“Maybe not for you.”
“Not for anyone.”
“To talk about it, I have to think about it, and thinking about it makes me nervous. I like things calm. Still and calm.”
“Want to play some word association?”
Chase hesitated, then nodded, dreading the game that they often used to loosen his tongue. He frequently exposed more of himself in his answers than he wished to reveal. And Fauvel did not play the game according to established rules, but with a swift and vicious directness that cut to the heart of the matter. Nevertheless, Chase said, “Go on.”
Fauvel said, “Mother.”
“Dead.”
“Father.”
“Dead.”
Fauvel steepled his fingers as if he were a child playing the see-the-church game. “Love.”
“Woman.”
“Love.”
“Woman,” Chase repeated.
Fauvel did not look at him but stared studiously at the blue glass terrier on the bookshelf nearest him. “Don’t repeat yourself, please.”
Chase apologized, aware that it was expected. The first time that Fauvel had expected an apology in these circumstances, Chase had been surprised. They were therapist and patient, after all, and it seemed odd for the therapist to foster a dependent relationship in which the patient was encouraged to feel guilty for evasive answers. Session by session, however, he was less surprised at anything that Fauvel might suggest.
The doctor again said, “Love.”
“Woman.”
“Love. ”
“Woman.”
“I asked you not to repeat yourself.”
“I’m not a latent homosexual, if that’s what you’re after.”
Fauvel said, “But the simple ‘woman’ is an evasion.”
“Everything is an evasion.”
That observation appeared to surprise the doctor, but not enough to jar him out of the stubborn, wearying routine that he had begun. “Yes, everything is an evasion. But in this case it’s an egregious evasion, because there is no woman. You won’t allow one into your life. So, more honesty, if you will. Love.”
Already Chase was perspiring, and he did not know why.
“Love,” Fauvel insisted.
“Is a many splendored thing.”
“Unacceptable childishness.”
“Sorry.”
“Love.”
Chase finally said, “Myself.”
“But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Because you don’t love yourself ”
“No.”
“Very good,” Fauvel said. Now the interchange of words went faster, one barked close after the other, as if speed counted in the scoring. Fauvel said, “Hate.”
“You.”
“Funny.”
“Thanks.”
“Hate.”
“Self-destructive.”
“Another evasion. Hate.”
“Army.”
“Hate.”
“Vietnam.”
“Hate.”
“Guns.”
“Hate.”
“Zacharia,” Chase said, although he had often sworn never to mention that name again or to remember the man attached to it or, indeed, to recall the events that the man had perpetrated.
“Hate,” Fauvel persisted.
“Another word, please.”
“No. Hate.”
“Lieutenant Zacharia.”
“It goes deeper than Zacharia.”
“I know.”
“Hate.”
“Me,” Chase said.
“And that’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” After a silence, the doctor said, “Okay, let’s back up from you to Zacharia. Do you remember what Lieutenant Zacharia ordered you to do, Benjamin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What were those orders?”
“We’d sealed off two back entrances to a Cong tunnel system.”
“And?”
“Lieutenant Zacharia ordered me to clear the last entrance.”
“How did you accomplish that?”
“With a grenade, sir.”
“And?”
“And then before the air around the tunnel face could clear, I went forward.”
“And?”
“And used a machine gun.”
“Good.”
“Not so good, sir.”
“Good that you can at least talk about it.”
Chase was silent.
“What happened then, Benjamin?”
“Then we went down, sir.”
“We?”
“Lieutenant Zacharia, Sergeant Coombs, Privates Halsey and Wade, a couple of other men.”
“And you.”
“Yeah. Me.”
“Then?”
“In the tunnel, we found four dead men and parts of men lying in the foyer of the complex. Lieutenant Zacharia ordered a cautious advance. A hundred fifty yards along, we came to a bamboo gate.”
“Blocking the way.
“Yeah. Villagers behind it.”
“Tell me about the villagers.”
“Mostly women.”
“How many women, Ben?”
“Maybe twenty.”
“Children?” Fauvel asked.
Silence was a refuge.
“Were there children?”
Chase sank down in the heavy padding of the armchair, shoulders drawn up as if he wished to hide between them. “A few.”
“They were imprisoned there?”
“No. The bamboo was an obstacle. The Cong tunnels ran a lot deeper than that, a lot farther. We hadn’t even reached the weapons cache. The villagers were assisting the Vietcong, collaborating with them, obstructing us.”