Jerome's Curse - by John Wolf
Double cross, double take,
No time to loose,
Hidden trouble, no mistake,
Which will you choose?
- John Wolf
The bugle sounded. Joe and I stiffened. They could be at the door in an instant after that call. It was Saturday morning inspection at Vintner Military Academy and we had a problem. We stood at parade rest for about a half an hour, listening to the yells, and the corresponding, “Yes sir!” bouncing off the quadrangle walls and fade into a dampened echo. Then we hear the sword rattling and heavy steps on the stoop caused by upper classman Captain Billy Strayhorn pass our open window and turn into our room. We knew his gait like an Indian knows the sound a deer makes jumping through a wooded thicket. We popped to attention as Strayhorn entered and stood in the center of the room, his entourage close behind, all in locked steps. The entrance usually ended with the Captain centered on the first cadet, staring a hole in him while he measured your nerves. Today he stopped at a set of black heel marks in the middle of our floor, ground in, creating a severe issue for us passing any inspection. The entourage was piled up a little too close behind the Captain, due to the abrupt halt. “Ten demerits, both cadets,” Strayhorn said sharply, and then he moved over and centered up on me. His gray eyes pushed on my conscious, daring me to make an excuse. “You know your not suppose to wear boots into your room.”
“Yes, sir.” I could feel my throat drying out. I dreaded the next thing I would have to say, that it might come out in a cracked voice, making me sound weak and childish. “Are you saying you don’t wear your boots in here?”
“That is correct, sir.”
Strayhorn’s gaze turned slowly toward Joe. Joe started to lean under the invisible aura pushing on him that close encounters with authority brings. “Are those your boot marks Private Jenson?”
“No sir.”
Strayhorn stepped back to widen his view of the both of us. He was trying to assess who was lying. He didn’t see what he was looking for. He looked down to assess the marks. They were boot marks alright, although, the marks could have another meaning. He dismissed that.
“Twenty demerits each,” he said, looking at the steward assigned to record the inspection results. He turned back to me and said, “Get it cleaned off by taps. I’ll be around to check.” The Captain left the room in a clatter of boots and the metal clanking of dress swords. We stood their frozen for a minute or two. I looked down at the marks and a few other very light ones left by the inspection team. “Who ever did this is going to pay.”
Joe eyed a can of Comet in his open closet, lined up neatly along other cleaning containers. “We need steel wool.”
“I’ll get it from Burton as soon as this is over.” We both were talking in diaphragm pushed whispers.
There were so many useless skills you learned the first few months of initial training, your first year as a cadet. The upper class called us “bugs” until we met muster. We could polish a fifty year old sink until it was showroom quality. We could melt shoe polish in a lid with a drop or two of alcohol and pour it on a boot to get a veneer that polished into a glassy surface. You stopped rubbing the cotton ball around when you could see your teeth reflecting back at you. The floors were white from constant scrubbing with bleach cleansers. We were proud of our space, because it was perfect until someone invaded it and marked the floor so we would catch hell from the oppressive authority that loomed over you night and day. It was also the sign that someone in the room could have dishonored the school in some way.
The bugle sound again. The inspection was over. I got a piece of steel wool from Burton. Joe already had a paste made from the Comet. We had worked on the mark before inspection, but it didn’t take much to leave a nearly permanent stain. It had appeared just after morning chow.
Alcohol soaked steel wool coaxed the stain to dissolve. The chorine vapors were strong. We pulled away, noses stinging until we heard the Company Commander’s whistle called us to ranks. I grabbed a cleaning rag and gave it a good wipe. “Let’s leave a paste on it until after mess.”
The pounding of the drums in the bugle corps that marched us to the mess hall matched my heels hitting the pavement and the grinding of my jaw. Who had sent the message by marking our room? What did they want? We hadn’t done anything to dishonor the school. I knew if I didn’t figure it out soon, something more ominous would jump out when I least expected it.
Joe Jenson, my roommate, was from Crider, Texas, named after some dirt farmer that wandered into the red, dusty soil of the Panhandle in the late 1800s to get away from what was left of the South after the Civil War. Cotton seemed to grow there, if you could get enough water to it. My name is Jasper Cummings, and my father was the mayor of Pogus, New Mexico, an honor used to distinguish him from the village idiot and the gas station owner, the only other recognizable entities in town. Pogus was on the Saquiac Indian Reservation and my dad ran the post office and filled out the administrative paperwork that recorded tribal business. Sixty men, women, and children lived in the small cluster of wooden buildings with worn off paint, abraded by years of relentlessly blowing sand.
Vintner was about as far from our experience as one could get. The academy was ensconced at the edge of Bakerville, Tennessee on thirty acres of very expensive, lush land. I thought I was going to be smothered by all the green. We were used to being able to see a hundred miles without obstructions. Joe and I found ourselves here as a way to become men, educated ones at that. It’s what our parents thought would be best. Otherwise, both of us would only have replaced our respective village idiots in time. The school put us together for mutual support. Now, it was questionable, whether we would ever fit in.
That evening, Joe and I sat staring at history books, taking notes studiously, during the mandatory three hour study period. The sun was down or had gotten lost in the thick trees that surrounded the school. I heard steps coming down the stoop, a quick look revealed Strayhorn, peering in our open doorway at the floor. He never broke stride, so I guess he was satisfied with our crisp, clean floor, boots neatly sitting inside, both of us wearing thick white socks. We waited a safe time to make sure the captain was around the corner into the next company’s space. “I think those guys in G Company did it. They’ve had it in for us since day one.” Joe talked with his face in his book in fear his voice would be picked up by the radar ears of the faculty staff that patrolled the stoops during study period.
“They make fun of our southwest drawl, but I don’t think they have a real reason. No one does that to another cadet. Where’s the honor, the code of conduct? No, we have been targeted and I don’t know why.” I couldn’t study anymore. Tomorrow was Saturday, and before we could leave the campus for a couple of hours and get some relief from things military, we had to march off those demerits we got stuck with.
* * *
I saw Joe about a block away, marching in the heat of the day with his rifle over his shoulder in a large square that went around a statue of Colonel William Wakefield, the guy Wakefield Hall was named after. I still didn’t know who he was. That’s another thing I had to find out before an upper classmen confronted me with that question. I looked up to see a tall, skinny kid that was from A Company start to pass me, marching off ten demerits of his own. His rifle wasn’t in line like it should be. I knew he was a loser the first time I saw him. I heard him say something as he passed. “Did you find the package, yet?”
The question didn’t register anything. A few minutes later, I knew we would pass again. “What package,” I echoed back on the second pass in a voice designed to only span the distance between us.
“You know...” The voice trailed off.
The next pass set me on fire. “You find it or your floor is gonna get hit again.” I saw a grin and a muffled laugh. I also saw the Officer of Day come out of the gap between the buildings and give us the once over. He made a mental note that we were all accounted for and were properly marching around like circus ponies. He turned and went back between the buildings. The next pass, I shoved what-his-name into the bushes under the row of C Company barracks windows with my rifle across his chest. He dropped his rifle and slammed into the damp dirt with a thud. A real shocked look came across his face. I said, “You tell me all about this package or I’ll put a black boot mark across your face.”
“You can’t do this. You’ll get us suspended.”
“Look,” I spotted his name tag, “Private Wilson, give it up or you’ll be suspended alright – by your balls”
“Okay – your room is Jerome’s room. The guy they found dead last year. The packages came through his room. They never found the last one. That room is cursed until they do.”
“Who’s they?” I push the rifle up to his neck.
“The two upper classmen in Headquarters Company – Scott and McManahan. You never heard about this?”
“What’s this package?”
“Marijuana, a kilo. They think Jerome hid it in the room. They want it. It’s theirs.”
“What’s this to you? How do you know about it?”
“I do jobs for them, and they leave me alone.”
“Like leave boot marks. You mean to tell me these two have a drug smuggling operation, or had one, that came through my room?”
“You got it, smart guy.”
“What happened to this Jerome?”
“He drowned in the swimming pool. At least that’s where they found him the next morning. Look, you have to come to your senses. If we get caught, Scott and McManahan will find out. They’ll kill us.” He really looked scared.
I stood up and grabbed his arm. I pulled him to his feet and said, “If they start asking, tell’em Joe and I don’t know about the stash. This conversation didn’t happen, but if you trash our room again, I’ll make sure your keepers are exposed and blame it on you – got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay, get back out on the walk.” Wilson straightened his uniform, picked up his rifle, and dashed for the walk like a frightened child. I wasn’t far behind. Then it hit me. I must have been nuts to do what I just did. We both glanced around nervously. Nobody seemed to notice. Then I looked up. Headquarters Company was dead ahead. I saw an upper class cadet looking down at us; he turned and walked into the shadows.
I finished up and ran back to the room to find Joe. He was gone. I had to get off campus and do some thinking. I went to the OD’s window to check out. The Officer of the Day was staring a hole in me. I looked at his name tag – McManahan. I swallowed hard, but tried to steady my hand as I signed out on the logbook. My heart was thumping – could he hear it? Did I look guilty? I know I must have signaled some fear.
I went down to Taylor’s hamburger joint had found an empty booth. I got my order and nervously nibbled at the fries. Burton came in and sat down at my table.
“Hey, did you hear about Joe? They found him all beaten up behind the library across the street. They took him to the hospital in town. I’ll bet it was some of those high school bastards from Bakerville.”
“Must have been.” In that back of my mind I knew who did it. “I gotta go. You finish the burger.” I got up and went out the back way. I wasn’t taking any chances that someone was waiting for me out front.
When I got to the hospital, I saw Joe coming from the out-patient area with a cast on his arm and a small square bandage on the top of his head. “What happened?”
“Hey, Jasper. I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s embarrassing to get mugged by high school kids.”
“Cut the crap, Joe. It was Cadet Scott wasn’t it. His sidekick is on duty, so it couldn’t have been him.”
“Wow, you know about this? Scott got mad and shoved me down. I landed wrong,” Joe said.
“I just found out about it and I think they feel we are a threat.”
“He wanted a package. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“Let’s just say they killed a cadet last year, because they think he skimmed off a load of weed they were selling, probably to other cadets. That’s where this Jerome’s curse comes from. They’re after a stash this Jerome dude left in our room.”
“He said if I find something unusual in the room, to get it to him without drawing attention or the next time he visits I wouldn’t do as well.”
“They’re pushing marijuana, Joe.”
“What should we do?”
“If we go to the cops, they won’t find anything and they’ll go free. Free to snuff us out. If we go back and play along, maybe we can find a way to expose their little game. That’s the only way to get us out of their sights.”
“What if the curse gets us first?”
“You want to leave the school, go home, and let the next guys get pushed around by these jerks? What’s your dad going say when you tell him you couldn’t take the heat and went home with your tail between your legs?”
Joe gave me a sad look. “Okay, let’s go back, but we have to be really cool about all this.”
“What are you going to tell the school?”
“I told the doctor a car full of teenagers came down the alley and sideswiped me. They didn’t mean to, it just happened.”
We went back to the school and signed back in like nothing happened. McManahan was standing off to the side, watching, but didn’t say anything. I looked straight at him and saluted. For the moment there was a quiet truce. He returned the salute.
Now, I knew the room had a hiding place. Joe found it first. Behind the locker drawer, at floor level on his side, there was a floor board loose that came up. Under it we found a small, tightly wrapped package that felt like it might be two or three pounds. We didn’t even bring it out. We knew what it was.
A couple of days later, I came back from an afternoon class early and caught Wilson searching our room. I slammed him into a corner.”
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“They were leaning on me to come up with something fast.” Wilson was crumbling. One thing military training teaches is how to recognize when the enemy hesitates and you have the advantage. Wilson hadn’t made it to Joe’s locker yet. I was sure he hadn’t found anything. I pushed Wilson over behind the bunk bed. “Look, we are in this together now. I don’t want these goons to get us or you. Joe and I are trying to get past this. We don’t have a package and we didn’t find one. Jerome Smith hid the thing somewhere else, if he ever had it.”
“I have to come back with something or they will find ways to make my life miserable.”
“Tell them this: after they roughed up Joe, we sat down and wrote up the whole story and put in Joe’s dad’s safety deposit box. The plan is to get through the year and out of this room. They can come in this summer and tear it apart if they want to. They leave us alone, and no one opens the box. If anything happens to us, Joe’s dad will bring in the cops after he gets into that box. Joe left a letter with the registrar for his dad. He won’t be here until graduation. Joe can pull it before his dad gets here.” I let Wilson go. He gave me a serious look, like he was considering everything I said and how he would relay it to the opposition. He pushed past me and left. I pulled my boots off and started cleaning the faint arcs off the floor.
Click on this: next column
I had to make a calculated risk that one of our upper classmen could be trusted. I had to find a friend that had enough power within the miserable pecking order to set a trap and not get caught in it, or Joe. I decided to place a bet on Cadet Colonel Moody. He was a battalion commander and looked like the epitome of what the school was striving for in honesty and integrity. This was his last year and West Point was in his future plans. I requested a private meeting. It was to be held in his quarters on Saturday after inspection, while the main corps was released to go off campus.
I came to room 204, knocked, and presented myself, “Cadet Cummings, sir.”
“Enter.”
I went inside and saluted promptly.
“Sit down. What’s on your mind, Cummings?”
I worded the story thinly, with just the facts, and didn’t reveal we had found the stash, but that we had been threatened by Scott to produce the package or else. We then learned of a possible drug running business that had been going on which left Cadet Jerome Smith dead. The scuttlebutt was Smith was passing the drugs to Scott and McManahan and got greedy. Captain Moody knew about Smith’s embarrassing departure.
“Interesting story, Cummings. Do you plan to tell anyone else about this?”
“The threat is real, especially after my roommate was ruffed up. It’s all speculation, so no one would believe us. We are keeping quiet, but I had to reach out to someone to protect our future. These two seem to be mean enough to do away with us too, if they don’t get what they want, sir.”
“Look, you return to your quarters and make sure Jenson understands to keep quiet. I will see what I can do to verify your story. If what you say is true, I’ll find a way to nab Scott and McManahan before they do anything rash.”
“Thank you, sir.” The meeting ended with a quick exchange of salutes and I quick-paced it back to H Company to look for Joe.
* * *
A couple of weeks went by and nothing unusual happened. It was one of those Saturdays when the corps was out on field maneuvers, pretending to be soldiers, learning war skills. We were running through wooded areas littered with old coal mines, each one plotted carefully due to the immediate danger of falling into one of them. My squad was assigned to get on top of a knoll to seize the high ground and set up a machine gun. That done, me and my gunner tried to get invisible, pulling fresh vegetation up over us. I called in, “Blue Team, Baker 2 in position.” There was a click, click for a response.
Private Wilson was part of a scout patrol on the adversary team. Wilson broke from his group that was suppose to come down the canyon floor along a creek bed, but deviated over into the next canyon to follow Joe’s group. It seems he saw Joe place the package in his pack that morning. Wilson assumed Joe was going to dump it in the woods. The exercise was design to have the adversaries come up the creek bed, under the machine gun position, be engage, and then the Blue Team would sweep around from the other canyon and cut them off. The lesson was meant to show the Blue Team that they needed to block the adversary’s ability to retreat back down the creek. Even with superior force and control of the high ground, all possible avenues had to be covered or wait until a better attack could be mounted.
McManahan came down the ridge and dropped into my machine gun position and told the other guy to join the Blue Team in the canyon behind us. All I could do was stare at McManahan. I didn’t know what else to do.
The hate filled face spoke, “I know you are in on this with Moody. What’s he given you to ruin cadet’s lives with this crap?”
“Sir, you’re not making sense. I don’t have any thing going on with Colonel Moody.”
“Liar. I saw you go to his room. You weren’t in there ten minutes. Did he give you instructions to recruit more players?”
“Colonel Moody is a good person, not like you and Cadet Scott. How could you bring drugs into the school? This could destroy the honor of the school, sir.”
“Drugs? What are you talking about? Scott and I have been watching Moody for months. He’s been changing grades in the admin computer for money. You’ve got the records hidden in your room, the backup proof if somebody backed out and tried to rat on him and his stool pigeon Wilson. He used that package to blackmail any squeamish players. We were one move away from catching him red handed and you and your roommate came into the picture before we could nab that package. We thought you had it.”
“Records! We thought the package was marijuana that belonged to you and Cadet Scott, sir. Wilson told me you and Scott were running drugs and he was working for you. He wanted the package or we would, let say, could be eliminated. I went to Colonel Moody to tell him what you were up to. He’s supposed to be watching you – sir.”
McManahan’s eyes were moving from side to side like a nervous mouse looking for a hole. He had to process the whole picture in a different light. Was I lying? If so, why did I blurt out all this gibberish? If Moody was warned, what the hell was going to happen now? The whole plan could fall through now. Moody could be setting him and Scott up for a drugs frame-up. He had to tell Scott right away about this new development.
Boom, boom, boom, the exercise started. McMananhan slapped my shoulder and I reacted in the prescribed manner and flipped the safety on the gun and started firing. All the rounds were blanks, but the realism just added more adrenaline into my head. I thought I was going to explode.
The Blue Team rounded the end of the canyon, came under my gun and engaged the adversary team. Joe had taken a side detour at the last minute and went to the edge of and old mine shaft to dump the package. He pulled it from his pack right as Wilson jumped him.
“Gimme that,” Wilson screamed, while swinging his rifle in an arc to strike Joe in the face. Joe ducked and Wilson’s momentum took him off balance. He plunged into the mine shaft, screaming until his voice was silenced by a blow into the side of the shaft. A few more thumps and then the sound of water splashing up. Rocks and pebbles followed for about thirty seconds. Joe laid there half over the side, frozen with fear. He then eased back carefully onto firm ground. The package was gone. He looked around quickly and couldn’t find it. The gunfire ceased and the echoes died off. Joe stood in a daze. A couple of tactical officers from the school backtracked and found Joe. He and Wilson were missing from formation when they counted noses after the exercise. One of the tac-officers picked up an odd looking package off the ground in the bushes.
“He fell in the mine,” Joe said.
“What! Cadet Wilson?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
“This court of inquiry is now in session, Colonel Schneider residing.” A gavel banged and the evidence poured out of a lanky Sergeant of Arms, the meeting far from prying eyes and twitchy ears of the public. This was a closed door, behind closed doors session, deep in the center of the administration building that mirrored the best castle Keep in Europe. “The charges are against one Cadet Colonel Robert Moody for extorting payments from 35 cadets in exchange for modifying school records to show passing grades when that wasn’t the case. Cadet Captains William Scott and Sean McManahan have filed the charges and have provided the evidence to back their claim. Said evidence was in the hands of one Cadet Joseph Jenson on the day he was attempting to throw a package containing clear records of these transactions into a mine shaft during training, to destroy the contents. A struggle ensued and one Cadet Leonard Wilson managed to fall into the aforementioned mine shaft, while the package remained unharmed. It was subsequently retrieved by myself, Captain Chavez, at the scene.”
“That enough for now,” Colonel Schneider said, nodding at Captain Chavez. “Thank you Captain Chavez, you may leave now.”
When the door closed behind Chavez, Schneider turned to Scott and McMananhan. “What are in the records found in this package? Cadet Scott.”
“Sir, the package contains IDs and passwords from each of the cadets that paid for this service. This way Cadet Moody could retrieve, if needed, the original record from the school computer system and confront anyone trying to back out and come clean. He could also reverse the change and deny any wrong doing. Interestingly enough, the cash received for this dishonor totaled $70,000.”
“Wow, these students paid you $2,000 each to change these grades, Cadet Moody?” Now the gaze was on Moody.
Moody didn’t move a muscle. He was in his dress uniform and looked like any war hero. His dress saber lay in front of him on a table.
“Cadet Moody – explain yourself to this board.” Schneider’s voice was firm, but not critical. There was a distinguished guest in the room sitting behind Moody in the back. The light glittered off the two stars, sitting in perfect alignment near the edge of each epaulet. The name tag said Moody.
Cadet Moody spoke in a clear voice, “I thought this money would never be missed by the wealthy students that wanted to use my scheme and would solve a problem that came up about a year ago, when the man sitting behind me, left my mother. She found herself without the means to maintain even a meager existence. I told her I would find the money. The scheme seemed safe enough. I was in charge of overseeing student records for accuracy, a job the school honored me with. Power breeds corruption as they say.”
“Who pays for your schooling?” Schneider interjected.
“My father.”
“And you felt you couldn’t go to him for this?”
“No.”
“Where does Cadet Wilson fit into all of this, not to mention Cadet Jerome Smith?”
“Wilson worked with me in admin, running errands. He needed my services as well. For that, I had him get the IDs and passwords from the students, and then I made the computer changes. He became the go-between. Jerome worked in accounting on off-duty hours as a career enhancing project. He figured out what Wilson was doing and blackmailed him. Cadet Wilson was unstable. I assumed he intervened in a way the left Jerome Smith silent.”
“So you don’t know for sure that Wilson caused Smith’s drowning?”
“Wilson took the records I was keeping and the money from my room, placed it in this package, and tried to frame Smith that is was all his idea. It backfired when Smith took the package and hid it. When I found the package missing, I questioned Wilson and he said Jerome had found out about the scheme and had taken my data and money, but was cursed and wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He was going to get it back – not to worry. The next day, Smith was found in the pool. I knew Wilson did it. I had to deal with Wilson. We talked and decided someone had to be framed and that took the form of Cadets Scott and McManahan. Wilson described this package being wrapped in such a way it could easily be mistaken for a drug bundle. Wilson was convinced Smith hid the package in his room. I chose Scott and McManahan, because they were becoming suspicious. I had to find a plan that would bring all the loose ends together and clear the decks, stop the lie. I found out the same week my mother had committed suicide, so at that point, I didn’t care how it turned out. I went into the shadows. Then this kid Cummings shows up and laid out the story just as I had planned it. He figured it out from talking to Wilson. Wilson was feeding him lies. It was starting to look like I could get out of the situation.”
“Weren’t you concerned that Cadets Jenson and Cummings would locate the package and turn it in?”
“It turns out, Scott and McMananhan scared them into thinking they would be wasted if they found it and didn’t give it to them. This just made them look like the real deal to Jenson and Cummings. If they had found it, they would have giving it to me to protect themselves and prove to me what they said was true. That would have been perfect. The package would have been better concealed and the money placed off campus. Only Wilson would be a threat at that point. It would have been easy to set him up with being found with drugs and point him to Scott and McMananhan as accomplices. Their accusations couldn’t be verified and it would look like they were just trying to shift the blame. That package was definitely cursed.”
The judge looked around with his shoulders slightly sagging. This was a disgrace to the corps, a disgrace to the honor of all those that respected the institution and followed the creed. The shining career of a brilliant cadet on his way to West Point was snuffed out. And there was a general in the back of the room with a disillusioned look on his face, realizing his arrogance precipitated the downfall of his wife, his son, the murder of a young man, and the death of another less than perfect individual, but who knows, Wilson could have walked away with his dignity if things hadn’t have gotten out of hand. It was a sad day for everyone, because once a lie is launched, it comes to life, gains momentum, and only stops when lodged in the heart of the innocent.
A gavel banged and Judge Schneider said, “Cadet Moody you are to depart the campus immediately, never to discuss this incident with anyone. Of course, your career in the military will shift from entry into West Point to immediate volunteer into the Army as Private Robert Moody. You will work off your guilt in this manner and not shame your father or his office. As for the 35 records mentioned during these proceeding, they will remain as posted. No effort will be made to further manipulate the schools records. These proceedings are not to be recorded, or spoken of from this day forth. Cadets Scott and McManahan, you should consider yourselves lucky that you didn’t become the recipients of the curse created by this package, which will now be destroyed. You are charged with the responsibility to never discuss these proceedings and be satisfied that what came before this court has been judiciously prosecuted – is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” came a unison response.
“Case closed. Sergeant – clear the court.”
John Wolf - Author, Poet, and Musician. Story comes from impressions
from life at a military high school.
