The Best American Short Stories of the Century by John Updike & Katrina Kenison

Author:John Updike & Katrina Kenison [Updike, John & Kenison, Katrina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, United States, American, Short Stories, Literary Collections, United States - Social Life and Customs - 20th Century, 20th Century, American Fiction, Anthologies (Multiple Authors), Anthologies, Short Stories; American, American Fiction - 20th Century
ISBN: 9780395843673
Google: -0ZMc63Kbv8C
Amazon: 0395843677
Publisher: Mariner Books
Published: 2000-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

Defender of the Faith

38 7

"How are you?" I mumbled.

"Fine, thank you. Sheldon's really a good shot."

"I didn't notice."

"I'm not so good, but I think I'm getting the hang of it now. Sergeant, I don't mean to, you know, ask what I shouldn't —" The boy stopped.

He was trying to speak intimately, but the noise of the shooting forced him to shout at me.

"What is it?" I asked. Down the range, I saw Captain Barrett standing up in the jeep, scanning the line for me and Grossbart.

"My parents keep asking and asking where we're going," Fishbein said. "Everybody says the Pacific. I don't care, but my parents — If I could relieve their minds, I think I could concentrate more on my shooting."

"I don't know where, Fishbein. Try to concentrate anyway."

"Sheldon said you might be able to find out."

"I don't know a thing, Fishbein. You just take it easy, and don't let Sheldon —"

"I'm taking it easy, Sergeant. It's at home —"

Grossbart had finished on the line, and was dusting his fatigues with one hand. I called to him. "Grossbart, the Captain wants to see you."

He came toward us. His eyes blazed and twinkled. "Hi!"

"Don't point that goddam rifle!" I said.

"I wouldn't shoot you, Sarge." He gave me a smile as wide as a pumpkin, and turned the barrel aside.

"Damn you, Grossbart, this is no joke! Follow me."

I walked ahead of him, and had the awful suspicion that, behind me, Grossbart was marching, his rifle on his shoulder, as though he were a one-man detachment. At the jeep, he gave the Captain a rifle salute.

"Private Sheldon Grossbart, sir."

"At ease, Grossman." The Captain sat down, slid over into the empty seat, and, crooking a finger, invited Grossbart closer.

"Bart, sir. Sheldon Gross hart. It's a common error." Grossbart nodded at me; I understood, he indicated. I looked away just as the mess truck pulled up to the range, disgorging a half-dozen ICRs with rolled-up sleeves. The mess sergeant screamed at them while they set up the chow-line equipment.

"Grossbart, your mama wrote some congressman that we don't feed you right. Do you know that?" the Captain said.

"It was my father, sir. He wrote to Representative Franconi that my religion forbids me to eat certain foods."

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