Red Zone Son

Chapter 33

Solomon didn’t know how many weeks it had been, but one time, he actually paid attention to one of Wilson’s confessions as he talked about how White silence was violence. “White people need to stop denying the reality of systemic oppression while simultaneously benefiting from it. To be silent is to allow the status quo to continue,” he heard Wilson recite. “To choose White comfort and privilege over racial equality. In fact, I would say White silence is foundational to the persistence of racism.”

Afterward, when they were alone in the stairwell, he turned to Wilson, and said, “Wow, White people are so powerful that even when they don’t say anything it sends shockwaves through the universe. Wish I had that superpower.”

Wilson snorted. “Don’t let me catch you saying that kind of thing outside.”

The warning made sense. At the same time, it didn’t help ease Solomon’s frustration. It was emasculating to hear that no progress could be made on racial issues without White people somehow being involved. It felt as if Solomon were being put in a position of racial dependence when he didn’t think he needed it. Not that he wasn’t extremely dependent on Wilson right now – he was. But that was because of Wilson’s extensive knowledge of life in the camps. It had nothing to do with anyone’s racial background.

They climbed up the stairs, settled down onto the cardboard, back-to-back again, and pulled the blanket over them. It was difficult to get right so it covered both of them as much as possible. They kept having to adjust it. Once they finally got it down, Solomon asked something he’d been wondering about for a while. “Why didn’t the militia include any of this language stuff in our training for the undercover mission? I feel like I came in here blind.”

He heard Wilson sigh softly. “They should’ve included it. I should’ve included it.”

After that, their conversations started to get personal. Wilson shared about how at sixteen he had been planning on joining an antifa, and that he would have if he hadn’t ended up in the camps first. He asked Solomon if he’d ever worried about offending White people by talking to them about them as a discrete racial group and Solomon was somewhat surprised Wilson knew enough to even ask that question. “I learned about that in fourth grade,” Wilson replied. “That’s the kind of thing they teach you in blue zone school.”

He also asked why Solomon had accused him of racism. “When?” Solomon demanded.

“When you came in to get the orders for the mission into the blue zone. You asked me why nobody White was being assigned to go in.”

“How is that an accusation of racism?”

Behind his back, Wilson was silent for a moment. “It’s… in the blue zone, whenever any racial disparity occurs, it’s always attributed to racism. So I thought… I thought you were saying I was treating soldiers of color like they were expendable.”

“Did you pick the team?” Solomon asked. He’d be able to see his breath if there was any light in here at all, it was that damn cold. “I thought someone else was picking it for you. I was trying to warn you that maybe this wasn’t an ordinary mission but someone with a personal agenda sending us in. I thought an ordinary mission would be mixed race. I didn’t realize racial status in the blue zone was so inverted. Why didn’t you just explain that to me instead of threatening to accuse me of sedition?”

“More training I should have included, I guess.” Regret filled his voice. “It was an ordinary mission, just one that I messed up. Really messed up.”

From there they started talking about boot camp. Lately Solomon had been wishing he was back there. All they’d made them do was exercise and eat, and they’d given them beds to sleep in, and if they were cold, it was only for portions of the day, instead of all the time. He’d been reminiscing, and Wilson had too, telling stories about his time in basic training. It was funny to think of Wilson as a recruit just like Solomon less than a year before he’d showed up. “How did you end up a drill instructor so quickly?” he asked. “You went straight from basic to drilling?”

“No, I did one stint of sentry duty, and then they asked me if I wanted to be a drill instructor, and I said sure, why not, so they trained me for it, and then I started. Your platoon was my first batch and I didn’t even start on time because of some miscommunication from higher up. The Westsylvania militia is seriously disorganized. They’re always about to run out of money. Anyway, I think they asked me because I was already twenty-two when I did basic so I was a little older than the typical teenage recruit. And they were short-staffed. Nobody wants to be a drill instructor. Nobody ever volunteers.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too much work. You have to be awake preparing before the recruits get up, then on top of them all day, and then you have to check up on everything after they go to sleep. And like I said, we were short-staffed, so we almost never got a break. That’s why I was around all the time. If you’re married, or you have a kid, or want a life at all, you can kiss all of that goodbye for as long as you’re drilling. I didn’t have any of that, though, so it didn’t matter. I’m just glad I recovered quickly from my four years in the camps. Otherwise I don’t think I would’ve had the stamina to do the job.”

“I really hated you during boot camp,” Solomon told him.

Wilson laughed outright, shifting a little under the blanket. “Good. That means I did my job right. Besides, I was so soft on you.”

Solomon was filled with disbelief. “Like when?”

“So many times. Like when you made fists in front of everyone after I read your letter from your sister, what was that all about?”

“You asked me if my sister was hot!”

“So?”

“She’s my little sister! She was fourteen! What should I have said?”

“You should’ve said yes, sir. That would have been hilarious! Then I would’ve smoked you and yelled about how you were so terrible that your sister would no longer be impressed with you after I went home to her that night, and then I would’ve let you go sit back down with her letter. I would’ve kept the candy, of course. But you had to make fists, seriously, Solo, in front of the platoon? Undercutting my authority in front of everyone? I should’ve made you eat that candy twice as fast, made you drink twice as many canteens, smoked you until you puked right in front of me, and then told you to write your name in it with your finger.”

Solomon didn’t know why he was laughing. He certainly wouldn’t have found it funny if that was what Wilson had actually done. “You’re sadistic, you know that?”

He could feel Wilson shaking his head behind his. “You have no idea. I was your fairy godmother, your guardian angel, whatever you Christians believe. After your battle buddy ran, the other drills wanted to bring you in for questioning, and it wasn’t going to be the polite kind. They wanted to blame you, said you should know something if you’d been keeping an eye on him like you should’ve been. I told them no, that I’d talked to you and that you knew nothing about Rithvik’s plans.

“And as soon as I found out Rithvik had run, I went looking for you to send you somewhere else. I probably would’ve had you do something stupid all day, like paint rocks in some corner of the base where nobody would think to look for you, but you made it easier for me by being sick, so I sent you to sick bay instead and submitted the code to the nurse to keep you there. You weren’t that sick that you needed to be there all day. You didn’t even need to stay there at all. You could’ve taken some ibuprofen and come back.”

Solomon couldn’t deny that it was interesting hearing things from Wilson’s perspective. Apparently Wilson wanted to know how it was from Solomon’s point of view, too, because he asked, “So did you know about Rithvik’s plans?”

“Well…” Solomon said.

Wilson started laughing. “Son of a bitch! You did know! I stuck my neck out for you so far they almost took my head off, and you knew the whole time!” His delight was infectious, but Solomon didn’t like thinking about Rithvik, so he was glad when Wilson changed the subject. “Look, I will admit, about your sister, I might have been a little jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“That you had a sister who wrote to you every damn day. I got no mail while going through basic training. I never got called up.”

After hearing about his parents Solomon wasn’t surprised, but he did feel bad for him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Wilson said. “My life is fine. I mean, right now it’s not, but the militia was good. Only annoying thing about it were the All-Whites, it’s like they’ve got nothing to do, spend all their time harassing you to join them if you’re White. I finally just told them I was Jewish.”

“Are you?”

“Nope. But it worked. They started hating me for that, of course, but I didn’t care as long as it ended the non-stop recruitment campaign.”

Solomon was laughing again. Wilson had a way of expressing himself that was funny even when he couldn’t see his face. For a moment he was even able to forget how cold he was as Wilson kept going. “It was the All-White drills, actually, who really wanted to bring you in for questioning. One of them kept getting in my face about it. So don’t tell me I never did anything for you, Solo!”

“I did something for you during boot camp,” Solomon said, adjusting the blanket again. “I never told anyone about how we met before.”

Wilson didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his voice changed. It was softer, more serious. “I did notice that. There were zero rumors going around, and I know if you’d told even one person, it would’ve flown around the base.” He paused. “Thank you.”

Solomon turned his head slightly to the side. “I’ve forgiven you, by the way, for ripping up my dead father’s Bible.”

“Shit! He’s dead?”

“I don’t know. Probably. He left it behind when he disappeared.”

“Who was that picture of? The one you used to get me to meet you?”

“My mother, and if you say anything, I will turn around and choke you, we are not in boot camp anymore.”

Wilson laughed softly. Then he was silent for a moment. “They were the ones you were looking for? When you first met me?”

“Yes.”

“And you never found them?”

“No,” Solomon said. It hurt to say it. But it was true. And he didn’t think he would ever see them again, in this life at least.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson said, and he sounded as if he really meant it. “I’m sorry for ripping it up. I was trying to help you stay alive.”

They were silent after that. Solomon started thinking about Umma, about Dad, about how angry he’d been with them for not coming back. He didn’t think he’d ever say he was glad to get sent to a camp, but it had allowed him to forgive them. Seeing this place, being here, knowing the hard labor camps were even worse, it made sense why they hadn’t been able to return. Without Wilson, he would have never made it as far as he had either.