The Bad Canadian by Leonard Mokos

Author:Leonard Mokos
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, historical, thriller, military, war
Publisher: Acme Publishing Co.
Published: 2016-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

I picked Shawn up at the bus depot. As usual he was conspiratorial. He talked a blue streak about his wife whom he doesn't love, about his mistress – don't say a word to mom, he reminds me needlessly, and his kids, Mary-the-baby, Elizabeth and Beatrice ('Bea') who are the reasons why he stays with Mary-the-wife. I have heard this before and don't say anything. That's the fastest way to get past this part with Shawn. Any questions or input and he'll go on and on until no one can stand him.

When I pulled up to the house I stopped at the curb.

“You're not parking it?” he asked, pointing to the garage. “You leave it here the birds will paint it and mom'll have at you.”

“I have something to do. You brought the crosswords?”

He showed me the bundle of Toronto Star newspapers by opening his satchel. “I might stay until after the parade if that's all right.”

“It's all right.”

“Still fitting into your uniform?”

“Mostly.”

“I might join.”

That stops me. “Join what?” I am saying a prayer that he will say join the parade, or the kinsmen club, or the legion for the discount draft beer.

“Join the army, or maybe the navy.”

“What happened to when you were going to join the international brigades and go off to fight the Spanish civil war?”

“Well it ended didn't it.”

“After three years.”

It wasn't easy being Shawn. As the youngest, he was the most mollycoddled, the most sheltered. That had to have been inevitable. As the youngest, he'd missed out on the opportunity to fight in France. Seven of us went, six dead, one defaced, and he has had to live under that shadow and within those doubts. I think he never felt worthy of us, not me or the memories of our lost brothers. How heavy was the full weight of that mantle for him?

“Spain be danged, I'm setting my sights on Hitler. Won't he be sorry to see a Geary marching up his backside?”

“Don't do that.”

“Why not? Because of Dennis, Collin, Terry, Michael, Robert and Paul?”

“Because of Ma. Use your head. The grief would kill her. Besides, you're too old, too fat,” (he had a thirty two year old face but the pot belly of a contented indolent of middle age), “and you've got kids. Men with kids shouldn't serve in combat.”

“Well I just might go and join up, family tradition.”

“The family tradition is getting ourselves killed. Besides, you're a coward at heart.”

“Why would you say a thing like that?” He soured and recoiled.

“Because you cheat on your wife and you lie to her. That makes you a coward.”

“It's for the kids. That's why I don't tell Mary, although maybe she probably knows, who knows?”

“You're a coward if you are afraid to tell your wife what you do to her. Afraid to tell yourself -”

“Yes, lecture me Marshall. Tell me about women, you fancy you know so much! Get yourself some reconstructive plastic surgery, take off that stupid mask, try living a little. You're so

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