“That’s because the motherfucker had us fully enter the war in 1965,” Frankie stated. “If the French couldn’t defeat the Vietnamese, then what makes these dumbass politicians believe the Americans can?”
“It was different in Korea and World War II, because we knew who the enemies were,” Kenny said.
“How can an American soldier tell a North Vietnamese from a South Vietnamese when all the fuckers look alike?” Ray asked.
“You’re right,” Kenny said. “That’s why we’re going to lose the war. I have no intention of going overseas to kill people who haven’t done shit to me. Even Malcolm X spoke out against the United States’ involvement in Vietnam before he was assassinated. It was the same with Dr. King, who talked about the suffering of the Vietnam people, whose homes were being destroyed and their culture obliterated.”
“You sound like a militant,” Frankie said accusingly.
Kenny glared at him. “Maybe I am because of the way I’m feeling about a lot of things nowadays. I’ve been reading a lotabout the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense, who are fighting for justice for African Americans and other oppressed communities in this country.”
“The Black Panthers aren’t the only group organizing against injustice,” Ray added. “Late last year, the Young Lords, who were a former Chicago street gang, is now a civil and human rights organization. Their slogan isTengo Puerto Rico en mi corazón.”
“I have Puerto Rico in my heart,” Kenny translated.
“Speaking of Puerto Rico, Kenny,” Frankie said. “I heard that my uncle took your mother to the island for vacation.”
“I heard the same thing,” he joked, smiling.
Ray waited until the server set menus on the table before he said, “Don’t be holding out on us, Kenny. What’s up with your moms and Frankie’s uncle?”
“Nothing’s up, Ray. They’ve been friends for years.”
“Amigos?”
Kenny struggled to hold his temper. “Why are you asking me how they are friends, Ramon? They’re grown and do whatever the hell they want to do.”
“Whoa, Kenny,” Ray said, holding up a hand. “I meant no disrespect.”
Frankie elbowed Ray in the ribs. “If that’s the case, then you shouldn’t have said it.”
“Sorry. I forgot that I was talking about your family.” Ray studied the menu, mumbling in Spanish under his breath.
Kenny slowly shook his head. “You just can’t let it go, can you?” he said in the same language. “You’re talking about both my family and Frankie’s.”
Frankie looked at Ray, then Kenny. “Come on, guys, let’s not start shit with one another when we have more important things to worry about. Playtime is over for us. If our number comes up in the draft, we’re going to have to make the decision whether to report to the draft office or get in a car and drive across the border to Canada.”
“That’s something I can’t afford to do,” Kenny said. “The first thing the government would do when I come back is throw my Black ass in a federal prison and lose the key.”
“I may be exempt because I have flat feet,” Ray announced proudly. He gestured to Kenny. “You could also get an exemption if you can’t pass the eye test.”
“That’s a probability.” He never thought not having perfect vision would be his ticket out of military service.
Frankie blew out his breath. “I have perfect vision and don’t have flat feet, so I don’t really have an out. Vietnam is all about a rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight. Just think about the billions of dollars the government will pay these companies to manufacture tanks, guns, and fighter jets.”
Kenny put up both hands. “Enough talk about the war. You can’t turn on the television or open a newspaper or magazine and not be bombarded with news about Vietnam.”
“I’d rather talk about pussy,” Ray joked.
“You would,” Frankie said, shaking his head.
“I know you’re not talking,” Ray countered. “Aren’t you the one who has a little black book with names of girls in alphabetical order?”
Frankie blushed. “Not quite.”
Kenny met Frankie’s eyes. “Have you been holding out on me?” Whenever he went to East Harlem, he usually stopped to visit with him. And he’d continued the practice to join the extended D’Allesandro family for first Sunday dinner.
“No,” Frankie admitted. “I broke up with the last girl I was seeing, because she was getting serious. Talking about wanting to get married. When I told her that I wasn’t ready, she got into a huff and walked out. She came back to see me a week later, claiming she was willing to wait until I was ready. What I didn’t tell her is she would have to wait a long time and that she’d better look for someone else.”
