Jonas Agonistes

Emily's eyes got big. There were several small diamonds around her birthstone, on a thin gold chain. "It is beautiful. Would you put it on me? I'm wearing this faux pearl now, I'll get it off." She removed her necklace. I stood up and moved around her. The necklace was delicate, and I fumbled it, but I finally latched it correctly. She placed her other necklace in the box and got out a compact and looked at the new necklace in the mirror.

"How beautiful your skin is next to it," I said, still behind her with my lips beside her ear.

"Jonas, I am overwhelmed." She turned and we kissed.

It was a lovely and romantic dinner. We finished around 9, then drove to a park and looked at the stars and lights of the city. We sat on a bench, kissing occasionally, and the kisses hardened and became hot. It had been a long time since that had happened to me, and I found myself wanting the night to go on for us. I thought fleetingly of plans to spend the night together, and I thought Em might agree. But no.

"I don't want the night to end, Em, but I also don't want our first time to be sneaking around and worrying that your parents might find out. We're not children, but our living with parents makes adult decisions more difficult."

"Jonas..." She shook her head, smiling. "I am your partner in this, not your guest. I am ready to take these steps, but as your equal. I am looking at a life, not a date. We took one step tonight. But we still have a way to go, and it will be a wonderful journey. Tonight we admitted mutual passion; we contemplate building a family. Love abides. It will endure a few more months." She squeezed his arm. "It is nice to know you have noticed my desire, recently."

We headed home. I kissed her at her door, her arms tightly about my neck, our lips hard together. I had a desire, a future, a woman counting on me. A family of my own to make.

*

The school year is over, and you have your master's degree. Congratulations!

"Thank you. Mostly I want to read Emily's paper about atrocity. She compared me to Calley. Beyond that, I have no idea about it. She can be coy."

Tough to write a paper about a man you're falling in love with. The professor has an interesting judgment to make.

"He introduced us. Practically set us up."

A friend?

"Yes. My advisor. Just a few years older."

So you have spoken openly with Emily about your feelings?

"Yes, she and I are serious now. We want the relationship to progress toward a life together."

Progress?

"In many ways, we have limited our lives. We live at home with our parents. I have made no attempt at sex-I have kissed her, but only recently have those kisses intimated sexuality or great desire. I have been almost platonic, but not quite."

Emily is a patient woman. I saw strength in her.

"I think it is character."

So have you decided to go on the book tour?

"Do you think I should?"

Do you want to?

"I am afraid."

Of what?

"I don't know. I have answered questions in front of a law school class, family, anyone. Always I have been able to since I got past the little girl, although at times the emotion of the memory slows me. Have I still a guilt that inhibits me?"

Perhaps it is not guilt. Could be the sadness of the tragedy. Perhaps it is responsibility.

"What? Blame?"

I think you ignore the people who actually followed orders. Blindly.

"Alvy? The captain?"

How do you feel about them?

Pause. Then: "Angry. Disappointed. In both of them. They ignored what I told them, what was happening before them. The captain ridiculed my question, criticized my actions. Alvy was always...unsure of himself. He would trust the decision of others above him over his own judgment. As would most Marines."

And the Captain?

"Ambition. Blind faith in his boss and dismiss the concerns of lower ranks. Things will go right if you all just do as I say. He ridiculed my concerns at the mission briefing. That sort of guy."

Perhaps you should think of them. How are they reacting to the book? And the machine gunners, who fired at noncombatants. Someone-machine gunner, rifleman-fired at a little girl in a Marine's arms and shot her in the head, intentionally, perhaps with deliberation.

Jonas considered it, then he said. "You think it might be murder? I mean, she would have been hard to mistake for a combatant. That is...abominable. I assumed it was a machine gun firing thousands of rounds, recoiling, jumping-one particular round imperfectly controlled."

Yes. You were careful at the start to control your rounds to avoid a tragedy on your end.

"Yes. When you just keep firing, you can fail to make careful judgment."

Do you think she was killed deliberately?

Jonas was quiet for a long time, remembering, sometimes mumbling. Fire was diminishing, he remembered. Was a machine gun still firing? He stood and walked behind Callie's chair. Perhaps M16.

"Yes. Maybe. It would have been hundreds of yards, but a child in arms would be distinct. Marines practice those distances, hitting a bull's eye about a foot across in two rounds. Could have been."

So can you reach a conclusion?

"It was murder. All of it. They knew what they were doing."

Are you a judgmental man, Jonas?

"No. But murder is murder, whether or not there is a war, whether or not the Colonel told the Lieutenant Colonel who told the captain who told the platoon commanders. All of us could have said I will not do this sin."

One did.

Jonas had his eyes shut. "I so much wanted us to be good guys. But I have to settle for a low standard: we are better than they."

*

I met up with Tom Marx at his office in Washington, D.C. I was dressed for the first book store that evening: I decided I would be casual, meaning a sport coat and tie, khaki trousers. My hair was trimmed off my ears. I found Marx's firm. There was a receptionist, her back protected by a floor to ceiling wall that prevented anyone seeing a lawyer before the lawyer desired. The receptionist was friendly, beautiful, and intelligent.

"Yes, Sir, how can I help you?" she asked.

"I am here to see Tom Marx."

"Have you an appointment?"

"He knows I am meeting him here."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Jonas. He'll recognize it."

She picked up the phone, punched some numbers. "Mr. Marx? There is a Mr. Jonas h..."

I heard "JONAS" yelled from somewhere behind the fancy partition, and heard loud footsteps.

The receptionist said wryly, "It appears he was expecting you." She was funny.

It was a warm greeting, he and I shaking hands as the receptionist looked on.

"Janice, this is Jonas Simms, the real Jeremiah Perkins," Marx said. Janice stood and shook my hand.

"An honor, Mr. Simms. I wish I'd known-I'd have brought my copy in to have you sign it. It would make my husband's day."

"Thank you, Ma'am," I said. "Maybe Colonel Marx can arrange something."

"I'll take care of it, Janice. We'll be in my office," Marx said and he pulled me into a richly appointed law office.

"Jonas, the book has taken off. The revelation of your identity has boosted sales beyond any projections. The publisher is happy, the booksellers are ecstatic, and I am happy."

"I am glad. Very few people have associated me with the book, despite the article in the Enquirer months ago. At a wedding reception, somebody in Emily's family announced it; the school board, of course. I've brought it up a few times. Talked to a law class at Stanford, talked to my students."

"I'm glad it has not proved a disruption. And people have been well-disposed?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I am getting rich off you. We should talk about that. NovelAmerica will pay you based on total sales during the two months you are involved in the tour, plus the month following. Is that acceptable?"

"How much money are we talking? Jonas asked.

"It could be thousands, based on current sales. It's not inconceivable that it would amount to $20,000 or more."

"Plus motel, meals, and travel?"

Tom was nodding. "All that."

Jonas was incredulous. "For ten appearances?"

"Yep."

"Happy to do it, then."

Tom went on. "Our first book signing together. Usually someone from the store introduces me, then I talk about the book for 20 minutes or until people look bored, and then I ask for questions. Now that you are here, I'll summarize the book and introduce you and you can go into details of the incident, if you don't mind. I'll be there beside you, refer anything to me if you want, or if you have trouble I'll interject. I want you to be comfortable and get used to questions."

"Do any of them give you a hard time?"

"Yeah, some redhead in Cincinnati was trying to but her boyfriend stepped in." He laughed. "But no, mostly it has been positive. There were war protesters at one store in Boston, but they hadn't read the book and assumed it was a justification of the war. Most of the people who'd read the book were wondering why they were protesting the book when it was on their side. I think they assumed since the author was a Marine."

So we headed to Mutt n' Jeff's Megabooks outside Arlington, Virginia, an independent upscale two story bookstore that practically anchored a small mall. It was quite a setup, with a restaurant and toystore attached. Tom drove us, and I was quiet contemplating the tone of my remarks.

It was like teaching class, but not. It was easy and even fun. The number of people was larger than I expected. The book signing in Cincinnati had been early in the book's promotion, relatively, with interest and word of mouth increasing. Now there were many who had read the book and wanted to meet these people-the author, the main character's inspiration-who mattered to them because the book had touched them, or interested them, or upset them. But Marx had not informed the bookstore that I would be there.

Tom stepped to the lectern in a room with perhaps 75 chairs facing tables of the book, a wood panel wall, a fireplace. Tom spoke easily and with many smiles about the success of the book; why he'd written it as fiction; and then he introduced me. He said, "'Jeremiah in Agony' is based on a young Marine officer's experience of one day in the war. He did not seek attention; indeed, getting him here today was not easy." At this the crowd buzzed, surprised that I was there. I thought it had been announced? Maybe not. "Jonas has faced the disapprobation of my beloved Marine Corps, the threat of jurisprudence for two years, restriction to base for a prolonged period, over a hundred hours of interrogation including one session over 25 hours long. For actions that in any other circumstance would be considered courageous and beyond the call of duty, he has received no medal, no commendation, no pat on the back. Well, except from me. After a thousand page report was completed, no charges were brought and he was discharged from the Marines.

"All of that is in the novel. Since then he has started a new career as a high school teacher, he has obtained teacher license in his home state, and he has recently obtained a master's degree in history. It's my honor, and I mean it, to introduce the real Jeremiah Perkins, Jonas Simms. Jonas?"

I was standing to the side, leaning against the book shelf. Now I forced myself forward to the lectern. There was some clapping, but no one ever knows if it is appropriate to clap in a bookstore. I smiled and nodded, said, "Thank you."

I spoke for a brief time and then people started raising hands to ask questions, so I shrugged and started answering.

"Do you think the military services are responsible for creating a culture in which atrocity is encouraged?" This from a bookish, round, short young woman on whom I called to get an easy question first. I sneaked a glance at Tom, who was smiling.

"That is the sort of question I went to graduate school to discuss. I think that there are a lot of factors which affect the event of atrocity, as the book analyzes well. The military culture is based not on consensus but hierarchy, but there are many opportunities for debate within that structure. Rarely is an order given without the possibility of discussion. One is not requested to act then, but ordered to. One is protected by that: it was not my choice, I had to do it or I was breaking the law.

"But then we have the idea of legality, that an unlawful order cannot be followed, or again one is breaking a law. Also, the nature of war has reduced the use of uniforms, especially by our current enemies. It is very, very difficult to identify the enemy, especially in a timely manner, or without endangering your troops. There is also the fact remarked on by the French author Larteguy that our civilization demands that we avoid atrocity; the enemy celebrates his creation of it. So I am answering your question by saying, the cause is very complicated ranging from individual fear to national arrogance, and any modern civilized armed nation will need to consider measures to reduce the possibility of atrocity in modern war."

I pointed to an older gentleman with a copy of the book open in his hand. "Where do you live? Are you married? Do you have any children? It's been two years since your discharge."

I smiled. "I live out in the country, actually in a small town called Sky Grey, Ohio. I was born there. I'm not married but I'm thinking about it. So is she. And I have no children, although I teach 130 freshmen and sophomores at a Catholic school."

And so the questions ran the gamut for the next 25 minutes. Tom answered some, I answered some, and it was almost a tag team seminar as we dealt with the incident and writing of the book. Then we signed books for well over an hour-the bookstore manager said more than 150 people were in line, and they sold over 75 copies that day. She said if they had known I'd be there, they might have gotten more by advertising. Tom laughed, said I was just a bonus, and the lady smiled too.

"So, was it okay?" I asked Tom.

"Very good. That first question you could still be answering. You did very well. Now we do a tv show, next Thursday. If you want, why don't you fly to New York Wednesday early, we'll talk about the show, and then we'll be fresh on Thursday."

"Sounds okay to me. What's the show?"

"Morning Joe. It's a newsy/political talk show with lots of regulars sitting around, drinking coffee, and talking. It has both a conservative and a liberal running things, and mostly they seem to get along despite their differences. Mainly because they both descry the bad things their parties do, and laugh at the silly things."

"I've seen it. Okay. Well."

Morning Joe got us some notice. I was asked, do you think Americans are just bloodthirsty? I said, Americans are ashamed of their atrocities; the Taliban think atrocity is the means to victory. I said, good officers should have objected to orders that were not clear, whose implementation would result in the deaths of noncombatants. It was a failure of the chain of command and a failure of character.

A few days later we were featured on a Fox afternoon news show, then one of their morning shows, then shows came fast and furious. They asked me to do more appearances during the two months, and I agreed to terms. I wondered how the publisher could afford the motels and plane rides because I was flying in and out of cities one after the other. The book was selling. Tom was with me at each one, then he couldn't make one and I went alone. My mother was upset my hair was awry on tv once; Emily seemed to enjoy the ride. She thought it ironic that I should be famous.

Things wound down finally, and then there was just one more appearance, at a bookstore in the country near Norman, Oklahoma.

Jonas Agonistes Chapter 8: Guilt and Conscience

Tom was not with me for this one. The bookstore was small and independent-booked as a favor to one of our publisher's former assistants who owned the place in his retirement. There was a good crowd, I thought: perhaps 50 seated and another 25 hanging around for quite a while. I spoke for the requisite time, explaining my actions as the book did much better. Then as I was talking about my PTSD and how I was facing it, I saw a tall, spare man my own age off to the side-and out of uniform I hardly recognized him. It startled me at first, but he had a half smile and nodded when I recognized him.

I was answering questions then, and he asked one. "You come off as a very sympathetic character in the novel. Do you think others deserve to pay for the actions that day?"

I had answered that same question before, but I answered it differently now. "It is only a novel. A friend of mine was fascinated by Dante's 'Divine Comedy.' We discussed it once or twice. He said, in that poem, God does not decide a soul's fate. Rather, it is the person's state of mind at death that determines heaven or hell or purgatory. And he said, those in purgatory want to be there until they no longer feel the guilt of their sins. I think those responsible know their best punishment. I'm not the only one feeling guilt for al Gatar. I'm just the one they investigated. I'm the one whose career was destroyed."

Alvy responded, "So you harbor no ill will? No resentment?"

"I didn't say that. I resent that the Marines focused on me. I resent that no one else was investigated, and it took a novel for the truth to vindicate me. Even the cover sheet of the investigation mentions my name and the things I was NEVER CHARGED WITH. What kind of character assassination is that? My demons are in chapters 17 on. Do they face theirs, or do they live in their own minds, constructing a heaven out of something evil? Some of them are responsible for the murders of 29 people."

I spoke rather softly then. "I resent that commissioned officers carried out orders they knew would result in the deaths of dozens of noncombatants. I wanted the Marines to be good. I joined them to do good. And I wondered for years what happened to my best friend. He let me down that day in the sun. He let me down afterwards, too, when he ostracized me. Probably to protect his career. I never heard a word from him. I needed him. These things I might not forgive anytime soon."

I answered several more questions, and somewhere in there I lost track of Alvy. He was not around after the signing. I took a taxi to a motel.

I hopped a free ride with my girlfriend home; she was ferrying a jet back from Louisiana, and Norman is just a little out of the way. It was the first time I had flown with her, although officially she was the co-pilot for Remy since they had a passenger and he the higher rating. No, I wasn't scared. She slipped the plane into the airport because she likes to approach a little high, and she warned me first. It's like flying sideways. It's all cool as long as the plane works.

*

So you saw Alvy?

"Yes. And answered his questions. But he apparently didn't want to talk in private."

Why is that, do you think?

"I think by the questions that he needed the protection of the group. He felt bad, and perhaps blames himself for the loss of our friendship. Maybe bad for following orders so obediently. I remember one talk we had, back at TBS, talking about deciding if an order was legal or illegal. He said as long as the order was clear he would follow it, because you never have all the information that the chain of command has. I said, but that's why they commission us-to stop illegal acts, to use our judgment, to put it on the line to do what the situation requires. He just didn't agree with that. That's why those people died in that field: Alvy didn't turn to the captain-who was probably cussing me out-and say, 'Sir, we can't identify any combatants.' He followed orders but didn't want to admit that there were no combatants. It was a failure.

"He felt safe in the bookstore. He knew I couldn't get upset with him in front of customers."