Thai Horse by William Diehl Page A

him with his wife and two small children in front of a Christmas tree. The date on the back was Christmas, 1971, his last Christmas home. There were also some news clippings, including the announcement in the San Francisco Chronicle that Cody’s widow, Joan, had married a rear admiral two years after Cody was officially declared dead. Cold, hard facts and not too many of them.
    Hatcher studied the two photographs. He remembered Cody as being tall and hard with a quick laugh, a man who loved a good time almost as much as he loved the ladies.
    The photographs prodded Hatcher’s memory, but twenty years had dulled it. Hazy incidents flirted with his brain — the good times, oddly, seemed the most vague — then there were other incidents, juxtaposed visions of Murph Cody, that were crystal clear. In one, Cody was the brutish sophomore, a hulking shape in the boxing ring, pummeling his opponent relentlessly, driving a youngster into the ropes, slamming punches in a flurry to the chest and face of the kid until Hatcher and another member of the team jumped in the ring and pulled him off. In the other, Cody was the penitent, showing up at the hospital later that evening, apologizing in tears for hurting the young freshman, who had two broken ribs and a shattered cheekbone, and sitting beside him all night.
    He remembered, too, his own fear as a freshman of Cody, who had a reputation among the new frogs as a mean hazer.
    ‘When did you meet him?’ Sloan asked.
    Hatcher thought for a moment as memories bombarded him. Opaque memories like the shape of a room but not the furnishings in it and faces without voices. Then slowly the memories began to materialize as his mind sorted through fragments of his life.
    ‘The first day at Annapolis,’ he answered. ‘I’ll never forget it. .
    August 1963. A bright, hot day. Hatcher and a half- dozen other frogs were lined up ramrod-straight, their backs flat against the wall in the dormitory hallway. It was their first day at Annapolis, and they were all confused and scared. Two upperclassmen had them braced and were giving them their first introduction to the cruelties inflicted on a frog, a new freshman at the academy.
    The worse of the two was a burly midshipman with a permanent sneer named Snyder. Snyder hated all lowerclassmen. Because he had almost b usted out himself, he had no tolerance for them.
    The other second-year man merely watched. He was tall, muscular and handsome despite features that were triangular and hawkish and made him appear older than he was. He stood at parade rest, never taking his eyes off Hatcher.
    ‘Look at these maggots,’ Snyder said, stalking the line of frightened young midshipme n . ‘Look around you, maggots. By this time next year o nly two of you will be left.’
    He stood in front of Hatcher. ‘You’re the juvenile, huh. How did a delinquent like you get into Annapolis?’
    Hatcher stared straight ahead, not knowing what to answer.
    Snyder’s face was an inch from Hatcher’s. ‘What’s the matter, maggot, can’t you talk?’ he yelled.
    ‘Yes, sir!’ the terrified Hatcher answered.
    ‘Are you a maggot?’
    ‘Yes, sir!’
    ‘Are you lower than dog shit?’
    ‘Yes, sir!’
    ‘I can’t hear you!’
    ‘Yes, sir!’
    ‘Awright, clear the hall!’ Snyder yelled. ‘Move it, move it, move it. On the double!’ And he laughed as they all scrambled to their rooms.
    A minute later the tall cadet appeared at the door to Hatcher’s room.
    ‘Everybody clear out but Hatcher,’ he snapped and the room emptied. Hatcher stood as erect as a statue in his new uniform, his chin tucked agains t his clavicle. Cody stood very near him but did not look t him; he stared out the window at the courtyard as he spoke. ‘My name’s Murphy Cody. You call me Mister Cody.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘I hear you’re a Street kid. Is that rig h t, maggot?’
    “ W ell, sir, I . .
    ‘Yes or no!’
    ‘Yes, sir!’
    ‘I hear you were a Golden Gloves champion in