A Talk with the Chaps

On the way to the shop, Lance Corporal Glynn Caldwell walked with a purpose. During this season of trading, he became in the festive mood. He had just finished putting up lights with Lance Corporal Cagney Reynolds and they added a tiny Christmas tree. He would receive his fifth consecutive outstanding for barracks room cleanliness. He reached the entry place and flashed his watch and stepped into his shop.

“Zero eight hundred hours on the dot, again,” Staff Sergeant Wynton Dolor said. “You’re going to be a lifer Caldwell.”

“I plan on it, Staff Sar’ent.”

Corporal Ben Kenny looked over at Caldwell at the doorway. He spit some dip into a plastic bottle. “Come over here, Glynn.” He pushed the door to the shop open. It lead to the outside while the one across the shop lead to the aircraft hangar.

“What’s up, Ben?” Glynn asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’ve been noticing you talking to yourself lately. Are you okay?”

“Yes, sure. I just like to get my thoughts out into the atmosphere so that I can focus on my tasks.”

“You know the last time that I went to your room, I noticed some books that might not be in line with the Marine Corps ethos. You should be reading––”

“The Commandant’s list of books. I already have. Twice. Why the concern?”

“I mean you do your job. You’re a good Marine. But that stuff you’re reading may be questionable.”

“Is that right?”

“Look, you can have a talk with the chaps.”

“Do you really think that that is necessary?”

“I do. I’ll ask Gunny to allow you some time away from the shop to have the chaplain give you a good word. How does that sound?”

Caldwell dismissed the pessimism in the corporal’s voice. He shrugged.

“Okay. I’ll see him.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Just give me a moment.” Kenny ran back inside. Caldwell took a seat and enjoyed a few puffs from a vaporizer. Kenny came back outside.

“C’mon. I’ll take you around the corner.”

The two Marines found the Chaplain’s office. Kenny said, “Chaplain Marlon?”

“Hi, Corporal. Lance Corporal. What seems to be the matter?”

“I wanted to let you talk to Lance Corporal Caldwell just to ensure that he’s good to go.” Kenny then grasped his cover and put it over his head.

“Well, alright thank you. Please make sure that–” Slam! “The hatch is closed.” Chaplain Captain Marlon Brockington wore black tortoise shell glasses and a pristine cammy uniform.

“So, tell me why the urgency to see me, Lance Corporal….”

“Sir, I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“I have in my notes something to the contrary. I want you to tell me what I have on my computer screen. No looking, of course.”

“I...think it may be about the fact that I’ve beaten the corporal on room inspections for so long.”

Brockington laughed low and with pity. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what?”

“You have on your record that you don’t believe in––”

“No. I only hold convictions.”

“And so how does that square with the other Marines?” Like a spider weaving a web, the chaplain was piecing together bits of information to make a strong sense of what Caldwell was talking about.

“I think it’s well. I don’t bring it up. Ben only knows because I’ve had these books on display. No one else really notices them because I keep them so squared away.”

“Tell me this,” Brockington cleared his throat. “What is it that makes the grass grow?”

“The Marines who make the blood flow?”

“Forget about cadence for a moment. Think about how brown cows eat green grass and give white milk. Why do you think that is?”

“I think it is a process first of pigmentation, digestion of chlorophyll, and the transformation to production.”

Brockington didn’t say a word. He was momentarily taken aback. He found his tongue again. “So who makes all of this possible, the sun, stars, planets, this very earth and everything in it? How does that happen?”

“All that you have described is, and I don’t want to sound like I swallowed a dictionary, but metaphysics or what is given in reality by the grace of nature.”

Brockington ripped the glasses off of his face like peeling off a bandage. “Look, son, I know that you are entitled to your opinions….”

“Opinions? What opinions? These are truths. In a foxhole I would be more ready to take up the fight based on the facts of reality than anything. No made up stories or mythology. Just science and reason.”

“I see. So, are you telling me that my years at theology school, my degree, and my commission into the United States Navy mean nothing?”

“No, and I don’t think that you should look at it that way. I would never petition for the outlaw of your beliefs.”

“Why not?”

“Because of all the different systems that are available to military men and women. I can be who I am while you and anyone else can go on believing in what you place your faith.”

A moment’s pause arose. Then Caldwell opened his mouth.

“May I be excused, please?”

“Yes, yes,” Brockington said. “And make sure that you–” the door slammed. “Close the hatch.”