The Lesson Read Free Page B

amused as Kevin, utterly unself-conscious, leaned his head back so that he was facing the ceiling, and as proof of his many hours on Midway with nothing to do other than play voyeur to the mating dance of unsuspecting seabirds, mooed in like fashion.
    “Then they click-clack their beaks against each other, sort of like swords in the movies.” Kevin used his fingers to imitate, most persuasively, clinking swords, with the addition of expert sound effects. “They do this sword thing with their beaks for several seconds. Then the other one, the one that didn’t moo, opens its beak and makes this sound kind of like a heavy, creaking door. Re-ee-ee-ee-k.”
    Gina was aghast but laughed nonetheless.
    “Then the mooing again,” he continued. “And baby oh baby—you’ve heard of ugly babies? You’ve never seen an ugly baby until you’ve seen a gooney bird baby. Big, soft feathers, but they stick out all over the place, sort of a finger-in-the-electric-socket look, but cute. Ugly sort of cute. And …” He slowed down at this point and dramatically leaned into her face, “… gooney birds mate for life.”
    From the impish sparkle in his eyes, Gina knew he had said this to get a rise out of her. She willed herself not to laugh anymore. It was a bad idea to encourage him. “You’re making this up,” she said. “You’re just pulling my leg.”
    “No, I’m not. Such a thought would never occur to me.” Then, incredibly, he winked at her.
    Forward . Gina was flabbergasted. His comment would have been provocative coming from a different kind of guy, but she could already tell that Kevin was nothing but a clown with his own peculiar brand of charm. He was harmless. Nevertheless it seemed the opportune moment, once again, to change the subject. “You never said why you decided not to become a firefighter like your dad.”
    “I didn’t like it so much.” He shifted in his chair.
    “Why not?”
    “I didn’t join the Navy to spend my time polishing things.”
    “Of course.”
    “Or painting things. You know, if it moves, salute it. If it doesn’t move, paint it. And when we weren’t polishing something brass or repainting something gray or mopping salt water off the deck for the umpteenth time, we had to hose each other down—but not often enough to make the Navy a worthwhile career.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Kevin pushed his empty plate to the center of the table near hers. “Race riot. When I first got to Midway there was a race riot. It was the most exciting thing I ever got to do with the fire department, much more adrenaline involved than stamping out brush fires. Ride on the back of the truck, blasting people with high-power hoses. It was great fun.”
    “You actually hosed people? Blacks or whites?”
    “Both. I was an equal-opportunity hoser.”
    Gina privately marveled that anyone could speak so casually about race, riots, and hoses in the same breath, and worse, enjoy it. She and her sisters may have pulled hair and slapped faces from time to time as children, but proper young ladies did not make jokes about uncivilized behavior and they certainly never enjoyed it.
    Or at least they didn’t admit it.
    “So what do you do in the Navy now?” she said.
    “I’m a hull tech, second class.”
    “Which means what?” Gina hated looking ignorant, but she felt comfortable asking questions of Kevin because he answered simply and naturally. The sense of embarrassment she felt when he first entered her apartment was ebbing away, replaced by easy rapport. It helped that he seemed delighted to answer her questions about the Navy.
    “It means I’m the guy they call when the commanding officer’s head quits working.”
    Gina screwed up her face.
    “Head. It’s Navy for toilet,” explained Kevin.
    “Oh.” Gina laughed. She wasn’t used to a guy who so easily made fun of himself. What kind of protocol did it demand? “And second class? That doesn’t sound too good.”
    “It’s not like it sounds.