Red Jungle by Kent Harrington Read Free Book Online Page B

country. Even his colleagues at the paper didn’t know about his mother. Or who his family was.
    They drank Chilean white wine, good, cold, and expensive. He was not one to save money. If he had it, he spent it. Sometimes he would spend it all just to feel broke, something he’d never understood about himself. To have nothing but his job and the beer in his refrigerator and the wax on his floors. He didn’t want to collect things—he’d learned they could disappear as quickly as they’d come. He’d wondered if this sense of futility was what might be wrong with him emotionally. If he wanted things, he could have taken another trading job in Paris or London—not become a journalist in Guatemala. Things—TV, new cars, clothes—were somehow silly here, and beside the point. Here you lived by the minute or by the hour, but no more than that.
    Somehow, in the tropics, the idea of the future seemed ridiculous—and yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted money. He wasn’t even sure exactly why. Now, thinking about what he’d done with Mahler, he had no explanation for his decision. He knew it was the adventure. It wasn’t the money, not really, he decided.
    He liked to look at the movie posters and the cool people who came to the café, mostly young couples drinking coffee. He liked the red of the walls and the photos of famous singers. It was his kind of place, elegant, clean, sophisticated, with something extra, something that made him relax, took him away, a mixture of the right light and the black and white tile floor and the waitresses—in Indian garb, corte— who were very professional, never botching things.
    They had only one drink, then decided to walk on to Carl’s place for the party. They might have been in a café in New York or San Francisco, except there were a few men with pistols strapped on just under their jackets sitting at the café’s bar. They were rough-looking. They stared at Katherine as they walked out the door. Dope, Russell thought. Real killers.
     
     

FIVE
     
    Major Douglas Purcell U.S.A.R.
Blackwell Academy
232 White Blossom Road
Palo Alto, California 96601
     
    April 2, 1988
Mrs. Isabella Cruz Price
Plantation “Las Flores”
Colomba, Costa Cuca
Guatemala, Central America
     
    Dear Mrs. Cruz-Price,
    We are in receipt of your letter of 15 January, which included full payment for this school year. Thank you.
    In answer to your question: Yes, we have spoken to Cadet Russell about the results of the intelligence test he recently took, and we are aware of his concerns. As you may know, because so many of our graduates go on to the various private high schools that feed the United States service academies, we have, as a long standing policy, administered the military aptitude test, which is a prerequisite for entrance into these schools.
    I’m happy to write that your son tested very high, and that we were pleased and gratified to report the results to both parents of record. We feel his long stay here at Blackwell has proven of real value to Cadet Russell and will hold him in good stead in the future.
    However, I must take this opportunity to express my concern about Russell’s negative attitude towards both having to take the test, which he at first refused, and his troubling attitude towards the results themselves. It seems that he doesn’t believe the results—in fact, he says he’s quite stupid. Furthermore, he has stated to members of our staff that the test is a “gimmick to make him feel good about himself.” These attitudes are certainly unfortunate and of concern to us, as Russell has maintained a sterling record both academically and otherwise, until very recently. Perhaps there is something wrong at home?
    I must also inform you that Russell has been involved recently in quite a few fights and that this behavior cannot be tolerated indefinitely. I’m sure you understand. One incident was quite serious, and resulted in his being removed from the pistol team when he was