The proprietor took a bottle of champagne from one of them, skillfully popped the cork, and poured.
"I don't recall ordering champagne," the Old Man said.
"It's for Mrs. Howell and Major Frade," the proprietor said. "They, at least, appreciate a nice glass of wine."
"Major Frade also expects a serviceman's discount."
"Tonight the serviceman's discount, one hundred percent, applies to him and any of his lady guests. All others, of course, either pay or wash dishes."
"If I have to pay, I will have a glass of water and some rolls and butter."
"With the greatest of pleasure," the proprietor said. "I will feed the pore Lafayette au beurre noir I had prepared for you to the cats in the alley."
"If you prepared it, it's probably chat Lafayette au beurre noir."
"It wouldn't matter if it was; you couldn't tell the difference," the proprietor said. "I will leave you now, closing the curtain, so my paying customers will not see what I have hidden in the back room."
"Thank you," Clete said, raising his glass.
"Not at all," the proprietor said. "My mother always taught me to be kind to the ill-bred, especially those on the edge of senility."
"I told your father he was making a terrible mistake when he allowed you to wear shoes and told me he was going to try to teach you to read and write," the Old Man said.
"Bon appetit!" the proprietor said, and left them.
"He's not his father, of course," the Old Man said, "but he does know food."
A waiter appeared with an enormous silver bucket full of iced oysters, put on a heavy canvas glove, and began to shuck them.
"Is everyone having oysters?" he asked.
"Of course," the Old Man answered.
The Old Man waved them into chairs, sat down himself, and from an array of condiments began to concoct a sauce of ketchup, lemon juice, horseradish, and Tabasco. (Tabasco is manufactured on Avery Island, Louisiana, by the McIlhenny family. The McIlhenny who served with the First Marine Division on Guadalcanal ultimately became president of the company, and retired from the Marine Corps Reserve as a Brigadier General. On his death in 1994, he left a substantial portion of his fortune to the Marine Academy, a Marine Corps-connected boarding school for boys.)
"I saw him on the 'Canal, did I ever tell you?" Clete said.
"You saw who on Guadalcanal?"
"Ed McIlhenny. He was a lieutenant. Platoon leader."
"He's back."
"Is he all right?" Clete asked quickly, concern in his voice. The return of a Marine to the United States from Guadalcanal more often than not meant that he had suffered a wound too serious to be treated in the Pacific.
"According to his father, as fit as a fiddle, and as proud as a peacock about being promoted to captain. His father asked about you, by the way."
"I hope you told him they made me a major; that'll take the wind out of Ed's sails."
"I did, in fact, mention it in passing," the Old Man said. "That took some of the wind out of his father's sails, too."
He gave the cocktail sauce a final, satisfied stir with a spoon, then pushed the bowl to the center of the table. Clete dipped an oyster in it and ate it with satisfaction.
"How do they eat their oysters in Argentina?" the Old Man asked.
"They're not big on seafood down there," Clete said.
"The reason I asked is that once I prepared a sauce like that for your father. He turned three shades of green, and I thought for a moment he was going to faint," the Old Man said, obviously cherishing the memory.
"They don't spice their food very much," Clete said, hoping that the Old Man's comment was not the opening line in a conversation about his father.
"I was wrong when I asked you, with Needham there, about your Navy Cross," the Old Man said. "I know what you did down there was classified, and I shouldn't have asked."
Clete shrugged, signaling it didn't matter.
"You can tell us now," the Old Man said. "We're alone."
Clete put another oyster in his mouth and shook his head resignedly.
"The Senator told me," the Old Man went on, "that the citation read, 'for conspicuous gallantry, above and beyond the call of duty'"
"They all say that," Clete interrupted.
"'. . . at great risk to his life.'"
"I didn't hear that part, either, honey," Martha said. "Can you tell us about it?"'
"I'd rather not," Clete said.
"Please, Clete," Martha said.
"The Germans were supplying their submarines from a neutral vessel in the Bay of Samboromb?nin the river Plate estuary," Clete said, knowing there was no way he could get out of an explanation. "We took it out."
"Took it out,' meaning you sank it?" Martha asked.
Clete nodded.
"How?"
"That's classified."
"The last time I looked, it was not this side of your family which could be fairly suspected of being Nazi sympathizers," the Old Man said.
"That's not true, Grandfather, and you should know better."
"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck."
"OK. And this is classified. I could get in a hell of a lot of trouble if they found out I'd told you about this."
"Our lips are sealed."
"We found the allegedly neutral supply vesselit was flying a Portuguese flag. Tit for tat, the United States violated Argentine neutrality by sending a submarine into Samboromb?n Bay, Argentine waters, and the sub took out the supply ship."
"There's more to it than that. They didn't give you the Navy Cross for finding a Portuguese freighter."
"Yes, they did."
"How did you find it?"
"With an airplane."
"Where'd you get an airplane?"
"It was my father's."
"He's changed sides, has he?" the Old Man asked, and then went on without giving Clete a chance to reply. "You said 'was.' Past tense. What happened to the airplane?"
"It went in the drink."
"It crashed?" Martha asked.
Clete nodded.
"It was shot down, is what you mean, right?" she pursued.
Clete nodded again.
"You went out and found this German ship in an airplane, right? What kind of an airplane?"
"A Beech stagger-wing."
"You went out in an unarmed civilian airplane, knowing full well you were going to get shot at, and probably shot down. Am I getting close?"
"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes."
"Not 'probably" shot down. Almost certainly shot down. That's why they gave you the Navy Cross. And promoted you to Major. You did what you saw as your duty, thinking you were going to get yourself killed. Modesty is a virtue, Cletus, but there is such a thing as carrying a virtue too far."
"Have another oyster, Grandfather."
"And what are you going to do down there now? The last time I spoke with Colonel Graham"
"The last time you talked with Colonel Graham!"
Colonel A. F. Graham, USMCR, was a Deputy Director of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and Clete's immediate superior officer.