The major outlined the crisis.
It begins in the Sea of Japan. An AMAC destroyer of the Seventh Fleet, on maneuvers, is strafed by two NORKOR MIGs. Damage is light; there are no casualties. Two days later a Polaris submarine in the East Siberian Sea is reported missing. In Germany three high-ranking agents defect to the West; unmarked planes drop leaflets over East Berlin, over Prague, over Budapest. There are a dozen explosions of suspicious origin at military bases throughout Spain and Turkey. An unmanned AMAC intelligence plane is downed by COMCHIN missiles in the Formosa Strait. Fires break out on successive days at the atomic power laboratory in Los Alamos and in the civil defense command center at Cheyenne Mountain. The commander of an AMAC truck convoy, following orders, fails to stop at an East German roadblock along the Autobahn; shots are exchanged and the convoy breaks through. A Dutch-built factory ship, being delivered to NORKOR, is struck by torpedoes and sunk outside Chongjin. COMRUS objects strongly. Several explosions damage Nike-Hercules installations on Okinawa. COMCHIN negotiators suspend talks with the Japanese over ownership of the Senkaku Islands in the East China Sea. Within a time-frame of ten hours there are over a dozen small clashes, involving demonstrators and troops, on both sides of the Berlin wall. Messages are exchanged. There are reports that Egyptian troops have retaken El Arish. COMRUS demands gradual allied withdrawal from West Berlin. COMRUS demands withdrawal of all AMAC auditors in Indochina. NATO reports large-scale troop movements west of Leipzig, east of Lübeck, near Klatovy. COMRUS claims an overkill factor of three in relation to Western Europe. A dozen light bombers of the Warsaw Pact air forces are spotted over Bonn. An RAF reconnaissance plane is shot down by MIG-23S after violating East German airspace. More ultimatums. Troops of the Warsaw Pact nations, using conventional weapons, clash with NATO forces at three different locales along the West German frontier. SAC is put on alert. Twelve COMRUS infantry divisions — about a hundred twenty thousand men — are moved to Western Europe from Lake Baikal north of Mongolia. AMAC navy jets from the carrier Kitty Hawk engage COMRUS aircraft two hundred miles south of Vladivostok. COMCHIN explodes a thirty-megaton device at its test site in northern Tibet. The use of tactical nuclear weapons by an AMAC ground unit in West Germany is at first denied and then claimed to be accidental. A brief cessation of hostilities. Charges and countercharges. COMRUS (Staley) and AMAC (Harkness) are approaching a state of war.
The major went through this scenario very slowly. He referred to his maps at least ten times, showing me the precise locations of certain countries, cities, military bases. Often he paused during these map readings as if waiting for me to comment, perhaps on the subtle geographic patterns he had devised for the various conflicts. I had trouble finding any particular pattern but I could tell quite easily how much time and work he had put into the project. It seemed almost sad. I was hardly a competent enemy. I had no experience in this sort of thing. I had been plagued by joyous visions of apocalypse but I was not at all familiar with the professional manipulations, both diplomatic and military, which might normally precede any kind of large-scale destruction. All I could do was try to react intelligently, if that word can be used, to whatever the major did with his divisions, his air force, his warships, his missiles. I wasn’t feeling very involved. In fact I considered the scenario somewhat boring despite all the frenzy and tension. At this point the major set down the rules for the second and final part of the game, the part in which I would participate, and he also invited me to share an elaborate chart he had prepared, using information taken from a study by some military research institute. Before we started, he said he was working on a totally simulated world situation — seven major nations of his own making, seventeen major cities, an unspecified (secret) number of military installations, fairly complete demographic, economic, social, religious, racial and meteorological characteristics for each nation. He would have it ready for us in two or three weeks; it would be a much more pure form of gaming than the one we were using now.
At length we began. It took only twelve major steps or moves to complete the game and yet we were at it for more than three hours. It was the strangest thing I had ever taken part in. There were insights, moves, minor revelations that we savored together. Silences between moves were extremely grave. Talk was brief and pointed. Small personal victories (of tactics, of imagination) were genuinely satisfying. Mythic images raged in my mind.
(1) Nuclear-powered COMRUS submarines enter the Gulf of Mexico. An AMAC carrier of the Sixth Fleet is badly damaged by enemy aircraft in the Mediterranean.
(2) Seven COMRUS trawlers are sunk off the coast of Oregon. Missiles fired by Vulcan surface-to-air batteries destroy two MIG-21 fighter planes near Mannheim.
(3) COMRUS troops invade Western Europe. The atomic test site at Amchitka in the Aleutians is believed wiped out.
(4) SAC bombers assume maximum attack posture. The President leaves the White House situation room and boards Air Force One.
(5) COMRUS explodes a one-megaton nuclear device high in the air over territory west of Brussels, causing virtually no damage to property.
(6) SAC bombers attack a limited number of COMRUS military targets, using low-yield kiloton bombs to reduce collateral damage.
(7) Partial evacuation of major COMRUS cities. ICBMs hit strategic targets throughout Europe. COMRUS medium-range bombers attack AMAC air bases in England. Long-range missiles hit Grand Forks AFB in North Dakota.
(8) AMAC ICBMs, B–52S and B–58S strike at air bases, dams, bridges, railroads and missile sites deep inside COMRUS territory. The Tallinn missile defense system is hit and partially destroyed. The antimissile complexes on the western outskirts of Moscow are badly damaged. AMAC orders almost total evacuation of major cities.
(9) COMRUS orders almost total evacuation of major cities. Three Polaris submarines in the North Atlantic are destroyed. Radar installations in Alaska and Greenland are wiped out. Titan installations surrounding Tucson in Arizona are hit by COMRUS SS—9 missiles with warheads totaling nearly 100 megatons. Tucson is rendered uninhabitable by fallout.
(10) The city-busting begins. Selected population centers within COMRUS borders are hit by Minuteman 3 ICBMs carrying MIRV warheads. Polaris submarines in the North Sea and the Baltic fire missiles at selected sites. SAC bombers raid selected cities from Murmansk to Vladivostok.
(11) Washington, D.C., is hit with a 25-megaton device. New York and Los Angeles are hit with SS-11 missiles.
(12) SIMcap dictates spasm response.
The telephone rang. Major Staley turned quickly in his chair, terrified for a long second, and then simply stared at the commonplace black instrument as it continued to ring.
30
MYNA RETURNED FROM CHRISTMAS VACATION many pounds lighter. When I saw her, I didn’t know how to react. She was having coffee with the Chalk sisters in the student lounge and I stood in the doorway a moment, trying to prepare a suitable remark or two. She was wearing a white cotton blouse; her hair was combed straight back and ribboned at the nape of the neck. Vera Chalk saw me and waved me over, gesturing urgently her face expressing news of colossal wonders. The sisters put their hands on me as soon as I sat down, scratching at my arms and chest in their glee at finding an object toward which to direct their effusions.
“Look at her, Gary.”
“I’m looking. Hi. I’m virtually speechless.”
“Hi,” Myna said.
“It’s just the beginning,” Esther said. “She’s got twenty more pounds to go. She’s lost twenty and she’s got twenty to go. In other words she’s halfway there.”
“Just look at her,” Vera said. “She’s like a new person. She looks unbelievable. I’m so happy for her. I can’t believe how much better she looks. Gary, what do you think?”
“I think it’s unbelievable.”
“I’m ecstatic on her behalf. I really am.”
“Don’t use that word,” Esther said.
“Ecstatic.”
“You know how much I hate t
hat word, you spiteful bitch.”
“Ec-stat-ic.”
“Now quit it, Vera.”
“You’re not supposed to call me that. Gary, she knows how much I loathe and despise my name.”
“Vera.”
“Ecstatic. More ecstatic. Most ecstatic.”
“Vera beera. One little lira for a glass of Vera beera.”
“Ecstasy of ecstasies.”
“Enough,” I said.
“I’ll stop if she will,” Esther said. “Besides we’re supposed to be discussing Myna. Gary, don’t you think it’s unbelievable?”
“It’s unbelievable. It really is.”
“Are you just saying that? Or do you really think it?”
“I’m just saying it. I don’t know what to think. It’s too early yet. I need time to reflect.”
“Don’t be such a picayune shit,” Vera said.
“I had to do it, Gary. It became a question of self-definition. I was just moping along like an unreal person. I used to look forward to nothing-type things. I never really faced my own reality. I was satisfied just consuming everything that came along. But after only twenty pounds, things are already starting to be different. I’m beginning to catch my own reflection everywhere I go. I’m being forced to face myself as a person instead of somebody who just mopes along consuming everything that’s put in front of her. Gary, I’ve spent too much time on nothing-type things. I used to think three meals ahead. I used to be satisfied figuring out which dress I was going to wear with whichever dumb shoes. I used to work these things out in my head for hours. It really made me happy working out my combinations. These shoes, that dress, this bracelet. The sweater with the purple star and the dumb blue boots. The sculptured brass peace symbol strung on rawhide and the turquoise dishrag tunic with drawstring neck and full sleeves. These things were my doggy treats. I did a good trick and I got a doggy treat. The whole process took me further away from myself and made my life a whole big thing of consumption, consuming, consume. Purple-star sweaters, antique pendants, beaded chokers, organic nuts, horoscopes, science-fiction movies, four-dollar transparent soap, big English cars, Mexican villas, ecology, pink rolling paper, brownies, seaweed with my pork chops, soy noodles, dacron, rayon, orlon acrylic, Fortrel polyester, Lycra spandex, leather, vinyl, suede, velvet, velours, canvas. I shoveled it all in and all I did was bury my own reality and independentness. The whole business of going to Mexico to do nothing but smoke dope was all part of the fatness thing. Gary, I know you liked me fat but at least with the responsibilities of beauty I’ll have a chance to learn exactly or pretty exactly what I can be, with no built-in excuses or cop-outs or anything. I’m not just here to comfort you. You can’t expect to just come searching for me for comfort. I want other things now. I’m ready to find out whether I really exist or whether I’m something that’s just been put together as a market for junk, mail.”
“It’s all very existential.”
“Don’t use words,” Esther said. “Either you like her this way or you don’t. You can’t get out of it with words.”
“I have to get used to the new situation. I need time to get accustomed.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Myna said.
“That’s all.”
“Are you sure it’s not that you’re definitely against it? Because if you are, it would be better if you said so now.”
“I have to get used to it. Time. That’s all. I need time.”
“You’re really sure, Gary?”
“Myna, we’ve known each other for a number of months. We’ve been very close to each other. We’ve shared some unforgettable moments. Would I lie to you?”
“No, I don’t think you would, Gary. Not in a pinch.”
“Define pinch.”
“He’s being picayune again,” Esther said. “If he can’t see what’s staring him in the face, he needs more than time. I think he’s being real dippy about this.”
“So do I,” Vera said.
“He’s being ridiculous beyond belief.”
“For once I have to agree with you. It’s nice to think alike for a change. In fact the situation makes me ecstatic.”
“Oh you bitch. You damn rotten bitch.”
“Ecstatico.”
“And you’re the one who’s into the gospels. Who’s into charity and love thy neighbor. Who comes around yapping to me about the power of miracles.”
“Without belief in miracles, we are like reeds shaken with the wind,” Vera said.
“She’s into miracles real heavy.”
“I’m a miracle freak, Gary.”
I walked back to Staley Hall. It was a blank afternoon, windless and pale, not too cold, the sun hidden, a faint haze obscuring the reduplicated landscape beyond the campus. I went to my room. Bloomberg was in bed, neatly blanketed, reading one of my ROTC manuals.
“They use simple declarative sentences,” he said.
I put my coat away and looked out the window for a while. Then I stared at my right thumb. It seemed important to create every second with infinite care, as at the beginning or nearing the end of momentous ordeals. I spent ten minutes learning a new word. Finally, in my gray corduroy trousers and gray shirt, I went down the hall to Taft Robinson’s room.
I paused in his doorway, realizing suddenly that I spent a good deal of time in doorways, that I had always spent a lot of time in doorways, that much of my life had been passed this way. I was forever finding myself pausing in a doorway or standing before a window, looking into rooms and out of them, waiting to be tapped on the shoulder by an impeccably dressed gentleman whose flesh has grown over his mouth.
Taft sat cross-legged on the bed, his back to the wall, a sagging newspaper spread from knee to knee. I took a chair by the door. The room seemed slightly more bare than it had the last time I’d visited. Perhaps there was one less chair now or something gone from the floor, a wastebasket or magazine rack.
Taft wore his dark glasses. We were silent for a time. He looked at the newspaper. I didn’t experience any particular sense of tension in the room. Sooner or later one of us would say or do something. Then either or both of us would be in a position to decide exactly what had been said or done. I thought of going to stand by the window so that I might assess more clearly and from a somewhat greater altitude the relevant words or action. Then I realized that the very act of going to stand by the window would be the action itself, the selfsame action subject to interpretation. Taft continued to look at the newspaper. I was getting annoyed at the direction of my thoughts. My eyes attempted to focus upon the room’s precise geometric center — that fixed point equidistant from the four corners and midway between ceiling and floor. Then Taft’s left shoulder twitched a bit, an involuntary shudder, a minor quake in some gleaming arctic nerve. That faint break in basic structure was enough to alter every level of mood. It was all I could do to keep my lips from inching into a slight smile.
“A hundred thousand welcomes,” he said.
“Thought I’d drop by.”
“Come right in. Find a chair and make yourself right at home. I see you’ve already got a chair. If I’m not mistaken, you’re already in the room and you’re already seated.”
“That’s correct. I’m here and seated. What you see, in fact, is exactly what you think you see.”
“We might as well begin then.”
“Begin what?” I said.
“The dialogue. The exchange of words. The phrases and sentences.”
“I don’t really have anything to say, Taft. I just came by to visit. I like it here. It’s a nice room. It appeals to me. I really like it. We don’t have to talk unless you want to.”
“I wouldn’t mind talking. But what’s there to talk about?”
“I was thinking the same thing when I came down the hall. That’s why I say we don’t have to talk unless you want to. Or unless I want to. One of us at any rate.”
“I’m not very talkative, Gary. I go whole days without saying a word
. Although there are times when I get the urge to babble. No subject in particular. Just babble on. Any kind of talk just to talk. But I don’t think this is one of my babbling times. So we may have to work at it. I mean what’ll we talk about? If we can get together on what to talk about, I’d be willing to talk.”
“So would I,” I said.
“Should we think separately about possible subjects for conversation and then report back to each other? Or what? I’m open to suggestion.”
“There’s always the common ground. There’s football. I’m sure there’s something in the whole vast spectrum of football that we can discuss for a few minutes to our mutual profit. For instance, I might point out that time is flying right along. In three months, you know what — thwack, thwack, thwack. We’ll have the: pads on. We’ll be hitting. Three months plus a few days.”
“Spring practice,” he said.
“Boosh, boosh, boosh. Thwack, thwack.”
“There’s not too much for me to say on the subject of spring practice, Gary.”
“Why not?”
“I won’t be there. I’m all through with football. I don’t want to play football anymore.”
“That’s impossible. You can’t be serious. What do you want to do if you don’t want to play football?”
“I want to concentrate on my studies.”
“Studies? Concentrate on what studies?”
“There are books in this room,” he said. “I go to class every day. I think about things. I study. I read and formulate. There’s plenty to concentrate on. I’m instructing myself in certain disciplines.”
“Taft, you can always fit it in. I mean it’s football we’re talking about. Nobody reads and studies all day long. You can easily make time for football. I mean it’s not swimming or track or some kind of extracurricular thing we’re talking about here. It’s football. It’s football, Taft.”