by Alan, TS
We discussed Joe’s behavior for over an hour. We agreed that giving him another chance was not going to be effective. The option of confining him to his quarters for the duration of our stay was also discussed, but I convinced the group to dismiss the idea.
“Mohandas Gandhi,” I explained, “once said, ‘To deprive a man of his natural liberty and to deny to him the ordinary amenities of life is worse than starving the body; it is starvation of the soul, the dweller in the body.’ ”
I believed that confining him to his quarters would only nourish more discontent and anger on his part, which could potentially make him dangerous. Besides, that wasn’t a punishment. It was acceptance of his behavior and rewarding him with exactly what he wanted: not to work. It would also impose a greater burden on our efficiency, manpower, and personal time, having to constantly monitor and cater to him, like everyone had done for me. After a brief discussion everyone concurred.
“I think he’s an ass and I don’t like him. He angers me. Therefore, I prefer to abstain in the vote on any decision,” I announced.
“He is an ass. He makes everyone angry,” Julie said.
“But I am angry now. ‘No judge must give judgment between two people when he is angry.’ Muhammad. Therefore, I abstain because my judgment is clearly clouded by my personal feelings.”
“That’s unfair to the rest of us. I don’t like him either. He’s a ban jau,” Julie emphatically said. “We voted you as our leader because you are a person of action and conviction and of good moral judgment. You saved our lives. Now you’re getting all philosophical on us. What happened to the person that we first met?”
“You give me more praise than I deserve. That guy you first met told you to shut your ass.”
“Oh, I remember,” Julie said in an almost sinister tone.
“You were injured, J.D.,” Marisol tried to rationalize my bad behavior.
“That’s no excuse. Listen, everyone. If we judge him on the fact that we don’t like him, we’re judging him unfairly. He should be judged on his actions and deeds, not personality. Can all of you put your prejudice aside? Can you? Truly? If you can then I will join in the vote.”
Everyone gave acknowledgment to fair judgment, but we still hadn’t come to any conclusions. It took us nearly until noon to come up with a plan.
Joe was summoned, but he rebuked us and refused to acknowledge the request. We were forced to use other measures in persuading him to attend: Kermit and Sam.
He stood at the far end of the large wooden oval conference table, rebellious in his attitude, refusing to sit. I sat on the opposite end while Kermit stood by the door. The others had been dismissed—Marisol to watch the monitors, David and Julie to secure Joe’s room, in case he had any hidden weapons, and Sam to his duties.
“Joseph Daniel Joshua Young,” I began. “You have been asked here today because you have left us no choice. I spoke with you several days ago about your lackadaisical attitude and your tardiness, and told you that consequences would follow if you didn’t take things seriously and fulfill your responsibilities. Either you didn’t believe me or just didn’t care.”
“I don’t recognize your authority. And I won’t recognize your decisions, either,” he brazenly informed me.
“Strange, Joe. When we set up our decision-making team you didn’t want anything to do with it, and yet you constantly challenged me. It’s not my authority, but the collective you’re challenging.”
“Then where is everyone else?”
“They are busy fulfilling their responsibilities, something you refuse to do, which is the reason you are here. There are three matters that have brought us to our decision. The same ones we discussed several days ago. One: lack of courtesy and respect to your fellow survivors. Two: constant tardiness and failing to do your assignments. And three: failing to complete the tasks assigned, when you decide to do them. Do you have a response to this?”
He was defiant in his answers. “One: didn’t ask to be here. Two: even if I did, this isn’t the military and I don’t have to abide by your rules. Three: leave me alone.”
“ ‘If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them.’ ”
“What?”
“It’s the Dali Lama, Joe. You eat our food and enjoy all the amenities but are unwilling to contribute to the well-being of the group. That hurts us all. After careful consideration, we have made a decision. If you cannot, or will not, be respectful and do what is required of you, then you will be ejected from this base.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“ ‘If a viper lives in your room and you wish to have a peaceful sleep, you must first chase it out.’ ”
“I don’t give a shit about Dali Rama; you still wouldn’t do that. You’re too much of a bleeding heart.”
“It’s not Dali Lama, it’s Buddha. It is entirely up to you. Your fate lies in your own hands.”
“No, my life is in your hands and my fate your will. I didn’t choose to be here.”
“Very poetic. But as I recall I was against you coming with us, advice which some didn’t heed. Besides, I didn’t see anyone pulling an ear or twisting an arm forcing you to join us. You had freedom of choice, and therefore effective control over your own destiny.”
“Go ahead, kick me out.”
I questioned his new tactic. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s out there?”
“No.”
“You’re always daring me to do you harm. It’s as if you want to die.”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“No, it is my business. All we have left in this world is each other. There’s no one that’s going to protect us except ourselves. You can’t change what’s happened. So why are you being self-destructive?”
“I told you to shut up.”
“No, you told me it was none of my business.”
“Now I’m telling you to shut up!”
Joe was becoming increasingly agitated. He moved toward me. Kermit tried to intervene, but I motioned for him to stand down. This was between Joe and I, and it had been festering for a long time.
I stood up to confront him. “Are you looking for another fight? It will only lead to more disappointment.”
He was in my face, goading me, pushing me, trying to provoke me into hurting him. When he realized that his tactic wasn’t going to work, he took a swing at me. I countered with simultaneous parrying and a hand trap. I followed by twisting his wrist and arm, forcing him to the floor in agony. I finished by applying nerve destruction to his forearm.
“Now that I have your attention, I think it’s time to tell me what crawled up your ass.” I continued twisting his arm, almost to the point of dislocation.
“I told you that is was none of your fucking business,” he gasped.
“Wrong answer. Why do you have a death wish?”
Still defiant he replied, “Fuck you.”
“I’m not that bored and you’re not that lucky. Now why?!” I pushed on his nerve harder.
Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain he was enduring. He grimaced with a twisted face, and then gasped, “It’s my business.”
“No, you made it our business when you brought it with you.”
“You should have left me in the tunnel.”
“Why, why should we have left you in the tunnel?”
He cried out, “Because I let him die.”
“Who? Who did you let die?” I demanded, applying more pressure to his nerve.
“My baby brother,” he moaned. “I killed him.”
I released my grip. Joe began to sob.
“It’s my fault. I should have saved him. But I closed the door.”
They say the truth shall set you free, a bastardization of John 8:32. However, I believe confession does not cleanse the soul nor does it give absolution. Accepting what you have done and accepting the consequences of your ac
tions are the only way to shed your burden. Joe’s admission was far from burden lifting and far from my ability to console.
Joe had made a horrible, tragic mistake. In all likelihood, he would never forgive himself, and certainly never forget.
Someone having trouble coping with personal problems doesn’t need to feel alone, like he or she doesn’t matter, won’t be missed, or feel that there was no one in their life who would listen. To me, that is more of a tragedy than the mistake itself.
What should I have said to someone responsible for the death of a family member, when the person decided to commit suicide? Should I drag out the platitudes, or say something completely stupid? I had no idea.
“Joe, there is nothing I can say that’s going to make you feel better or change what you’ve done. However, you think killing yourself is going to make things right. You’re wrong. You don’t get off that easy. Take responsibility for your actions and atone for what you’ve done. I’m sorry for your loss, but you need to consider your new family. How do you think others are going to react to your suicide? Do you think no one will be negatively affected by it? Believe it or not, you’re worth more than you realize.”
“Why do you even care?” he asked, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Oh, don’t confuse concern with caring. You and I are not friends, and probably never will be, but I see things from a broader viewpoint. We can’t stay down here forever. And when we leave, we’ll need to be a team if we’re going to survive. What you did, that’s something between you and your God. But what you do now is between you and the rest of us. So nut up and start acting like a team member.”
I had no idea if anything I said would deter him in his resolve to kill himself. However by letting him know that we relied on him for our survival, I hoped he would change his mind and become part of our group.
As Joe began his departure, Kermit grabbed his arm and pulled him close. He whispered in Joe’s ear, “We’ve all lost friends and family, son, but your Marine Corps core values go way beyond being in the Marines. Once a warrior, always a warrior. Time to do your duty.”
I wasn’t sure if Kermit knew that I could hear his words of wisdom, but I hoped what he said would make a difference.
X
Devastation
June 8th—
Joe’s drunken outburst and emotional breakdown was a result of his deep feelings of guilt in regard to his brother’s death. Time and isolation was the catalyst for his violent, destructive behavior.
People depended on varying amounts and intensities of social interaction to keep them happy, stable, and sane. Exposure to the natural world, which helped make life bearable, was emotionally, physically, and psychologically destructive when denied.
Our natural world had been denied, and though we tried to occupy ourselves with various activities and social interactions, the lack of natural world stimulus and purpose of being affected our group’s mental and physical health. We were experiencing anxiety, depression, and a feeling of being disconnected from the world, especially after we had watched, from the complex’s command center, the world plunge into chaos and destruction.
The global mortality rate from the pandemic was not known, but CNN reported that the World Health Organization (WHO) estimated that eighty to eighty-seven percent of the human population would contract the disease and die, either from the initial infection, or from the deaths caused by the catastrophic ruin and mayhem brought upon by those who had become the living dead. The doctor scoffed at the WHO, stating, “They look at things on the bright side, not very scientific or realistic. Their mathematic models are based on erroneous data.”
The doctor’s projection was higher, over four billion, which would leave nearly two billion survivors in the world. New York City was different. There were eight and a half million people in the five boroughs, the English and Irish accounting for one in fifty New Yorkers that might possess the delta-32 gene. Marisol calculated that there could be over fourteen thousand survivors, less any transmutes. Time would only tell, and for us time was an enemy. Something needed to be done to alleviate the boredom and anxiety, and I knew what to do.
XI
A Warrior’s Way
I stood before my new students like I would in any class that I had taught. I began by introducing myself in my kwoon (training hall) given name, Sui Lóng, and asked them to use this while in class. Except the class was different from any I had taught. My students were not merely pupils, but people I had bonded with and cared about. We relied on one another for our survival. However, I believed most of them would be unprepared for what would await them in a post-apocalyptic world where the laws of civilized humankind would no longer exist. It would be an Earth where only the strong and prepared would survive—a place where those who no longer had to abide by morality would prey upon the weak. Although Kermit was teaching the group how to shoot and maintain a rifle and pistol, I knew they needed to learn hand-to-hand combat techniques to truly be prepared in defending themselves.
I said, “You may ask why you need to learn martial arts since the sergeant is instructing us on the proper use of a carbine and a pistol, but what if you drop your weapon and you are unable to pick it up? Or if your enemy is too close? This is where hand-to-hand combat techniques will be vital to your survival. Stature and strength doesn’t matter. Every one of you can take down almost any opponent providing you execute the maneuver properly. Marisol, you could lay Kermit out, put him right to the mat.”
“No way.”
“Way!” I responded. “Bruce Lee once said, ‘Using no way as way’. Which means don’t have preconceived notions about anything. In Jeet Kune Do it is efficiency, directness and simplicity. In Muay Thai it’s ‘Be fast. Be accurate. Be powerful’. If you combine the two philosophies, you can become almost invincible. Marisol. You think you can’t take down Kermit because you’re smaller and he’s stronger. Is that a correct assumption?” I asked.
“Si,” she confirmed.
I twirled my imitation bastóns, which had been fashioned by Sam and were made out of the handle of a push broom.
“Well, you’re wrong. Most women and men become victims, why? Because they don’t know how to protect themselves not because they can’t. With the right training you can take almost anyone down, even if you’re a woman. Let me show you how to disarm an opponent from a frontal knife attack with a forward stab. This involves grabbing the opponent’s weapon hand, closing the gap, and then taking him to the ground. Would one of you ladies like to volunteer?”
Julie stepped forward moving faster than the babysitter’s boyfriend when the car pulls up.
I gave her one of my bastóns and told her to pretend it was a knife, and to move forward with it and attempt to stab me with a forward thrust. After demonstrating to the class the grab, close, and take down moves, I took the knife and became the assailant. The first two times I moved slowly allowing Julie to repeat what I had shown her and the class. The third time I told Julie that I was going to be a bit quicker to see how fast she could react. I moved in with the stab, and suddenly found myself unarmed and on the receiving end of a few blows and a takedown I had not expected. Julie had put me on the floor with a technique that was not what I had demonstrated.
“Damn!” Marisol exclaimed astonished. “Julie just gave you a bitch slap.”
“Yeah, I kick like a girl,” Julie boasted. “Two years of self-defense classes.”
It wasn’t the first time I had been bitch slapped by a woman. When I studied in the Philippines many years back, there was this seventeen-year-old girl, who looked more like she was an eleven-year-old boy. She had been about five-feet tall, ninety-eight pounds, and wore her hair in a butch-cut. The few times I had previously seen her, we had only exchanged glances and smiles. She seemed to be quiet and shy, and didn’t mingle much with the other students. The older students in the class told me she was a ladyboy and that her family had sent her to the school to learn how to defend herself. They al
so told me if I made fun of her during the match, she would be flustered and I would easily win. Of course being a cocky and arrogant nineteen-year-old, and having been boasting about what a great martial artist I was, my instructor decided to match me up against the short-haired girl so I could prove to everyone how skilled I was in stick fighting.
As we made our bows I boldly and snidely told her, “Girly boy, you’re goin’ down!” And then added a kiss gesture to my boast. Whereupon she proceeded to repeatedly beat me on every part of my body. Once she got bored with that, she knocked me out. When I awoke, I was so badly battered that I needed to be carried to my room. It took her less than two minutes to completely humiliate me in front of my fellow students. At the time of the fight, I wasn’t aware she was my teacher’s daughter and a champion Eskrima tournament fighter.
However the public humiliation was not the end of the lesson. That night as I lay on my straw mat on the dirt floor of the little hovels which we called our rooms, battered, beaten, bruised, and in extreme agony, she came to me. She never spoke a word when she entered. She disrobed, proceeded to arouse me, and as soon as I was hard she strapped a condom on me, mounted me, and proceeded to fuck me. I couldn’t understand what was happening. A short while ago this young girl had beaten the crap out of me, and now she was fucking me. And when I say she was fucking me, believe me it was all about her. It only took me about three minutes before I was ready to ejaculate. I was about to lose my virginity, feeling the most pleasure and pain I had ever experienced, and I couldn’t have been happier. As I neared that final moment that would bring me into manhood, she reached down, grabbed my testicles and squeezed them so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Well, after that moment, I no longer had any desire to ejaculate. She continued to pleasure herself at my expense and when she was fully satisfied, she stood up, closed her robe, tossed me a bottle of ointment for my injuries, looked me straight in the eyes, and turned around and left—leaving me standing at attention so to speak.