“That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”

Leo’s voice sounded funny to him; it came from deep inside his chest. He kept his eyes on the captain’s shadowed face, the ears sticking out from the side of his head.

“That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter.”

Leo pronounced it as clearly as he could.

“So help me God.”

“So help me God.”

Leo lowered his hand and the captain shook it. “Congratulations, son. We’re glad to have you.”

37

Sergeant Ryan drove up in front of Leo’s house just before noon. The air was probably ninety degrees and smelled like pine needles and the sun-dried tar shingles from the roof of the cabin. The whole way back, the sergeant had told stories of his own basic training at Fort Dix in New Jersey, of an officer there named Potovich who was so hard-charging gung-ho nobody made fun of his name even in private. But now, sitting there behind the wheel of his sedan, the engine still running, Sergeant Ryan spit his gum out the window, sat up straight, and spoke in a flat, even tone of voice, reminding Leo that 0500 meant 5:00 A.M. and that is exactly when he should expect his transport to arrive this coming Saturday morning. He handed Leo a small U.S. Army pamphlet, shook his hand, then drove up Saunders Hill Road and took a left back for Springfield.

Leo stood there a good minute or two. The sun was hot on his face and the top of his head. He heard two pine cones drop out in the woods, then the steel rattle of a mill truck going by up on Paper Boulevard. He went into the house and changed into shorts. In the parlor he stacked three albums on the record player and turned the volume up as loud as it would go. The first one was all Chicago city blues, Buddy Guy and Junior Wells, and they started out with “Messin’ with the Kid.” Leo grabbed the broom in the kitchen and started sweeping the floor, but then he stopped and began wiping down the counter and stove, the table, and the top of the refrigerator. He washed out Jim’s coffee pot, dried it, and put it on the back burner. He sprinkled Comet on his sponge and scrubbed the sink, then he rinsed it and wiped it dry. Junior Wells began a song with a short harp solo, and Leo pictured himself playng a harmonica reveille down at this Fort Dix. He could get up before dawn with the trumpet guy and play a blues backup to it, bending the notes to get the day going honest. And maybe he’d get assigned a bunkmate like his father, not a harp man like Ryder, but some kid with a guitar, maybe a steel slide Dobro.