Cadet Murphy

Author's Note: Fortunately, in childhood, I never caved this easily to peer pressure. As requested, here is more of Cadet Murphy. Please forgive the fact that these scenes were cobbled and re-written from the snippets I'd left lying around on the cutting room floor.

Cal sat quietly in the smaller of two armchairs in Miljan's downstairs study and waited patiently for Bos's scolding to be over.
"The family probably won't even believe you now!"
There was a peculiar exhalation of disbelief, and Bos opened his mouth to protest.
"No, they will - "
"No! No." Miljan was shaking his head, annoyed. "You should have called when you first got him! Always, you should call when you first get them!"
Bos shrugged, irritated at being chastised, and folded the piece of paper over in his hands.
"I forgot. I was busy."
Miljan scoffed again.
"Well. It's a good thing the general knew. He has probably already informed them."
Bos rolled his eyes and Miljan handed him the phone. From across the room, Cal stared nervously at it.
They were calling his family.
That made it real.
Bos looked up at Cal, then at Miljan.
"It's ringing."
Cal's heart skipped a beat. Bos turned his back.
The line clicked on.
"Murphy house."
Bos straightened his shoulders and stepped closer to the desk.
"Mr. Murphy? My name is Bos Yagovich, and I am the man who has your son."
"Son?"
Bos cast a confused look at Miljan.
"Calvin."
There was a long pause on the phone.

"You're him. You have my nephew Cal."
Bos nodded.
"Da. We took him twelve days ago from a train bound south to Fort Nelson."
There was more pause.
"Is he alive?"
Bos grinned.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Murphy. Cal is very much alive. And he is safe."
In the long silence, Red Murphy took a deep swallow and tried to think of what to say.
"Listen, I don't have money." he swallowed. "I - I don't have much at all, but I can get you something, anything you want, if you will just - "

Bos almost chuckled, but stopped himself at the last minute.
"Mr. Murphy," he interrupted gently, "Perhaps you misunderstand. I have already everything that I want. Your nephew Calvin is a carrier."
Across the room, Cal cringed.
On the telephone, there was an audible intake of breath. Miljan eyed Bos critically.
"Don't shock them, just tell them what you want."
Bos threw Miljan a quick glare, then turned his attention back to the phone.
"Calvin is a carrier, and he is currently in my possession. A doctor has been to see him, and he is healthy and safe. My intention, as you may have already guessed, is to keep him as my wife, and Calvin and I both hope for your blessing."
Red Murphy felt too stunned to speak. Bos continued.
"I also hope that you will accept a few gifts in exchange for your trouble." Bos flipped the scrap of paper over and scanned down the back. "A new tractor; 10 heifers; 60 acres and 10,000 Union dollars to do with as you wish."
There was absolute silence on the other end. Bos looked uncertainly at Miljan. Miljan shrugged.

After a long time, Red Murphy spoke.
"Sir, I don't want your tractor. I don't want your cows. I don't want your land, and I don't want your money. I just want my nephew."
Bos scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up to Miljan, who responded by raising three fingers.
"I apologize, Mr. Murphy. 30,000 Union dollars might be a more accurate indication of how much Calvin means to me."
Miljan's eyes widened, and he hastily wrote something on a piece of paper and held it up to Bos, pointing to it emphatically. Bos ignored him.
Red Murphy's voice grew tense.
"I don't care. I want him back."
Bos exhaled in annoyance.
"Mr. Murphy. Please. This is not a negotiation. Calvin is mine. He belongs to me now. He cannot go back."
Cal's stomach sank at the simple matter-of-factness in that statement. His fingernails squeezed marks into the armchair's leather.

"Do not mistake me. I feel great affection for your nephew, Mr. Murphy. And as a carrier, he is very valuable to me. Because of this, Calvin has not been hurt. However." Bos let that word hang long enough for the threat to come out of it. "He could be."
Cal's heart pounded out of his chest.
Red Murphy was silent on the line.
Bos continued.
"If you continue to pursue him, we will both lose him. A carrier whose family brings trouble to my own is a dangerous problem. And the only course of action for a dangerous problem is elimination."
Red Murphy's breath caught in his throat.
Cal's did the same.
Miljan made an impatient motion with his hand. Bos ignored it. Cal tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. His head swam. Was Bos threatening to kill him?
Miljan rolled his eyes and hissed at him.
"You're giving them too much time. Tell him what you want and finish the call."
Bos, momentarily distracted, glared at Miljan and covered the receiver with one hand.
"Would you like to speak to him yourself?"
Miljan waved the snide suggestion off and focused on something else. Bos glared at him a moment more, then returned to the call.

"Are we clear, Mr. Murphy?"
When Red Murphy answered, his voice was weak.
"We are."
"Now, Mr. Murphy, I expect that you are concerned about Cal. As I said, he is well and safe and you may visit him as soon as he is pregnant with his first child. Until then, he will remain in seclusion with me. If you would like to ensure that his seclusion does not become permanent, then you will keep quiet and keep away from the General. Is that understood?"
Red Murphy was silent for a very long time. Abruptly, he said,
"I want to talk to Cal."
Bos shook his head.
"Is that understood, Mr. Murphy?"
Red Murphy had never wanted to kill a man so badly in his life.
"It is."
Bos threw a victorious glance at Miljan.
"Very good. Here is Cal."

Bos turned and held the receiver out to Cal, who blinked at it for a second. Annoyed, Bos shook it and Cal got out of the chair and came forward. He reached for the phone, but Bos pulled it back.
"What do you say?"
Cal, head swimming, tried to pull himself together enough to remember.
"Hv - hvala." he answered. Bos nodded.
"Good." he handed over the phone.
Cal cradled it against his chin and turned his back to the other men.
"Uncle?"
"Calvin! Sweet Lord!" there was a minute of muffled movement, and Cal imagined his uncle pacing the front room, running his hand over his balding head. "We thought - we thought you were dead, boy."
Cal lifted one corner of his mouth.
"Nope."
"And then the man - the general called and he said you were alive, but they didn't have a location, and then these guys call and they say they've got you and you're all changed and - " Red Murphy trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. "Is it true?"
Cal's hand trembled as he held the phone, very conscious of Bos and Miljan watching him.
"Yeah. It's true, Uncle."
"Lord." Red Murphy was quiet another long moment. "Well, are you OK? Has anyone hurt you? Has anyone touched you?"
Heat rushed into Cal's face.
"Yes. And no. But, um, yeah."
Red Murphy was silent.
"Was it him?"
Cal nodded, then remembered that his uncle couldn't see him.
"Yeah."
His uncle was quiet.
"You know this is irreversible, don't you, Cal?"
"Yeah, uncle. I know."
More quiet.
"I don't want you to get hurt, Cal."
Cal shook his head; his throat suddenly felt tight.
"I don't want to get hurt either."

There was another silence, then Red spoke suddenly, as if finally making a decision.
"Listen, I want you to do what they say, OK?"
Cal paused. Tears tickled the back of his eyes and burned the bridge of his nose
"OK."
"Even the hard stuff, OK? There's... there's gonna be stuff I know you're not gonna like, but it's gonna be like I raised you, right? You're going to be brave. And you're going to survive."
Cal shivered.
"OK."
Red Murphy took a deep breath in.
"God has chosen you for a very special journey, Cal. And I'm sorry I can't be there with you."
Cal felt the urge to cry grow stronger. Everything seemed so clear. Red Murphy paused, then continued.
"But He'll be with you, alright? Every step of the way."
Cal sniffed, discreetly.
"OK."
"God will keep you safe." Red forced a smile into his voice. "God and your good wits."
Because Cal really wanted to cry now, he shut his mouth closed tightly and gritted his teeth.
"Mm-hmm."
"So don't let them hurt you. Just hang on until I can figure out what to do. I'm going to try everything within my power to get to you, Cal. Don't ever think that I won't - "
"It's fine." Cal's voice surprised him with its strength. "It's - I mean, I know. I get it, uncle. And you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."
"Cal, you don't have to - "
"No. No, uncle, I'm serious. I'm not a little kid. And I'm not stupid. I know, I mean, I just - " Cal glanced nervously over his shoulder, but Bos and Miljan were engaged in a low conversation about something. Cal took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not a child. I understand the situation I'm in. I know I can't just walk away from here. And I don't want to die."

A thick silence followed. Neither of them were sure what to say, and Cal had startled them both with his bleak statement. Cal closed his eyes.
"Besides, uncle, the money could help. A lot."
Red Murphy's voice went up three octaves.
"Jesus Christ, Cal, I don't give a damn about the money! I'm not pimping out my youngest - "
"Uncle! It's not - " Cal took a minute to recover his composure. Bos and Miljan had both looked up at him in interest. Cal sighed and tried to speak quietly. "It's not that. It's just - " Cal cast around for the phrasing he wanted. "It's just good math, Uncle." he paused, "I don't want to die. You don't want to lose me. This way, everyone wins."
On the other end of the phone, Red Murphy was standing over his kitchen sink, wishing desperately that he had any other answers.
"Cal, I don't - I can't do that, Cal. I can't just say - "
"I'll be fine, uncle! Please. Please just believe me."
"Cal, I cannot, in good conscience - "
"Look, don't come look for me, OK?!" Cal snapped. "Because even if you do, I'm not going home. I'm. Staying. Here. Got it? Even if you come with the cops and the government and everybody from the farm, I'm not going home!! I'm. Staying. Here!"
Red Murphy was momentarily stunned into silence. He hadn't heard Cal talk like this in years. Slowly, he answered.
"Alright, Cal."
Cal exhaled.
"Alright. Good. Fine. I'm - fine. So I guess -" he had to take a breath to keep the hysteria at bay, "I guess I'll see you, um, in a couple of weeks. After I'm - after I can."
"OK." Red answered him. "OK."
"So tell everybody I said hi, and I'm fine."
"I will."
"I'll call again, later, if I can."
"OK."
Cal hesitated then; for what, he didn't know.
"OK. Well, bye, Uncle."
"Bye, Cal."

Cal took the receiver away from his face and wiped his cheeks hastily with his shirtsleeve. Then he turned and held the phone out to whoever wanted it next. Bos stepped forward, took the receiver, and gently hung it up.
Cal stood in front of him, trembling from the emotion of his conversation, and numb with the realization of what he'd done. Bos put both hands on Calvin's shoulders, making him stand straight in front of the larger man. Bos reached out and lifted his chin. There was a collection of emotions in his face: sympathy, happiness, worry, pride, anger, victory.
"Very good, Cal. You are smart, after all."
Cal shut his eyes, then opened them and looked at the floor.
"OK. I know."

~:~

Later that afternoon, Cal sat in the empty bathroom, shivering.
No one was coming for him.
He had told them not to come.
Remembering the decision brought a chill to Calvin's skin. It had been rash, thoughtless; so unlike him. He hadn't really weighed the options, hadn't asked his uncle what contingency plans were available, hadn't gathered all the information he could about who, what, where, when, and how. He had acted on emotion, rather than on logic.
He had done something stupid.
He had told them to leave him.
It was unlike him; it was different.
In the past two weeks, every piece of Cal's life had become radically different. His body was different. His mind was different. His position in the world was different. His home was different. His schedule was different. Now, everything was different.

The water finished running in the tub, and Cal got in. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door. He leaned over the edge of the tub and hastily pushed his dirty clothes into a pile to the side before calling out that it was OK to enter.
The door creaked open. It was Bos.
"Zdravo."
Cal sank down a little lower in his bubbles and tried to read the man's face. What had he come in here for? Was Cal wanted in Bos' bed already? He couldn't have an hour to bathe alone? Cal's eyes flicked across the larger man's face; Bos stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. There was desire in his gaze, Cal decided; there was no mistaking that. Cal shifted in the tub so that his knees were up against his chest.
"Hi."
"Are you enjoying your bath?"
Cal glanced away and nodded.
"Yes."
"In my language."
"Da."
Bos grunted, then took up a seat on the white chair that rested against the wall opposite the tub.
"I am sorry, but your bath will have to be quick." Cal's gaze snapped up involuntarily. So it was time, then. Cal looked away just as quickly. But Bos hadn't been looking at him; he had been looking away, towards the window. Cal lifted his head and watched him for a minute. Eventually, Bos looked back and gave an apologetic half-smile.
"There is someone here who would like to meet you."

~

"So this is Tiger, hm?"
Miljan stood straighter and nodded.
"Da, Deda."
The old man straightened his cane and leaned forward to look over the carrier. Even in his old age, he had a magnificence to him; his back and hands were strong, and his hair, thinned, was slicked back from his stern face. On his shoulders, a dark wool suit jacket rested over a crisp white shirt. On his left hand, he wore a heavy gold ring, and when he moved, the slightest glimpse of an elegantly large wristwatch was visible.
Now, he stood in front of Tiger, his chin lifted, looking the young carrier over.
"Koliko imaš godina?"
Tiger glanced to his left at Miljan, who prompted him.
"Ja imam..."
"Ja imam 17 godina." Tiger finished quickly.
This particular revelation caused the old man to give a quick, but meaningful look to Miljan.
"Ah. Da li govoris srpski?"
"Um," Tiger hesitated. "A little. Miljan taught me."
"Ah." The old man touched Tiger's chin with his hand and lifted it slightly. "Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. He is very brown, Miljan."
Tiger's eyes narrowed, and Miljan gave Tiger a placative pat on the shoulder.
"Yes, Deda."
Their grandfather leaned forward even more, tilting precariously over his cane, and squinted his eyes at Tiger's face.
"He has beautiful features. That's good. It means he will always be handsome, even in his old age." His eyes wandered farther down the carriers body, and a disapproving noise escaped his lips. "Assuming he doesn't starve to death in his youth. Are you feeding him, Miljan?"
Miljan sighed a little.
"Yes, Deda."
"More than once a day?"
Miljan ground his jaw.
"Yes, Deda."
"He isn't pregnant, is he?"
"No, Deda."
"I would expect not, with the size that he is. Perhaps I could have great-grandchildren by now, if you fed him better."
Miljan nodded. There was no point in arguing, and certainly no point in admitting to Tiger's contraceptive shots.
"Sorry, Deda."
"Look - " The old man reached out and pinched the side of an alarmed Tiger's hip. Tiger yelped. "A carrier cannot give birth like this! And certainly cannot make milk."
The tips of Tiger's ears were turning red, and Miljan prayed silently for this conversation to end as soon as possible. His grandfather turned to face him.
"You can take better care of him than this, Miljan. You are too well-off to have such a skinny wife."
Tiger's face was flushed now. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.
"'m not skinny." he muttered. Miljan put an arm around his waist and squeezed to shush him. It was too late; the old man had already heard.
"What did you say?"
Miljan squeezed Tiger again, rather desperately, but Tiger just crossed his arms tighter. Miljan recognized this as the trademark beginning of a Tiger-led argument. He squeezed the carrier's side, frantically, but Tiger was going now, and about unstoppable.
"I'm not skinny." he repeated, frowning. "And it's not fair for you to say that about Miljan! He takes good care of me, and he feeds me just fine, even if we do eat potatoes a lot. But anyway, it's not his fault that I'm this size; it's just how I am. I'm just little."
Tiger pronounced the last word with such lifted-chin distinction that for a moment, Miljan had to fight a grin from his face. The old man tilted his head and just stared at the bold little carrier for a moment.
Miljan's grin faded; he knew his grandfather's expressions. This was not a friendly one. This was a predatory one.
The room grew tense.
Miljan's heart did strange things in his chest; freezing in place, and then pounding again.
The silence stretched on. But then, abruptly, as if shaking off the moment, the old man pivoted on his cane and smiled at Miljan, then Tiger.
"Well. He certainly is loyal." he tilted his head. "Not a bad trait to have in a wife." he regarded him with a bit more scrutiny. "It almost makes up for the fact that he is..." the old man paused, then smiled indulgently, "...little."
Miljan's heart, which had temporarily seized up when Tiger had answered back to his grandfather, resumed its normal beat. No violence seemed forthcoming. Miljan would have been struck twice in the jaw with the old man's cane for that kind of backtalk, but apparently Tiger would escape unharmed. It must be nice, Miljan thought, shaking his head, to be a carrier at some times.

Ami was next in line, and a broad smile spread across the old man's face as soon as he spied Ami's protuberant belly.
"Ah! This must be Ami. Drag has sent me pictures." he said, reaching out to squeeze the carrier's hand. Ami smiled shyly as the old man looked him over, praising him.
"So pretty. Such lovely skin. And such dark hair. A beautiful mother." the old man finished with a pat to Ami's tummy and a broad smile.
"Now, you are well? You are both well? Drag takes good care of you?" Ami nodded.
"I'm fine. We're fine."
"Have you seen a doctor? Getting enough to eat? No sickness?"
Ami smiled.
"I'm fine, Granddad. I promise. Drag takes good care of me, the others look after me as well, this big house keeps me busy, and Tiger keeps me company. What more could I ask for?"
the old man seemed inordinately delighted by Ami's whole speech, and he laughed heartily, then kissed Ami's cheek.
"Ah, Drag, you have chosen a very good wife. So beautiful, and so sweet."
he cast a sideways glance to Tiger. "Perhaps the others will take after him."
Tiger made an indignant sound in his throat, but Miljan quieted him with a particularly vicious squeeze.
"Yes, thank you, Deda." Drag answered.
Ami received one last approving pat, and the old man moved on to the last carrier in line.
Calvin decided that perhaps, if he stood very still, he would escape most of the old man's scrutiny. Whoever the man was, (some sort of family patriarch, Cal had surmised), his presence seemed to have brought a new tension to the house. Bos had seemed anxious ever since he'd retrieved Cal from the bath. During the walk downstairs, he had alternately held Cal's hand, then dropped it, as if unable to decide which would look better as they entered the room. And Miljan and the others had deep lines of worry written all over their faces.
Quite a scene for a supposedly happy homecoming.
The old man tip-tapped himself and his cane closer and peered at Cal.
"Who is this one?" he asked, to no one in particular.
Bos stepped forward.
"This is Calvin Murphy."
Cal felt his foot tapped roughly with a cane. He jumped a little. The old man frowned at Bos.
"I wasn't aware you had taken a wife, Bos."
Bos hesitated for half a second.
"He is new, Deda."
"His hair is red."
This observation was made with a mixture of distaste and confusion. Cal touched his hair reflexively.
"And he fidgets."
Cal snapped his hand back to his side immediately, then glanced at Bos, worried that he would be angry. The big man just shook his head. The old man gave Cal an assessing look.
"But he is quieter than the other ones. That's good."
The old man tapped his cane with unnecessary force against Cal's hip.
"Is he pregnant?"
Bos shook his head.
"No, Deda."
The old man frowned.
"So he always looks like this?"
Cal felt a familiar humiliation come burning over his face, and he shifted his gaze to the floor so he wouldn't have to look at anybody. His hands itched to pull at the edges of his clothes, but he was afraid he'd be accused of fidgeting again. So instead, Cal just stood still, with his face turning bright red, pretending not to hear. Bos answered his grandfather, somewhat sharply.
"Yes, Deda, he does."
The old man let his eyes flicker over Calvin.
"Well. I like him." Cal raised an eyebrow of surprise. "But he needs new clothes."
The old man looked over Cal one more time, then let his gaze drift down the line.
"I like them all. Well done. It seems that at least some things have not fallen apart during the time of my absence."