Love and War

It was Joe Cabron's turn to cook. Every friday evening several families in the neighborhood would gather for a cookout. The host would provide the meat and the others brought the rest of the meal. Baked beans. potato salad, maybe cole slaw, whatever. Everyone loved Joe's burgers. They called them Mexburgers. This was wrong for two reasons. Firstly, Joe's (actually Jose's) ethnic roots lay in Costa Rica. Secondly, the secret to his burgers was further east than that. Nonetheless it was his turn to cook, and as he did he tended the grill.

No one seemed to realize why the grill was arranged so that Joe was facing the house. The bright Arizona sunlight turned the patio door into a perfect mirror. He watched as his wife, Magda, approached Evan Hunter. Their bodies nearly touched as they talked. They both costantly glanced in his direction, then away, as if afraid to draw his attention. When Laura Carter came up to pester him about his Mexburger recipe his mouth flirted with her good naturedly without any input from his conscious mind. Finally Magda and Evan finished talking and walked off in different directions as if to deny any connection between them.

Joe turned his mind back to the business at hand. For the ret of the evening he was the perfect host. He despensed jokes and burgers with equal generosity. He endured with good grace Evan's somewat crude ribbing about the amount of baked beans he ate, and at the end of the evening he thanked all the neighbors for coming with every indication of sincerity

Joe was the manager of an electronics chain store. His employees were a cheerful group, and his customers seldom found cause for complaint. Formerly he had been a military policeman in the Marine Corps. In general being an MP is not very different from being a civilian policeman. It makes a difference though, when your beat is in Afghanistan.

Joe had learned to always be aware of what was going on around him, as more than one would be shoplifter had discovered. The cost of that lesson had been high. More than one good friend had died to impart it to him. Upon leaving active duty he turned down lucrative offers from several private security firms. He had no interest in another high risk occupation.

His wife Magda was German by birth. He had met her while working for the security detachment at NATO headquarters in Brussels. At first the only language they shared was Spanish, which she spoke better than he did. He taught her English and she taught him German. One phrase they learnd early on was I love you.

Magda professed contentment when they moved to Phoenix. She said she loved the warm climate and relaxed lifestyle. But after a year or so she began to be restless. At first Joe put this down to homesickness and cultural estrangement. Then he had slowly come to the conclusion that the sickness and estrangement were directed toward him. He began to wonder if she had ever really loved him.

Along with the friday cookouts another regular part of their weekly schedule was that Joe would work late on wednesday evenings. This left Magda free to attend a book club dinner. Joe expressed surprise when one oif Magda's friends came into the store one wednesday evening. He was informed that the book club had disbanded nearly two months earlier. Joe had said nothing to Magda. He had no mdesire for a confrontation when he had no evidence of wrongdoing. Now, however he knew what she was doing. She had secretly been spending time with Evan Hunter.

The Next Wednesday he took the entire day off. Instead of going to work he drove to a park and sat in his car for several hours just watching happy people play with dogs and frisbees. Finally, as the sun set, he returned home. As expected Magda was not home. Joe went into the garage and rretreived a gun case from a locked cabinet.

After eight years in the corps Joe had been tired of guns. As part of his desire for a secure life he refused to have a gun in the house. But his hard earned lessons were deeply ingrained, and so the pistol lay in the garage . each week he brought it out and cleaned it, and once a month he took it down to the firing range and essentially re-qualified as a Marine pistoleer..He always made sure to do this when Magda was not around. He didn't want to admit to her that the world was not the happy, peacefoul place he wanted it to be.

Because pof his subconscious insecurity the gun in the case was a ..45 automatic. Many police forces prefer 9mm pistols, but policemen usually try to avoid killing people. If Joe had to shoot someone he wanted to be sure they stayed down. He pulled a holster out of the case, put the gun into it and slid it beneath his belt. This was entirely legal since carry permits were easy to obtain in Arizona.

Joe slipped out of the Garage into relative darkness. It was twilight, that time when the sun was down but it's light still filtered over the horizon. Joe didn't need the light. When he had trouble sleeping, a fairly common occurrance, he would slip out of the house and explore the neighborhood. Now he jumped the fence into the neighbor's yard and moved across to the other side.

He put his arm over the fence and gave a low whistle. The Carter's labrador came bounding up. The lab was generally a good sentinal, but Joe had carefully cultivated his friendship and now the dog accepted his presence as normal. The animal followed as he ghosted across the Carter's back yard toward Evan Hunter's. As he did he could see the Carters sitting in the family room watching some cop show, unaware of the drama occurring in their own back yard. He gave the dog one last scratch behind the ear and crossed into Evan's yard.

Joe could see no light coming from Evan's house. Evidently he and Magda didn't need light for what they were doing. As he moved toward what he thought was the bedroom window he saw a glint of light out of the corner of his eye. He froze in place, then slowly turned his head toward the light. It came from under the back door of the garage. He instinctively squatted and thought about this new development. Something wasn't right. The Magda he knew was not that kinky. He quietly moved to the garage wall beside the door. He carefully turned the knob and cracked the door to peek inside.

He saw Magda and Evan standing at a workbench across the garage. Both were fully clothed. He could not see what they were doing. His mind raced, but no useful thought came to him. As he watched he heard a familiar, frightening clack! The sound brought to mind a deluge of sensations.

The mixed smell of hot sand, rot, and sour sweat. The feeling of dry heat and an unremitting ache in the pit of his stomach. The sound of ginfire and the screams of wounded and dying friends.. It was the distinctive sound of the safety on a Kalashnikov rifle. Instinctively he pulled his locked and loaded pistol from his holster, pushed off the safety and assumed a firing position. His arm bumped the door and it creaked open. Magda heard the sound and turned with the rifle in her hands. That was when Joe learned that he loved her more than life itself.

Magda's eyes grew large. "Joe! I didn't...What are you doing?"

Out of the corner of his eye Joe saw Evan standing with his mouth open and his hands held out as if he wanted to raise them in surrender but was afraid to move. "You're lucky she has the gun, Evan. If you were holding it I would have shot you. " Despite the seriousness of the situation he could not help but be amused by the sudden dark stain on the front of Evan's jeans.

Magda carefully laid the AK on the floor.As she did she moved slightly forward as if to protect Evan. "Joe, don't. This isn't what it seems."

"Isn't it ? I wish it was just adultery and not treason."

"Treason? No! Joe, let me explain!!"

"God, what a fool was! A pretty face, a little...and I obligingly gave you a free pass into the country.."

"Joe, you;'ve got this all wrong! I was just bored. I was looking for something to do. I started taking an online course in gunsmithing. I've always loved guns. My father taught me to shoot when I was six.

"You grew up in East Germany, Magda. The communists didn't just hand out guns to factory workers."

"My father was an officer in the Border Police. He only started working in the factory when the border disappeared and he lost his job."

"What? You never told me that!"

"What did you expect me to say, my dad used to kill defectors for a living? That's not the sort of thing you tell your boyfriend."

Joe noted that his arms were trembling. A firing stance is not meant to be held indefinately Yeah, that must be the problem. He lowered the pistol and set the safety. He wasn't ready to return it to its holster.

Evan chose that moment to interject himself into the conversation. "I swear to you, Joe, I would never have sex wjth Magda! Well...That is..."

"Shut up before you make it worse, Evan. I won't shoot you, but Magda might."

Magda continued speaking as if Evan did not exist. "You said you didn't want a gun in the house, but every time my back was turned you would sneak out to the garage and fondle that thing like it was your precious. And every time you snuck off to the firing range I knew it. I could smell the gunpowder on your clothing. Evan's hardware store carries guns. He lets me come over here to practise what I learn online."

"Gunsmithing? That's all this is? And you felt you had to hide it from me." A moment later Joe discovered he was having trouble breathing. He wasn't sure if it was because of Magda holding him so tightly, or because her mouth was plastered to .his

"Yo quiero tu pistola grande.", she whispered in his ear.

"Baby, you can fondle my pistle whenever you want."