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By Root 1340 0

he’s saying I don’t dress or behave up to standards. I saw him at a local bar and went right over. I told him. I said get me off these menial jobs. We were standing jaw to jaw. He thought I’d say my piece and back off. But I stood right there. There were people pressing close. My mind was already working. Potential witnesses. I told him what I thought. That’s all. I didn’t wise off. I was simple and clear. I said I wanted fair treatment. I told him. I didn’t bait him. He said I was baiting him. He said I wouldn’t get him to fight. More trouble than it was worth. Lose him a stripe or something. Some guys egged us on. They told Rodriguez whip him good. But I wasn’t trying to get him to fight. I was stating my case in the matter. He called me maricón. He whispered to me, maricón, with a little sweet smile. I told him I know what that means. I heard Puerto Ricans use those words. I know those words. He said he was no Puerto Rican. I told him don’t use Puerto Rican words. It was heated then. They were all around us. Somebody shoved me and I spilled my beer all over Rodriguez. Accidentally spilled. I said you saw I was pushed. I told him. I didn’t apologize or make an excuse. It wasn’t my fault. There was shoving all around. I was only standing up for my military rights.”

“Regulate the voice,” Bobby whispered.

“So that was the second court-martial. But I defended myself this time. I questioned Rodriguez on the stand. I was proved not guilty of throwing my drink on him, which is technically an assault charge.”

“How come here we are, having this talk?”

“They said I was guilty of a lesser charge. Wrongful use of provoking words to a staff noncommissioned officer. Article one seventeen. Bang.”

“Slam the gate,” Bobby said.

He wore faded utilities that still carried the imprint of long-gone sergeant stripes and he worked in the fields, clearing stones and burning trash. The guard wore a .45 and kept his gun side turned away from the prisoners. There was no talking or rest. They worked in the rain. There were great billowing rains that first week, rain in broad expanses, slow and lilting. Smoke drifted over the men, smelling of wet garbage, half burnt. Their useless work trailed them through the day. He thought there was a good chance he would go to OCS. He’d passed the qualifying exam for corporal before shipping out. He’d be in good shape if it wasn’t for the shooting incident and the spilled-drink incident. He could still be in good shape. He was smart enough to make officer. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was would they let him. He cut brush and cleared fields of heavy stones. The issue was would they rig the thing against him.

“I landed here like a dream,” Dupard whispered that night. “I figure I’m already dead. It’s just a question they shovel the dirt in my face.”

“What did they charge you with?”

“There was a fire to my rack, which they accused me. But in my own mind I could like verbalize it either way. In other way of saying it, the evidence was weak.”

“But you did it.”

“It’s not that easy to say. I could go either way and be convinced in my own mind.”

“You’re not sure you really wanted to do it. You were just thinking about doing it.”

“I was like, Should I drop this cigarette?”

“It just seemed to happen while you were thinking it.”

“Like it happened on its own.”

“Did the rack go up?”

“Scorch some linen was all. Like you fall asleep a tenth of a second, smoking.”

“Why did you want to start a fire?”

“It’s a question of working it out in my own mind, the exact why I did it. Because the psychology is definitely there.”

“Then what?”

“Mainly one thing. I deserted.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to book on out of here,” Bobby said. “I am not a Marine. Simple. They ought to see that and just call a halt. Because the longer it goes on, there’s no chance I deal with this shit. ”

In the prison literature he’d read, Oswald was always coming across an artful old con who would advise the younger man, give him practical tips, talk in sweeping philosophical ways about the larger questions. Prison invited larger questions.