The Preserve

by Steve Anderson

  On the way back, the few clouds had cleared out and the sun was high and hot. A couple of the team complained about the heat under the canopy. This led to Jock the Marine complaining, again, about having to wear what were clearly inferior Army fatigues and gear.

  “Just what you’d expect from Dugout Doug,” Jock muttered.

  He told Lett about the Pacific grunts’ derisive nickname for their wartime Supreme Commander, Douglas MacArthur. The name came from Dugout Doug’s so-called prowess at retreating but also from reports that he hid out in tunnels when the Japanese overran Corregidor in the Philippines in ’42. An Army man, the great general didn’t want to help the Marines stranded above when it came down to it. A couple of the others overheard and nodded solemnly.

  Then they sang songs, Jock leading the Pacific Theater guys in a ballad that had many names, from “Bless ’em All” to “The Long and the Short and the Tall” to their own version: “Fuck ’em All.” Their suitably crude and defiant lines called out MacArthur for abandoning them wholesale. But it really told most all generals and lords and masters just where to stuff their brass and gold and shiny medals—if they and their fellow Marines were doomed to bite the dust, then they’d do so in any damned way they pleased.

  Lett offered up the version he knew from the ETO, which had plenty more to do with women than bossmen, and they sang that one, too. They laughed and slapped shoulders and someone should’ve had a bottle. After that, they quieted down as if drunk from that make-believe bottle, deep in the memories and nightmares such a song brought.

  Lett found himself talking with Jock as if he were Lansdale himself right here next to him. He free-associated about everything from the slaughter in the Normandy hedgerows to the tree bursts in the Ardennes. Jock launched into a story of his own about fighting the Japanese in caves. They smoked them out with whatever they had, grenades, flame throwers, phosphorous.

  “Half the time they came running out melting. We’d just stand back, let ’em pass till they dropped. What are we supposed to do, huh? What? They don’t want to give up.”

  “Nothing you can do,” Lett said.

  A silence crept in, their knees bumping as they rode along. Eventually, Jock told Lett that some of the more certifiable grunts had stripped the dead of medals and guns and gold teeth while they were still smoking, still bleeding out. Jock was shaking his head.

  “Only tell me if you want to,” Lett said.

  Jock’s eyes screwed up. After another half mile or so he said, his voice clogging in his throat, “Babies. Babies . . . On one island, Saipan, it was all just caves and tunnels. Some of them opened onto high cliffs. Well, then the civilians come out. Apparently the Emperor told them we Yankees were coming to kill them all, better off going to their kind of heaven after going out with a big bang . . .” He was glaring at his knuckles as if checking for shaking. “So you had civilians running out, Japanese, women, elderly. Some of the younger women clutching babies. Screaming at us. Some had explosives rigged on ’em, see. Some didn’t go off. Others only partly. Bad powder, my guess? I don’t know. Ah, fuck, Lett, I don’t know. Some of us started picking them off, but most of us just took cover till they passed by and on they went, here they come, no one wanting to touch them. Or their babies. I tried. I tried, Lett. Goddamn it, I done tried. She . . . She . . .”

  “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  “I thought I had her. She slipped by me anyways. What was she supposed to do, huh? Here I was this Yankee killer carrying a big ole fugging Thompson gun, probably had blood on my face or teeth for all I know. I thought maybe I’d grab the baby from her, little thing, little white face, big eyes. She . . . She was just saving her little girl, you know? So, on she went. Well, right at the edge of the cliff, one of her shoes came off. Looked like a slipper. I kept that little slipper for a good long while. It was all chewed up from all the lava rock on that goddamn fugging rock of an island.” Jock shook his head again. After another half mile he said, “It was only the staff at camp who convinced me to get rid of it finally.”

  “Lansdale?” Lett said.

  “Very same.” Jock kept shaking his head. His hands had retreated to under his thighs.

  Lett glanced around. The ex-paratrooper had wet eyes and the gooney bird dogface was burying his hands the same as Jock. They rode a while in silence.

  “That’s what their leaders done to those people,” he said. “What they put in their heads.”

  “What they do to all of us,” Lett said.

  “What? No, siree. Our leaders never do that. We’re different.”

  “Sure, we are. Sure.” We just do it in different ways, Lett couldn’t help thinking, and suddenly his leg wanted to start hammering too, and he wanted to jab himself with one of those shots of his again. He felt at the pouch in his daypack.

  After a few miles, Jock apologized for ambushing Lett when he first arrived at The Preserve. “It was bad timing. I was coming from a test and not in such a good way, neither.”

  “A test?”

  “Sure. Part of my cure.”

  They weren’t supposed to discuss their individual cures much, but Lett wasn’t going to argue. Because talking like this seemed to be helping Jock, too. The road had swung low through the south coast, and they were riding along another unending expanse of that black lava flow, the road running right over it. Jock stared at the rock, all thousand yards of it. Lett eyed him in case he got spooked again. Jock wiped at his eyes, but it was only perspiration. Then a grin stretched across his face, and the gaps between his teeth seemed to widen. “Know how they tested me? They left me out on that vast lava slope at the base of the volcano, just left me there.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Sure. Sure was. They left me in a cave to start. Now, I start hearing and smelling things, the likes of which you can’t even imagine—or maybe you can on account of what I told you where I served. Then I see things too, but I wasn’t sure if they were real. Nip infantry. Women. Bayonets. Fire. Babies. Cliffs that weren’t there, even. Hot blood on my face that I had to wipe out of my eyes but it’s just the sweat. But, you know what, Lett?” Jock’s teeth seemed to widen out even more.

  “What?”

  “I think it worked. After I came at you, I mean. It finally made me confront what ails me. They said that really cures you up. And I do think it did.”

  “Did Lansdale say so?”

  “The very same. Now look at us. Now it’s on to the next stage.”

  “You are doing better,” Lett said. “I can see it. I didn’t know you before, but . . .”

  “You wouldn’t have recognized me.”

  “Same goes for me.”

  They traded a grunt and a chuckle.

  “I’m getting by, Lett. Getting by best I can. You?”

  “I have to say that I am,” Lett said. “Say, just wondering, they give you a dose when they treat you?”

  “What? Nah, I ain’t had no VD since ’45 . . .”

  “No, not that kind of shot.” Lett recalled what Lansdale had said about confidential information. What if this was another test? He lowered his voice even more. “I just heard that some guys were getting shots, is all.”

  “Nope, no sir,” Jock said. “Besides, I don’t take to needles well . . . Weird word, ‘dose.’ It can mean the cure and the disease.”

  “I suppose so,” Lett said.

  He leaned close to Jock, their ears brushing. “Listen: what do you make of what happened today?”

  “Why they used us, you mean? They coulda used anyone. Nah, that was another test. Lansdale wanted to see if we could protect him. And we passed it flying.”

  “But we were there for show, too. But for who? The town people?”

  “Town people know better to stay clear,” Jock said.

  “Supposing it was to show those types coming off the boat.”

  “The Oriental-looking ones maybe. They did have at least one Nip. Jap, I mean. Sorry, not supposed to call ’em that anymore. A
t least one Japanese.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

  Jock stared ahead. They had cleared the black rock again, heading inland and uphill, the brown scrub along the road giving way to green foliage.

  “What do you want?” Lett said. “From The Preserve, I mean.”

  “Ain’t it clear, doggie? I want back in.”

  “Reenlistment?”

  Jock nodded. “I’m a career Marine, way I see it. My family, we’ve been in the military in one form or another going back to the War of 1812. Not even coming out West could stop us.”

  That’s no reason, Lett thought. That’s just a treadmill.

  Jock patted at his chest. “There’ll be another war someday, and they will need me.”

  “Oh, you bet they will.”

  Jock’s grin vanished. “I’m not just fodder, Lett. Not me. I survived the Big One. And you did, too.”

  “Tell it to the officers in that song you were just singing.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get you. But I figure I got clout now.”

  Sometime later the truck started rolling ever slower, and it jostled them, and gears moaned. They were heading higher uphill. They were nearing The Preserve, finally.

  The local kid at the tailgate kept peeking out the canopy. “Hey, they all gone,” he said finally and looked forward out the other side to confirm it.

  “How so?” Lett said.

  “Those two trucks, the sedans, they all went take one side road somewhere. Just us now.”

  Lett looked around. The others were sleeping, heads bobbing, the ex-paratrooper slumbering down the middle of the truck bed at their toes.

  Lett leaned close to Jock again. “What do you think is in those crates?”

  Jock shrugged. “Who knows. Most fellas didn’t notice.”

  “Well, I noticed.”

  Jock started. He grabbed Lett by the forearm. “Now hold up. What do you think’ll happen if you keep asking that question?”

  “So you didn’t think it?”

  “Nope. No.”

  “You didn’t notice that a sturdy cart like the one they had buckled under and right away? And how low that boat was sitting in the water? How those two deuce-and-a-halfs kept straining at every hill, making us have to drop back to a crawl so it don’t look like we’re with them in our disguise truck?”

  Gold, Lett thought, but he didn’t say it. He finally let himself form the dirty word in his mind. And Frankie, and . . . Kanani. And what about her friend, Miss Mae?

  “Sure I did, but I ain’t making no conclusions,” Jock said. “Look. The war is won and we’re the ones what won it. This is a whole new world we’re living in. Now, if a man has his head on straight, why, sky’s the limit.”

  Lett sure hoped that was true. Because the opposite was a dark cave, deeper into the center of the earth. “You know something? You’re right. Thanks for straightening me out.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Jock replied, letting it go, and the grin was back for good. “You’ll be all right. I saw you back there. You were liking it, and well and good, too. Cradling that eensy grease gun like a newborn lamb, you were.”

  12.

  Jock had a point, Lett had to admit. He truly had been cradling that M3 gun like it was a newborn lamb. He had indeed liked performing the first assignment they had given him. He could’ve stood there all day guarding that perimeter.

  He thought this as he sat on the tiny lanai of his tiny bungalow in The Preserve, another just-built square of plywood and corrugated metal that still smelled of both. But this one wasn’t too sparse. It had just enough room for two Adirondack chairs on either side of the front door. Inside, it had rattan chairs with cushions, a kitchenette, and a two-chair chromium dining set. The walls were painted a cool green, and there was a jute rug to boot. It had a separate bathroom with tub. All that was missing were the pipe and slippers.

  He unbuttoned his shirt a couple more buttons and stretched out his legs until the heels of his bare feet rested on the edge of the lanai, letting the plank dig into his skin a little. This was the first period of serenity he could remember. The damaged man that he’d become could still appreciate the simple clarity of a clear duty, especially one that wasn’t about to get a man killed, or anything like that. A duty like that took all the stress of deciding away. Let someone else choose what he was to do, where to stand, how long. Who to be. Sometimes he could understand the career military mindset, how a guy like Jock could want that.

  All was so orderly here, so secure. His bungalow stood along a line of six others, a miniature suburban street inserted smack dab in the middle of high Kona forest. The Preserve had so much land to spare up here, they might as well be in Timbuktu. No one could see them except from a low-flying plane—of which Lett had seen not one—and he wondered if even their air space was off-limits.

  He smelled more pork roasting from the next clearing over where they did a lot of the cooking for mess hall. He heard the breeze rustle through the foliage, finding its way to him where it tickled his forehead and toes.

  Then a shiver ran up his legs, torso, neck.

  He thought about the two shots he’d taken while on assignment, and how Selfer had supplied him with it only after he’d begged Selfer to bother Lansdale for it, and this made him shrink inside a little. He was starting to depend on the dose, to look forward to it, even to that little prick on his skin and the sting along his vein. How long would that last? Was that the only reason why he felt so serene here on his porch? The treatment had to work in the long run. They didn’t call it a cure for nothing.

  Still, he wondered if he shouldn’t be feeling more uneasy. Jock had a point, sure. He could’ve stood guard there all day—if not for some of the things he’d seen at that Hilo dock surrounded by molasses tanks. He still didn’t know how he was going to tell Kanani about Frankie. Or should he? But they owed each other. He couldn’t deny that she’d probably saved his ass back in that Kona billet bar. And he’d been the one who convinced her to dodge Frankie, after all.

  And then there was Lansdale. Ignoring him like he had? What kind of treatment was that? Lett told himself it was only the man’s professional demeanor and reminded himself not to take it personally. He was far from the only person Lansdale was responsible for here.

  A woman was walking up his lane of bungalows, darker skin, her black hair pulled back under a khaki Army bucket hat with the brim flipped up in front, what they called a Daisy Mae. She wore an aloha shirt with rolled-up sleeves and cuffed dungarees and her rubber slippahs.

  Kanani.

  Lett sat up and fought the urge to run to her. Again he thought of that load they’d guarded, and how it had to be gold. He’d somehow been able to avoid her for the couple days since he’d been back—that way he wouldn’t have to tell her about what he’d seen. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before she’d simply come find him at his bungalow. Meanwhile, he kept expecting, worrying even, that he would see Frankie in all his dark tattooed glory striding around the camp. Yet the man had not showed here. His assignment had been in Hilo, all the way over on the other side of the island—Hawaii’s biggest island by far. It was nowhere near The Preserve. Maybe that was the last time he’d ever see Frankie.

  Now he couldn’t help it: he walked down the two steps to Kanani. She grinned and pushed back the brim farther and showed him all of her face. Something still made him hold back. He kissed her on the cheek, just a brush. She looked to her feet as if embarrassed, and sure enough when she looked up again, she was blushing.

  She would want him to tell her. So he just had to.

  She laughed and pushed at his chest and prodded him back up the stairs. “Like one plantation around here,” she joked, looking back down the lane of bungalows.

  They sat in the chairs and caught up. Lett now had regular KP duty to fill time until the next assignment, but at least he was serving food in the mess instead of doing the dirty prep and cleanup. Kanani had her work in the bar as a
hostess and bartender and waitress when need be, always with a flower behind her ear. She sold cigarettes on the side and no one blinked an eye.

  “I haven’t seen you,” she said.

  “We have such different schedules,” he said.

  “They put me in a bungalow too, you know. Over by the Main House.”

  She’d mentioned it when they were first reunited. She hadn’t told him it was by the Main House, but then again, he hadn’t asked. “Sounds nice,” he said.

  She peered out. “Your lane, it’s mostly deserted. So many empty bungalows.”

  “Others must be out on assignment, that or they’re still being tested. I haven’t met many. Most have kept to themselves, and I can’t say I blame them.”

  Kanani didn’t respond. She smoked one of those Filipino cigars. She didn’t use the gold lighter this time, but a GI-issue Zippo. Then the rum came out—that same Filipino trademark.

  And Kanani kept giving him that sidelong glance of hers.

  Lett was getting that old bad feeling, just a whiff of it, like a light sunburn heating his skin even here in the shade.

  She pushed back her khaki bucket hat. “Okay den,” she said.

  “Okay what?”

  “We’re gonna talk things over before dat rum goes for broke on you.”

  Lett sat up. He had sunglasses on. He pulled them off.

  “No. Keep them on. And keep the drink. Looks natural.”

  “Okay. Wait, why? You think someone’s watching maybe?”

  She shrugged. “I just like to be sure.” They were drinking from metal cups. She took a long sip of her drink. “I can tell something’s on your mind.”

  “You can?”

  “Hilo Side,” she said. “You were there. I heard you and a crew were there.”

  “I was, yes.” Lett tightened up inside. Of course she could tell.

  “So, is this why you’re avoiding me? You’re in on it?”