March 15, 10.48 a.m.
Inside the lobby of the Museum of Tolerance, Carney stopped and took out a handkerchief. He wiped his brow and leaned down to feel his leg with a grimace. He tried to move on his metal crutches. The two security men stared across. One of them said something to the other. Carney’s training told him two things about getting through security – get noticed and then get the guards themselves noticed. Guards don’t like to be embarrassed.
Carney acknowledged their look and started over to them. His right leg slipped from under him and he sprawled to the floor, his leg lying straight as if injured. Carney yelled in pain. He tried to push himself to his feet but he couldn’t get up. One of the beefcakes moved slowly across.
‘Help me!’ Carney shouted.
The guard looked awkward as he crossed the marble floor.
‘Sorry, man, this is real embarrassing,’ said Carney. ‘I can’t get this attached without a seat.’
‘No problem, sir. I’ll fix you up.’ The guy put his hands under Carney’s arms, picked him up and helped him across to a bench seat.
‘God, I hate these injuries. Humiliate the life out of me at every moment,’ said Carney.
‘How’d you hurt the leg?’
‘You in the service?’ asked the security guard.
‘Yeah, until the IED blast. You’re a soldier too, right?’ said Carney.
The security guard showed his tattoo. A Marine. Carney nodded.
‘Those bastards bombed the fuck out of us and what did our government do? They withdrew troops.’
‘It’s too bad.’
Carney shook his head. He felt close to tears. Sincere tears. He pushed down his jeans and stood up.
‘I gotta thank you, fella.’
‘Not a problem. Good to help a soldier.’
Carney stood up and, with the aid of his crutches, hopped towards the gate with the security guard. ‘I hope I didn’t embarrass you.’
‘Not at all. War wound is something to be proud of.’
‘You’re a real gent.’ Carney pointed at the metal detector. ‘You don’t want me to hop through there without these babies, do you? I’ll be flat on the floor again if you do.’
‘No, man, that’s cool, just walk through.’
Carney walked through. The machine beeped. He stopped and turned.
‘Am I all right to go on?’
‘Sure, man, take it easy.’
Carney walked slowly down the corridor away from the gate. He could feel the sweat soaking his shirt and his hands shaking, but he was smiling now, not that they could see it. He found the elevator, pressed the button and waited.
The problem was that Lucy was about the only person he’d ever felt safe with. Why was it? Why was he so complicated? A Jew who was not a Jew, who hated Jews, who was betrayed by a Jew. He had felt safe with hatred. Hatred silenced all his self-loathing.
Carney walked into the bathroom on the second floor. He felt warm and flushed. He threw water over his face. She’d remember him after today, wouldn’t she? In the mirror, a worn-out man stared back at him. Older than his years. He was tired, red and looked mad as hell. In his head, he’d felt like a hero. He turned his face away quickly.
He took out a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and opened it up. On it, the words looked small and hazy. He couldn’t focus, even in the bright fluorescent lights of the toilet. He recited the words. One powerful paragraph. Only eighty-eight words.