have any respect for him if he did,” she said, making me feel shitty for suggesting it.
She said, “Anyway, Daddy’s not going to think anyone is good enough for me.”
“I know.”
“He already told me I could only write Bobby, that when Bobby comes home I can’t date him.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said it wasn’t right for management to get involved with employees.”
“Bobby would never want his old job back.”
“I know that. It’s just an excuse.”
“Bobby will still be in the Army after the war.”
“I know. I’m just trying to tell you Daddy’s impossible when it comes to me and boys.” Then she corrected herself and said “Men.”
“But your dad seems to like Mr. Raleigh okay, so maybe—”
She shook her head no.
She said, “He’ll hate it. He’s already made cracks about his leg keeping him from making more of himself. Daddy says why didn’t he get a Ph.D? He says Jules doesn’t accept his handicap as a challenge; he just gives in to it, or he wouldn’t be teaching high school in Berryville.”
“I thought he really liked Mr. Raleigh.”
“He does. But Daddy’s son-in-law has to be a combination of Jesus Christ, Donald Trump, and General Schwarzkopf, and he can’t be seven years older than I am.”
“Six, in July,” I said masochistically.
“Right! … Jules is saving to go to graduate school, and I could go to the same college. I don’t need Daddy’s money, either. I’ll work my way through.”
“You could do that,” I said.
“He’s had a hard life, Gary. When the little boy was born that way, his wife said it was his fault, that he had defective genes! Can you imagine? She just walked out!”
I didn’t have anything to say.
“Gary?”
“What?”
“His hands tremble when I touch him.”
“Neat,” I said. I felt like I’d been run over in traffic.
“He calls me Ling. Nobody’s ever called me by a special name. Sometimes he calls me Lingerling.”
I had to look away from her face.
“I’ve never been in love. I’m just so happy.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“So could you handle the Bobby thing for me? Somehow?”
“You mean tell him?”
“You can’t say who it is. Not to anyone, Gary.”
“You mean write him and tell him you’re in love with someone?”
“Don’t you think so? Before he comes home and—”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Gary, I can’t keep writing him and sending my picture and everything, or he’ll feel I’m his girl”
“Yeah.”
“If he doesn’t already. How do I know that he doesn’t already feel that?”
“Could we hold off and let me think about this?” I asked her.
“Yes. Do whatever is right.”
“I don’t think you should just stop writing him in the middle of a war.”
“I know. I feel awful .”
“So just write him,” I said, “and let me think.”
“All right, I will,” she said. “And Gary?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell a soul about Jules.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping the damn stinging behind my eyes didn’t develop into anything.
But she didn’t hang around anyway.
She had a date.
22
—F ROM THE JOURNAL OF Private Robert Peel
Iraq
We keep rolling. After tank plows make the breach lanes, they run right over Iraqi bunkers and trenches, plowing the men under.
Once, Sugar speaks up: Since when is it okay to bury men alive?
Lieutenant Kerin says what’s the difference if you kill them that way or with hand grenades or bayonets? We’re here to kill them!
Then we get the first taste of it, tanks in flames, sky coming apart with BOOMS like thousands of oil drums falling, exploding in the sand, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Then guns, cannons, rocket launchers all going. Gunners use night-vision sights to locate T72’s in the black smoke and dust.
Five A.M. Finally we sleep in shifts, hammocks strung inside the tank. I loop my canvas-pack harness around the Bradley seat to sleep, so I don’t topple to the floor if we start up
She said, “Anyway, Daddy’s not going to think anyone is good enough for me.”
“I know.”
“He already told me I could only write Bobby, that when Bobby comes home I can’t date him.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said it wasn’t right for management to get involved with employees.”
“Bobby would never want his old job back.”
“I know that. It’s just an excuse.”
“Bobby will still be in the Army after the war.”
“I know. I’m just trying to tell you Daddy’s impossible when it comes to me and boys.” Then she corrected herself and said “Men.”
“But your dad seems to like Mr. Raleigh okay, so maybe—”
She shook her head no.
She said, “He’ll hate it. He’s already made cracks about his leg keeping him from making more of himself. Daddy says why didn’t he get a Ph.D? He says Jules doesn’t accept his handicap as a challenge; he just gives in to it, or he wouldn’t be teaching high school in Berryville.”
“I thought he really liked Mr. Raleigh.”
“He does. But Daddy’s son-in-law has to be a combination of Jesus Christ, Donald Trump, and General Schwarzkopf, and he can’t be seven years older than I am.”
“Six, in July,” I said masochistically.
“Right! … Jules is saving to go to graduate school, and I could go to the same college. I don’t need Daddy’s money, either. I’ll work my way through.”
“You could do that,” I said.
“He’s had a hard life, Gary. When the little boy was born that way, his wife said it was his fault, that he had defective genes! Can you imagine? She just walked out!”
I didn’t have anything to say.
“Gary?”
“What?”
“His hands tremble when I touch him.”
“Neat,” I said. I felt like I’d been run over in traffic.
“He calls me Ling. Nobody’s ever called me by a special name. Sometimes he calls me Lingerling.”
I had to look away from her face.
“I’ve never been in love. I’m just so happy.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“So could you handle the Bobby thing for me? Somehow?”
“You mean tell him?”
“You can’t say who it is. Not to anyone, Gary.”
“You mean write him and tell him you’re in love with someone?”
“Don’t you think so? Before he comes home and—”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Gary, I can’t keep writing him and sending my picture and everything, or he’ll feel I’m his girl”
“Yeah.”
“If he doesn’t already. How do I know that he doesn’t already feel that?”
“Could we hold off and let me think about this?” I asked her.
“Yes. Do whatever is right.”
“I don’t think you should just stop writing him in the middle of a war.”
“I know. I feel awful .”
“So just write him,” I said, “and let me think.”
“All right, I will,” she said. “And Gary?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell a soul about Jules.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping the damn stinging behind my eyes didn’t develop into anything.
But she didn’t hang around anyway.
She had a date.
22
—F ROM THE JOURNAL OF Private Robert Peel
Iraq
We keep rolling. After tank plows make the breach lanes, they run right over Iraqi bunkers and trenches, plowing the men under.
Once, Sugar speaks up: Since when is it okay to bury men alive?
Lieutenant Kerin says what’s the difference if you kill them that way or with hand grenades or bayonets? We’re here to kill them!
Then we get the first taste of it, tanks in flames, sky coming apart with BOOMS like thousands of oil drums falling, exploding in the sand, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Then guns, cannons, rocket launchers all going. Gunners use night-vision sights to locate T72’s in the black smoke and dust.
Five A.M. Finally we sleep in shifts, hammocks strung inside the tank. I loop my canvas-pack harness around the Bradley seat to sleep, so I don’t topple to the floor if we start up
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