“Because they told me to.”

“But why'd you join the Army?”

“National Guard. I was National Guard.”

“Okay, man. Why'd you join the National Guard?”

“College money, patriotism. Service, challenge, honor. Nine-eleven. Same things as anybody else.”

“But now you think it's all bullshit,” Mel said.

“I think we all gotta make hard choices,” he said, “and how you feel about shit doesn't really matter. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“And all you had to do was kill people.”

Aaron laughed. “What?”

Rachel put her hand on Mel's thigh and squeezed. Mel brushed it off. “No, he made a choice. He wasn't drafted. All he had to do was kill people.”

“Yeah, sure,” Aaron said. “Not a bad deal, either. Easier than working for it.”

“I just don't understand how you could do that, man.”

“Mel,” Rachel said. “Hey.”

“You don't understand how I could do what?” Aaron asked.

“How you could kill people for money.”

“Okay, you got me. I joined the Army so I could fucking kill people. Big secret: It's a blast.”

“But doesn't it bother you at all?” Mel asked. “Aren't you ashamed?”

“Ashamed of what?”

“I mean, you know the war's fucking bullshit, but you go do it anyway. You know it's illegal, but you do it anyway. People die and you don't even fucking care. You could've not gone. You could've been a conscientious objector. You could've gone to Canada.”

“I signed a contract. We had a job to do.”

“That's all you got? You had a contract? A job to do?”

“This is real nice, Wendy,” Aaron said. “I'm glad I came.”

“Man,” Mel said, “I just can't understand how you can take part in an illegal war that kills thousands of innocent people—
for college money
—and then act like it doesn't matter. Like you didn't choose. That's what seems completely fucked to me.”

“Mel, honey,” Rachel said. “Lay off.”

“Yeah, Mel,” said Dahlia, “let it go.”

“Hey,” Wendy shouted, “anyone else here see that movie
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
? With that actor, whats-
his-name, Ace Ventura? I watched it on DVD the other night and it was
so good
.”

“Fuck that,” Mel said. “This shit's fucked up. This shit's real. Don't you see that? Killing people for money? And then you wear that fucking t-shirt like it's all a joke. That's just
wrong
. I mean, if that's not evil, I don't what is.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“It's like the Nazis,” Mel said. “Like some people do it just because other people tell them to.”

“Mel, that's not fair,” said Dahlia.

“No, really, man,” Mel said. “Think about it. Loads of German soldiers were just doing their jobs. Loads of German people were just doing what they were told. They all thought it made sense, they all thought what they did was fucking justified, but it wasn't. They don't get to say it's okay. It's like that Eichmann book, man. Evil is evil.”

“Call me a Nazi one more time,” Aaron said.

Matt put his hands out: “Whoa, now—let's all chill out a little bit.”

Mel stared hard at Aaron: “
Did
you kill anybody?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Well did you?”

His eyes closed slow, then he smiled and opened them. “No. I didn't. Not that it's any of your goddamn business, but no, I didn't kill anybody. It wasn't my job.”

“But it was someone's,” Mel said.

“I just held the camera.”

“Hey, y'all,” Dahlia said, getting up, “how 'bout some dessert? Mel, Rachel, you wanna help me with the pie?”

“Bullshit,” Mel said. “I can't fucking believe I'm fucking sitting here with a fucking American Nazi I don't know what, and everybody's like, ‘Play nice, Mel. Lay off, Mel.' Like it doesn't fucking matter. Fucking sheeple. This is why.
This
is why.”

Aaron stood up. “I'm done here. Let's go, Wendy.”

Mel stood to face him. “I know you. I know what you are. I can see it.”

Aaron's voice went cold. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Admit what you did was evil.”

“It's called reality. You need to grow the fuck up, bitch.”

“Bitch? You fucking Nazi asshole!” she screamed, jabbing her finger in his chest.

“Listen up,” he shouted, grabbing her wrist, “this shit”—then Xena—Mel yanking her hand away and whacking Aaron's arm, Aaron shouting in Mel's face and Matt leaning up going
whoa
and Xena—Xena barked, leaping snapping at Aaron who turned smooth and kicked the dog hard in the side, sending the animal rolling yelping and Mel surged, hitting Aaron in the neck and he caught her forearms in his fists and she kicked but then Dahlia was between them and Wendy and Rachel too, pulling Mel back, Aaron walking off cold, Mel held by Rachel, still raging, still flailing.

“Motherfucker!” she screamed. “Fucking motherfucker Nazi fuck!”

“Watch yourself,” Aaron hissed.

“Easy now,” Rachel said. “Easy.”

“I'm gonna fucking kill you, motherfucker!”

“Somebody shut that bitch up,” Aaron said, stalking back and forth along the fence line.

Dahlia went to Xena, the kicked dog hiding behind a bush near the back door, keeping an eye on Aaron the whole time. Rachel and Wendy whispered to Mel. Matt stood between them, near the barbecue again, feeling confused, until Wendy pointed at Aaron.

“Hey, uh, Aaron, you wanna go out front for a minute?” Matt asked.

“Fucking asshole!” Mel shouted after them as they disappeared. “Fucking fascist puke!”

“Mel, sit down,” Rachel said, gently pushing Mel into a chair. “Calm down. We need to calm down.”

“I think Xena's okay,” said Dahlia.

Wendy took a step toward the gate, came back. “I'm so sorry about that. I didn't know—he seemed a little tense but I didn't know
. . . 
That was completely insane.”

“Mel, please, you need to calm down.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Mel shouted, swinging at Rachel.

“Easy,” Rachel said, holding up her hands.

“Whose fucking side are you on?”

Rachel took Mel's chin in her hand and pulled her face up: “Melanie. You will calm down right now. You need to breathe. Breathe. You are not going to behave like this. You're a grown woman. Now breathe.”

Mel took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder. Rachel knelt and held her. Wendy went over, then back to Xena, then stood alone staring up into the night sky. After a few minutes, Mel straightened up and wiped her bleary eyes.