Soldier Doll (20 page)

Alex nodded; this meddling concerned him. It made him think of Vietnam.

“But,” Rory went on, “I did some more reading. And you know what? I realized it's more immoral
not
to do something.”

“You think so?” asked Alex. “Because they don't let girls go to school and stuff?”

Rory banged his fist on the table. “They don't just not let them go to school, Alex,” he said. “They make them cover themselves from head to toe. They are not allowed to drive. They aren't allowed to do anything, and if they do, they're punished by
law
. And these aren't laws like we have here in Canada. Oh no! They can be beaten or stoned for something as small as trying to buy food for their children.” Rory paused dramatically and shook his head.

Alex found himself nodding. He thought about what his mother had said, about it sometimes being necessary to fight evil with a little evil. Maybe she was right.

“Here's my card,” said Rory. He handed Alex a little Armed Forces business card. Alex took it, surprised. He hadn't realized that soldiers carried cards like lawyers or bankers or whatever. “Call me if you're interested. There are lots of opportunities for someone like you. We're always looking for math guys, people to work in encryption. Code breaking, stuff like that.”

“Thanks,” Alex replied automatically. He watched Rory's back as he turned to talk to another student. Alex thought about what he'd said. He pictured the burkas he'd seen on television, the long tent-like garments that women in Afghanistan were forced to wear. All they had was some netting at the eye area so the women could see. It wasn't at all clear to him how they could breathe in those things, and he was pretty sure Afghanistan was hot. It looked hot, anyway, on TV. He also remembered that big public execution he'd heard about, the one they'd held in, like, a soccer stadium so everyone could watch, like it was some big game.

. . .

“So, did you enjoy your free pizza?” Jonathan was still awake and working at his laptop when Alex got back. Jonathan shunned his desk in favor of his bed; he liked to spread his books around him like pillows and work in a slumped over, half-reclining position. Alex couldn't understand how he got any work done like that. If he laid down on his bed to work, he'd be asleep in under five minutes.

“It was fine,” said Alex neutrally. He sat down at his desk chair and unlaced his boots.

“Was there booze?” Jonathan asked.

“No.” Alex kicked off his boots. “They were real army guys. They weren't about to buy booze for us.”

“Right,” said Jonathan. “Because the army has never done anything wrong or illegal before.” He smirked, tapping on his keyboard.

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan snorted. “The military does all kinds of bad stuff. Didn't your mom teach you anything about the Vietnam War? You think we should be in Afghanistan?”

“I don't think they're at all the same, actually,” retorted Alex. “What about women's rights? You support the Taliban?”

Jonathan laughed. “You think the war is about the Taliban? It's about
oil
.”

“So you don't think there's any good in getting rid of a violent and…” Alex searched frantically for the right word. “
Oppressive
government?”

“Oooh. Ten points for that one, math genius.” Jonathan grinned.

“Shut up.”

“You're so naive. The Americans are over there protecting their own interests. They don't care about the people of Afghanistan.”

“And the Canadians?”

“The Canadians are little puppets of the Americans.” Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. “They really don't matter.”

Alex was reminded of his father. “So what would be a justifiable reason to go to war?” He challenged his roommate. “What would make it okay?”

“I don't think war is ever okay,” said Jonathan matter-of-factly. “There is always an alternative, a way to engage in peaceful negotiations.”

“I don't agree.” Alex was surprised at his own words, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt convinced he was right.

“Do me a favor, math genius. Go back to your trigonometry.”

“You're an arrogant jerk.” Alex clenched his fists, infuriated by Jonathan's patronizing tone.

“And you're being ridiculous. What are you going to do—join the army?”

“Maybe I will.” Alex stood up. “Maybe I will. You know they pay for your school? And they give you a job after graduation and everything.”

“Alex.” Jonathan looked at him seriously. “You're talking about the army. Are. You. Insane? They'll send you to
Afghanistan
.” His expression was incredulous: his eyes were wide and his mouth hanging half open.

“Well, I'm not you. Maybe that doesn't bother me.” Alex pictured himself decked out in army fatigues, running through the desert with a giant gun. Could he really do that? But Rory had said there were other opportunities for people like him. Math stuff. Code breaking. “I could work in encryption,” he added.

“Do you speak Arabic?”

“No.”

Jonathan gave him a pointed glance but said nothing.

“I might do it.” Alex threw his roommate a contemptuous look. “Not all of us are jaded about those poor girls in burkas.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Do whatever you want,” he said, shrugging. “I'm just saying, it's not as simple as you think it is. It isn't all about being a hero and rescuing the good and innocent people of Afghanistan.”

“No? Well, it's not just about oil, either,” shot back Alex.

Jonathan didn't reply. “I'm going to hit the hay.”

Alex watched, horrified, as he swept all his papers and books to the carpeted floor with a single arm motion.
How could someone stand to live in such a mess?
Alex backed away, as if the disorder was contagious. He thought he was messy, but Jonathan made him feel like his neat-freak mother.

“Goodnight, then.” Alex turned away from his roommate and sat down at his own desk. He logged on to the Internet and browsed articles on the Taliban. He also read more about Osama bin Laden, whom the Taliban were hiding away somewhere.
Could I really join the army? What would my parents say?
He still wasn't sure.

. . .

“See ya, Benji.” Alex waved and quickly rolled the window back up. It was freezing. Even with the heat going at full blast he could still see his breath. He rubbed his hands together for warmth—he had never been able to drive with gloves on—and placed his chapped hands back on the steering wheel.

Exams were done, and like pretty much everyone else on campus, Alex was headed home for the holidays. He was the only one with a car (a beat-up 1990 Ford with a large dent in the side), and he had offered his friends a ride so they could avoid the bus. Benji lived the closest to him and was the last one to be dropped off. Alex turned up the radio for the final few blocks of the drive and groaned: more Nickelback. Were they ever
not
on?

Alex had been home twice since leaving for school—once for his mother's birthday and then again at Thanksgiving. Both times he had expected home to feel different when he came back. He'd hoped that his parents would see him as an adult. Both times, though, he was surprised to find that it didn't feel that way at all. As soon as he was home, it was as if he'd never left. On some levels it was nice—he liked not having to do his own laundry, for example—but on others, he felt disappointed: he'd hoped going away to school would have elevated him somehow in his parents' eyes, made them realize he wasn't a kid anymore, and forced them to treat him more like an adult. But nothing had changed in the Cameron house, where his mother still sighed behind the bathrobe-clad back of his father, while he alternately lashed out at the morning newspaper and lectured Alex on current events.

Alex thought of how his father would react when presented with the news that his son was joining the army. He couldn't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction as he imagined the horror and outrage on his face, his eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, and cheeks turning bright purple.
He's always so sure he's right
, thought Alex, digging his hands into the steering wheel.
Just like Jonathan
.

Since meeting Rory that first time, he'd met him twice more to discuss opportunities in the military. He'd also started attending debates on campus about the war in Afghanistan. He hadn't told the guys; they thought he was studying geometry in the library. He was still ambivalent about the war, but thought that if he joined the army, he would have a chance to do some good. He imagined himself handing out candy to barefoot kids and rescuing grateful women. Rory encouraged this. “It would be great to have someone like you in Afghanistan,” he enthused. “Someone who's both gifted academically
and
motivated by the desire for positive change. You have real leadership potential, Alex.”

The only person who was aware of his new extracurricular activities was Jonathan. He attended the same debates and had been surprised to find Alex tagging along.

“You're really taking this seriously, aren't you?” Jonathan said, giving his roommate a worried glance.

“Well, I think there is room for me,” said Alex defensively.

“Room where? You're not still talking about the army, are you?” Jonathan scoffed.

“Maybe I am. Have you ever thought that it would be good for the military to have people who aren't so convinced they're right about everything, people who genuinely want to help and bring about change?”

Jonathan looked at him sharply. “Who have you been talking to?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It just sounds like someone's trying to manipulate you.” Jonathan shrugged. “It's your life, Cameron. If you want to throw it away getting blown to pieces in Kabul, I guess it's your business.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

Alex gritted his teeth thinking about Jonathan and the inevitably similar reaction he was bound to get from his father.
I am an adult
, he told himself,
a university student with my own ideas and opinions. I don't see why my opinions aren't as valid as theirs.

Alex pulled into his driveway, the car bouncing slightly as one of the front tires hit a small sinkhole. He shut off the car, which sputtered and groaned a bit as he did. He grabbed his bags from the backseat.

“Alex!” His mother was waiting at the door. She'd clearly been hovering at the window, waiting for him to get home. He smiled and folded her into a big bear hug, lifting her slightly off her feet. She was so tiny, he thought, as he swung her around once and then gently placed her back on the floor.

“How was the drive?” she asked.

“Not bad, just cold. I think I need to get the heat checked on the Ford.” He rubbed his hands together for warmth.

“You can take it to Joe's garage on Monday; I think it's open until Christmas Eve.”

His mom looked down at the bags. “Which one has the laundry in it?”

Alex gave her a sheepish glance. “The blue-and-red one.”

She picked it up carefully, as if handling radioactive waste. “How long has it been sitting around?”

Alex blushed. “Two weeks.”

She shook her head. “Disgusting. I'll go throw this in. Your dad's just in the shower. There was an incident with jam this morning.”

“An incident?”

“You know your father is clumsy. Blueberry jam everywhere. Such a mess.” She sighed in a good-natured way and turned to the basement.

Alex gathered the rest of his things. He trudged up the stairs to his room, which was just as he had left it. He tossed his bags on the floor next to the desk and looked longingly at the bed, contemplating a nap before supper.

“Alex! You're home.”

Alex turned to see his father in the doorway, grinning broadly. He was naked, save for a pink bath towel wrapped precariously around his waist. He reached forward to pull his son into a hug, and it fell promptly to the ground.

“Oops,” he said cheerfully, as Alex looked away, mortified. “Sorry. I had a little episode this morning with the jam.”

“I heard.”

“Damned jar broke and spilled everywhere. All over the paper. Didn't even get to read it.”

“I'm sure it would have just made you mad, anyway.” The words tumbled out of Alex's mouth like an overturned jar of marbles.

His father raised his eyebrows. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Alex shrugged. He wished he could take back what he'd said. He didn't want to get into it so soon, and not like this, with his father standing before him clutching a towel to cover himself.

“You know,” he said finally. “The war and all that.”

“Oh.” His father's face darkened. “Well, I certainly have my thoughts on that. Just yesterday, I was reading that warmongering hawk of a columnist, what's-her-name—”

“You know what, Dad?” Alex cut him off gently. “I'm really tired. I'm thinking about a nap.”

“Huh?” His father looked momentarily confused at the sudden shift in conversation. He recovered quickly, nodding. “Of course. Of course, you must be tired after the drive. Probably partying all night, too, now that exams are done, eh?” He gave Alex a wink. “I remember my wild college days.”

“Right, Dad.”

Alex watched his father saunter down the hall, losing hold of the towel once again to reveal his rather sizeable behind. Shuddering, Alex went back into his room and shut the door, grateful that he had his mother's fit frame. There would be plenty of time to talk to his dad about the war later. And it wasn't as if he was
sure
what he was going to do, either, he reminded himself. He was just
thinking
about it, in a serious way. Yawning, he pulled off his sweater and flopped on the bed. His father wasn't entirely wrong—he had been up with friends until past three, but much of that time had been spent silently agonizing over the geometry final. Settling back, he lay his head on his old pillow and gave in to sleep, pushing all thoughts of calculations, war, and his father clear out of his head.