Free The Unspeakable by Charles L. Calia

went by. The money, never as good as the old sales job, ran out faster. The family tried to consolidate of course, by moving to a cheaper apartment, then by selling the family car. But these were only short-term plugs in a dike leaking from bad luck. His father knew that and triedto keep a step ahead, moving every few months to increasingly cheaper and cheaper apartments, ever cheaper until down to the marrow and bone he cut.
    Meanwhile bill collectors started to call. Threatening notices were posted, evictions, late-night repossessions. Marbury said that his father picked up other jobs at neighboring office buildings. More toilets. More carpets to vacuum. Saturdays became Sundays. Days became nights. But his father rarely complained, telling his children that despite their apparent string of bad luck, everyone could achieve their dreams if they just had enough faith.
    â€œThis doesn’t sound like a man who would end up in jail,” I said.
    Marbury looked at me and agreed.
    He said, “I think he really believed it too. Then Rick died.”
    Rick Marbury was the oldest brother. According to Marbury, he was a bright student with dreams of going to college. He was accepted at NYU, an incredible reversal of luck for the family, and they celebrated one night at a local burger place. That’s where events turned. A man in a wheelchair sat across from them, obviously a veteran. He was sitting with two other men, also just home from the war, and they were discussing their experiences in Vietnam. It was the first time that Rick had ever seen a real veteran up close, much less someone injured from combat, and it brought the war home to him for the first time.
    He said, “It bothered him. Rick thought we should be doing more.”
    It was 1965 and one of the first offensives was in full swing. Every night the boys watched the war on television. They watched the helicopters swoop down, the way the grass spread out and flattened against the heels of rushing soldiers, and they were transfixed. Better than Gunsmoke, better even than a John Wayne movie, the war was the real thing. And the more he watched, the more Rick started to feel the call. He began to wear army jackets and fatigues.Then one day, out of the clear blue, he responded the only way that he could. He enlisted.
    He was only nineteen.
    Vietnam affected my family as well but I didn’t tell Marbury that. Two of my brothers went, and I only remember not picking up a paper back then, not even the sports page. And I never turned on the news. If I heard anything about the war, I walked away immediately. I just couldn’t think about it until my brothers were home safe.
    Marbury snapped his fingers. Like napalm.
    He said, “You’re not writing.”
    I couldn’t.
    â€œHow many of us joined because of Vietnam?” I asked.
    â€œA few.”
    â€œCome on. Half of us maybe.”
    â€œHalf believed, half didn’t.”
    An image suddenly came to mind but it wasn’t Vietnam. I was thinking about seminary and an event that happened while I was there. Something about belief.
    â€œDo you remember the bell tower?” I asked Marbury.
    He nodded. “Dave Karl. You’re really digging in the past now.”
    The bell tower was one of the more beautiful buildings on our campus. It was brought over, piece by piece, by stonemasons from Italy who constructed it to honor God and a promise to new life in America. Every hour the bell chimed, a wonderful sound, though today I couldn’t hear it without thinking of Dave Karl.
    Where he came from, no one knew. It was said that he was a star pupil from some California school or perhaps even home educated. But that was only speculation. Karl appeared to us, and ultimately left, with more questions than he answered. I met him my first year. I was in search of a role model and I found one, DaveKarl. He was a bright student, almost meteoric, with an infectious energy that led even the