Farewell Uncle Ho 12
This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.
Farewell, Uncle Ho
by Dennis Milholland
questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu
Chapter 12 (Wed, Dec 21)
For the past two weeks, I have been, more or less, by myself in Bat's office. Translating this contract was neither the easiest nor the most interesting thing I'd ever done. But the fact that it was for Bat made it less tedious, and that Marv was here today to help me with the common-law contractual terms in English was not to be ignored.
Bat had purchased a brand new Selectric typewriter for me to use. He kept me fed with three squares a day. Just like the caring father he was. And, while we were working, Marv would explain quite a few intricate aspects of our legal system, which concerned these negotiations. One that made a particular impression on me was the idea of attorney-client privilege, and that I also had to keep privileged information to myself.
Bat and Lon kept me active in bed and out. Every day before work, we would drive down to the beach and have an hour's run, while he taught me basic Mongolian phrases. And every day before lunch, we'd go to the gym for an hour's workout and sauna. Then, somewhere shortly before midnight after a fourteen hour workday, Lon and I would continue to teach Bat everything we'd ever known about sex. My four years in France showed.
"I contacted the French Embassy, this morning." Marv said as casually as Marv could say anything. He'd just handed me the last correction of the contract and once again I was glad to have learned to type in high school.
"And?" I stopped typing and looked up from the page he'd corrected, not sure of what he was getting at.
"You know, Ben, we've been working like mad for the past, what, thirteen days?" Whatever he was about to say was making him blush and not able to keep my gaze.
"Yeah?" I wondered what was making him act this goofy.
"Well," He swallowed. "I've come to regard you as sort of a kid brother." Marv blushed again. "Hell, you even have a Jewish name."
"My name is Benton," I laughed. "not Benjamin."
"Close enough. " He stared at the paper on the desk between us. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, while you're in the Army."
"Know of any way of getting around it?" I switched off the typewriter to give him my full attention.
"That's what my job is, Ben, knowing things." Marv always looked a little sad, even when he was laughing. But today, his facial expression was burdened with concern, despite his smile. "Normally, seeing the way things are developing in Vietnam, I'd tell you to get out and go to Canada. Sweden or even back to France. But since you could be sentenced to death for deserting, I couldn't advise you to do that with a clear conscience." He paused and looked to check my reaction. "So, Bat and I have decided on the second best."
Marv explained to me how the Army worked. He told me that I would more than likely be taken to Fort Dix, New Jersey for basic infantry training. First we would be kept in a holding company during which time, we would take a battery of tests. The army language aptitude test, along with tests in any languages we requested, would be among them. The more, the better.
After scoring, he imagined, close to perfect scores in Chinese and French, he was sure that the Army Security Agency would approach me, at which time I would be given the chance to extend my military commitment to four years, making me Regular Army rather than just a draftee. Then I would volunteer for the Army Security Agency, better known as the 'Buddy Fuckers'.
At this, I frowned, and he then revealed his super plan. "When you extend to make your active duty commitment a total of four years to be in the ASA, they will interview you. At this interview, Ben, you will tell them that you have, in fact, tried marijuana and that you are a dual national."
"But I have never smoked marijuana." I admitted somewhat sheepishly.
Marv pulled out two joints, lit one and handed it to me. He waited for me to take my first drag. "Now, you have."
Although I didn't feel anything, yet, I had to giggle at the thought of Bernice and William's obedient little boy blowing dope. "And what do you mean with dual national?"
"Certain countries recognize citizenship through blood. This is called jus sanguinis, and you could have become a citizen of the People's Republic of China had your mother not lost her Chinese citizenship by being born a citizen of this country. Sadly, Red China doesn't recognize dual nationality." He broke out with sort of a silly laugh. "That would have gotten you out of the Green Latrine, alright, by professing to being a citizen of Red China." He melted into totally mellow giggles. "But it would have also gotten you deported."
Right now, I also felt the urge to giggle. I took another toke at the thought of my leading Mao's cultural revolution in America. Anyway, apparently Bat had used his private investigator to see about the possibility of my claiming French citizenship because of my father.
"And come to find out," Marv dropped his joint into the brass Mongolian ashtray in the middle of the desk to let it smolder. "your dad has never become an American." At the idea of someone not wanting to become a citizen of the United States, his voice expressed thorough incredulity by using staccato speech. "He is still a citizen of the French Republic."
"So?" I giggled some more. "What's your point."
"So, you're entitled to hold French citizenship, as well." Marv's heavy, Groucho-like eyebrows were at full mast.
"What are you, nuts?" Giggles still had a grip on me, and I put the joint into the ashtray. "I already have a French passport, identity card, driver's license, and I'm registered to vote. Or did you think that I lived in France for all those years as an American?"
Through the dope-induced giggles, Marv managed to explain how having smoked marijuana and owing allegiance to more than one country would disqualify me for service amongst the Buddy Fuckers but not get me out of military service, altogether. They drafted both foreigners and potheads.
During basic training, however, they would refer me back to the Regular Army, but my four-year commitment would remain. As sort of a booby prize, they would offer me a choice of specialized training. That's when I would tell them that I wanted to be a legal clerk.
According to Marv, that would keep me off the front lines, tucked away safely in a law office. Dull as Fuck, but safe. Then shortly before my two years were up, I would petition for a discharge, since I extended to become a Buddy Fucker and the Army didn't keep up their end of the deal. And theoretically, according to Marv, since I would be serving in a legal office, Personnel wouldn't argue with me.
"Then, you get out and come home and go to work for me and Bat as our paralegal." Marv had everything planned, and we were hashing over the finer points of his plan, when Bat came into the office.
"Holy, shit!" Of course, the mention of 'shit' once again set off our giggles. "What are you guys doing in here?"
"Disqualifying Ben from service in the ASA." Marv's mellowness apparently upset Bat.
"Yeah, okay, but that stuff's illegal." He protested.
Marv's eyelids were almost too heavy for him to keep them open. "Not nearly as illegal as having his dick up your ass."
***
So, after Marv and I got busted for smoking weed in Bat's office, he offered to take me out to dinner, just the two of us, since Bat had a date with Shai. Almost ready to leave, we met up with Bat in the kitchen.
"Do you like Chinese food?" was Marv's show-stopping question, which caused Bat and me to explode with laughter.
"Marv, you just asked a guy who is half Chinese if he likes Chinese food." Bat was brushing tears of laugher off his cheeks.
"So?" Marv was chuckling along with us, but he was serious and spoke with a certainty only a lawyer can muster, when being laughed at. "Look. I'm Jewish and hate gefilte fish, chopped liver, and matzo-ball soup. The guy's got a right to hate Chinese food."
Bat and I conceded the point, but we still found the question funny. But then I thought about it. I'd heard about the Jewish overachiever having to become a doctor, lawyer, certified public accountant. Of course, that was stereotypical, and generally the punch line of a joke. But that didn't detract from the fact that Marv was a lawyer who hated the traditional food of his own people. And his best friend and probably his best client was a Mongolian super stud with whom he'd grown up. That got me into a whirlpool of thought about self-hatred.
***
We were just about half-way across the Manhattan Bridge on the lower roadway when Marv aroused me out of my thoughts. "Are you always this quiet?"
I jumped a little. "No. Sorry, Marv, was just lost in thoughts about racism."
His usually sad expression looked like it was approaching hurt. "You think I'm a racist?"
I laughed and placed my left hand on his right thigh, which I quickly squeezed and laughed again. "If there's one guy I know who is anything other than racist, it's you." It was as if he were looking for something else to support self-deprecation. He reminded me of my dad, always using the somewhat derogatory Chinese designation, lo faun, to describe himself. It was as if 'white guy' were too positive. "I mean, you didn't even assume that I like Chinese food." I had to give out a spontaneous burst of laughter before I continued.
"No, Marv, but I do think that you might, at one time, have been a victim of racism."
His bushy eyebrows seemed to stick mid forehead in disbelief, as his eyes glanced between me and the road. "But I'm white."
"Maybe you don't consider yourself white enough for your own liking, Dr. Brandstifter." Even with only the light coming off the dashboard instruments and the streetlights, I could tell that I'd hit a nerve. "Let's see if I can make my point. Why did you become a lawyer?"
At first, timidity kept him from replying. After a deep breath, he responded: "Because I wasn't smart enough to become a brain surgeon."
"Where did you go to college?
"Brooklyn College." Marv sighed, as he steered the car off Canal Street, and I directed him to a safe parking lot behind the police precinct.
"And where did you study law?"
"Brooklyn Law School." His answer was accompanied by another sigh rather than even a trace of pride. He parked and we got out. He double checked the doors.
I placed my arm across his shoulder. "And into which ethnic group do you place me?"
"Cantonese, Chinese." He looked up at me. "What's with all these questions?"
"To point out that you've victimized yourself, because of your own perception of who you are." I pulled Marv closer to me and kissed the side of his neck. "According to Bat, you had a straight A average in high school and were valedictorian."
"Hmm." Marv nodded and snuggled onto my chest for a second as we walked around the block to Elizabeth Street and my favorite restaurant.
"Don't get me wrong, both Brooklyn College and Brooklyn Law are solid, well-established and respected institutions, but with your grade average, you could have gotten a scholarship to Harvard, Columbia or Cornell."
Again Marv sighed. "Probably."
"But you were afraid to apply, weren't you?" I took my arm off his shoulder.
"So?" He looked at me and held the door. He glowed like a proud parent as I greeted and chatted with the owner's son, who asked me for details about my blow-up with Bernice and Alice. I winked and grinned as I related that at twenty two, it was time to move out.
I waited for us to be seated before I continued the conversation with Marv in English. "So back to what we were talking about." I met Marv's gaze across the table. "I would imagine that you, like me, were taught to know your place and not to make waves." I put my hand in my lap as the waiter placed two glasses of ice water in front of us. "Oh, and by the way, I'm only half Chinese. I'm also just as much white. Or so they tell me."