No Man's Land

by S. T. Underdahl

  Whether he’s thinking all of this too or just was too tired to object, Brian shrugs. “I guess it’s okay with me, as long as Dov doesn’t mind.”

  “No big deal,” I assure him. “It will give me a chance to finish reading your diary.”

  Brian laughs. “Just make sure you skip the sections about Victoria.”

  “But those are the best parts!”

  Grinning, I carry Brian’s heavy duffel toward my room; it’s killing my shoulder and I’m eager to put it down. I set it on the desk where he can reach it easily, then wander over to say hello to Leo. I’ve already let him in on the new sleeping arrangements and he’s promised to keep an eye on things while Brian is staying in my room.

  I was relieved, earlier, to see evidence that the cricket census in the aquarium has decreased a little; I’m hopeful that it means Leo’s weird fasting period is coming to an end. He even looks a little better, I think; his coloring seems brighter, and he seems to have more energy.

  “Like we discussed earlier, Brian’s going to be bunking with you temporarily,” I tell him. “That’s no excuse to go on another starvation diet. Other than that minor detail, everything else is going to remain normal around here.”

  What’s your definition of “normal,” Grasshopper? Leo asks dryly.

  I look at my brother’s greenish-gray duffel, the words Pvt. B.Howard stamped officially on the side with military precision. On the wall behind the duffel hangs my Folie à Deux poster—a picture of a bear piggybacking on a person wearing a bear suit.

  I glance back at Leo, who’s waiting patiently for my reply. “Point taken,” I sigh.

  Nineteen

  (The Intelligencer)—An upper-level US official in Afghanistan has resigned to protest a war he says cannot be won. Meanwhile, six more US troops

  died yesterday, making this the second deadliest month in the multi-year conflict.

  When I wake up the next morning, it takes me a few minutes to realize where I am. I peer blearily around the dim room before I realize I’m in Brian’s bedroom. My brother is home, and he’s sleeping upstairs in mine.

  It’s chilly in the dank basement, and I snuggle further down under the blankets while I finish waking up. The sounds down here are different ones than I’m used to: the tick of the old furnace, the creaking of the foundation, the muffled voices from overhead. It’s Monday, but with the news of Brian’s homecoming I’ve been given permission to go to school late. It’s great to imagine everyone else sitting in class while I’m still lying in bed. I savor it for a few more minutes, before the rumbling of my stomach and the deep sound of my father’s voice prompt me to trudge reluctantly up the stairs.

  “Well, would you look what crawled up from the cellar this fine Halloween morning?” Dad says. “One of the zombies from Night of the Living Dead.”

  “Mick,” Mom tsks disapprovingly. “Would you like some breakfast, Dov? I saved you some bacon.”

  “Sure.”

  “Morning,” Brian says. He’s sitting at the kitchen table in the same old chair where he always sat.

  I drop into mine, stifling a yawn. A few minutes later, Mom puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me; it smells fantastic and I waste no time digging in.

  Brian’s reading the paper. “Suicide bombing in Pakistan,” he informs me, refolding the paper. “Fucking jihadists.”

  “Brian!” Mom exclaims, shocked, for once, by the Golden Boy.

  “Oh, relax, Laura,” Dad says, stubbing out his cigarette. “He’s a grown man.”

  My mouth is full of food, which makes it easy to stay out of the conversation.

  “How’d you sleep downstairs, Dov?” Mom asks from the sink where she’s drying breakfast dishes. She seems unusually concerned about me this morning.

  “Great,” I tell her. Despite the excitement of Brian’s homecoming, the heavy darkness of the basement made it easy to fall asleep.

  “Brian says he didn’t sleep very well in your room,” she comments. “I wonder if you need a new bed.”

  New bed or not, I figure this means that I’ll be back in my old digs before too long.

  “I told you, Mom, it had nothing to do with the bed,” Brian says. “My sleep has sucked lately. From what I hear, lots of guys have problems sleeping when they get off deployment. Quit worrying; it’s such a little thing.”

  Mom turns and swats at Brian with the damp dishtowel. “Listen here, mister,” she says, smiling. “You just let your old mother worry about little things right now. I’m kind of enjoying it.”

  Brian raises his hands in mock surrender. “All right,” he agrees. “Worry away.”

  “Thank you.” Mom swats him once more with the towel for good measure.

  “So,” Brian says to me, “you ditching school today?”

  “Just taking my time getting there.”

  “Sweet.”

  “What about you, Brian?” Mom asks. “Is there anything you want to do today?”

  “Victoria’s coming by to pick me up around noon; she wants me to come by and say hello to her family. I might swing by Scheels and let them know I made it back okay.”

  I finish my breakfast while the three of them make small talk, then head into my room to find some clothes. Sheba is there, lying in a patch of fall sunlight on my neatly made bed. Up until Mom changed the sheets for Brian, my bed hadn’t been made in weeks; I’m sure Sheba mistakenly thought she was in a different room.

  “Out,” I tell her, and make a quick, threatening move that sends her lunging for the hallway.

  When I’m dressed, I stop by the aquarium to say good morning to Leo. He’s partially submerged in his pool, asleep with his chin resting on the edge of one side while his tail drapes across the other. This is odd; Leo sometimes takes a quick dip, but I’ve never seen him actually lying in the pool before. He looks … dead.

  “Hey,” I say, my heart starting to beat faster. “Buddy.” Quickly, I lift the cover and reach in to give Leo a nervous poke with my finger. To my relief, he comes to life, scrambling out of the water and over to his warming rock. “Don’t scare me like that,” I scold.

  Don’t scare ME like that, he retorts.

  On the way to school, I hear the DJ on XL-93 announcing the Poisoned Heart concert. “Tickets are going fast,” he warns. “Get ’em while they’re hot!”

  “Already got ours,” I reply.

  Second period has just ended, so the halls are full. I’m getting my books out of my locker when Scarlett shows up. “Hey,” she says. “I didn’t think you were here today. Thought maybe you’d started your trick-or-treating early.”

  I’m surprised she noticed. “Naw, just came in late,” I tell her, shutting my locker door.

  “So, your brother made it home finally? I saw it on the news last night.”

  “Yup.” We start down the hall, Scarlett walking alongside me. No more poems have found their way into my backpack, pockets, or any other unexpected places lately.

  “What’s up with you?” I ask her.

  “Not much. My dad’s doing a little better. At least that’s what my mom says.”

  “Maybe you’ll be able to go home by Thanksgiving.” I don’t want her to miss the concert, but I know that being back with her family is what Scarlett wants.

  She shrugs. “Mom says he’s not ready to see me yet. Who knows how long it’ll be?”

  “That sucks.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Hey, people.” Koby throws his arms around our shoulders from behind. “Whassup?”

  “Not much,” I tell him, sort of relieved that it’s true. “My brother’s home.”

  “Yeah, I saw it on the news last night. Looks like his arm got kinda jacked up?”

  “Not too bad. He’ll be okay.”

  Koby turns to Scarlett. “Miranda told you about the concert?”

  She nods. “I’ll have to ask my mom if it’s okay, but I think it will be. She wants me to get to know people here … make friends, you know.”


  I’m pleased to hear that Miranda decided to invite Scarlett to the concert after all. It’ll be a good opportunity for everyone to get to know Scarlett better.

  “Awesome,” Koby says. “Poisoned Heart … man. Whoever would have thought we’d get to see them play live?”

  Scarlett stops walking; we’ve reached her third period class. “This is me,” she tells us.

  “See you at lunch?”

  Scarlett shakes her head. “I have a doctor’s appointment at eleven. I probably won’t be back in time. But listen—how about if I give you a call tonight?”

  “Sure … ” I ignore Koby, who’s grinning at me like a monkey. “That’ll work.”

  Scarlett’s perfect lips curve up in a smile. “All right,” she says. She holds up her cell phone. “I’ve got your number.”

  “Yeah.” I have to admit it … maybe she does.

  Twenty

  When I get home from school, Brian is sitting on the sofa waiting for me. “Finally,” he says in a low voice, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s get the hell out of here for a while.”

  “Huh?” I was planning on taking a nap, but now I drop my backpack on the floor next to the front door.

  “I’m going out, Ma!” Brian calls, already heading out the door.

  Mom’s voice calls back from somewhere in the house. She sounds worried. “What? But where are you going? I’ve got … ”

  Brian shuts the door behind us, cutting her off.

  “I thought you said Victoria was picking you up?”

  “I must have gotten it wrong. Turns out she has class today.”

  I keep forgetting that Victoria is a freshman at the university. “Uh, sure,” I say. “Whatever.”

  As we approach the car, Brian exhales a deep sigh of relief. “Mom is driving me nuts, man. She’s been following me around all day, trying to get me to eat and talking to me in her ‘sweet’ voice.” Mom’s sweet voice is the voice she uses when either one of us is sick. Since she’s taking the week off work to take care of Brian, I imagine he’ll be hearing a lot of it.

  “Couldn’t Victoria skip class?” I ask. I’m surprised she didn’t insist on it.

  “She says she’s already missed a lot getting ready for me to come home, and she can’t afford to skip any more.”

  “You want to drive?” I offer, holding up the keys.

  “Naw.” Brian waves them away. “I’d better ride shotgun. Between my arm and this gimpy eye, I don’t trust myself yet.”

  Carefully, he opens the passenger door with his left hand and slides awkwardly inside, trying not to use his rib muscles. Once in, he can’t shut the door, and I have to run around and do it for him. “Goddamn,” he says when I get behind the wheel. “Everything seems so much harder now.”

  I don’t really know what to say, so I put the key in the ignition, start the engine, and back the Gator down the driveway. As I do, I catch a glimpse of Mom watching from behind the curtains and give her a wave. Drive carefully, she warns me telepathically. We don’t want anything to happen to your brother. Oh … or you either, Dov.

  “Where to?” I ask Brian.

  “Just drive. It’s nice not to have anyone hovering over me for a little while.”

  “Dad too?”

  Brian nods. “If I have to hear him call me ‘soldier’ one more time … ”

  I laugh. “They’re just so glad you’re back. Seriously, dude, you have no idea what a wreck Mom’s been since you left. Then, when we did hear … ”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “I mean, geez, Brian … of course everyone was worried that maybe you weren’t going to come back at all.”

  Brian nods, silent. I drive carefully; even though it’s not yet five, the smallest trick-or-treaters are already starting to come out.

  “You know,” he says finally, “I never realized it before I left, but dying isn’t necessarily the worst thing that can happen to a person. Sometimes living can be worse.”

  I don’t know, actually, and I turn his words over in my head as I slow the Gator to approach an intersection where a tiny princess, a ladybug, and a growth-stunted Spider-Man are crossing.

  “You know what I could go for?” Brian says suddenly, interrupting what I’m about to say. He looks over at me. “A taco grinder.”

  “I could eat,’’ I agree.

  Fifteen minutes later we’re at the Pepper and I’m balancing two paper plates full of food as we leave the counter. “Follow me,” Brian says, gesturing toward the back. He slides into one side of the booths and sits sideways, his back against the wall. He scans the place with his eyes once, then a second time.

  I set his food down in front of him, then go back for our drinks. “Thanks, bro,” he says when I slide into the other side of the booth. “You don’t know how many times I craved the food from this place while I was over there.”

  I watch as he tries to attack his food, only to discover that handling a full-sized grinder one-handed … left-handed to boot … is more challenging than either of us anticipated.

  “Here,” I say finally. “Let me cut it up or something.”

  “Thanks,” Brian says gratefully after I manage to cut his sandwich into rough but manageable hunks using a plastic knife. He takes his first bite. “Holy crap,” he mutters, chewing. “So good.”

  “Can’t beat the Pepper.”

  “Nope.”

  We inhale our food, not talking, then both sit back to digest. Brian lets out a mighty belch, and I answer it with one of my own.

  “So, Bri,” I say, “were you ever like … you know, scared over there?”

  Brian reaches for his soda and takes a sip. “Was I ever scared?” He considers. “A better question would probably be whether I ever wasn’t scared. It’s a whole different world over there, Dov. Not just the mountains, or the people, their whole culture, but … I mean … being out on patrol and getting shot at, not knowing whether your unit is going to drive over an IED. You seriously don’t know whether you’ll even make it through the day.”

  “Whoa.”

  Brian nods. “You live every moment knowing there’s a chance you might die. It does something to you. How could it not?”

  I nod and reach for my soda; listening to Brian, my mouth is suddenly dry.

  “When you see guys you live with day in and day out … when you see them die, it really messes you up, you know? Like, you start to wonder whether God even exists.”

  “Damn.”

  Brian inhales deeply, like he’s found himself suddenly short on air. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  He pokes at the few bits of shredded lettuce left on his plate. “Heck,” he says. “We lost our first CO, Sergeant Wilkie, two weeks after I got there.”

  “Lost him? Killed, you mean?”

  Brian nods. “This young kid had been hanging around our unit for a few weeks; his name was Rahim, and he was probably around ten or eleven. He seemed like a cool kid; heck, we’d hook him up with Cokes and candy bars and let him listen to our music … for some reason, that kid loved Eminem. The only English he knew was stuff like ‘P. Diddy’ and ‘bling, bling’ and ‘yo momma’; shit like that. It was pretty hilarious.” Brian laughs bitterly. “We kinda got used to having him around, you know?”

  I nod.

  Brian takes another deep breath. “So things started to kind of heat up in the area and one day my unit heads out on patrol. We make it to town and decide to leave the Bradley and do a foot patrol. We’re all moving along, checking to see what’s up, and all of the sudden, Rahim shows up. He’s got this donkey with him, just a ratty, skinny old donkey with a pack on its back; kind of a riot, you know? So the bunch of us are laughing, and Rahim’s trying to bring his donkey over to us, but the damn thing is acting all funny and digs in its heels, like it’s spooked or something.

  “Once the donkey makes it clear that it’s not going anywhere, Rahim starts calling for us to come over and check out his donkey where it’s standing, but radio transmissions are coming in and so
we have to try to listen to them because we’re working, right? The transmission is about some kind of activity up ahead and we really need to get moving over there, but Rahim’s having a hissy fit because we won’t come see his donkey, so finally Sergeant Wilkie motions us to go on. He heads on over to deal with Rahim himself, to make him understand that it wasn’t a convenient time for us to admire his donkey and what not. And wouldn’t you know it, the rest of us aren’t thirty yards away when suddenly there’s this enormous blast and all hell breaks loose.”

  “W-what happened?” I ask, confused. “Someone shot Wilkie?”

  Brian shakes his head. “No, Dov, it was the fricking donkey,” he says. “The donkey blew up.”

  “What?!”

  “The damn thing was loaded with explosives, and someone had made Rahim lure Sergeant Wilkie over there and blew all three of ’em up. He was trying to get the rest of us over there too, but Wilkie was the only one who took the hit.”

  “Holy crap. Why would he do that?”

  Brian shakes his head. “I don’t know what they must have done to the poor kid to convince him to do that. He loved us, you know what I mean? I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I just … man … ” Brian swallows. “He was just a little kid.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the worst part of it was that once the dust settled, we had to carry the body of our CO … the pieces of his body … to where we’d left the Bradley, and ride with it all the way back to camp. I’ll never forget that, bro; he was just like … like a pulp. And the smell; the smell of blood and his burned … I couldn’t get that smell out of my head for days.”

  Brian pushes the plate with the rest of his grinder away; my own stomach is clenched too.

  “Damn, Brian,” I manage finally, shaking my head. There are so many horrifying things about Brian’s story that I can’t find the words to speak. “That just … ”