Jonas Agonistes

Al Gatar was evil and would never be resolved because there was nothing to resolve. The event was investigated thoroughly. It was murder, the evil was in chunks of irresponsibility hidden by loyalty and the chain of command, and only the implicated and the victims wanted justice.

*

It was a month later that Marty called Jonas into her office at the end of a day.

"Jonas, I have a disturbing piece of information. One of our board members has information that you were investigated for murder. Is that true?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Were you charged? Indicted?"

"No, Ma'am."

"The board president has asked me to remove you from the classroom until such time as these allegations are cleared up. I'm afraid I will have to do so immediately."

Jonas felt a pressure in his chest he had never felt, a squeeze that let him know he was stressed.

"The board will meet tomorrow night to consider the case. You are asked to attend. It will be a Friday, I know, but these things need to be handled quickly. Especially if a teacher needs to be removed."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Do you have anything to say?"

He looked at her. She saw pain in his eyes. "I think Malamud said, 'Some mistakes you never stop paying for.'"

*

I called Tom that evening. I explained the situation. He was absolutely flabbergasted. I told my parents nothing, nor Emily. I hoped I could clear it up without them ever knowing.

The next evening I walked into the school auditorium. As a personnel matter, the public was not invited but there was a reporter present. I also was surprised-really, was I?-to see Tom Marx walk in. He was in a fine suit, of which he probably has several. He walked over to me. We shook hands.

"Tom, you didn't have to come."

"I'm your lawyer. I'm making gobs on that book. It's about time I earned it."

Mrs. Martin walked in. The board appeared on the stage. 8 men, 4 women, Fr. Elkins. Argo, the board president, called the meeting to order. Tom and I sat in chairs away from the table, but on the stage. There was a video screen set up, and a projector.

"I have here the front page of an investigation into the actions of Lt. Jonas Esiah Simms in a village in Afghanistan. The summary states that Lt. Simms was relieved of his duties so that investigation into allegations of murder, mutiny, disobedience of a lawful order, and some others could be conducted. Charges were never brought. Is Mr. Simms present?"

I stood up. "I am, Mr. Argo."

"What do you say to these charges, Mr. Simms?"

"There were no charges, Mr. Argo," I said.

There was a moment of slight confusion for the board president. Marx whispered, "Maybe you don't need me, after all."

"What do you say to these allegations, Mr. Simms?" said Mr. Argo with a hard edge to his voice.

"I do not usually engage in refutation of mere allegations."

"If we cannot get to the bottom of this, we will be forced to terminate your contract in the best interests of our students. We need to know that they are in good hands."

I began to speak again, but Tom put his hand on my arm. "Allow me. I came a long way."

"If I may address the board. I represent Mr. Simms's legal interests. My name is Tom Marx. I am an attorney and licensed to practice in just about every state and civilized nation. Including Ohio. I am also a lieutenant colonel in the Navy JAG office."

Mrs. Martin spoke. "Mr. Marx called me about this and asked to make a presentation to the board that he thought might help us. We set up the projection screen and you have some slides, I believe?"

"Yes, Ma'am, pleasure to meet you. We spoke one other time; I recommended you hire Mr. Simms."

"I recall it. You said some amazing things," she said.

"All true. Some of that will become clearer here. Now if I may, I'd like to address the issue. The page you have in your hand is the summary or abstract on the front of a military investigation report conducted by Naval and Marine Corps investigators and other investigators over the course of two years." He picked up his briefcase, which was standing beside his chair. Placing it on the table before the board, he opened it and removed a copy of the investigation, all 1200 or so pages. "The abstract gives the impression that Lt. Simms was guilty of a crime, or likely was. If you had taken the time to read the report, which with appendices and index and photos takes up at least 1000 pages, including interviews with not less than 78 Marine enlisted men and commissioned officers, you would have been overwhelmed with evidence of another kind.

"Instead of going into detail of each allegation, I will tell you what happened that day using the few pictures of it as evidence. I've used a computer to clear up what were very blurry images off a cell phone camera. I have others, unclarified, at hand if you'd rather see them. Otherwise, you may look at the actual report here, or ask Captain Simms to furnish you one because he has several copies, I'm sure." He looked at me and I nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"There were nine pictures taken at the village of al Gatar on the date in question. Lt. Simms and his platoon were ordered to clear the village of Taliban. Intelligence reports said there were at least 40 Taliban present and the intel was irrefutable; actually, there were no fighters present. There were no Taliban in al Gatar that morning. Lt. Simms's platoon attacked on time, pushing the non-combatants they found toward the eastern end of the village as they were ordered to do, where another Marine platoon was to confront the Taliban with an ambush. Lt. Simms notified the other platoon that there were no Taliban, only non-combatants. As the first noncombatants cleared the last houses of the village they entered an open field, and were promptly killed by the Marine ambush. We have no pictures of that happening, but one of the open field with bodies." The picture of the bodies in the field appeared on the screen, cleaned up by computer and much clearer than my copies. "If you look here, and here, and here," Tom said using a laser pointer, "you see women in burkas dead; if you look closely you can see children but I just won't point them out." "Oh my God," one of the women on the board said. "Captain, where were you in relation to this picture?"

I answered, "I was just out of the picture to the right. I was directly in front of that building with the kid missing a foot and the old guy there. Maybe 15 feet from the building."

"How long had these people been dead when this picture was taken? Approximately?"

"About 15 minutes. There were lots of other noncombatants huddling in the buildings and there against the walls."

"What happened at this point, Captain?" Tom asked.

"1st Platoon up on the hill relocated two machine guns and turned their fire on these first buildings and the street. I had people in or near them. I called them but they continued to fire. They destroyed this building in front of us, killing the boy and the old guy." At that point the picture changed and you could clearly see the two bodies and the building in tatters. I saw the old man's body, which was blurred and unrecognizable in my copies. He was obviously dead. My heart cried.

"Go on, Captain."

It took me a second. "Sorry, Sir. I haven't seen these photos cleared up by computer, before; it's the first time I can identify the old guy's body..." My voice cracked, I was close to tears. I sought control, needed it, grasped it.

"I ordered my men to fire up at the machine guns so we could get back down the street, then we gathered everyone we could and ran back to the west." Again the picture changed. It now showed me holding that kid and running. "That is me carrying a kid and trying to get everyone back. In the background you see Turbish carrying a woman under his arm and shooting back. Turbish thought he killed the two machine gunners. I don't see how but their fire decreased about this point."

Marx added, "If you look closely at the picture you can see noncombatants here, and here, this Marine over here actually kicked this kid to get him going, according to his statement."

I continued, "Once fire slackened at the other end of the village, I got back on the radio with Captain Messina and he was furious. He relieved me. I went over to help who I could; a lot of the noncombatants were banged up. I think there's a picture of me wrapping a kid's foot." The picture came up.

"I was arrested and sent to Kabul by helo that night. Lieutenant Colonel Marx was assigned as my lawyer."

Mr. Argo asked, "So what were the bases of the allegations?"

Marx answered, "He was ordered to push all unsecured people into the field and refused. He ordered his men to fire on other Marines, two of whom died-that's the murder. Ordering his men to protect the noncombatants and get them to the west was the allegation of mutiny. You should understand that the Marine Corps at first reported the dead women and children in the field as a great defeat of the Taliban-that is how I heard of it before they assigned me as counsel. Simms was eventually restricted to base, and after two years allowed to go into the reserves. He was interrogated 52 separate times for a total of 109 hours. Some of those were only a few minutes, one was 26 hours long. He was not waterboarded, but it was threatened."

"I was waterboarded in training once," I said. "So I knew what it was."

There was silence. The board seemed reluctant to take up the case.

Marx filled the quiet room then. "Ms. Martin, board members: He saved 158 Afghanis. He was investigated and interrogated for two years. He was ostracized by the Marines. He is the bravest living commissioned hero of a dirty war." He stopped and looked directly at the board members.

"He teaches history at Merciful Saviour."

Ms. Martin spoke, "Tom, you wrote that book, 'Jeremiah in Agony,' didn't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Jonas is Jeremiah. This is part of his struggle. I can prove every word in that novel, using official documents. He is not a figment of my imagination. He did it. He's paying for it."

The board voted to return me to the classroom effective immediately.

Jonas Agonistes Chapter 5: Issues of Character

"Emily! Em!" Sharon was calling her daughter, her hands holding the morning Cincinnati Enquirer. "Em!" Get up. You want to see this."

Toward the bottom of the front page was a headline: "Jeremiah" Teaches at Saviour.

Emily came down the steps, hair mussed and looking lovely and rounder with sleep. She looked at the headline and skimmed the article, which was mainly about an effort to remove Jonas as a teacher until he was defended by the author of "Jeremiah in Agony."

"How do you think this will affect him?"

"I don't know, Mom. He didn't tell me what was going on. I don't think he can open up to me, maybe not to anyone. It seems like he will never get out of Afghanistan."

Emily sat on the step, where her mother had met her, and thought. It was Saturday. She had no flights. Jonas had not called. He had not seen her since Thursday seminar. She was disappointed that he had not turned to her when he was faced with a new trouble. She wondered if her appropriate response was anger, but she saw the depth of the attack on Jonas's character and decided she would turn to him.

"Mom, I'm gonna get dressed. I've known this guy a few months. He opened up about the incident and depth of his problem to me, almost from the moment I met him. But he hurts and can't do it when the pain is great or sharp. But... maybe he will. I gotta get dressed. What time is it?"

"6:30."

"I think it's time I met his parents." She turned and went up the steps. She threw off her clothes and showered and by 6:45 she was heading for the front door.

"I need the paper. Sorry." She took it, got in the car and left. She'd never been to Sky Grey. She found his house.

*

At 7:40, Jonas's mother opened the front door and was surprised to find a small, redheaded woman sitting on the top step with her back against the support pillar. In her hands were two copies of the Cincinnati Enquirer.

"Hello?" she said.

"Mrs. Simms? Hi, I'm Emily Scott, a friend of ..." She got up.

"Jonas's friend! Yes, he's mentioned you. He's still asleep. He had some meeting last night and I think he couldn't sleep then."

"I know. It's in the paper." Emily handed Mrs. Simms their paper which she'd picked up from the yard when she arrived. "That's why I'm here."

"Well. Why don't you come in, Dear. I'll make coffee."

Mrs. Simms looked at the headline and the article. "This can't be good, can it."

Emily, walking in. "I don't know. He didn't even tell me about the board meeting."

Mrs. Simms said, "He didn't tell us, either."

The coffee was on. Mrs. Simms went upstairs and warned Mr. Simms not to come down undressed, as they had company. Mr. Simms was quite surprised that a girl was downstairs for Jonas. Mrs. Simms then went over to Jonas's room and got him up.

"Jonas! Wake up, and now!"

"What is it, Mom?"

"Well, your meeting last night is in the newspaper. That's something, but not why I'm here. There's a girl downstairs. Emily. She was waiting with the paper on the porch when I went outside."

"Emily? Downstairs? Now?" he said.

"Yes, and I think she is a little peeved at you for not telling her about the meeting."

"I gotta get dressed. Go keep her company, okay?"

"Okay. Your father's up too, so you can fight over the hot water for the shower."

Mrs. Simms headed down. That's one way to get the men moving, she thought. Just get a beautiful redhead to show up on the porch...

She poured coffee for Emily.

"They'll be down shortly. Why are you here?"

Emily said, "I thought the story and the meeting might be upsetting to Jonas. I am a little upset he didn't tell me, but with all he's been through... I wanted him to know I wasn't abandoning him like most people. I have known him only a few months, but he's been honest and told me things he hasn't said to others."

"He told us about you, Emily." Mrs. Simms started making some cinnamon rolls, greasing a pan and getting the oven going. "Ready in about 20 minutes."

"I hope good things."

Mrs. Simms sat with a cup. "You are the only girl he's shown interest in in 4 years. So what do you do?"

"We met in history seminar at UC. But I'm a pilot. My family has a plane charter service and I fly businessmen around the east coast, the south, usually. No flight today, though."

"But you are so tiny!" Mrs. Simms said.

Emily smiled and imitated a movie. "Never...theless!"

They laughed. "Kate Hepburn had red hair, too."

Mr. Simms walked into the room, his hair wet, but dressed unusually well for early Saturday.

Emily stood. "Good morning, Mr. Simms, I'm Emily. Jonas's friend."

He held out his hand and they shook. "You are beautiful."

"Paul! You don't say that to a lady!" his wife said. "Excuse him, Emily!"

"I thank you. I came here because my mom showed me this," and she handed him the paper with the article centered. Mr. Simms read for a few minutes. He harrumphed once or twice.

Emily was sitting again, sipping coffee. Mr. Simms finally made his way to a seat. The three of them were at the kitchen table when Jonas entered.

"Emily. Hi. I see you've met my parents," he said.

Emily decided to be forthright. Pushy, too. "I realize after what you have been through that you may have trust issues, but you should have told me, told US, about the teaching suspension and the meeting last night."

Jonas thought, she sounds mad. He looked at his mom, and she seemed to be on Emily's side. Dad? He was looking down at the paper, so no help there. Why hadn't he confided? Emily was a new person in his life, and there was no commitment, but his parents... Who else knew him as they did? Who else loved him?

The pause was long.

"Dad," he said, "I need a therapist." His dad was the tough guy, the silent, the serious, the stalwart.

"Yes, you do," Dad said. "Sit down now. These people are on your side."

Over cinnamon buns and coffee, they talked and discussed the newspaper article, the meeting, and the future.

*

"i think you'd like his father, Dad. He's a mass of quiet and hold it in and keep it to yourself and deal with it and yet you could see how much he loved Jonas, and the way Mrs. Simms looked at her husband was as if she was shocked he had said Jonas should get help," Emily said. "I think you would like him. Maybe I see some of you in him."

"A good part, I hope."

"Goes without saying."

Mrs. Scott smiled.

"And his mom! She called me dear and I usually hate that-but it was like I was at home with her." Emily was thoughtful. Her romance with Carl was a wooing and capture and finally her rejection of his foibles and bad judgment. Jonas was deeper; his goal wasn't a good drunk on Friday night with a girl waiting to forgive him.

"They're a little older than you guys. Good people." Her parents laughed.

"How long have you known him now?" her mother asked.

"Two months?" Emily responded after thinking.

"Not so long, yet."

"No. Not long."

"Be careful, Em. It's easy to jump in too fast."

"He doesn't make a move, Mom. He doesn't try to make out or put his hands in the wrong places or anything. He doesn't move at all. He is hurting. He avoids even the little risk of a kiss or holding hands. He looks at me as if he has never seen a woman before and he holds the car door and says goodnight. It's like he thinks women are too valuable. I've kissed him goodnight, and on the cheek, but he lets me do it."

"Has he told you about his other girlfriends?"

"No. Not one. His mom said I was the first girl he'd had any interest in in 4 years."

"I think he has a great pain."

"Do you think he is good?" Emily did not know how to phrase it. Sharon did not know how to answer it.

"Could be. I love you, Babe. Be careful. Keep me in the loop. I like him. But I want you to decide on the real guy, not the book and the passion and the torture of his life."

"It was easier with Carl."

"Of course. Carl got drunk for recreation, manufacturing reasons. Jonas has reason to drink and fights it."

"Maybe I should look for a guy with no issues."

Sharon chided, "Silly. There are no guys worth marrying who don't have issues. Good guys have issues because they care about important things."

*

I saw Emily again on Sunday. Saturday morning was a warm memory. She had gone out of her way, despite that she had not met my parents-she had talked and acted like someone who liked me. No, like someone who loved me.

She came over in the afternoon, at my behest, and we talked in the living room. Mom and Dad were around and left us mostly alone. Dad found out she was a pilot and was askance: "What! But she is so tiny!" he said, same as Mom.

"I grew up with flying," she said.

We sat in the living room and we discussed life and politics and religion (she's Presbyterian, an impossible word to spell quickly) and my situation and her plans. I told her about growing up, about Jane Miller Austen and moving on and wondering why I was so shy around pretty girls. She talked about Carl and breaking it off and some guy who talked her into the senior prom. She said that some people really hated freckles. I laughed.

I told her about Turboboost, who carried women to safety who would never look at him because he was American and big and not Muslim and black. I talked about guys I hardly remembered. We laughed at this and that.

She stood to leave. She handed me a paper. "I ran off some names of therapists who deal with PTSD and veterans at a discount, and there are a lot. There's a VA program. I got them through the VA hospital online. Call one of these. If you want me to go with you for some reason, I will. I..."