‘The other night…what I said on the truck, you mean?’ He leaned forward and smiled at his mud-caked shoes. ‘Hell, that was never really serious. And like I say, London is too far to go for it.’ He drank some coffee and patted his lips dry with a paper towel—a delicate gesture inappropriate to a two-hundred-pound man built like a prizefighter. ‘I fall in love with these broads, I’m sentimental, that’s always been my trouble.’
‘I’m glad you told me,’ said Farebrother. ‘I would never have figured that out.’
Madigan grinned and drank more coffee. ‘Two of the most beautiful broads you ever saw…’ He paused before adding, ‘And fuck it, Farebrother, you can pick the one you want.’ He looked up as if expecting Farebrother to be overcome by this selfless offer. ‘One thing I’ll say, buddy, you’ll never be sorry you fixed me up with a decent place to sleep.’
Farebrother nodded, although he was already having doubts.
It took Captain Vincent Madigan the rest of the day to move into 3/11. He had water-soaked possessions stored all over the base as well as an electric record player and a small collection of opera recordings that he brought from his office. The musical equipment was placed on the floor to make room for a chest of drawers Madigan had obtained in exchange for cigarettes. The top of the chest was reserved for Madigan’s photographs. Apart from a picture of his mother, they were all of young women, framed in wood, leather, and even silver, and all inscribed with affirmations of unquenchable passion.
Farebrother re-examined Vince Madigan. He was a burly, amiable-looking man with thin hair, His nose was blunt and wide like his mouth. Although seldom seen wearing them, he needed spectacles to read the print on his record labels. Was this really the man who had won declarations of love from such beautiful young women? And yet who could doubt it, for Vince Madigan did not treat the photos like trophies. He never boasted of his exploits. On the contrary, it was his style to tell the world how badly the opposite sex treated his altruistic offers of love. By Vince’s account, he had always been unlucky in love.
‘I’m just not any good with women,’ he told Farebrother that evening while turning over a record, and totally disregarding the pounding noises coming from the unmusical occupants of the next room. ‘I tell them not to get serious…’ He shrugged at the perversity of human nature. ‘But they always get serious. Why not just be friendly, I say, but they want to get married. So I say okay, I want to get married, and wham—they change their mind and just want to be friends.’ He used a cloth to clean the record. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll never understand women. Sometimes I think these goddamned homos have got something, buddy.’
‘Is that right,’ said Farebrother, who hadn’t been listening. He’d been reading and rereading the same passage of the P-51 handling notes. Under it there was tucked a thick wad of regulations, technical amendments, orders and local restrictions. Reading it all through and committing it to memory would be a daunting task. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be through learning all this stuff by Christmas, Vince.’
‘You’re too darn conscientious, buddy. Who else in this Group, except maybe Colonel Dan, has waded through all that junk?’
‘I’m a new boy, Vince. They’ll be expecting me to screw it up.’ He riffled through the pages. ‘And to think I quit law school to get away from this kind of reading!’
‘Man can’t escape his fate, Farebrother.’
‘How’s that?’ said Farebrother, puzzled by the tone of Madigan’s voice.
‘Man can’t escape his fate,’ said Madigan. He was smiling, but in his eyes there was a look that told Farebrother that this was the kind of joke that isn’t a joke. ‘Isn’t that what Mozart is saying in Don Giovanni? Every one of us is trying to be some other kind of person—your pal Morse, for instance—in fact, half the guys who joined the Army just wanted to escape from themselves.’
‘What have you got against MM?’
‘Aw, he’s just a pain in the ass, Jamie.’ He put the record on the turntable but didn’t start the music. ‘Each new officer who checks in, I give him a questionnaire so I get parents’ names and addresses and details of any relatives who work in newspapers or radio. It also has spaces marked “Education”, “Hobbies” and “Civilian occupation”. You know, you filled one out. It’s only so I can use it for publicity. Morse fills his out to say he’s got a degree in engineering from Arizona State. You’ve only got to talk to the guy to know he never finished college…’
‘He knows a lot about engines.’
‘Sure. His folks have a filling station.’
‘Okay, but…’
‘I don’t give a damn about where he went to college. I’m no kind of snob, Farebrother. A girl helped to pay my way through college…a woman she was, really, married and all. Ten years older than me. We ran away to New York and lived in a tenement on Tenth Street on her alimony while I got my degree in English at NYU.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I paid her the money back eventually, but I guess she thought we were going to get married and live happily ever after.’
‘So you suspect MM didn’t finish college, so what?’
‘So why the hell can’t he say so? And if he tells lies about that, why does he get mad when the Intelligence Officers question his claims?’
‘Now wait a minute, Vince. The board decides claims on the basis of the film he brings back.’
Madigan put up both hands in a placatory gesture and changed the nature of his complaints. ‘I take a cockpit photo of every new pilot, right? I send a glossy to his hometown paper and a release to anyone who might be remotely interested. I did that with you last week—my sergeant already sent a pile of junk off. In a few weeks’ time one of your friends or neighbours, or your folks, will send you some cuttings. You’ll show them around, and before you’ve got them back in the envelope MM will be in my office asking why you’re getting the publicity and he isn’t. Can’t you see how that pisses me off?’
‘Take it easy, Vince.’
Madigan gave the record a flick of his cloth and checked the needle for dust. ‘Morse is a Mozartian character,’ he said while bending down to look along the surface of the record. ‘Running away from himself, searching for something he can’t even describe.’
‘Let’s hear more of The Abduction, Vince.’
For the first time Madigan heard a note of annoyance in his roommate’s voice. He should have known better than to talk about Morse; these pilots always stuck together against the rest of the officers. He smiled and read the label again. ‘Listen to the way Constanze’s recitative builds up to the word Traurigkeit and Mozart goes into a minor key to change the mood. To me, this is one of the most moving arias in opera. It’s wonderful!’
‘How did you learn so much about opera, Vince?’
Madigan folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling as he thought about it. ‘My first newspaper job after leaving college, they sent me to interview this girl who’d won a scholarship to Juilliard. She was a wonderful girl, Jamie.’ Madigan turned on the music and sat down to listen, eyes closed.
Farebrother went back to reading his papers and for almost another hour Madigan played his records, sorted through his newly assembled possessions, and said hardly anything. Farebrother decided he was deeply offended, but eventually Madigan’s spirits revived enough for him to say, ‘I’ve just had a thought, old buddy. How’s about this one for you?’ He was wearing his glasses and holding up a photo for Farebrother to look at. ‘A tall brunette with big tits, gets drunk on lemonade.’
‘You don’t owe me anything, Vince.’
‘Very loving, Jamie. Very passionate.’ He looked at the photo to help him remember her. ‘Unattached; no husband or boyfriends to worry