Not Far From Golgotha

by Richard Futch

  She immediately saw the nervous tick of his forefinger against the sweating side of the mug. The ground was very soft here; she’d have to be careful. “Anyway, I’m glad we got together,” she finished innocently, and then without warning reached over and took his hand. She hoped he didn’t know she felt it tremble. As gently as possible she let it go, but left her hand resting near his. Billy cleared his throat and looked away before saying anything.

  “I’ve been real busy, Liz. Extra duty at the Hospital…you know what kinda dumbasses I’ve got to deal with…” and Elizabeth smiled and nodded to make it appear she didn’t notice how his voice trailed off. She also knew not to tread on the minefield of these ‘extra duties’ Billy mentioned. He went on, striving hard for elaboration. “You know, the damn answering machine screwed up three months ago and I still haven’t gotten around to fixing it. Besides,” and he did turn to look her in the eye this time. “You know I don’t like talking to Mom.” He could not hold her gaze for long and stared quickly down into the depths of his beer. “All that and, you know…” he faded off into more faltering drivel.

  “Yes, Billy. We all know how Mom is.” She paused, ruminating on how far she should take the line. “Anyway, she’s gone a lot of the time now.”

  “What?” Billy’s surprise was genuine, and he suddenly looked like the little boy she’d known fumbling over some toy in the sandbox. “What the hell’s going on around there? I haven’t known her to leave that house for more than a couple hours since before Dad died. Jesus, I thought she was scared to go anywhere.”

  Elizabeth’s reply came quick, and unexpectedly crisp. “She is scared, Billy, but it’s not of leaving the house.” It was her turn to look down and wipe her hands absently on the crumpled napkin by the fries. “She’s going to church now. All Sunday long, and most other nights too.”

  “Scared?” Billy said, before shutting his mouth instantly, realizing the mistake. He looked into her eyes, suddenly stricken.

  Unintentionally, she drummed her fingers on the table. Billy set down what remained of the sandwich and leaned back. Elizabeth saw the pain in his eyes and leaned forward, reaching for his hands again, unafraid and tired of this game they played behind curtains. When she did get hold of them he didn’t try to pull away, but his eyes remained fixed on something far away as his lips moved in the effigy of either a plea or a prayer. “Billy,” she said, and squeezed his hands harder, trying to retrieve her runaway. “I don’t want you to stay away from me…I love you and I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  He pulled himself together enough to make a perfunctory stab at denial. “Liz, really. It’s been work…nothing else…you’re gonna be okay, Liz. It’s just that—“

  She didn’t even let him finish. “It’s just that’s not the truth, and you know it, Billy. What I have is real; I hurt all over most of the time, but I’m not really afraid. I don’t want you to be either. I just don’t want what I have to be taken away…” and it was her turn to fade out.

  Billy leaned closer, his throat constricting, but failing to hold back the words. “What is it?” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears as he tried hard to blink them away.

  Even softer, she answered him. “Memories, Billy. I want to keep every one of them. And I want you to know that I'm not finished making them yet.” She made to loosen her grip but he squeezed back fiercely.

  “Let’s take a walk,” he said.

  Chapter 26

  Ebenezer was in the midst of a cloudy, fretful sleep. Since the sudden attack his consciousness had retreated like a fox to its den, perhaps attempting a brief sanctuary from the hounds that’d attempted to tear him to pieces. He had no grasp of circumstances, no firm ground on which to plant his feet. He swirled in a ghostly abyss, alone as a soul doomed to hell.

  But somewhere in the cacophonous vortex, unnoticed in the world of reality, Ebenezer’s eyes squinted as his nostrils detected the acrid scent of smoke. A monstrous humming filled the air and he rubbed his now wrinkle-less hands harshly across his eyes. When finally able to clear them, he was back in 1943 and the B-17 roared like a metal-throated demolition factory over Germany. Tracers and whining bullets ripped the sky as Glen Billings and Henry Watlick took the ‘Flying Fortress’ to the wall. Ebenezer heard the strain of bolts in the fuselage. He pivoted in the ball-turret chair, sizing up the mosquito-like nemesis following them through the holy cross-hairs. Its enveloping halo danced madly about and around the target, now cutting and diving, the enemy inside hunched and incorporated like a piece of machinery himself.

  Below Ebenezer’s feet the cargo of bombs fell away, trailing like a hideously lethal snake to their random destinations. He thought it paradoxical that the traces of blue sky piercing irregularly through the smoke and clouds could be present in such a din as this. The dull streamer of bombs only served to bring the brighter, infrequent glimpses into sharper contrast, and Ebenezer Holgren (gunnery sergeant) continued squeezing the moon-slivered slip of metal at his fingers, sending hails of screaming lead to blister and bruise the sky. He remembered wondering where these errant bullets fell, the ones that missed the mark and went on unheeded. His mind’s eye provided a suitable answer: an old peasant woman (strained face and ragged clothing) hiding vainly beneath a spindly-legged dining table while pieces of the roof rained down, punched loose by a slew of scalding bullets. Slipping and exploding through, perhaps one piercing her constricted old throat in a grisly spray of bone and blood. Leaving her crumpled over the already silent body of a small grandchild she’d tried to protect.

  Where was redemption after that?

  He squeezed his eyes closed and let another hail fly, fiery chips of metal breaking away from the Luftwaffe fighter. Did smoke pour from the tail section? Surety was impossible; the whole sky was blistered with huge banks of maddened clouds and tumors of smoke that held off in separate, ragged bruises. With the added ground assault, vision was nil.

  The B-17 suddenly banked hard, or as hard as it could, Ebenezer catching sight of the Luftwaffe again. He was unable to maintain any balance, flung about like a doll inside the turret. The surreal and nauseous panorama he felt trapped within was only overcome (for scant seconds only) by bullets ripping past at supersonic speeds and the multitude of darting shadows which drew testament to the acidic taste of adrenaline lining his throat. Of course, there was also the steady tinging of bullets ripping their own shell.

  He remembered sitting in the seat, pivoting madly about, his balls so pinched and tight it caused physical pain. But at least the pain was insurance that his heart still beat in his chest.

  A brief flash near the tail section caused him to spin on instinct, his forearms tightening to cables as his fists clapped closed on full release. His eyes, frantic and straining, seemed to pilot the multitude of screaming finger-sized projectiles toward the tail section of his enemy. Suddenly the Luftwaffe was close enough for him to distinguish the colors of Germany, so close in fact that the pilot had no time to react to Ebenezer’s demonic, frenzied accuracy. The tide of lead bore into his fuselage and peeled a glass-melting path through the cockpit. The German’s face disintegrated inside his helmet as his arms flew away from the console. But to Ebenezer it seemed that the man was flung back in slow-motion, just before the riddled plane went wildly, radically left, gaining G’s as it spun through the smoky sky and out of sight.

  And in a paroxysm of hysteria, through unexplainable laughing tears, Ebenezer went on squeezing the trigger, pumping endless rounds into the burnt sky, as the B-17, the Flying Fortress of World War II, continued on its unerring course over Anklam and Flensburg, chased and hunted continuously as it spread destruction below.

  For in the instant (the frozen and sluggish instant) when the German pilot had erupted in spray, Ebenezer got a glimpse of the man’s life; a hurried collection of snapshots, inexplicable and thoroughly disconcerting. And the last was the worst, the most damning: a tiny baby (the hair not even yet evident on its head) in the arms of a mutilated, uni
formed corpse; the baby reaching up into the empty space where its father’s head should have been…..

  Chapter 27

  “AH!…no, NOOOO!” Ebenezer screamed in terror, suddenly coming alive again to a strangely antiseptic room. For just a moment he imagined himself in hell, a very different hell than the preachers of his youth had promised, but worse somehow in this very difference. Then the sounds of gunfire and straining engines faded to memory only even as a growing pain crept into his sense of being. He jerked his head around, trying to get a fix on his surroundings. Definitely not his room, and probably not hell either, he decided. His head split to burst and there was a terrible ripping pain across his chest.

  At that moment Nurse Sandy Albritton threw open his door, summoned by the commotion coming from the both the intercom and behind the partially cracked door. Up until now the floor had been benevolently calm, and if not acted upon quickly such bellowing was sure to add to her work detail; God only knew it would get much worse if the others all woke up with their own complaints. Trouble at 3:00 in the morning was something to quell at all costs.

  She stood in the chilly, hospital doorway, sizing things up before going any further. She could tell from the tangled I.V. line her patient had been thrashing about on top of yelling, but now he was thankfully sedate. There was clear questioning in his eyes but he was quiet. His hands trembled noticeably. She quickly went to his bedside and put one hand to his clammy forehead, readjusting the oxygen mask which dangled uselessly below his chin with the other. She tried pressing his stiffened body into the softness of the mattress to little effect. His confusion only became more apparent. “Mr. Holgren,” she said softly. “Everything is all right now. You are in the hospital, but everything is all right.”

  With these few, simple words life dawned again in the frightened man’s eyes, a far cry from the stark stare of discomfiture and fright she’d seen upon entering. Watching his face gave her the strangest impression of seeing a wave pull away from shore, leaving the sandy surface sparkling and freshly marbled with foam and bubbles. In short, a dawning personality against the landscape of skin and bone she’d only known him for before.

  “Oh my God,” the old man moaned, fighting to keep his body from flailing away again. “What’s goin on? I still smell the smoke…the bodies…” and he rammed his fists to his ears, crying out in pain until tears spilled from his eyes.

  “You were assaulted, Mr. Holgren, but everything will be okay,” Albritton tried to persuade him, pulling his fists away from his ears. “You were woken by nightmares, I’m su—“

  “Nightmares!?” he spat incredulously, but paused to consider the possibility. He closed his eyes and breathed out in a rush, wincing as the vice of pain gripped his chest. His face flushed red. As he tried to slow his breathing the nurse straightened the rest of the equipment Ebenezer had disturbed in his terror. Suddenly he reached out to grab her hand. Pleading ruled his face.

  “What happened?” he implored. The words came out hoarse and cracked. She patted his hand as she continued her survey, working a kink out of the I.V. line so the needle stayed at a safe angle. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a roll of tape, carefully ripping off an adequate amount while she considered her answer. Simple, direct, she thought best.

  “Mr. Holgren. This is University Hospital. You’ve been with us for two days. You were brought in on Thursday night, beaten severely and stabbed. You’ve also got a compound fracture of your collar bone.” And again, she pushed him back into the mattress, gently but firmly, consigning him silently to rest.

  At Ebenezer’s odd silence which followed her explanation, she stepped away and with added courtesy repeated, “You’re going to be all right now, Mr. Holgren. Trust me, you’ll be all right.” But by this time the blank look curtained his gaze again, even though he nodded his head as if in complete understanding. He was alone again, regardless of her presence in the room. “If you need anything just ring,” she said as she backed out of the doorway, leaving the old man to the smell of the burning and the awful stink in the ball-turret.

  Chapter 28

  Without warning and for no apparent reason a swirling, almost clairvoyant surge slowed and then stopped Billy in the sparkling corridor. He had a voltage meter in one hand and gently tapped a flashlight against his thigh with the other on the way to remove acoustical ceiling tiles at the end of the hallway. Seems there was a phantom short in the Oxygen delivery system for Rooms 421-45, though thankfully none of the patients down there were in immediate need. However…

  He turned slowly around, in search of the ghost that’d slipped past just then, as acutely drawn to Room 417 as he’d been to the sensation that someone or something had brushed him. The door was slightly ajar and Billy heard Oprah’s confident voice begging its displeasure to murmured audience approval. He rubbed his chin and ambled back for curiosities’ sake. A swift, passing glance inside offered little help; all he saw was the patient’s prominent bottom half, naked from the knee down, a tray spread with a Spartan lunch and a flash of silverware. Maybe if he just pushed the door a bit further for investigation…and in so doing immediately recognized the shock of frazzled hair, the fork poised at the bearded mouth a second before Ebenezer’s eyes locked on his own.

  Billy froze, arms at his side, his mind inventing failing explanations even as he stood in the doorway.

  The old face wrinkled good-naturedly along familiar lines around his sparkling eyes while Billy stood there dumb, the unkempt beard finally parting for the smile. “Billy, my boy,” Ebenezer welcomed in his wonderful voice. “I was wonderin if I had the right place. Thought ya worked here…” and he set down his fork, forgetting about the uneaten bite it impaled.

  Billy pushed the door wider. Ebenezer moved the mobile tray aside, waving as he did so for Billy to come inside. Stumbling guilt denied Billy’s attempt at suitable greetings, so he remained glued to the floor, stuttering silently with his eyes.

  “My God, boy, come on in! I don’t want ever Tom, Dick, and Fuzzywink starin at my balls in this fuckin gown,” the old man grumbled humorously. Best to break the ice, Ebenezer thought. Somethin really eatin this kid. He could feel the tension building and decided the best defense was diplomacy. “Seems I got myself into a bita a rumble the other night,” he began as Billy walked to the foot of the bed. “Don’t remember much, but what I do ain’t good. A bunch a punks threw me up against an alley wall; I do remember that. That and this one black fella in my face.” Ebenezer tapped his temple. “I got that sonofabitch’s face clear right here, I tell ya.” Sighing, he fingered the recline control and shuffled deeper into the folds of the pillows and thin sheets. “They rolled me for sure, pad’na, but goddammit they didn’t kill me! Too tough an old bastard for that, I guess.” He nodded but Billy was still quiet, question and concern commanding equal parts of his features. Ebenezer went on, “Beat the hell outta me and then decided ta stab me in the fuckin shoulder. And this was after they got my money! Ungrateful bastards, I tell ya,” he said, only half-jokingly.

  In a drenched, dead-pan delivery Billy asked: “How many were there?” A memory he’d tried to cast off fought its way back through the bushes.

  Ebenezer looked away, trying to remember, but also trying not to level his attention on Billy’s face. The look there frightened him. “Not real sure. I was gettin the shit kicked outta me most a the time, but I b’lieve there was three or four. Bastards jumped me like a fuckin bad dog.”

  It took Billy a few more moments. “You’re going to be all right?”

  Ebenezer exhaled and held out his hands. The smile stayed put but the fatigue was clearly etched on his face. “I b’lieve the old man’s gonna make it,” he assured. Then with a sweeping motion of his good arm he bid Billy sit down in the adjacent hospital recliner. Billy obliged him although Ebenezer still perceived it hard for the young man to meet his gaze.

  Perhaps it was this look alone that subconsciously caused Ebenezer to trip in the suspected minefield. His ne
xt statement came completely unannounced, even to himself. A sudden razor blade extended, cloaked superbly as innocence, its detrimental effects not apparent until the question escaped his lips. When he actually heard it himself he shriveled inside with shame and exasperation, not at all sure of his own intentions anymore. What he said was: “I must’ve been in the Head too long last time, huh Billy?”

  Billy flinched involuntarily and swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple jerked quickly, up and down, once. “I really don’t know why I left. The story was good, but there was just something…probably too much booze, I don’t know…”

  Immediately Ebenezer jumped in to save his faux pas, praying his skill as a cut-man would come in handy, in retaliation to the hay-maker he’d uncharacteristically thrown unawares and landed mightily. “Hey, hey, fuck it Billy! I ain’t comin down on you. It really don’t make no difference. Whether it was booze or anythin else. Ya do what ya want, I do what I want. Hell, it was late. I wasn’t far behind ya.” And even as he finished the sentence Ebenezer saw the frightful expectation in Billy’s face.

  “That was the night wasn’t it?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah, it was,” Ebenezer admitted, and this time he was the one to look away, making a vain attempt to steer his voice clear of misplaced accusation. He realized he was the Lonely Old Man here, and now was no time to start leading others down the same trail of bullshit he’d trod for so many years. He’d seen the pain and confusion in the boy’s eyes before; it was an undeniable stamp on a person’s soul.

  Ebenezer brought his gaze back to Billy. Truth was the major ingredient of Life as far as he was concerned; if steered around it tended to cause wounds that festered and corrupted around the foul malingering dregs of lies.

  “Goddamn,” Billy whispered. He shook his head in somber enlightenment, only then turning to meet Ebenezer’s stare. The old man kept his mouth shut; Billy continued, “I never should have left, running out like that….whatever the hell it was I—” and his mouth continued moving even though no sound came forth.