Marian gave an unladylike snort. "Neither one," she said, pointing off to her left. "It's only San Antonio."
The Alamo is the heart of San Antonio, but the four corners of the city are held by military bases. Colonel Campbell landed her plane at Kelly Air Force Base and they 130 commandeered a synfueled gray sedan from the motor pool to go to town.
GENTLEMEN WILL TAKE OFF THEIR HATS, read the sign above the Alamo's front entrance. Marian saw that most of the visitors crowding the old shrine this muggy late afternoon were either Mexicans or Mexican-Americans. The signs on the displays spoke of the great American triumph that won Texas its independence. But it was only a temporary triumph, Marian saw. The erstwhile losers of the Mexican-American battle were winning the war over the long haul, simply outbreeding the gringos and reclaiming the territory they had temporarily lost.
Outside, in the shade cast by the graceful trees beyond the old mission's battered walls, Kinsman suddenly asked, "May I take you to dinner?"
Marian felt pleased. "It's been some time since a young man has invited me to dinner."
He grinned at her. "Maybe you can help me with my problem."
Her cheeks went hot and she cursed herself for an idiot. He's joking with you, she told herself sternly. You're old enough to be his ... well, his big sister, anyway.
"You are qualified for I.F.R., aren't you?" Kinsman asked, suddenly serious again. "No problem if we stay out after dark."
Marian nodded. "I'd feel a lot safer, though, if you made the instrument landing. I don't like landing at night."
"Okay," he said. "So let's find some dinner. My treat."
They found a dinner theater in one of the hotels along the scenic riverway park. The ballroom floor was covered with small round tables jammed so close together that chair- backs touched each other whenever someone wanted to get up. Marian wrinkled her nose. This was too much like New York or Chicago. Where was the Old West, where cattle barons dined in the regal splendor of ornately paneled restaurants with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers?
The tiny stage set up at one end of the ballroom was for a revival of a show featuring songs written by a Parisian cafe entertainer named Jacques Brel. Only two men and two women, in street clothes. The management did not spend lavishly on the entertainment, Marian thought. But the 131 singers were excellent and the songs highly charged, emotion- al, theatrical, pointed.
Marian began watching Kinsman in the darkened ball- room as the singers hit antiwar themes again and again. He sat calmly, laughed at the right places, applauded along with everyone else. Until a song titled "Next."
He sat straighter in his chair as the theme of the song became clear: a young European soldier being marched along with his comrades into a mobile army whorehouse, "gift of the army, free of course." Marian felt her eyes burning brighter than the stage lights as she watched Kinsman's face freeze in something very close to horror.
His hand slowly reached out toward her and she grasped it tightly. He hung on as the lead male sang:
"All the naked and the dead Should hold each other's hands As they watch me scream at night In a dream no one understands."
The song ended and Kinsman released her hand. When the show finally finished and the ceiling lights came on once more, he avoided looking directly at Marian. He seemed embarrassed, more than a little.
They drove back to Kelly through the muggy hot night in silence. Marian was content to wait until they were airborne again before trying to open him up. He talked better off the ground; he seemed more relaxed up there. They checked the car back into the motor pool and allowed a sleepy-eyed corporal to drive them in a Jeep to the flight line.
Kinsman hopped up on the Cherokee's wing and pulled the hatch open, ducked inside, and took the pilot's seat. Then he helped Marian settle her bulk in the right-hand seat. He checked the control panel's gauges carefully, got his clearance from the tower controller, and taxied out to the runway. The edge lights stretched like glowing pearls, seemingly off to the horizon.
As he waited for final takeoff clearance he revved the engine. The whole plane shuddered and strained like an excited terrier being held in check by a leash. Somehow the engine roar seemed louder in the darkness to Marian. And 132 then they were racing down the runway and up into the air. Kinsman handled the plane smoothly, his hands sure and steady. As they climbed to cruising altitude Marian saw a sky full of stars above them and the even more numerous lights of San Antonio below.
"One of the best Mexican restaurants this side of the Rio Grande is down there," she said, over the drone of the engine.
"Really?" Kinsman replied.
Marian nodded vigorously. "Too bad we missed it."
"Yeah. The food we had wasn't all that good, was it?"
"But I enjoyed the show."
