I'm certain that there are some readers who've visited this story and thought, "Does he not know that it's a LOIS and Clark fanfic board, not LANA and Clark?" Fear not! Lois will indeed make an appearance very soon and will have a profound impact on Clark. Might not be the impact you'd think she'd have, but she will definitely make one. Please be patient! And thanks to those hanging in with me.
* * * * * * * *
***** Chapter Four
A few nights later, after Lana had reluctantly gone home, Clark returned from a practice flight to find his father sitting on the front porch in his favorite rocking chair. He bounded up the steps, his brightly colored costume flashing in the starlight.
“Hi, Dad!”
Jonathan nodded sagely. “Welcome back, son. Have a nice flight?”
Clark nodded like a ten-year-old at Christmas. “Oh, yeah! I learned something tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think I show up on radar.”
Jonathan chuckled. “I’m almost afraid to ask you how you know that.”
“Oh, Dad, it was so cool!” Clark knelt down beside his father and used his hands to illustrate the description of his flight. “I went all the way over to O’Hare in Chicago and I listened in to the control tower and I flew back and forth at different altitudes but not so low someone on the ground could see me and they never picked me up and there was a plane having trouble so I followed it down almost to the runway and it landed fine and I flew away and did all kinds of acrobatics and they never saw me!” He stopped to take a deep breath. “It was soooo cool!”
Jonathan chuckled again and patted his son’s arm. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. How’s the practice coming?”
Clark fell backwards and stretched out on the porch. “Watch this!”
Jonathan obeyed. Clark slowly levitated above the wooden floor, an inch, four inches, a foot, then two feet. Then he rolled from his back to his stomach, all without changing his altitude, then lifted himself higher and rotated to a standing position with his head just below the porch roof.
He hovered for a moment, then slowly began rotating in place. Faster and faster he spun, until all Jonathan could see was flashing colors. Then Clark slowly reduced his spin rate until he was still again. Facing his father, he gently floated back to earth.
Jonathan clapped lightly and Clark bowed. “That was impressive, son. I see you’ve been working hard at this.”
“I have. I can’t wait to use it for real!”
Jonathan nodded and looked out over the fields again without speaking. Clark turned and reached for the doorknob, then hesitated.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Clark?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Hmm. No, nothing’s wrong that I know of.”
“Okay.” He hesitated again. “Is something bothering you?”
Jonathan shifted in the rocker. “Now that you mention it, yes, something is bothering me.”
Clark knelt down beside the rocker again. “Is it something you can tell me about?”
He rocked three times, then nodded slowly. “I think I should. Maybe you can ease my mind over it.”
“Okay.” He shifted into a sitting position with his elbows resting on upraised knees. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I know. See, that’s what’s bothering me.”
Clark frowned. “Okay. That makes no sense to me, but, okay.”
Jonathan sighed. “I wonder about Lana sometimes. She’s so smart, so confident, so driven to succeed, and I have no doubt that she’ll do exactly that. But sometimes she carries people along with her without their realizing it.”
“Are you talking about that thing with the water tower last year? She didn’t mean anything by it. She had an idea and those girls just went along with her. Nobody got hurt and they did their community service.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not that. Besides, the water tower needed a new coat of paint.”
Clark tried to suppress a grin. “Florescent glow-in-the-dark pink?”
Jonathan laughed and Clark joined him. “Maybe not that shade. But it’s not just the painting thing. Lana tends to take over whatever she’s involved in and run it pedal to the metal.”
“I don’t understand. Is that a problem?”
“Not in and of itself, no, but I was thinking about the costume and the name and your new part-time job.”
“My new – oh, you mean Superman!”
He jumped to his feet and struck a heroic pose. Jonathan reached out and tapped him on the hand. “Sit down, Son, we need to talk.”
Puzzled, Clark complied, returning to his previous pose. “Okay.”
“Clark, how often do you plan to be this – Superguy?”
“Superman, Dad.”
“How often?”
Clark frowned. “Not very often. Only when I’m really needed.”
“I see. How will you know that?”
He shrugged. “I guess – when people are in danger.”
“What kind of danger? How much danger?”
“I – guess I haven’t thought that much about it.”
“You should. Are you going to help people at car wrecks?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“How bad will the wrecks have to be before you respond?”
“Oh. I see what you mean.” He shrugged again. “I suppose – when there’s danger of people dying or being badly hurt, or if a wreck will take a long time to clear.”
“Uh-huh. What if you hear of some other serious problem while you’re helping someone?”
Clark opened his mouth and shut it again, then scratched his ear. “I hadn’t really thought about that yet.”
His father turned to face him. “You need to. You also need to think about the people you won’t be able to help.”
“Not be able to help? Dad, I’m Superman! How could I not be able to help?”
“Clark, what if you – oh, let’s see – what if you respond to an avalanche in Colorado and there are four hikers buried separately under the snow? You’ll have to locate them and dig them out, and while you can do it far faster than normal people, you’ll have to choose who to help first. And if you dig up three and the fourth one dies before you get to him, what will you do?”
Clark’s mouth flopped open and he shook himself, then turned away. Jonathan reached out and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m not saying that’s going to happen every time, Son, but you have to be prepared, and I’m not sure you’re ready for something like that. Death is horrible, especially violent death.” He paused and sat back. “You know I served in Korea?”
Clark didn’t face him. “Yes.”
“You know I don’t talk much about it?”
Clark lifted his head, intrigued by the conversational thread. “Yes.”
“I’ve never told you about the Silver Star they gave me, have I?”
Clark spun to face Jonathan. “No! I didn’t know you’d won a medal.”
“Then I’ll tell you about it. No, don’t say anything, just sit and listen.”
He rocked for a moment and began. “It was May, nineteen-fifty-three, not long before the fighting ended. I was a staff sergeant, squad leader in a heavy weapons platoon. All of our officers were either out of action or away from the unit, so they put three squads together, told me I was in charge, and sent us off on our mission.
“We were supposed to dig in at the top of some hill I never knew the name of and defend it. I put two medium machine guns in the middle of our line and one heavy gun each at either end. I had the riflemen dig foxholes in a staggered pattern, one ten feet from the end machine gun and one fifteen feet down the line and ten feet back. It looked kind of like the black squares on a chessboard when they got through with them.
“Most of the guys in my outfit were new and they were scared to death. I was afraid they’d shoot each other, so I set up sticks on either side of the front foxholes and told the guys in back they couldn’t shoot anything unless it was in front of them and between the two sticks.
“The hill in front of us wasn’t very steep, but it was very uneven. I knew the North Koreans would either try to sneak up on us through the little gullies on the face of the hill or arrange a mass attack and try to overrun our position. I had one of my few veterans squirm down to the biggest cut below us and set up some land mines. Then I told the guys to sleep in shifts, four hours out and four awake, half at a time. I made sure they all ate something and had as much ammunition as they could keep track of. I don’t think any of them even closed their eyes. All we could do was wait.
“Just before dawn, the mines down the hill went off. We sent up several parachute flares and lit up the hillside.
“There were several hundred North Koreans coming at us. As soon as they saw the flares they opened up on us with everything they had. I yelled for my guys to open fire, and the noise was horrible. It was worse than a tornado coming at you. It was worse than – than anything I can think of.”
He stopped and took off his glasses, then rubbed his eyes. “We fired our rifles and our machine guns and threw grenades and yelled and screamed and did it all over again. I remember one rifleman, Jim something, who very coolly emptied his M-1, reloaded, shot several more Koreans, reloaded, and fired again. I remember thinking that he might make a soldier when he stood up to aim and got hit.
“I ran to him and yelled for a corpsman, but it was too late. The bullet had gone through his throat and out the back of his neck. He was dead before he hit the ground.
“I got mad. I threw all the grenades I had, then threw the ones Jim had, then I started firing my sub-machine gun. I had an old Thompson, one that took the big circular 100-round clips, and I had four of those magazines, fully loaded. I emptied all four of them.
“The guys told me later that the North Koreans had seen Jim fall and focused on his position to break through, but when I popped up and started firing, it blunted the attack. The machine gunners on our corners cut them down like wheat, and the gunners in the middle mopped up the few that were left.
“There were twenty-six of us on that hill that day. We stopped a battalion-strength attack on that hill and killed over six hundred of the enemy. We lost three dead and seven wounded.”
He paused, then continued. “We had to stay in those holes for the rest of the day. They moved the dead and wounded out and brought in five or six replacements, and they were as terrified as the rest of us. I don't think there was one man in our outfit who hadn’t filled his pants or vomited on himself or both.
“The smell was the worst of it, even worse than the moans of the wounded Koreans. We couldn’t do anything for them. If we put our heads up out of our holes they’d shoot at us. Three more of our guys were hit during the day.
“Sometimes one of the guys would start shooting because he thought he saw a North Korean crawling at us. Usually, though, they were just shooting the dead.” He paused and swallowed hard. “All that shooting blew some of the bodies apart. There were hands and arms and legs lying on the dirt, and the blood soaked the ground and drew flies and beetles and all kinds of scavengers. The crows were the worst. They usually went for the eyes first – “
“Dad!” Clark grabbed his stomach. “Please, that’s enough. I get it. It was bad.”
“No. It was horrible. Horrible in the worst sense of the word. It was the worst experience of my entire life.
“We waited all day for an attack that didn’t come. That night we thought they were coming back for sure, but they didn’t. Around midnight we were relieved and we crawled back to the rear.”
He put his glasses back on. Even in the dark, Clark could see the tears in his father’s eyes. “They gave me a medal for killing people, Son. I was fighting for my life and for the lives of my men, and they rewarded me for killing people.” He paused and sniffed. “That’s why I don’t talk about it. I don’t think I should have gotten a medal. I think Jim and the other two who died and the ten who were wounded should have gotten medals.”
“But, Dad, you were a hero! You won a big battle!”
Jonathan shook his head. “No. The battle meant nothing to the war. The peace talks ended up giving that hill to the South only because it was below the thirty-eighth parallel.” He clenched his fists. “We could have given the hill to the North and saved a lot of lives. It didn’t matter. They would have given it back.” He sobbed once. “All that death and it didn’t matter!”
Clark put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Dad, I – I think I understand why you don’t talk about it. It was – it was bad. It was bad for you and for everyone else there.”
His father sat up and wiped his eyes. “Yes. It was bad. But I told you all that because you’re going to see worse.”
Clark shook his head. “I’m not going to war, Dad. I’m going to help people. I’m going to save lives.”
Jonathan put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know. And I’m proud of you. Don’t ever think I’m not. But you have to remember that you can’t save everyone. You have to be able to let it go at some point.”
Clark ducked his head in thought. After a long moment, he said, “Okay. I’ll see bad things and I won’t be able to save everyone and I’ll have to let it go. When will I know when to let go?”
Jonathan sighed. “I can’t tell you that. I wish I could. I just know you’ll need some help when it does happen. Will you let your mother and me help you?”
He thought some more. “I’ll try. I’ll talk to Lana about this, too, but yes, I’d like for you two help me.”
“Good. Now, I think it’s time this old man went to bed and got some quality sleep.”
Clark grinned and stood. As he offered his hand to help his father up, he said, “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad I have you around to keep me stable.”
Inside, Martha moved away from the window where she’d been listening. Even she had never heard the full story of that terrible day on that unnamed Korean hilltop. She dashed the tears from her eyes as she considered how lucky she was to be married to a man who felt so deeply and cared so strongly about life and living. It was probably a large part of the reason he enjoyed being a farmer, she thought. He was able to grow, to bring things to life, to replace that which had died. Maybe it eased the guilt he still carried inside him, even after all these years. She thanked the Lord yet again for matching her up with such a wonderful man.
She prayed that Lana would be able to give Clark the comfort she’d struggled to give Jonathan for so long. And she prayed that Clark, as his father eventually had, would accept her help and love.
*****
Clark was sitting on the porch swing on Tuesday morning two weeks later when Lana drove up. He smiled and waved at her as she bounced up the steps.
She leaned in and kissed him ferociously. “Hey, big strong boyfriend! How’s it going today?”
He nodded. “Okay. Have you heard the news today?”
“Didn’t have the radio on. I was singing along with my new Reba album. Why?”
“I think I may have made my debut last night.”
She softened her smile and sat down. “Oh.” She looked admiringly at his profile. “Mind telling me what happened?”
He leaned back. “I was flying east, practicing, just looking at the stars, when I picked up a police radio talking about a hostage situation. I traced it to the Metropolis Federal Bank. There were three people with automatic weapons inside and two snipers with telescopic sights outside. They were demanding money and transportation out of the country or one hostage would die every fifteen minutes.”
“What were the police doing?”
“What could they do? They were waiting for a break, but the first man they sent forward was shot and wounded by one of the snipers. The police couldn’t spot them. The mayor’s office told the police chief that no ransom would be paid. The chief was going nuts trying to figure out a plan, so I grabbed the snipers and delivered them to him, then I ran into the building and took away the machine guns and duct-taped the bad guys together. I stayed until the hostages were all out safely and the police had the gunmen, then I tried to leave.”
“I assume you were wearing the costume.”
“Yes, I was wearing the costume! I’m not exactly stupid, you know.”
She patted him on the arm. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Please go on.”
He sighed. “Some newspaper reporter saw me and yelled at me. I tried to fly off, but he grabbed my cape and pulled me down.”
“He pulled you down out of the air? He was that strong?”
“No, I let him pull me back. I couldn’t risk taking off while he was holding on to me. I’m not real comfortable with the flying thing yet, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right. So, what did he ask you?”
“Lots of things, most of which I answered with some version of ‘no comment.’ But when he asked me my name, I said, ‘Some folks call me Superman.’ You should have seen his face light up! He was so thrilled.”
“What paper did this guy write for?”
“The Daily something, the Moon, no, the Earth, no, it was the Daily Planet! That was it, I think.”
“That’s a good paper! Did he ask you where you were from?”
“Yes. I told him I couldn’t tell him that. Then he asked if I lived in Metropolis. I told him no, but I’d be around as often as I could.”
She exhaled deeply. “Sounds like you did great. I’d like to read what the guy wrote about you.”
Clark smirked and handed her the morning edition of the Daily Planet. “Here you go.”
She gaped at him. “You ratfink! You made me think – oh, never mind! Gimme that!”
She quickly read the account of the hostage rescue, the interview with Superman, and she found no hint of his real name or his current whereabouts. “This is a good picture of you on the front page. Good body detail but not too much of your face. Hard to judge your height or weight from this, too.” She closed the paper. “This Perry White guy – he’s not a reporter, by the way, he’s the managing editor, says so on the masthead – writes that you told him you were a friend who wanted to help.”
“That’s what I said when he asked me why I was here.”
She hugged him. “Clark, this isn’t quite what I envisioned as your coming-out, but I think it worked out great! You did something really good, you saved a bunch of people’s lives, you looked really cool doing it, and you handled the press like a veteran. I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
She ruffled the paper open again and began reading more carefully. After a few minutes, she mused, “You know, someone’s going to make a lot of money off you.”
Clark’s eyebrows jumped onto his forehead. “Money? How? Why?”
Lana frowned. “‘How’ is on t-shirts and other clothing, endorsements, advertising, action figures, you name it. ’Why’ is because people are greedy.”
“But they can’t do that, not without my permission! I’m a private individual!”
She shook her head. “Clark, I’ve seen this kind of thing happen before. Remember the Pharaoh Tutankhamen exhibit tour?”
“Sure. I did a report on it for English class.”
“I remember that paper, it was good. But I did a case study on it for my accounting class. There’s a King Tut foundation that controls all use of Tut’s name, likeness, representation, or display anywhere. If you buy a legal Tut model, or Tut stationary, or Tut anything, the foundation gets a cut.”
“Okay, I understand, but how does that affect me?”
“Think about it! If a guy who’s been dead for more than three thousand years can stir up that kind of interest, what about a live guy who can fly and do all the other stuff you can do? You’re going to be asked to do a lot of things to raise money, Clark, some worthy and some not. It would be easier if there was a foundation controlling those funds and telling people ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and setting up appearances and endorsements for you. You’ll have to watch your public image very closely.”
He sat back and frowned. “I’m not comfortable with being used to make money.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. But someone’s going to make money off you. You ought to have a say in what it’s used for.”
He sat still, thinking, for a long time. Lana quietly went into the Kent’s kitchen and poured a glass of lemonade for each of them. She handed Clark’s glass to him. He took it without a word and drained it. She sat beside him, silent, though the effort nearly broke her.
He finally sat up. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”
She smiled and mentally chalked up a victory. “I’m glad. Have you thought about who’s going to head it up?”
He nodded. “I’m going to visit the Daily Planet in Metropolis and talk to Perry White. He impressed me as an honest man. I think he can give me some recommendations and good advice, especially if I give him the exclusive about the foundation.”
She patted his shoulder. “So, you’ve already named this organization?”
“Yep. It will be known as the Superman Foundation. Its purpose will be to legally control the use of my likeness, to control the money made on any Superman-sponsored endeavors, and to disburse the money as I see fit. I see lots of money being given to children’s charities and hospitals and stuff like that.”
“Sounds exciting. Can I give some advice, too?”
“Of course, Lana. It’ll have to be anonymous advice, but, sure, I’d appreciate your input on this thing.”
She grinned and mentally chalked up a half-win. “I’ll give it some thought and put together a list. I should have something by the end of the week.”
“No problem. As long as I don’t get paid for what I do, that’ll be okay with me.”
She nodded, thinking that a discretionary fund for Superman’s personal use would be a good thing to include. Four percent? No, that was too much. Besides, the foundation would rake in big bucks as long as Clark was thought of as a hero. And she’d make sure he was. She loved him, didn’t she?
