41
They buried Larry’s father, Alan Roberts, on the morning of Halloween. A breeze wove through us as we stood at the graveside, apart from the family who had wooden folding chairs under a black canopy. The dark clouds threatened rain, and I was glad that Mom had thought to bring an umbrella.
Larry sat to the left of his mother, head hung. I imagined he was either crying or trying hard not to. His little sisters—two standing on either side of their mother, the third on her lap—cried without reservation. They wept and wailed so that I could hardly hear the words of the minister.
It was all right. I didn’t need to know what he was saying. I was just glad no one tried to hush the girls. Mrs. Roberts reached her arms around all three, holding them tightly, the only way she could, holding them as close as she could manage.
Mom stood beside me, hanky folded in her hand and held to her lips. She kept her eyes on the girls. Every once in a while she’d shake her head ever so slightly.
“And the words that Jesus said to Martha I now share with you.” The minister held up a hand as if in blessing over the family. “He said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’”
It seemed odd to me, his quoting from the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead at a funeral. There would be no calling of Alan Roberts’s name. He would not come forth from the grave. And, even though I knew in my heart that Jesus meant for the resurrection to be into a heavenly life, it still struck me as cruel. It almost seemed to be a tease.
Jesus raised this one man. But he isn’t going to raise your father. Not today. Not this side of heaven.
My faith in that moment felt less akin to Martha and more to her sister Mary who had wept at Jesus’s feet.
If you had been here, my brother would not have died.
I held my hands in tight fists, my eyes on the three little girls, on their mother, on Larry. And I struggled, knowing that God could have spared the life of their father, of her husband, and knowing that he’d chosen not to.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the sight of a tiny brown sparrow, perched on a gravestone nearby. It shook the rainwater from its feathers before taking back off to flight.
My fists relaxed, but the tightness in my chest didn’t relent.
I wished I could watch that bird and come upon some sort of transforming revelation about the goodness of God even in the midst of sorrow. But I couldn’t. Not hearing the cries of those little girls, not watching the way Larry’s shoulders shook.
So, instead, I gritted my teeth and tried to remember the words of Jocelyn’s latest letter, even if I wasn’t so sure I believed them.
All manner of things shall be well.
I’d come upstairs from the church fellowship hall, looking for a few spare folding chairs to take down to the funeral luncheon. That was when I saw Larry sitting on the steps outside. Everybody else was inside eating cold cut sandwiches and potato salad. But Larry was alone, staring off toward Old Chip.
The chairs could wait.
Crossing my arms around myself against the chill, I stepped out and sat beside him. The concrete was cold beneath me and sent a shiver up my spine.
What I knew from having brothers was that if a boy didn’t want to talk, no amount of prompting would persuade him. I’d learned that it was better to be quiet and let them start on their own.
So, I kept my mouth shut and waited.
After a couple of minutes, he spoke.
“It’s cold out here,” he said.
“A little bit,” I answered.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit, offering it to me first. I took a slice, thanking him, and unwrapped it. He nodded, not looking at me.
He folded his stick of gum before popping it in his mouth, sucking on it for a second or two before chewing.
“Do they have anything good down there?” he asked. “Cake or anything?”
I nodded. “A couple of the ladies made sheet cake. All different flavors.”
“Hm.”
“I could get you a piece. I’d bring it out here for you if you didn’t want to go inside.”
“Nah.” He tucked the gum into his cheek. “I don’t feel much like eating.”
“That’s all right.”
“Did you get a sandwich or something?” He wiped under his nose.
I shook my head. “I’m not hungry either.”
Resting my elbows against my thighs, I watched a flock of Canada geese flying in an uneven V shape. It always made me sad, seeing the geese rehearse their leaving. Winter would come soon and I never seemed ready.
“Why do people keep telling me they’re sorry?” Larry asked.
“I don’t know.” I tilted my chin so I could watch the flock glide through the sky over our heads. “Maybe they don’t know what else to say.”
“How am I supposed to answer them? Am I supposed to say it’s okay?”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I swallowed. “They’ll understand.”
“Nobody laughs around me now.” He turned his face, looking at me for the first time since I sat down. “Everybody’s being so serious.”
“Well, maybe because they don’t want to seem disrespectful.”
“You know what my dad always said?” he asked. “He said, ‘You can make it through anything if you find a way to laugh.’”
I smiled at him. Licked my lips. The sweetness of the gum was starting to fade, still I chewed it, rubbery against my teeth.
“Knock, knock,” I said.
He smirked. “Who’s there?”
“Owl say who?”
“Yes, they do.”
“That was bad,” Larry said, shaking his head but chuckling. “You know any more?”
I told him every joke I could think of until people started to leave the luncheon. They quieted their voices as they walked past us down the steps.
“I should see how my mother’s doing,” he said, standing and rubbing his hands on the thighs of his slacks. “Thanks.”
I knew he meant for the jokes. I nodded and smiled at him.
He went inside, but I stayed seated on the steps.
I’d never gotten the chairs Mom had asked for.
Hi, All!
I’ve been hearing from some of the fellas here that there’ve been a bunch of protests back in The World. That’s what they call America around here. And they call Vietnam “In Country.” Don’t know why, exactly.
Anyway, they said there’s a bunch of hippies and such protesting the war. I read in the Stars and Stripes (the newspaper we get every day) that some of them even had flags from North Vietnam they were waving.
In case anybody was confused, North Vietnam happens to be the folks we’re fighting against. Them and the Viet Cong. And neither is all that friendly when you get down to it.
If anybody in Fort Colson is protesting, you tell them to knock it off, would you? For me and all the other guys in country. It’s just making our hard job that much more difficult. You know how hard it is to be fighting for a bunch of people who are against you?
Besides, the NVA (North Vietnamese Army, in case you didn’t know) keeps saying that our own country is against us. That’s not exactly good for morale.
Sorry that I’m so grumpy. I haven’t slept very well since I got here. It’s not good for my temperament.
Other than that, I’m in one piece and eating three squares a day. Those squares happen to taste like cardboard covered in tasteless gravy sometimes. Other times it’s cardboard covered in gravy that has a flavor to it. Too bad that flavor happens to be stinky socks.
Anyway, I love all of you.
Mike