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that can’t get along with Jesus Christ Himself, and’s never learned you judge a man by what he is. Not by what he looks like. Or what he’s called. Course I worked with more colored people growing up back home than I have in the Navy. But that’ll change. Among the officers, I mean. We got plenty enlisted colored people.”
    â€œNegroes,” I said.
    He looked at me, with those shining eyes. Then his lips changed. They were open, perhaps on the last syllable of people . But they closed, straightened, and for a moment I could sense his absolute command over the demons in his soul. Then he grinned and with a turn of the head brought the grin to Willie. I watched Willie.
    â€œFine with me,” Percy said. “I don’t care what a man wants to be called. Long as he does his work, and does it the best he can. ‘Sailor’ is what I call them, whether they’re black or purple or green. Or a pale scrawny white boy grew up in New York City. But —” he raised his glass so it was level with Willie’s face, his nose and eyes, and pointed the forefinger. Willie looked at it. “ But . If they fuck up, I come down. And I mean I come down hard. We got planes to fly, Willie. Them’s not laying hens on that flight deck. And there’s pilots in them. And two other men aboard the big ones. And we know what all those planes are for: one purpose, and one purpose alone. Get the fuck on that catapult and up in the air and drop the loads. There won’t be a ship left to come home to. You know that. Gerry knows that. You boys’ll get nuked up the ass by the big fish. About thirty minutes after the whistle blows. At most . And we’ll run out of fuel. But af ter Moscow. We all know that. So when a sailor fucks up I call him a bunch of things. But I’ll tell you this: if that man is a Negrah, Walt Percy don’t call him a nigger. I might call him a worthless dumb son of a bitch. But not nigger. If you’ll pardon the word. Because I’m trying to make a point.”
    Willie wanted to hit him. Or his body did; but he does not believe in it, so what Willie wanted to do, wanted to be allowed to do, was tell Percy, loudly and articulately and for a long time, that he was full of shit. Willie wanted to be a civilian, wanted Percy to be one too. Even if, as civilians, Percy were Willie’s boss. Willie could tell him what he had to say, and quit his job. Yet there in the club, and aboard ship, or any where, in or out of uniform, Percy was not Willie’s boss, only a senior officer, and still he constricted Willie as surely as a straitjacket; and Willie had to yield to the constriction, even help it with his own will. He was breathing deeply and his tight blouse showed each breath; the skin of his face was taut over his cheekbones and jaw, and his nostrils widened with his breathing. For his mouth was closed and I knew from his jaw and the muscle in front of his ear that his teeth were tightly pressed together, his tongue heavy and strong behind them, a wild animal he wanted to set free.
    â€œWillie, we weren’t allowed to say that word in our home. My big brother did. Just once. Name’s Boyd. He was maybe fifteen, sixteen. Big old country boy. My daddy didn’t scold him. No sir. And Boyd was a bit too big, too old, for a spanking. My daddy didn’t slap him either. Or shake him till his head wanted to come loose, like he did to me once when he thought I lied to him. I did lie, but not as much as he thought. Had to do with some car trouble and getting home late from being out with a girl. No sir, Willie. My daddy didn’t say a word to Boyd. We were at supper. He put down his fork and got up from where he was sitting, at the head of the table, there in the kitchen. He went to Boyd’s chair. Boyd was sitting at one side of the table, next to me. We had a big family, three boys on one side of the table, I was the youngest, and three girls on