of it, but for the first time, he talked about some of what had happened in the green shadows under the thick jungle canopy.
She listened and asked thoughtful questions about the things she didnât understand. She was interested but didnât show any sympathy or pity or outrage or any of the other cheap emotions he had feared.
She was back at lunch the next day, and the day after that. She began to talk about her childhood as a "red diaper" baby raised by aging revolutionaries in Brooklyn, her work at a legal clinic in a housing project, and her dreams of a career in politics. They eventually discussed the Meaning of the War â from morality to political reality, to patriotism, to what it meant to those fighting it, and those marching against it.
After Dina was accepted at Georgetown Law School, they continued to have lunch once a week, sharing a Greek appetizer platter at the Taverna Cretekou, just east of the Capitol. Dina said that the smashed caviar was better there than anywhere else â even in the Greek neighborhoods of Queens.
Rick blinked as he came in from the bright sunshine. He scanned the dining room crowded with aides and interns making the most of their fifty minutes away from the halls of power. Dina waved from the back of the room, but heâd spotted her customary outrageous hat and was already heading to the table. As he walked up, he caught a brief glimpse of the other woman seated across from Dina. She was much shorter, slim, with an interesting body. A round face, with solemn dark eyes, was framed by long, straight black hair.
Dina introduced her as Eve Buffalo Calf, a Northern Cheyenne law school graduate working as a legal adviser with the American Indian Movement while studying for the bar exam. Rick didnât know much about AIM except that their "warriors" had taken over the abandoned Alcatraz Prison in San Francisco for a while and then occupied the Bureau of Indian Affairs down at the Interior Department a month ago and trashed the place on the way out. On the other hand, he had known and liked a number of soldiers who came off the reservations and certainly was open to the idea that the government had thoroughly screwed the tribes.
The waiter came for drink orders and both the women ordered Irish coffee. Rick asked for just plain coffee as strong as they could make it.
The dark-haired girl said, "You donât drink?"
"Iâd love to, but itâs never worked out for me."
Eve gave him a quizzical look. "Whatâs that mean?"
Rick liked her directness. "Well, itâs how I ended up in Vietnam, for one thing."
"You got drunk and enlisted? Thatâs a fairly popular way to spend a Saturday night back home."
Rick laughed. "No, I wasnât the one drinking. My mom was an alcoholic, and⦠well, a lot of children of alcoholics simply run away â usually emotionally. I ran away for real and ended up in the Army. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"And now?"
"Well, I guess it still seems like it was a good idea, or at least better than living in a household with a drunk. I watched my mother try to escape into a bottle to get away from her problems, and all the problems just got worse, and eventually her liver blew, and she died. By that time, sheâd driven away everyone whoâd ever cared about her. They got in the way of her dedication to drinking. I didnât wait to be driven away â I ran. When she was dying a couple of years ago, I visited, but there wasnât any emotional scene. Didnât like her when she was alive and donât miss her now she is dead."
Dina said, "Isnât that a bit cold?"
Rick looked her straight in the eyes. "Itâs the only advantage to being the child of an alcoholic. From what Iâve seen, healthy people feel terrible when a parent dies."
Dina just shook her head, but Eve nodded. "Alcohol is a huge problem back home. Most Native Americans tend to have trouble with alcohol â
She listened and asked thoughtful questions about the things she didnât understand. She was interested but didnât show any sympathy or pity or outrage or any of the other cheap emotions he had feared.
She was back at lunch the next day, and the day after that. She began to talk about her childhood as a "red diaper" baby raised by aging revolutionaries in Brooklyn, her work at a legal clinic in a housing project, and her dreams of a career in politics. They eventually discussed the Meaning of the War â from morality to political reality, to patriotism, to what it meant to those fighting it, and those marching against it.
After Dina was accepted at Georgetown Law School, they continued to have lunch once a week, sharing a Greek appetizer platter at the Taverna Cretekou, just east of the Capitol. Dina said that the smashed caviar was better there than anywhere else â even in the Greek neighborhoods of Queens.
Rick blinked as he came in from the bright sunshine. He scanned the dining room crowded with aides and interns making the most of their fifty minutes away from the halls of power. Dina waved from the back of the room, but heâd spotted her customary outrageous hat and was already heading to the table. As he walked up, he caught a brief glimpse of the other woman seated across from Dina. She was much shorter, slim, with an interesting body. A round face, with solemn dark eyes, was framed by long, straight black hair.
Dina introduced her as Eve Buffalo Calf, a Northern Cheyenne law school graduate working as a legal adviser with the American Indian Movement while studying for the bar exam. Rick didnât know much about AIM except that their "warriors" had taken over the abandoned Alcatraz Prison in San Francisco for a while and then occupied the Bureau of Indian Affairs down at the Interior Department a month ago and trashed the place on the way out. On the other hand, he had known and liked a number of soldiers who came off the reservations and certainly was open to the idea that the government had thoroughly screwed the tribes.
The waiter came for drink orders and both the women ordered Irish coffee. Rick asked for just plain coffee as strong as they could make it.
The dark-haired girl said, "You donât drink?"
"Iâd love to, but itâs never worked out for me."
Eve gave him a quizzical look. "Whatâs that mean?"
Rick liked her directness. "Well, itâs how I ended up in Vietnam, for one thing."
"You got drunk and enlisted? Thatâs a fairly popular way to spend a Saturday night back home."
Rick laughed. "No, I wasnât the one drinking. My mom was an alcoholic, and⦠well, a lot of children of alcoholics simply run away â usually emotionally. I ran away for real and ended up in the Army. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"And now?"
"Well, I guess it still seems like it was a good idea, or at least better than living in a household with a drunk. I watched my mother try to escape into a bottle to get away from her problems, and all the problems just got worse, and eventually her liver blew, and she died. By that time, sheâd driven away everyone whoâd ever cared about her. They got in the way of her dedication to drinking. I didnât wait to be driven away â I ran. When she was dying a couple of years ago, I visited, but there wasnât any emotional scene. Didnât like her when she was alive and donât miss her now she is dead."
Dina said, "Isnât that a bit cold?"
Rick looked her straight in the eyes. "Itâs the only advantage to being the child of an alcoholic. From what Iâve seen, healthy people feel terrible when a parent dies."
Dina just shook her head, but Eve nodded. "Alcohol is a huge problem back home. Most Native Americans tend to have trouble with alcohol â
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