forward to dazzling my pathetic sweetie with a few other tricks, too, before I killed her.
In the meantime, I couldn’t help myself, I was impulsive, I know, a number of insecure maidens had accompanied me into the woods to end their pointless lives on the floor of my classroom. I did go to the trouble of interring most of the bodies, but I might as well have let them rot. The search parties never came near the ruins. In any case, I had outgrown this sort of exhibitionism by the time I was thrown out of the academy.
14Mr.X
In essence, boarding schools are all the same, especially to those who are as smoke from the cannon’s mouth and wind up getting expelled from one tweedy snakepit after another. Actual military school, in my case good old Fortress, of Owlsburg, Pennsylvania, to which my father sent me in a last convulsion of disgust, suited me far better than its civilian imitations. My father had informed me that failure at this last resort would derail the gravy train—no more monthly deposits into my account, noinheritance, no trust fund, finis—thereby compelling me to work at least hard enough to pass the courses. I rather liked my uniform’s chill, fascist pomp. Because I entered in the senior, or Cavalry, year, one of my duties was to bully the students beneath me, those in Artillery, Quartermaster, and especially Infantry, which was packed like sardines with doe-eyed fourteen-year-olds in a desperate sweat to please their overlords. We were
supposed to
reduce these children to whimpering blobs of panic, and they had to take it without protest or complaint.
I spent one of the happiest years of my young life in that place. As soon as I understood the deal, I drove out my roommate, a prep-school expellee like myself named Squiers whose babble had exhausted my patience before the end of our first day together. Thereafter, in my palatial single I was free to do as I wished. I did not at all mind the necessity, due to my parents’ refusal to have me come home, of spending the Thanksgiving vacation and Christmas break at school.
The only sign of impending difficulty occurred early in March, when my calculus instructor and unit commander, Captain Todd Squadron, drew me aside to announce that he would be visiting my quarters at 2100 hours that evening. I found this news alarming. Captain Squadron, a by-the-book regular army type whom I had bluffed into admiration from the day of my arrival, lately had grown cooler, almost dismissive. I feared that he had seen through my performance. I hoped that he had not discussed my “case” with an all-seeing dreadnought named Major Audrey Arndt, whom I had taken considerable pains to avoid. One other possibility was an even greater worry. After his arrival in my room, I discovered that both of these matters, the not so serious and the positively grave, were on his mind.
I saluted and stood at attention. Captain Squadron growled, “At ease,” and gestured me to my cot. His oddly wary, knowing attitude was laced with the dismissiveness I had lately sensed in him. When I had perched on the cot, Squadron leaned against my dresser and gazed down at me for a long moment transparently intended to unnerve.
“What is it with you, anyhow, Pledge?”
I asked what he meant.
“You’re different, aren’t you?”
“I hope I might take that as a compliment, sir.”
“There’s an example of what I mean, right there. After the Infantryintake, most transfers are foul balls.” He pulled at his uniform jacket, automatically aligning it with his trousers. “They got bounced out of so many schools their parents just want to keep them in line. Even though most of them aren’t too swift, they all think they’re smarter than we are. Every last one has a big, big problem with authority.”
“Not me, sir,” I said. “I respect authority.”
He gave me a sullen glare. “I cordially suggest that you stop jukin’ with me, Pledge.”
We were all pledges, no matter what class we
In the meantime, I couldn’t help myself, I was impulsive, I know, a number of insecure maidens had accompanied me into the woods to end their pointless lives on the floor of my classroom. I did go to the trouble of interring most of the bodies, but I might as well have let them rot. The search parties never came near the ruins. In any case, I had outgrown this sort of exhibitionism by the time I was thrown out of the academy.
14Mr.X
In essence, boarding schools are all the same, especially to those who are as smoke from the cannon’s mouth and wind up getting expelled from one tweedy snakepit after another. Actual military school, in my case good old Fortress, of Owlsburg, Pennsylvania, to which my father sent me in a last convulsion of disgust, suited me far better than its civilian imitations. My father had informed me that failure at this last resort would derail the gravy train—no more monthly deposits into my account, noinheritance, no trust fund, finis—thereby compelling me to work at least hard enough to pass the courses. I rather liked my uniform’s chill, fascist pomp. Because I entered in the senior, or Cavalry, year, one of my duties was to bully the students beneath me, those in Artillery, Quartermaster, and especially Infantry, which was packed like sardines with doe-eyed fourteen-year-olds in a desperate sweat to please their overlords. We were
supposed to
reduce these children to whimpering blobs of panic, and they had to take it without protest or complaint.
I spent one of the happiest years of my young life in that place. As soon as I understood the deal, I drove out my roommate, a prep-school expellee like myself named Squiers whose babble had exhausted my patience before the end of our first day together. Thereafter, in my palatial single I was free to do as I wished. I did not at all mind the necessity, due to my parents’ refusal to have me come home, of spending the Thanksgiving vacation and Christmas break at school.
The only sign of impending difficulty occurred early in March, when my calculus instructor and unit commander, Captain Todd Squadron, drew me aside to announce that he would be visiting my quarters at 2100 hours that evening. I found this news alarming. Captain Squadron, a by-the-book regular army type whom I had bluffed into admiration from the day of my arrival, lately had grown cooler, almost dismissive. I feared that he had seen through my performance. I hoped that he had not discussed my “case” with an all-seeing dreadnought named Major Audrey Arndt, whom I had taken considerable pains to avoid. One other possibility was an even greater worry. After his arrival in my room, I discovered that both of these matters, the not so serious and the positively grave, were on his mind.
I saluted and stood at attention. Captain Squadron growled, “At ease,” and gestured me to my cot. His oddly wary, knowing attitude was laced with the dismissiveness I had lately sensed in him. When I had perched on the cot, Squadron leaned against my dresser and gazed down at me for a long moment transparently intended to unnerve.
“What is it with you, anyhow, Pledge?”
I asked what he meant.
“You’re different, aren’t you?”
“I hope I might take that as a compliment, sir.”
“There’s an example of what I mean, right there. After the Infantryintake, most transfers are foul balls.” He pulled at his uniform jacket, automatically aligning it with his trousers. “They got bounced out of so many schools their parents just want to keep them in line. Even though most of them aren’t too swift, they all think they’re smarter than we are. Every last one has a big, big problem with authority.”
“Not me, sir,” I said. “I respect authority.”
He gave me a sullen glare. “I cordially suggest that you stop jukin’ with me, Pledge.”
We were all pledges, no matter what class we
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