"Because," Bobby said, "Alaska was home to one of two—count 'em, only two—U.S. senators to vote against the Tonkin Gulf Resolution. Ernest Gruening, bless his bald head, whatever cloud he's sitting on, I hope he's got a babe on each arm and a gallon of sipping whiskey sitting in front of him that never goes dry." He raised his mug in a toast.

"I went over in '68, same year as Higgins. Jesus, what a year. Started off with Tet—welcome to Vietnam, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out—Martin dead, Bobby dead, Chicago, the sit-ins, the riots, the demonstrations, Johnson quitting so he wouldn't have to lose a war, Nixon in—Jesus squared—man, everybody was just so pissed off at everybody else. There was no peace to be found anywhere in this country. And then—'one, two, three, what are we fightin' for'—off I go to the Vietnam War. Only, wait, it wasn't a war, because Congress never said it was, it was only a police action. And it sure as hell wasn't like the goddamn government had made any effort to convince me that I was fighting for truth, justice, and the American way."

He wheeled over to the stove and brought back the coffeepot, pouring warm-ups all around. Jim, still engrossed in Kate's haircut, had to be nudged to get his attention. Miraculously, Bobby did not call it to everyone's attention at the top of his voice, for which Jim was profoundly thankful. "You know the difference between a war and a police action in the middle of the jungle, with the enemy planting mines and pongee sticks for you to walk on and your own zoomies hitting you with Agent Orange and napalm from overhead? I'll tell you. Nothing." He topped off his cup with the bottle of golden brown liquor that took pride of place on the end table next to the couch.

"Still," he said. "Sometimes we act like it's the only war that ever happened, that ever mattered. Shit. Some battles in the Civil War, they lost more casualties in a day than we lost in our whole time in the Nam."

"So you're not into self-pity," Jim said. How the hell long did it take to cut a head of hair, for God's sake? He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "We got that. What about Higgins? What did his record say? Did something happen to him over there to make him like he is now?"

"Jesus H. Christ, haven't you been listening! Something happens to everybody over there, in every war!"

Katya, used to Daddy's bellow, slept serenely on, but Dinah gave him a severe look. More temperately, Bobby said, "Of course something fucking happened to him. He was stuck down in the middle of a jungle and people were shooting at him. Somebody shoved a rifle in his face and told him to shoot back. Maybe he shot a kid." He cast an involuntary glance over his shoulder at Katya. "Maybe he fragged his looie. Maybe his looie did a Calley and he went along, and maybe the only way he can deal with the world is not to come back to it. It happens. It happens in every war."