Ben Fountain - Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk

Eh-hem. Ah ha. Ha ha. He was Denise’s boss so there was some awkwardness about imbibing in the A.M., but Whalers was a sport and pretended not to notice. Balding, liver-spotted, about forty pounds overweight, with a wardrobe that ran to checked blazers and stay-pressed slacks, he was what passed for money in Stovall, the founder of the moderately prosperous oilfield-services company where Denise had worked as office manager for fifteen years. “Miz Lynn’s the real boss around here,” he liked to tell visitors, laughing affectionately in her direction. “I just try to stay out of the way and let her run the place.” They served him a Diet Coke and moved the chairs into the shade just off the patio. Denise and Patty sat on either side of their guest, while Billy took a perch on the patio wall. Kathryn lolled like a lioness on a nearby beach towel. Brian was somewhere in the house, ostensibly in the care of his chain-smoking grandfather.

“Your mother tells me you’re home just for today,” said Mr. Whaley.

“That’s correct, sir.” It was a challenge, maintaining eye contact while spuming your beer-breath off to the side.

“No rest for the weary, eh.” Mr. Whaley chuckled. “Where’ve they sent you so far?”

Billy rattled off the cities. Washington, Richmond, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Minneapolis — St. Paul, Columbus, Denver, Kansas City, Raleigh-Durham, Phoenix, Pittsburgh, Tampa Bay, Miami, and practically every one, as Sergeant Dime pointed out, happened to lie in an electoral swing state. Though Billy didn’t say this.

Mr. Whaley took a dainty sip of Coke. “What’s your reception been like?”

“People’ve been really nice everywhere we go.”

“I’m not surprised. Listen, the vast majority of Americans strongly support this war.” Whenever Whaley’s gaze happened to land on Kathryn, he practically fainted with the effort of tearing his eyes away. “Nobody wants to go to war, goodness sakes, but people know sometimes it’s necessary. This terror thing, I think the only way to deal with that type of agenda is to go straight to the source and rip it out by the roots. Because that crowd’s not going away by themselves, am I right?”

“They’re extremely committed, a lot of them,” Billy replied. “They don’t back down.”

“There you go. Either we fight them over there or we fight them over here, that’s the way most Americans see it.”

Denise and Patty nodded with bovine agreeableness. Kathryn, meanwhile, had sat up straight and pulled her knees to her chest; she was following the conversation with real attention, looking from Billy to Mr. Whaley as if their talk contained a code she was trying to break. Heroes, Whaley said. Iraq. Freedoms. Gaining freedoms to make our own freedoms more secure . Then he asked about the movie deal, sagely nodding as Billy explained their progress to date.

“You’ll want a lawyer to take a look before you sign anything.”

“Yes sir.”

“I can fix you up with my firm in Fort Worth, if you like.”

“That would be great. I’d sure appreciate that, sir.”

“Son, it’s the least I can do. You’ve made us all proud, not just your family and friends but all of us here, the entire community. You’ve given this whole town a tremendous boost.”

Billy summoned his most modest chuckle. “I don’t know about that, sir.”

“Listen, everybody’s so damn proud of you, pardon my French, if word got out you were home today there’d be cars lined up from here to the airstrip. Oh yes!” he cried in a playfully ferocious voice. “Now, we didn’t know soon enough to get it together this time, but next time you’re home we want to have a parade in your honor. I already spoke with Mayor Bond and he’s on board, he talked with the city council and they’re on board. We want Stovall to honor you in the way you deserve.”

“Thank you, sir. I do appreciate that.”

“No, son, thank you . What you’ve done just says so much about who we are—”

“He has to go back,” Kathryn broke in.

Everyone turned to her.

“To Iraq,” she added, as if this wasn’t entirely clear.

“Yes,” said Mr. Whaley in mournful tones, “your mother told me that.”

“So they’re gonna get another shot at him.”

“Kathryn!” Denise scolded.

“Well it’s true! If it’s supposed to be this great Victory Tour then why can’t he just stay home?”

Mr. Whaley’s voice was gentle. “It’s fine young men like your brother who are going to lead us to victory.”

“Not if they’re dead.”

“ Kathryn! ” Denise cried again. Billy felt like an innocent bystander in all this. It wasn’t his place to say one way or the other.

“We will pray every day for Billy’s safe return,” said Mr. Whaley, soothing as the doctor with the best bedside manner. “Just as we pray for all our troops, we want them all to come home safely.”

“Oh God, he’s going to pray, ” Kathryn snarled to herself, then she screamed, a guttural urrrrrrggggghhhhh like an in-sink disposal backing up. “I’m losing my mind out here,” she cried, and like a sword being drawn from its sheath she rose in one swift motion and stalked toward the house. The rest of the group sat quietly for several moments, waiting for the area turbulence to subside.

“That young lady’s been through a lot,” Mr. Whaley ventured. Denise started to apologize, but he waved her off. “No, no, she’s had to deal with so much in her young life. When’s her next surgery?”

“February,” said Denise, “then one more after that. The doctors say that ought to be the last.”

“She’s made a remarkable recovery, that’s for sure. The past year hasn’t been easy on the Lynns, has it, and with Billy doing all he’s doing overseas, I know that makes it a special sacrifice. And Billy, if it’ll ease your mind any, I want you to know you’ve got a standing offer to come work for me when you’re done with your military service. All you’ve got to do is say the word.”

Now there was a depressing thought, although Billy could see how it might come to that, assuming best-case scenario he made it home with all his limbs and faculties intact. He’d go to work for Whalers hauling oil-field pipe and blowout protectors all over the wind-scrappled barrens of Central Texas, busting his ass for slightly more than minimum wage and shitty benefits.

“Thank you, sir. I may be taking you up on that.”

“Well, I just want you to know you’ve got options here. I’d be honored to have you on our team.”

Billy had been trying to avoid a certain thought, a realization born of his recent immersion in the swirl of limos, luxury hotels, fawning VIPs; he knew intuitively the thought would bring him down and so it did, mushrooming into awareness despite all best efforts. Mr. Whaley was small-time. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t particularly successful or smart, he even exuded a sad sort of desperate shabbiness. Mr. Whaley will return to the forefront of Billy’s mind on Thanksgiving Day as he hobs and nobs at the Cowboys game with some of Texas’s wealthiest citizens. The Mr. Whaleys of the world are peons to them, just as Billy is a peon in the world of Mr. Whaley, which in the grand scheme of things means that he, Billy, is somewhere on the level of a one-celled protozoan in a vast river flowing into the untold depths of the sea. He’s been having many such existential spasms lately, random seizures of futility and pointlessness that make him wonder why it matters how he lives his life. Why not wild out, go off on a rape-and-pillage binge as opposed to abiding by the moral code? So far he’s sticking to the code, but he wonders if he does just because it’s easier, requires less in the way of energy and balls. As if the bravest thing he ever did — bravest plus truest to himself — was the ecstatic destruction of pussy boy’s Saab? As if his deed on the banks of the Al-Ansakar Canal was a digression from the main business of his life.