Fast Backward by David Patneaude

Author:David Patneaude
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-63393-614-0
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2015-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

I’m practically on top of the base camp before I realize that all of its exterior lights have been extinguished. Blackout curtains cover every window.

Somebody’s taking precautions.

With the lack of light added to the condition of my sleepless body added to the extra weight of the Sunday papers, I struggle through my route. I don’t spot Pete or Captain Nelson.

Nobody, including Lolly, is up when I get home. I’m tempted to return to bed, but as I lay Dad’s Journal on the table, the headline catches my eye.

HUNDREDS MARCH, THOUSANDS JEER. Below it is a photo of a Santa Fe street crowded with sign-carrying peace marchers. Surrounding them on the street and sidewalks and hoods and roofs of cars and even clinging to light poles is an unruly mob. Scowls, mouths twisted with rage or some other poisonous emotion.

Are they worried that a negotiated peace will allow Hitler to continue his dirty work? Or that these people promoting peace will jeopardize their sons’ or grandsons’ chances for glory, or the privilege of being buried in the cold, wormy ground of some far-off hellhole?

Above the street, people lean from windows. One man has his arm cocked, poised to throw something. I don’t see Dad, but was he the target?

Halfway through the article comes mention of a rumor that the government is considering action against those in the peace movement. I recall John McCloy’s comments. His linking Americans working for peace to Japanese Americans who have been locked up behind barbed wire since early in the war. It sounded like a threat then. It feels more like a threat now.

Dread grips me. The feeling is intense but not new. It’s exactly what I felt when I accompanied Dad to the government office in Albuquerque and sat on the edge of the wooden chair while the old guy with the thick glasses and drifts of dandruff on his brown suitcoat’s shoulders shook his head with disapproval over Dad’s conscientious objector papers.

To our great relief, he signed them. He gave Dad the names of people to contact for CO jobs, although, in the end, Dad didn’t qualify. Created for healthy and draft-age conchies, the jobs weren’t routinely given to the remanded—the old and nearsighted or otherwise lacking. Dad didn’t mind. He was still at the Journal then. He hadn’t yet gotten entirely under the skin of his coworkers and bosses—and the government—and been shown the door.

The meeting with the asshole official happened more than three years ago. But I still recall Mom’s concern over it, despite Dad’s advanced age and bad eyes. She was so apprehensive that she couldn’t bear the prospect of attending the hearing.

Which worked out nicely. Because I thought I could somehow prevent anything bad from happening to him, I was planning on going along anyway. So, I volunteered to stand in for her. I didn’t expect to get rewarded, but afterward Mom was so grateful that she offered to do my chores for a whole week. I accepted.

It seems like

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