Tiger the Lurp Dog: A Novel Read Online Free

him, when a tall, bald chaplain, a major, drove up in a jeep and checked the roster number on his helmet against a list on the top of his clipboard.
    “Excuse me, son, are you Private Wolverton?” the chaplain asked, his voice genial with Christian fellowship and the assurance of rank.
    There was no use in lying, so Wolverine just nodded, mumbled an unhappy “Yessir,” and finished rolling his chute.
    “And is your father the Reverend Doctor Matthew Wolverton of the Living Message of God Full Gospel Church’s Roving Outreach Mission Bus?”
    Again there was nothing to do but nod and mumble another “Yessir.”
    The chaplain opened his zippered notebook and took out a sheet of orders.
    “I’m afraid I have some bad news, son,” the chaplain said, and Wolverine—worried that he was about to be thrown out of the Army for illegal enlistment on the very day he qualified as a paratrooper—turned away to hide the tears of frustration that had welled up so suddenly in his eyes.
    “There’s been an accident, son,” the chaplain said, looking down solemnly at his clipboard and notebook. “A very bad accident. Both your parents are in the hospital in Washington State. Here, these are emergency leave orders. It took a while for us to track you down, but I had them cut as soon as I found you. Hop in, you can turn your chute in for a shakedown and I’ll give you a lift back to the barracks.”
    Against his wishes, Wolverine got in the jeep and, after turning in his parachute, rode with the chaplain all the way back to the barracks, trying his damndest not to smile, or whistle, or let on how he felt. The chaplain had said nothing about a discharge.
    By six that evening Wolverine was on a plane bound for Seattle, and by noon the next day he was sitting in a chair by the window in his mother’s hospital room, looking out at the green lawns and the mountains beyond. His father was in surgery, and his mother was busy praying. When she finished her prayers, she cleared her throat and reached over to touch the copy of Peyton Place on her nightstand. She pulled her hand back as if it had been burned, then turned her pale blue eyes’ on her son.
    “Trash!” she hissed, unable to rail in her full church voice because of her broken ribs, but still capable of the righteous venom that had made her the ideal wife for the Reverend Doctor Wolverton.
    “Pornography! Ungodliness! Unclean profanity!” She struggled until she was sitting half upright and could point at the paperback detective novel she’d thrown to the floor. Wolverine rather liked the blonde on the cover, but he didn’t feel combative enough to say so.
    “Crime!” she said. “Immorality!” She paused to gather her strength before flinging her hand toward the book on the chair next to the door.
    “The Ugly American ! I know what that’s about! Treason! Godless Communism! Race-mixing! Oh! The things they print these days!”
    “You read it, Ma?”
    “Never! Praise the Lord!” She patted the Bible on the bed next to her pillow. “I have my book here. I have the Good Book, the Word of God!” Her eyes narrowed and she glanced suspiciously at the doorway.
    “I’m watching these people here,” she whispered. “I’ve got my eye on these doctors and nurses, and that woman—that shameless woman with the book cart. They can hide from each other, but I know, and the Lord knows, what—what obscurity they deal in!”
    Wolverine sighed and turned his gaze back to the window. He’d learned years before that it was useless to correct her English. As long as he could remember, “obscure” had meant “obscene,” “trivial” had meant “travail,” and “fellowship” had been a verb—something that good, decent, God-fearing Christian people did when they got together over churchyard potluck suppers.
    “The Christian people in this country ought to get together and put a stop to this sort of thing!” She patted her Bible again, closed her eyes while she