Desperate Measures

7

They veered from the road, following a paved lane up a treed incline. A white wooden fence had an open gate. They passed a small building that reminded Pittman of a sentry box at the entrance to a military base, but no one was there, and Pittman assumed that the building was for deliveries.

At the top of the incline, the view was spectacular enough to make Jill stop driving. On each side, fir trees stretched along a ridge, rising toward mountains. But directly ahead and below, the trees had been cleared, replaced by an impressive expanse of grassland. In the valley, there were stables, horses in a pasture, an equestrian ring, and a polo field. Adjacent were several football fields. In the distance, an oval-shaped lake glinted with the reflection of sunlight, and Pittman remembered the importance that Professor Folsom had said the school placed on team rowing.

But Pittman’s attention was mostly directed toward the buildings in the center of the valley: a traditional white-steepled church, an imposing pillared building that was probably the school’s administration center, fifteen other structures made of brick, covered with ivy.

“Dormitories and classroom buildings,” Pittman said. “Solid, efficient, functional. What the Establishment considers roughing it.”

Jill looked puzzled. “You really have a problem about privileged society.”

“To rephrase Will Rogers, I never met a rich person I liked.”

“I’m rich.”

“But you don’t act rich…. I had an older brother,” Pittman said.

Jill looked as if she didn’t understand the jump in topics.

“His name was Bobby. He taught me how to ride a bicycle, how to throw a baseball. When I came home with a black eye from a fight in the school yard, he showed me how to box. There wasn’t anything Bobby couldn’t do. He was my idol. God, how I loved him.”

“You keep using the past tense.”

“He died in Vietnam.”

“Oh…. I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t want to go,” Pittman said. “He didn’t believe the war was right. But my parents didn’t have any money, and Bobby didn’t have the means to go to college and he couldn’t get a draft deferment. I remember him cursing about how all the rich kids got deferments but he couldn’t. All of his letters mentioned the same thing-how everybody in his unit was part of the Disestablishment. Of course, Bobby used cruder terms. He kept writing about a premonition he had, about how he was sure he wouldn’t be coming back. Well, he was right. Friendly fire killed him. I used to go to the cemetery every day to visit him. I remember thinking how easy it was for rich people to start wars when their children wouldn’t have to fight. Later, after I saved enough money from working on construction to go to college, I realized something else-those rich people got richer because of the wars they started. That’s why I became a journalist. To go after those bastards. To get even for my brother.”

“I’m sorry,” Jill repeated.

“So am I.” Pittman stared down at his bandaged hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean for all that to come out.”

Jill touched his arm.