The Measure(48)

“But when they eventually gave us our assignments, it turned out that I was heading to the Pacific, while those older guys were being sent to Europe. And I’m sure Jack has told you that most of the men in my family have served in some way or another, so it was always expected that I would enlist at some point, but the war pulled me in at a much younger age than any of us could have anticipated, and no matter how prepared you may think you are, you can’t help but be afraid before shipping off.”

Javi nodded silently.

“Well, Simon could see that I was pretty upset about being separated from the group, so he pulled me aside and dug into his pocket for a little prayer card that he always carried around with him. He said it was the Hashkiveinu, a Jewish prayer asking God to protect you through the night. His fiancée back home had given it to him. And would you believe that he gave that prayer card to me? He told me it would keep me safe.”

Cal was shaking his head, as if he still couldn’t believe what had happened all those decades ago. “And I’m a Christian man myself, but I kept that prayer tucked inside my uniform every day, and Simon was right. It kept me safe.”

“Did you stay in touch with Simon and the others after the war?” Javi asked.

Whenever his grandfather reached this part, Jack could see the shame on his face, the remorse. Grandpa Cal’s story—of his panic before heading out alone overseas and his regret of what came after—was one of the few times that Jack had ever seen a Hunter willingly drop the steely familial facade and expose themselves as vulnerable.

“I’m not proud to admit this,” Cal said, “but I don’t actually know what happened to Simon, or any of the others. I wanted to look them up when I finally got home, but truthfully, I was scared. As long as I don’t know what happened, I can picture each of them old and wrinkled like myself, surrounded by kids and grandkids. Hell, I can even picture them in these very bleachers, cheering on our team today. And I’d like to think that’s why none of them ever came looking for me, either.”

Jack and Javier were both quiet as Cal surveyed the stands.

“Look, boys, I’m old, but I’m not blind,” Cal said. “I know things are different now. I knew times had changed when I saw how terribly we treated those men who came back from Vietnam. But, to me, there’s no finer way you can dedicate your life. And I consider it an honor and a privilege to have served alongside my fellow soldiers. I believe that I owe my life and my good fortune to God. But I also owe it to those men.”

Jack and Javi knew exactly what he meant. They couldn’t even count the number of times they had stayed up late quizzing one another for exams or cheered each other on through mud and rain. It was the only way they made it through.



In the backseat of a black van, on the way to Cal’s funeral the following summer, Jack’s father had handed him a small envelope. For my grandson was written on the front. Jack turned his face to the side to keep his father from seeing his tears.



Not wanting to get up just yet, Jack rolled over in bed and lay on his chest. In a strange way, he was thankful that Grandpa Cal hadn’t lived to see the strings. Even after all the horrors he must have witnessed in the war, Cal was a man of such pure faith—faith in his God, faith in his country. Who knows how this maddening new world might have affected him?

Jack sighed and turned his head on the pillow, staring at the thin ray of sunlight circumventing the window shade and striking his dresser, where an old and faded Hashkiveinu prayer card sat tucked inside the top drawer.

Of course, Jack was even more grateful that his grandfather wasn’t around to learn that he, too, was planning to lie to the army—only Jack’s lie was meant to get himself out of battle.





Javier




Javier woke up and stared at the date on his alarm clock. Only two days left to decide.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he should pray on it, until they floated back to him in the darkness, the apparitions of the night before. The visions that had played and replayed while he straddled the border between sleep and consciousness, while his mind tried to process Jack’s offer.

The flag and the priest and his sad, shaking head.

He was a true American hero, until his last breath.



“What about your dad?” Javi asked Jack. “You’ll have to tell him we switched strings, or he’ll think . . .”

“I know,” Jack said.

He decided to tell his father that the switch was Javi’s idea, that he had only agreed in order to help a brother in arms. His dad would hate that they were deceiving the army, but hopefully he would respect his son’s loyalty to a friend.

Jack’s dad was the only person who would hear about the switch. Nobody else could know. Especially not his aunt Katherine, who was somewhere in Middle America, or maybe Florida by now, trying to convince a county of swing voters to donate to his uncle’s campaign. It was certainly not the time for a family scandal. They would simply have to believe that Jack’s string was truly short.

“And what about . . . after?” Javi asked. “Won’t everyone be confused?”

“I guess we’ve still got a few years to figure that out,” Jack said. While he had planned what he would tell his father, Jack hadn’t plotted much further than that. “And who knows, maybe the strings won’t be such a big deal by then anyway.”