The war was going very well in Europe, for Hitler. Most of the students weren’t very vocal on the matter. But the instructors were, they were almost all left-wing and anti-German. There seemed to be no right-wing faction among the instructors except for Mr. Glasgow, in Economics, and he was very discreet about it.
It was intellectually popular and proper to be for going to war with
Germany, to stop the spread of fascism. As for me, I had no desire to go to war to protect the life I had or what future I might have. I had no Freedom.
I had nothing. With Hitler around, maybe I’d even get a piece of ass now and
then and more than a dollar a week allowance. As far as I could rationalize,
I had nothing to protect. Also, having been born in Germany, there was a
natural loyalty and I didn’t like to see the whole German nation, the
people, depicted everywhere as monsters and idiots. In the movie theatres
they speeded up the newsreels to make Hitler and Mussolini look like
frenetic madmen. Also, with all the instructors being anti-German I found it personally impossible to simply agree with them. Out of sheer alienation and
a natural contrariness I decided to align myself against their point of
view. I had never read Mein Kampf and had no desire to do so. Hitler
was just another dictator to me, only instead of lecturing me at the dinner
table he’d probably blow my brains out or my balls off if I went to war to
stop him.
Sometimes as the instructors talked on and on about the evils of nazism
(we were told always to spell “nazi” with a small “n” even at the beginning
of a sentence) and fascism I would leap to my feet and make something up:
“The survival of the human race depends upon selective accountability!”
Which meant, watch out who you go to bed with, but only I knew that. It
really pissed everybody off. I don’t know where I got my stuff:
“One of the failures of Democracy is that the common vote guarantees a
common leader who then leads us to a common apathetic predictability!”
I avoided any direct reference to Jews and Blacks, who had never given
me any trouble. All my troubles had come from white gentiles. Thus, I wasn’t
a nazi by temperament or choice; the teachers more or less forced it on me
by being so much alike and thinking so much alike and with their anti-German prejudice. I had also read somewhere that if a man didn’t truly believe or understand what he was espousing, somehow he could do a more convincing job, which gave me a considerable advantage over the teachers.
“Breed a plow horse to a race horse and you get an offspring that is
neither swift nor strong. A new Master Race will evolve from purposeful
breeding!”
“There are no good wars or bad wars. The only thing bad about a war is
to lose it. All wars have been fought for a so-called good Cause on both
sides. But only the victor’s Cause becomes history’s Noble Cause. It’s not a matter of who is right or who is wrong, it’s a matter of who has the best
generals and the better army!”
I loved it. I could make up anything I liked. Of course, I was talking myself further and further away from any chance with the girls. But I had never been that close anyhow. I figured because of my wild speeches I was alone on campus but it wasn’t so. Some others had been listening. One day, walking to my Current Affairs class, I heard somebody walking up behind me. I never liked anybody walking behind me, not close. So I turned as I walked.
It was the student body president, Boyd Taylor. He was very popular with the students, the only man in the history of the college to have been elected president twice.
“Hey, Chinaski, I want to talk to you.”
I’d never cared too much for Boyd, he was the typical good– looking
American youth with a guaranteed future, always properly dressed, casual, smooth, every hair of his black mustache trimmed. What his appeal was to the student body, I had no idea. He walked along beside me.
“Don’t you think it looks bad for you, Boyd, to be seen walking with
me?”
“I’ll worry about that.”
“All right. What is it?”
“Chinaski, this is just between you and me, got it?”
“Sure.”
“Listen, I don’t believe in what guys like you stand for or what you’re
trying to do.”
“So?”
“But I want you to know that if you win here and in Europe I’m willing
to join your side.”
I could only look at him and laugh.
He stood there as I walked on. Never trust a man with a perfectly–
trimmed mustache . . .
Other people had been listening as well. Coming out of Current Affairs
I ran into Baldy standing there with a guy five feet tall and three feet
wide. The guy’s head was sunk down into his shoulders, he had a very round head, small ears, cropped hair, pea eyes, tiny wet round mouth. A nut, I thought, a killer.
“HEY, HANK!” Baldy hollered.
I walked over. “I thought we were finished, LaCrosse.”
“Oh no! There are great things still to do!”
Shit! Baldy was one too!
Why did the Master Race movement draw nothing but mental and physical cripples?
“I want you to meet Igor Stirnov.”
I reached out and we shook hands. He squeezed mine with all his
strength. It really hurt.
“Let go,” I said, “or I’ll bust your fucking missing neck!”
Igor let go. “I don’t trust men with limp handshakes. Why do you have a
limp handshake?”
“I’m weak today. They burned my toast for breakfast and at lunch I
spilled my chocolate milk.”
Igor turned to Baldy. “What’s with this guy?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s got his own ways.”
Igor looked at me again.
“My grandfather was a White Russian. During the Revolution the Reds
killed him. I must get even with those bastards!”
“I see.”
Then another student came walking toward us. “Hey, Fenster!” Baldy hollered.
Fenster walked up. We shook hands. I gave him a limp one. I didn’t like
to shake hands. Fenster’s first name was Bob. There was to be a meeting at a house in Glendale, the Americans for America Party. Fenster was the campus representative. He walked off. Baldy leaned over and whispered into my ear, “They’re Nazis!”
Igor had a car and a gallon of rum. We met in front of Baldy’s house,
Igor passed the bottle. Good stuff, it really burned the membranes of the throat, Igor drove his car like a tank, right through stop signals. People blew their horns and slammed on their brakes and he waved a fake black pistol at them.
“Hey, Igor,” said Baldy, “show Hank your pistol.”
Igor was driving. Baldy and I were in the back. Igor passed me his
pistol. I looked at it.
“It’s great!” Baldy said. “He carved it out of wood and stained it with
black shoe polish. Looks real, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s even drilled a hole in the barrel.”
I handed the gun back to Igor. “Very nice,” I said. He handed back the
jug of rum. I took a hit and handed the bottle to Baldy. He looked at me and said, “Heil Hitler!”
We were the last to arrive. It was a large handsome house. We were met at the door by a fat smiling boy who looked like he had spent a lifetime eating chestnuts by the fire. His parents didn’t seem to be about. His name was Larry Kearny. We followed him through the big house and down a long dark stairway. All I could see was Kearny’s shoulders and head. He was certainly
a well-fed fellow and looked to be far saner than Baldy, Igor or myself.
Maybe there would be something to learn here.
Then we were in the cellar. We found some chairs. Fenster nodded to us. There were seven others there whom I didn’t know. There was a desk on a raised platform. Larry walked up and stood behind the desk. Behind him on the wall was a large American flag. Larry stood very straight. “We will now pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America!”
My god, I thought, I am in the wrong place! We stood and took the
pledge, but I stopped after “I pledge allegiance . . .” I didn’t say to
what.
We sat down. Larry started talking from behind the desk. He explained that since this was the first meeting, he would preside. After two or three meetings, after we got to know one another, a president could be elected if we wished. But meanwhile . . .
“We face here, in America, two threats to our liberty. We face the
communist scourge .and the black takeover. Most often they work hand in hand. We true Americans will gather here in an attempt to counter this
scourge, this menace. It has gotten so that no decent white girl can walk
the streets anymore without being accosted by a black male!”
Igor leaped up. “We’ll kill them!”
“The communists want to divide the wealth for which we have worked so
long, which our fathers labored for, and their fathers before them
worked for. The communists want to give our money to every black man, homo, bum, murderer and child molester who walks our streets!”
“We’ll kill them!”
“They must be stopped.”
“We’ll arm!”
“Yes, we’ll arm! And we’ll meet here and formulate a master plan to
save America!”
The fellows cheered. Two or three of them yelled, “Heil Hitler!” Then
the get-to-know-each-other time arrived.
Larry passed out cold beers and we stood around in little groups
talking, not much being said, except we reached a general agreement that we needed target practice so that we would be expert with our guns when the
time came.
When we got back to Igor’s house his parents didn’t seem to be about, either, Igor got out a frying pan, put in four cubes of butter, and began to melt them. He took the rum, put it in a large pot and warmed it up.
“This is what men drink,” he said. Then he looked at Baldy.
“Are you a man, Baldy?”
Baldy was already drunk. He stood very straight, hands down at his
sides. “YES, I’M A MAN!” He started to weep. The tears came rolling down. “I’M A MAN!” He stood very straight and yelled, “HEIL HITLER!” the tears rolling. Igor looked at me. “Are you a man?”
“I don’t know. Is that rum ready?”
“I’m not sure I trust you. I’m not so sure that you are one of us. Are
you a counter-spy? Are you an enemy agent?”
“No.”
“Are you one of us?”
“I don’t know. Only one thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t like you. Is the rum ready?”
“You see?” said Baldy. “I told you he was mean!”
“We’ll see who is the meanest before the night is ended,” said Igor.
Igor poured the melted butter into the boiling rum, then shut off the
flame and stirred. I didn’t like him but he certainly was different and I
liked that. Then he found three drinking cups, large, blue, with Russian writing on them. He poured the buttered rum into the cups.
“O.K.,”he said, “drink up!”
“Shit, it’s about time,” I said and I let it slide down. It was a
little too hot and it stank.
I watched Igor drink his. I saw his little pea eyes over the rim of his
cup. He managed to get it down, driblets of golden buttered rum leaking out of the corners of his stupid mouth. He was looking at Baldy. Baldy was standing, staring down into his cup. I knew from the old days that Baldy
just didn’t have a natural love of drinking.
Igor stared at Baldy. “Drink up!”
“Yes, Igor, yes . . .”
Baldy lifted the blue cup. He was having a difficult time. It was too
hot for him and he didn’t like the taste. Half of it ran out of his mouth
and over his chin and onto his shirt. His empty cup fell to the kitchen
floor.
Igor squared himself in front of Baldy.
“You’re not a man!”
“I AM A MAN, IGOR! I AM A MAN!”
“YOU LIE!”
Igor backhanded him across the face and as Baldy’s head jumped to one side, he straightened him up with a slap to the other side of his face.
Baldy stood at attention with his hands rigidly at his sides.
“I’m . . . a man . .,”
Igor continued to stand in front of him.
“I’ll make a man out of you!”
“O.K.,” I said to Igor, “leave him alone.”
Igor left the kitchen. I poured myself another rum. It was dreadful
stuff but it was all there was.
Igor walked back in. He was holding a gun, a real one, an old six–
shooter.
“We will now play Russian roulette,” he announced.
“Your mother’s ass,” I said.
“I’ll play, Igor,” said Baldy, “I’ll play! I’m a man!”
“All right,” said Igor, “there is one bullet in the gun. I will spin
the chamber and hand the gun to you.”
Igor spun the chamber and handed the gun to Baldy. Baldy took it and pointed it at his head. “I’m a man . . . I’m a man . . . I’ll do it!”
He began crying again. “I’ll do it . . . I’m a man . . .”
Baldy let the muzzle of the gun slip away from his temple. He pointed
it away from his skull and pulled the trigger. There was a click.
Igor took the gun, spun the chamber and handed it to me. I handed it
back.
“You go first.”
Igor spun the chamber, held the gun up to the light and looked through
the chamber. Then he put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. There was a click.
“Big deal,” I said. “You checked the chamber to see where the bullet
was.”
Igor spun the chamber and handed the gun to me. “Your turn...”
I handed the gun back. “Stuff it,” I told him. I walked over to pour
myself another rum. As I did there was a shot. I looked down. Near my foot, in the kitchen floor, there was a bullet hole. I turned around.
“You ever point that thing at me again and I’ll kill you, Igor.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He stood there smiling. He slowly began to raise the gun. I waited.
Then he lowered the gun. That was about it for the night. We went out to the car and Igor drove us home. But we stopped first at Westlake Park and rented a boat and went out on the lake to finish off the rum. With the last drink,
Igor loaded up the gun and shot holes in the bottom of the boat. We were forty yards from shore and had to swim in . . .
It was late when I got home. I crawled over the old berry bush and
through the bedroom window. I undressed and went to bed while in the next room my father snored.