He wandered to the edge of the headquarters clearing, and gave a piece of jungle potato to a grazing yearling Mongolian mare, idly stroking the soft velvet-like skin of her nose. Four days until Christmas. No one had even mentioned it until Niven had picked it up on Tokyo Rose’s broadcast last night.
It was strange that he had forgotten it utterly. How easy it was to forget something you had lived with all your life if there were more important things to do and nothing of the old reality to remind you. He was pleased that he was able to forget. He was pleased, too, because there had always been something about the Holy Season that was false with him; and always he was ashamed to admit it. It made him feel awkward buying presents. It embarrassed him to receive them.
What was the use of giving anything to anyone unless it hurt you to give it, unless you gave it away because you wanted it yourself but something inside of you forced you to give it to another.
Like the watch he gave Nautaung. That was a real pleasure giving it. He knew the minute the old man looked at the watch with awed admiration that he was going to give it to him, and he remembered how it had hurt and how he had delayed giving it, trying to rationalize, to think of something else to give in its place. It was no use. He had given the watch and later when he realized that should Nautaung own a thousand watches he would treasure that above all, then had come the pleasure; a deep, warm, gratifying pleasure.
Con ran his hand along the neck of the small Mongolian mare, then whacked her firmly on the butt, watching as the horse bolted hind legs kicking, frolicking out onto the valley grass.
“Hi, boss,” Niven walked up. “How long we going to stay here?”
Con turned slowly, lazily: “Hello Jim. Four or five days. Get a good rest. Maybe another week. We’ll take our next airdrop here, anyhow.”
“That’s a boss,” Niven said putting a big black cigar in his gentle mouth.
“Are you drunk, Jim?” Con smiled, speaking softly.
“No, boss. I’m plastered. Good Yale afternoon plastered,” Niven puffed the cigar. “And I intend to sober only at radio time for the rest of the Holiday Season. That’s right, boss,” he waved the cigar sweepingly in front of him. “Sobering only at radio time. Came to invite you to the first social event of the season. My cocktail party. Scotch old fashions and laku-martinis at six this evening,” he nodded. “In the radio headquarters. J’hust a little get-to-gether in honor of my good friend, Mr. Lau’rel,” he adjusted his gold rimmed glasses. “José Lau’rel, the Filipino coffee importer.”
Con grinned studying the tall gangly youth, seeing his light blue eyes glazed under the glasses.
“Can you make it, old chap?” Niven mimicked. “Rath’a informal.”
“I don’t believe I have anything on for tonight,” Con said formally, kiddingly. “I’ll bring along my good friend Nautaung, if you don’t mind.”
“Glad to have him. I’m even inviting Subadar Major La Bung La,” Niven wrinkled his nose drunkenly. “And I may have another little surprise,” he laughed mischievously. “See you later, boss. Merry Christmas,” he walked away loosely.
Con laughed stroking his goatee. Across the field he saw La Bung La and Billingsly and two of the Subadars coming toward him, talking vociferously, gesturing and laughing. He turned away and took a cigarette and lit up. The four Kachins came up to him saluting, and he returned the salute.
“All the skeleton outposts are on the hills as you ordered,” Subadar Major La Bung La said. “And the patrols have been sent on all the trails and to nearby villages for information.”
“Very good, Subadar Major,” Con said. “Have you decided who will lead the hunting parties?”
“Yes, Dua,” La Bung said toying with his binoculars. “I will take one hunting party. And Nautaung will take the other. Two small parties we will send for laku.”
Con smiled, his thick eyebrows squinting slightly.
“Yes, Dua,” one of the Subadars interjected, grinning. “Everyone drinks much laku on the eve of the birth of the Christ child.”
Con looked around at them: “No one ever mentioned it before.”
“We did not know, Dua,” Subadar Major La Bung La touched the silver emblem on his black beret, “whether you wish to stop for the celebration. We thought when you said we came for rest it was in honor of the Christ child.” They all nodded looking at Con.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “That is why we are here. Go to the villages. Get as much laku as you wish. Spend as much of the headquarters silver as you wish for laku.”
“Thank you, Dua,” La Bung La said respectfully, grinning, the right side of his mouth quivering.
“That’s niiice,” Billingsly grinned widely. The two Subadars mumbled, happily bowing their heads. Their smiles were those of small children, Con thought.
“Will any of the Dus join the hunting parties?” La Bung La asked.
“When do they leave?”
“An hour before the sunrise. Tomorrow, Dua,” La Bung La said militarily, shoulders back, head erect.
“I will find out tonight if any of the Dus wish to go. Myself, I think I will go,” Con took a comb from his pocket and stroked his goatee. “I have a sudden appetite for peacock. Who will be in charge of the laku party.”
“Me, boss Dua,” Billingsly held up his hand. “Billingsly will make fiiine bargains,” he said with his Jewish accent.
Con laughed. “Billingsly, take the Subadar Major and the Subadars over to the kitchen,” he looked at the resplendent Billingsly in the white nylon longi and the red nylon shirt that had been cut from parachutes, noting their comical contrast to his jungle boots and muscled legs against the skirt. “Take them to the kitchen and pour them some laku from my mule pack. Have some yourself. I’m going to take a bath.”
They all thanked him and went away laughing and talking merrily, moving towards the headquarters kitchen, Con’s eyes following them. He had been right. Certainly they all deserved this rest and the idea of a feast, a manau, was a good one. Already it seemed, that the short time here had alleviated some of the bad feelings that had been growing during the past days; days of constant tension. But why hadn’t they mentioned before that they wanted to celebrate on Christmas? Not even Nautaung had mentioned it, or even hinted at it, Con thought, starting for the CP to get his towel and soap. The priest must have done an extraordinary job of Christianizing to make them feel the spirit of the Holy Season. And then maybe it wasn’t Christmas at all. Maybe that was an excuse. They could be just tired, and happy at the opportunity to manau. Whatever it was, Con was convinced, it would probably do all of them a lot of good to get drunk and let go. In fact, Con, old man, you could probably stand to get blind yourself.
A soldier in a rest area was a mild version of a soldier on leave. It was always the first few hours and the last few when the tension was greatest for it was never easy for a man to drop a deeply routined life, even if he hated it. Nor was it easy for any man to drop a carefree life for a deeply routined one.
It was something that civilian people never considered in their thinking about soldiers. Civilians were people who seldom changed their routine ways. That was one of the big differences between a soldier and a civilian, Nautaung knew. After many wars and forty years of soldiering a man was bound to know that.
The minute the fourhundred Scouts entered the valley the minor skirmishes began. Subadar Major La Bung La had assembled them all in the center of the valley grass and made a speech. Four times during the speech Nautaung had had to turn to his men and demand they silence their whispering and jokes. Restlessly they obeyed for a few moments then they had begun complaining again as all soldiers will complain when they are made to stand in the hot sun and listen to a speech they have heard many times before.
Finally the Subadar Major had finished, and began to assign the companies to their areas. When the 1st Company was sent up the half mile to the head of the valley where the grass stopped and the tall trees grew, Nautaung had again heard the murmuring
of his men behind him.
“The last time the First Company received the shade,” a young soldier’s voice said in Kachin. “Now they receive the shade again.”
“Yes,” another voice answered. “And the Second Company will receive the ground near the water, fellow soldier. And the Third Company will get the ground across the valley where the grass is soft and the earth slopes to the hill. Is that justice, fellow soldier?”
“Yes. That is what they call the justice of soldiering,” the first voice said. Then Nautaung heard them both laugh. “We will be sent to the foot of the valley,” the first voice said. “Where the ground is hard and there is no shade and where it will be a long walk to the water.”
“Yes, fellow soldier. We will get what is left.”
“We will get what is left and the worst of the details,” the first voice said seriously now. “It is as plain as the fire of the sun that we are made to suffer because the Subadar Major has it in for Nautaung, the old man who is our leader, and.…”
At this Nautaung had turned to face the men. He had turned very slowly and by the time he did so all of his men were very religiously watching Subadar Major La Bung La as he issued his orders.
For fifteen more minutes they stood in the sun until they were the only company left. Then the Subadar Major had turned to Nautaung.
“Subadar Nautaung,” La Bung La said. Nautaung came to rigid attention. “Subadar Nautaung, you will take your men to the foot of the valley,” La Bung La pointed. “Then report to me at my headquarters for the assignment of details. Be quick as it is possible for an old man,” La Bung La grinned the corner of his mouth quivering. “For the other Subadars are already in position and wait for me.”
Nautaung had saluted sharply, rigidly and had marched his men off, then he had returned to the Subadar Major’s meeting to receive his detail assignments. La Bung La talked for fifteen minutes, then the Subadars and Jemadars had argued for fifteen more, but the old man had not spoken a word.
Now he walked through the 2nd Company area, near the stream, returning to the foot of the valley where his men were. He stopped under the spreading branches of a tall tree and began to fan himself with his bush hat. Across the valley grass he saw the Dua Con standing tall and barechested talking to Niven. He watched them for a while, then Niven left, and he saw Billingsly and the Subadar Major and two of the Subadars walking across the valley grass towards the young white officer.
Nautaung put his bush hat back on his head and started for his section of the valley. He walked about fifty yards and came across three of 2nd Company’s men squatting in a semicircle, crapping in the middle of their platoon area, idly chattering as they did so.
“Ahh, my young ones,” the old man said. “This is some rest. You rest so well you cannot walk to the latrine.”
They fell silent and looked up at him sheepishly.
“Supposing the Subadar Major would hear of this,” the old man said sternly. “He would give you many details for spilling your waste out here on the good open earth. Do you know that the Nat Spirit of the Night, the evilest of night spirits, feeds only on human dung.”
They bowed their heads seriously. One of them grew flush and then paled.
“Did not your fathers teach you that?”
“Oh, Subadar Nautaung, wise old man,” the pale Kachin spoke. “Do not tell the Subadar Major for he will surely tell my father.”
The other two nodded their heads, looking bewildered, half smiling, half smirking.
Nautaung stared at them for a moment: “You should have the worst of details for this but I would not have your families learn of your laziness. Gather you leaves and take your waste to the proper place. It is finished.”
They thanked him and the old man walked on slowly feeling the sun warm to his face. He passed two soldiers disputing a piece of firewood and ordered they split it equally with their dahs. He cut to his left, through a group of 2nd Company men neatly arranging their bedding, and came out by the stream and walked along the edge, pausing to rebuke three soldiers for washing upstream from where others would draw their drinking water. He walked on, then high above the hilltop at the end of the valley, he saw a great eagle soaring in the sky. That was a good sign and he watched it until it plunged out of sight.
Slowly he followed the edge of the stream until it cut sharply away to his left, continuing on straight to his company area. He walked into the area and immediately came across five soldiers arguing vehemently in a circle. The old man was on top of them before anyone noticed him. They all came to attention. Nautaung walked into the circle and there on the ground was a hundred pound sack of rice.
“Now what is the trouble here?” the old man looked around.
No one spoke.
“You,” the old man said evenly, sternly, looking at one of the men. “Step forward.”
The young Kachin stepped forward, looked at Nautaung and grinned widely. “Yes, Oh Subadar.”
“You are Bye Gum, from near Sumprabum. Tell me where this sack of rice comes from,” Nautaung said looking at the sack of rice the men had been arguing over. Obviously it had been stolen from the headquarters and supply area.
Bye Gum looked at the sack of rice and swallowed deeply, then looked around at the other young soldiers. “Oh, Subadar Nautaung, our wise most respected leader,” Bye Gum said very elaborately, glancing to the circle of young Scouts for quick approval. “The strangest thing has occurred and we now talk of it,” he looked around and they all nodded.
“And what is it, young one that speaks like a politician from Bahmo, that is so strange?”
“It is this sack of rice that lies at your feet, wisest and most brave of soldiers,” Bye Gum replied. They all nodded. “It must be the strangness of this rare hill valley that is the cause of it for it is a tale hard to believe,” he nodded. They all nodded again. “I came to make my bed here and lo, lying here as if it had been here forever was this fine sack of rice. Being very generous, which is my nature, the nature of my father, I wished to share this gift from the Gods with my fellow warriors,” he said looking up boyishly.
Nautaung put his hand to his chin studying the sack of rice. Then he looked up. “It is indeed a strange tale. It is strange too that the sack is of the same cloth of the rice sacks in the headquarters supply,” he said very seriously, then he grinned wisely. “Because I am an old man I believe you, but I would quickly burn this sack for it looks as if it has gone bad,” Nautaung said suggestively. “And if there is any more incident over this gift of the Gods I well may change my opinion of this tale.”
They happily agreed all around and the old man walked away, smiling deeply within. It was the same in all the armies of the world. He had seen it in France in the First World War. In the French Army the Burma Rifles were attached to. He had seen it in the Indian Army and the Chinese Army. It would be the same in the Japanese Army, he knew. There were certain things about soldiers in every army of the world that would always be the same.
No matter how much the Leaders tried to change their armies to make them different, superior, invincible; no matter how they had trained them, equipped them, beat them, or coddled them, they had never been able to create an army where a soldier was not a soldier. Where a soldier did not act like a soldier.
When this simple fact was always thrown back in the Leaders’ faces they never seemed to understand it, they just could not understand that a man is born first. That he becomes a soldier second. And that which he has been born with no man can take away.
Nautaung walked into his new headquarters. He sat down and leaned against a tree and looked at his watch. Two-thirty. They had been in the valley only two hours and already the men were settling down. There was much gay laughter now, already drunken laughter.
Where did the laku come from? Nautaung smiled. It was really very simple. A soldier will always have his ways. A soldier will always be a soldier. No man would ever lead a soldier ever, who was himself completely different from other so
ldiers.
Nautaung had issued his work orders after returning to his headquarters and gone to the stream to bathe. Now he sat on a blanket spread wide near the edge of the water and he could hear it rippling as it passed swiftly against the bank. Far upstream he could see the Dua Con standing waist deep in the water trimming his goatee while his bearer held a mirror squatting on the bank. For forty minutes now the Dua had been standing in the numbing cold water.
Because of the fine gentle slope of the ground Nautaung could see the entire valley. He could see the foot of the valley and the head of it and most of the stream and the side opposite the stream, and he thought they had been very lucky to find such a valley so high, with such fine water and with the shape that was the shape of a finely made rice bowl.
There was much activity in the camp. There was loud laughter and shouting and once in a while there was the shot of a rifle. To his left Nautaung saw Billingsly with an escort of soldiers and fifteen mules heading out of the camp to the villages in search of laku. And in the center of the valley grass, directly opposite the Dua Con’s headquarters, there were at least fifty men at work gathering fire wood for the three huge bonfires that would burn before the three tall totem poles the men were working to paint and erect. Once the totems had been erected, Nautaung knew, the men would settle down to some serious rest. For dancing to the steady beat of the drums before the high totems massaged the good instincts of a man and with a stomach full of laku there would not be a care in the world for any of them.
Nautaung scratched his forehead and squinted up into the sun, then slowly began to fan himself with the bush hat. Then up at the head of the valley he saw Niven with two mules and three soldiers cutting across the grass toward the main headquarters. Strapped to the mules were two small evergreen trees and there were boxes strapped to the mules and Nautaung knew there were fircones to burn in his fire, which was really not strange as Nautaung himself was very fond of the incense of pine-wood. He saw Du Niven wave to him and then point the mules and soldiers toward the headquarters, then cut away from them and start towards him.
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