Jonas Agonistes

"Why are you telling me, now?"

"The files are available. I'd rather have someone like you looking into it than some others who are out there. And I'm tired of hiding. I don't want attention, I hope no one bothers with me, but I am not going to pretend. I was there. I did what I did. I sent those people into the field..."

Emily studied Jonas's face, but he did not talk more.

Tom and Jennifer returned then, thankfully.

"I hope you cleared things up, Jonas," Tom said. He looked at Emily. "I've known Jonas since he was relieved. I was in Kabul, and that's where they sent him. It's all just like in the book. He asked for a lawyer and I'd heard rumors of a great victory at al Gatar-did he mention the name? Good. So I went to see him and he told me the damnedest story." He was shaking his head. "And it was all true. I couldn't believe it at first. Massacre? My Marine Corps? But then I met people, and the ones who lied were the ones who expected to be believed. I spoke to Jonas's platoon and it was one-two-three-four straight down the line like in the novel. Word for word. I only invented dialogue when I had a statement like, 'He said something like he did this' or "It was about doing this sort of thing.'

"I assume you'll read the reports and interviews. The Corps threw him to the dogs before it realized he was the only one using good judgment."

Jonas seemed perturbed and interrupted. "Kelley was my friend. He just couldn't handle the pressure..." he said. "But Messina, he was so excited he was almost frothing at the mouth. 'Guns ablazin,' he said. Oh my God." I shook my head.

Silence. "Zumwalt and Smith. How do I ever face their families?" Jonas said, head hanging. Emily put her hand on his back, the first time she'd touched him. She was looking at Tom.

"Those were the two Marines who died. Up on the hill with the machine gun," he said.

"I promised myself someday I'd visit their families," Jonas said. There was quiet for a moment.

"I think Dante was right," Emily said, "Purgatory is self-inflicted."

Jonas looked up at that one. So did Jennifer and Tom. Jennifer leaned over. In Jonas's ear, she said, "I think she's a keeper, kid."

So the dinner became talk and soon it was getting close to closing time. They were the last there, and the staff was cleaning up.

"Jonas, you need to deal with it. You have PTSD worse than you realize," he said, ", "and you haven't done anything to address it. You found work and school and then you stopped. You've avoided counseling. Your idea to visit the families of the two Marines is worthy, but could be a disaster, and would mean they would have to face the fact that their sons murdered people. Get the help. Even the Corps is changing how it sees therapy." Tom was right. The implication that the Corps's attitude would affect me was lost in the ether, but not the idea that visiting the families of the two dead Marines might be considered vindictive.

Tom said, "Emily, if you need to talk to me for your paper, just give me a call. Jonas has all my numbers and address. I think you can reach Jennifer at NovelAmerica if you want to get permission for excerpts and things. It will be given, by the way. It has been an honor meeting you."

They took us back to our cars. Emily held Jonas's hand on the ride. "Do you have your cell phone?" she asked him. He got it out. She took it and programmed in her number. They pulled into the shopping center with Joseph-Beth.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Jonas said. "You don't need to request the materials on al Gatar. That could take some time, they never hurry for requests from the public. I can send you the digital files, and give you a hard copy if you'd like. I have them at home."

Emily said, "Tom, Jennifer, thank you for one of the most interesting and fun nights of my life. Meaningful. Jonas, thank you for asking me." The parking lot at Joseph-Beth was practically empty but for their two cars. Jonas walked to her car with her and held the door. Tom and Jennifer waited until our cars were started before they left.

Jonas Agonistes Chapter 4: Meeting Her Folks

"So how was your date?" Emily's mother asked in a low voice. "Quiet-Dad's asleep." It was after midnight that Em had walked in, but she'd had so few dates since breaking off an engagement a year before that her mother was worried about her.

"Really very unusual. I went to that book signing where I met up with this guy from class. His name's Jonas Simms. Anyway, turns out he knew the author so we all ended up at dinner together. Nice people all around. The author is a lawyer named Tom Marx, his editor is also his sister Jennifer. So just the four of us. We talked about the book and school. Jonas is a teacher over at Merciful Saviour in Sky Grey."

"You like him?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. I expect Jonas to call tomorrow-today, now. He has some documents to help me with my class project."

"Did you find out who the book is about? Or did the writer keep it secret?"

Em thought for a minute. "I think they were sharing a confidence with me, but yes, they told me. I'm not sure if I'll reveal who it is or not. The guy has enough problems with PTSD and everything."

"It's a good book, maybe even a great one," her mom said. "You got me to read it. Dad wants to read it next."

"All in all a really good day, Mom. Jonas is a good guy, a year or two older than I. I think you'll like him. Oh, and he lives with his parents, too." They both laughed.

"You work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm chartered from CVG to Dallas at 9. Then I return the plane. Should be home early evening. Or late afternoon if there are no delays."

"Better get to sleep, Hon."

"Good night, Mom."

*

I called Emily while she was on a jet to Dallas the next day.

"Emily? Jonas."

"Hi, Jonas. I'm flying to Dallas now but I can talk for a minute. I thought you'd be in class now."

"Prep period. I need your email to send you those documents."

She gave her address, then said, "If you want, I should be home around 6 this evening if you want to bring the hard copies over. My mom and dad will be home if I'm not. Why not stay for supper? I'll let Mom know."

"Uh, you're on your way to Dallas and you're coming back this afternoon?"

"I'm the copilot. It's my day job."

Jonas laughed. "First you're fighting ebola and now it turns out you fly planes. You're a woman with many talents."

"The main thing I did to fight ebola was fly doctors around. My dad's a pilot and I got my license when I was 16. I've been commercial for three years now."

"Well I'll leave you to your work. Dinner sounds great. I'll find your house."

"We're listed. Bye, Jonas."

"Bye."

*

I found the Scott house on a street near the Great Miami River in an area called LIndenwald. It had several gables, a nice front porch. The road was not busy. I parked on the street. I grabbed my briefcase and headed up.

My knock was answered by Emily. I was glad she was home; I didn't want to try to make small talk with her parents.

"Jonas! Come in." Sweaters definitely became her. The house was dark wood trim and old, thick plaster. Solid. "You can put the briefcase over against the wall.

"Mom's cooking. She's very excited for me to bring a guy home, I must say."

"I'd like to meet your parents."

"Okay," she said, taking my hand and pulling me to the kitchen. The whole place smelled of spinach and chicken breast and good cooking. "Mom." Emily's mother was petite also, but rounder with the years. She was probably over fifty, with reddish-brown hair, glasses, and intelligence in her grey eyes.

"Mom, this is Jonas Simms. Jonas, my mom, Sharon."

We shook hands. "My pleasure to meet you, Ma'am."

"How do you do, Jonas?"

"Very well. You have a lovely home. Very much like ours in Sky Grey."

"Jonas," said a man's voice behind me. I turned. Emily's father was several inches taller than I, perhaps six feet tall. He held out his hand.

"How do you do, Sir?" I said, taking the hand. Firm.

"Well, very well. Walter Scott. No 'sir,' please. Let's go sit in the living room and get out of Sharon's way."

I smiled. "Did your parents like 'Ivanhoe?'" Emily abandoned me then to her father, staying to help her mother.

He smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. By the time I found out who Scott was, they were gone. Em was working and just got home, so she hasn't told us much about you," he said.

"We only met at our class yesterday-so I've only known her a day," I said. "But she was interested in Tom's book, so we ran into each other at the signing and we all went to supper. It was fun. I have some papers she needs for her school project so I brought them over."

"You teach at Saviour high?"

"I have for two years. Once I get the master's, probably this summer, I'll think about teaching at a college. Or stay at Saviour; I'd like to coach some sports, I think. Baseball. Basketball. What do you do for a living?"

Her father was nodding.

"I own most of a plane charter company. We own 7 smaller jets and some turboprops. Emily actually works for me, flying around the east coast and south. She likes to be home at night, so we usually work that out. She's copilot on our small business jets, pilot on the props." He sounded proud. "Smart as a whip. Knows the engines, the mechanics. Good pilot.

"How old are you, son?"

"27."

"If you've been at Savior for two years, where were you before that?"

"I was on active duty. Marines."

"Did you see any action?"

I hesitated then. I felt hot. Would it always come up so fast? Why couldn't I just lie or keep cool or whatever? Emily's dad saw I was uncomfortable. "Yes,..."

"I'm sorry. If that is a sore subject. I have heard terrible things about the war and it is not my business to poke around..."

"No, Dad, you shouldn't," Emily said from the kitchen door. "Supper is ready."

We moved into the dining room. The table was prettily set. Emily and I sat across from one another, her parents at the head and foot. There were parmesan chicken breasts, green beans, spinach and squash, cooked salad, some sort of chutney which I'd never heard of.

"Emily, would you say grace?" her mother asked.

We all added our amen after, and we ate. It was good conversation, but I felt that I had committed a faux pas by not answering her father, and by feeling so uncomfortable.

As at my house, clearing and washing dishes was part of the meal. It was good talk and I washed because I didn't know where the dishes went.

Emily and I met then over the dining room table to look at the documents I had brought. It was a complete set, perhaps 1200 pages plus the few pictures in a separate manila envelope. Once I had shown her the organization, she had read the somewhat misleading abstract page, I made another decision. The pictures, I thought, were moving.

We talked a few minutes, but for some reason the room felt like it was shrinking. I asked, "Will this stuff help you?"

She thought about it. "I think it will help me understand the nature of the book, its relationship to what happened and what Major Marx interpreted. It's going to be interesting."

"Good. I think you may want to visit the Marine site just to verify I didn't edit or censor the documents here. But they're all here."

"Jonas, I never thought you'd do that."

I was perspiring, shivering.

"I want you to talk to your parents about me, tell them it's me, after I'm gone."

"Why don't you?" she asked, but she saw my discomfort.

"There are things I can't remember for some reason. Anyway, I should go."

I went in the living room and thanked them for supper and I said, "Mr. Scott, there are things I have trouble discussing. Emily will explain, I think. I should go now."

He protested, thinking he had committed a faux pas by asking about my service. I assured him it was not that.

"I should be getting on. I think Emily can go over things..." She was in the doorway, nodding.

"Of course. Emily's brother Chris will be interested to hear about you," Mr. Scott said.

"Emily has a brother!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, but he's away at school," Sharon said, smiling.

"I have a lot to learn about Emily yet. It's only been a day. Funny, but my life seems to be an open book compared to hers," I rejoined, smiling and looking at Emily as she shook her head and smiled. "Thank you all for a great evening. Em, I hope you'll be at class tomorrow night?"

She nodded.

"Then goodnight and thank you all." And I left.

*

Emily looked at her parents after she closed the door. "Mom, Dad, come out in the kitchen-I have some stuff to show you." During her explanation, her mother realized Jonas was Jeremiah. They studied the photos, skimmed statements.

"Well? You always say something about my boyfriends when you meet them. Well?"

Sharon looked at Walt. She smiled as she said, "He is hurting still. Five years now."

Walt picked up the picture of Jonas with a child in his arms, running for their lives. He pointed to it. "How do you beat that for an introduction?"

"He's wounded in his heart, you know," Sharon said. Emily nodded.

"He's haunted by the two Marines who died. The little girl he can't remember. And that he didn't protect the first group of non-combatants to flee into the field," she said. "But look at these statements from his own platoon-they're almost exactly like in the novel. It's easy to disbelieve superlatives as overstatement but the military guys said them over and over."

Walt said, looking to Emily, "I didn't like Carl all that much, especially when he got drunked up those two times. I was kind of happy you broke off with him. And I know Jonas probably has a lot of issues from the war. I hope he's not drinking too much. I hope he gets ahold of it." He paused. "But the guy's a hero."

"Tom Marx, the guy who wrote the book, called him the most morally courageous person he's ever met," Emily said. "He knew his career in the Marines was over, he knew he might be killed, he knew protecting noncombatants would not be popular. For two years he was ostracized on that base, Camp LaJern or whatever."

"Lejeune," Walt said, smiling.

Sharon asked, "Do you intend to meet his parents?"

"I guess. I've only known him for what, 27 hours or so?"

Walt said, "You have a prop to Lexington, then to Evansville, then Dayton and Lunken tomorrow. What time's that class?"

"4. Just a bunch of half hours. Last one should finish a little after 3. I can drive straight to class from the airport," she said. Then with humor, she said, "No problem as long as your planes work."

"Sharon, she's getting mighty cheeky since she got a boyfriend." Sharon and daughter shared a smile. Sharon thought, I think Emily likes having a boyfriend. This one, anyway.

*

It was at seminar that someone mentioned "Jeremiah." I had been taking some notes about my project and had missed the comment. I could see Emily across the table looking at Jonathan, a young guy who projected an air of righteous, anti-authoritarian, indignation. I said nothing. Emily said, "Could you repeat that? I'm working on atrocities for my project and I need current opinions."

He said, "I think it is typical of the military to whitewash one of their own and make him out to be a hero, like this al Gatar massacre. It's like My Lai or Malmedy; first they hide it and then they praise it as a victory."

I watched Emily stiffen. I thought to myself, she has hackles to raise. Barry was also interested; he'd been a late Vietnam era liberal and believed that the protests and draft dodging had reduced American involvement and ended the war. (He was working to have his dissertation published, dealing with this issue.) He also knew I had been in the military, but he didn't know anything else.

"Based on what I've been reading and watching, it's the other way around when it comes to the Americans. They call it a victory and then try to cover it up. But are you saying there are never any moral actors during an atrocity?" she asked him. As he talked, as she responded, I began to think that she felt he was spouting off without much information-perhaps repeating what some teacher in the past had said.

Jonathan said, "Perhaps rarely. But isn't it an indictment or a moral failing that a free citizen surrenders his moral obligation to distinguish and act rightly by joining a military and swearing to follow orders no matter what?"

Barry jumped in. He did not want the exchange to become heated, which it was threatening. "So Jonathan, your point is that anyone in the military is at fault if anyone else commits an atrocious act?"

"Yes. Because it is immoral to surrender your individual responsibility to decide what is the right thing to do."

Barb, the other woman in the class, spoke up: "Why do you insist that a person in the military swears to follow orders no matter what? That he or she no longer judges the morality of orders and actions?" I was surprised. Perhaps there was more to Barb than I had assumed in earlier classes, where she had seemed hesitant and quiet, almost meek.

"I know I didn't surrender that," said Juan, the only black member of the class. He was about 30, had made it known he'd served in the army and had not been sent to a war zone. "I can tell you what I swore to," he said.

Barry said, "You don't think it is immoral to swear to defend the Constitution? Does that oath relieve a soldier of the responsibility to act morally?"

"Yes," Juan said. "Service is a virtue, properly carried out. There is a way to refuse an illegal order."

"But I always thought," said Jonathan, "that it was illegal to disobey an order. This is all smoke to hide a wanton, heinous act."

That was an insult, but I spoke up. "I think Jonathan is right to some degree." I looked at Emily, then at Barry. "At al Gatar no one was held responsible. One officer was investigated but charges were never filed. Perhaps he was guilty, or perhaps not. But 30 noncombatants were killed and no one brought to justice. Was no one responsible? The military prides itself on honesty and accountability, where is it in this case? At My Lai, Calley was the only one at all punished and he was eventually pardoned. At al Gatar one man was exonerated. No one was even tried."

The look on Emily's face was unique: a mix of confusion and which side are you on and the world is flat.

"Things happen in war," Barb said. "You have thousands of people making decisions based on orders and clarity is lost."

"The Marines whitewashed the whole al Gatar killing. It was murder and that is that," Jonathan said.

"I agree it was murder, but that is not that," Emily said. "Judging and assuming without deep investigation is not worthy of a civilized, armed society. Jeremiah did not resent the investigation; he resented the witch hunt aspect of it. He resented only one party was considered possible of guilt. And he feels culpable that he did not stop the killing earlier and that he did not save everyone. He thinks he could have. I've met the guy, and he seems like the sort who every day second-guesses his decisions that day."

Barry was surprised. "I knew you went to meet the author, I didn't realize he introduced you to the real Jeremiah."

Emily hesitated but went on. "Actually, someone else introduced me to Jeremiah. And it is a little bit like 'Crime and Punishment.' In the book, it is his conscience that punishes him. He knows he is not guilty of the murders; he feels guilt because he anticipated them but did not prevent them. He knows he reduced their scope, but that is not enough."

She thought for a moment and continued. "I think it's that way for the real guy, at least the author claims, but I don't know Jeremiah that well to say."

It was a discussion worth holding. Stereotyping provides clarity, delineates, and ultimately reduces understanding. American minds are often closed because it simplifies understanding of the world. Jonathan did not want his stereotypes shattered. Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel, said another Jonathan two centuries before, and therefore the Marines are bad, period. In this case, he was close to right for the wrong reason. Marines did not sacrifice their humanity and responsibility by their oath. At that dusty village they failed both. We failed both.