Brendan DuBois - Dead of Night

‘Why did you do it, then?’ I asked gently. We had never had this kind of conversation before, and I was desperate to take it as far as I could.

It was like my father couldn’t look at me, so he kept his gaze focused on his teacup. ‘By the time I got back home, I was exhausted, Samuel. I had some intestinal bug that was chewing me up from the inside out. Our intervention had been a failure, no matter what glowing stories your friends at the Star or Globe or Mail had written. Your mother had packed up and gone to Florida. I felt as though the UN, the all-bloody and all-powerful UN, had screwed us over pretty good. I had argued and fought for my boys, to give them good quarters, to keep them busy, and I had failed. I had failed pretty badly. So when the rumors started that a couple of them had done bad things back there, had tortured and killed a couple of young thieves… Well, no excuses, Samuel. No excuses. But what was I going to do? Go out of my way to help those who had screwed us? Give the UN the benefit of the doubt? Hell, no. My first reaction was to deny everything, to protect my boys. That’s what I did. And we all paid the price.’

I took a breath. ‘You did what you thought was right.’

A brief smile flickered across my father’s face. ‘Thanks -I think. Though the Chief of Staff and a jury and a bunch of newspapers disagreed with you. So here I am, a disgrace and cashiered out.’

‘So here you are,’ I said.

He finished off his tea with a satisfied slurp. ‘When can you get packed up?’

‘Excuse me?’

He put the cup down with a loud rattle. ‘Come along, Samuel. I said, when can you get packed up? I’m not done here yet. I’m here to take you back home.’

Our moment of bonding, it seemed, had just passed. ‘No.’

‘Samuel, be reasonable. You’ve been through a lot, right? Captured and beaten up and escaped, finally getting out free and safe. Shit, boy, you’ve done everything the blue helmets have asked of you and then some. Give yourself a break, get on back home while you can.’

‘What do you mean, while I can?’

My father looked around him for a second. Then he said, his voice lower: ‘Look. The Yanks have a real sense of pride and honor. How do you think they’re feeling, having the UN and foreign armies trooping through some of their territories? They only got here during a moment of weakness, after the Manhattan bombing, after the balloon strikes, after the uprisings and the killings of the refugees. A good chunk of the country that doesn’t have militias, that doesn’t have armed gangs terrorizing its people, well, they probably didn’t give a crap at the beginning. Anything to stop the killing. But now that most of the killing has stopped, that majority still sees Ukrainians and Germans and Hungarians trooping through the countryside. A lot of people are getting pissed, Samuel. Oh, there may be a new armistice soon, very soon, but just as certain as that is that one of these days the US Army or the Marines are going to take matters into their own hands and kick everybody out. And I know the Americans. When they kick someone out, it’s sure to be bloody. So come on home, Samuel. That’s where you belong.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I belong here.’

‘Samuel, you’re being unreasonable, you’re being—’

‘Father, it’s over. All right? I’m staying here, doing my job, because it’s important. As important to me as being in the army was for you. All right? Discussion over. I’m staying with the UN and staying in the States, if they want me. And if you want to have a discussion you’ll have it by yourself, because I’ll get up and leave. Right now.’

My father’s face reddened some more and then he surprised me for the first time in a long time. He actually laughed. ‘Damn it, boy. Good for you. I can’t say I agree with you and I don’t, but damn it anyway, good for you. I always wondered if you had the balls my father and grandfather had, and I’m glad to see that you do.’

He leaned over the table, gently punched me on the shoulder, which was about as emotional as I’d ever seen the old man. ‘OK, stay here. Do what you think’s best. And if your young ass gets lost again, I’ll come back to look for you. Deal?’

I found myself actually smiling. ‘OK. Deal.’

‘Hello there,’ came a lovely voice. I looked up and my father turned round in his chair as Miriam approached, bringing a tray overflowing with dishes and saucers and coffee cups. She smiled at me and said, ‘It took some convincing the nice servers but I’ve got all of us some breakfast. May I join you?’

‘Absolutely,’ I said, and my father joined in, stepping up to help her with the tray and then retrieving a chair for her. Smiling all the while, he said, ‘Young lady, if Samuel hadn’t said yes, I surely would have.’

She smiled back at that and I said, ‘Miriam, I’d like you to meet my father, Ronald Simpson, lately a colonel in the Canadian Army, who’s been here for the past few days looking for his lost son.’

They shook hands and Miriam said, ‘What a wonderful father you are, to come look for Samuel.’

My father just blushed at that. I looked at Miriam and said, ‘Yes, you’re quite right, Miriam.’

‘Excuse me?’ she asked, and even my father looked a bit confused. I went on, looking at them both. ‘You’re absolutely right. He was a wonderful father, to come find me.’

Miriam started talking but my father, speaking gruffly, said, ‘Come on, kids, let’s eat, before it gets cold.’

Which was what we did.

Miriam had gotten the three of us bowls of oatmeal, with some toast and sausage links on the side, and coffee and orange juice. As we ate I felt this odd calmness come over me, as though things were finally making sense, were finally coming together. All through breakfast my father was a charming gentleman, something I found hard to believe, though I had memories from my childhood of how, maybe at Christmas time, my father would smile and joke and even sing. He told a few tales of when I was younger to Miriam, stuff about falling down a heating vent when it was open for repairs, or going door-to-door trying to sell discarded cigar butts, and even I smiled at the old stories.

When breakfast was finished, Miriam said, ‘Colonel Simpson..

My father shook his head. ‘Please, call me Ronald. Or Ron.’

Miriam smiled, nodded. ‘Very well, Ronald. Can I ask you something?’

‘Ma’am, the time when I cannot answer a question from a beautiful lady such as yourself will be the day I’ll hear dirt falling on the lid of my coffin. Go ahead. Ask away.’

Miriam said, ‘In the time you’ve spent here, have you heard anything about the armistice talks? Are they proceeding?’

My father wiped his fingers with a paper napkin. ‘Yes, they are proceeding.’ And he shot me a look as though he was reminding me of our previous talk. ‘And I’m sure they will succeed eventually. Perhaps today. Perhaps next week. But in the long run… as I’ve told Samuel, I don’t think in the long run that being here with the UN will be healthy. I sense bad times coming, once the people—everywhere, not just in the states with active militia — once the people decide the UN has been here long enough and must go.’

Miriam reached under the table, squeezed my leg. ‘Thank you. And I’ll tell you, in the long run I don’t intend to remain in the UN. And perhaps neither does your son.’

That got my father’s attention. ‘Really?’

‘Truly,’ she said. ‘I am considering joining Médecins Sans Frontières, and Samuel has expressed an interest as well. One of these days.’

‘Ah, Doctors Without Borders. A noble group. It sounds wonderful. But a bit of advice?’