The Music Trilogy (61 page)

PARRIS ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA

SUMMER 2001

CHAPTER 9

The air on Parris Island in the middle of summer was thick and sticky, and of course the insects were in their glory. The men were doing their PT when Colin noticed a battalion of fire ants covering Max’s back.

“Oh, this is not good, Music Man.”

“What’s that?” Max asked.

“You have sweet blood and these Carolina natives are thrilled.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You are about to become their meal.”

“Whose meal?”

“Fire ants,
mon ami
, the local, blood sucking mini vampires that live around here. You have invaded their property.”

“Bah, they’re just ants.”

“Uh, huh,” Colin said nonchalantly, “you’ll see, Northern boy.”

As soon as he finished the last word the ant battalion attacked—an attack so vicious and unexpected that Max thought that fire was coursing through his blood and under the skin of his back. He firmly believed they would literally eat him alive. Never had he experienced such torture, itching and pain at the same time. He tried swatting them off, but couldn’t reach far enough behind. He ripped his shirt off and started hitting himself and jumping up and down like a crazy marionette. It still wasn’t enough. The mini kamikazes were feasting on the fresh, young meat. Max continued bouncing up and down like a Mexican jumping bean and rolling in the dirt.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, RECRUIT?” The Drill Instructor screamed.

“Uh, fire ants, Sir,” Colin said, figuring that Max not only hadn’t heard the Sergeant, but definitely would have a problem answering him.

“Well don’t you think they get hungry too?” The Drill Instructor asked. He turned his back as he didn’t want the rookies to see him smile.

When the ants seemed satiated Max started breathing normally. He looked over at his buddy as they were both doing pushups. “Thanks, Haf.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“How does it look?”

“What, your back?”

“Yeah.”

Colin check his back when he came back up from the pushup. “Like Marco Polo’s map of Asia.”

“Beautiful,” Max groaned.

“If you say so,
mon ami
.”

“What about you? Why didn’t they eat you up?”

“Oh, but they did.”

“Really? Where?”

“Those mother-fuckers found my sweetbread.”

“What sweet bread?”

“Think about it,
Monsieur
, the sweetest part of my body.”

“Holy shit! They got your balls?”

“
Exactement
.”

Max laughed so hard he forgot about the itching and the ants biting him, and figured poor Haf was definitely worse off.

“Aren’t you dying?”

“Totally!”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?” The Drill Instructor screamed.

“The ants found Haferty’s sweetbreads, Sir!”

The recruits laughed so hard they fell down. Even the Drill Instructor joined in as he didn’t have time to turn around.

The men went through the three phases of their strenuous training, learning everything from martial arts, weapons, marksmanship, Marine Corps history, first aid, gas chamber training, physical activities, drills, and swim qualifications.

At the end of the last phase the recruits had one test left—the crucible. It was the most difficult part of their training and the young men didn’t know that it was also the most crucial. Not only was it physically demanding, it made them think, as individuals and as a team, during the nonstop fifty-four hours. With very little sleep, perhaps eight hours total, the men pushed on.

Max kept repeating to himself that he would finish the crucible and the experience will have been the most important accomplishment of his life thus far. And Max and his peers did make it through. At the end of the crucible they assembled at the Iwo Jima Memorial. The Drill Instructors presented each of their recruits with the Marine Corps insignia, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Max’s Sergeant shook his hand and called him ‘Marine’ for the first time. He wanted to hug the Drill Instructor as he realized how much he had given of himself to make Max the man he had now become. He accepted the honor, fighting hard to contain the tears in his eyes. He wasn’t the only one.

The new Marines understood the core values of the Marine Corps which were honor, courage and commitment. The Drill Instructors had screamed and belittled them, and in doing so made them able to endure physical pain and have fortitude not one of them thought they were capable of. These young men, in thirteen weeks, were more mature and more confident than they had ever been. And they were gentlemen. They were men other men would look up to and women would appreciate. They had been taught how to survive and be warriors, and they were among the world’s elite fighters. When they were called upon to defend their country they would be proud to be the first ones on the battlefield, in the truest tradition of the Marine Corps.

Max’s mother Davina, his grandmother Melina, and his father Alejandro, the Spanish Ambassador to the U.S. flew into Savannah on their private jet, picked up an ordinary rental car waiting for them, and drove to Parris Island. They were let through the main gate, along with a procession of other cars full of proud families. They parked and headed for the bleachers where the recruits would parade and graduate as U.S. Marines. The benches were filled with people of all ages and walks of life. Some of the men were wearing uniforms, probably the proud fathers of the sons or daughters who had chosen to follow in their footsteps. Melina, Alejandro and Davina sat next to these people, having declined an invitation from the Commandant to sit in the VIP section. They did not want to attract attention to themselves, nor to Max. Davina wore a large hat that covered her face completely. The paparazzi would have a field day if they knew these celebrities were present.

The recruits gathered on the side of the parade ground. The families looked at the sea of uniforms, trying to find their child, grandchild or sibling.

“Oh! There he is! There’s my baby!” An ecstatic middle-aged woman screamed a few seats over.

Davina smiled. Everyone was so very proud at what these young men and women had accomplished, although she didn’t think the woman’s son would have liked the world to know him as her ‘baby’. Others laughed, and didn’t fault the woman’s joy whatsoever. They all felt the same way. Davina looked over and gave her a thumbs up. The woman looked back, smiled and clapped.

“There! There he is,” Melina exclaimed, pointing.

“Yes, I see him too,” Davina answered, “good eye, Mom.”

“Eh, you know what they say in Greek, the child of my child is twice my child.” Max loved that saying. He absolutely adored his grandmother, his ‘Melinaki’, his little Melina, and never tired of showing her how much.

“He’s lost a lot of weight,” Alejandro said.

“Yes, I noticed. I could use a week or two in here. Wouldn’t that cause a stir,” she laughed, “not to mention that Max would kill me.”

Alejandro laughed. “You might just be able to show them a trick or two,” he said, thinking back at the horrible ordeal at the hands of terrorists and how well she had handled herself. It would stay with him forever, and he would never forget the violence inflicted on the group that had been present. “I think you are just perfect. Don’t lose an ounce.” Alejandro took her hand and lovingly kissed it. Davina and Alejandro had been lovers and best friends from their very first encounter, so many years ago, at their friends’ wedding in Paris.

The new Marines were now in formation and from the other end of the parade ground a Sergeant bellowed orders. They followed his instructions implicitly and started marching.

“That man missed his calling. He would have made an incredible opera singer.”

“How do you mean, Melina dearest?” Alejandro asked.

“Did you hear that man’s range, and the clarity of his words?” Opera singers would kill for a tenth of that.”

“You’re very right, Melina.”

“Oh, I like the girls. They look really sharp, and they glide. The men don’t glide—they look sharp too, and they’re handsome and manly, but the girls are elegant,” Melina said.

“Yes, you have a point,” Davina said, and loved that her mother, who had always been her best friend, was usually right about most everything. She hadn’t been too happy, however, when her grandson joined the military. Having been through a war Melina knew of its horrors, and she fervently prayed that Max would never find himself in a war zone.

♫

BOSTON 2001

CHAPTER 10

Sam kept herself busy. Her main objective in life now was to become a doctor. She had her nursing degree and could have worked as a nurse in any of the prestigious Boston hospitals, but she focused all of her energy on school. Her goal was to get her doctorate and work with
Médecins Sans Frontières
, Doctors Without Borders, in whatever part of the globe they were needed. She knew that the income would not be what a Boston physician made, but she had learned since her parents’ death that money was no longer important. What was important, and she thanked Maureen Nagel for this knowledge, were the little things, the details that made such a big difference in a human being’s life.

Thankfully the scholarship was putting her through the rigorous curriculum at the university, and she lived in the dormitory with a roommate. But she had no money, so on weekends she went to the Singing Pub with her guitar for some extra cash.

“You off to the pub?” Her roommate, Chantal Devereaux, asked.

“I am. You keep studying. We have that monster test on Monday.”

“So I’ll see you in class. Say hi to Robert for me,” she said, smiling devilishly.

“You are very smart, Miss Nawlins.”

“I know, that’s why I got a scholarship to this prestigious institution,” she answered in a delightful southern drawl. And Sam was right. Chantal was a stunning looking woman, with skin as smooth as warm chocolate ganache, and ruby red lips that made men quiver.

“Ya’ll have a good time now, y’hear?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure.”

Chantal was from New Orleans. Her parents had died, victims of hurricane Katrina. She and her younger brother Tyrone sat on the roof of what once was their house for more than thirty six hours, freezing and starving, taking turns staying awake so they wouldn’t fall off, before a coast guard helicopter rescued them. That flight changed both of their lives. Chantal immediately knew she wanted to be a doctor and save lives, and Tyrone wanted to become a helicopter pilot. As soon as he was eligible he enlisted in the military.

They were lucky enough to have an aunt who survived and took them in. Chantal was brilliant, with amazing grades and a drive to become the best she could, in a life that almost disappeared in an instant. She was given a second chance and it hadn’t been too difficult for Chantal to get a scholarship to a prestigious Boston university. The day Chantal and Sam met they immediately took a liking to each other and became fast friends.

♫

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

CHAPTER 11

The day unfolded like any other day on the campus of the university. Most students were in classes, and some were walking from one building to another on the manicured grass or pathways. Sam was one of those students going to her next class, when suddenly people came rushing out of the buildings. But they weren’t coming out like any other time, today they were in a frenzy, or crying or slumping down on the grass. It seemed that every single person had their cellular phone on their ear. Sam could hear cries
of ‘I can’t get through’
, and
‘oh, my God!
or
‘No! No! This can’t be happening!’

It would be the worse terror attack in U.S. history. Planes leaving Boston and Newark had been hijacked and used as weapons. Their targets were the American people, via the World Trade Center in New York City and the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Other targets, and there were more, were thwarted by brave people who gave their lives, by quick thinking on the part of emergency crews and airline personnel. And there were those who unintentionally hindered more catastrophes. Two more planes were scheduled to leave out of Boston. One had a mechanical and stayed at the airport. The other aircraft carried a group of Marines. When the two hijackers understood who they were they turned and left—they knew they would not have stood a chance against them and that aircraft was not used as a weapon.

Sam watched a man, a student she had seen before on campus, walking around completely dazed. He seemed void of life, of energy. Sam thought maybe he was drunk. She decided to go over to him.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked.

The man slightly shook his head. He didn’t say anything for a long while and Sam waited patiently. She thought maybe the horrific events of that morning had something to do with his comportment. He looked at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. He lowered himself very slowly and sat down on the grass.

“I was at a party last night,” he finally said, no louder than a whisper. “I got really, really drunk. So drunk that I never heard my alarm go off. I was supposed to go see my parents. God, I feel so bad for them.”

“Are they alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, they’re fine, I was able to reach them. They said they were going to build a shrine to Jim Beam.”

“The bourbon?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They live in Los Angeles. One of the planes that hit the tower in New York this morning... That was my flight. I was supposed to be on it... I missed it.”

Sam’s eyes immediately welled up and she hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re still with us.”

“I feel like such a traitor.”

“Like a traitor? Sam asked, looking at him.

He nodded. “Yeah, like I let my fellow passengers down.”

“What’s your name?” She’d heard it in some class, but couldn’t remember it or the class they shared.

“John.”

“Listen John, you’re not a traitor and you didn’t let anybody down. It just wasn’t your time. You were meant to be alive, to stay on this earth a while longer.” John looked up for the first time, a little more life now in his eyes. “I don’t know why,” Sam continued, “I’m not a prophet or anything, but if I were you I would make the most of your days, whether it’s just one year or ninety more. The world probably needs you, and you will help humanity in some way.”

The shine in John’s eyes started creeping back, a gleam of future hope and dreams. He looked at Sam and then hugged her. “Thank you. It’s Sam, right?” She nodded. “Yeah, we have anthropology together, and you’re engaged to Robert.” She nodded again. “Tell him he’s a lucky man.”

Sam smiled and hugged him again. “I will. Thank you, John. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

In later months and years John, who had been given a second chance at life, would joke that Jim Beam and Sam, a female prophet, had saved him. Today, however, he just walked around, swearing to be a better person, and that he would find a way to help humanity. He then sat down on the grass again, crossed his legs in a lotus position and prayed and cried, and then cried and prayed some more—for his life, for the people that perished, for their families and for his mourning and wounded country.

On September 12th nations around the world condemned the terrorist attacks. Many of the countries proclaimed a national day of remembrance. In Belgium dozens of people held hands in solidarity around the Brussels World Trade Center. Scandinavian countries halted public transportation for several minutes of silence out of respect for the victims. Many countries lit candles, brought flowers and waived little American flags in front of American embassies or in town squares. Bells rang in unison in all of Austria. Kuwaitis lined up to donate blood. In Germany 200,000 people stood in solidarity in front of the Brandenburg Gate. In Teheran all the people at a soccer stadium observed a moment of quiet. Firefighters in many countries wore black ribbons, sounded their horns and wore red, white and blue. In London traffic came to a standstill while the Star Spangled Banner played during the Changing of the Guard.
Le Monde
, one of France’s leading newspapers, ran the headline:
‘Nous sommes tous Américains, We are all Americans.’

The world had changed. It lost its innocence, its coziness and its faith in a great part of humanity. Ahead lay fear, apprehension, and doubt. It was also heading into a war.

♫