Twentieth Century Limited Book One - Age of Heroes. Jan David Blais
other Negroes in this place. Did it ever occur to you, you could make things bad for us, doing something like this?”
“Bad?”
“Yes, damnit!” He shook his head. “Look, we get along okay, you and me, but what I’m saying, some kids have it in for us, they’d like nothing better than see us back in the jungle. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Given the chance, that type person is just as bad as those Arkansas honkies, and here you go stirring them up! We’re on trial, we’re out front here, acting twice as good as everybody just to keep it together. That is one heavy load, bro, one very heavy load.” Terry’s eyes glistened and he seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t want anything happening to me and my brothers. We’re just trying to get by. Get along, get by, get out.”
I was floored. I took a deep breath. “Terry, most of the people here are decent. If they think about these things they’ll be on your side These are the people I wanted to reach. I’ll take your word there are others, too...”
“Take my word? TAKE MY WORD! You ever been called nigger? You ever had fuck you black boy painted on your locker like Jerome? Next time stick to stuff you know. Don’t go sticking your nose in other peoples’ business!” He turned and strode away.
That night after dinner I confronted my mother, Catherine was there, too. I forgot to mention she had started at Brown and was living on campus, though she came around often.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I began, “now I’m not so sure.”
“True, as a family we don’t really know any Negroes, not to socialize with, at least. I hope you and Catherine will do better along those lines than we’ve done...”
“My friend Genevieve, she says Brown is the friendliest place she’s ever been.”
“Good for her,” I said, “what about the others, how do they feel?”
“I don’t know the others well enough. Anyway, Mama, how can you say what Paul did is right or wrong? People look at the same thing differently. According to Hume...”
My mother shook her head. “You surprise me, Catherine. Have you forgotten morality isn’t measured by results but principles? Clearly what applies here is love your neighbor as yourself for the sake of God.”
I shook my head, “but if my neighbor’s not interested...?”
“That doesn’t alter the fact you need to try, you have to make people aware of evil and cruelty. In fact, with your position of influence, it would be wrong not to try.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.”
“Well, I do. Thinking isn’t enough, you have to act! Catherine, you have opportunities your father and I never had,” she glowered at me, “as Paul will if he makes the right choice for his college. Make the most of them!”
11. From The Chrysalis, In A Manner Of Speaking
“THAT BLACK KID SURE BROUGHT PAUL UP SHORT,” I observe. “No good deed ever goes unpunished.”
Jonathan nods. “When you wander into opinion, you’re asking for trouble. That’s happened to me when I was least expecting it. Here Paul knew he was getting personal, he just didn’t expect that kind of reaction.”
“It could have made him gunshy but I saw no sign of that later.”
“He learned a lesson. Be fearless but not stupid, that’s another way to say it.”
Over dinner Jonathan is more pensive than usual. I ask what is wrong.
“I’m still pissed. I can’t get over losing that part of the story.”
“I hear you, but Paul’s life is more interesting than his death could ever be.”
Jonathan shakes his head. “If it bleeds, it leads. A celebrity? And intrigue? Together the two halves make a fantastic story. But you know, if they give it to Hersh I’m thinking he’s not going to have an easy time of it. He burned a lot of bridges with My Lai, military sources, I mean.”
“That was decades ago.”
“People have long memories when you show them up.”
“Ah, come on, an old pro like him’s got an address book a foot thick. He’ll always find somebody with a grudge that’s willing to talk.”
Jonathan has this funny look on his face. “Maybe it’s not too late.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I could still do it on spec. As far as the magazine’s concerned it’s no skin off their nose, not if I give them what I’m under contract for.”
I feel bad Jonathan won’t be working on that part of it. I feel bad I won’t be working on it. Much as I hate to admit, it would be sweet to help find the bastards responsible. Is there anything I can do, I wonder. I’d better look into that and damned quick, too.
* * * * * * *
AS MY SENIOR YEAR BEGAN, the battle over “Paul’s future” was in full cry, but I had already made one big decision. Pour X into Y you get Z, design a bridge that’ll stay up – someone else could worry about such things. I’d been caught up in the Sputnik lamentations but as events unfolded I was more interested in how we dealt with the Russians than how they got the thing up there. When I told Benny about my load of History and Government he laughed, telling me welcome to the club.
Jim was engaged, and my mother appreciated Sheila’s healthy influence on son number one. He was growing up despite himself, apprenticing for a plumber and going to school nights for his license. Right after high school he joined the National Guard to stay out of the draft. He drilled weekly in the red brick armory on Cranston Street near Tante Héloise’s house and went to camp in the summer. He still spent time with his buddies, but not as much. Football was in the past as, apparently, were thoughts of college. These days he swung from a shorter but sturdier chain.
It interested me that Catherine’s non-Catholic environment wasn’t the end of the world. She still went to Mass Sundays, at the Newman Center. We had interesting debates, thanks to a Philosophy course she was taking. Everybody had followed the accounts of Pius XII’s death and the election of John XXIII. One Sunday night shortly after the new Pope’s election we were having dinner at our house. Somebody asked me how the La Salle community was taking the change.
“One of the priests studied in Rome, he has great stories about what happens on the inside, the politics and all.”
“No,” my mother said, “the Holy Spirit playing politics?”
“Everything’s political,” my father said. “Anything can be bought will be bought.” “I meant what I said as a joke, but I certainly wouldn’t go that far!”
“You say God works through men, Fiona, that’s how men are. No better, no worse, no exceptions.”
“You don’t mean money changes hands,” Catherine ventured.
“No, but say you’re a cardinal and you want so and so to win. If you want my vote I’ll expect you to come across when there’s something I need.”
My mother shook her head. “How you men can steer an interesting discussion in the most boring direction. I want to know, what do they think of the new Pope? He certainly looks to be a man of the people.”
“He’s from a humble background,” my father replied, “his family were farmers. Can’t be all bad.”
“A nice change from the so-called princes of the Church,” my mother sniffed.
“He’s almost eighty,” I added. “Some people say he’s an interim Pope, they couldn’t agree on somebody who’d be there a long time.”