The Lonely War

by Alan Chin

  She beckoned to him with her hands and he lay beside her. The horses, standing in their stalls, watched with their ears pricked forward, sensing a change in mood.

  “You think it’s funny to tease a city girl. I think you’re mean, but I forgive you.” She kissed him, not a girlish peck but a sensual kiss that opened his mouth and allowed her tongue to explore. They made love for the first time.

  “Do I love her?” He repeated the question. It doesn’t matter, he thought. She’s having my baby.

  He crumpled the sheets of paper into a tight ball, tossed it onto his desk, and hurried topside to inspect the liberty party.

  Chapter Eleven

  April 24, 1942—0700 hours

  THE captain mustered the liberty party, which was all but a skeleton watch, on the quarterdeck. Using a fatherly tone, he said, “Now look here, men. I know you’re anxious for liberty and all you can think about is getting drunk and laid, which has got you all so excited you’re about to burst. It may help you restrain yourselves from temptation ashore if you release some of that sexual tension before you leave the ship. Remember, the Navy does not condone the practice of masturbation, no matter how excited you are. But while you’re in the shower getting cleaned up for liberty, feel free to scrub your dicks as long and hard and fast as you like.”

  Laughter spilled over the ranks.

  “That’s a tradition in the Navy,” the captain added. “That’s why on warships, whenever it rains, every man aboard gets a hard-on.”

  More nervous laughter—even the captain let go with a belly laugh. Mitchell and Fisher stared at each other with raised eyebrows, having never seen him so jovial.

  AS THE Officer of the Deck, it was Mitchell’s responsibility to inspect the liberty party before allowing them ashore. Anyone who failed inspection had to stay aboard. As the liberty party prepared for inspection, Mitchell ambled through the crew’s quarters to hurry along the stragglers. A buzz of excitement traveled through the crew like electricity through a lightning rod. The fatigue of the last four days’ voyage had vanished. The men were high on the promise of cold beer and soft, sweet-smelling women.

  Mitchell saw Smitty checking himself in the mirror for what must have been the twentieth time. His aura of aftershave was substantial. He took his hat off, combed his grease-laden hair again, and replaced his hat, tilting it forward on his head. “You devil,” he said. “You’re going to get you some tonight, lover-boy.”

  “Put it in gear, Casanova,” Mitchell said. “Time to move out.”

  Mitchell noted that Cocoa stood by his locker, only half-dressed. He had had his dress uniforms tailor-made to fit him like a glove before they left San Francisco, but that was thirty pounds ago. Mitchell watched Cocoa puff, swear, and suck in his gut while straining to shimmy into his cotton jumper. Once dressed, he bulged from the ill-fitting uniform at every opening, stretching every seam. Mitchell shook his head and ambled on deck to inspect the liberty party.

  The men sparkled in their dress white jumpers and pillbox hats rolled over at the sides, but the reek of cologne made Mitchell’s eyes water. He crawled along the ranks to allow Cocoa enough time to finish dressing and sneak into the last row. He checked the sharp creases of each man’s trousers, razor-cut hairlines, and buffed shoes.

  Mitchell came to a full stop in front of Cocoa, who resembled a cream-filled donut being squeezed so tight that the filling oozed out. He considered keeping the cook aboard until he could change into a suitable uniform, but he was not sure Cocoa had a dress uniform that still fit, and he knew all too well how long it had been since Cocoa’s last liberty. Mitchell glanced up at the bridge wing to ensure the captain was not looking and dismissed the liberty party. With a loud cheer, the men raced down the gangway.

  Mitchell joined Moyer and Tedder on the quarterdeck, easing himself into a wicker chair and pulling a pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket. He cocked his head as music floated from the nearest loudspeaker. The duty radioman pumped Benny Goodman over the PA system. Mitchell couldn’t help tapping his foot to the swinging beat.

  Bitton strolled up, settling into a chair. He pointed the stem of his pipe in the direction of the liberty party galloping down the dock. “Those men are racing as fast as they can into one hellacious binge.”

  “Might not be a bad idea to have a hair of the dog they’re chasing,” Tedder said.

  At that moment, Andrew walked through the hatch carrying a tray crowned with a bottle of Jack Daniels, a bowl of ice, and four tumblers. A smile spread over each officer’s face as they anticipated the sweet feeling of being tipsy before lunch.

  AFTER lunch, while Andrew scrubbed dishes, Grady rambled into the galley from officer’s country. “Chaplain Moyer wants to see you in the wardroom.”

  Andrew dried his hands and hustled forward, coming to attention before Moyer.

  The room was stuffy even with the vent fans blowing full out.

  “Sit down,” Moyer said, swiping at the sweat meandering down the side of his face. He showed a nervous smile as Andrew sat in the chair across from him.

  “I want to talk to you about a couple of issues. First, I wanted to say how sorry I am that someone defaced your statue.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Nothing happens aboard this ship that I don’t hear about.” Moyer smiled again, still noticeably uncomfortable. “Any idea who did it?”

  “It doesn’t matter who, but it seems there are some things aboard you don’t know.”

  “You got me there.” His smile faded. He stared at his hands, which were fiddling with a paperclip. He swallowed. “There’s a rumor that you’re developing a close friendship with Lieutenant Mitchell.”

  “We talk from time to time.”

  “The men are calling you his puppy dog. Aboard ship that could only mean one thing. Look, when I studied to become a member of the clergy, I witnessed many examples of intimacy between men. Although I don’t approve of it, I understand what loneliness does to a man.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m trying to say—” The words lodged in his throat. He fell silent, still staring at the paperclip in his hands. “Be careful. You could damage his career if things go too far.”

  Andrew dropped his eyes, staring at the green-felt tabletop. Heat rose to his head even though he knew he had done nothing wrong.

  “I understand that Buddhists don’t believe in God,” Moyer said. “That’s too bad. In times of confusing emotions, we Christians find comfort in asking for God’s help. It makes our trials easier to bear.”

  “Tell me something, sir. Is your life really any easier because of your belief in a god?”

  Moyer stared into Andrew’s eyes for the first time. He hesitated, struggling for an answer, as if he were trying to determine if he could trust Andrew with a secret he wanted to get off his chest. He moistened the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “That’s none of your business, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Andrew said, holding up a hand. “I only wanted to understand. I didn’t—”

  “Personally speaking,” Moyer cut him off. “No. In fact, the opposite is true. My belief in the Divine keeps me living in a state of hell. It’s especially hard for me during these trying times because I feel that God has turned his back on me. I’ve spent my life trying to ease the suffering of others, but I’ve never gotten even a glimpse at a sign that he acknowledges my efforts, or even my existence.”

  Andrew nodded. Minuscule particles charged the humid air. Andrew watched them dance through the space between him and the officer. Moyer leaned across the table.

  Andrew froze, somewhat startled by the ensign’s gesture. He felt a buzz at his temples where his pulse seemed to throb stronger than normal. He had an overpowering urge to place his palm on Moyer’s forehead and push him against his seatback.

  “There’s a woman at home, Sara Walker,” Moyer said, “who helps people living on the poor side of the tracks. She has a close relationship with God
. It is obvious from her willingness to suffer so many hardships to help others, yet, she is forever cheerful and always sees the good in everybody. But she has never once worshipped our Lord in church or even bowed her head in prayer.” He inhaled a deep breath. “I asked her why she never attended church. She told me that after the death of her child, she spent what she called ‘a night of nothingness’. After that, she lost faith with all traditional beliefs and developed a personal relationship with God.”

  “And you envy her?”

  The ensign nodded. “She is with him always, while I have been abandoned. You know, people assume that the holiest people, the saints, exist in continual divine ecstasy, but that’s simply not so. Many saints have been keenly aware of God’s absence. There’s even a name for it. It’s called the Phenomenon of Darkness. Don’t confuse this affliction with loss of faith. It’s more like an empty feeling of unknowing. With me, this emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. I want God with every fiber of my being, yet, between us there is an appalling separation. At times I feel a terrible loss, that God doesn’t want me. At other times there is a worse feeling, that he doesn’t exist at all.” Moyer cocked his head. “In your religion, do you ever have such doubts?”

  “For Buddhists, God is not some separate being existing some place far away called heaven. We see the universe as one living force, made up of all the trillions upon trillions of life forms, of which you and I are a part. If you want to call this life force ‘God’, I have no issue with that. That means, of course, that we are all God, that collectively we create God, like the cells of our body combine to create us.”

  Moyer swallowed and nodded.

  “Anytime I wish to view God, I see all the various forms of life around me all melding together. If I wish to understand God, I look within my own heart, because I, too, am a manifestation of this life force. For a Buddhist, to understand one’s self is to understand the whole of God.”

  Andrew paused, because Moyer was simply staring at him in a daze. Andrew reached across the table and gave Moyer’s hand a gentle squeeze. “This Christian idea that God is separate from all other life seems very sad. I understand why you have these feelings of abandonment and doubt.”

  Moyer bowed his head, as if to hide the emotions boiling up from his heart.

  Andrew lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “My master told me that we all have demons, fears inside our heads. These fears cause anger, hatred, greed, and envy. They in turn cause all our pain and sorrow. Overcoming these demons is the most important task a man can undertake.”

  Moyer raised his head and smiled sadly. “I understand. Thank you. By the way, I give services every Sunday morning on the fantail. Will you come and hear God’s word?”

  “No, thank you, sir. You’ve told me everything I need to know about your God.”

  ANDREW decided to take a leisurely SSS (shit, shower, and shave) while the ship was deserted and before starting dinner. He plodded to his locker and stripped to his skivvies, grabbing his cake of soap, shaving cream, razor, and a terrycloth towel.

  Assuming that he would have the head to himself, he was disappointed when he heard a shower spraying full force and a drain sucking water. He inched closer with timid steps, checking to see who was there. To his surprise, Grady stood under a showerhead, his member standing full and thick, and Grady was fisting it with a look of delirium on his face.

  Andrew wanted to back away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his naked friend. His gaze wandered over the smooth, dark body until it found that patch of black brush above the swollen member and those hanging balls. The sheer size of that dick was inspiring—alarmingly big, its head a lovely plum color.

  Andrew’s own sex stirred and his pulse beat like a jackhammer. He turned and crept to the line of sinks before someone caught him with tented skivvies while ogling his sexy friend.

  Staring into the stainless steel mirror, he gripped the sink with both hands and forced himself into thinking about the dinner menu—corn chowder, stir-fried vegetables with shrimp, steamed rice, some kind of pudding—until his member softened and his pulse relaxed. He turned on the faucet, tested the water temperature, and lathered his face. He took his razor and scraped away the foam from under his nose. He had no hair on his face, but he liked to go through the ritual anyway.

  The hissing shower stopped and he heard Grady drying himself. Silence. The sound of the razor scraping skin seemed loud in his ears.

  Suddenly, he saw Grady’s face next to his own in the mirror. Arms wrapped around Andrew’s waist and hugged him from behind. He gasped, feeling hot breath on his neck. His body jerked forward and back. The feel of Grady’s bare skin was instantly galvanizing.

  “Baby, if God ever made beautiful, he done made it with you,” Grady crooned. His fingers followed the contours of Andrew’s bare chest and he gently squeezed Andrew’s BB-sized nipple. Grady’s other hand slid into the loose fly of Andrew’s skivvies and took hold of Andrew’s growing shaft. His touch felt like melting wax on Andrew’s tender skin.

  Andrew panicked.

  “Relax Andy-boy. Juss relax and lemme make you feel good.”

  With his heart thumping, Andrew gripped the sink with both hands to steady himself. He involuntarily leaned into Grady’s nakedness, feeling himself melt into that sumptuous skin. Grady’s erection poked at his backside through his thin cotton skivvies, worming its way between his legs.

  Andrew’s mind froze, partly from the excitement but mostly from fear of being caught. He managed a hoarse whisper, “Please don’t.” His voice sounded tentative, vulnerable. He couldn’t stand the sound of it.

  Grady gently kneaded Andrew’s genitals. “I see the way you look at Mitchell. Everybody’s talkin’ about how you been eyein’ him and what it means.”

  Grady began rocking his hips with tantalizing slowness, his erection berthed between Andrew’s legs. Andrew’s entire body quivered, his cock poked straight up through his fly. Every spot that Grady’s satiny skin touched ignited in fiery sensations.

  “Someone will see us.” Andrew was desperate, pleading.

  “Everybody’s gone ashore or standing watch. It’s just you and me, pretty boy.” Grady’s fingers stroked Andrew’s torso. He hooked both thumbs into the waistband of Andrew’s skivvies and peeled them down until they dropped to the deck. Now Andrew felt Grady’s hot flesh sliding between the silken cleavage of his naked thighs. Grady’s hand playfully teased Andrew’s cock and his lips caressed Andrew’s neck.

  Andrew’s knees weakened as he imagined that it was Mitchell driving him into delirium. He arched his head, resting it on Grady’s shoulder, moaning as he surrendered to the delicious rush of pleasure.

  Grady’s hips ground against Andrew’s backside more needfully. Fingers gently pulled Andrew’s chin sideways until Grady’s lips brushed against Andrew’s. They kissed, working their passion toward a delicious pinnacle. Andrew could taste him, like warm blood or hot metal, and now that he had tasted him, it was not enough. He wanted more, needed it even though he knew it would ruin him.

  Grady’s tongue explored and conquered Andrew’s mouth while his hips bucked.

  Andrew’s breath came in gasps. His body contracted. He felt a sensation starting in his testicles that burst upwards. He moaned into Grady’s open mouth. They were nailed together, naked, shivering. Grady’s hand cupped Andrew’s hairless balls as a stream of thick semen spattered the stainless steel mirror above the sink. Andrew jerked violently and Grady rode him like a bronco, their mouths locked in a continuous kiss.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Mitchell stood at the hatchway, his uniform starched and crisp, his hands fisted on his hips. Veins bulged out of his neck with the same fiery color as his face. “I want you men in uniform and standing in my office in five minutes.”

  Andrew was paralyzed, stricken, not yet fully comprehending this abrupt change in circumstances.

  “Is that clear?” the lieutenant barked.

&n
bsp; “Aye, aye, sir!” they said in breathless tandem.

  THEY stood at attention beside Mitchell’s desk.

  “I talked with Chaplain Moyer at lunch today,” Mitchell told Andrew. “He said the poop is, you’re a homosexual. Apparently, everybody is trying to figure out if it’s true, and what I saw is pretty convincing evidence.”

  “I don’t know if it’s true or not, sir.”

  “How can you not know? Do you like girls or men?”

  “Sir, I’ve had no experience with girls. Raised in a boy’s school, a monastery, and now the Navy, I’ve always been surrounded by boys, never girls. I’ve lived a celibate life. But in my boarding school, there was an English boy, Clifford. We were inseparable. We never had sex, but I can tell you dead-on that I love him. We slept in the same dorm room, and after the monks extinguished the lamps, he would slip into bed with me and we cuddled together. No sex, only sleeping in each other’s arms.”

  Andrew paused. There was no trace of embarrassment in his confession. “When we were older, he showed me how to masturbate and we did that all the time, though never to each other. You see, Lieutenant, waking up with Clifford, feeling his body, and smelling his boyish scent was the most loving experience of my life. Sometimes he’s all I think about, my time with him. I often think that he and I were all that ever mattered. So if loving another boy makes me a homosexual, then I guess I am.”

  Mitchell pictured the two lads curled together in adolescent love. A taste of envy softened his anger. “Did you ever want to have sex with Clifford?”

  “If he had asked me, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for him, but it never crossed our minds.”