Jonas Agonistes

I asked them, "Have you told anyone about the book? I mean, about what happened to me over there?"

"No, we have talked in general but we haven't mentioned the details or al Gatar or anything. We discussed this late into the night the other night. We don't want to brag about your actions, we think it looks self-serving. And ultimately it's a tragedy. The whole thing: it was a murder, an atrocity. You just did the right thing, and that is enough. When people find out you are the guy in the book, then we'll talk more. Maybe."

*

"Jeremiah in Agony" was in bookstores before Christmas. It was reviewed very positively two weeks before by a famous author in the New York Times Book Review. Tom was on morning talk shows, morning drive radio shows, interviewed in Vanity Fair, of all things. I hadn't realized his reputation as a lawyer; I had been told he was the best but I hadn't realized he was well-known in legal circles. This was not his first book; it was his first novel. He said that Jeremiah was a real person. When asked to prove it, he said did it matter? He also said he did not change the names to protect Jeremiah; he said he did it to protect some of the others who had acted with poorer judgment. Overall, the Marine Corps sat back and watched. I saw no comments from anyone in my platoon or company or battalion. Maybe they don't read much.

But I received two Christmas cards this year. One was from a car dealer, but the other was from Ken Healy. On the back it said, "So you think OCD is strange, huh??? Well, I can tell you it is completely strange and you know you are doing it anyway. I hope you have a Merry Christmas, Jonas. You saved a lot of lives. Proud to have been in Second Platoon." He signed it Gunnery Sergeant Ken Healy, 3/6. I laughed, thinking he was a good sport. He must have read it as soon as it hit the stores. I wrote him a note, finding his return address on the envelope. I mentioned that his actions that day had been loyal and humane and brave. I said without my platoon's support and willingness to obey orders, a lot more people would have died, and I would have had difficulties. And I thanked him. I signed it, High School History Teacher Jonas Simms. I had rank, too.

By New Year's Day, "Jeremiah in Agony" was a bestseller. Tom sent me an email that he was signing books the next week at the Joseph-Beth Booksellers store in Norwood, Ohio, not too far from Sky Grey and actually within a few miles of the University of Cincinnati. I promised to come hear him and maybe get my copy signed. I had the first meeting of my American Wars seminar that same day in the late afternoon, at 4:00, just giving me time to get there after school ended at 2:20, so I could then swing over to see Tom's signing at 7.

I made it to the seminar just before it was to begin. In the room were 11 students, which does not mean young people. Graduate level classes are often filled with the middle aged or the mid-career person. I was actually one of the youngest there.

Barry Lynd taught this course. By this point I would say he led the course. Barry was my advisor and I had been looking forward to taking his class for some time; finally I had been able to fit it into my schedule. He promised I would like the readings. He intimated there was a girl he wanted me to meet. Since there were only two women in the room, and since the one woman was old enough to be Barry's mother, I assumed that the little redhead was the subject of his matchmaking. She sat across from me and one down.

"Good evening, I'm Professor Lynd and this is the American Wars Colloquium. I know some of you already from here at UC, and I'm sure some of you know one another. Why don't we take a few minutes and introduce ourselves for those who don't. Just say your name, where you are from, what you are doing, your goals, innermost desires, that sort of thing." People were smiling at the desires comment. "Why don't we start over here on my left and work our way around the table?" He looked at me with darts in his eyes. I so wanted to laugh.

"Okay, I'm Jonas Simms and I teach freshman and sophomore history classes out at Merciful Saviour High School in Sky Grey. I am trying to earn a history master's so that I may teach in college, eventually, but I'm really liking my time at Saviour. I have a bachelor's from Miami." I shut up then, despite the death rays shooting from Barry's eyes at me for my mundane description.

Having set the standard so low, I now listened to nine other renditions of insignificance about ourselves. One or two went on. When it came the redhead's turn, I did pay some attention. "Hi, Emily Scott. I'm working on a degree in American literature and I needed some history coursework, so I've taken two courses now from Dr. Lynd. I'm working on a thesis about fictional representations of Americans at war. I hope to be able to teach in college once I have the degree. I spent two years in the Peace Corps in sub-Saharan Africa working with ebola decontamination before I came here. I'm from Fairfield and still live there." Barry was smug: see! You didn't have to be boring. It would serve you right, Simms, if she never spoke to you.

Emily was petite, perhaps 5'1", with bright red hair, some freckles, and a runner's perkiness. She wore no rings on her fingers but had earrings and wore a sweater that gave her a Lana Turner sexiness. It was good, I thought, that Fairfield is only a few miles from Sky Grey. Okay, a little more than a few.

It was an hour later that Barry gave us a ten minute break and I checked my phone. There was one message from Tom Marx. Barry walked over: "Opportunities are fleeting, Simms." Then he walked toward the restrooms. I pulled up the message.

"Jonas, in town and heading to Joseph-Beth. My sister is with me. Would like to get something to eat after the signing if you'd like to join us. And take us to a decent place to eat." I called him.

"Tom?"

"Jonas, just got to Joseph Beth. So can you join us for supper?"

"Yeah. I know a German place near there. Harkens back to Cincinnati's German heritage. You paying?"

"Of course. I'm on an expense account. Uh, my sister is looking at me like that may not be a good attitude. See you in an hour or so?"

"I'll be there. Might be late."

The students were filtering back into the room. Barry came over.

"So are you going to ask her out?" he asked.

"Haven't said anything to her, yet. She's cute though."

He looked at me like I was blind. "Cute? Simms, don't be an idiot." He left then and we started up the class again.

We were discussing our projects, required for the course, and what we intended to study. I was interested in the modern leadership system in the military; rotating officers through the combat roles without regard to perceived success or failure or maintenance of the status quo. One of the other students was studying strategy and how it had changed with the advancement in weapons systems. Another was studying the structure of the US Army from the Revolution to Afghanistan; I didn't see where that one was going but maybe it would mean something. The other, older woman, Barb Ford, was studying the influence of women since the First World War; I thought that might be interesting if she did a good job.

Emily spoke. "I'm comparing fiction of Americans at war from Vietnam to now. I'm selecting novels from Vietnam, the Gulf War, and the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and comparing their themes, attitudes toward policy, toward the military, that sort of thing. There is a new novel about Afghanistan with graphic depiction of a battle and atrocity that is getting a lot of attention recently," she said, pulling a copy of "Jeremiah in Agony" from her bag on the floor. "I really liked the novel, and the author claims it is all true and based on official documents. But nowhere does he give a real name or date; I can't find the name of the incident anywhere. The author is giving a talk at Joseph-Beth in an hour, so I'll see if he will help me or something." She sat down.

Barry said, "I think hitting up the author is a great idea if you have that kind of luck. If you can get an email address often works too; I've corresponded with many authors over the years. It seems quite a coincidence him being here now." I almost laughed aloud; Barry saw me and gave me a querying look but I just shook it off.

"How did you pick this topic?" I asked Emily.

"When I was in Africa I came across the murder of a bunch of school girls in Ghana by rebels. I decided to look into this sort of thing." I nodded and let it go.

Tom Marx had said it would take somebody writing a book or an in-depth investigation to find the information. Ms. Scott seemed to be the first, except for Tom himself. I wondered if I should help her.

Class finished shortly after 6 and I went to my car. Barry looked at me as I left; I smiled and laughed and waved him off, saying, "I'll talk to you about it another time. I have an appointment."

The drive to Joseph-Beth took only a few minutes. I was there at 6:40. Chairs were set up in front of a fireplace, with tables full of "Jeremiah in Agony" stacks. Two other books by Tom were also available, "Capital Punishment and Military Courts" and "Defending the Dobus Murderer," Tom's other most famous case. Tom was there laughing and talking with a tall woman who must be his sister. She was about 40 with brown hair and smart glasses. She was round but not overweight and had a wedding ring. He did not notice me when I walked in. Behind me, I heard, "Are you following me?"

I turned and saw Emily Scott a few feet away. "No, I had planned to be here when you mentioned it. I'm Jonas Simms, if you don't remember." I held out my hand and she shook it, not sure if she believed my explanation. "Would you mind if I sit alone?" she asked. "I need to ask Marx some questions and I may give him a hard time." "Of course," I answered, wondering how tough can a book signing be? "I usually prefer to stand, that way I can disappear if the subject gets dull." Others were now sitting in the seats. People were picking up copies. Tom saw me and waved, but he was speaking to some others so he could not break away. Most of the chairs were full, and then it was 7 and they were full, and there were others like me standing. I leaned against a bookshelf. Emily was in the middle. I wondered if her attitude was partly a result of her stature.

The tall woman who had been standing with Tom went to the lectern that was just off to the side of the fireplace. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am representing the publisher of "Jeremiah in Agony," NovelAmerica. My name is Jennifer Jones, and if you notice I resemble Tom Marx it is because he is also my brother. Tom has been a JAG lawyer with the Marines for 20 years now; he is a lieutenant colonel in the reserves. He also works for Thompson, Brasch, and Jones law firm in Washington D.C.," she said. "He has two other books in print which you may see and purchase from the table to my far right. But we are here to talk about this remarkable book you see and hear about everywhere, "Jeremiah in Agony." Ladies and Gentlemen, Tom Marx."

There was a smattering of applause; perhaps 50 people were paying attention.

Tom was a gifted writer; he was also a forthright and convincing speaker. He told stories, he mentioned characters, he talked about defending me, he talked about the case. He only spoke for about 20 minutes. At the end he said, "It has been my duty and my honor to defend the real Jeremiah; he is my friend. This is my first bookstore. I chose it for a reason. Jeremiah, the real Jeremiah, buys books here. I'd like to read you a very short statement which is in the novel. In real life, I received a call from an employer, considering hiring the real Jeremiah Perkins for a job. I said, actually, I read them this:

I have known many brave men in the Marine Corps. I have known men who lost their lives saving others, selflessly acting when it would mean their own deaths. I have investigated brave men for the awarding of the Medal of Honor. So I do not say this lightly: Lt. Perkins is the most morally courageous person I have ever met. You will see no medal or award. There is no statement in his file. I cannot tell you what happened or what he did. Maybe someday.

"He is remarkable, humble to a fault, and genuine. I hope you like his story. I hope you feel the same renewal of faith that I felt for the three years I defended him and wrote the novel.

"I will now take questions."

Emily's hand was up, but she was not called on first. She was second.

"Colonel Marx, I am writing a thesis on modern American war fiction. You say the incident is completely declassified in the introduction, but you don't state the actual name of the village, give the date of the incident, or the name of any participant. How can I find the truth and the actual reports?"

"Jeremiah and I discussed this very thing. He is worried that his privacy and integrity will be compromised when the story comes out, so he asked me to be very...judicious in making it easier for any investigator. I think he wants to be sure his tale is told by people who want the whole story and not a simple one. IF you find the report, Ms.?" he paused, "Scott," she said, "Then when you see it you will see that if you only read the abstract page it gives no inkling of the actual acts of the title character. NONE. It assassinates his character by listing the things he was investigated for and does not mention he was cleared of them. Keep searching. I have a feeling you will soon have the report."

He glanced up at me. I guess he'd seen her with me earlier. I nodded. I decided she was not to be stymied. If I didn't want the story to be told by someone like Emily, then who would be more honest and fair? I walked over to the main desk and asked for a pen and some scrap paper. I wrote,

I am going out to dinner later with Lt. Col. Marx and his sister-you are welcome to come if you'd like. I'd like you to.

I folded it and put it in my pocket.

Questioning was still going on. Several people were concerned that Jeremiah was too good to be true. Marx agreed that there had been tremendous pressure on Perkins to conform to simply herd the crowd to the end of the village and into the field and let the other Marines kill them.

"You understand he did that. Jeremiah suffers for a reason. He suspected that the Marines were not going to discriminate combatant from noncombatant. He ordered or forced the noncombatants out and into the ambush kill zone by his actions on the west side of the village.

"It was only after the massacre began that he gave contrary orders. He said to his NCOs, 'this is on me." He took responsibility not in the fake way of politicians, but in the real way of men: I will risk my life and my reputation and my career. I will do what I can and expect consequences or punishment. This was his. And he suffered all those losses but his life. As you read in the last chapters, he spent two years without a visit from Marine friends. Without orders. Restricted. I was his Marine Corps while men and women he never met decided whether to charge him with some of the worst crimes possible-mutiny, disobedience of orders, murder... All for the virtuous act of saving 160 people who would never thank him, who would never feel gratitude, who would never acknowledge it."

At 8:15 Jennifer called a halt and people lined up to get their books signed. Emily was in line, too. I walked over to her and gave her the note. I said, "Here. This might be of interest to you." I moved away from the line then.

She read the note and left the line.

"You know Colonel Marx?"

I nodded and smiled. "I'm more interested in whether or not you'll go to dinner with me, but yeah, I know him."

"You have an interesting way of asking a girl for a date."

"I haven't asked a girl for a date since I was at Miami. I'm out of practice."

"Why so long?" she asked.

Yes, why so long? Barry wanted to know that, too.

"Maybe because it's so hard to get a straight answer to the question," he said. "Will you go with me?"

"Of course. It is a bit overwhelming. I've never spoken with a famous author. How do you know him?"

"Good. Tom's after me to make friends. Barry was trying to set you and me up, too," I said.

"Barry? Lynd? He was trying..."

"To get me to ask you out. Actually he said there'd be someone I should meet in the seminar so it was you or Barb, but I didn't think he meant her." Smiling.

"Probably not."

"He's been my advisor for the two years I've been at UC."

Jennifer came over as the line moved, Tom diligently signing each copy.

"Mr. Simms?" she asked. I responded, "Jennifer, I'm Jonas Simms. This is Emily Scott. I've asked Emily to join us for supper and she's accepted."

"Wonderful. You were going to give him a hard time, so I guess you can do that over German food. It looks like Tom will be finished in about ten, so we can get going."

Emily said, "Is the book selling well?"

Jennifer answered, "Very, very well. We have ordered another printing. It is getting notice in academic circles and historical groups, military book club, I hear the history book club. And the story! I think people were crying out for a true and moral American story. There is so much cynicism-the idea that someone would see a wrong and try to right it is just so compelling..."

"Well, I'm looking forward to giving your brother a hard time."

Jennifer looked at her and then Jonas and responded, "Good. That will make the evening perfect, then."

*

Emily called her mother to say she was going to dinner-"yes, a date!"-and would be home late. Jonas and she left their cars at Joseph-Beth and rode in the back seat of Tom's rental (expense account) a mile up the road to a German restaurant called Mecklenburg Gardens. The place featured waiters and waitresses in what must have been German costumes. Some of them even had German accents.

It was a fun night. Emily was friendly and pretty and laughed easily; Jennifer talked about her children and how she'd gotten into NovelAmerica; Tom talked about silly things his clients had done. Jonas talked about teaching and the things kids do. Emily talked of burning homes and villages and bodies to stop ebola. She also mentioned that she had witnessed the aftermath of an atrocity in Ghana: the murder of dozens of schoolgirls by Muslim extremists.

Emily said, "I met Jonas tonight in our history class. How did you meet him, Colonel? What's your connection?"

I think that was when Jennifer realized, or had confirmed for her, that Emily didn't know who Jeremiah was. Her eyes grew bigger. She looked at me. I shook my head a tiny bit. Before Tom spoke, she said, "Tom I need to talk to you in private. Now." She stood up, as did her brother, and they walked off toward the bar. Jennifer put her hand on my shoulder as she left. I think she meant, this is your chance. You better tell this girl.

"Did I say something wrong?" Emily asked. She looked as if she'd committed a faux pas. I hesitated.

"No, nothing like that, relax. I have kept this secret for so long it is hard now to relinquish. I forgot how rude it is to share a secret with all but one person present. Remember Tom said he chose Cincinnati for the first book signing for a reason? I'm the reason," I said, "I've never had to tell a girl I was in jail. You have my name. The village you are interested in is al Gatar. G-A-T-A-R. Type them into the Marine Corps page and you're going to get hundreds of pages of testimony, pictures, documents. Tom saved me. He gave me back my life. That's how I know him."

She just looked at me for a moment. "You are Jeremiah?"

I took a deep breath. Her eyes were piercing, and blue-grey. "Tom says I am. The book is very faithful to the accounts in the files you'll get. It's very accurate to my experience."