Day
of Infamy
By
Theo Esser
Once again, same as always, his stereo started playing loud metal music at 5:45 in the morning. Claude got out of bed and turned the volume down so that the rest of the floor would not complain. He went back to bed, and got up again 15 minutes later. He grabbed his robe, staggered down the hall and into the bathroom to take his morning shower. As the icy water shattered his dreamy state he began to recall the chain of events of the previous few days. He washed his skin, passing over the self-inflicted scars on his left arm, remembering exactly why he had made each one. He shampooed his hair, recollecting how much he had torn out after Therese said it couldn’t possibly go on.
He turned off the faucet, donned his midnight-blue robe, and went back into his room. He turned back up the stereo volume and pressed a couple of buttons. The opening chords of his favorite song filled the room. Beethoven’s 9th, “Ode to Joy”, in the original German. As he put on his cadet-blue uniform, he looked at the closet next to his mirror. Inside, hanging neatly, were a black trench coat, a black metal band tee shirt, a pair of camouflage pants, a pair of German hiking boots, a pair of black finger-less gloves, and a drab green fedora. The ensemble that he wore during free time. “They all think you’re insane,” Claude thought to himself. “Hell, you think you’re insane!” he said.
He started to put on his non-clothe items. First, he put on his watch. The Elgin that he had bought 2 weeks ago was supposed to replace his Timex pager-watch, which had outlived its’ warranty by only 3 months. It looks better than the Timex did, Claude thought. He took up his senior ring. The small piece of gold he had striven for 4 years to get. “It’s worthless,” he said, “For as long as I have been here, one would think that this piece of honey-colored metal would command at least a little respect.” He slid it onto his right ring finger. He removed the clips from the back of his black nametag, which bore “Hess”, in large, white, all-capital letters. He stuck it into his right breast-pocket flap, and replaced the clips. As he put on the glasses that made him look very serious, he heard the song begin to go into its’ full throes. The orchestra shot the melody into overdrive, while an operatic quartet sang the last few great verses. Claude couldn’t help but to join in.
“Küsse gab'sie uns, und
Reben,
einen Freund, geprüft im Tod,
wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
und der Cherub steht vor Gott!”
He looked up at his door. There, exactly like he was expecting, was Paul Samuel, the antagonist of his senior year, staring at him. Shuddering before the words were even uttered, Claude started to shield himself from the attack he had suffered so many times that year.
“Why don’t you go back to the Fatherland, you racist Nazi bastard!” shouted Paul, through the glass.
“Why can’t you just stay on your floor, Samuel?” Claude asked patiently. But the wicket was already empty, and thus Samuel had won.
Claude was ill and tired of being called a Nazi. He loved his heritage, and the German language, but he had no belief in what Hitler had done to besmirch the grandeur that was Deutschland. He wasn’t even born in Germany. His great-great-grandparents had emigrated to America in 1856. Since the Academy did not offer German, he was teaching himself his family tongue. However, the fact that he was tall, blue-eyed and blonde-haired did not help. Claude was German at heart and soul, but proud to be an American. He looked at his calendar. It was Friday, the 7th of December, Pearl Harbor day. Claude realized this and sank inside, for it reminded him of how little he had done so far to repay the Americans who had given their lives to save his way of life. He recalled what his plans were for today were, and was non-plussed.
It was 15 days ago that Therese had left him in shambles. Three days after that event, Claude discovered that she was really carrying on a relationship with Rupert, a guy he didn’t even know, behind his back. “She dumped me because it was convenient, right when I was so close to the prize. I just wanted to kiss her, the first kiss in my life, but she wouldn’t because she didn’t want to cheat on Rupert. She led me on, so cruelly, and yet I still would die for her.” Those thoughts were the only things he could think about during the past 12 days. He had a plan for getting rid of the pain. It was quick and efficient, just like the military academy wanted him to be. This event would be something the Academy would never forget.
He sat down at his desk. In front of him lay a white handkerchief. He lifted it to reveal a 3 by 1 inch silvery steel tube. From a narrowed end protruded two, yard-long black wires. These led to a switch and 2 AA size batteries. On the tube, written in black magic marker, were the words, “Für mein Hellstengel, Therese.” “For my brightest Angel, Therese”, whispered Claude. He planned to place this device in his mouth 10 minutes after the noon meal. He looked to the right side of the desk. There lay his red poetic journal. Within that folder were his notes, his reasons why he took the pain out of his living, in poetic form. Also within were the lyrics to Beethoven’s 9th symphony, a large picture of Therese, several pictures she had drawn for him, and the first e-mail that he received from Therese, saying that she loved him and wanted to be his girlfriend. The first page was a last will of sorts, saying that he wanted the folder given to Therese. Claude reasoned that would be sufficient hinting for the forensic staff.
It was time for breakfast. He stepped out into the morning cold, and fell into his position in the platoon. They turned in unison, and marched down to the meal hall. He sat down at the ten-person table, noting that this was his first meal of the last day of his life. The prospect made him a little dismal, and he slouched involuntarily.
“Hess! Sit up, right now! Come on, fifth-year boy!” shouted the head of the table.
Claude hated when he screwed up. Someone would always notice, and comment about how this was his fifth year at the Academy. He quickly sat up. He tried to enjoy the hash browns and banana on the plate in front of him, but it was hard with it being his last day, much less Academy food. Thinking ahead, he realized that his lunch would probably be just as bad. He decided he would have a salad for lunch. Samuel sat across from him at the table, and kicked him. Last day, Claude thought. But he couldn’t hold himself back from the ensuing inquiry.
“Samuel, why did you feel compelled to do that? What is it about me that you find so despicable?” Claude asked, fighting back the tears that he knew were coming.
“You’re a racist, Nazi, German virgin who can’t even hold onto his own girl, duh!” he replied.
Claude blushed. The fact that he was still a virgin was something he rather wouldn’t have shouted out loud, especially in front of his platoon leader. His platoon leader, John Ford, who the head of the table, chuckled.
They were dismissed from breakfast. Claude went straight to his best friend’s room on the third floor. Drew Builder had started at the Academy at the same time as Hess. They shared many of the same interests, and both were in a small, on campus society of people who used codenames and were very devoted to one another. Claude had started this society, and had entitled it “The Café.” Drew was a junior, and would be there a whole additional year after Claude was supposed to leave. They often visited each other’s rooms after breakfast.
“Hey Hess, what’s up?” Drew asked in his jovial way.
“Drew,” Claude replied, “You know my room’s combo, don’t you?”
“Yeah, man, why?”
“Fifteen minutes after lunch, I want you to go into my room, grab my free time ensemble and take it to your room.”
“Once again, why?”
“You will know exactly why when said procedure is performed. Please respect that, and ask no further questions.
“Ok, Zispinhoff, as you wish.”
“Thank you, Superbeast, I shall never forget you for that.”
“As is, Hess, you have about 10 minutes before classes start”
Hess stole a glance at his watch. “Oh, crap, you’re right! Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Catch you after second period?”
“You bet.”
“At the canteen, same as always.” They said in unison.
“See you then.” Claude said.
Claude ran down the stairs to the second floor. He went into his room and quickly tore out a sheet of paper from the red folder. He thought a little while, and wrote.
“Drew,
Thank you for being one of the few people who accepted me at face value. You have been my best friend out of my four years in this Hell.
I’m sorry that I have done this to you. But to try and make it better, I am giving you this. The hat you always wanted is yours now, along with the rest of the ensemble. The boots are size 13; they ought to fit you.
I am doing this because I am sick of being forsaken and accused. My parents had forsaken me. My comrades here at the Academy (save you, of course) had forsaken me. My Brightest Angel had forsaken me. I was not a Nazi. I was not a racist. Bear that in mind. I had nothing left to bring joy into my life. So have ridden my foul, non-alpha male seed and myself from this awful, cold world. I ought to get a Darwin Award.
My red journal is in my camo-pack, protected with several heavy books. Tell the police or the detective or whoever comes that it holds many clues.
Keep the Café going, it’s the only thing us outcasts have.
Your Friend,
Claude Hess
P.S. – Thank you for being my friend.”
Claude folded the sheet twice, and then wrote his famous campus quote.
“Fear me, for I have the power to destroy you.”
He paused. Then he wrote underneath it,
“I hereby relinquish that power. – Zispinhoff”
A tear rolled off his face and onto the paper. Claude quickly wiped it off and put the paper into the trenchcoat’s right pocket. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:10. He grabbed his journal, and inserted it into his pack with four textbooks, between the second and third books. He threw the heavy bag into the air, braced himself, and caught it on his back with a satisfying grunt. “That should be an Olympic event,” he thought. He went around his room and tidied it up. He opened his curtains, pushed his chair underneath under his desk, and evenly spaced the hangers in the closet away from his mirror. It was supposed to be for a roommate, but Claude had gotten lucky, and being a senior he got his own room. “The only good I have gotten from this stupid ring,” Claude had once said.
Claude looked at the room one last time, and was shocked to see that his gift to the academy was still on the desk. He picked it up, placed it in his strongbox, and locked the platinum cylinder inside.
Claude stepped into the English classroom with a minute to spare. He sat down in his assigned desk, opened his camo-pack, and pulled out his journal. Claude was absolutely sick of waiting for his English teacher to start doing his job. In September they had started with Beowulf. Now, three months later, they were only on the Arthurian Legends, and about 6 weeks behind schedule. But what really bugged Claude off was how easily the teacher got off track. Once, Claude had timed him as to how long he talked about the Kennedy assassination, when he was supposed to be teaching about how Lancelot loved Guinevere.
Claude really couldn’t care what was on his teacher’s agenda today. Instead Claude used this time in class to write in his journal. He had finished two poems and had started a third when the bell rang. They were dark and unhappy works, with lots of symbols of how sad he was. Claude stood up, put on his camo-pack, picked up the journal, and walked out the door to his next class.
Claude determined that that he really had to concentrate during his Government class. The teacher was a Major in the Armored Corps, and sharp as a scalpel. Claude didn’t want to be held behind for not paying attention, for he was afraid that the teacher would pry out Claude’s plan for today and foil it. Claude didn’t have to worry though, because he didn’t find today’s lesson very boring. Claude was always interested in law enforcement, and to see how the judicial branch worked answered a lot of questions he had. The class was given newsmagazines for the last ten minutes before the bell rang, and Claude’s mind was free to wander again.
He wondered what his actions and words should be. Claude had always held a grudge against the Commandant of the Academy, for he was the man who denied Claude the chance of becoming an officer this year. He had also made John Ford, a person who had been at the Academy but two years, an officer over Claude. Claude hated the Commandant for that, and decided that nine minutes after lunch, he would break the windows to the Commandant’s office.
The bell rang, causing Claude to jolt. Several students snickered. Last day, Claude thought. He put on his camo-pack, picked up his folder, and walked out the door. Claude dug around and pulled out his wallet. It was an old, midnight-blue, nylon thing he’d had since he was ten. Two months ago he had sewn a black patch on it. “Legally Insane” it said in red letters. Claude pulled out two dollars, and replaced the wallet. He met drew in the canteen a couple of minutes later. Claude gave Drew one of the two dollars he had pulled out earlier, and they both purchased a soda from the machine.
Drew was the first to break the awkward silence between them.
“What’s eating you, Hess?” he asked.
“How do you mean?” replied Claude, knowing exactly what drew meant. He hated to lie to his best friend, but he had to come with some story or reason for his angst.
“You seem to be pretty unhappy today,” Drew said. “Has Therese been on your mind a lot recently?”
“Yeah, she has, actually. I miss her a lot.” Claude answered, inwardly thanking Drew for giving him a true reason. He continued. “I mean, what are the odds that I’m going to meet another beautiful girl that shares my love for German culture, as well as my appreciation for metal and classical music?”
“Cheer up, man. You’ll love again,” Drew said sympathetically. “Life goes on.”
Claude shuddered, and hoped that Drew didn’t notice. “Yes. Life does go on” Claude lied. He finished his soda and glanced at his watch. It was 10:15. Third period started in five minutes. Drew thanked him for the drink, and Claude went off to his HTML class.
He arrived a minute early, same as always, and took a seat. He opened up his red folder, and finished the poem that he had started during his English class. He reviewed it, and found that it perfectly conveyed what he wanted the world to see of him. A shunned, beaten, lonely vehicle to a warm, loving soul. He looked to his watch. He was due out of this class at 10:56. The bell rang, and Claude put his journal between the four books in the camo-pack like he had that morning. He put on the pack, and walked down the hall into the Physics classroom.
The bell rang, and Claude looked at his watch again. It was 11:00. His end was to occur at 1:10. As he sat on his lab stool, Claude began to reflect on what his major problem was. He first thought about how much he hated his father. The man had his son off to Hell, because he couldn’t solve his son’s problems himself. However, Claude determined that was not the major cause. He then thought of how much his fellow students despised him. Claude was almost used to being called a Nazi, and hardly cared what others though of him now. That was not the breaking problem either.
Then he thought about how much he still loved Therese. She was so beautiful, and so pleasant to talk to, and now there was no chance of ever getting her back again. They spoke German with each other when they were online. “Rupert is so goddamn lucky,” Claude thought. That was the problem. The one true love Claude had ever met didn’t truly love him back. He had poured every nuance of his soul into a false relationship, and it was his deepest scar ever. That’s why he had written the phrase on the bomb. Claude then received an inspiration for his last words. He looked at his watch. It was 11:30. The corps of cadets would march down to the meal hall in 20 minutes.
Claude looked around the room. He felt a certain kind of nostalgia for this place. This was where he had learned about chemistry when he was a junior, and had learned about the reaction that would destroy his cranium. This was the room where he had obtained the chemicals that reacted so violently to a spark, producing a huge amount of gas in the blink of an eye. He would keep an eye on this place, if indeed there were a Heaven. “There has to be a Heaven,” Claude whispered to himself. “For this life has truly been Hell.” The bell rang, and Claude put on his camo-pack.
He walked across the campus into his room where he dropped off his pack. He contemplated whether to take the bomb with him to lunch. He decided against it, and stepped outside. He fell into his usual spot in the platoon, same as always. They turned in unison, and marched down to the meal hall. Claude went through the meal line, and grabbed a salad. “At least they can’t screw this meal. It’s very hard to mess up a salad.” Claude said to himself. He sat down. When he had finished his salad, he looked up cautiously. He saw Samuel looking at him with a cruel smile. Claude sighed, for he knew that face meant Samuel had been staring at him for at least the past five minutes. This time, Claude decided to do something completely different. He stared into Samuel’s eyes, with a glare he had perfected in his mirror many times. Samuel looked troubled after a little while, and Claude knew he had won the ensuing argument
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Samuel asked with a note of aggression.
Claude went into a soliloquy. “Why do you look at me the way you were? Is there something fascinating about the way I eat? Do you find my abomination of a face pretty? Or is there some unspoken aggression that you’d like to express? Perhaps you wish to call me a bloodsucking Nazi again? Or wish to remind me of how I couldn’t keep a girl faithful to me? Do tell me what the problem is, so that I may forgive you for it and turn my cheek like a good little God-fearing Catholic.” He inhaled sharply.
Samuel opened his mouth, and then closed it, with a troubled look on his face.
“I win.” said Claude. The rest of the meal went on peacefully.
Claude looked at his watch when he stepped out of the meal hall. It was 12:53. Claude hurried his pace and got to his room. He went to his window, and fell to his knees. He crossed himself, folded his hands, and prayed.
“God, if you are there, it’s me, Claude. I wish to make amends with you. I want to know why you were never there for me. I want to know why I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do. For with as much as I’ve been pushed away, as much as I’ve been labeled defective, as much as I haven’t been good enough for your society here on Earth, I would have though that Therese was a reward. But now that she’s gone, I not sure that you’re still there. Well, Hell on a half-pipe, of course you have to be there, otherwise there’s no point in me being on my knees like this. I guess I’m trying to say that I haven’t been able to take the situation you’ve put me in. Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit. And to Your glory I will pass from this world as a virgin, as your son Jesus did. I ask now for your forgiveness. I must escape this pain I have been put in. My faith alone shall save me, and I believe in you. Your lamb now goes to the shepherd, and with this prayer, not to the slaughterhouse. Here I come, Lord. May you have mercy upon my soul. Amen.”
Claude crossed himself again, and stood up. He wiped the tears from his eyes, thinking of Therese. He donned his camo-pack, and went to his strongbox. He unlocked it, and withdrew the silver tube. He read the thing again, and put it in his pocket. He looked at his watch. It was 1:03. Claude quickly left for the Commandant’s office in the courtyard. He arrived there with a smile on his face, and looked into the office. There sat the Commandant, looking busily at his desk. Claude grinned, for the Commandant would finally taste Claude’s grudge. Claude lifted his foot, and threw it forward with a pleasing crash. He looked into the office and glared wickedly at the Commandant, who held a very startled look upon his face. Claude continued until all four panes of glass were shattered.
He glanced at his watch. It was 1:09. Claude made his way to the center of the courtyard, exactly fifty feet away. He looked at the watch, with a grim apprehension of what he was about to do. The 9th symphony began to go into its full throes. He couldn’t help but to sing it’s last verse in his best voice.
“Küsse
gab'sie uns, und Reben,
einen Freund, geprüft im Tod,
wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
und der Cherub steht vor Gott!”
He looked at his watch. It was 1:10. Claude took out the bomb and yelled as loud as he could,
“Der Herrgott nimmt, und Der Herrgott gibt, doch gibt er nur dem den er auch liebt?”
With a small sense of rapture, he put the cylinder in his mouth. He looked to his right hand, and saw the black wires with a small black switch. He saw the thread of his life, and the scissors he would cut it with. He saw his best friends at home wave goodbye. He saw his love Therese weep his departure. Auf wiedersehen, mein Hellstengel, he thought.
He flipped the switch, and felt his mouth grow very warm.
* * *
He typed in Claude’s last words, and waited patiently for the computer to tell him what they meant. He glanced to the ensemble again. It was true, Drew always did like that hat, but now it didn’t seem like the same thing. The drab-green headwear seemed to have an air of sadness that it never had before. Drew’s computer beeped, and he looked at the screen.
“The Lord does give, and The Lord does take, but does He give love to those He forsakes?”
Drew read the words, and felt the hole in his heart sink deeper. He had lost his best friend, all because a girl had led him on. Drew felt an urge, and decided to act upon it. He put on the trenchcoat, and donned the fedora. It fit a little tight, and he wondered if he should try and stretch it out a little. He looked in his mirror, and tilted the hat the way Claude always had. When he was ready, he stepped out of the dormitory.
A few minutes later, Drew was at the center of the courtyard. He stopped at the edge of the yellow police tape, and glanced at his watch. It was 8:30. The sun had already set, and several floodlights now illuminated the courtyard. He looked at the dry, reddish-brown puddle that stopped at the edge of the tape. It was painful, but Drew forced himself to look up at the smear on the pavilion. He followed the chalk outlines with his eyes, for there was more than one. The largest one showed a headless figure with outstretched arms, as though crucified. Drew felt his legs give way, and he sank down to his knees in tears. He looked at the spot again, the one he had pointed to when the police and the detective had shown up seven hours ago, to tell them about Claude’s red journal. Drew would eventually wonder where the folder would end up. He knelt for a little while, and then decided to pray.
“Lord, Claude was the best friend I had here. I can’t tell if he is with you, or burning, or stuck in between. But if he is anywhere, you know exactly where he is. I haven’t been the most pious person on the planet, but I feel that this prayer must have some effect. I have lost a great friend today, and I would like it very much if you could do me this one service. It’s not going to mean much from a mortal like me, but Lord, please have mercy on Claude’s soul. And if it’s possible, help me through this. Amen”
Drew got up, and looked at the smear again. Drew felt he ought to say something to Claude, but couldn’t think of anything that would show his emotions. He took out the tear-stained note, and read it again. After standing for several minutes, he came across what he thought Claude would like to hear.
Drew checked around himself to see if anyone was watching. After confirming that he was alone, he quickly ducked under the plastic ribbons. He went over to where the head would have been, and stopped. The wind started to blow, causing the trenchcoat on his back to wave as a cape. Drew had often seen Claude like this, with his shadow in front of him and the wind against him. Drew was almost positive that Claude was there, and that feeling gave him the strength to say the words for which he had trespassed.
“Claude, I have a good idea that you’re listening. I just want to pay my respects. You were my best friend, and it’s very painful to have you gone. I’m wearing the clothes that you wanted me to take, to show that I did take them. I’ll miss you a lot Claude, and I wish we could have talked about the problems you had. I’m sorry that you’re gone, and I wish with all my soul that you were still here.” A tear fell. “Claude, I will perform the last request that you asked of me. Claude Hess, for you, I will keep the Café going. Goodbye, and may you rest forever in the happiness you never had, Zispinhoff.”
Drew
wiped his tears, and looked up to the sky just in time to see a shooting star.
He sobbed, and decided to embrace the cold air in front of him. He shivered,
ducked under the gossamer barrier, and made his way back to his dormitory.
©
Copyright 2002 Theo Esser.
Click Here to return to ATLinkswith