Carry Me Home

by John M. Del Vecchio

  “Geez Louise! Lambert said he’d take it for ya. Why give a fuck?”

  “That’s not the point, Chris. Don’t ya see? He knows it’s my anniversary. He’s just fuckin me over.”

  “Here.” Crocco brought his hands to his mouth like a megaphone. “Say this: ‘Mulhaney Is an Asshole. He Is Not Worth My scoraggiato.’”

  “Scoraggiato!” Tony laughed. “Why the hell can’t you say agita like every other wop?”

  “Come on, Man. We’ll meet some townies.”

  “Last thing I need is to chase some chick who’s playin cocktease. This duty ... God damn thankless, gutless ...” Pisano stood. He walked to the window, rested his ass against the black marble sill. “It’s a lousy deal, Chris. Notification’s the easy part. Know what happened today with that asshole?”

  “What? What’d he do? He do another one of his famous Mulhaney-isms? I’m glad I don’t do that shit. I think it’d be harder than anything we ever went through across the pond. God! Havin to drive a priest up to somebody’s door! You got picked, paesan, cause you look so good in that uniform.”

  “I don’t know if I can take another funeral, Chris.”

  “Yeah. What happened with that lady, anyway?”

  “Shit Man, the bugle was starting, you know, and Mulhaney says to me to help her. I was trying to help her. I thought she was going to collapse. So I grabbed her hand. You know, not grab it, more like cup my hand under her wrist, give her somethin to lean on. And she turns to me and she’s crying and she says, ‘How is it—’ Man, she says it in this eerie voice that’s comin from outer space, she says it real loud, ‘How is it, young man, that you are alive and my son is dead?’ And Mulhaney, he laughs right out loud. Right there. Then that candyass fucker laughed about it all the way back. He repeated it a hundred times.”

  “Good,” Crocco said. “Now you got it out. Let’s go celebrate.”

  “Dammit, Chris. I’m an action Marine, Man, or I’m no Marine at all. They either transfer me from this Mickey Mouse unit or I’m getting out. And fuck it, I aint goin back to Nam Bo. I’m not goina let im push me into volunteering to go back.”

  “That’s what happens to all you good Catholic boys,” Crocco said. “You take this shit seriously and you end up volunteering to go back. Don’t let it get to ya.”

  “You know what I could do?” Pisano said. He began to remove his uniform. “I could teach. That’s what I’d like. I used ta think about it in Nam. I’m a good teacher. I am. I’d like to get down to Parris Island and train boots.”

  “Now you’re fuckin with yer own head.” Crocco was mostly dressed. “Eat the apple.” He chuckled. “Fuck the Corps. Shit, paesan, some beers tonight, then tomorrow or on the weekend—”

  Pisano cut in. “I’m serious, Chris. I’m a hell of a teacher. I’d train em so they don’t step on their dicks first day they hit Nam.”

  “Screw it,” Crocco said. “This weekend we’ll get a stereo and get some tunes in here. Goddamn it, Man. We’re alive! We made it back. It’s time to start livin.”

  “Please come,” Judy Reardon begged.

  “I really don’t know why you want me to go along,” Linda Balliett answered. “You’re practically engaged to the guy.”

  “I am not.”

  “Judy.”

  “Well, maybe. But we haven’t been there before and it makes me nervous.”

  “I don’t want to go. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

  “I know. I have this image of a men’s locker room.”

  “Yeah.” Linda laughed. “Dirty sweat socks and jocks strewn all over the place. How come he wants to take you there?”

  “I think it’s because it’s the end of the month and he’s out of money. You know, sailors only get paid once a month? Paid and laid,” she giggled. “That’s what some of them call it.”

  “I could handle that.” Linda ignored the joke. “What I can’t handle is the sweat socks. And Judy, good grief, August isn’t even half over. It’s only the fourteenth.”

  “I’ve been spending all his money.” Judy shrugged innocently. “Thank God Tom isn’t planning a career of it. In two months they discharge him and he’s free. Then he can get a real job.”

  “That sounds awful. Discharge. Like pus or something. I think I’m going to pass on it. Besides, I’ve got the blood gases test tomorrow and I’m on call tomorrow night.”

  “Please, Linda. I already told Tom you were coming. I really want you to meet him. You said you’d come.”

  “I said I’d think about it. Why can’t I meet him when you go out to some place normal? Nobody goes to those—what do they call them—clubs.”

  “EM Clubs. Or maybe it’s NCO. It means enlisted men’s club or non-committed officer.”

  “I don’t know about this. I don’t like the idea of going over there. I can’t imagine.... I think of them as seaweed-covered cretins with wooden legs or as scoundrels with VD and a prostitute in every port.”

  “Please. Just come for a little while. Follow me over in your car. Then you can go when you want.”

  “Oh brother. Okay. If you can’t get anyone else, I’ll go. But Judy, try to get someone else.”

  The club at the naval substation was small, twenty flimsy tables each with four folding chairs, a pool table, a small circular bar, and a dance floor. The music system and dance floor were adequate, as good as many of the night spots in town; the band was fair; the food salty; the drinks cheap.

  “I don’t believe I’m doing this,” Linda said as they approached the brick building. In the parking lot, in the light of the early evening, the music seemed somehow incongruous. “I don’t date servicemen. Number one, we couldn’t possibly have any common ground. Number two, it’s like, ‘What’s wrong with you? Weren’t you popular in school?’”

  “Linda! I’m going with a serviceman.”

  “That’s different, Judy. You knew him before he was in the service.”

  “Be nice,” Judy said. “Tom said he’d meet us right inside the door.”

  “Then the kid says to his dad,” Chris said, “‘you mean, birds and bees do it just like people?’”

  “Ha.” Tony laughed. “That’s a good one! Just like people.”

  “I gotta piss. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Take your time,” Tony called as Chris left. “Hope it comes out all right.” He signaled the bartender. “Two more.”

  “You really go over three today, Sarge?” The bartender brought the beers.

  “Three down, one to go,” Tony answered.

  “These are on the house, Sarge. Happy Anniversary.”

  “Thanks,” Tony said. After the heat of the day the coolness of the club felt refreshing. The first cold beer had seemed to be absorbed by his palate even before it reached his throat. The second just began to quench his thirst. This one he could sip. Tony turned, rested his back against the bar. The club was less than half full and half of those were older petty officers eating dinner. The band finished their warmup and went on break. Chris returned from the head. Tony glanced at him; he began chuckling as he thought of what he was about to do. He poured the rest of his beer from bottle to glass, grabbed the bottle like a microphone, turned back toward Chris and began singing.

  Kicked mah ah-ahss in Phu Bai,

  Beat mah ahsss in Do-ong Ha Bay

  I’ll be there fo’evah,

  Aint no one goina get in my way—

  Ba-boom—BOOM!

  “Hey.” Chris laughed. “That’s all right! Hey, maybe we oughta go into town.”

  “Nah,” Tony put the bottle back on the bar. “I feel good right here. I don’t wanta mess with my mood.”

  “This is Linda,” Judy said to Tom. “And this is my man,” she said to Linda. She put her arm around Tom’s waist and squeezed herself onto him.

  “Nice to meet you,” Tom said. “This is Bill Curney. Why don’t we grab a table and have a drink.”

  Oh no, Linda thought. She looked up at the second sailor.
He appeared dour beneath a flaccid smile and he towered over her by more than a foot. She followed Judy and Tom to a table by the dance floor. Bill walked behind her. Damn, Linda thought. Judy didn’t mention this. What am I going to do with this creep. Bill pulled the chair out for her. She glanced quickly before she sat, making sure there weren’t any food scraps or maybe a beer puddle on the seat. She gripped the seat as she sat, half expecting Bill to pull it out from her and guffaw as she fell. This is going to be worse than I ever anticipated, she thought. The last thing I need is to ruin my pants. Judy sat. Tom and Bill went to the bar for drinks.

  “Judy,” Linda whispered angrily. “Who’s the big jerk? I thought it was going to be just the three of us.”

  “I don’t know. Honest. I didn’t. ... Well, but isn’t Tom something. Have you ever seen such a hunk?”

  “Beer for me, gin ’n tonic for the dollie,” Bill said serving Linda. Tom moved his chair closer to Judy.

  I’m going as soon as I can, Linda thought. The band began playing again. Linda glanced at Bill. He was holding his beer glass with both hands, looking down at the table. Slouched in his chair Bill looked like a child, an enormous, timid child. Creep, she snickered at him in her mind. He did not look at her. She sipped her drink. “Dollie!” she thought. “Dollie and the Creep.” She finished the drink by the start of the second song. She looked over at Judy and Tom, glared at Judy who had made no attempt to include her. Bill still said nothing. Tom and Judy cuddled closer. Linda turned her seat toward the band.

  “I’m goina get another beer,” Bill said. “You ready for another gin?”

  Linda sighed. “Sure,” she said. The band launched into a rendition of The Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie.” “They’re actually quite good,” Linda began to say as she turned back toward her friend.

  “Dance?” Tony Pisano was two steps from her. He had come from the bar without her noticing.

  “Excuse m—”

  “Dance?” he repeated. He wore his most disarming smile.

  “Sure,” Linda rose. Anything, she thought, to split from the creep. “I didn’t see you come over.”

  “That’s because I have magic feet.” Tony’s eyes were twinkling. Something about him made her smile.

  Linda Balliett was wearing a pair of tan cotton bell-bottoms and a three-quarter sleeve boat-neck blouse. Her hair was bunned at the back of her head with two curled strands falling before her ears. The first thing Tony noticed was that she was three or four inches shorter than he; the second, her neck and ears were lovely, and then, her eyes were different. He could tell they were different but he could not really see them clearly in the low light.

  What Linda saw was a clean, handsome young man, slight, wiry, a good dancer if a little stiff in the legs, and a smile that engaged not just his mouth but his entire face.

  Tony and Linda danced two songs back-to-back. The music was loud and they weren’t able to talk other than a laconic phrase or two. When the second song was over, Tony escorted Linda to her seat and returned to the bar.

  “What’s her name?” Crocco asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tony answered.

  “She’s a real cutie,” Chris said. “Here, have another beer.”

  “Thanks.”

  The band played another song. Tony drank half the beer, resisting the urge to turn and look at Linda. At the table Linda finished her second drink. Bill remained somber, still, clutching his beer, seemingly concentrating all his attention on the tabletop. When the next song started Tony asked Linda to dance again, and when the song was over he again escorted her back to her table.

  Tom was at the bar. “Tom’s friend had to go,” Judy announced as Linda and Tony reached the table. “He’s on call, or something.”

  “Oh,” Linda said suppressing a sigh of relief. The band slowed the tempo, began The Shirelles’ “Tonight’s the Night.” Linda turned to Tony. She had no idea what to say, what would come out as she began to speak, but she began anyway. “Why don’t you—” she laughed a little girlish laugh, “sit.”

  “I’d like that,” Tony said.

  Tom returned before either could sit. “Hey, where’d Bill go?”

  “Can we dance this one?” Linda asked softly. She touched Tony’s hand lightly. Low voltage current seemed to come from her fingertips.

  On the dance floor Tony held her gently, gentlemanly.

  “So,” Linda said as they slow danced, “what are you?”

  “Me?!” Tony extended his arms, held her at arm’s length. He was aware that this girl was pretty, not high-fashion pretty, but excitingly pretty. “I’m a dago. What are you?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Linda stifled a laugh. “I mean, are you a sailor? My girlfriend’s fiancé is a petty officer. Something like that.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant, you know, like what’s my sign. That’s why I said I’m a dago.”

  “Come on,” Linda smiled.

  “I’m a Marine. I’m a sergeant in the Marine Corps. And I like to dance. You’re a good dancer.”

  “So are you. I thought all the men here were sailors.”

  “We’ve a detachment of Marines to stand guard. Do you come here often?”

  “Oh God, No! I mean ... I’ve never been here before.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure what? I’ve never been here before. I only came because my friend wanted me to meet her fiancé.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really.” Linda stopped dancing and stepped back.

  “Yeah.” Tony said mock sheepishly. “I believe you.”

  “I really never have been here before,” Linda blurted defensively.

  “I believe you.” Tony couldn’t suppress his laughter.

  “I’m not the kind of girl that would come to a men’s club,” Linda said. “This is out of character for—”

  “No. No. Look. I’m not saying that you are. I’m just saying, ‘Sure.’”

  “Hhmmm.” Linda pursed her lips.

  “What are you?” Tony asked. They resumed dancing.

  “I’m studying to be an LPN,” Linda said. Tony looked quizzically at her. “A nurse,” she said.

  “Oh,” Tony said. The song ended. They walked back toward the table. “That’s great. I’d like to do that someday. We had a corpsman once who cross-trained all our squad leaders and platoon sergeants in emergency medical aid. I’ve started IVs, given shots of morphine.”

  “You have! Look at this. Where’d they go?”

  “Who?”

  “Judy and Tom. Great! She gets me over here to meet her guy then she just about sits on him from the moment we come in and now they leave....”

  “Is that her? Over by the door.”

  “You must have really good eyes,” Linda said.

  Judy came back to the table. “I’ll see ya later,” she whispered to Linda. “We’re going to a hotel downtown.”

  “Do you believe that?” Linda looked at Tony, shook her head. “Some friend. Oh well, tell me, how is it that you got to start IVs if you’re not a medic? Who would let you do that?”

  “Ah, when it’s necessary, whoever can do it does it.”

  “Sure.” Linda laughed.

  “Sure.” Tony chuckled back.

  “Come on. Where did you get to do that?”

  “Around Dong Ha.”

  “Where?”

  “In Viet Nam.”

  “Oh. I see. Oh!”

  The tempo changed—Isley Brothers, “Twist and Shout,” then “Twistin with Linda.” For an hour Tony and Linda danced. They paused for a drink, exchanged names, a few comments. And they smiled. Linda was surprised. She was enjoying both the dancing and the presence of Tony Pisano. For Tony, the more he looked at Linda, the more beautiful and exciting she was to him.

  “Ah, can you drive me back to my barracks?” They had exited the club, were standing at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Sure.” Linda laughed. “If you can guess which car is mine.”

  Tony sc
anned the lot. There were about thirty cars. “That Plymouth.” He pointed to a close-by late-model sedan.

  “No.”

  “Uh. The Tempest?” He indicated a car halfway across the lot.

  “Noooo.”

  “Oh no. Not that one?”

  “Um-hmm.” At the center of the lot there was a battered, cream-colored two-door coup of indeterminable age or make. And it was covered with large daisies. In the petals of the largest daisy, painted on the hood, were three lines making each petal a peace symbol.

  Tony took a deep breath. He looked around to see if anyone was about. Then he looked at Linda. “Well, Ma’am,” he said in John Wayne imitation, “let’s go.”

  “Where’s your barracks?” Linda asked after she’d started the engine.

  “There.” Tony pointed across the lot.

  “There?” Linda burst out laughing.

  “Well, Ma’am, you wouldn’t want to make a Marine walk real far in the night air, would ya now?”

  Linda drove across the lot and parked. Alone with Linda for the first time Tony felt awkward. And he felt very awkward before his barracks in the daisied car. But there was something about her that he liked, something different, he thought, something he wanted to understand. Her eyes were different, but it was more. For one thing she didn’t seem to feel the least bit awkward or shy, defensive or aggressive. It’s like we could be friends, he thought. Good friends.

  Their talk alternated between serious and playful. Tony spoke quietly, sincerely, passionately about the Marine Corps in Viet Nam. Linda listened attentively, asking a few questions about the Corps but gracefully avoiding anything to do with politics and the war.

  “Then a lance corporal is like a seaman or a PFC?” Linda asked.

  “Oh no,” Tony said. “They’re the same pay grade but it’s altogether different. Lance corporal in the Marine Corps is a very prestigious rank. It comes from the Latin lancia spezzata which is what the Romans labeled their best fighters, the ones who had the most broken lances. PFC in the army’s nothin. They all make PFC. Really, a lance corporal in the Corps is more like a sergeant in the army.”

  “But you’re a sergeant in the Marine Corps. Then that must truly be a prestigious rank.”