Pool and its Role in Asian Communism

by Colin Cotterill

  It was the most magic time I'd ever knew in my short life. I was pissed when they wanted to go to sleep. I didn't want it to end. Even in the rental car out to Mattfield they was still telling it.

  They must of been disappointed when they saw the place. The land was sliding so bad after the rains of 78 that the government moved the last residents out and destroyed all the buildings for safety sake. They couldn't build nothing new there. We was sitting in the rubble where Roundley's used to be when they got to the end of the story, at least we thought it was the end. Tears was streaming down our faces. I ain't sure what kind of tears they was.

  Waldo picked up a rock that was probably a bit of wall once, and he looked at it like it was one of them crystal balls. Then in his crunchy old voice he told us the missing part.

  "I did all my chores in the chapel that morning and before the preacher was up and dressed I went to have a word with the Lord. I told the Lord what I had in mind and I waited for an answer. Nothing come, so I took that as a sign of permission.

  "I walked down the main street. Being Sunday there weren't a lot of folk up. Old Mr. What's-his-name was just arriving to open up his deli so folks could get their milk to go with Sendrine's Sunday pastries. There was baking smells floating in the air. I noticed how the birds was being particular friendly. I guessed they was thanking me for not smiling in the mornings. Even the dogs bothered to look up when I walked past.

  The factory was still asleep. I don't reckon it even noticed me unlock the outhouse and take out the gas tanks."

  A smile come on Saifon's face like a spotlight.

  " I put down a layer of petroleum all around and used my old lighter to get the fire going. Mrs. Zucherman walked past with that sick-looking dog of hers and she says, 'Morning, Waldo. You setting fire to Roundley's there?' And I says, 'Reckon I am, Mrs. Zucherman.' And she says, 'Good on you, Waldo.' And she walks on by.

  Must of been another three people saw me on the walk back up the hill to the chapel. That's why I was real surprised when no one told the cops they'd seen me. I guess they was happy to watch the place go up in smoke. I didn't lie when the cops asked me. I just told 'em I didn't have no good reason for doing it. And I don't reckon I did. I just did it cause I felt like it."

  He layed himself back down in amongst the rubble and he laughed and looked up at the sky. Saifon laughed too and she went over and give him a kiss on the forehead.

  We all lay there for a time enjoying the fresh air and the view of heaven. And I guess Waldo liked the view so much he decided not to wait. The laughing tears was dried and powdery on his cheeks and his mouth was open.

  I went to pieces. But Saifon had just this one slow tear rolling down her face. She weren't making no noise, but. She put her jacket over Waldo's head and called the police on her mobile phone. Saifon always knew what to do in emergencies.

  The coroner and the hearse come out and took poor dead Waldo off to St. Dominic's funeral home and cemetery. Saifon being his only surviving kin, she give instructions to the funeral director and we camped out at the motel. Me crying most of the time, Saifon sleeping like nothing had happened.

  There was only me and her at the service. We was standing beside the hole that was reserved next to Aretha. It was so close they could of reached out and held hands. The preacher played a Jelly Roll Morton tape like Saifon asked him. She only said one thing when it was her turn.

  "Dear Waldo, my dad. You're the only man I ever loved."

  She threw some dirt in the hole and I held on to her hand and balled my frigging eyes out.

  -o-

  I started writing this book just after that. Saifon bought a load of flower seeds and we took 'em back out to Roundley's to brighten up the spot where Waldo breathed his last breath. I knew I was gonna write, and I bought me some of them writing books and a pencil. I figured Roundley's would be a fitting place to start the story.

  Saifon left me there for a while. She wandered off across the fields and was gone for a couple of hours. She said she was just sightseeing, but I knew she wanted time to go off and cry on her own so I couldn't see. I understand that. She was okay when she got back 'cept suddenly she didn't have no makeup on no more. We drove into South Bend and stopped by a hardware store to look at the paint charts and see what color I was. I'm 'dark coral' That sounds pretty don't it?

  -o-

  And that's it. This is the only book I ever writ. I writ it for an ex-fat guy who never wished no harm to nobody. He thought his life was over, but then he found it was just starting. He wasn't the smartest man that ever lived but he understood people, and that's more important far as I'm concerned. If they asked me if I'd sooner be Waldo or that Einstein guy, I know which one I'd chose. I bet Einstein never beat no president at pool.

  And I writ it for a woman who had a shitty first half of her life and give up the rest of it to make sure other kids like me got a better start. I appreciate that now. I think I've got a handle on what love's all about.

  Author's Note

  The character; Wilbur was based on a real-life hero who was stationed in Lao during the secret war. Whatever criticisms we may have about the wisdom or ethics of America's involvement there, the fact remains that many brave people on both sides lost their lives fighting for what they believed was right.

  One of those was Major Wilbur M Greene. His role in Laos was pretty much as I've described it. The thoughts and beliefs attributed to Wilbur in this book belong entirely to the fictional character. Yet I hope I haven't betrayed his spirit by painting him with humour.

  Will Greene died of hepatitis in Udon in April 1972. He was loved by the men he served with, and respected as a soldier and field officer.

  I hope his children enjoy his appearance in this book.

  -o-

  Over one and three quarter million people died from the fighting in Indochina between 1965 and 1975. Most of these were civilians.

  War and violence are not the last resort of conflict. They are merely the evidence that man is not intelligent enough to solve his problems any other way.

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