Dying for Chocolate

“It’s all turned off,” he assured me. But he did stop to watch me enter. His blue eyes looked dark in the windowless room. Neon rectangles overhead lit neat piles of cardboard boxes pushed against cement walls. There were No Smoking, No Fires, and No Matches signs, along with an NRA poster. On the far wall was what looked like an antique gun cabinet with a glass front. It was a beautiful piece, probably mahogany. But no way would a gun cupboard fit Adele’s traditional decor, hence its placement in the magazine. I shivered and looked for a place to sit.

General Bo came around and helped me to settle on a sturdy wooden box.

“Where in the world did you get all these weapons?”

“Part of my research,” he said as he lifted one carefully and I shifted back. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded. This is an AK-47, Chinese made. Favorite of terrorists. It’s getting hard to get over here. I got this one in Morocco.”

“Why?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m one of the few people in this country who knows the dangers of what we’re facing. If I can do enough research, maybe someone will start listening.”

Instead of treating you like an outcast, I thought.

“But why trek around the world looking for weapons? I mean, it’s not like recipes or furniture. You can’t swap them or take them to the flea market.”

He regarded me patiently, as if I were a dull child. “Because I wanted them, that’s why. It’s a dangerous world we live in, Goldy, in case you hadn’t noticed with that husband of yours. He’s the kind of person you want to look out for,” he added firmly.

“Ex-husband.”

“Like Adele,” he said as if he had not heard me. “I love her, too, and I was determined to get her. I thought they’d appreciate us in Washington, but they did not. So I built this house and this storage area. Through my research, the truth will be told.”

I resisted the impulse to ask, Truth about what? I was fairly sure the general and I did not share a world-view. Still, I liked the man. He was eccentric, but his heart was in the right place. Where his mind was I was not sure. In any event, I was not up to a political discussion. I merely nodded and looked around. Brilliant sunlight from the open door made it hard to see in the neon-lit room. The boxes bore stamps that were meaningless to me. On the open door were numerous admonitions to lock up. Which reminded me.

“Ah, General Bo,” I began. What was I supposed to call him, anyway? We had never quite worked that out. “Ah, I was wondering if I could talk to you about Julian. . . .”

The general squinted at me, continued his cleaning motion with the gun.

He said, “What about him?”

I felt uncomfortable complaining. But maybe he could give me some insights, since he and Julian did seem genuinely friendly.

“Tell me about him,” I said. It wasn’t just the hostility that bothered me. There was also Julian’s distinct discomfort at the dinner Saturday night. And someone had attacked me. Someone strong, perhaps wearing a wig. “He doesn’t exactly seem like someone who was raised with. . .” I tried not to say money or class, but couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Doesn’t seem like someone who knew what all those little forks meant?” The general turned his back to me as he put the pistol back in its cabinet.

“Not just that. He’s so hostile.”

“To you, maybe,” the general replied.

“But why?”

“Because of the food! He helps me with the garden, as you know. Originally he claimed he could handle all the cooking, too. But Adele wanted a professional caterer. Ergo, hostility for the caterer.”

“I see. But there’s something else. He seems awfully uncomfortable around . . . money.”

“Stands to reason, Goldy.” General Bo eyed me before turning his gaze on another weapon and carefully picking it up. “Recoilless rifle,” he explained. “If it hadn’t been for our scholarship for science students, Julian would still be making candy and Navajo fry-bread down in Bluff.”

“Meaning?”

He turned the corners of his mouth down, shrugged. “You know how Adele gets a bee in her bonnet. Coordinating the church music conference. Raising money for that pool at Elk Park.” He shook his head. “We had sold our house in Washington and were planning this house, when she read a long sad story in the Post about a fellow down on one of those reservations who got thrown in jail for theft. Turns out he was a real bright fellow, just poor. She says, That does it, we’re going to set up a scholarship for some youngster.”

I squirmed on the box. My back and legs were beginning to hurt, I said, “Just like that?”

He nodded. “Of course, I wanted to do an athletic scholarship for a young man to go to military preparatory school and then West Point. But she was having none of it, said she’d like to see the person who won the scholarship. Watch his progress.”