‘‘Oh, certainly,’’ Sarah said, flushing. ‘‘Excuse me.’’
‘‘Excuse us,’’ Mr. Chambers said, ‘‘but this just won’t wait.’’
She went to the far end of the other side of the pool and sat down in an unusual wicker chair. It had a funny little parasol to shade whoever was sitting in it from the sun. She pushed herself all the way into it.
She could hear Mr. Chambers’s voice, of course; but she was surprised that she could hear Ed’s too, faintly but clearly, like at Carnegie Hall. She had once gone to Carnegie Hall when there was nothing going on, and her father had demonstrated that it was possible to stand on the stage and whisper, and the whisper was audible in the very last row of seats. Something like that was happening now.
‘‘If you don’t mind my asking, Lieutenant,’’ Mr. Chambers said, and was interrupted by Ed Bitter.
‘‘You’re making him uncomfortable, Uncle Brandon,’’ he said.
‘‘My question, if you don’t mind my asking,’’ Brandon Chambers went on, ignoring him, ‘‘is how your parents reacted when they learned you were going to China.’’
‘‘We’re not supposed to discuss any of this,’’ Ed Bitter said.
They were going to China!
‘‘I’m not a goddamned Japanese spy, Eddie,’’ Brandon Chambers said impatiently. ‘‘And it wasn’t really that hard for me to find out more about this operation than you in all likelihood know.’’
‘‘My father is a clergyman, Mr. Chambers,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘I didn’t think I had to tell him any more than what we are supposed to say, that we’ve been hired by the Central Aircraft Manufacturing Company, Federal.’’
‘‘What kind of clergyman?’’ Sue-Ellen asked.
‘‘Episcopal,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘He’s headmaster of a boys’ school.’’
‘‘Legend has it,’’ she said, ‘‘that ministers’ kids are really hell-raisers. You don’t look like a naughty boy, Mr. Canidy. ’’
‘‘Sue-Ellen!’’ Mr. Chambers said impatiently.
‘‘Sorry,’’ she said.
‘‘Well, I’ll tell you this, when Eddie’s parents heard about it, they had a fit,’’ Brandon Chambers said.
‘‘They should not have called you,’’ Ed Bitter said. ‘‘I told them not to say anything about it to anybody.’’
‘‘They wisely decided that they should call me because I was likely to know somebody, or Mark would, who could find out what is really going on. And I have. Mark and I have.’’
‘‘Well, it’s done,’’ Ed said. ‘‘There is really no point to this conversation.’’
‘‘It’s not done,’’ Brandon Chambers said. ‘‘You can still change your mind. You’re still in the Navy. All you have to tell them is that you’ve changed your mind. Minds,’’ he corrected himself. ‘‘Everything I’m saying applies to you, too, Dick.’’
‘‘You went off as a volunteer pilot before the World War,’’ Ed Bitter said. ‘‘And we’re going off now. Why was it right for you and wrong for us?’’
‘‘I didn’t have anybody, like me,’’ Brandon Chambers said, ‘‘who had been there and who could tell me it was a damned-fool thing to do.’’
‘‘It didn’t seem to hurt you any,’’ Ed said.
‘‘I was lucky,’’ Brandon Chambers said. ‘‘There were thirty-six people in my draft when we went to France. Eleven came back. Two out of three of us were killed.’’
Oh my God! Sarah thought. He’s going off to war!
‘‘You weren’t a trained pilot,’’ Ed protested. ‘‘We are.’’
‘‘Just because you’ve got a few hours in the F4F-3 doesn’t make you Eddie Rickenbacker, Ed.’’
‘‘I didn’t know you knew about that,’’ Bitter said.
‘‘Buzzing the Naval Academy,’’ Brandon Chambers said, ‘‘is not the same thing as going to war, Eddie. Do you really think the Japs aren’t well trained? Well equipped?’’