Going Nuclear. Stephen Hart
sense. He couldn’t see running to a place where they could both be easily identified, despite the fact that it was Friday afternoon and the building would be largely vacant. Conceding to the immediacy of the situation, however, Arthur simply followed Joshua’s lead, sprinting two more blocks before slowing down to dash up the front steps and into the building. As the main entrance door closed behind them, Arthur looked back once again. The policeman had fallen farther behind but was still after them, gulping for air as he ran. Arthur and Joshua walked hurriedly down the hallway to a set of stairs, then darted up one flight to an office that Joshua shared with two other grad students. Panting heavily, Joshua slipped his key into the office door, gave it a turn, and waved Arthur in. “Leave the lights off,” Joshua gasped, closing the door behind them. “Sit down on the floor.”
Arthur rested his back against a wall as Joshua locked the door and sat down next to him. “Let’s see that pig find us now,” Joshua said, grinning. Arthur nodded, grateful for the chance to catch his breath. After several minutes of silence, they heard the policeman’s footsteps stalking the hall.
“You have to come out sometime,” the policeman yelled, slamming his club against a door several offices down. He passed Joshua’s office, then slammed his club on the door of the next office. “You might as well come out. I know you’re here.”
As the policeman’s footsteps faded, Arthur wiped his forehead with his hand, shifted his weigh, and began to speak. But as he did, Joshua raised a finger to his lips. After a bit longer, however, Joshua cocked his head to one side, then whispered, “Okay, I think he’s gone.”
“Probably is,” Arthur replied softly. “I haven’t heard anything since he passed by.”
“Yeah, but I think we’d better plan on laying low for a while,” Joshua said as he fumbled in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a joint and a book of matches. “Might as well relax a little, though. This is Panama Red, some primo shit by way of San Francisco.” He lit the joint, took a hit, then passed it to Arthur.
Arthur took a long drag. “I think you’re right,” he said as he released the smoke. “That cop looked pissed. He’ll probably be waiting for us at the door all night.”
“Yeah,” Joshua said, laughing. “Fucking pigs.” He took the joint back from Arthur.
“They didn’t have any right to interfere with that demonstration,” Arthur asserted, shaking his head.
“Where I come from, they don’t have the right to pull half the shit they pull, but they do it anyway. Of course, you probably don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about. Growing up for you was probably a piece of fucking cake.” Joshua took a hit and passed the joint back to Arthur.
“Are you kidding? I would have had it made if the only thing I had to worry about was the police.” Arthur took another hit. “I grew up in the military. My old man was a hard-core officer in the Army. Talk about some deep shit.” He passed the joint back to Joshua.
“Hell, you don’t know what deep shit is. Have you ever been put down on the sidewalk and cuffed and searched just because of the way you look? Have you ever had a friend shot by the police just because he showed a bad attitude?” After a long drag, Joshua passed the joint to Arthur.
“No. But I know something about attitude. When I was a kid, I couldn’t disagree with my old man or even look him in the eye wrong without worrying about getting slapped across the face. And he had a razor strap that he liked to use, too. We had to say ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ to adults, and we had room inspection every morning: shined shoes, made bed, everything.” Arthur took a hit and passed the joint back to Joshua.
“Room inspection and shined shoes. How the hell did you survive?” Joshua laughed and shook his head.
“It may not sound like much, but it was.”
“So what were you doing at the demonstration today then, rebelling against your old man?”
“No. I was just watching. I think the war is a big mistake, and I was glad to see people doing something about it. What about you?”
“I needed to be there, needed to participate. It’s important to me to do everything I can to obstruct that fucking war.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s so blatantly racial,” Joshua shot back.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean white leaders in Washington, D.C., are ordering young black guys to Vietnam to kill yellow people for no good reason. And a lot of the black guys are getting blown away or permanently injured as a result of this government’s stupid-ass policies. That’s what I mean.” Joshua took a deep drag on the joint and passed it to Arthur.
“It’s not just black guys that are being sent over there.”
“No, I know there are white guys over there, too. But there are also a hell of a lot of white guys who come down with sudden medical problems, problems that qualify them for a medical deferment. And what about student deferments?” Joshua glared at Arthur.
“What about student deferments?”
“How many black guys do you think are in college? How many black guys from the inner city have that as an option? Let me tell you, very few. Student deferments are the most blatantly racist aspect of this whole damned war. It’s like the government is saying that white guys are too intelligent to risk losing in battle. Their brains are just too fucking valuable. So we’re going to have to protect them and let the lower-intelligent black guys do the fighting and dying. You know, a little natural selection at work.”
“White guys are getting killed there, too, educated white guys. My brother was killed there.” Arthur took a small hit and passed the joint to Joshua.
“Really?” Joshua’s tone softened. “Sorry, man. Some white guys have gotten killed, sure, but the number of black guys getting killed is disproportionately higher by one hell of a lot. You have to admit that much. You must know there aren’t many white guys, from good families anyway, actually doing the fighting over there.”
“I don’t know the exact numbers, but I suppose you could be right. I would assume there’s a much higher percentage of white guys with student deferments than black guys.”
“That would probably be a safe bet.” Joshua took a drag on the joint and passed it to Arthur, holding the smoke for a long time before exhaling and taking a deep breath. “But no matter how it breaks down, this bullshit has got to stop. So tell me about growing up in the Army. You say it was hard.”
“Yeah, but I’m not saying it was all bad. It wasn’t. In a way it may have even toughened me up some, but it wasn’t easy. That’s all I’m saying.”
“What did your father do that toughened you up so much, besides inspecting your bed and shoes every day, that is?”
“Oh, I don’t know, different things. A lot of it was mental more than anything else. He didn’t want us to be too soft or anything.”
“So what did he do?”
“I don’t know, lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Arthur paused and looked at the floor. “Okay,” he began, looking up. “I remember one thing that sort of fits. This was when I was about five. It was springtime. We were living in a house in Oklahoma with a big backyard and trees and everything, and my mother had just put in a small garden. So one day I went out back and saw some rabbits hopping around, little ones and big ones, with cotton tails and everything. And I thought they were kind of neat, so I went in the house to get a bowl of water to set out for them. But my dad was there, and he asked me what I was doing. And when I told him, he immediately got his twenty-two and went out and started killing all the rabbits he could scare up, even the little ones. And he made me watch. At first when he started shooting, I cried and screamed for him to stop. I