The Heart You Carry Home

by Jennifer Miller

  December 13, 1980

  Dear Willy,

  We sat on the plateau overlooking the decimated village of Li Sing for hours. Reno was still passed out. You and Lai talked and the sound of her language was like a screeching jungle bird. I pulled a can of peaches from my pack and ate them, facing Li Sing. It was the one pleasure I’d allowed myself on the trip. Instead of our usual C rations, we’d been sent out with long-range rations, or long rats, the kind of lightweight, just-add-water slop that Special Forces guys carried. But that was where the similarities between us and the real Special Forces ended. They were men trained for months before being sent out on this kind of mission. And us? King was twenty-one. Reno was only nineteen. And though I’d been in longer and had more experience, I was secretly petrified. All of you depended on me.

  A dull pink color washed over the rubble and made Durga glow, as though the statue pulsed with an internal light. I had the strange thought that if I touched the gray stone, it would feel warm, even alive. I felt unaccountably sad, like I missed things I couldn’t name and people I’d never met. I carried my peaches over to you and asked what you were talking about. You said Lai was explaining Durga’s prophecy.

  “The statue’s prophetic?” I asked.

  “It’s not a statue, Proudfoot. It’s a goddess.”

  “You mean a statue of a goddess,” I said. “So what does this goddess prophesize? Can she tell me the next time I’m gonna get laid?” This crack sounded juvenile even to my own ears, and you pretended not to have heard.

  “Lai says that Durga foretold Li Sing’s destruction.”

  “And according to her, who or what was responsible?”

  “The forces of the universe.”

  “She can’t be any more specific?” I licked the last of the peach juice off my spoon and put the can back into my pack. Some guys would just throw it into the jungle, but I wasn’t convinced there weren’t VC hanging around, and I didn’t want to leave behind traces.

  “According to the prophecy,” you continued, “when the village was destroyed, only a single person would survive. And that person would become the Carrier—I think that’s how it translates—the one who emerges unscathed to carry forward Durga’s legacy. To embody her.”

  “You’re saying that Lai here thinks she’s a goddess?”

  “More like a steward.”

  The light was fading and the pink glow had disappeared from Durga’s hard skin. “That’s a hunk of stone,” I said. “It’s not a prophet or a goddess. And neither is she.”

  “He’s right,” King said, looking up from the letter he was writing. “If the bombs missed the statue, it’s only because the air force’s got shitty aim.”

  Lai spoke quickly to you, her eyes wild. She seized your arm, and her touch sent a visible tremor through your bony frame. “She’s the Carrier! It’s the truth. You have to believe, Proudfoot!” You were pleading with us.

  “Willy! Hey!” I said. “Snap out of it. She’s out of her mind. Anyone can see that.”

  But Lai was talking faster now, digging her nails into your arm. This woman wasn’t just crazy, I thought. She was Fucking Nam Crazy.

  “If she’s the Carrier,” King said, “then what’s she carrying?”

  “Durga’s heart.”

  “And how did she get it?” I demanded. “Did she scale the statue? Pull out some hunk of stone from inside Durga’s chest?”

  “She says it’s a real heart.”

  “A muscle full of blood? I’d like to see it.”

  You said something to Lai, but she shook her head. “You can’t,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she put Durga’s heart in her stomach.”

  Before this statement could register with any of us, Lai pulled up her tunic. To the left of her bellybutton was a patch of shiny pink flesh. Running through the center of the damaged skin was a scar. It was scraggly and white, about five inches long. It looked as though someone had dragged a blunt knife across her belly.

  “Jesus,” King whispered.

  I squatted down for a closer look. Suddenly, Lai grabbed my wrist. She pressed my palm flat over the scar, held it there with an iron grip. I was frozen and speechless. I couldn’t do a thing. Because I felt something. Something alive, pulsing inside of her. I pulled my hand back.

  “What is it?” you whispered, your face close to mine. “What did you feel?”

  I stood up and backed away. “Soon as Reno wakes up, we’re out of here.”

  “You felt something,” you called behind me. “You felt the heart.”

  I turned to see you putting your hand flat against Lai’s stomach, gently touching around the scar like a doctor listening with his stethoscope.

  “You felt something,” you said, frantic. “You did!”

  “Those cheek bits you got splattered with really messed you up, Willy,” King said.

  You stared at King like you didn’t understand what he was talking about. You seemed not to notice that Lai had gently removed your hand from her abdomen.

  “You don’t belong out here,” King snapped, angry out of nowhere. “The army never should have sent you.”

  “Proudfoot felt something!”

  Fuck this, I thought and walked into the trees.

  That night, I lay in the dark, staring at the sky through a net of overhanging leaves. Out in the jungle, the cicadas screamed. The sky was very black; the stars no more than pinpricks. Reno slept beside me, snoring, which I took to be a good sign. A few hours before, he’d finally woken up and groggily had some water. Then he’d passed out again. Lai mixed a new batch of paste, forced some of it down his throat, and spread the rest over his body. Then she disappeared inside her shelter. “We’ll take turns guarding her for the night,” I said. “First thing tomorrow, we’re moving out.”

  Unable to sleep, lying on my roll, I prayed for something to take me far away from this place, from myself. I’d done this simple thing—touched a woman’s belly—and it had filled my body with so much fear, I thought I might explode. And how could I explain that? How could I let in confusion and fear when my life and the lives of my men depended on just the opposite? I thought about borrowing a section of your Iliad. Maybe a story could help me relax.

  But I must have fallen asleep eventually, because when I opened my eyes again, it was morning.

  I rolled over to see Reno shaking King, asking why the fuck he was covered in mud. King groaned and sat up.

  “You feel okay?” I said.

  “I feel like shit.”

  King offered the canteen to Reno, and Reno drank without trouble.

  “What’s out there?” Reno asked, nodding toward the ridge. Fog hung thick in the gully, obscuring the village. I could just make out Durga’s head through the mist, floating as though disembodied.

  King explained about Lai and her mad-ass prophecy. He told Reno about the woman’s scar. He conveniently left out the part about Lai seizing my hand.

  “I missed all that?” Reno shook his head. “Sounds like the most fun we’ve had in weeks.”

  “Let’s get Willy and get out of here,” I said.

  “Willy!” Reno shouted. “Wake the fuck up!”

  “Willy’s sleeping?” King and I were on our feet in a flash and running over to where you lay by Lai’s hut. Sure enough, you were curled up in a fetal position, cradling your gun like it was a baby. “Hey, kid!” Reno called out. “You dead?” Reno jabbed at you with the toe of his boot and you bolted upright. “Who’s dead?”

  Reno let out a deep-bellied laugh. “You are, kid. See out there?” Reno pointed to the fog. “That’s heaven.”

  I pulled a couple of branches off Lai’s shelter. It was empty. “Willy, you were supposed to wake me for the next watch!” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t your fault. I should have stayed awake. It wasn’t the kind of mistake I’d ever made, and I burned with shame.

  “She probably went to get her gook friends,” Reno spat. “Wanted ’em to s
lit our throats while we slept.”

  “She didn’t go to get anybody,” you whimpered. “She’s alone out here. Her village is gone.”

  “We’re moving out,” I said. “To hell with this mission.”

  “She’s all alone out here,” you repeated. “We can’t just leave her.”

  “Come on, Willy,” King said. “It’s okay.”

  King, the squad mother. I knew it wasn’t a role he wanted to play, but he couldn’t help it. He was just too decent a person.

  “Hey!” Reno shouted and we all turned. Lai stood at the edge of the tree line, maybe fifteen yards away. She held something in her hands. Reno cocked his gun.

  “Don’t shoot her!” you yelled.

  King and I jumped to attention and scanned the wall of jungle. There was a dead stillness. Not even the wind rustled the leaves.

  “What’s she got there?” Reno said. “Ask her, Willy.”

  You moved forward, speaking to Lai. She rattled back a response, her strange language grating against our ears. I moved up behind you, motioning for Reno and King to follow.

  “She’s scared,” Willy hissed. “You’re scaring her.”

  “That’s a grenade,” Reno said from my left.

  “No!” you pleaded. “She says it’s a bowl with more medicine.”

  “My ass it is.”

  “She’ll show you, Reno.” You spoke quickly to Lai and she began to raise her arm.

  “No, Willy—” King started to protest.

  And then Lai was gone. Vanished into thin air. But it wasn’t magic. She’d merely fallen to the ground. You looked at Reno, your face wrenched in shock. But it wasn’t Reno who’d fired the shot. It was me.

  King and Reno just stood there, staring at Lai’s body. Then you realized what had happened. “No!” you screamed and ran to her. “You killed her!” you cried. You moved your hands over her body, searching for something—some switch—that might let her get up again. “She wasn’t going to hurt us!” You were sobbing.

  “She had a grenade,” Reno said. “Why don’t you bring it over for show-and-tell?”

  “She wasn’t going to hurt us.” You kicked the object that had fallen from Lai’s hands. It rolled over to me and stopped just shy of my boots: a metal bowl filled with a foul-smelling paste. Medicine.

  Reno spat and turned away. King sighed. “Come on, Willy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  But you seemed not to hear. You were looking up at me, your eyes glazed, almost like Lai’s eyes had been. Then you pulled a knife from your belt and pushed up Lai’s shirt. In my head, I was screaming at you to stop, but the words wouldn’t come out. King and Reno shouted your name. But it was too late. You’d pushed the knife into Lai’s belly and, in one quick motion, sliced her open.

  We gaped in disbelief as you tossed the bloodied knife aside and pushed your hand into the seam. You got your fingers in good, moving them around like you were mixing batter with your hand. Blood ran out of the gash and down the sides of Lai’s body. You released a whooping cry. “I told you it was real!” You pulled your hand, red and glistening, from the gash and held it in the air. You seemed to be holding something, but we were too far away to see it clearly. “It’s real.” You cackled, pulling your fist to your chest and cradling it there. “You didn’t believe her, but it’s real.”

  I turned away. After all these bloody months, seeing a woman mutilated was something I still couldn’t stomach. But I also knew that approaching you now would be like triggering a mine. I’d seen men go berserk before; I worried that what you’d done to Lai was only the beginning.

  “I’m taking the heart now,” you announced. “Do you hear me, Proudfoot? I’m going to carry it. You felt it. But you were afraid. You were afraid of the heart, so you killed her.” You stood up and walked a few steps forward. Blood ran down your arm in long streaks. “I’m the Carrier from now on. I’m not afraid of anything.” You held up your fist. Your hands had stopped shaking.

  Reno chuckled. “Looks like he’s been washed in the blood of the Lai.”

  “Jesus Christ, Reno,” I snapped. And without another look at the village of Li Sing or Lai’s body, I hoisted my pack and marched into the jungle. King and Reno followed, and behind us all, walking steady at last, you.

  Back at the CIDG camp, I gave my report to the major. I said the village was bombed out and deserted. I said we’d encountered no one.

  “Anything happen to Private McKenzie out there?” the major asked. “He looks a little bit off in the eyes.”

  “He’s not fit for this,” I said.

  “He says he wants to stay,” the major said. “After the mess HQ made, I don’t really know why. But his skills could come in useful. And your squad’s short a few men.”

  For the next couple of weeks, Willy, you kept to yourself. You ate alone. Mornings, you were up early, helping the villagers haul water from the well. You learned your way around the tools fast and took over construction of the local school. You’d changed. Everyone could see it. Your pale skin burned, then peeled, then tanned. You were still skinny, but you looked stronger now, your arms less spindly. Even your acne started to clear up. And you’d hung a drawstring pouch from your neck like a piece of jewelry. You never took it off; not in the afternoons, when the soggy heat forced us out of our shirts, not in the shower, not even to sleep. At night you tucked the pouch into your armpit for extra protection. A couple of times Reno tried to steal it, to see what you were carrying around with you—because it wasn’t actually a heart. We all knew that much.

  Everyone whispered about the pouch. They called you Pretty Willy. When they passed you in the camp, they asked if you had lipstick and a compact in your little purse and whether you could recommend any nice Vietnamese boys from the village. Reno was the worst offender—faggot this, poof that—and I got sick of it. I didn’t like to hear them talk that way. So I told Reno, “You better let him be and tell everybody I said so.”

  Later, I heard Reno grumbling to King about how I must have felt guilty for killing that woman and that maybe I was going soft.

  “Proudfoot knows he did the right thing,” King said.

  “So then why’s he protecting Willy’s faggy ass? The kid’s not one of us, King. And he’s crazy. I’m telling you, one day I’m going to rip that little purse off his neck.”

  “Willy’s pulling his weight,” King said. “Just leave him alone.”

  I, on the other hand, was not pulling my weight. I didn’t let on, of course. But ever since Li Sing, I’d had this recurring nightmare in which our planes were dropping bombs on the ancient village, the rounds falling over the huts, showering Durga like hail. When the smoke cleared, I saw Lai standing amid the destruction. Blood gushed like a fountain from her belly, ran down her legs, and seeped into the ground. And that’s when the truly scary part of the dream started. Because when the blood hit the ground, it burst into flame and shot off in a straight line, like fire following a gasoline trail. I watched this trail of fire rush through the jungle, over mountains and hills, heading for our camp. I saw it snake toward our barracks. And just before the fire was about to burst upon me, I’d wake up. The dream was like a plague—like a punishment. The remains of Li Sing were out there. Lai’s body was out there. We hadn’t buried her. We’d left plenty of people on the ground like that, but we should have buried her. That stupid bowl looked like a grenade. I didn’t have a choice. But she’d helped Reno. She deserved a grave, at least.

  A couple of weeks later, we started training for a new mission. We ran drills, studied maps, learned each other’s signals. It was now expected that you’d eat with us. And because you ate with us, it was expected that you’d drink with us. Nobody mentioned the pouch anymore. And then one day, you left the first hundred pages of The Iliad on my cot.

  “I don’t want this,” I said.

  “It’ll help you with the nightmares,” you said. I wondered how you knew, but by that point, I was so desperate, I’d try anything. Soon enough, you a
nd I started getting into these long discussions about the meddling Greek gods and whether the Trojan War had been worth fighting. Reno looked askance when he saw us debating the motives of Thetis and the defilement of Hector’s body. I paid him no mind. Every day, I couldn’t wait to get through the training so I could get back to the book—and to our discussions. I hated the fact that I liked talking to you so much. But I couldn’t help myself. I needed your approval. I needed to know that you believed in me. Because of what I’d done. Because of what I’d felt beating beneath Lai’s skin.

  Currahee!