Part 5 (1/2)
Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover looked at him as if were mentally deficient. ”When I say private, sir, I mean that I need to talk to your son confidentially. On his own.”
”Oh? Oh Oh. What for? This family doesn't have secrets.”
”That's as may be, sir. But this is wartime, and this country has secrets.”
”Oh.”
My father hesitated for a moment and then he put his pipe back in his mouth and walked away across the gra.s.s, jerkily turning around now and again as if half expecting us to call him back. Eventually he climbed the steps and disappeared into the kitchen. The screen door banged.
Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover placed his hand in the small of my back and gently steered me down toward the far end of the yard, where the tangled raspberry canes grew. It was very hot and still that day, and I remember that everything looked magnified, as I were seeing it through a lens.
”Major Harvey and I, we're attached to the Office of the Coordinator of Information in Was.h.i.+ngton, DC. About three weeks ago we received some information from a resistance agent in Belgium. He confirmed something that our intelligence agents have been suspecting since the early days of the war in Europe.”
”Oh, yes?”
Major Harvey cleared his throat with a single sharp bark. ”Mr. Falcon-what Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover is about to tell you now is absolutely top secret. That means you are prohibited from divulging any of this information to anybody. Your father, your mother, your best friend, even your family cat. If we discover that you have been giving anybody else even the faintest hint of what we are going to discuss with you, you may discover that your life is forfeit.”
”What?”
”You'll be shot,” said Major Harvey.
I stared at him in disbelief. ”I'll be shot shot? Are you serious serious? In that case, excuse me, I don't want to hear it.”
”You have have to hear it, James,” said Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover, firmly. Then, in a quieter tone, ”You have to. You're the only person we've been able to find who seems to have a comprehensive knowledge of the particular problem we're faced with. The only person of an appropriate age, anyhow.” to hear it, James,” said Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover, firmly. Then, in a quieter tone, ”You have to. You're the only person we've been able to find who seems to have a comprehensive knowledge of the particular problem we're faced with. The only person of an appropriate age, anyhow.”
”I don't understand. I don't know anything about any military stuff.”
”I know that. But you know all about these.” With that, Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover reached inside his coat and produced a sharply folded sheaf of papers.
I didn't have to open them to recognize what they were. They were tear sheets of my paper ”The Strigoi: myth versus reality in popular Romanian folk-culture.” I had written it for my anthropology exam in the summer, and Professor Ewan had been so impressed with it that he had submitted it to the North American Journal of Ethnography North American Journal of Ethnography. Admittedly, the Journal Journal's circulation was only a little over 2,500 copies, so it wasn't exactly like being published in Life Life magazine, but it was first article I had ever gotten into print, and I was seriously proud of it. I even had some cards printed, magazine, but it was first article I had ever gotten into print, and I was seriously proud of it. I even had some cards printed, James R. Falcon Jr., Author and Anthropologist James R. Falcon Jr., Author and Anthropologist, and handed them out to all of my friends, until my father told me to stop acting so swell-headed.
”The strigoi strigoi?” I said, cautiously. I was strongly beginning to suspect this was a practical joke, set up by some of my friends at Berkeley. ”What do the strigoi strigoi have to do with the war in Europe?” have to do with the war in Europe?”
”More than you'd think. In August of 1940, under the terms of the Vienna Diktat, Germany forced Romania to give up the territory of Northern Transylvania to Hungary, which Hungary had been claiming for centuries was theirs.” Hungary, which Hungary had been claiming for centuries was theirs.”
”Well, sure, I know that.”
”What you may not not know is that the Romanians would have had to surrender Southern Transylvania, too, but they made some kind of offer to the Germans, which the Germans accepted, and allowed them to keep it.” know is that the Romanians would have had to surrender Southern Transylvania, too, but they made some kind of offer to the Germans, which the Germans accepted, and allowed them to keep it.”
Major Harvey said, ”We've been trying for three years to find out exactly what this offer was. It was codenamed Umarmung Umarmung, which didn't mean anything to us, at the beginning.”
”Umarmung,” I repeated. ”Embrace.”
”That's right. And how many times does the word 'Embrace' appear in your article, James? Forty-seven, to be exact. And according to what you've written here, the Embrace is the way in which the strigoi strigoi initiate humans into becoming one of them.” initiate humans into becoming one of them.”
I shrugged. ”Could be a coincidence. I mean, 'embrace,' that's a pretty common word, wouldn't you say? You can embrace all kinds of things, you know-like a religion, or a philosophy. Or your next-door-neighbor's wife.”
”True. And the Romanians embraced n.a.z.ism. They still chose to fight on the German side, even though the Germans made them surrender all of that territory. But after we received this report from Belgium, we're pretty sure now that 'Embrace' means something very specific. We think it's the kind of embrace that you you were writing about.” were writing about.”
I kept a straight face for about ten seconds longer, and then I burst out laughing. ”G.o.d, you guys are good! You even sound like you know what you're talking about! Who set this up? I'll bet it was Stradlater, wasn't it? Tell me it was Stradlater!” Who set this up? I'll bet it was Stradlater, wasn't it? Tell me it was Stradlater!”
”James-” said Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover, but I interrupted him.
” 'How many times does the word ”Embrace” appear in your article, James?' ” I mimicked him. ” 'Forty-seven, to be exact.' You're excellent! Look at you standing there, like you both have pool cues stuck up your a.s.ses!”
Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover waited until I had finished. Then, as if I hadn't said anything at all, he continued.
”Since February last year, James, we've been receiving reports of some very unusual killings. They started in Romania. More than sixty members of the Red Knights resistance group were murdered, all within the s.p.a.ce of a week. That immediately deprived us of vital intelligence and it drastically reduced our ability to sabotage the n.a.z.i war effort from within.”
I looked at him with my eyes narrowed. ”Come on, now. This is is a joke, isn't it?” a joke, isn't it?”
”Not for the victims. And not for the Allies, if this continues.”
”Come on, admit it. If it wasn't Stradlater, who was it? Not Dungan! Dungan wouldn't have the brains!”
”James,” said Major Harvey. ”It wasn't any of your friends and it isn't a joke.”
”All right,” I said, although I still believed that they were bulls.h.i.+tting me. ”What does any of this have to do with me?”
”Since the Red Knights were all murdered, we've been receiving more and more intelligence which suggests that the n.a.z.is have been infiltrating local resistance groups and literally wiping them out. It happened all across the Eastern Front, especially after they took Bessarabia and Bukovina back from the Russians. Now it's happening in Holland and Belgium and France. and literally wiping them out. It happened all across the Eastern Front, especially after they took Bessarabia and Bukovina back from the Russians. Now it's happening in Holland and Belgium and France.
”The reason why this has everything to do with you is that all of the victims had their chests cut open, their main arteries severed and the blood drained out of their bodies.”
Dinner with the Falcons.
That evening, my mother made bors cu perisoare bors cu perisoare, sour meatball soup, which was one of the specialities of her village in northeastern Romania. We sat and ate it in the kitchen, with the windows open, so that the last of the sun shone across the table.
My mother Maricica was beautiful in a dark-haired, white-skinned way, like a Madonna in a church painting. She did everything gently and gracefully. She could even peel apples gracefully, their skins unwinding in spirals. She always spoke softly, too, although the quietness of her voice belied a very strong character.
Dad was fuming. He didn't like secrets and he didn't like anything to do with authority. His father had been a biochemist and a violin player and had knitted his own sweaters, mostly green with orange zigzags. He had brought Dad up to believe that a man was answerable only to his own intellect, and G.o.d, in that order.
”You can't even give us a hint what they want you to do? Your own family?”
I shook my head. ”They said if I told anybody-even you-they'd shoot me.”
”Oh my G.o.d,” said my mother. ”They threatened threatened you? you? They come here, uninvited, into my house, and threaten to shoot you, my son, in my yard?” They come here, uninvited, into my house, and threaten to shoot you, my son, in my yard?”
”Hey, it's my house, too,” my father protested. ”And my son. And my yard, come to that.”
”We should complain to the army,” said my mother.
”They said I have to go to Was.h.i.+ngton next week,” I told her. ”They're going to pay my fare and everything.”
”They can't coerce you,” said my father. ”Is this why we pay taxes? Tell them you don't want to go to Was.h.i.+ngton.”
I spooned a meatball out of my soup. ”But I do do want to go to Was.h.i.+ngton. I think this is going to be really, really interesting.” want to go to Was.h.i.+ngton. I think this is going to be really, really interesting.”