“No,” I said.
It was the first word I’d spoken to him.
“Take it off. Or I’ll take it off for you.”
The young private at the next table stood up. I shook my head at her, just a little, and she stopped.
I looked up at that young man. Then I looked past his shoulder. At the wall over the serving line.
There are words painted on that wall. Blue letters, a foot high, across thirty feet of cinder block. He’d eaten his lunch underneath them every day for three years.
“Sergeant,” I said. “Before you put your hands on me, I’d like you to turn around and read me what it says on that wall.”
He didn’t move for a second.
“I know what it says,” he said.
“Then it won’t take you long. Read it to me. Out loud.”
The room was so quiet now you could hear the steam table hissing.
