The Heat of the Sun

what to say. I was tired of minted peas, and said so; I wanted something to read other than the Bible, and said so; I wished the window in my cell were
lower: such a pleasant view, I said.
    ‘ But tell me, Major... ’ Questions again – and again, I told them about Mendoza. No, I had not known Mendoza before. Yes, I had been startled by what Mendoza had
done.
    Voice of America took another tack.
    ‘In San Diego, you were alone with Colonel Pinkerton in his cell for some time – and keen not to be interrupted, I gather. Would you like to tell me why? What did you do with
Colonel Pinkerton?’
    ‘Do?’ I said. ‘Talked to him. What else?’
    Voice of America arched an eyebrow. ‘Just talked?’
    ‘Of course. He’s an old friend.’
    ‘Or lover?’ said the young man, more flushed than ever.
    The question hung in the air like incense.
    Had Trouble been my lover? I smiled. I laughed.
    ‘Shut up!’ cried Voice of America.
    Still I laughed. And laughed and laughed, even as he struck my face and I jerked back, almost falling from my chair. Perhaps there would be another blow, and another; blood, tasting like rust,
pooled beneath my tongue and I laughed again, splattering droplets down the front of my uniform. Oh, let him hit me again: I wanted him to hit me. Yes, I should have denied the ruinous charge,
denied it vehemently. But I could not: I would not. I wanted it to be true.
    Fearing nothing, I looked up into the glowering, disgusted face.
    Afternoons in August never end. When days are long and heat coils around us, sticky as molasses, we enter an eternal realm where it seems that nothing will happen, yet
everything could happen. Like phantoms, we pass through a dreamy haze, and I thought Voice of America was a phantom too, when he stood over my cot as that afternoon declined at last. His fingers
touched my forehead. Ruefully, he smiled. I should have been puzzled, but in the fog that consumed me I registered no surprise as he crossed to the sink, wet a washcloth, bathed my lips, and helped
me stand. I thought there would be handcuffs, but there were none. Calmly, he led me along grey corridors, down grey steps out to a waiting jeep.
    Guards saluted as we passed through a checkpoint, and only as we ran along the Potomac did I become aware that Voice of America was apologizing to me: I’d understand, wouldn’t I,
that they could never be too careful? Explore every avenue. Leave no stone unturned. And if, from time to time, an innocent man was caught up in the fray, it was greatly to be regretted but, but...
Senator Pinkerton had explained everything. Now he wanted to see me.
    We passed Arlington Cemetery, then crossed the bridge. Sunlight fell around us, golden in the late-gathering summer evening. Here, the Lincoln Memorial; here, the Washington Monument; here, the
White House, where the Pinkertons had hoped to live, and never would. Familiar phrases jangled through my mind like fragments of a poem I might write one day, if only I were a poet.
    O Great Republic... Land of the free... Home of the brave! One nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all! How many years have passed since this nation was brought forth? Your
star-spangled banner, how long has it waved? There are truths, you tell yourself, that are self-evident: Life... Liberty... Pursuit of happiness. Government of the people, by the people, for the
people. But it is you, America, not God, who tramps the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. Where is there an end of it, the red glare of rockets, the bombs that burst in air? Why have
you practised so long to learn to read? You have read a fiery gospel. You have heard the sounds of trumpets that will never call retreat... And we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States
of America and ask ourselves when this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom.
    The Mall stretched towards the Capitol, with its many-pillared dome. Never, until this moment, had I felt American. Love and hatred, pride and shame, swelled in my helpless heart.
    ‘The centre of the world,’ I said, and meant it.
    ‘Yes,’ said Voice of America, ‘I like to think that too.’
    We arrived, as I had expected, at Constitution Avenue. As Voice of America accompanied me from the jeep, I looked at him fondly; he held my arm, but only to make sure my steps were steady. He
flourished a pass. I had never been to the Senate offices before. Trouble must have been a thousand times, and I