The Corps I - Semper Fi

Ke

He paused then to blow his nose and wipe his eyes.

"And now this," his father went on. "Maybe God is punishing me for something I done in my youth. I don't know, Your Honor."

"I'll hear your side of this," His Honor said to the incorrigible.

Who replied that good ol' Pat had slapped his eldest-just turned seventeen-son one time too many. And his eldest son (otherwise known to this court as the accused, Ke

And that had made of loving Father so pissed that he came after die accused with the base of the table lamp. After he'd demonstrated his willingness to use it by smashing the Philco radio and the glass in the bookcases and the plaster statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the accused had fled the premises and sought refuge in the rectory of Saint Rose of Lima Roman Catholic Church. There he had remained until, accompanied by the good Father Zoghby, he surrendered himself to the Norristown Police to face charges. Good of loving Father Pat McCoy had accused his eldest son of assault with intent to do bodily harm as well as general all-around incorrigibility and heathenism and ungrateful sonism.

"I'm sorry he cut his face," the accused mumbled to the judge.

"That's all?"

"Yes, sir."

It had already been arranged, Father Zoghby had told him when he'd come to the jail. He'd had a word with the judge. To spare his family any further shame and humiliation, the judge would drop all charges on condition that the accused join the U.S. Marine Corps for four years.

Later he'd tried to send his civvies home in the box they gave you at Parris Island, but it had come back marked REFUSED. So had die letters he'd written at first to his mother and A

While McCoy was still ru

"A

"I can't ask him," McCoy said.

The priest looked at him for a moment, and McCoy sensed that he was making up his mind. Then the priest stepped outside and closed the rectory door after him.

"Maybe I can help you," he said.

He led him past the church building, then down the cracked concrete walkway to the school buildings-the grammar school to the left and the larger, newer Saint Rose of Lima High School building to the right-and finally to the nun's residence.

He spoke first to Sister Gregory, who recognized McCoy as she looked down at him from the steps of the residence, but acted as if she had never seen him before in her life. She went back inside, and a minute later Sister Paul appeared at the door and walked down the steps to where McCoy and the young priest stood.

"How are you, Ke

"I'm all right, Sister," McCoy said. "How are you?"

"Have you made things right between you and God, Ke

"I don't know, Sister," McCoy said.

"You're not going to make trouble are you, Ke

"I just came home from China," McCoy said. "I want to see A

"You were in China, were you?"

"Yes, Sister."

"A

"Do you know where she is?"

"Here in Norristown," Sister Paul said. "She's taken up with a Protestant."

"Excuse me?"

"She chose to marry a young man outside the Church. He's a Protestant whose name is Schulter. He has the Amoco station at Ninth and Walnut. They have two babies, a little girl and a little boy."

"Thank you. Sister Paul," McCoy said.

"I don't want you to do anything, Ke

Chapter Eight

(One)

The man who walked out to the pump island when McCoy drove in wore an Amoco uniform: a striped shirt and trousers with a matching billed cap. There was an Amoco insignia on the brow of the cap and a nameplate, "Dutch," was sewn to the shirt breast. The man was about thirty, McCoy judged, and already wearing a spare tire.

"Fill it with high-test, sir?" he asked.

McCoy nodded. After Dutch had opened the hood, McCoy got out of the car.

"You must have just had the oil changed," Dutch said, showing McCoy the dipstick. "Clean as a whistle and right to the top."

"Your name Schulter?" McCoy asked.

"That's right," Dutch said, warily curious.

"I'm A

Dutch hesitated a moment and then put out his hand. "Dutch Schulter," he said. "I heard-she told me-you was in the Marines."

"I am," McCoy said.

"You must be doing all right in the Marines," Dutch Schulter said, making a vague gesture first at the LaSalle. and then at McCoy himself.

"I do all right," McCoy said.

The gas pump made a chugging noise when the automatic filler nozzle was triggered. Dutch Schulter moved to the rear of the car, topped off the tank, then hung the hose up. McCoy looked at the pump. Eleven point seven gallons at 23.9 cents a gallon: $2.79. He took a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off a ten-dollar bill.

Dutch Schulter handed the change to him, together with a Coca-Cola glass.

"They're free with a fill-up," he said.

"How do I get to see my sister?" McCoy said.

Schulter looked at him for a moment as if making up his mind, and then raised his voice: "Mickey!"

A kid in an Amoco uniform appeared at the door of the grease-rack bay.

"Hold the fort, Mickey," Dutch called. "I got to go home for a minute."

Home was a row house on North Elm, a little wooden porch in front of a fieldstone house that smelled of baby shit, sour milk, and cabbage.

A

Dutch touched his shoulder, and when McCoy turned to look at him, handed him a bottle of beer.

"You're an uncle, Ke

"I thought I'd take you and Dutch out for supper," McCoy said.

"You don't want to do that," she protested. "You won't believe what restaurants ask for food these days."