Pieces of You

by J F Elferdink

  “Just after our guys took this hill, they were ordered to abandon it, leaving the blood-soaked location site to revert to the control of the NVA, as we used to call the Vietnam People’s Army. Magazine photos of the young U.S. soldiers whose lives were lost in that engagement enraged the youth of America.”

  Mark remembered his own feelings at that time.

  “When I was sent home, I didn’t even try to describe what it was like, even when friends asked.

  “I think you’d agree that only those who were there could possibly understand the horror; the fear, the adrenaline surges and the unlikely friendships.”

  Bob understood entirely.

  “If I had lived, I’m pretty sure I would have done what you did; worked very hard to put it behind me. When I first crossed over, I participated in some incredible discussions with former vets and activists.

  “We actually had fun debating ‘just war’ vs. passive resistance. You wouldn’t believe how the inability to lie and the enhanced capacity for love changes your thinking!”

  Catching what sounded like a chuckle, Mark looked over at Zachri, wondering whether this was a sign that there was a lighter side to his angelic guide. As the image of a chorus of angelic hippies and war vets stomping to the tune of “Kumbaya” while chanting peace slogans flashed before Mark’s eyes, he laughed aloud.

  Immediately, the most outlandish thing happened; these spirit beings come to Earth to help Mark deal with some very serious issues, laughed too. When their mirth subsided, Bob gave Mark a brief version of their stance on violence.

  “We are not to ignore evil acts or allow them to continue unchecked but must use our innate wisdom and courage to oppose brutality peacefully.”

  Bob went on.

  “It’s difficult for a great many people to condemn war when the media is constantly justifying militarism, cloaking acts of violence by using vagueness and euphemisms; words which ‘name things without calling up mental pictures of them.’ as 20th century British author, George Orwell, put it.”

  “I don’t understand how we can overcome violence if we don’t fight back with all that we have. Are we expected to roll over and play dead when we’re attacked? Maybe you can explain that, Zachri?”

  “Our liberation comes only through solidarity with others who have recaptured the innocence of children.

  “As Jürgen Moltmann put it, in ‘The Disarming Child’, with wisdom, we can: ‘become as children: disarmingly defenseless, disarming through their defenselessness and making others defenseless because they themselves are so disarming.’”

  Mark thought about this for a moment before he responded.

  “That rings true but, where I live, the innocence of childhood is lost very young. Our children see lots of violence each day. The media is full of it. Janie told me about talking to kids in Detroit who’d seen friends and family murdered, sometimes over a pair of athletics shoes or a harsh word. I don’t see how their innocence can be restored.”

  Zachri replied.

  “Young children don’t automatically think of strangers as the enemy or instinctively require expensive possessions; they are taught to hate others and to crave non-essentials.”

  “I get it. Adults have to set a better example but how would this stop wars?”

  “You know, Mark. You’d heard of resolving conflicts through interaction, forgiveness and maybe even sharing; things that children pick up more easily than adults. You weren’t ready for that; you weighed the risks and decided against peaceable responses to offensives.”

  “O.K., I get it now. Could we finish my conversion quickly? I promised Janie I would celebrate Thanksgiving with her and my flight arrangements must be finalized by now.”

  13

  WHAT? NO SEX IN PARADISE?

  Mark’s thoughts returned to the last time he had held Janine in his arms; although only three weeks earlier, it seemed like an eternity.

  “I’m desperate to see her. Zachri. How is it possible to be happy where you exist now if you can’t experience sexual intimacy there?”

  “It’s impossible to put this in words to which men and women could fully relate but I will try to help you understand. It’s true that I don’t have a wife, or lover, but the intimacy shared with all spirits brings unimaginable joy.

  “The earthly body, though beautiful, has many limitations; particularly in the way it appears to separate you from every other human, rejoicing in your individuality while continually struggling for intimacy.

  “Try to imagine a place where each body is unique and appealing; yet has no existence separate from every other heavenly being. We belong completely to our Maker and to one another.

  “There is no pretense and no loneliness; no competition for love or resources or striving to prove oneself and no possibility of rejection.

  “Each of us is totally integrated and entirely compatible with all other beings.”

  “Okay, Zachri, I can buy that for you, but my friend, Bob, has known the other kind of existence. Have you forgotten what you couldn’t keep your mind off?”

  “Not forgotten, exchanged for something better: true love. Think of how you felt when you and Janie touched each other at soul level. You called that love. If you can capture that sensation and magnify its intensity by the radiance of a star-filled sky, you’ll have at least a hint of what I’ve found.”

  Bob said this with such sincerity that Mark knew it was useless to argue.

  Bob continued:

  “Am I missing something by not engaging in lovemaking as I knew it? No, my friend, what humans label ‘orgasm’ is as inferior to our intimacy as the single plunk of a rubber-band banjo is to a concert of Beethoven’s music presented at New York’s Metropolitan Opera.”

  Zachri chose this moment to add to the explanation. “People tend toward believing that the sum is greater than its parts but we are the sum and the parts; perfect collectively and individually - a reality that humans cannot experience.”

  As Mark sat between the two spirits, trying without much success to grasp the meaning of their words, he noticed the occasional gleam in the space ahead of them, like golden nuggets or threads catching the sun’s rays.

  ‘Could it be true that we on Earth are separated from the spirit world only by an imperceptible veil? Am I on the other side of it now?’

  These thoughts could have been highly disturbing but Mark was experiencing a surprising serenity, in direct contrast to the reaction elicited by the stark violence he had just observed.

  He almost missed the tail end of Zachri’s explanation, forcing his attention back to his companions just as Zachri was saying:

  “One taste of this form of intimacy and you would no longer be fit for your world.”

  “I’m highly satisfied with the form of loving I share with Janie, thank you. So how do I return to her?”

  His guide replied firmly.

  “It’s not yet time to answer that question; this journey is not finished.”

  “You told me that by returning to the experiences which altered my life, I could be healed. I’ve learned some things. For one: I would never again let the Service turn me or my men into machines. We could have obeyed orders without dehumanizing our enemies and celebrating their deaths.”

  Zachri had a question for Mark.

  “Tell us the ways in which your military experiences changed your future.”

  “Hmm…I might still have gone to work for the bank but without my naval experience they wouldn’t have chosen me to run an international shipping company.

  “Bankers don’t typically make the kind of money I have, so my lifestyle would have been very different.

  “I probably wouldn’t be living in Geneva or have a home in the Florida Keys and my son wouldn’t have had the advantage of an excellent education in a military school. We probably couldn’t have gone scuba diving and sailing as often and, if I’d had a less fulfilling single life, I might have remarried sooner and missed out on knowing Janie.”


  “Those are conceivable differences but having less money wouldn’t have altered your relationships.”

  14

  PURGING NIGHTMARES

  While Mark was contemplating the meaning of Zachri’s statement, he became aware of hearing the strumming and plunking of musical instruments.

  During his tour of duty in Vietnam, he had frequently heard these sounds drifting out of huts that he passed during village inspections.

  The strange sounds seemed altogether out of place from where they stood, witnessing what had formerly been his company’s camp.

  Scanning the horizon, Mark detected movement and what looked like a wisp of smoke over to his right. With a quizzical expression, he pointed out the smoke to his two companions and made a questioning gesture. Zachri’s body language clearly told him to stay put.

  As they stood there, Mark watched people he had never seen before, taking their places on what looked like an open stage. He felt himself merging into the assembly of what looked like an extended Vietnamese family. Bob and Zachri were no longer at his side but he had been unaware of their departure. He was drifting…

  Finding himself at the memorial service on the 100th day after a boy’s father was killed in the war against the Americans and without realizing that his ability to link up had taken on a supernatural aspect, Mark clearly understood what the boy was saying in his native tongue to a mournful-looking dog as he stroked its head.

  “You are still afraid of these people who pet you, Ban. They are our friends and relatives. They have come every week since Father was killed. They bring us food and try to do some things Father did. I think they miss him, too. I try to comfort Mother, but she doesn’t seem to know I’m here. I hear her in the night screaming Father’s name. Do you hear her, too, Ban? She begs the gods to return him to her or to show her the way to him.” The boy stroked the spot between Ban’s ears before continuing.

  “I wish I could talk to Father one more time. I have many questions. Some members of our family believe that a good Spirit Caller can bring the dead to us. But they say these visits only last a few minutes. That’s not enough. I must know many things to take Father’s place: how to get food and repair things.

  “What will we do if I can’t find work? Father shouldn’t have left us! But we know he had to go, don’t we Ban? Father went to protect us against the Americans. This brings honor to our country and pleases our Ancestors.

  “People say Father is now with the Ancestors. How lucky these Ancestors are to see him every day. Some of the Old Ones say they speak with Father. They even put food on our altar for him. How could this be, my dear pet? The food doesn’t disappear and Father’s voice is not heard in the room.” The boy paused as if waiting for an answer before going on.

  “For me, the stories told about him are more precious. I didn’t even know Father was shy as a boy until Aunt, mother’s elder sister, told us of a time when Father was younger than me. She remembered a teacher coming to their home to praise Father’s schoolwork and to tell of his kindness to a poor, one-legged student.

  “When Father saw his teacher coming up the dirt path, he went to the goat’s pen and began to remove the straw and dung. Aunt smiled as she remembered. She said that on most days Father would do this only when threatened with a beating. As soon as his Mother saw what he was doing, she knew they had a guest and prepared the tea.

  “When she went outside, Father’s teacher was coming up the footpath. Then she knew why her gentle son was hiding. Aunt told us that Father did not stop being this shy until after he married my mother.

  “While Aunt told of her childhood with Father, I was staring into his picture in the shrine. It almost seemed to me that his kind, dark eyes were looking right back at me. His wide nose and high cheekbones are like those of the fathers of my friends; but his smile! It hardly moves the corners of his mouth yet it shines from his eyes which say to me: ‘I see into you and I love you more.’“

  The boy was shaking but he carried on.

  “I wake each day waiting for him to call to me. Then I remember that he was put in a box and the box was covered with dirt. You know, Ban, it hurts more than when the mule stepped on my foot last year. This pain is in my heart. It must have broken into more pieces than my foot.”

  Now tears were pouring down the boy’s cheeks and he began to wail, a sound that pierced the invisible listener’s soul.

  Consumed by a grief he feared would cause his heart to stop, Mark got to his feet and looked around. In the same moment that Mark stood, the boy stopped crying. For a few seconds he seemed to be searching. Evidently not finding what he was looking for, he walked away…but more quietly as though he had found some comfort nearby.

  Mark wanted desperately to cross the line between his reality and that of the boy; to reach out and embrace him but, as he was thinking this, the participants in the memorial service and the boy whose thoughts he had read were suddenly purged from his vision.

  In the next instant, Mark was standing between Bob and Zachri but he was not the same man any more. He could not have verbalized the change but he was absolutely certain that his companions knew. He no longer wanted to tell his side of the story; the evidence for his defense had been shredded.

  A boy very much like Martin had lost his father in a senseless battle.

  Bob turned to Mark and, looking into his eyes, touched him tenderly on both shoulders. Then he was gone.

  Before Mark could cry out to Bob and beg him to stay, Zachri whispered in his ear.

  “It is time to return.”

  As Mark tried to put his surroundings back into focus, he realized he was in the bed in the Swiss Clinic with tubes and straps connecting his body to various pouches and equipment.

  He could move his eyes but nothing else, as he focused on his son sitting by his side. He knew that Martin was speaking to him and he knew, just as clearly, that the experiences with Bob and at the memorial service in Vietnam had occurred.

  Inexplicably, he had been granted the power to cross time and space barriers. If, in the last few minutes or several hours—he didn’t know which—he had not been mentally present in this room with his son, how could he have been here physically? The question disturbed him enormously.

  Hearing Martin now was like tuning into a radio station and just catching the final few minutes of the program.

  “Her reply was that she still expects to see you before you have the surgery to remove your right kidney. You’d better wake up soon, Dad. I don’t know what to say to Janine and I know she’s expecting another e-mail. I’ve been trying to be positive in my messages, but this is the third day you’ve been lying here without responding to words or touch.

  “Dad, I need a sign from you that you know I’m here. The doctors are still saying there is a chance for a full recovery, but two days ago they said ‘a good chance.’”

  With that statement, Martin reached toward his Dad, as though to shake him and noticed a little moisture at the corner of Mark’s right eye. Touching it, Martin put his finger to his mouth and tasted saltiness.

  Bursting into tears, he didn’t know whether he was crying from relief at what he believed might be the sign he had requested or because his Dad might be feeling as discouraged as he was.

  The note he sent to Janine conveyed guarded optimism; he wished he felt it.

  15

  MATCHLESS VISION

  After reading Martin’s email, I clung to its message as a promise. That night I had a dream, but not a typical dream. Without knowing how to categorize it, I will call it a vision, a rather mild word for what occurred. I awoke feeling gloriously fulfilled.

  Recording it in a journal is almost an extraneous act because what I experienced is stamped indelibly on my mind. Interpreting it through language is like trying to describe love using a one-year-old child’s vocabulary but, nevertheless, I am trying:

  In my vision Mark suddenly appeared, not just with me but in me; and not just physically inside my body b
ut as much a part of me as my own body, making me almost cry out with the joy of it. The sensation was far more intense than even the most passionate love-making.

  The only expression which comes to mind is a biblical description of marriage: ‘the two shall become one’ but I had been married three times and had never experienced the potency of Mark’s presence in that dream. Even that phrase does not succeed in capturing the essence of what was far beyond a sexual encounter.

  Although physically pleasurable, it was much more than the conjoining of a man and a woman’s bodies; it was the sharing of the totality of two beings in such a way that they were indivisible.

  The dream’s physical sensations were temporary and to relive the pleasure would be no more possible than reliving the pain of childbirth. I was wholly convinced that the assurance of oneness with Mark would remain. During the dream we had entered into a pact between our spirits.

  I couldn’t wait to share my vision with Mark; I decided to borrow the money and make arrangements to fly to Switzerland.

  16

  MARK’S SECOND STOP

  Rooted to the hospital bed, Mark wished with all his being that he could make contact with Martin. He could never tire of studying his son; drinking in all the little details of his body and facial features, even the tear stains.

  Mark suspected that his own parents had gazed at him in much the same way when the Navy had flown them to his bedside at the Naval Hospital in Okinawa.

  He remembered nothing of his first weeks in the hospital and retained only fragmentary memories from most of his parents’ visit. The nurses had later told him that his mother spent her time sitting beside his bed for the greater part of every day, just as Martin seemed to be doing forty years later.

  His parents hadn’t been allowed to visit him at all during the first three weeks of his recovery. A shortage of antibiotics at the makeshift base clinic where he had been operated upon made him a high risk for infection. Even after he had been transferred to Okinawa, an infection had initially threatened Mark’s life.