Defending the Truth, page 23
None of them appeared to be upset. In fact, Mr. and Mrs. Monger appeared relieved. Chuy and Magdalena smiled at each other, holding hands, hoping that they would be spared the parade and be free to go to the hotel sooner.
They drove in close file to the House of Representatives. The cars pulled up to the curb, and the generals opened the doors for their charges. They all walked abreast up the expansive steps as hundred of waiting photographers danced around them taking pictures. At the entrance to the House, the Vice President of the United States, Alben Barkley, the President of the Senate, and Representative Sam Rayburn, the Speaker of the House, greeted them solemnly with concerned, compassionate faces fully available to the hundreds of cameras. They entered the chambers of the House of Representatives to a standing ovation and were led by General Trilling to a long table, draped with stars and stripes bunting, set up in the well of the House. They sat, and the generals stood behind them.
Speaker Rayburn and Vice President Barkley mounted the wooden dais. The senators and congressmen took their seats. Many wives and children and other spectators looked down from the balcony.
The Vice President rapped his gavel slowly three times. Conversation gradually died down.
“Mr. Speaker,” he entoned, his voice stentorian, “it gives me great pleasure to present three brave soldiers of the United States Marine Corps who have been awarded the highest honor that we can afford them. Lance Corporal Monger gave his life in the service of his country, and his parents, Howard and Muriel Monger, are here today.”
There was resounding applause.
“Sergeant Mervyn Francks also paid the highest price for his valor, and his wife Winifred is here today.”
More applause.
“Captain Jesus Leyva led the charge up Bloody Ridge, a battle and an assault which will forevermore define the highest standard of heroism by which all men in arms are judged, and he is here today with his wife.”
Explosive applause erupted in the House, and all of the spectators rose in a standing ovation.
When quiet was again restored, questions began coming from the reporters, men and a few women sitting in the ring of chairs that made a semicircle between the honorees’ table and the House seats. Apparently out of deference to the obvious grief of the mourning parents and wife, very few questions were directed to them.
“How do you feel about all of this attention, Captain?”
“Scared,” Chuy responded.
Twitters of laughter rolled through the House.
“Which is scarier, being up on Bloody Ridge or being here?”
“Here.” Laughter rocked the spectators.
“What are you going to do when you get back home, Captain? Run for governor?”
Chuy smiled. “Back home they won’t elect me governor. I’m a Bureau of Indian Affairs policeman, and I like my job.”
“How about you, Mrs. Leyva?”
“I teach eighth grade.” Magdalena managed to make her voice steady.
“Well you ought to be in pictures,” one of the reporters called out.
Many of the spectators clapped in approval.
Magdalena blushed so deeply that her dark skin became deeply ruddy. Chuy leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Huge applause and cheers broke out among the spectators.
“You’re a lucky guy, Chief,” called out someone. More deafening applause and cheering.
“You glad to be home?”
Chuy smiled and nodded.
“I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall tonight,” someone yelled.
Thunderous applause and lascivious laughter.
“Now let’s not get too personal, folks,” Sam Ray-burn said, a great smile on his face, always the master of ceremonies, his voice amplified by the microphone and echoing about the House chambers. The spectators roared with laughter.
“Mr. Monger,” said a reporter in the middle of the ring, “what would you like the folks back home to know about your boy, Lester?”
The old man sniffled, and his voice was low and weak. “He was a good boy. He’d a come back ‘n helped me on the farm like he always done, and someday soon it would a been his.”
The humor left the spectators’ faces.
“And you, Mrs. Francks. What do you want your neighbors to read about your husband?”
The widow blanched. Chuy felt deep sorrow for her. Mervyn Francks had been one of the toughest soldiers he had ever known. A big, meaty-faced German who was a career marine. When Chuy had been assigned to D Company over a year ago as fourth platoon sergeant, Francks was the senior company sergeant. They had become very close friends.
“I just want everyone to know that Mervyn died doing what he thought was right.” She blew her nose into a handkerchief. “What with all this stuff going on these days about whether it’s right we’re in a war in Korea, Mervyn never questioned that the Marine Corps and the President knew what was best for our country.”
The spectators rose to their feet and clapped, cheering their approval.
As the House quieted again, Vice President Barkley said, “Well, I guess that’s enough questions for now. We’ll ask our honorees to form a receiving line in front of the table.”
General Trilling walked up behind Magdalena’s chair and pulled it out for her as she stood up. The others also stood and walked around to the front of the table. Senator Barry Goldwater walked up to Chuy and Magdalena and shook their hands energetically.
“Everyone in Arizona is proud of you,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” said Chuy.
“I’m going to stand here with you and introduce you to some of these folks,” Goldwater said. He inserted himself between Chuy and Magdalena and wrapped his arms around them. A file of at least two hundred senators and representatives passed slowly by as uncountable camera bulbs flashed. Senator Goldwater introduced each of them, but neither Chuy nor Magdalena could remember any of their names. They were elderly men, dressed almost identically in light summer suits, showing their teeth for the cameras, posing with fixed smiles. They melded together like fungible corn cobs, virtually indistinguishable.
“This is Senator Margaret Chase Smith from Maine,” Goldwater said.
She was a middle-aged woman, Magdalena’s height, with short gray hair and bright brown eyes, a strong-boned face with sparse makeup, dressed in a staid cream cotton business suit. She shook Magdalena’s hand, then held it in both of her’s.
“You’re straight out of that Nelson Eddy-Jeanette McDonald movie,” Senator Smith said, “you know, the one where she plays the Indian maiden. You should have had the part.”
“I can’t carry a tune,” Magdalena murmured, feeling immediately attracted to the senator’s guileless warmth, unlike most of the others.
The senator chuckled. “You’re both genuine American treasures, Mrs. Leyva, you and your husband. Barry, you get out of there and let me have my picture taken with these two.”
Goldwater stepped away several feet. Senator Smith stood between Chuy and Magdalena, her arm through Magdalena’s. Flashbulbs popped.
“Charlie, you see I get a dozen of those,” she said to a nearby photographer. Turning to Magdalena, “I’d be most honored if you and your husband would join me for luncheon at the Chez Crillon Restaurant after this is over.”
“We’re supposed to go to New York right after this,” Magdalena said.
“Oh, I understand it’s pouring cats and dogs there,” the senator said. “I doubt that there can be a parade.”
Magdalena looked at General Trilling for help. He came over to them.
“I understand the ticker tape parade has been canceled due to the weather,” Senator Smith said.
“Yes, ma’am,” said the general.
“Then the Marine Corps will have no objection to the Leyvas joining me for luncheon after this?”
“No, ma’am.”
“The Chez Crillon Restaurant, then?” the senator said. “And you, too, General, of course.”
“I’ll get them there, Senator,” General Trilling said.
“I’m delighted.” She squeezed Magdalena’s hand and smiled at her. “We’ll have a lovely chat.” She moved down the receiving line.
“She’s one of the few politicians in Washington who has an ounce of honor,” General Trilling said. They were driving in the staff car to the Chez Crillon Restaurant.
“Why is she making such a fuss over us?” Magdalena asked.
The general snorted. “You’re today’s news. Washington is starved for heroes right now, all of America is. Day after day of casualty figures from Korea and body bags at Andrews Air Force Base, and then Senator McCarthy and what’s going on with this Communist thing.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Take advantage of being heroes as long as you can. In three days, nobody will even remember your names.”
Chuy nodded. He didn’t care if anyone remembered his name. All he wanted to do was to go to the hotel and be with Magdalena. He held her hand.
“Why don’t we go back to the hotel,” she said quietly. “They’re just passing us around like novelties in a gift shop.”
“Well, Mrs. Leyva,” the general said, his voice soothing, “if it were someone other than Senator Smith, I’d tell you to do that. But with her, I think you ought to go through with it. What the hell. One more hour and you’ll be on your own for the rest of your lives. Might as well have a little caviar and champagne for once.”
“Just don’t develop a taste for it.” Chuy mumbled.
They laughed. The car pulled up to the curb in front of a green canopy leading through wrought-iron gates to the Chez Crillon. A doorman in a fancy Revolutionary Army uniform and a white periwig opened the rear door of the car and Magdalena and Chuy got out. General Trilling got out of the front seat and preceded them into the restaurant.
Applause began to swell as the waiter led them through the tables to a long table set up in the middle of the restaurant. Many of the men stood up. Some twenty people sat around the center table, virtually all of them familiar faces from the House ceremony. They too stood and clapped. Senator Smith sat at one end of the table and gestured to the empty seats on either side of her. Chuy and Magdalena sat down, and the applause dwindled. General Trilling sat down on the last empty chair toward the center of the table.
“I imagine that it’s been a dizzying day for you, my dear,” Senator Smith said.
Magdalena smiled.
“It’s hard to maintain one’s balance in a situation like this,” the senator said.
Magdalena studied her face and decided that she wasn’t just a politician making small talk.
“I had no trouble keeping my balance, senator. All I had to do was look over at the Mongers or Mrs. Francks every few minutes. It kept me balanced.”
The others at the table were busy with their menus as two waiters circled the table taking orders.
The senator nodded soberly at her. “I’m glad, my dear, because the cheering will die down, but at least you’ll still have this magnificent husband of yours to be with.”
“I know that.” Magdalena looked across the table at Chuy and smiled. He sat staring at her with a small grin on his face.
“Where do you teach, my dear?” the senator asked.
“At a segregated school in Tucson. It’s the only place that the school board would let me.”
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with teaching Negroes.”
“Of course not. But it would be a lot better just to put all the students together in the same school and the teachers, too.”
“Perhaps someday that will happen, Mrs. Leyva. The attitude of the country is changing. Ever since President Truman integrated the military, I’ve noticed a sea change in attitudes.”
A waiter came up between them.
“May I order for you, Mrs. Leyva. I know the food here quite well.”
“Certainly.”
“The three of us will have the same thing, George,” the senator said, looking from Magdalena to Chuy and back to the waiter. “Peasant potatoes and poached salmon.”
She turned to Chuy. “I hope you do realize, Captain, that the show of honor and gratitude that you’ve seen today is genuine. Washington is a phony place full of ambitious people, but with respect to our soldiers who have demonstrated the rare courage that you and your comrades showed, the affection of all of us is real.”
Chuy studied her face and found none of the professional mask that cloaked the features of so many others earlier in the day. He nodded.
“Thank you, Senator.”
“Men like you, women like your lovely wife, will make a new world for your people.” Her face was very intense, her brown eyes bore deeply into his. She took his right hand and Magdalena’s left. She stood up and pulled them with her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, looking about the long table. “Wonderful people like these bring a breath of sweet air to our country’s capital. Too often we forget that it is not the political movers and shakers who really shape our country’s destiny, but the simple people whom we call upon in our moments of desperation and who rise in spirit and courage to astonish us all with their accomplishments, which none of us could achieve. I am honored that Captain Leyva and Magdalena are with us today. The applause will die down for them, but never our respect and fondest wishes for their success in life.”
“Here, here,” called out several men at the table and clinked their water goblets with spoons, producing a light accolade of chimes.
The senator sat down. Chuy sat down, fidgeting nervously. Magdalena resumed her seat and felt hot blood rushing to her cheeks.
Waiters pushed up two serving tables. Everyone quieted as the plates of food were placed before them.
Magdalena ate sparingly of the caviar-filled baked potato. The little fish eggs were much too salty for her taste. She glanced up at Chuy, and he was working hard to keep a sickened look off his face as he chewed a mouthful of caviar and potato.
The poached salmon was much more palatable.
“What can I do for you, Magdalena?” the senator asked. “I feel like your fairy godmother today, and I’d like to grant you any wish I’m capable of.”
Magdalena looked at Senator Smith, at a loss for an answer. “I’m not sure I have any special wishes, other than what I told you before.”
“There must be something a stodgy old lady from Maine can do for a beautiful young woman from Arizona. And I’m serious.”
Magdalena sat back in her chair and looked intently at the senator. “Maybe there is one thing,” she said quietly.
Senator Smith appeared eager.
“It has to do with this red scare business.”
The senator’s face became solemn. “My dear colleague, Senator McCarthy?”
Magdalena nodded. “Indirectly, anyway.”
“Has his venom trickled all the way to Tucson, Arizona?”
“It’s not just a trickle.”
“What can I do for you?” Senator Smith suddenly appeared doubtful.
“Chuy and I have a very dear friend who is the legal officer for the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Tucson. His name is Joshua Rabb, and he has a nineteen-year-old daughter named Hanna.”
The senator leaned forward over the table, listening intently.
She stood in the bright afternoon light of the window overlooking the Potomac and the sailboats, but she did not see them. She was looking at her husband. He pulled off his boxer shorts and draped them on the chair, then sat down on the edge of the bed, very ready for his wife.
She unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it on the chair. The beige silk skirt crumpled around her ankles, and she stepped out of it.
Chuy caught his breath. He stared at her, grinning. She unhooked her brassiere and let it fall to the floor.
“Where did you get that outfit?” he asked hoarsely.
“Barbara.”
“Jesus,” he murmured. “No wonder Joshua always looks tired.”
Magdalena laughed deep in her throat. She unhooked the stocking clips and dropped the garter belt on the floor. She stepped to him, and he buried his face between her breasts as she caressed his back. He pulled her panties down and drank in her delicious womanness.
Chapter 19
The Davis Monthan Air Force Base Band filled almost half of Armory Park in the center of downtown Tucson. It began to play the Marine Corps Anthem as Colonel Sylbert’s staff car pulled up in front of the Tucson Armory, directly to the east of the park. On the west side of the park was the Carnegie Library, and dozens of curious people pressed against its windows and sat on its dozen broad steps listening to the band and waiting to see who was so important. A few people had read the two-inch story on page eleven of the Arizona Daily Star this morning and had come to catch a glimpse of Arizona’s only Congressional Medal of Honor winner in the Korean War.
Along the curb in front of the Armory was Senator William Maitland with the staff officers of Company C, Chuy Leyva’s home unit. Next to them were Edgar Hendly, Solomon Leyva, Chief Francisco Romero, and seven of the Tribal Council members of the Papago tribe. Joshua, Hanna, Adam, and Barbara stood in front of the white-painted wood gazebo in the middle of the park. Maitland had given Colonel Sylbert orders to keep Joshua—an indicted felon—away from the dignitaries. Frances Hendly, holding her four-year-old daughter’s hand, stood next to Barbara.
The Air Force Band played “Stars and Stripes Forever” as Chuy and Magdalena got out of the staff car. Big Bill Maitland bounded up to them, grabbed their hands, and hoisted them victoriously overhead for all the newspaper cameramen to see.
“A true American hero, our own native son,” he bellowed for the cluster of standing microphones to broadcast and record.
“Who the hell’s ‘at?” said the fat man standing behind the small Coca-Cola ice wagon on the sidewalk in front of the Carnegie Library. He wore an old straw cowboy hat to keep the sun off his pink, bulbous face.
“Dunno,” said the customer, fishing a Coke out of the melting ice. He was tall and good-looking, young, wearing grease-stained gray mechanic’s overalls. “Some Indian, I reckon.”
