The men raced for the woods as the bullets sliced around them. Patty dived, panting, into the high grass. Frank lay on his left, John on his right. Up front a little, and further to the right, Bryan pressed up against a tree.
Patty saw a puff of smoke from the top of a palm. He fired and a V.C. fell out. He fell about ten feet and jerked to a stop. He swung away from the tree and bounced back into the bark. He swung partly around the tree and back, dangling from a chain like a crazy pendulum. A half-dozen Cong swung from other trees. Patty could almost hear the creaking of the chains above the din of the firing as others fell out of the trees.
"John," yelled Frank. "Now's the time."
John looked over at Frank and nodded. He swung his rifle toward Bryan and sighted in. His had tensed on the trigger and froze. He closed his eyes and his lips moved.
Patty looked back at Frank and shook his head.
Frank aimed quickly and fired. Bryan fell, and Patty ran through the bullets to his side.
"Patty, they got me in the leg," moaned Bryan.
"It's alright," said Patty. "Keep still."
Frank ran up. "Here's my first aid bandage," he said.
Frank's face was rigid, gray. He stood away from the trees, out in the open. The bullets hit the ground all around him, but never touched him. Patty yelled at him to take cover, but he just stood there, and the bullets never touched him.
John crawled up. "I'm sorry," he yelled to Frank.
Frank nodded.
Patty leaned Bryan back against the tree and wrapped his thigh. There wasn't much blood, but the bone was broken.
"They got me," said Bryan.
"Yeah," Patty answered.
Bryan smiled. "I get a purple heart, huh?"
"Yeah," said Patty. "You get a purple heart."
"I'm sorry," John yelled again.
Frank looked down at him. "It's alright," he said.
CHAPTER 16: DIVORCED
The men gathered around Donner in the sunshine of the top deck.
Donner scowled and looked at them half-stripped and eager. "Hey, not so close, you guys. You ought to get two showers before coming up here for mail call 'cause one shower don't get rid of all that combat juice."
"You're just jealous," said Camp.
"Camp, why don't you try some cologne? You don't have to get rid of the smell, just hide it."
"Come on," said Baker.
"Baker, you stink too," said Donner.
"Pass out the letters, and stop fucking around," said Frank.
"Okay, men.” Donner looked down at the pile of letters in his hands. "Here goes. Camp, Baker, Patsin, Thompson."
"Deceased."
The men pressed together, reaching for the mail. John smelled of too much soap. Baker's armpits were caked with old stick deodorant.
"Gambescia."
"Italy's back in the world."
Patty missed Italy and the mildew smell of his torn good-luck T-shirt.
"Leigh."
He pushed forward. "You all watch my feet, will you?” Leigh's feet were swollen with blotches of jungle rot.
"Can you walk, old man?" said Patty.
"I'm making it," answered Leigh. "Your feet ain't beauties, neither."
Patty nodded and looked down at the return address on his letter. Janet. His heart skipped a beat and he closed his eyes. When mail call ended, he slipped from the group and walked to a little alcove on the deck, a shady place, not so hot from the sun. He sat down, leaned back against the warm metal, and gazed at the envelope, at her handwriting. Sealed with a kiss. So childish. He felt sad and frightened. Nervously he opened the letter.
Dear Patty, I have lots of good news to cheer you up because your letters sound so sad, but first a joke. Dad says he's going to call you hamburger from now on, 'cause Patty is short for hamburger patty.
Patty frowned. That's right. And I'm in a real meat grinder. He continued reading.
I guess you've changed. You say you've changed but I hope you're still the same. You're always talking about how different things will be when you get back, but I don't believe it. I read an article in the paper that said you'll be completely back to normal after a few weeks.
Normal, Patty thought. What's normal for me? He tried to remember a time when he was normal. Pictures flashed through his head. Janet naked on the bed, her blue dress folded on the chair. She'd cupped his head in her hands. ‘Yes, we'll get married,’ she'd said. ‘And have lots of babies.’ They'd made love and lay back, side by side in a warm mist of perspiration. He'd fallen asleep with the thought, but he'd dreamed of a child monster with a black eye and a bloody nose. It struggled to fight, but his father pounded it into the sand.
Patty pictured his father sitting at the kitchen table across from him. In the afternoon light, his face was tired, almost yellow from years of work. He put his horn-rimmed glasses down on the table and closed his eyes. He didn't want to look at his son's swollen face, the white handkerchief pressed against a bloody nose. He didn't want to listen. ‘Of course, you have to respect yourself,’ he'd said. ‘But there's nothing wrong with losing a fight.’
What was the use of explaining? For twenty minutes, Larry had hit him and danced away. Larry's mother stood in the circle with the boys and laughed. ‘He can't touch Larry. That's why we gave him boxing lessons,’ she'd said.
When Larry's arms and legs were too tired to move anymore, Patty had pinned him against the garage. At that moment, Dad arrived and broke up the fight. Patty had cried in front of his friends as he was led home. Patty shook himself, but nothing eased the pain of the memory.
Always before, Janet's letters had pulled him from Vietnam and made him happy. Now, even thoughts of home felt bitter. He gazed up at the blue sky and tried to catch the sense of a warm off day, the metal warm and calming against his back. He felt the vibration of a couple soldiers running and heard a soft tinkle of laughter. A man in olive drab walked by. None of it had any part of him. He was unrelated, alone. He looked at the ocean and felt deserted, left alone by people who didn't care. He looked back down at the letter.
I can't wait 'til you're home. I feel like we're almost married already. You know why? Because I finally found us an apartment. It's not expensive, only $95 a month, and it's nice. It'll be even nicer when I fix it up. Dad and my sister said they'll help me repaint it. What do you think about light blue? That's a cheerful color, and you said you wanted it to be open and airy. I haven't even described it. I'm so excited. It's a one bedroom garden apt. with lots of windows. You can see two azalea bushes from the living room. Dad's going to buy us a queen bed, and I'll be going to garage sales the next couple months to furnish it. You'll love the style. It's early borrowed. President Johnson said on the radio that Tet was their last shot, and since we took it so well, we should be able to get the war over quickly. I hope so. I miss you. Take care and God bless. Love, Janet
P.S. Eileen and I went to the movies last night. We saw "Yellow Submarine.” It was very good.
P.P.S. Did you get the cookies I sent?
Patty closed his eyes and pressed the letter to his face. It carried the musky smell of stationary. He inhaled, but there was no breath of Janet on the letter, no smell of the sweat between her fingers, no taste of her perfume. He tried to picture her sitting and writing at the kitchen table, but he couldn't see her, nor even remember the color of her hair.
"Hey, Patty," said Camp. "Why you hiding?"
"Just reading a letter."
"It looked like they don't feed you enough. I thought you were eating that letter."
"Right. It tastes just like powdered eggs."
"Hey, you coming to the mess hall. They're showing 'Bonnie and Clyde.'"
"Great," said Patty. "Just what I need. Faye Dunaway to keep me awake nights. Give me a hand up."
Camp pulled him up. "I hear there's a great ending, with lots of blood and gore in slow motion."
"Marvelous," said Patty. "Let's get good seats."
The mess hall was
already crowded by the time they got there. Every seat was taken, the tables packed. Men crouched in the aisles and leaned against the walls. Patty and Camp found a place against the back wall beside Leigh and Baker. Through the haze of smoke and heat, the naked upper bodies of black and white men seemed to meet in a stagnant pool of sweat.
A lieutenant up front blew a whistle and yelled above the din. "Hey, everybody, let me have your attention. Can everyone hear me?"
No one answered, but the noise ebbed.
"I'm from Army special services. We've arranged this special air conditioned theatre for your maximum comfort."
"Cut the jokes and start the flick," somebody yelled over the hum.
"Easy, fellows," said the lieutenant. "The movie is 'Bonnie and Clyde.' The Army hopes you enjoy it."
"Yeah," someone yelled. "The Army don't give a damn one way or the other."
"How much did they cut?"
The lights went out and a picture flickered on a small screen in the front of the room.
"Focus it, will you."
The picture came into focus.
"Wow. Look at the set on that broad."
"It's the quality, not the quantity."
"Shut up," yelled Baker. He turned to Patty. "They're all bitches anyway."
Patty ignored him. He watched the movie and lost himself in it.
After a while, Baker tapped Patty on the shoulder. "They're all bitches anyway, aren't they?" he said.
"What do I know?" said Patty.
"You got a broad back home. Who's she giving it to?"
"Nobody."
"That's what you think," said Baker.
"That's what I know," Patty answered.
"You'll see."
"Shut up and watch the movie," somebody hissed.
They lapsed into silence. The little images flashing on the screen caught and held Patty, carried him away from the heat and the ugliness. He identified with Bonnie as she gave the system the finger. Of course, she got it in the end, but that didn't bother him. After all, there were no pictures about people who really beat the system. Patty smiled at the thought.
He leaned over to Camp. "Hey, buddy. Can you imagine a flick about a draft dodger who robs banks and becomes president?"
"Nope.” Camp shook his head. "They don't want to teach bad habits to children."
The end. It flashed on the screen. And the lights flicked on.
"The bastards. They cut the ending," said Camp.
"That's the government," said Baker. "They're always doing you."
Somebody threw a beer can. It hit the screen and left a spittle stain of beer in the top right hand corner.
"Why did they cut the ending?" someone yelled.
The lieutenant's voice rang out, "Easy, fellows."
"Why did they cut the ending?” Several voices yelled out the question.
The lieutenant called over the noise. "I'm not even going to ask who threw the beer can. You men can go."
The question rang out louder with an undercurrent of rhythmic applause. "Why did they cut the ending? Why did they cut the ending?"
The lieutenant raised his hand for quiet. A few guys called out to let him speak, but the chant rose.
"Listen, fellows," yelled the lieutenant. "I know this won't satisfy you, but the reason is that they don't want to expose you guys to too much violence. They figure you've seen enough action already."
"Then, send us home," somebody yelled.
Another beer can popped against the screen. All the men up front were yelling and cursing. Patty laughed to himself and spoke out loud. "Isn't this beautiful? A riot in the movie theatre.” He felt detached, a spectator hoping for blood, hoping the next can would hit the lieutenant, muss his hair, split open his smooth face. His anger rose as he looked at that smooth, helpless man in front of the mob. He wanted to hit him, but there was nothing to throw.
The loudspeaker sang out three notes. A deep, authoritative voice came from the box overhead, "Now hear this. Now hear this. The mess hall will be cleared in sixty seconds. Anyone still there after that time will be court-martialed.” The metallic box went off with a click.
A deep breath of air seemed to go out of the room, to deflate and flatten it. A few voices called out, but the men got up and shuffled for the exits.
Camp tapped Patty on the shoulder. "It's time, buddy. The back door."
They made it out and sidestepped the crowd by going through a door marked 'No Admittance.' Patty led the way, and Camp followed. The door swung shut behind them and the clamor of voices ceased. They were in a green carpeted hallway, with comfortable brown leather chairs and sofas along the side. The overhead fluorescent lights were bright after the darkness of the theatre, the dinginess of the mess hall.
"Why did you bring us here?" said Camp.
"Why not?" said Patty. He sat down on the nearest sofa, sunk into its comfortable leather.
"This is the officer's quarters," said Camp. "We'll get in trouble."
"Sit down," Patty said. "Feel how the other half lives."
Camp hesitated for a second and sat down.
"Nice, huh?" said Patty.
"Yeah.” Camp smiled. "Hey, Patty, you're pouring sweat. What's up?"
"Nothing. The crowd, I guess."
"This place is nice. It's air conditioned here. Why are you sweating so much?"
Patty smiled. "Nothing much. I've had it. I'm flip-ping out, going over the edge."
"I could get you out of combat for a week or so."
"Don't do me any favors, Doc."
"You dizzy?"
"Yeah, with a ringing in my ears. And I keep seeing something."
"You hallucinating?"
"No," said Patty. "It's something I saw when I was a little boy."
"I'm listening."
"Don't tell anybody."
"Sure," said Camp. "Talk."
"It was a Saturday night and I was walking along the street, holding my daddy's hand. We were walking through a poor, black neighborhood. There were broken windows and boarded up store fronts, and trash and grime in the streets and on the sidewalk. It must have been twilight 'cause I heard one kid tell another, 'Nah, man, it's too late for stickball.'"
"What were you doing?"
"I don't know. Just walking with my dad. He knew the neighborhood. He greeted everybody and they all greeted him. He'd come on, 'Howdy do, Mizz Thomas, Mizz Jones. Is that you, Teeny Tiny Tina? You're all grown up.' The old women made a fuss over me, but there was no place to hide, so I just held on to my father as he walked along.
"'See that sign,' said my father. It was a big sign with red letters and yellow and white flashing bulbs. 'That's Curly's, the nicest bar in town.'
"Just as we got to the entrance, somebody came flying out the door and landed on his back on the sidewalk. A burly man filled the doorway. He looked down at the man lying on the street.
"The other man got up. He was tall and thin, and spoke in a high pitched voice. 'That's my woman. Nobody gone mess with my woman.' He started forward.
"The heavy guy swung a quart bottle of beer against the doorway. The bottle shattered and beer drained down the dark wood on to the ground. He held the jagged upper half of the bottle out in front of him and stepped forward grinning. 'Okay, man. You want her, fight for her.'
"The other man pulled out a knife and snapped it open with a flick of his wrist.
"As they stepped forward, the flashing neon sign caught them in a yellow spotlight. The on and off beam made each move of the crouching, circling men awkward and disjointed. In a flash, they were together as one person, panting, sweating like lovers. Light and dark, light and dark. And then the thin man went down, his knife glinting on the pavement beside him. His white shirt was yellow in the light with a spreading brown cancer crawling up his right arm.
"The burly man laughed and spoke to no one in particular: 'See, man, I does what I wants.' He threw the bottle down, turned, and walked back into Curly's.
"My father let go
of my hand and bent down beside the fallen man.
"'You know him, dad?' I said.
"'I know them both,' he answered.
"He picked up the knife and sliced off the shirt sleeve. Blood spurted from the guy's wrist like a fountain. My father made a bandage with the wet, bloody sleeve and wrapped the guy’s upper arm. Dad closed the knife and twisted and twisted it in the knotted bandage until the stream of blood ceased.
"And still the lights flashed - on and off, on and off. My father, with his hands and face smirched with blood, sat on his knees in a pool of blood beside the fallen man. I watched him in that yellow, on again, off again spotlight. I was detached, alone, in a foreign place. My own hand was yellow in the light. It no longer held the warmth of my father's hand, the sweat of his palm, the smell of his closeness."
Patty lapsed into silence. Sweat poured from his face. He felt the hall closing in on him.
Camp forced a laugh. "You see all that?"
"Yeah. All of it. Only the timing seems wrong, like a 33 r.p.m. record going at 78."
Camp leaned back on the sofa. "Did the guy die?"
"Nope. An ambulance came and took him. You know, sirens and red flashing lights."
"You're big on flashing, huh?"
"Yeah."
Camp touched Patty's hand. "You need to get out of combat, Patty."
"Don't we all."
"You need a break."
Patty shook his head no.
"Look. Just a short one, or you won't make it."
"No.” He said it softly. "You won't say anything to anyone, will you?"
"Not if you don't want me to."
Patty felt chilled. He shook himself. "Look, Doc. This hallway's giving me claustrophobia. I'm going on deck for a walk."
"I'll go with you."
"No," Patty said. "I want to be alone."
Camp touched Patty's shoulder. "You're a good man, Patty. You got a good life coming. Don't throw it away."
Camp's hand felt so good that Patty wanted to cry or say something. He got up quickly and walked away. He pushed through the door, and it swung shut.
Patty made his way up the stairs. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the metal steps. They ran through the narrow stairwell and vibrated in his head.
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