Mile 21 5c3m25

MILE

21

DEL COREY

AuthorHouse™ 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.authorhouse.com Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640

©

2017 Del Corey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/12/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0289-9 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-5462-0288-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Introduction

1 Assignment Change

2 Of Goodbyes And Addictions

3 Fayetteville And Fort Bragg

4 From Barrack To Desk

5 Some Letters

6 Tattoo

7 The After-Tattoo Effect

8 Guilt

9 My First Sunday

10 Some Friends

11 Strange World Of The Library

12 Night Visit To The Chapel

13 Randy And Franny

14 A Cookie Visit

15 Some Letters

16 Randy’S General

17 Psychological Warfare

18 Names Of Things

19 “Counseling”

20 Mass And Confession?

21 A Fiery Money Jump

22 Randy’S Return

23 A FrActious Fayetteville Visit

24 Baseball Lesson

25 A Nun Assignment

26 Double Troubles

27 Letters

28 Suspicions

29 `Espionage

30 Word Worries & Spiders

31 Letters

32 Sister Mary Victoria’s Hug

33 Barrack Banter

34 Willy From Gary, Indiana

35 A Catechism Trip With Sister

36 A Leroy Riverton Visit

37 Confession, And Then Some

38 I Am Promoted

39 Letters Home And Beyond

40 Sewing Pfc Stripes And Plotting

41 The Chaplain Is Curious

42 I Visit Randy

43 A Library Trip

44 A Curious Keepsake

45 Into The Wild Thang Den

46 Another Catechism Class

47 Crazy Weekend

48 Insanity Thwarted?

49 Letters From Home

50 Unholy Night And Church

51 A Nunnery Visit

52 The Chaplain Fires Me?

53 On Dog Training

54 Satan Training Begins

55 Of Jumps And Orders

56 Fayetteville Confessions

57 Dangerous Revelations

58 The Angry General

59 Letters Home

60 Night Jumping And Farewell

61 The Wild Thang

62 Sister Vickie And Satan

63 Here I Come, Mile 21

64 In Trouble With Father

65 Writing Letters Home

66 Of Suicide And The Lord

67 Scoldings And Plans

68 A Four Part Maneuver

69 Maneuvers Begin

70 “Insanity” And Grenades

71 A Reluctant Attack

72 Hospital Visit Plus One

73 Willful Willy

74 My Day Of Revenge

75 Love Letters Home

76 Strange Sunday Mass

77 Late Letters From Home

78 Time For Confessions

79 A Mess Of My Own Making?

80 What A Fool I Was

81 Library Visitation Interrupted

82 General Apologies

83 Colonoscopy Letters

84 Wild Things At The Wild Thang

85 Reaching For Normality

86 Trouble In The Hospital

87 A Lasting Confession

88 A Priestless Sunday?

89 The After Mass

90 Francis In Recovery

91 A Fateful Phone Call

92 Losing Mom?

93 A Painful Funeral

94 Mom’s Recovery

95 My Return

96 Fayetteville Adventures

97 Battle For Peace

98 A Bitter Peace

99 New Priest, New World

100 General’s Final Meeting

101 Letters Home

102 Francis’ Farewell

103 Surprise Award

104 Big Decision

105 A Love Trip?

106 Letters From Home

107 A Farewell Party

108 My Fayetteville Party

109 My Mt. Pleasant “Party”

110 Altar-Boying

111 A Final? Farewell

112 Ah, Francis, Ah Love

113 Homeward And A New Adventure

DEDICATION

I dedicate this novel to my wife, Leslie, who has been so patient reading many of the pages I wrote. Most of her suggestions have been excellent, and quite helpful. Thanks go also to many of my friends who have been so encouraging and patient. I thank the many readers who, willing or not, entered the fictional church with me, and read a bit of Latin, and went to masses with me, and listened to a number of my sermons. Thank you! I also, of course, dedicate this book to my family, who perhaps will read my novels and poems and realize that I too was young and stared at the world with starry eyes, and great optimism, slurping up Life like a delicious, giant orange, so sweet, so tangy, so wonderful!

INTRODUCTION

You have this book in your hands with the intent of being entertained, I presume. I hope that is the case. Some others of you wish to whoosh through this tract, not expecting to discover any characters or gems of insight. I pray that you stop in your tracks and say, “Son of a gun! I never thought of that!” Or, perhaps, “I like looking at that from a different angle!” That would be nice, because I believe such insights are in here, waiting to be discovered, like jewelry in Grandma’s boudoir. Now, even though I’m encroaching on some unmentionable years in my life, this is just my second novel! And I didn’t think it would be such a momentous effort. I created scenes, and characters that didn’t exist before this! Where were they before? In my insane brain, I suppose. I was amazed to count and come to the realization that I’d created over 40 people! Many of them have come from parts of people I knew, and I thank them. Also, some of the people I created have become friends. I will miss them! Also, I trust that you, the reader, will enjoy to some degree the scenes and ideas I wrote for you, without too many curves or knucklers so you can swing and hit home runs again and again while you find pleasure in the reading. Also, I mention addictions often in this book. I learned that there are good addictions and bad ones. I had the bad habit of smoking for many years, and I am so sorry now. If only I could un-smoke every cigarette I’d had, but of course I can’t, and the damage is done to my lungs. Thank you, cigarette companies, for the gifts of packs and cartons while in the military! But don’t focus on this one idea. There’s so much more in this book. Like sex! So enough of all that. Please read and enjoy! Or else!

1 ASSIGNMENT CHANGE

Alas, how god-like is the government that can change plans for us poor soldiers. We are like furniture to be placed here or there at the whims of some faceless mover, who cares not where we should be placed. Before I could travel to the West Coast, I received a telegram from the Command Center on Fort Bragg. It was the day before I was to leave for Japan. My mother pulled it out from her apron and handed it to me, nervously. I opened it immediately with shaking hands. I’d never received such an envelope that seemed so ominous, especially one from the United States Army. Inside was a very impersonal military message, the way most of them are. That’s because we’re viewed as “non-persons,” I presume, things or machines maybe, like trucks. Push our accelerators and off we go. So the message said, PRIVATE THEODORE BYRUM WILL PROCEED TO FORT BRAGG, NORTH CAROLINA. ORDERS TO BEPPU, JAPAN CANCELED. REPORT TO CHAPLAIN, 15 OCTOBER, 1953. That was it. No explanation. To the chaplain? What had I done? Was I in trouble? What about Father Drew? What was this all about? I then tried to call him at the base, but he had shipped out. I was relieved, but confused, because I’d looked forward to traveling to Japan, on the other side of the world, but, I it, it was quite daunting. After all, I’d never traveled at all, except for to Boston to see the Red Sox at Fenway Park, as a teenager. The only other traveling was in the military, to Kentucky for basic training, and North Carolina for jump school. And shipping out all the way to Japan, with those strange, slant-eyed people who were our enemies just a few years ago, made me uneasy. In the movies I’d seen, the Japanese were wicked, cruel people. Short, too, but exotic. I explained to Mom and Dad, that my plans had changed, and I was heading back to Fort Bragg. I would be leaving the next day.

Mom said, “I suppose that’s a good thing, to report to the chaplain. Is he Catholic?” She was talking to me about one subject, but she looked at me as if she were worried about something else. I’d have to find out before I left. “I don’t know, Ma, but Father Drew has shipped out on another mission, to Africa, or one of those islands like the Dominican Republic in the Caribbean. He enjoys helping the poor and suffering.” “I’m sure he’s a good man. ‘Dominican?’ Is that anything like the Dominican Order for priests?” “I don’t know, Ma. You would know better than I would, I’ll bet. But it sounds reasonable. And, Mom, will you make sure to write to Pauley? I told her you would. Do you mind?” “Of course not, Son. Are you sure she’s the one? You’re both so young. But I kept the address you gave me. I’ll write in a few days. And make sure you write to her, too, and to me, of course.” Mom had the usual look of concern as she looked up to me from her 4 feet and 10 inches, or so. She was aging, I could tell, from her greying hair. So was Dad. “Yes, I’m sure. And I will, Mom. You know me. I’ll be like a poet with a pen.” I noticed Dad had sat down in the rocking chair, moving slightly. He looked straight ahead, wearing his usual glasses, with one lens soaped over to hide the empty eye-socket, where the suicide bullet had exited. He kept his mouth tight together, as usual. I was sure it was because of his pain, which must have been like being stabbed by little bayonets. I knew he wasn’t much into talking or letter writing, or religion. I was glad he had allowed the family to be Catholic years ago, though. She wouldn’t have married him without our being brought up Catholic. “Well, Dad, thanks for taking care of the lawyers and the house in Chicago. I hope it works out well for Jeff. It was good to hear he found a job out there at a restaurant, to keep himself busy when not teaching.” Dad tried to turn his torso toward me, so I walked over by the stove so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to see me. “I hope so, too, Son. I think it’ll be good for him to get away from Massachusetts for a while. He can sow more of

his wild oats out there.” He gave me his half smile, which was rare, since his car accident, which led to all the other pain he suffered. It must be tough to look at the world through the one eye, I thought, trying to focus on everything. I had tried it for an hour once, with one eye closed, and I was so unsure of distances, I even knocked a glass over on the table when I reached for it. It was like trying to kick a can in front of me, but coming up short, my foot flying in the air. For Dad it was a car accident, then years of neck and back pain, then attempted suicide, great sequence of life, which led to more, even deeper suffering. He was like a prisoner who knew more torture was coming from the guard. But the bullet he’d shot from that 22 pistol must have done worse damage. Having one glass on the specs smeared over at least saved himself and others of embarrassment and disgust from looking at the results of the bullet. I had a brief glance at it one time, and the red lids closed over the hole that was, with puss oozing until he wiped it away, and a deep queasiness brought me close to upchucking. Dad squinted a frown, “So they want you to report to the chaplain’s office? What the hell, are they tryin’ to do, make a priest out of you?” I noticed how thin his hair was getting, and grey. Yet, his mouth was set, ready to smile or frown. I still respected him, even though he was only 5’6” and I was 6’. Whenever he yelled for me, I came running, faithful and respectful like a pet dog. I chuckled. “I hope not, Dad. I don’t think I’d make a good one, speaking strange languages, and blessing everyone. Although I did learn the Latin responses as an altar boy, I never knew what they meant.” I made a pretend sign of the cross in the air. “I need all the blessings I can get for myself.” Mom interrupted, “I think you’d make a nice priest, Son.” I hugged her. The vision of me as a priest brought a chuckle from me. Not likely, I knew. “Are you gonna be a priest, Teddy? Are ya?” asked Anthony. I didn’t know he was in the dining room, listening to us. We all laughed. Anthony did too, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was more imitative of ours.

I walked to the doorway. My 12 year old blind brother was sitting on the floor, rocking, his back to the wall, his one eye squinting, with wide-spaced yellow teeth, his chubby face retarded-looking, like so many others, which was why little kids pointed at him in public. I was glad he was home for good, home from that Fernald Blind School that treated him like an idiot. Every time I think about how they gave him and other patients experimental drugs I cursed them in my mind, praying they’d get their “reward” in hell. “No, I’m not going to be a priest, Anthony Byrum. I’m just trying to be a good brother to you, and a good soldier. You know I have to leave soon, don’t you?” He sat there rocking back and forth near the doorway, and said, “I know, Teddy. I been listenin’. An’ ya know what I think? I think you’re a good brother, and a good soldier, I think, and I don’t want you ta leave.” I smiled at Dad and Mom, and offered, “Thank you, Anthony. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but I do have to.” Mom turned away and put her apron to her face, wiping away tears. Anthony stood up. His voice rose, and he put his hand up to wipe his eyes, “And I don’t want you to get big-banged and killed, like the neighbors did, ’cause then you wouldn’t be able to come back.” What a heart-break his blindness had been for us all, but especially for Mom, who had to take care of him most of his life. I put my hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I’ll come back to you, Anthony, my brother. Wild elephants couldn’t keep me away. I love you, you know.” “I know. I love you too, bigger than ten bread boxes with elephants in them!” That made us all laugh. I hugged my brother. He was fat, of course. He had no occasion to exercise. God decided to let him be born with a tumor in his left eye. Then the right one faded until he was blind. Dad pulled himself up and held me and even rubbed his unshaved face and lips across my cheek. It felt like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but I didn’t care. This was a bit of affection he’d never shown before. He turned away from me, and said, “Stay safe, my son, make us proud, and come back to us, ’cause

you’re…you’re…you’re loved, godammit.” He walked into the dark living room. Later, I called Pauley, to tell her I was going to Fort Bragg, and not Japan. She said she was glad, and told me to write her with all the details. I promised I would. That night I stared out the attic window, where I ’d slept as a teen. A cool, calming breeze wafted through the screen at me. The maple trees, which were planted when I was about eight, almost covered the avenue below. The metal shade above the street lamp shook with each puff of wind. I could see the tops of the trees clearly because the full moon glowed brightly, exposing the leaves that proudly boasted of their changes, almost like a magician, turning green into crimson and yellow. Ah, the fall colors, that sad and deliriously beautiful time of the year. If some god or magician had offered me the chance to travel back a few years, I’d have taken them gladly. The hours and days seemed to be in too much of a hurry to come, then disappear, as though on some important appointment, leaving us behind with just a few memories of our fleet-footed childhoods. I felt lonely. My friends in the neighborhood were gone, and my friends in the military had shipped out. I was leaving my family and Pauley. In the bed, I covered up from that chill thought. Yet, I confess I was also excited to be back on a journey into some new adventures. I knew I also had to keep jumping out of a plane at least once a month to receive my “hazardous duty” pay. That meant $55 extra each month. I guessed it was worth it, as long as no accidents occurred. It was a lot of money. It took a while before I could sleep deeply, until about 0300 hours, when I awoke, abruptly, and stared at the window, trying not to , but couldn’t erase the memory, the details of what happened right across the street when I was about 10 years old. There was a grey cat, a stray that most of us in the neighborhood fed and petted at one time or another. When asked whose pet it was, we said, “Everybody’s,” and this was later converted to “Buddy.” I petting Buddy many times. Whenever Buddy was chased by the little scotty dog, that the McCourt’s owned,

Buddy would run and “Meow” loudly then turn and wait and scratch, and after two or three minutes of chaos, the dog tired of the game, and trotted away. But one day, this big dog, a wolfhound, I guessed, ambled down our street, saw Buddy, chased it, until Buddy cornered himself across the street by the porch of Carrie’s house. I guessed Buddy expected the same meowing and woofing game, but not this time. Buddy turned, meowed, hissed and stuck his paw out to scratch. But the game quickly changed to horror. The wolfhound went straight up and had its mouth on Buddy’s throat, shook it, and it was over in seconds. This was followed by the ghastly scene of the dog eating Buddy! I threw a rock at that monster. The hound turned at me and growled with what looked like a piece of intestine hanging down from its mouth! I was so overcome, I heaved two more rocks at it. The big killer turned, all teeth. I suddenly realized it could kill me as easily as it had Buddy! I ran for the safety of my porch. The hound finally trotted off with Buddy in his mouth, a victor heading home successfully from the hunt, the cat’s intestine sweeping the path.

2 OF GOODBYES AND ADDICTIONS

The following morning, after more goodbyes to Dad, who slipped a $20 to me, and Anthony, who sobbed and held me, I went out the door with Mom. I put on my soft military hat. The sun was shining brightly. She said, “Make sure you stay safe, Son. I….” She started to say something, but stopped. “What, Mom?” She shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. I’ll write to you.” She forced a smile, even though through her glasses I saw her eyes glisten. She touched her left side, first with her right hand, then hugged herself. “Okay, Mom, I love you, you know. Are you in pain?” She shook her head, wiped her eyes. “I Love you, too, so come back safe and strong. But I want you to listen to me, now. You have time before the train arrives. The taxi can wait. You know your father was an alcoholic, don’t you? Well, he’s not doing as much drinking now, of course. But he was addicted, and he was on and off for years.” “I know, Mom” “Just listen, okay? I’ve been wanting to say this to you, so just be patient. Your Dad was addicted. But I’m an addict too, to the church, and to my soaps on the radio. My addictions aren’t harmful, though. At least, I call them ‘addictions.’ My point is, Theodore, you too, could become addicted. I just hope you will be wise as to what these cravings will be. You will be forced to choose every day, whether it be something to drink, or someone who tempts you, or challenges you, or even tries to steer you from the church, or the path to Salvation.” She reached up and put her hands on each side of my face, and held on firmly

“Now listen to me.” “What, Mom?” “You’re a good person, Theodore Byrum, and whoever you meet, and whatever they offer you, and whenever it sounds like the easiest way, not to hurt others, and especially, don’t hurt yourself. Just be true to your heart, and you’ll do well, whatever you choose. Okay? And never, ever, soil your soul. You know the soot from the train sometimes blows this way, and soils my sheets on the clothes line? Don’t let this happen to your soul. Confess your sins often, Son, and keep your soul clean. She put her hand on my heart and pressed. “Be true to your heart, Son, whatever the choices, because there’s good in you. Choose your addictions well.” She stared pleadingly. “Okay, Mom, thanks. I will.” I felt the wad in my throat and tears forming. “Quit, Mom, or you’ll make me cry, too!” “Sorry.” She let a few tears run down her cheeks. “We all love you. Don’t forget to write. Goodbye!” she said as she stepped up the back porch steps, mopping her eyes with her apron. “And don’t forget to go to Mass whenever you can!” I saw Dad, looking out the front window. I saluted, with a tightness in my throat. He grinned. I was in my dress uniform, looking sharp from the soft hat to the spit-shined jump boots. I waved to the neighbors. I heard “Ciao, Teddy,” and some “arrivederci’s” and more “ciao’s” as I entered the taxi. As the driver backed out of our driveway onto Belle Avenue, I looked across the street at where Carrie had lived. When I was younger, I would see her out on the porch. She would always smile and wave so nicely when I was younger. I hoped she was finding some happiness in Sicily. We just weren’t meant to be, I guess, though it was a thrilling brief romance with her. Why must some families force their daughters to marry a person they don’t love? But my true love was Pauley, then and forever. While heading toward Fort Bragg, I wondered again why the chaplain’s office.

We ed the sign that said “West Springfield, Est. 1635,” which so many of my teachers referred to with pride. I guess it was a pretty old town at that. As we crossed the Memorial Bridge, I realized it was just a few months ago that I had left West Springfield for the first time in my life. “Cabbie, can you pull over for just a second? I want to do something.” “Make it quick, can ya? There’s lotsa traffic on the bridge.” I got out and leaned against the rail. I saw a hawk flying above, and whistled to it. The hawk circled and answered to me, then flew to across the river to Springfield. I picked up a piece of cement that had fallen off the railing of the bridge, and heaved it out. It made an arc, then plunged down, hardly making a splash. I jumped back into the cab quickly. “Thanks.” “Musta been important to ya, huh, soldier?” “Yeah, kinda. Thanks.” As we drove on, I settled back in my seat, closed my eyes, and thought what a nothing effect that cement had on the water. I guess that’s the same result most of us will have on living in this world for such a short time. We’re here, then forgotten. At the train station, I waited with my duffle bag, sitting on a bench. I ed again, my dad saying goodbye to me earlier this year. He wanted me to be a man even though I was just a kid. I was so excited yet filled with trepidation over becoming a soldier and a paratrooper. Was that just in May of this year? It seemed like years ago. I pictured again the worried looks on Mom’s face. What was it? It seemed like more than her usual concerns, something deeper, something she wanted to tell me, but then couldn’t allow herself to let it out. I feared it might be something serious, like some dragon was chained in the cellar, about to get loose. When she held my head for attention, I ed her intent look at my eyes and her words to be true to myself. It wasn’t quite clear to me what that meant, but I knew I’d find out. Dad’s “Be a man fergod sake” came back to me. I then promised myself I would try to be a man while being true to myself, if I could. I thought this would all be clear as the army’s challenges presented themselves.

The question marks in my brain were hooking themselves together until my head ached and my stomach was tightening like a giant fist. At last the train arrived and I climbed aboard. I selected a seat by a window and watched the life outside as we left the station. The streets of Springfield, with its people bustling past the stores and theaters, all so familiar to me, faded behind, and we chugged along the Connecticut River, with fishermen casting from the shore and small boats. The fall colors were magnificent, filling my senses. The reds were oaks I thought. It was as though my eyes were eating the colors. At last sleep took over. It was after my nap that I decided to take a more accepting attitude toward the challenges heaved at me. It was like the little league baseball season when Coach Levesque made me a catcher. Whatever it was, a curve ball, or fast ball or sinker, I was ready to catch it. We didn’t have signals then. But I decided to be ready to handle whatever pitch Life would throw at me at Fort Bragg, despite my anxieties. No flinching. I was glad I’d had a chance to see Pauley once more before I left. She took a bus to Springfield so we could spend a few hours together. We held hands and walked up and down a few blocks. I whistled quietly and happily as we moved along the park, hugging whenever we stopped, then went into a restaurant, a Friendly’s, to sit in a booth for a coffee and sandwich. I sat next to her. Pauley was wearing a white sweater with a blue skirt. I liked the way her dark hair washed across her forehead and dove down beside her cheeks and over her ears. She kept brushing it back as it tried to cover her eyes. She had an attractive, demure smile. I shook my head and smiled. “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You don’t know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you. You are so beautiful and sexy.” “I hope you don’t think I don’t feel the same way, dummy.” “What?” “Oh, shut up. I want you so much, I’m trembling.” She held her hands out, and they were sure shaking. “I’ve been reading Emily Dickinson, you know.”

“No, really? I’m so proud of you.” “Shut up, and listen.” She closed her eyes and whispered.

“‘Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!’

And the last stanza is, ‘Rowing in Eden! Ah? the sea! Might I but moor Tonight in thee!’”

“Wow,” I said. I love that one! That’s exactly how I feel, some nights, some wild nights! I still have Keats in my back pocket.” We held hands and just stared at each other, sending secret messages not for the world to hear. She sipped her chocolate shake then sat back and stared at me. Tears came to her eyes. “God, I don’t know if I can handle this. I just found you and then I’m gonna lose you.” I held her hand to my lips and said, “Don’t start the waterworks in me. I’ll write to you as often as I can. But you’re not losing me. You can’t. To me, this feels like just a warm-up before the baseball game starts. You’re the pitcher throwing

your love to me, and I’m the catcher always there, catching it, for this game and the next, and the next, season after season.” She kissed me. “Sometimes I think you’re a nutcase, you know. But I’ll keep pitching my deepest love straight to your heart, every day every year for the rest of my life, so don’t you die on me, you hear, or I’ll never, never forgive you.” “Oh, oh,” I said, holding her close and whispering in her ear. “I better live, or I’ll be in deep trouble.” And I thought, as the train neared the state of Connecticut, “I will be true to my Pauley, no matter how powerful the temptations presented to me. And I’ll be true to my heart, while trying to become a decent man, or a “man fergod sake,” as my dad said. The sky suddenly was darkening, and I heard rumbles of thunder in the distance. Out the window I saw the dark clouds moving quickly overhead. This brought back the fear I’d had of rain and lightning storms since I was a ten or eleven year old. I shuddered, hugging myself.

3 FAYETTEVILLE AND FORT BRAGG

At last, the train ended up in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I took a taxi to the base. The driver had a cup that he rested in the enger seat, which he would pick up and spit tobacco juice into, from a lump in his bottom lip. He was so slim he looked skeletal, especially his face, which seemed scarcely to be covered by skin. The bones were quite prominent. I couldn’t imagine sticking tobacco in my mouth, just to chew and spit out. The juices must have been bitter, horrible. Now that was a disgusting addiction! As we rode through the city of Fayetteville, memories of my last jaunt to the city curled around my brain. I asked the driver, “Do you know the bar, ‘Rusty’s Waterhole?” “Do ah know Rusty’s Waterhole? Ya betcher jump boots ah do. Ah’ve known Rusty for, lemme see, four-fav years now.” He spat into the cup, and some of that brown goo oozed down his chin, which he wiped off with his sleeve. “Go thar ‘most ever Satidy naght with ma waf an’ friends. Drink beers and dance ta good ol’ country music.” “Well, good. Next time you see him, tell him one of the young soldiers who had a rumble with Elrod, says, ‘hey.’ And give Tuppence a scratch for me. Nice dog.” “Y’all had a rumble with Elrod? How’d that turn out?” “Oh, Rusty took care of it. Maybe I’ll get to stop in to see him and the dog. Looks like I’ll be stationed here for a while.” The drive into Fort Bragg, was depressing. It didn’t have the colors I’d just enjoyed in Massachusetts. Here were many scrawny trees, loblolly pines they were called. Most of the terrain was sand, hills and the everlasting pines that to me resembled upside down toilet brushes. Fort Bragg, named after some

confederate general in the Civil War was 127,000 acres, made into a base in 1918, to prepare troops for World War I. In 1923 Pope Air Force Base was added to the acreage, making this the largest military installation in the world. It was in the 1950s when it became a training post for the airborne. There were as many as 30,000 on base at a time. I felt I’d met the challenges there, and had no desire to go back. Father Drew would be gone. I might be able to make with Lieutenant Smithson, or Sergeant Scrofura in the church, but they could never be warm friends to me. It felt like I was returning to a football field long after the game was over, and all the action had ended. After the guard opened the gate for us, I thought, “Well, Fort Bragg, what do you have in store for me now? I promise to keep my mouth shut this time, so I can avoid my usual punishments. So what do you have to “brag” about, what tricks are up your sleeve to squander another year or two of my life, and what can you teach me about how to survive until I get back home and to my Pauley?” On the drive in I saw airplanes taking off and landing, and heard the drones of the engines. When nearing the barracks I saw that soldiers were marching on the streets and the parade ground, looking sharp, usually with one cadre shouting or singing out the cadence. I rolled down the window and listened.

“Hut ho, hut ho. You left you girl at home!” he’d sing. “You’re right!” the marchers answered. “Waiting by the phone!” “You’re right! “But you don’t give a damn!” sarge sang. “You’re right!” “You work for Uncle Sam!”

“You’re right!” Then Sarge and the troops went by, “Hut, ho, Hut ho!”

At the 82nd Airborne campus, I reported to the Company Commander, a Captain Parnell, balding, red-faced, small mustached, who saluted back and pointed to the sergeant, who assigned me to my lodgings. Sarge eyed me up and down. I felt like he was looking for some disease, measles, or chicken pox. I checked into my barrack, Able Company, found my bunk, ate a quick evening chow at 1730, returned from the mess hall, and, feeling shy, without any attempt at conversing with others, I unpacked and after some sleepless hours, at last slept deeply. The following morning I spoke to no one, showered, ate chow, answered reveille, then reported directly to the chaplain’s office. I knocked and stood at attention. “Enter!” came an angry voice. I opened the door, took a step in and saluted. “Private Byrum reporting, sir!” There, before me, was a man in uniform, who must have been 100 pounds over weight. He arose, flipped a casual sort of salute back at me, and sat back down behind his desk, squeezing his protruding stomach in, to fit. His shirt was too large for him, and his pants were wrinkled, especially around his huge thighs. “At ease, Private Byrum. Come in and sit down.” He was breathing hard, just from the exertion of standing up, I believe. I guessed he was about 40. His face was fat, with wide red cheeks, and his eyes were narrow, Asian-like. “So, you’re Theodore Byrum.” He picked up a chocolate cookie and nibbled. “Mmm, I heard about you from Father Andrew. So, you know how to type?” “Yes, sir, uh, yes, Father.” “Mmm, just call me Father, son. But never the Holy Ghost. Get it, Father, son, and Holy Ghost?” A low rumble of laughter blurted out of him, almost a snort. I laughed, uneasily. “That’s pretty good, Father.”

He walked over to me and held out his hand. I extended mine and he took it and said, “Welcome aboard.” He had a powerful grip, which he held longer than a normal greeting. He stared at my face for a moment, as though searching for something. I squeezed back, hard, also, and said, “Thanks, Father.” That felt unusual, strange to me. He sat back down and munched another cookie, and said, “Mmm, My name is Father Roland Carpenter and I’m from Modesta, California. I don’t type, and can’t stand paperwork.” His black hair was untrimmed, with grey streaks along the side, arrowing outward, and when he sat back down I noticed the bald spot on the crown of his head. After an awkward pause, I asked, “Why am I here, Father?” “Mmm, why are we all here, young man? To do the will of God. Or, in this case, to do my will of Roland, and harken to his song. Get it? ‘Song of Roland.’ No, I guess not.” He mumbled a bit of laughter. “No, seriously, I asked Father Andrew if he knew anyone who could type and help out in the office, and maybe even at the altar, and only your name came up. He didn’t think you’d be interested, but I pulled a few strings, well maybe ropes, so to speak, and got your orders changed. This way I saved you from the dangers of a foreign country so far away from home.” He jammed the rest of a cookie into his maw. “Yes sir, thank you sir, I think.” I was thinking that eating might be his addiction. “Well, anyway,” he swallowed, “you’re here, Byrum, and I’d like you to look at this desk full of letters and orders and make some, mmm, you know, sense out of them. And if you have to answer some letters, go ahead and type them up for my signature. You’ll find my stamp in there, somewhere.” Here he took a more serious pose. “Understand, Private Byrum? Don’t you embarrass me, or there’ll be hell to pay!” He shook his finger at me. His hand was shaking. “Yes sir! I’ll try my best, sir, I mean Father!” This scared me. He was a man of changeable moods, on and off like a light bulb. And I was supposed to work with him, for him, for how long? “How old are you, Private?”

“Almost 19 sir, in November.” “Mmm. Okay, dismissed.” I fumbled through the Morning Report. “Report here tomorrow. I won’t be here ’til later, but just get started.” “Yes, Father.” I left, shaking my head, wondering what Father Drew got me into. It seemed like another hell waiting for me. Why is it I end up getting into trouble so often? I’m about to strike out before I even have a bat in my hands. Back at the barrack of Able Company, I straightened out my gear, hung up my uniforms, and arranged my footlocker. That evening I quietly shined my shoes. I made eye with no one. Before turning in, I read a few lines of Keats’. “The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!” My reading was interrupted by a sound. What was that? A bugle? It was from a distance, but it certainly sounded like “Taps!” I ran the words through my brain.

Day is done, gone the sun, from the lakes, from the hills, from the sky; all is well, safely rest, God is near.

What an amazing effect that has on a soldier! I never expected to hear it again. My high school history teacher, Mr. Jubal Sherwood, played it for us from a recording. He read to us the fascinating story about a Union Army Captain in 1862 in the Civil War. He recited this quite dramatically, “The captain at the front, crawled on his stomach to the screaming soldier, in the dark, and dragged him back behind the lines, only to find him dead. He wore a rebel uniform. When he held a lantern above him, he found it was his son!” Rebel?

That alone disturbed me, back then, imagining holding the corpse of a son or brother or a friend. Then, later, in jump school I experienced up close the death of my friend, Timothy Murphy. I held him on my lap during his final breaths after he had plunged from the airplane, his chute tangled around him. The image of his face is imprinted in my mind, and I still hear again his last sigh, that deep throat growling finality, Death’s warning. But Mr. Jubal went on, “His son had been studying music in the South, and the captain didn’t know that he had enlisted. When he found the words his son had written on a folded paper in his shirt pocket, the captain was given permission to have a bugle played in the rhythm of his son’s words.” After that, in a quiet mood, I gazed out the window, and it looked as if the moon had tipped over a bowl of its golden glow, and spilled it on the earth, the other barracks, the fields, the trees. I hoped Pauley was looking up at the same moon, and feeling as I did. So I took a deep drink of that blond magic, prayed, “God is near,” and slept, fitfully at first, but then, deeply.

4 FROM BARRACK TO DESK

The barrack I’d been assigned to was extremely plain, and drab, as they all are. They were designed by a color-blind person with no imagination. I suppose the purpose was to assure us that we were the same as everyone else, so we could then become the same, like cookies punched out with the name of tasteless sameness. The light bulbs on the ceilings were bare and dull, and, of course, there were no window shades. Also, nailed onto each pole, about waist high, were the usual large cigarette butt cans, which at one time contained some kinds of soup, now woefully nameless because they were anonymously naked, their labels having been cruelly stripped of their identities. Now they were assigned the duty of holding a few inches of water, to snuff out the fires of the cigarette butts that were tossed into them, with a final, complaining, serpentine, “hiss!” So there was always the odor of smoke in the air, along with the wet stench of tobacco butts. Surprisingly, the tobacco smoke didn’t bother me very much. I was just so proud to have quit when I did. I didn’t mind at all the aroma of shoe polish or after-shave lotion on some nights, when some of the soldiers were preparing to head downtown to Fayetteville. Then it struck me that Mom mentioned Dad was a drinker, an addict. Dad also smoked, an addiction as well, I thought. The cab driver in Springfield was also an addict, wasn’t he? And what about the cab driver in Fayetteville? He chewed tobacco. He was addicted to that, wasn’t he? So, you’re right, Mom. There are many addictions. Yours was praying. Can that be called an addiction also? I guess we all have some kind of addiction if we define it that loosely. Any way, I felt proud that I’d killed my smoking addiction! Most of the men in the barrack were assigned to various offices around the base, one as the battalion commander’s clerk, others to company commanders, majors, and some to officers that seemed to have no responsibility at all. Many had been there for some time, well-versed in the routines of office life, and I wondered if they were happy with their assignments.

Often the hum, then roar of airplanes ed overhead, and frequently there were soldiers marching to loud cadence counts along some of the streets. One problem I’d had in sleeping was the loud snoring, or in some cases, snortsnorting. That wasn’t too bad. I could adjust to that, as long as it had regularity. But one of them played a different tune each time. He’d let out a low one, a bass, then gargle a bit, then it would rise to an alto, and just about when I became accustomed to that, he’d become a tenor, or even a horrible soprano cacophony! But then he seemed to have awakened himself, and I found peace, sleep. But, alas, as I was diving deep into dreamland, out he came again, slowly reaching a crescendo of noise that shattered my peace. Then, a surprising conclusion to that composition was a long, loud explosion of gas that must have blown a hole in somebody’s shorts. This was followed by somebody’s laughter, and I couldn’t help myself. I ed in the hilarity. Once I heard some thumping, again and again, and at last I’d figured it out. One man was satisfying himself! I finally stuffed cloth in each of my ears and put my head under the pillow for peace. On the second day, one man in the bunk next to mine, who was a bit older, maybe in his late 20’s, was very gentlemanly. He introduced himself, “Hello, there, I see you’re new. I’m Private First Class Miller, Jules Miller, I work in Personnel,” and he offered his delicate hand. He was well dressed, trim and fit. He pulled a small white handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his forehead and mouth. His face was round, with a friendly concerned smile. I appreciated his offer of friendship. He showed me his ear plugs and said, “For survival.” I asked him about “Taps” that I thought I’d heard the night before. “Oh, yes, our company commander started that about a month ago. He has some recordings. Didn’t you hear ‘Reveille’ this morning?” He cupped his ear. He seemed to use his hands to express himself whenever he talked. “No, I had my ears plugged.” Jules laughed. “I understand, you bet. But I kind of like it.” “My history teacher told our class the background of Taps. Great story, but sad!” “I agree. I know the history. I work in Personnel. Where are you assigned?”

I explained to him I was assigned to the chaplain’s office as a clerk, and knew nothing about the job. He waved as though there were some minor thing in front of him that he brushed aside. “Oh, poof and piffle, you’ll figure it out. Most jobs in the military are not demanding. It will come to you in a week or two.” He strutted a bit as he started to leave the barrack. “Let me know if you need any help. I’ll be around. Ta Ta!” He waved his hand over his shoulder behind him. Later, I returned to the istrative building and entered again into the door that said, simply, “Chaplain.” The office had a large desk, almost completely covered with papers and unopened envelopes. A chair with wheels squealed when I sat, and it tried to run away with me. The bare walls were a dull yellow. A short grey filing cabinet was in the corner close to the chair, with some empty drawers half open. From that viewpoint, I saw a small excuse for a room with desk and chair and typewriter. Mine, I presumed. Inside there was also a small filing cabinet. Out the window I could see a parking space, and beyond that a pond and woods. To my right, next to a vent, was a closet, so I opened the door, and boxes and more boxes tumbled out, unopened. I peeked into one which had a golden cup and cover, and a crucifix. This was to be my job, I assumed. But I decided not to assume anything until I was told. Father Roland arrived at about 1000 hours, when I was sitting at my little desk in my office. He burped, then said “Good Morning, soldier. How much did you get done?” He eyed me expectantly. “I did nothing, Father. I thought you could give me some hints, you know, preferences, as to what to do.” “Damn it, dig in! This is all new to me, too!” He sat at his desk and pulled out a cookie and munched away. “Look at this stuff. Military forms. Requests from soldiers. Chapel arrangements! How in hell do I do this? I’ve never been in the military before. I just took this for a break, to get away from responsibilities. So I need help!” He crunched away at his cookie. “So help me! Mmm, please!”

“Okay, Father, I’ll do my best. May I sit at your desk, sir?” “Mmm, Go to it, soldier! I’m going over to the chapel.” Father Roland placed his papers on his desk for me. “There, you might need that kind of crap.” He waddled out, munching away. As the door closed, I felt the old fear of failure, of once again beginning a new chapter in the army ten steps behind. What’ll it be this time, the mess hall, collecting garbage, doing one hundred push-ups, demotion? To what? I was already as low as could be. The hoosegow - the ole stockade? The paper he left was in capital letters, just like my orders. It said he would be stationed at Fort Bragg for the period of a year, November of 1953 to November of 1954. He was quartered in the officers’ barrack. His office was located in the building set up for most officers, including the the chaplain, motor pool, maintenance, etc. Father Roland Antoin Carpenter was also responsible for the utilization of the chapel, including maintenance, and arrangements for ceremonies. “YOUR SERVICE TO YOUR COUNTRY WILL BE APPRECIATED,” the order said. Not sure where to start, I picked up a form, that needed a report regarding Father’s and my presence. I carted the typewriter over to the big desk and set to work. That was easy. I filled in the blanks and put it on the floor. That would be my “out basket.” Then I saw a paper to affirm that the man maintaining the chapel would get paid. He worked 30 hours a week, or more if needed, and was to receive a monthly salary of $45 per month. His name was Leroy Riverton, and he lived in Fayetteville. Father’s signature was required on the form, and it was late by two weeks. Oh, oh. I’d better let him know. Another form had to indicate hours of service needed at the chapel. It looked easy enough. It looked like I had to find someone else with help as to where to get this information. I exited the office, and walked down the hallway, until I found a latrine. Inside I relieved myself, and stared into the mirror. I rinsed my hands and face with nice, cool water, thinking AWOL thoughts, maybe about visiting Schoenherr in

, maybe. But, no, that’s not me. Or is it? Then, in walked a neat soldier. I mean, he was wearing a uniform, but it looked as unwrinkled as if it were still on a hanger. He nodded to me. I saw on his arm that he had two stripes, a corporal. I started to salute him, but he said, “No, no, soldier, you don’t have to salute me. Just say ‘hello.’” “Hello, I knew I didn’t have to salute, but I did it anyway, because, well, you’re so neat,” I blurted. “But maybe you can help me.” He laughed. “But wait ’til I pee, please.” “’Scuse me, sir, er, corporal.” He zipped up. “Call me Randy, Randy Williams” He washed his hands, wiped them on a paper towel, then held out his hand. He was about 6 feet tall, had auburn hair with a few streaks of gray above his ears.. He had a bright, intelligent, demeanor. Alert. His face was narrow, with thick eyebrows. But when he looked at me he was attentive. I shook his hand, then said, “Teddy.” I don’t know why I said ‘Teddy,’ when I usually go by Ted. I guess it was because his name ended in ‘y.’ I think it sounded friendlier, too. “Are you the new guy? I work in the general’s office. I’m just over here to make sure every executive is aware of the staff meeting in two days. Do you work here?” “Yes, I just reported to the Chaplain, and he left and I don’t have any idea what to do, or how to do it. He doesn’t either. I think the only reason I’m here instead of Japan is because I can type. Can you tell me, are you Catholic?” “Yes, I am a Catholic. Back home I was an altar boy for a while. “Ad deum qui laetificat,” you know. Some of it sticks with us. He’s kind of a chunky priest, isn’t he?Well, I might be able to help if you get stuck. You can just call me in the General’s office.” “Really? In his office?”

“Yep, I’m usually the one to answer for him. He had an aide, but the Colonel is gone and hasn’t been replaced. But I can also introduce you to some others who are in this building who know about the forms and the military language we’re expected to use.” He ran his wet hand back through his hair and it glistened. “Great!” Just then another soldier entered, a private like me. “Hey, Randy, how’s goes it, man?” “Speak of the devil. Just fine. Meet Teddy. What’s your last name?” “Byrum.” “So, Teddy Byrum, meet Willful Willy Fredrickson.” “Willful Willy?” I shook his hand. Randy said, “You’ll find out about that if you ever go down town with him. He has had some episodes.” Willy grinned, as though proud of this extra name. I noticed how wide his cheeks seemed, tapering down to his chin, which had what seemed like a crevice in the center of it. I thought he must have trouble shaving with that valley under his mouth. He had broad shoulders, and his head leaned forward sort of turtle-like. Then Willy said, “Naw, I never done none of those things they say about me. They was drinkin’ too much.” “Don’t try to deny it, Ol’ Willful. I saw it all!” “You saw nothin’.” “I saw somethin.” I watched them go back and forth. It felt like a tennis match. One serves, the other returns. “I saw you pushing and shoving three times.” “Naw, ya never!”

Then Randy said, “I had my camera and took pictures as proof!” “You did?” Randy hit that last one. Game, set, match. “But I don’t plan on showing anyone, unless….” Gotta go. Nice meeting you Teddy. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Give me a call if you have questions. Willy, give him a hand with the paperwork, okay?” “Leave it ta me, Randy.” Willy and I walked back to the Chaplain’s office. He walked briskly. His shoulders were scrunched forward, so he walked facing the floor, chugging along like a train, looking to be in deep thought. “Randy’s a good guy. Sometimes he’s like Mister Perfect, but when you get past that fake front, he’s really okay.” “He sure dresses neat,” I said. “Where ya from?” he asked. “Massachusetts. You?” “Indiana. Good ole Gary, Indiana, land of the steel makers, la, la, la.” “Not crazy about Gary? I know nothing about it.” “I’ll tell you the horror story some day.” In the office, Willy took care of the paperwork on the desk in 15 minutes. He used three files, “the in basket, the out basket, and the crap basket.” Many were tossed into the latter, because they were news letters, old notices, and memos a few weeks old. Willy pointed out a form, and said, “That’s like a morning report. You have to fill that out each morning and send it to battalion by 0830. That goes into the report to confirm you and the chaplain are here.” “Okay, that looks easy enough.”

“But if you don’t get it out on time, call battalion to let them know you’re both here. Might be tough if you don’t know where your boss is, so you’ll have to play it by, you know, the old hearing organ.” “Got it.” “Gotta go. Catch up with you later.” “Thanks, Willful Willy.” He chuckled as the door closed. I picked up a letter from the “In basket.” It was addressed to the “Chaplain.” No name, just “Chaplain.” So I opened it, feeling that I shouldn’t. It was an appeal from a mother, for the priest to check up on their son, “…who is too young to be away from home. My Franny, Francis, signed up to rebel against my ‘constantly mothering him,’ but he’s quite immature, so please, please watch out for him. But be subtle. Don’t be a nag, like me. His name is Francis Plustoni. Bless you, Father. Sincerely, a worried mother.” That’s one for Father Carpenter I thought. Should be easy enough. I opened another letter, that was addressed to Roland Carpenter. No “Father” was used. I assumed it was a personal letter, but since I’d already opened it, I glanced at the inside it said, “You’re wise to hide and wait until everything quiets down. Maybe you’ll be okay. Stay away. Don’t make . I’ll let you know when it’s okay. May the Lord protect you, my friend.” I guess it wasn’t something I should have read, but I didn’t plan on hiding it. Very curious, though. “Wise to hide?” I was sorry I opened that letter. I was sorry I was supposed to be some kind of secretary. Father Drew, what did you do to me, saddling me with this mess?

5 SOME LETTERS

Before I started writing my letter to Pauley, a corporal came up to me at my bunk and said, “Private Byrum?” “Yes?” “You’re scheduled to jump October 31st of this month. Happy Halloween! Here are your orders.” That was it. He snickered and left as abruptly as he entered. I gulped. Here we go again. Then I commenced my letter writing.

October 1953 Dear Pauley,

It’s been so many years since I’ve seen you, and it’s only been a few days, I know. At this rate I’ll be ancient before I get to see you. You’ll be able to recognize me, limping along, trying not to step on my beard, a cane keeping me upright. Will you still love me then? I know that seems silly, but it’s how I feel at times, being apart from you. But, really, you’re never apart from me, because I keep you with me, in my innermost thoughts. It’s like having you in my pocket, not my pants pocket, because that’s too far from my continuing consciousness of you. No, you are in my shirt pocket, because you’re close to my mind, and, of course, my heart. So, we are together constantly, my love. I wrote a poem to you, about our love.

Reflections

Whenever Pauley and I are together, the world keeps showing us how it conspires to approve of us in all kinds of weather.

In cities and towns, we’ll tread in the rain, where store windows wait to reflect our desires, our fiery love, so eager to flare into flames.

In the country our spirits will shy in trees, flicking from twig to limb, snug in the shade, then love-lettering the sky in the summer breeze.

Even in mud puddles, following rain storms, the mirror of us forms, our romance displayed, while above our approving moon and stars swarm.

So, here I am in Fort Bragg, my love. I’m having a bit of trouble getting started with this new assignment, and with this priest, who seems a bit strange. But I’ll keep trying to figure it all out.

I hope you’re doing well, and enjoying your job. Have you heard from Georgy? Let me know when you can. Tell him where I am, and how I’m doing, please. It hurts to miss you so much. At times I picture myself taking a bus and a train to get back to you, but that’s not the way. I must be patient, my darling. Darling. I’m not used to using such words, but they seem so natural when talking to you. Write soon, please. I need to hear from you, or at least read from you. Can you spray a bit of your perfume into the letter? What is it, lavender? Did you know it was used for medicine in ancient days? I looked it up, but it’s like medicine to me. I pray for you every night, my Pauley. Stay safe and in love with life, and me. Love, Ted P.S. I just received the order that I’m scheduled to jump October 31. How’s that for trick or treating?

October 1953 Dear Mom,

I’m fairly settled in here at Fort Bragg. The few people I’ve met so far are nice enough, and good soldiers. The chaplain, though, Father Roland Carpenter from California, is very strange. He doesn’t seem to know anything about military life. The paperwork in our office is going to be tough, since neither one of us knows what we’re doing. I’ll figure it out. But I’ve been worried about you. You were going to tell me in a letter, so I’m waiting and worrying, so write soon. I pray every night for you and the family and Pauley, and myself, of course. Keep me informed about the rest of the Byrums if you get a chance. You seem to

be one of the few who writes letters. I love receiving them from you. There, I used the word, “love.” We never used it much in our house, but I’m sure we all felt it. Write soon, my saintly mother. Love, Teddy

P.S. My next jump will be on Halloween, October 31st. Pray for me.

Dear Darren, October 1953

I do hope you’re doing satisfactorily, my friend, and hope you’re living comfortably in your home, and Aunt Dot is taking good care of you. I know everything in the house is a reminder of Aunt Lilith, which might sadden you with her absence, but then the memories might bring back great gladness for you, ing the wonderful times and trips you had together. I confess, I also miss her and am saddened at her loss. I know, I know, I hardly knew her, yet, that one meeting was enough to allow me to see what you had, what you now miss, and I miss it all with you. She was special, a star that shined like a diamond. Enough. Well, the change of orders sent me back to Fort Bragg, to work in the chaplain’s office. Father Drew suggested me. I don’t know whether to thank him, or curse him, because this chaplain is a character. He knows nothing about what to do, and I know more nothing than he does, or maybe it’s vice-versa, I don’t know. But, I’m here, and I will survive.

I hope you do great things in Boston University. I know you will. You’re well on your way to being a fantastic teacher. You certainly taught me a great deal. Write to me if you get a chance. Love, Ted

P.S. My next jump will be October 31st. I’ll think of you when I’m up there close to the angels.

6 TATTOO

Saturday night. I never suspected I’d be involved in something like this. It was certainly out of my character. Maybe it was the effect of the full moon. I was tired. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night, so I tried to catch a short nap at about 1900 hours. So this was just a preliminary sleep. I had so many things I wanted to process, Father Roland, my job, how things would work out next Sunday at church. They kept my mind buzzing until I lost the world for a while. So I was dozing nicely, when at about 2000 hours, I was jostled gently by Jules. I awoke, startled a bit, but then he said, “Your friends, Willy Fredrickson, and Randy Williams want you to go on an adventure.” I rolled over and let my eyes clear a bit, and there they were. Their eyes seemed to sparkle`, and Willy had a grin that refused to leave his face. I stared at the deep dimple in his chin. He tittered, “C’mon, Teddy, ole boy, Les’ go get a tattoo.” Randy sat down on my bunk and I swear it sounded like a giggle. “Yesss, young Theodore, it’s time we decorate our bodiesss with our manhood.” “You guys been drinking?” Jules inserted, “Yes, they have been indulging, but it will be safe. I’ll drive my Chevy and watch out for you wild young things.” He held his hand out as if he was driving, then smiled and dabbed his mouth with his hanky. “You have a car?” I asked. “Yes, it’s an old two-toned thing, with the yellow and blue fading with age.” he responded.

I said, “Hey, I haven’t been drinking, and I never even thought about getting a tattoo.” Randy answered, “So juss go with usss. You can make up your mind when we get there.” So that’s how it started. Instead of resisting, I decided, rather than splashing against the tide with arguments, I’d just swim with it. But I’d never have expected neat, respectable Randy, from the General’s office to get drunk like that. I put on my civilian clothes, and ed this tattoo-searching party. Jules drove, and I commandeered the enger seat. Randy insisted he sit in the back, because “Thass where the beer is,” Willy said, with his finger over his lips as if to keep it secret, but Jules saw. He knew. Once we were on our way, Randy declared, “Tadaa!” and pulled a six pack of beer from the floor. Jules waved his hand downward, “Just keep them out of sight, you two! We don’t need to be incarcerated.” Randy handed me one, opened it with a can opener, then laughed as it exploded up to the ceiling. “Yeah, less not get incarsser, what he said.” I took a swig of the Schlitz, and felt an instant dizziness. That convinced me to go easy. In the back I heard Randy slur, “Thanks, Willy, for spilling.” then added, “Yeah, now he’ss Spilly Willy. How bout that one, Jules?” “What’s that Randy? Will you please try not to spill beer in the car, I beg you!” Randy said, “Willful Willy is now Spilly Willy! Ha, ha.” “Taint funny, Randy! Hand me another SSlitch, willya?” “Here ya go, Spilly, a Sslitch.” He opened it and more exploded to the ceiling and my pants. Jules just sighed.

I sipped the beer slowly. It had a cool, frothy bite to it. The after-taste was refreshing. I slurped hesitatingly. I had no intention to get drunk. I didn’t want to sound or act like those two. I thought of Mom’s advice to be true to myself. I could even picture her, holding my head, her brown eyes wide, staring. At last Jules drove into a less trafficked part of Fayetteville, where some of the buildings looked abandoned, and when we turned a corner, a store was lit up blaringly with signs and pictures of designs, and bright lights that bragged, “TATTOOS! True beauty - Professional.” Randy and Willy downed their beers, burped and got out of the car stumbling. Randy said “S’cuse me!” and snort-laughed. Willy farted. “That’s disgusting!” gagged Jules. I held my breath. When I got out of the car, I waved away the odor, and dumped the rest of my beer on the road. I threw the can into a trash pile in an alley. “Less go,” Randy said. He stood up at attention, saluted the window and marched for the shop. Willy and I followed. Jules said, “I better go in to keep everyone as civilized as possible.” Inside was a small waiting area with four chairs, and down a narrow hallway three small rooms. Each room had two chairs and a small table. On the walls were designs, and many photos of arms and legs and butts with tattoos on them, demonstrating their wares. On every table was a small machine about 8 inches tall and 6 inches wide. In the center was a receptacle to hold the various colors of ink. A little tube was attached, leading to a needle that delivered the ink. A man with countless tattoos on his arms approached us and said, “Gentlemen.” He coughed some phlegm into a rag, and said, “Interested in some nice tattoos to commemorate your service time?” He had long hair, tied back in a pig tail. He sucked on a cigarette, deeply, then put it out in an ash tray that he carried with him. I thought, he sounds intelligent, but dresses like a bum. What kind of background did he come from? Jules answered, “Yes, these gentlemen would like a tattoo, if it’s not too

expensive.” “I see. These men, but not you?” He asked Jules. “Heavens, no. I have enough trouble with my skin as it is. Besides, my mother would kill me.” At this point, I decided to get a tattoo on my upper arm, so it wouldn’t show. “Okay. It turns out we have 3 small labs and 3 artists on hand. Plus we have some books with samples, so whatever you’d like, we can handle. The price will be based on the size of the art piece you’d like. So Jules waited, and we each moved into one of the “labs.” I hadn’t really decided whether I wanted the tattoo or not, but just went with it without thinking. I didn’t think it was an immoral act, just kind of frivolous. I pictured Mom frowning. My lab had a man who couldn’t have been much older than my brother Franklin. I assumed he was in WW2. He had a blond GI haircut, short, sticking up, and a beard about an inch long, reddish and gray. He limped slightly as he came to the chair in front of me. “Whoops!” came from Randy in the next room. A chair fell. “Sorry!” he said. “No problem, buddy, no harm done. Here now you can sit down. I gotcha. That’s it.” Jules peeked into my room. “Everybody okay in here? You okay Teddy?” “I’m okay, Jules, thanks.” Jules left. Then my man said, “I’m Jerry. And yours?” He held out his hand. I shook it. “Teddy. Byrum.” He had a firm, strong handshake. “My brother was in the war, in .”

He responded. “Good for him. I mean, if he made it back okay.” “Yes, he did. But he doesn’t talk about it much.” “I understand. I don’t either. I just keep it to myself. Okay?” “Okay. But can you at least tell me where you were stationed?” “We weren’t stationary. We trudged all across , chasing the enemy, taking prisoners, tryin’ t’ stay alive, but many of us didn’t, because life wasn’t worth much then, it seems, okay? Enough?” “Yeah. Sorry.” “So, what’ll it be?” “I don’t know. Maybe that one of the airborne, you know, just like my pin, with wings around the parachute.” “That’s a good one, a classic. I can do a good job with that one. It’ll be 25 bucks. Okay?” “Okay. Does it last long?” “Pretty much,” he said as he tinkered with the machine. “A life time, but it does fade. But if you ever want to remove it, it can be painful, and even dangerous. So, you still want it?” “Yes, but I want it where a tee shirt can hide it. On my left shoulder. Just in case.” “I understand. Keep it subtle. Ready?” So he started. He outlined the area on my arm with a pencil. He placed a framed model on the table which he copied, free-hand. Then came the needle. The little punctures into my skin were painful at first, little pin pricks, but I gradually got used to it. It reminded me of my dentist drilling away. Jerry carefully blotted away the blood as the colors spat out of the slender bit of steel, which took form on my body. It

was truly a work of art. I’d never thought about people in this occupation. I believe they were frowned upon by society. They seemed to be genuine artists to me. While he was working, I worried about what my family would say regarding this, but, more importantly, what Pauley’s reaction would be. I thought I’d better write to her about it. Maybe she’d approve. Jerry stopped his work for a bit, then said, “You know, a tattoo of this type can have magical powers if you let it. You’re airborne, aren’t you?” “Yes, but…” “I knew what your reaction would be. You believe in God?” “Yeah.” “Ever seen him or his works?” “No.” “Well, just keep an open mind.” After about 20 minutes he was adding the final punctures. Then he blotted his work tenderly, and covered it with a square piece of cloth. He taped it on, and said, “Don’t take this off until tomorrow. Put some of this cream on it, so it won’t fester. At first it will look ugly, and it might scab over, but after that you’ll be proud of it.” When we left, I asked the others what they’d put on their bodies. Randy said, “I forget.” Jules said, “Randy went with a rifle. Willy said he decided on a “parachute with a rifle through it.” Randy snorted, “A parachute? Willful Willy shoot-de-chuting. Har-har, shoot-dechuting. Haw-haw.” As we left, It was obvious to me that Willy was not overly happy with Randy’s comments, but I didn’t anticipate such a bizarre reaction.

7 THE AFTER-TATTOO EFFECT

On the ride home, I could feel the storm brewing, and the rumblings of violence, but didn’t know what to do or say about it. Jules was quite quiet most of the way. But Randy wasn’t. He seemed to be high, tense, wired. He was certainly not the person I’d met the first day, neat, polite, near perfect. He must have been drinking more than just beer. In the car, he kept razzing Willy. He would laugh, “Willful Willy Shoot-dechuting, Shoot-de-pooping. Willful poop-de-pooping-shoot-de-chuting. Harhar!” Willy was quiet at first, talking to me about his tattoo, and I said I was pleased with mine, but Randy kept interrupting. Jules drove along quietly, but he would turn often, then shake his head, tsktsking and shushing. He turned the windshield wipers on because rain drops were plopping on the windows. Randy, was muttering to himself then, almost moaning, as though communing with some spirit world. Jules drove slowly through the streets of Fayetteville, which was busy with shoppers and traffic on this Saturday night. I saw Rusty’s Waterhole as we ed it. Some soldiers were outside, just entering. I caught a brief view of the dog, Tuppence, when the door swung open. As we left town, Randy started up again. “Hee-hee-haw. Ole Willful Willy, poop-de-poop-de shooting the chute. Wee Willy Willful.” Thunder rumbled and lightning slanted across the sky ahead of us. I almost told Jules to slow down, but didn’t. Randy was too much of a distraction. Willy said, “That’s enough, Randy. Stop it, dammit!”

But Randy would not cease his ranting. He just kept ragging on Willy. He would not stop, probably could not stop. I don’t know. Willy said, “Quit, Randy! It’s just not funny any more.” “A tattoo statue on the poop-de-poop chute, Hee, hee, har, har.” Finally, Willy rolled the window down, threw his beer out and yelled, “That’s it! Stop this goddamn car!” Jules hollered, “Did you just throw a beer out the window? You want me to lose my license?” “I don’t care about that now! Sorry, but stop this damn car. NOW!” Jules pulled over. By this time we were in the country, close to the base. The rain was pounding down now. Willy got out. Then I got out on the same side and felt how hard the drops were on my face, my body. The moon was stifled behind the storm clouds, and everything was blurred, the tall weeds, small pines, all on sand. But ahead was a sinister roiling blackness. Randy stayed in the car, ranting away, and laughing crazily. Willy, his mouth clenched tight, stared through the open door at Randy, then slammed the door, and ran around the other side. Jules and I followed him around, our clothes getting more and more soaked. Jules said, “Oh, why did I ever offer to drive.” He was wringing his hands. “It’s not looking good, Teddy!” Willy wrenched the door open, grabbed Randy’s arm and pulled him out. “Now quit!” Jules and I followed him. “Something’s wrong with Randy,” I mumbled. Randy didn’t seem to look at Willy, but he just kept staring, more like through him, I thought. “Tattooing-shoot-de-poop-de-pooping, ha, har, hee-hee.” Willy slapped him in the face but Randy kept ranting away. Willy slapped him,

then back-handed his slap, but Randy kept babbling. Willy hit him with his fist, and Randy went down to his hands and knees in the sand, still mumbling and har-haring, until, at last, his laughter became a burst of racking, blubbery sobs, so deep and long, he lost his breath. The dark clouds continued their command of the skies, releasing what seemed like seas of liquid! We were all soaked through and through. My vision was blurred from the pelting rain. Willy pounded on Randy’s back a few times, then bawled and wept himself. “Damn it, what’s wrong with you? Why, why in hell did you keep it up? Why did you make me hit you? Aren’t you my friend? What in hell did you drink before you came over? What’s wrong with you?” Randy just sobbed, trying to breathe. At last he struggled to get on his feet, his fatigues clinging to him. He walked, then jogged away from us, almost disappearing in the dark and rain, over the sand, into the shrubs and pine seedlings. The three of us slogged after him. By this time, we were sure he was going to hurt himself. When we caught up to him, he was leaning on a scrub pine, vomiting. “Stay away! Let all this rotten stuff come out! See what I’m made of? I am so full of shit and vomit and foul stuff. I hope everything comes out, my guts, my liver, and my heart!” Then he croaked, “God, God, God, why’d you make me the way I am? What can I do now?” I noticed Randy wasn’t slurring any more. He was sobering up, and realized that what he was trying to block with his drinking was still there, punishing him still. Jules put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. “We’re here for you, Randy.” Randy pulled away. Jules reacted by attempting a stern tone. “We all have to face Life’s vicissitudes, Randy, but we get past them.” Randy said, “What country did you come from, with words like ‘incarcerate’ and vicissis, whatever, damn it! She’s gone,” he moaned, “gone forever!”

The rain was letting up. Thunder grumbled off to the west. Willy asked, “Who, your girlfriend?” “She wasn’t just a girlfriend! She was Donna, my fiance! And now she’s dead!” I was stunned. “Dead? Does that mean she left you, or she’s really dead?” “Yes, really, really dead!” he screamed. The water dribbled down his face. “She drove the Plymouth when she knew it wasn’t safe. And all because of me. Me, Mr. Perfect. So she was running away with that Wolters good-for-nothing, of all people.” I thought getting him to talk about it might let him get over some of the pain. I asked, “How did you find out, Randy?” “Her father called me. The son of a bitch was blaming me for it. He didn’t come out and say it, but the tone of his minister’s voice told me.” “What happened?” I asked. “I dunno. I think it was the brakes and they went down into a deep ditch, full of filthy drain water. I know right where that curve is, damn it!” Jules suggested, “Let’s get you back to the base. Maybe you can get a leave to go home. Where is home?” “Putneyville. Putneyville, New York. They won’t let me go. We weren’t officially engaged.” I couldn’t understand that. “Don’t you work for the general? If he can’t do it, who can?” “I know, I know. I just don’t know if I can face everyone!” We got back into the car, wet and dirty. “Sorry, Jules, we’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” Randy mumbled. Jules said, “I know you will. Don’t give it a second thought right now.” “You’re a truly, truly good person, Jules,” I said, and meant it.

We were silent on the way back.

8 GUILT

That night, as I stared out the window at a cloudy sky, I thought about Randy, and that dark view of his life, and his need to be beaten, even if it was by a friend. Of course, he didn’t even consider that, by almost forcing Willy to beat him, he made Willy feel blameworthy for slapping and hitting his friend. So, once Randy thought that over, I was sure he would feel doubly the shame. Then I suspected, perhaps that was just what he wanted. “Pile it on” he might have been thinking. “Let others hate me as much as I do myself.” Then I felt my face flush as I realized I had done nothing to stop Randy at first, then Willy after that. I started started beating myself up. Why did I do nothing to stop them? I wished I’d had a whip then. But no, I didn’t want to travel down that road. Then I feared Randy was nearing thoughts of suicide, the way Romeo must have felt upon finding his Juliet so lifeless. Losing the one you love, in spite of families being so set against you, could certainly convince you that life is not worth living without the one person in the world that you feel loved makes you whole. I felt so sorry for him at the time, because all he could see was the horror of his life, devoid of any sunshine. But if he asked me, I would advise him to go to Putneyville and face his Donna’s father, and go to the funeral and pray on his knees, and let Donna know he loved her. Let her know how his leaving was driving her to a grave. He should stay there until he feels some response from her, or God. Sure, there I was, an 18 year old kid, thinking I could advise someone else. But I knew a few things about how it felt to be rejected, didn’t I? I felt the pangs of loss, of helplessness, after being told it was over. When I read my high school girl friend, Jen’s “Dear John letter,” or in this case, “Dear Ted,” my world was crushed, the stars and moon no longer had that flare I so loved. And suicidal

thoughts ran through my brain. Then, of course, I didn’t want to suffer it all alone. I wanted others to know about it, to feel sorry for me, so I could wallow in their sympathy. I even felt a need to continue this feeling of misery. There was a… what should I call it, a melancholy joy in my misery. And the joy increased when I knew that others acknowledged what I was going through. I could even bring tears, wring them out like a wet towel, long after the heartache had gone, because of the joyous, tearful thrill of feeling so deep a sorrow, one of my great emotions of being human. Even at my age I knew it was a harp that must be plucked and stroked many times before we hear the final tune. But what about Pauley? God, what would I do if I heard about her death? I knew I wouldn’t want to live then! A large lump came to my throat, just imagining it! God, would I want to breathe another breath then? How could I live without my Pauley? But then, I had an inspirational thought! I had a deeper question for Randy. Was she really dead? Who gave him the news? Her father, the minister. Doesn’t he resent Randy? Yes, he should travel to Putneyville. He should not let his love die so easily. I decided to tell him what I suspected. If I had the nerve.

9 MY FIRST SUNDAY

I didn’t get much sleep after our tattoo affair in Fayetteville. Randy scared us a bit when we dropped him off. He was quiet, too quiet, so Willy walked him back to their barrack. I was glad they were both assigned to the same one. While we waited, Jules said, “He certainly seems depressed, doesn’t he?” He raised his hand upward. “Maybe when the sun rises tomorrow, and he sobers up, he’ll feel better.” “I hope so, Jules. But I feel his pain. If I lost my Pauley, I don’t know if I’d want to go on. It’s amazing how having a loved one can affect our lives. I feel she’s with me every second of every day.” Jules stared at the stars. At last he said, “How I envy you people, who can give of yourselves. How can you be sure it’s not just some ephemeral feeling?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, Jules, you have such big words. Something tells me we were meant to meet, so I can learn from you. It feels like everyone I meet is like a text book in the flesh. I study and educate myself just by knowing all of you. I assume ephemeral means short-lived?” “That’s correct, Ted. I’d rather call you Ted than Teddy. Okay?” “Yes, thanks Jules. We need to get home. Tomorrow is my first Mass with Father Roland, and he scares me.” Willy came back and said, “He’s lying down, in his clothes. I covered him up anyway. Maybe he’ll be okay in the morning. I hope.” Then Willy went back to his quarters. That night I stared out the window and saw a half-moon tinting the trees, then making them disappear when clouds blew by. I waited, and when they scudded

past like a curtain in the theater, the stars took the stage, and I was reminded of a favorite poem of mine, called, “Bright Star.” In it, Keats imagined himself as being the star, unchangeable, watching earth far below him. He watched rivers flowing “at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, the new soft-fallen snow upon the mountains and the moors. But more, still unchangeable,

Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake forever in a sweet unrest. Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, and so live ever – or else swoon to death.”

I felt again Randy’s pain, with the death of his Donna. What a void he must have felt, when the one person on this planet who meant so much to him might be gone forever. How I would have felt, I did not even want to conjecture. I decided to talk to him first chance I had. In the morning, I was pushed on the arm by Jules, who shook me and said, “You asked me to awaken you before 0630, did you not?” He was already dressed in his Class A uniform. “Uh, thanks, Jules, I have to be ready for the 0900 Mass. Are you going?” “I’m not a Catholic, but I’ll accompany you, if you’ll allow it. You see, I’m an agnostic, and I don’t usually attend church of any denomination.”

“Oh, okay. I could use the company, but I don’t know what the chaplain will be expecting me to do. What is an agnostic, anyway?” “It just means the jury is out in my mind, as to the existence of God.”“So if I show you the spikes in my hands and feet while up on the cross, you might believe?” “Possibly, if it thunders and lightnings from a clear sky.” He waved his hand skyward. “Or if he breathes life into a dead person.” “I’ve been taught to believe as a matter of faith.” “I envy you.” I did my “ablutions,” as Jules called it, showering and shaving. I took the cloth off my shoulder, and wiped the blood away. I saw a red, slightly swollen area with red and blue colors. The tattoo wasn’t bad, though. I could recognize the wings around the parachute. I thought about what Jerry said. “Magical powers.” Wouldn’t that be nice. After chow, we made our way to the chapel. The Fort Bragg “chapel” was actually a church, not a small chapel like the one that fits all, throw - ’em-up-in-a-day so typical of so many others on military bases. No, this one had stature, and beauty. It could stick its chest out proudly. It was white, with dark trim, arched windows, and above the entrance was a structure that rose up, one level, with a smaller one above that, and a round little house, the belfry, and above that it rounded to a point as though reminding all that our goals should be to reach the heavens. Inside, the aisles formed the usual cross-shape with little alcoves on each side before one reached the main altar. The windows were stained glass so that in the sun they lit up the church with reds and blues and yellows magnificently. Jules and I were a bit early. A statue of Mary at the left of the altar stood there holding the baby Jesus. On the right was a pulpit that rose at least six feet high. As we entered, I put my hand in the bowl of “holy water,” as all Catholics do, and made the sign of the Cross, forehead, chest, left and right shoulders. Then I smiled to myself and touched the holy water to my tattoo, under my shirt. I whispered to Jules, what Jerry, the tattooist, had said. He nodded, grinned.

We took a seat in the back. I genuflected, then kneeled at a pew. Jules ed me and sat down. I knelt on the kneeler, made the sign of the cross again, and prayed. I then said, “Just stay here and observe. I’m going to find out if Father Roland is here.” I entered the door beside the altar to the “sacristy,” which is a room where the priest’s vestments and sacred cups are kept. This room had a few closets and a small “safe” up on a table, for the Communion cup. The drawers of the table were narrow and wide, to hold the priest’s vestments. Father was there, struggling to get into his robes and stretching the buttons over his copious stomach. His cheeks were reddening with his struggles. When he saw me, he barked nervously, “It’s about time! Good, you’re in your dress uniform. You know how to serve as an altar boy, don’t you?” “Yes, Father, I do.” When the clock said 0900, Father Roland said, “So, go!” There were perhaps 25 people in the chapel, not near what I was used to with Father Drew. I nodded in Jules’ direction, but couldn’t see him. I stopped at the altar, and Father started by making the Sign of the Cross, saying “In nomine Patris, et Felii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen,” which meant, of course, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.” I’d always thought the word ‘ghost’ gave a strange vision of the third person of God. This was followed by his “Introibo ad altare dei,” which is the beginning prayer meaning “I go unto the altar of God.” I understood those prayers so far, but after that, I just guessed. My response, to the priest, which I had memorized without understanding it, of course, was “Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.” I ed when I had asked Father Drew what that meant, he smiled, then laughed quietly, “It means ’to the joy of my youth,’ which fits you perfectly.” Following the prayers, Father Roland prepared the altar, his hand quivering. He moved back and forth, seeming to look for whatever was missing, then sent me into the sacristy for the prayer book.

“Hurry up!” I moved quickly. I didn’t understand why he always seemed angry at me. What had I done? Nothing. But I just assumed he was nervous. I was too. I found the huge prayer book in the closet. The cover was red, with gold lettering, and it was about 12 inches tall and 8 wide, and weighed maybe 5 pounds. I brought it back, and Father snatched it from me, and opened it, mumble-reading page after page. Following this was the reading of the saints to the people. Father Roland stepped down from the altar and pointed to the prayer book and the pulpit. I climbed up the steps, hauling the heavy tome, and set it down where he could read from it. I then sat at one of the chairs behind the pulpit. I looked out at the pews, and saw Jules in the back. I didn’t recognize anyone else. Father nervously read some age from Saint Paul to the Corinthians, something about being created in God’s image, and a man leaving his parents. Then he “cleaves” to his wife. He read quickly, so it was difficult to decode all that he was saying. I noticed many in the pews were turning toward each other quizzically. Then came the sermon, his “homily,” which consisted of the importance of love. He said, “We went through a horrible war, full of hatred and unnecessary deaths. Why? A few leaders, like Hitler and Mussolini and Hirohito were full of hubris. Hubris is a Greek word that means extreme pride, but it’s more than that. Certain leaders attain such great power, such dominion over people, that all shudder before them, and they feel like gods because they can determine whether a man should live or die.” Father paused, taking huge breaths. Clearly he was getting worked up, enjoying himself, intent upon making a point. Those in the pews were more wide-eyed, listening attentively. “The Almighty sayeth, ‘I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no false gods before Me.’ So when someone like a king, or emperor, or even a bishop or cardinal assumes such awesome power over his fellow man, only evil can ensue.” Why did he say, “a bishop or cardinal?” I was reminded of the letter I had read.

Could he have been referring to his own situation? Was that why he was here on the base? No, I decided it was not my place to question or doubt. Father Roland concluded by inviting any parents who had youngsters or young adults needing Catechism lessons to let him know, and he would “see to their needs.” Next came the Consecration, where the priest “turns the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.” Following this, we had the Communion rite, and several soldiers lined up to take turns kneeling at the railing. I held the container, while Father picked out a wafer (of bread) representing, “The body of Christ.” This is what he said to each communicant before placing it on each outstretched tongue. Following the Mass, Jules was waiting for me. Most of the pews were emptied by then. He said, “Very interesting. Your priest seems to be a peculiar, enigmatic individual, but perhaps he was just a bit trepidatious in front of a new audience.” We walked back toward the barrack. A company of recruits were double-timing past us, on the street. Jules observed, “On a Sunday? Must be a punishment.” A sergeant was calling out the cadence. “Hut-ho, hut-ho!” I said to Jules, “I agree about Father Roland. That might be it. I was a bit nervous myself.” Later that day, I thought about Father Roland, and when I tried to put myself in his skin, I felt a depressing gloom and chill come over me, as though a load of snow had been dumped down my back. The history behind this mysterious man would be revealed soon, I suspected. It might even be in the correspondence I was being made privy to. I will be patient. I just didn’t want to get into trouble again.

10 SOME FRIENDS

I had no friends in Fort Bragg, of course. Not even Cookie. What was his name? Leo Rutherford. Good, I ed. I thought it would be nice to go back and see if he was still there, with the recruits just starting jump school. I find I missed him. I also missed jump school, in a way. I the fears I had to overcome. They made me feel more alive. I the horrible ways I met the last two Cookies, being punished. At least this time I wouldn’t be visiting him because I was in trouble. I also missed Georgy and Kevin and Darren and Timothy Murphy, rest his soul. In the barrack, of course, was Jules Miller, whose bunk was next to mine. His footlocker, cot and hangups were the neatest I’ve ever seen. Jules became not only a friend of mine, but sort of a friend to everyone on our floor. He often told Bobby how to tighten the cover on his bunk, how to wear his hat, even how to stand. Bobby was a young man from Georgia who constantly asked Jules what he thought of this, or that. It seemed that some of the others on our floor did the same. Some called him “Mom,” but Jules didn’t appreciate that. Even in the mess hall, Jules would sit up straight, and demonstrate how to eat, not leaning over “like a dog, or hog, snorting the food up like slop. You must be civilized, be gentlemen. If you act that way, others will treat you that way, with respect.” Some on other tables would show their disdain, chuckling and snickering to themselves, but I noticed they improved their eating habits also. On our table were Jules, Billy, Abe, and I. Bobby was at the table with the scoffers. Billy was short, maybe 5’7” with a chubby face, making him look much younger than he was, which was 20. He apparently made it through jump school, with ease, because “It was fun.” He grew up in Detroit, and never completed high school.

Abe’s full name was Abraham. He was red-haired, tall, maybe 6’3” and very slim, with what seemed like no hips. Jules had said, “The etymology of the name, ‘Abraham,’ means ‘Father of a nation.’ But there’s no Hebrew in Abe here. Just like President Lincoln. As far as anyone knows Lincoln’s roots hailed from Virginia. No one has ever traced his tree any farther back than that. Our Abe here is the same.. He’s from Johnstown, right Abe?” “Right again, Mom, I mean Jules.” “Where’s Johnstown? And who’s John?” I asked. “There no John. It’s just Johnstown, Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Hey, that’s a good word to try to spell, huh, Jules?” Jules answered “P-e-n-n-s-y-l-v-a-n-i-a” very quickly and off-handedly. Since Jules came from a family of some wealth and education, in Peoria, Illinois, he was sort of a teacher of us uneducated privates. We all liked Jules. Although he was a bit chubby he was, if not effeminate, he was certainly delicate. But he was not a homo. There was nothing strange about him that way. And he never lorded it over us, with what Jules called ‘hubris,’ or extreme pride. After spending some time with Jules, I could see that my education would continue. It could be called, “The education of Theodore Byrum.” I appreciated what I had learned from Darren, with the poetry. The military taught me so much about myself and courage and friendship, and even protecting myself physically. Even Timothy Murphy, and, yes, old Billy of “Billy’s Everything Hardware,” both of whom I affectionately, were part of my instruction. So I would educate myself with Jules’ help. I decided to ask him about it. I could see Billy was trying to sit up straight and fork his food upward, slowly, gently, but then ate with his mouth open. Ugh! But I said nothing, just let “Mom” criticize and demonstrate. Billy, food still in his mouth, asked me “Where are you from Teddy?” I answered, “Massachusetts.” He repeated, or tried to, “Massatoowhat?” Abe laughed. “Yeah, Massatwoshits. That’s a good one.”

Jules corrected him. “That’s insulting. Sorry, Ted” “Oh, that’s okay. It doesn’t bother me. We used to do something similar to that when we mangled ‘Mississippi.” Abe asked, “Was it trying to spell the name?” “Yes,” I said, “We’d say, ‘M-i snake-snake i snake-snake i pee-pee in your eye.” “How juvenile,” Jules responded. As I was forking up a last bit of hash, I spotted Willy walking our way. He saw me, and waved. “Hey, Teddy, how goes it?” Willy bunks in the first floor of our barrack. I said, “Hey, Willy. You know Jules and Abe and Billy? Hey, Billy and Willy, how about that. Are you both Williams?” Billy said, “Yes, William Bryan Steelson.” Willy said, “No, mine is Wilfred Russell Fredrickson.” Jules said, “Wilfred? That’s unusual. But I like it.” “Just call me Willy. I’m used to it. I also came over to see if you wanted to go down town, Teddy. Anyone else?” “Nope, not me,” came from Abe. “I got letters to write, or I’m in trouble.” Jules and Billy both said they would, so we set it up for the next Saturday. But before we got up, I asked Jules, “Do you think you could help me? I mean I just graduated from high school, and have so much to learn. I look at you as kind of a bank, full of big bills of knowledge, and I’d like to withdraw some. I learned some poetry, and my favorite is John Keats, and I write some, but I grew up, you know, not interested in the newspaper unless it was the sports page, and I don’t read many books because I keep running into big words, and if I keep looking them up, it would take me a year to finish one book, so I gave it up.” Willy said, “So, you’re an ignorant dummy, huh? Ha, ha, well so am I!”

Jules sipped the last of his coffee, and slammed the cup down. “Don’t be so ludicrous, you two. You’re not stupid! I can see that just talking to you. But you are uneducated, at least beyond the basics. Sorry for raising my voice while remonstrating with you.” “See,” I interrupted. “Those words just come tumbling out of your mouth like rain from a cloud.” “Very good, Ted. Nice metaphor. ‘Remonstrating’ merely means I was telling you, you were wrong. You are not dumbbells. Let’s go. I have an idea. I want you three to get a library card. That would be a good start, I think. D’accord? That’s French, meaning ‘okay?’” We three said, “D’accord!” and slammed our hands together in the air. The five of us walked out together. I waved to the cook. He was a tall, slim man with blonde hair and fatigues with sergeant stripes. He nodded at us.

11 STRANGE WORLD OF THE LIBRARY

Late Thursday afternoon, Jules, Brian, Bobby, Abe and I entered the “Library,” which was a converted barrack building. Jules guessed the second floor was for “offices, istration and inventory,” and that sounded reasonable. However, we were surprised at how many shelves were constructed to display the countless books. Even Jules, who spread his arms wide, was impressed. We signed up for library cards, which the librarian typed up for us right away. “Abraham?” she asked. “Yes, Mam. Sorry, but that’s my moniker, answered Abe, red-faced. She smiled. She sat straight-backed as she pounded on the typewriter. She looked to be about 40 years old, but was very neat, with a long blue printed dress. She had an ample bosom. Her hair had just a bit of grey, but I had no doubt she used some kind of hair dye, because the overall effect was a reddish brown pouf, that covered her oval face. I thought is was quite attractive. The name plate on her desk said, “Mrs. Cates.” “Please, gentlemen, don’t take out more than 3 books at a time.” Her glasses were attached to some kind of cord around her neck, and she would constantly put them on to read, then off to talk to us. “You have 2 weeks to read, and if you need more time, and no one else has reserved it, you can renew.” She stepped around the desk. “Follow me.” She proceeded to describe the alphabetic order of the collection, and the subject matter, which, she apologized, was “quite limited.” As she walked around, I noticed what a young-looking, attractive body she had. Her movements were rhythmic, slow, even sexy.

I slapped my face mentally. “Stop it, Ted. You dummy! You’re in love and faithful to Pauley.” But I answered myself, as if I were a ventriloquist, saying, “I don’t want to do anything to Mrs. Cates, Dummy. Can’t I just appreciate beauty?” “Are you okay, Ted?” Jules interrupted. “Yeah, just talking to myself.” Jules said, waving his hand toward the aisle, “This is the children’s section, but don’t fool yourself. It’s for grownups as well. If you’re not familiar with some of these books, just browse through them. , all knowledge is essential for us. And though these might be books for the younger set, don’t forget, many in the army come from limited backgrounds.” I went down one aisle and saw a few comic characters. Mickey Mouse in one of the earlier versions from the 1930s stood out. Then I found “Grimm’s Fairy Tales” and opened it. One of the stories was “Cinderella” which I’d never read, so I sat at one of the tables and read it. Huh, I’d never even thought about the fact that her name was “Cinderella,” because she had to spend many nights sleeping in the ashes and cinder in front of the fireplace. Of course, the tale was an old one, but it had a universal theme, of evil, greedy people being punished. The bird plucking the wicked sisters’ eyes out seemed a bit severe, but that’s how the story ended. That’s a tough one for children to read I guess. What kind of message did they get from such severity? Bobby found some school books for elementary grade students and shyly took a few. They were called “Readers.” Bobby confessed he’d never read a whole book in his “entiah laf.” Brian came to the table with a book. “Look at this. It’s a book of short stories, and one is about Michigan. It’s called ‘Big Two-hearted River,’ by Ernest Hemingway. And it’s about fishing. I think I’d like it.” Jules said, “Good, sign it out.” Abe said, “This book’s called, ‘All Quiet on the Western Front,” and I think it’s about war. Some guy named Erich Marie Remarque wrote it. At least I think it’s a guy, but I don’t know how to pronounce it.”

Jules responded, “It’s ‘Remar-k.’ That’s how to pronounce it. It’s quite a classic about war in in World War one. They even made a movie of it in the 1930s. Everyone should see it, or read it, because it shows how horrible war can be.” I read another story in Grimm’s Fairy Tales, the one about Rapunzel. Her name came from the flower, “rampion,” which I looked up in the dictionary, and another word for it was “rapunculous.” That’s where “Rapunzel” came from. I read another story, “Red Riding Hood.” Her mother made a red hood for her out of satin, and she always wore it. I understood the “red hood,’ but don’t know why she had the other name of “Riding.” Interesting. I suddenly discovered an interest in where the words came from. I told Jules about the words for “Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Red Riding Hood.” He said, “Good. I didn’t know their histories either. If you’re really interested, the history of words is called, ‘etymology,’” and in most dictionaries it will give the derivations of words, like from the Greek to the Roman to Old English and into modern English. It would be a good study for you, especially if you like to write poetry. Pick up a dictionary.” I kept the Grimm’s book, and then came across one of a few dictionaries. Then I ed Mom talking about Dad and his addiction to alcohol. Then she said she had an addiction to church, hinting, I think, that we all have certain addictions. I decided to look up the word, “addiction,” to see what it really meant. Sure enough, it said, “A strong and often harmful need to regularly have or do something,” Okay, that seemed to settle it, but then I read, “e.g. for example, reading!” Well, that opened the dark clouds for me. I had thought the word stood for evil, but I saw then that it didn’t have to be a harmful action. The word flexed its muscles for me. It could represent my mother’s church-going along with my dad’s drinking. I thanked the dictionary in my mind. I began to understand addictions, including my own, Before I put the dictionary down, I noticed that the beginning pages gave a “history of the English language.” I thought that was interesting. I told Jules I was going to take it out.

We signed out our books. Jules took a book of Shakespeare’s plays. “I want to read ‘King Lear’ again. There are some great quotes in there.” As we walked back toward the barrack, I whistled a low Al Jolson tune, “When You’re Smilin,” as the sun was setting, creating long shadows in front of us. “Hey, who’s that you’re whistling,” asked Jules. “Is that Al Jolson?” “Yes. I like to whistle. My father taught me years ago.” “I like it, Ted.” “Thanks, guys.” The air was cool, but pleasant, and it felt good to have friends. Bobby made shadow horns behind Jules. Jules saw the shadow and said, “So juvenile!!” Then I saw the lights in the chapel building. “I think I’ll stop in there. You guys go ahead.”

12 NIGHT VISIT TO THE CHAPEL

I was thinking about etymologies of words while I approached the chapel. Then I wondered where the word, “chapel” came from. I later found out it came from the word “cloak.” Of course, this building was actually a church, but it was common to call it a chapel on a military base. It was early evening, and the lights made me curious. Then I heard singing. I assumed that Leroy Riverton was in there cleaning up after the church services earlier in the day. I opened the front door slowly, set my books down on a shelf and heard a deep tenor somewhat muted, yet powerful,

“Comin’ for ta carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin’ for ta carry me home.

The voice was so sonorous and commanding, I couldn’t even think of interrupting. It would be like interrupting a storm cloud.

If you get there before I do Comin’ for ta carry me home Tell all my friends, I’m comin’ too Comin’ for ta carry me home.

I peeked around the corner and saw Leroy pushing a wide broom, leaning under the pews and pulling out what little trash might have been there. Then he started in again.

Ol’ man river, Dat ol’ man river, He mus’ know sompin’ But don’ say nuthin’ He jes keeps rollin’ He keeps on rollin’ along

Ah gits weary An’ sick of tryin’ Ah’m tired of livin’ An scared of dyin’ But Ol’ Man River, He jes’ keeps rollin’, along.

I felt a chill, and kind of a thrill, hearing that old spiritual, because it gave me an insight into the life of so many negroes, their history, what they were facing every day. I felt guilty for being his audience without his knowing, so I made a pretend

cough, which, in my mind, came out of my mouth then dropped to the floor. “Who’s dere? Who’s in here? They ain’t nothin’ to steal in here. I gots a weapon here.” The fear trembled in his voice. He pointed the broom handle at me. I started down the aisle. “It’s just me, Private Byrum. I work in the Chaplain’s office. I saw a light as I was walking back from the library, and was curious.” I walked toward him. “You’re Leroy Riverton, aren’t you? You have a great voice.” I held out my hand to him, but he backed off. I could smell a scent of Old Spice. I could see his face more clearly then. He looked to be about 30 or so, but it was hard to tell. He could have been 50. He was about my height, about 6 feet, with a powerful build. He stood straight, but with a lean to his right. Then I spotted his right foot that was turned inward. “I didn’t mean no harm. Jis singin’ lak ah do Sundays in mah’ church. He looked down, as if he were guilty of something. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Riverton. I’m sorry to have bothered you. By the way, I noticed you probably haven’t been paid lately. I’ll try to take care of that for you. The new chaplain doesn’t know much about paper work.” “Ah’d ’preciate that, suh.” “Just call me Ted, Ted Byrum. I’m not an officer. I’m not a sir.” “Yes suh, Mr. Ted. Sorry Ah din’t shake your hand. Here.” He limped toward me and we shook hands. His was not a firm shake, just a weak, hesitant one, like a flower about to droop down its stem. “Any thing I can do to help you while I’m here, Leroy?” “No suh! Ah can handle it. Ah don’ need no help!” He said that proudly, almost insulted that I would suggest helping him. “Okay, Leroy. Keep on singing. Your voice is a great gift.” “Das what my minister says, a gif’ from Gawd.”

After I’d left, I heard his sonorous voice rise slowly like a mountain. All the way back to the barrack, I hummed and sang “Old Man River.” What a powerful song! Back at the barrack, I went to the latrine, and took off my shirt to observe the tattoo on my arm. The swelling was gone, and most of the redness had disappeared. There it was, wing spread out around the parachute! Even though I wasn’t sure I wanted it, I found I was proud of this symbol of something I had accomplished, like a medal I’d pinned on myself.

13 RANDY AND FRANNY

I was in the office early Friday morning, going through the mail. I typed up the Morning Report form, with a few mistakes, but I fixed them with whiteout, and sent it on its way in the “Out Box,” which was down the hall in the outer office, where it was to be mailed quickly. In one of the drawers I found a small cloth sack, and in it was a stamp with “Father Roland Carpenter” printed, then his signature, on it, backwards. I put some ink on a pad and discovered I could use that for Father’s signature. So I took the paperwork to pay Leroy Riverton, stamped Father’s signature on it, and took it down the hallway. “What the hell,” I thought, “he’s got to be paid, and that’s what I should do as a good clerk.” I felt a bit guilty about that, but then, upon re-considering Father’s attitude, I decided to grow up and wean myself of such juvenile self-incriminations. Other words were entering my mind as I recalled my conversations with Jules, plus my scanning through the dictionary. I ed the letter a mother sent to the chaplain, asking for help with her son, Francis Plustoni, “Franny,” she called him. I called Randy, and asked if he could find out where Francis Plustoni was, and Randy called back 15 minutes later. “He’s just starting jump school, you know where those barracks are?” “Yes, I do. Thanks, Randy. See you soon?” “Yeah, my face has lost all the red.” “Randy, it’s none of my business, but who else told you your Donna was dead?” “No one else, why?” “Does the minister like you? Are you sure he’s telling the truth?”

Silence. He said, “Later,” and hung up. I hadn’t wanted to ask him about Putneyville over the phone, but I guess it was so full in my mind, it just flooded out of me before I could dam it up. Later that afternoon, I walked the mile or so to King Company barrack, and asked the cadre, whose name tag said Winters, for Francis Plustoni. “What do you need Blubber for, soldier?” He had corporal stripes on his arms. “I’m from the chaplain’s office, and I need to speak to him.” “Plustoni! Front and center!” A big chubby man, about 6’3”, and maybe 240 pounds came forward, and stood at attention. “Yes, Corporal!” “This soldier wants to talk to you. He’s from the chaplain’s office.” The Corporal was going to stand there and listen, so I said, “Let’s go outside, Francis. You have any objections, Corporal?” “Uh, no, go ahead. What in hell does the chaplain want with this knucklehead?” “Let’s go, Francis.” I led him outside. Though huge, Francis was quite juvenile. He looked down, instead of at me, as if he were looking for a hole to crawl into. He was, not obese, but very blubbery, sort of like a whale that forgot how to swim. “Am I in trouble, sir?” He held his hat in both hands in front of him as if they could in some way protect him. He had chubby cheeks. His dark hair was cut short and patchy, as if the barber had broken shears. “No, you’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to call me, ‘sir.’” I’m from the chaplain’s office, and your mother sent a letter asking the chaplain to look after you. How are you doing? Do you have any friends? Are the cadre treating you respectfully? I saw tears forming. “I, I, don’t know what I’m doin’ here. I ed to get away

from Mommy, I mean my mother, because she kept babying me. I made it through basic training, but I don’t think I can jump out of airplanes. You did it.” He pointed to the wings on my chest. I grabbed his arm and said, “Come on. Let’s walk just a bit.” “Okay, but I don’t want to get into any more trouble.” “So, how was basic training? Any troubles?” “I always have troubles with people. Yes, I had KP often, and people pushed me around in the barrack, but once I pushed back, and they let me alone for a little. But they still think I’m a sissy.” “Tell you what. I have an idea that is just taking root now. Maybe we can pull it out and use it.” He looked around on the ground. “What is it?” “We can go inside, and I’ll start yelling at you, and you holler back with some answer, and push me down. Keep an angry look on your face, and make fists as though you’re ready to slug me. I’ll creep away. Maybe that will make others think about you and your giant size as someone quite formidable. Okay?” He nodded. “And do what you can to get in better shape.” I squeezed the muscle on his arm, which was quite soft. “Wanna try it?” “I don’t know.” “C’mon. You can’t let a great idea like this just wither away, can you?” His chubby face formed a tentative smile. “Okay. Let’s do it.” So we walked back into the barrack, to the second floor, and I hollered, “You’d better do it or else!” At the top of the stairs, Francis answered, “No! No way!” Then he blew himself up to what appeared to be real anger, and pushed me down. While I was on the

floor, he made two huge fists and started moving toward me like a boxer for the KO. I scampered down the stairs, looking frightened, and went out the door. As I walked away, the corporal came out and yelled, “Hey! What was that all about?” I told him that it was a little scheme I dreamed up. “Maybe he’ll get some respect for doing that, Corporal. And maybe he’ll start believing in himself. I don’t know. I was just trying to help, Corporal.” He grinned. “I like it! But he’s too much of a pussy cat. Well, let’s see how it works out.” I thought a bit, then said, “I hope he doesn’t become a bully now.” After I left him, I thought I’d try to see if Cookie was still there in the mess hall.

14 A COOKIE VISIT

I had fond memories of both Cookies I’d met and befriended. They were each tall, black and powerful men, but with loving hearts. They could be cruel, but kind. The next evening I walked into the mess hall and a strong aroma of pasta and garlic attacked my nostrils. I could picture a plateful of spaghetti with the thick tomato sauce that I always consumed so readily, with bread to wipe up the juices for final tastes. Ah, that was comfort food! I glanced at two men drinking coffee at a table by the window. I didn’t recognize them at first, so I continued on toward the kitchen. “Pravate, are you really back, Pravate Bahrum?” I knew instantly that was the voice of Lieutenant Smithson! I turned and sure enough he was there, with Sergeant Scrofura. I walked over and saluted. “Yessir!” The lieutenant saluted and said, “Sit down, Pravate.” I did so. The lieutenant was just as neat and handsome as I’d ed him, with his tan face, pointed chin and light brown hair. His speech always seemed calm, polite, and very Southern! “I just came by to say hello to Cookie, sir.” Sarge said, “We worked so hard to get rid of you, and you came back like a bad penny. I hope you’re not going to cause any more havoc, are you?” I felt the shock once again of looking at Sarge’s face, that at one time must have been attacked at the least by a plague of acne, leaving his cheeks pock-marked and red and just plain ugly. “No, Sarge. They changed my assignment from

Japan to the chaplain’s office here on Fort Bragg. I’m not sure why. I think Father Drew recommended me. You’ve probably seen Father Carpenter at Mass?” “Oh, yeah,” answered Sarge. “He sure isn’t too inspiring, after Father Drew.” “I know. I didn’t notice you two at Mass this Sunday.” “We went to Mass in Fayettevile this tahme, Pravite. Closer to home.” Cookie walked out of the kitchen with a tray, squinted, saw me, and said, “Is that you, Teddy Bahrum? What the hell?” He stomped over, muscles bulging like Popeye, and shook my hand with his giant paw. “Why y’all heah? Is it mah good cooking that ya cain’t stay away from?” He held his hand to the side of his mouth. “Or are y’all on a secret mission, investigatin’ these men heah?” His laugh was more like a roar, and many heads turned our way. I had to look up at this giant of a man with a big black round face featuring his wide smile and flashing white teeth. He was a beautiful, likable man. It felt good to be welcomed by these people, especially Cookie, who was a genuinely well-intentioned person, in spite of his being such a huge hulk of a human being. “No, Cookie, I’m just on a mission to help the chaplain, I hope. I’ll try, anyway. Cookie said, “Y’all come’n see me, fore ya leave, heah?” “I sure will, Cookie!” I gave him a quick wave. Sarge said, “So, Byrum, will you be an altar boy again? And what in hell do you know about the paperwork involved the the chaplain’s office?” “I know next to nothing, Sarge. Actually less than nothing. But a few men here are helping me. One is from the General’s office. His name is Corporal Randy Williams. He’ll know the answers.” “Will y’all be jumpin, Bahrum? You know, it’s mandatory once a month to qualify for the hazardous duty pay.” “Yessir, I realize that. Maybe I’ll get to jump with your group, sir?”

“Maybe. Bah the way, y’all haven’t heard about the new ‘Psychological Warfare Center,’ have you, Pravite Bahrum?” “No, Sir. What’s it for?” Sarge interrupted, “Nothing you’d be interested or qualified for, Private.” The lieutenant smiled and pushed Sarge gently on the shoulder. “It trains soldiers to faght behand enemy lanes, Bahrum. Just didn’t know if that was a reason for y’all’s return.” “No, Sir. Sounds like a good idea to me, though.” “I doubt they’ll be interested in a trouble-maker, Byrum,” Sarge said, but then smiled. “No, you turned out pretty well, soldier. I think you’ll do well in the service.” “Thanks, Sarge. By the way, did Private Litburn make it through jump school?” “He’s in this class now, quiet as a homo mouse.” Sarge laughed at this one. “Why, you wanna kiss him hello?” “That’s enough, Sahgeant.” I felt a slow burn in the brain, and the anger door starting to open. “I’m not a homosexual, Sergeant. You know that. I don’t want to go through all that again. I just didn’t think it was right for ten people to beat up on him.” Then Sarge stood up. “And you should mind your business and let the military handle such cases. All you did was exacerbate the problem.” I ed then, how he always read from one book to increase his vocabulary I decided to keep the door shut and locked. I didn’t need to start in trouble again. “Sorry, Sarge, I’m going to go visit with Cookie for a minute. Okay, sir?” The lieutenant said, “Suah. Go ahead.” I saluted the lieutenant and I responded. “See you in church, sir?” “Mebbe, Byrum, mebbe both of us.”

In the kitchen, I saw Cookie instructing some young men on the proper procedures of cooking and serving the men. I ed well the big sinks for scrubbing pots and pans, the huge ovens with metal shelves, the exhaust pipes that went through the ceiling, the swinging doors for entry and exit. One man was stirring the huge bowl of sauce, and next to him was the pasta in the boiling water. Hunger reminders were awakening in my stomach. Cookie came over and hugged me, almost smothering me in his wide stomach and giant arms. “It ain’t often one of y’all come back ta me. Are you goin’ be in secret service, sneakin’ behand th’ enemy lanes?” “No, Cookie Leo, I was assigned to the new chaplain’s office. I don’t know why Father Drew recommended me. Maybe he saw something I didn’t.” “Thar’s allus a reason accordin’ ta the lawd.” “Well, I’ll come back and tell you, if you do something for me.” “Whassat?” “Let me have a small plate of spaghetti?” “Wait raght heaya, Lil Teddy.” had to smile at that. I was 6 feet tall and he called me ‘Lil Teddy!” I finished that heavenly plate like a starving man!

15 SOME LETTERS

Oct 1953 My Darling Ted,

I got your letter. Thank you for the poem. I love it. I’m going to try not to get too gushy. I miss you, of course. But it reminds me of so many wives and sweethearts who had to wait for their men during the war. What they must have gone through, knowing that death could destroy their lives at any moment. How hard it must have been for them. The men of course, but also the women. We suffer in ways you men will never understand. Will you stay alive? Will you be wounded, perhaps maimed for life? Will you meet some other woman, or women? Also, what ? Must I see years of my youth disappear while waiting? No, I don’t plan on seeing anyone else, my sweetheart. I just want you to appreciate what a hell it is for us women to wait, patiently, faithfully. I’ve been reading more poems lately. I thank you for introducing the wonderful world of poetry to me. I am indebted for life. Sometimes I think it is my savior, but sometimes a curse. I’ll explain later. Right now, I have a few quotes from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 97.

How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What old December’s bareness every where!

And the ending:

And thou away, the very birds are mute; Or, if they sing, ‘tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.

That’s how I feel, my sweetness, without you. Cold. I put on extra blankets at night, until I have to throw them all off, because I’m so hot. Enough of that, or I’ll drive myself crazy. I haven’t heard from Georgy yet. I guess it takes a while for mail to reach me from Korea. I received a letter from your mother. She is so sweet. Things are going well at work. There’s a boy that likes me, but I just tell him to stay away.

All my love, my darling. Your Pauley

P.S. I sprayed some of my perfume on this letter!

Oct 1953 Dear Ted,

I hope you don’t mind hearing from your old priest. I’m about to be assigned to Haiti, which is part of an island called Hispaniola, which also includes the Dominican Republic in the Caribbean Sea. How are things going for you? I hope you’ll forgive me for suggesting you as a secretary-typist for Father Carpenter. He is a strange, temperamental person with what seems to me to be a shadowy past. I’m sure you will take care of him and the chaplain’s office, but be cautious. Don’t get into trouble, as you had been wont to do in the past. Should you ever wish to write to me, I’ll be at The Cathedral of the Assumption, in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, island of Hispaniola. Haiti has many impoverished people there. Their principal language is French, and I did study that language, along with Greek and Latin and Spanish. I’ve been reviewing my French to be sure I can communicate with these poor people. I’m afraid my sermons will be a bit slow and stilted at first. I trust you are doing well, Ted. You were one of my favorite soldiers, and I continue to consider you to be my friend. Stay well, and always to trust in the Lord.

Father Drew Poitrine

16

RANDY’S GENERAL

I was in the Chaplain’s office, muddling my way through the various papers, trying to act as if I knew what I was doing. At about 0900 I decided to call Randy. “General’s office, General Thompson speaking.” I said, “Hey, Randy, uh, General? So sorry, sir, I was trying to talk to Randy, my friend.” “What is your name, soldier?” “Ted, sir, I mean, Private Theodore Byrum, sir.” “Ah, yes, Private. Randy’s gone on leave, I’m afraid. And I’m worried about him. Why don’t you come to me in my office, son. I’m free for the next hour. Can you make it? Can the chaplain spare you for a short spell?” “Uh, yes sir. The chaplain’s not in yet, but I’m sure there’d be no problem.” “Good. I’ll send a jeep over to pick you up. Try to be at the entrance to your istration building, in, uh, 12 minutes. Can you do that?” “Yes, sir, I’ll be waiting.” I ran to the latrine to see how I looked in the mirror. I put on my hat and poked it a few times until it looked right, then thought I was being silly because my hat would be off in the general’s office anyway. My uniform looked okay. It still held a press from when I took it off the hook that morning. I went back to the office and left a note for the chaplain. I waited at the entrance, and a jeep pulled up with a sign on the window that said, “General Thompson.” “You Private Byrum?” asked the sergeant, as if I

were guilty of something. “Yes, Sergeant.” “Hop in!” I stepped up into the back seat. “Hold on!” He ground it into gear, gunned it, and we leaped forward like a ball from a cannon, while dirt and smoke flew up and behind us. We squealed around corners once, twice, three times before we slid to a stop. “All out! First door on the left and up the stairs, Soldier.’ “Thanks, Sergeant.” I stepped down and away he sped, smoke puffing behind him, with the angry engine turning a corner, then humming away. I climbed the stairs, walked past an empty desk, knocked, on the door that read, “General D. A . Thompson, Fort Brag Post Commander,” and a loud, deep voice said, “Enter, soldier!” I opened the door and a lieutenant was sitting there at a desk. It was an outer office, with two desks. The lieutenant said, “He’s waiting for you, private. Go on in.” I knocked with a trembling hand, and the general opened the door. He had a pipe in his mouth. “Come on in, young man.” He turned and walked to his desk. “At ease. Have a seat. Relax.” I entered as the general walked around his wide, tan desk, and set his pipe down in an ash tray, smoke still curling up from it, leaving a strong, sweet, pleasant scent. Behind him was an American flag, and a photo of President Eisenhower, still dressed in his military uniform as a general. General Thompson had two stars on his collar. He was an imposing figure, tall and muscular, and when he turned to sit down, I noticed a dark scar that traveled from the right side of his neck down, disappearing into his fatigues. His hair was short and wavy, and almost all grey, and receding. He sat, leaning forward, elbows on the desk, hands cupped under his chin on each side. He was not exactly handsome, but was very imposing, giving me the impression of a powerful, yet intelligent man. He had light, full eyebrows, attentive, but kindly

eyes, and a smile that seemed to beam. His upper lips were thin, giving the impression of anger. But it didn’t detract from his overall looks. He adjusted some photos on his desk. “So, you’re my Randy’s new friend.” His eyes took all of me in, top to bottom and back up. He studied with a knowing but understanding eye. “Yes sir!” I was pretty nervous. He was such an important man. “No need to be scared, young man. Say,” he reached into a bottom drawer, “did you play baseball back home?” “Yes, I did sir, in high school. I played third base, and sometimes I pitched.” “Good.” He tossed a baseball to me. Surprised, I caught it one-handed by instinct. “And here, catch!” He threw a glove to me. I was surprised to see how old it was. It didn’t have a deep pocket and wide thumb-web like mine at home. “Wow! This is an ancient one, isn’t it, sir?” “Isn’t that a beauty? Ted Williams gave it to my son before the war. Ever heard of Ted Williams, Ted?” He lifted his other glove so I tossed the ball to him. “Ever heard of him? I idolized him most of my life, sir. I even saw him play at Fenway Park!” “Good. He was also a pilot in WW2” The general backed up toward the doorway of another room with a big conference table and threw the ball to me. I caught it with that old glove. Wow! I was actually wearing Ted Williams’ glove. The great Ted Williams! Wild memories stirred in me. I couldn’t help it. I held it to my nose to consume the oily odor. I ed seeing him at left field in front of that shallow, tall wall. General Thompson put his glove up, so I arced the ball back to him. “So,” he said, catching it two handed. “What happened to Randy that he had to leave so soon?” He threw the ball to me.

“Well, I don’t want to give away any secrets, sir. I assume you know he had a girlfriend in Putneyville.” “Yes.” “The minister there told Randy that Donna, his daughter, Randy’s girlfriend, drowned.” “He told me that, but why was his face all beaten up?” We continued playing catch as we talked. “We went to Fayetteville to get tattoos, sir, and Randy was acting strange. He kept insulting Willy, his good friend. It seems Randy wanted Willy to hit him. I think Randy wanted to be punished because he felt responsible for Donna’s death. So he kept making fun of Willy’s name, calling him ‘Willful Willy’ and many other names.” “Why in the world would he do that?” “I’m not sure, sir, but Randy kept beating himself up for being a perfectionist, with her, always correcting his girlfriend, I think.” “What do you think, Ted?” He stopped playing catch, and held the ball. “I don’t really know anything, sir, but I just asked Randy if Donna’s father, the minister, was the only one to tell Randy. You see, the minister hates Randy, and he could have been lying just to keep Randy away from his daughter.” “I see. Thank you, Ted. I don’t plan to do anything about this, but I wanted to know, to understand. Thank you again.” “You’re welcome, General.” He smiled. “You say you used to pitch?” “Yes, sir. Just in high school.” “Well, I never played much ball. I was a military brat. My mother and I traveled with my father, who was an officer, around much of the world, the Far East,

Europe, Africa, so my schooling did not include any athletics. So, can you teach me to throw a curve ball? A knuckle ball?” “Yes, sir. I got pretty good at each of them.” “All right, I’ll set some time aside. That would be a great favor, Ted. By the way, how are you doing in the new chaplain’s office?” “Not so well, sir. I was hired just because I can type. I don’t know much about all this paperwork, but I guess I’ll muddle through.” “That’s the spirit.” He called for the jeep to pick me up. He shook my hand. I walked to the door, turned, and saluted. “Sir. It was a great pleasure and honor to meet you.” He gave me a warm smile and saluted. “And I feel much the same, young man.” The sergeant drove me back. I said to him, “What a wonderful general!” Sarge said, “Yes, he is, but don’t ever cross him, private, or he’ll bury you so deep in shit, you’ll never dig your way out.” He looked frowningly at me, as if I were guilty of treachery. “Thanks, Sarge.” He screeched to a halt, leaving a trail of dust that the wind blew back at us. I jumped out, into it, and said, “Thanks,” as the jeep growled its way down the road, turning a corner, then humming away.

17 PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE

I awoke, dressed, made it to reveille, and after chow, walked to work, and thought about how young I was and how little I knew about our country’s immediate history. Maybe I should ask Jules some questions about it. I was unaware of what was happening in the government. As a matter of fact, I had paid little attention to the news of the country even before becoming a soldier. I had not read newspapers, and seldom heard the news on the radio. Even though I’d graduated from high school, I realized how uninformed I was about anything going on around our country. I guess I left it to the adults to stay informed. During the war, I ed how scary it was when we had so many “blackouts.” We couldn’t have any lights on at night that could be seen from a raiding airplane, so bombs could be dropped on us. Whole cities were blacked out, completely dark, so that the enemy wouldn’t even be able to guess where they were. So Mom and Dad and all of us decided which rooms would have lights on, and we made sure the shades blocked any possibility of beams pouring out to be seen. They even had people on “Blackout Duty,” walking up and down every street, knocking on doors, ringing bells, yelling, if any gleam appeared leaking out of a house. After the war, with the atomic bombing of Japan, and the end of the combat in Europe, I hearing my father and oldest brother, Franklin, discussing the four-term President Roosevelt and the end of World War 2. I had been so happy when brother Franklin came home from Europe alive after the war. I also distinctly Franklin, a few years later, yelling to my dad when he walked in the door, “Did you hear? FDR is dead! You know who the next president is? Truman! He’s a nobody, Dad, an unknown!” That was in 1945.

Also, of course, in 1953 I knew that Eisenhower was president. But that was the extent of my knowledge of what was going on outside of my little world. I was ignorant, but I was happy, just as most of my friends were, unaware and busy in our little worlds of sports and school. I do having to sign a loyalty oath to the United States when I entered the army, though. It was something that Senator McCarthy instigated, I had heard. He was accusing many, many people of being Communists at the time, which caused a number of suicides, I believe. But I heard the Communists of Russia were the new real threat, because they were attempting to swallow the peninsula of Korea, to inflict their dictatorial type of government over this poor country. So, somehow, the United States involved themselves in the war, or, “conflict,” to prevent the spread of the communist form of government, the opposite of ours. We’d left that form of dictatorship when we sailed from Europe a few centuries ago. All this was just a vague picture I’d had, based upon little “facts” I’d picked up. I also knew about the “end” of the Korean “conflict” but that there was still some cleaning up involved. That’s where my friend, Georgy, was stationed. I hoped he was safe, and doing well. That was the extent of my knowledge. As I walked along toward work in the chaplain’s office, I whistled to myself. I ed my dad, who was a whistler, and wondered how he was doing. So I was surprised when a lieutenant walked up to me as I was on my way to the chaplain’s office. I saluted, he returned it, and I walked by, but the officer said, “Just one moment, soldier. I’d like to speak to you.” Of course I stopped. “Yes sir?” I stood at attention. He was well dressed in his uniform, neat, but not tall. He had a way of looking around semi-casually as if what he was doing was suspicious.

“At ease, private. You’re Private Theodore Byrum, aren’t you?” His hair was light brown with tinges of grey. His full lips smiled crookedly, revealing brown-stained teeth on the right side of his mouth. Oh no, I thought. “Yes I am, sir. Is there a problem?” “No. Let me explain. My name is Lieutenant John Robson. I belong to a new unit of the military, and we are recruiting certain soldiers that might be qualified to work with us. We did a bit of checking on you. You’re from West Springfield, Massachusetts, and have a friend in Boston, and one in Rhode Island, am I correct?” “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. Why are you checking up on me? Am I in trouble?” “No, private, you’re not. Let’s walk a bit.” He took my arm and we walked slowly. I felt pretty uncomfortable by then, as though some evil bug was about to crawl up my pant leg. “It’s just that you’ve demonstrated leadership qualities in the past, and we want to ask you, ask, not command, you to do something for us. If you do it well, we might promote you rapidly. You see, our unit is preparing to use psychological warfare and underground surveillance of enemy activities. If you qualify, you could be sent behind enemy lines. That sounded exciting, maybe even heroic, but I couldn’t see any way I’d be qualified. “I don’t understand, sir, I’ve just been through basic training, and jump school. I’m only 18, so I don’t see how….” He lit a Camel cigarette, took a deep drag and blew it out his nose.. I thought how proud I was that I’d quit smoking. An addiction. He made a tent with his hands around the cigarette, protecting the flame from the wind. “We’re just going to go at this slowly, for now. All we want you to do is keep your eyes open to anything that doesn’t seem to fit into the military way of life. We’re not looking for Communists, but we are aware that other countries could be spying on us, so we need eyes glancing right and left just as though we were looking through telescopes. But don’t do anything dangerous. We just need eyes

for now. Can you do that for us? “Yes, sir.” “Good. We’ll be in touch. Make sure you are alert and circumspect. Do you know what that means? And be vigilant. Be careful what you say. Tell no one. Here’s my number. Call about anything suspicious. Now salute and be on your way, soldier.” I saluted, of course, just as snappy as I could. I vowed to look up “circumspect” as soon as I could, but I guessed it meant, “look around.” The rest of the walk to the office, I was excited, energized to think that officers, like Lieutenant Smithson, saw leadership tendencies in me. What was the new word I’d learned? Ebullient, that’s how I felt. It was like being selected as firststring quarterback on my football team.

18 NAMES OF THINGS

I was talking to Jules in the barrack, while he was ironing some of his uniforms on his footlocker. He had an extension cord from his iron to the wall. “How did you ever get to be so sagacious, Jules?” “Ah, that’s a good one. I see you’ve been studying your vocabulary. Good for you. You’ll find it to be quite efficacious in the long run.” “That’s a good one! Is that the same as effective?” “Yes, that’s pretty close.” He hung his shirt up. Brian walked over from his bunk and said, “I heard that, you two! I was being quite inquisitive.” Bobby brought over some rags and polish. Abe was just walking back from the latrine. “You’re all iniquitous, do you hear?” “That’s true,” Jules interjected. “We’re all sinners. Just keep using the words until they become a normal part of your vocabulary. But I should warn you, never use words just to show off, to impress people that you’re intelligent.” He pointed to his brain. “That will alienate them, and they’ll see you as fakes, hiding behind the facade of education.” He put one shirt up on the hanger, and started on a pair of pants. “Just keep your knowledge on a back burner to use for comprehension of what you read and think and hear. Never use it to blow smoke on the faces of others.” He waved at our faces. “Always avoid having hubris.” Bill scratched his head and stared. “What in hell is hubris? A disease?” Brian queried, “Hey who’s been messing with my hubrises?”

Jules laughed. “Very good, men. Have fun with words. Hubris means extreme pride, arrogance. That’s something we should all avoid.” “Sounds like good advice, Jules. Thanks,” I replied. “I noticed something else in the dictionary, though. Often it will give the source of the word, like French, or Latin, or Greek. What’s that all about?” “Yeah,” Abe prodded. “I noticed that too.” Jules replied, “Those are called ‘etymologies,’ the histories of the words. You know, the English language didn’t exist many centuries ago.” Bobby sat on my bunk rubbing one shoe to a nice shine and said, “Zat true? From them cave days?” “It’s a long story, Bobby. If we go back to the cave men, we’ll see that their only language was pictures on the walls.” He pretended to scratch the cave walls. He also pointed down. “Probably also on the ground, saying something like ‘let’s go hunt and spear a deer’ with a picture. ‘Many years later, people uttered sounds that became symbols of other things. So this was the beginning of the miracle of language, naming things and actions and desires.” Abe scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be. I never thought about things like that. Now that’s iniquitous!” Brian added, “I did think about it, but never very deeply.” I pondered this some, then blurted, “Why that’s just like when we’re born, we did not have a language, and we gradually learned the names of things, like, ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ and ‘hand’ and ‘spoon.’ Then we got all excited trying to use words to describe the world we were in.” All this time, Bobby was quiet, just taking it all in. I was sure, with his southern accent, he was struggling with all this vocabulary stuff. Jules smiled and stopped ironing. Brian blurted, “Yeah, it’s how we’re able to get around. We have names for everything!”

I added, “It’s like getting power over parts of our world! It’s how we know things, Jules. That’s why all of us must have a name, so we’re able to know each other as something else than ‘man,’ or ‘woman’ or ‘boy!’ “You men are getting it now. Maybe there’s hope for you,” Jules commented as he hung up his pants, making sure everything was evenly spaced. “You’re right, all of you,” he widened his arms to include us all, “so that’s why it’s incumbent on, or necessary for, us to learn as much of these words that describe our world as we can. “That’s right!” I almost shouted. “It’s incumbent upon us to….to master the names of things!” “Yes,” said Jules, waving his finger at us, “but be sagacious about it, showing good judgement always.” I thought about the word “circumspect,” but decided to keep it to myself. Later, I contemplated what we had discussed. It was like many dark clouds had opened up to let the bright light of the sun in upon me. So this was why many of the classes I’d had in school, elementary, junior high, and high school, usually taught the words necessary to learn the concepts first, before going deeper into the subject. I assumed the same would apply to college, and of course, eventually to our whole lives. I was getting enthusiastic about all I was learning, so I looked up the word, “enthusiastic,” and, what a surprise! The etymology of the word, from the Greek, meant “possessed by a god!” Of course, I decided I would tell Jules and our little group of learners my discovery. I guess most of us are possessed by God in one way or another, even though Jules the agnostic would question it. Something that Father Drew said in one of his sermons came back to me then. If we can’t believe in a God, and if there were no God, what are we doing here on this earth? Is this it? We’re here for about as long as it takes a match that we just lit to go out. Then what is there? Nothing? No soul to keep us going? How depressing! No, I’d rather believe what we’re doing here can have consequences for our future, our perhaps endless future beyond this short flame of life.

Besides, the agnostics stand in the middle of a teeter-totter, saying neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ as to the existence of God. What? Wait until the winner shows, then jump down on that side to claim all the glory? I say, either teeter or totter. Don’t waste your life in the middle. Bobby was saying, “Yup, all y’all northerners shore talkin’ lak’ donkeys! But ah lak it, cuz ahm learnin too!”

19

“COUNSELING”

One day when I went to work in the office, I was surprised to find Father Roland sitting at his desk, reading some of his mail, munching a cookie. He looked up, and back down, and asked, “Did you arrange to pay for this, what is he, a janitor in the church?” “Yes, Father, I did. His name is Leroy Riverton. I hope you don’t mind. He hadn’t been paid in a few weeks.” “No, no, glad you did. Have you met him?” “Yes, I did. He seems to be a nice man, who enjoys his work. He sings often, with this magnificent deep voice. I heard him….” “Yeah, yeah, good, he sings.” Father kept looking at some letters. “You opened these, did you?” “Yes, there was such a backlog of stuff, I thought….” “Mmm, well from now on, let’s just keep my personal letters, personal, do you understand?” “Yessir.” “You understand? Leave my business to me!!!” he stared at me, but not necessarily me, but my chest. “I understand, sir! Quite clearly! Do you want to tell me again?” My voice revealed my anger. Then, some monster inside of me made me put my hands over my ears and hold them there like flaps so I could hear better. He stared at me, his mouth tense. I half expected him to show his teeth like a dog protecting a bone. Then he let up, and said, “Sorry,” but not as if he meant it.

“And who is this Francis, or Fran. Did you do anything about that?” “Yes sir, I did. I went to his barrack and gave him some advice. He’s kind of a weak, scared kid, who….” “Well, send him to me, will you?” “Yes sir!” I left the office, happy to walk over to Able barrack, and found that Private Francis Plustoni could be made available at 1230 hours, after chow. Since it was just an hour away, I stayed at the mess hall, drinking coffee, and talking Cookie into a meal. It was spaghetti again, and giant meatballs, good and filling. I wiped up every bit of the tasty sauce with two slices of bread. Ah, the magic of a good meal! At last I saw Private Plustoni, and waved him over to me. He waddled slowly toward me, balancing his tray awkwardly, and said, “I heard you were looking for me, Private Ted. What’s happening?” His voice was high and shy. “Go ahead and sit, Francis. The chaplain wants to see you. I think it’s because your mother wrote to him.” “Am I in trouble?” His wide eyes and worried look showed his fear. “No, eat, and I’ll walk you over there.” He ate, nervously, looking up at me, then at the food, then back at me, as though searching for some solution to a life he was unable to understand. Later, at the chaplain’s office I introduced Francis. Father Roland said to me, “Take these papers into your little room and work on them. Keep your door shut. This counseling is private, do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” I responded, my pride crumbling like dried clay. I grabbed many of the papers from his desk, and carted them into my little cubby hole. I worked on them for a while until I heard what sounded like crying coming from Private Plustoni. Then came mumbles, and cooing and “there, there.”

This was followed by whispers, but even the whispers carried. I moved closer to the file cabinet, and there through to air duct I could hear, Francis saying, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” I backed off. I thought, this is a Confession, one of the Seven Sacraments. I can’t listen to someone else’s sins, can I? No, I can’t. It would be a big sin for me, I was sure, a major sin, like murder, maybe. But then I heard poor Francis telling about what his “Daddy” did when Franny was just seven, then eight, then ten, “And I even got to like it. sir! And, and, and, when I got bigger he let me do it to him.” The sins were getting blacker, dirtier! I felt stained just hearing it! The word popped into my head like a stab. ‘Addiction!’ Another example! “No,” I thought to myself. I tried to think of something else, but when Father Roland said “I understand, Francis, I understand quite well. Now, I want you to say ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys, and tell the Lord how sorry you are.” “Yes, Father,” Francis moaned. I put my hands over my ears, refusing to let my curiosity put me in any more peril of mortal sin, as if I could erase what I’d already heard. I felt stained. I tried to concentrate on some regulation but couldn’t. I was tempted to open the door, but I hesitated. I waited five, ten minutes, then realized there was no sound. I tentatively opened the door, just ajar to peek out, then found the office was empty! Where would they have gone? I walked quickly out of the office, down the hallway, down the stairs and out the door, and espied the chaplain saying goodbye to Francis. Father had his hand on the tall soldier’s back. Francis walked, then trotted away. So. I knew nothing. I went back to the office, trying to erase the many possible images that kept creeping into my mind. What could happen in this instance? s wasn’t a little catechism child was he? No.

20 MASS AND CONFESSION?

On Sunday morning, I was shaving in the latrine, trying not to cut myself again. I had no shirt on when Brian said, Hey, that’s your new tattoo, ain’t it? “Yep. And Jerry, my tattooist said it has magical powers. Want to touch it? Just think good thoughts when you do it. You have to be a believer.” “Yeah. Why not?” He rubbed my shoulder. “Hope it works.” “You have to believe, you know.” I didn’t even know if I believed it myself. Jules accompanied me to church again, along with Brian, and Willy. Brian had no religious background. Willie’s family was Presbyterian. My friends preferred the back row. I suppose that was because Jules wanted it. We humans are strange that way, I guess. We establish a space to settle the first time we enter a room, and that’s where we wish to plunk, again and again. Habit, familiarity, human nature. So that’s where they sat when I went to the sacristy. I was early. Mass would start in ten minutes. But Father Roland was not there yet. I opened the drawer and placed the alb, the long white gown, and chasuble, the sleeveless, decorated outer garment neatly on the table for him. I thought he would be pleased. How do I know those items of the priest’s dress? Good old Father Goggin back in West Springfield, training us as altar boys, would use memory devices to help us . He would say, with a sing-songy voice, “It’s an alb. Think of an album, but , there’s no bum in an alb. And you must chase the bubble to find a chasuble.” At 0905 Father Roland showed up, puffing away, grumbling. He put the alb over his head and let it flow down over his corpulence. His stomach bulge could not be hidden by his robe. He said, “Help me get into this chasuble, damn it!”

I did so. “There you are Father Roland!” I was tempted to say, ‘damn it,’ but resisted. I reminded myself to keep my mouth shut to stay out of trouble this time. At last, when fully attired, he yelped, “So let’s go!” And out the door to the altar we went. The Mass began. All went well. The sermon was short and uninteresting. Or maybe that was because my mind wandered so much. I was wondering how to get out of this job with such a bitter man. Maybe I could that Lieutenant John Robson, to see what else was available. Who knows? Maybe it would be dangerous, but at least it wouldn’t be such a dead end place to work. What I did hear of his homily, was about love and respect. Great subject for him to listen to, himself. He was saying, “Job cried out, ‘Though he slay me, I will maintain mine own ways before him!’ So when finally allowed to see the Lord, this once wealthy man told God that he’d heard His word, but then when he was finally allowed to see Him, Job truly believed, and was doubly humbled.” Father Roland paused, trying to be dramatic, I think. Then his voice rose, “We should not let that evil sin of Pride enter, because it will be tough to kick him out the door once he’s ensconced in your living room. Stay humble, and accept what your God says through the person of your priest. In this case, that’s me! I bring to you the word of God! Have faith in me!” It sounded a bit like Pride, or hubris, to me, but I let the thought slither away like a cobra. When it came time for Communion, I held the container with the blessed bread and followed the priest at the railing. He would take one and say, “Body of Christ,” and place the wafer on the person’s tongue, then move on to the next communicant. I did not receive a wafer for myself, although I could have. But I believed I would have to go to confession to be sure I cleansed my soul before receiving such an important act, one of the Seven Sacraments. Father offered it to me, but I turned my head. He looked at me questioningly. However, here was my problem, I did not wish to confess to Father Roland Carpenter! How could I, after overhearing that confession to him? It seemed I

was in a game I couldn’t win. My dilemma was, do I find someone else to confess to, or do I just receive Holy Communion without cleansing my soiled soul? My mother said to confess often and keep my soul from being ‘soiled.’ Somehow, I had to figure it out. How long could I go without confessing and trying to pray, even beg, Mom and God for forgiveness?

21 A FIERY MONEY JUMP

October 31

It just happened that our parachute jump was scheduled for Halloween day. The weather was cloudy and windy. Brian and I took the bus to the airport where we would begin our short flight. I was hoping there would be no “tricks” involved. To me, jumping was serious business, not something to trivialize with childish antics. I understood that it was necessary for us to jump once a month to stay ready for any call to service overseas. So each month we received “hazardous duty” which amounted to an extra $55 in my paycheck, most of which I’d arranged to send to Mom, using the Class Q Allotment. I could tell Brian was eager. He enjoyed the “game” of jumping out of airplanes. I said “Hey, where’s Willy? Anybody see him?” Brian said, “He’ll be here, I betcha.” I answered, “Hey, look over there. Isn’t that him running?” “Sure is,” said Randy, “scampering like a wolf.” We laughed and waved to him. “Hey, Randy, you’re back!” “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it later!” “Okay, good!” I answered. “Where’s Jules? Isn’t he going to jump?” asked Randy.

“No,” I answered, “Jules isn’t airborne.” “Well, why is he even in the army anyway?” Randy questioned. I started to try to answer, but was interrupted. Willy, finishing donning his gear, said, pointing toward the plane, “Hey, isn’t that the general? What’s his name?” Look, he’s comin’ this way.” General Thompson walked toward us, helmet in is left hand, saluting everyone, because they kept standing at attention as he ed by. Finally, he reached us and we all snapped to attention and saluted. He gave us a quick return salute, then a wide smile. “Hello, men. Is this the kind of person Randy consorts with nowadays? Hello, there, Ted. I’m still looking forward to a lesson from you.” “Huh? A lesson from Ted?” Brian continued. “Sir?” “Why, yes, Ted is going to teach me how to throw a curve ball and a knuckler. But we can talk about this later. Right now, it looks like we’re going to have a rain storm. If there’s lightning, I doubt there’ll be a jump. If not, we can jump into the rain. That should be fun, won’t it, men?” “Yes sir!” we answered at once. I froze. I’d almost forgotten the panicky terror I’d felt when I was a teenager batting rocks from the dike onto the Connecticut River, counting my “home runs” and a down pour came suddenly, followed by loud deafening blast of thunder, and a bolt of lightning struck the Guistetti house. My hair crackled and stood up. Fire rose from the porch roof of the house. Another deafening thunderclap and my heart felt as though it had stopped. The doors of the C46 airplane opened, and we lined up to enter. After the general climbed aboard, the rest of us followed. Deep down, rumbling somewhere inside, I ed again the thunder, saw the flash, felt my hair crackle. Once again, I had to face my own fears. There were only 15 of us jumpers. Since we were experienced, no one tried to give us instructions. But the jump master, a sergeant, warned us against strong

winds. He hollered above the noise of the engines. “Just don’t y’all take any chances this mornin’, okay? If it does rain hard once you’re out th’ freakin’ door, watch the chute carefully. If it starts to collapse on one side, well, hell, pull the risers in that direction to shake off as much water as possible. If that doesn’t work, pull in the other direction. Now this won’t happen, y’all, but if it should, be ready to pull your reserve chute. Just, f’god sake, don’t let the two get tangled or y’all might jes’ get a faster ride t’ the bus than y’all bargained for.” Sarge went back to his seat near the door, saluted briefly to the general, and sat down. I prayed for sun. I prayed I wouldn’t poop my pants. I prayed, “God, if there’s going to be lightning, let it happen now, so I don’t have to leap out into it. Somehow I knew I would jump, regardless of my fear. No way I would let cowardice enter my mind or heart. “I will be a man fergod sake.” The light turned green. We stood up, ready to shuffle toward the door. I checked the chute and straps of Willy in front of me. He whispered back to me, “You okay, man? You’re white as snow.” “I’m okay.” I gasped. The old lump in the throat prevented me from saying more. Sarge yelled back to us, “It’s okay! Just a bit of rain! General, ready?” General Thompson gave him a thumb’s up, and stood in the door. Sarge yelled, “Get ready! Hoo!” Out went the general. Randy followed. He leaped and swooped backward, disappearing in a second or less. Others shuffled, leaned and whoosh - gone! The closer I got to the door, the harder my heart was beating. Brian yelled “Banzai!!” and hurled himself out. Then it was Willy’s turn. He shuffled to the door, put his hands on each side, turned and winked at me.

Sarge hollered, “Hoo, dammit!” Willy yelled, “Gone, dammiiiit” as he flew away. My turn! I stood at the door. Rain whipped past. The roar of the engine was like a volcano blast, exploding half of a mountain away. “Hoo, dammit!” I closed my eyes, my heart pounding like a wild horse. Almost fainting, leaned, fell forward, and was whooshed backwards from the force of the prop blast and the plane’s velocity. I was tossed like a leaf in a windstorm. My parachute opened, and I felt the risers heat on my shoulders with such an abrupt burning. I seemed to halt in the air. I finally opened my eyes. I saw no other jumpers. I was alone. The sky was dark, but I could see the rain pellets flying sideways at me. I thought “God, I can take the rain, just as long as there’s no lightning. Please let there be no lightning!” Just as soon as I asked for that, it seemed God answered with a low rumbling sound, like a rolling bowling ball, followed by a loud explosion. In the distance I saw a lightning bolt hit the ground. I closed my eyes again in such terror. I prayed I would not be burned up in a ball of fire. My first thought was I was being punished for the sin of hearing that confession to Father Roland. “Very well! I’m guilty! Let me burn, if that is thy will!” My descent seemed to take forever, in spite of the fact that I knew it only took about 25 seconds at the most. My muscles were so tense, I thought they’d never unclench themselves. At last I hit earth, hard, onto the drop zone, which fortunately was soft, but I lay there, tense, scarcely believing I was down, alive, and I it, ashamed. I stayed there, just letting the rain fall and soak my uniform and me. Then voices came my way. “Hey, Ted, you okay? Is that you in the muck? What’s wrong?” I scrambled to get up, on hands and knees, then upright. I tugged on the risers. It was heavy. The silk was soaked. I felt exhausted. The general said, “Hold up there, young Ted. Don’t rip the chute. Some of you men help this muddy mess of a soldier and roll up his parachute.” Then he turned to me and asked if I was okay.

“Yessir. It’s just the lightning. Thought I was having a heart attack.” “I understand. Next time, just imagine you’re descending into a nest of Germans., as many of my men did. Lightning won’t seem as dangerous then.” He started to walk toward the bus. “Say, see you on Saturday outside my office building, okay? Say, at 0930?” “Yessir. I’ll be happy to.” “Happy Halloween, Ted.”

22

RANDY’S RETURN

After Randy was gone for about three days, he and Willy walked up to my bunk in the evening. Willy quipped, “Hey, Teddy, is this all you do, shine shoes? You practicin’ for a future job in train stations?” I retorted, “Yeah, one must practice for his future. Maybe it’ll pay more than we’re making here. Hey, Randy, you’re back, huh?” Jules, who just came back from the latrine looking neat as always, chanted, “Well, Randy, I do hope all is well with you?” “Yes, Jules, as well as can be hoped for. I want to apologize to you and Ted here, for all the trouble I caused.” I suggested we go outside so our conversation could be made more private. They agreed. Jules, Randy, Willy and I, went out. Outside we sat on the steps. A mild wind whipped some of the limbs of the pines up and down so they looked like they were trying to flap their wings to fly. The temperature was mild and the sweet scent of some mysterious flower filled the air. “What is that scent, Jules, do you know?” I asked. “Why, that’s lavender. Isn’t that a nice, gentle fragrance?” Willy said, “You sure know your stuff, don’t you, Jules. Why are you here in the service? You could have a job somewhere makin’ big bucks.” Jules, hands on the rail, pulled himself up. “Oh, I guess I’m just hiding from my past now. I made a few mistakes in the garment industry. I lost everything taking a chance on certain types of clothing, and lost my shirt, so to speak.”

I laughed. Jules smiled at me, “And it would be humorous, if it weren’t so true. But enough about Jules, now. Let’s hear about Randy. How are you? And what happened in, where was it, Putneyville?” “Yes, Putneyville. And you were right, Ted. I was just too emotionally upset to believe that minister bastard would lie to me. I was so disgusted with myself, that I never considered Donna could be alive.” He began to pace to our left, then our right, but then stopped in front of us, looking down, ing, as if he could see it again. “When I arrived at home, I asked my dad about the funeral, and he hadn’t heard or read anything about Donna. My dad’s a teacher, and he knew her well. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m sure I’d have read or heard something, my boy. You know how quickly news spreads in town, especially at school. Why, did that minister lie to you? Did that man of God tell an untruth?’ We’re Catholics, so he wasn’t too fond of those Presbyterians. “I told Dad I didn’t know anything yet. I’d read the obits for the past weeks. Nothing. So, although my father told me not to make trouble, I said I had to find out one way or the other. It was gnawing at me, like a rat in my brain. I said, ‘Tell Mom I’ll be back in time for supper, Dad, please.’ “I decided against a phone call. That would make it too easy for him to hang up. I walked along the lake road. It’s Ontario Lake.” “That’s one of the five Great Lakes.” inserted Jules. “Yes, it sure is, Jules. I used to fish with my dad and mom along one of the docks there, guys. And sometimes out on our boat. You’d like it. You can catch some great lake trout there. Anyway, that’s what I was thinking, when I ed taking Donna and myself out there, just letting the boat drift while we talked and didn’t worry too much about whether the fish nibbled or not. We got along so well. I don’t know why I thought I could improve her, maybe even make her Catholic. She was perfect, just the way she was. I realize that now. Why, I would even have changed my religion for hers, if need be.” Willy said, “Musta been love, man.”

“Yeah, it was, man. I mean, it still is, dammit!” I stood up. “Let’s walk. You can tell us while we go around our building.” So we walked slowly, letting Randy take his time. When he was quiet, we walked at a slow pace. When he started, we almost slowed to a crawl. We had been a foursome of strangers just a few weeks past, and now were becoming friends, perhaps intimate friends, bonding together from the tattooing episode, the somewhat violent incident that ensued, and the perhaps “tragedy” of a friend’s love. One of us was stabbed in the heart, and we all felt it, like brothers. Randy went on. “So when I approached the church, I felt intimidated by its size and the unbending bias it seemed to boast of, against us Catholics. Its red bricks with white-trimmed windows that arch to a point that directs our attention to the heavens, as Donna would say. She would also point to the belfry that is square and open, with a roof that reminds all of a castle, where maybe a guard could survey the world for sinners. “But I walked past the church toward the minister’s house.” Jules interruped, “The minister’s house is called a ‘manse.’” “Yes, that’s right, Jules, I now. So I rang the doorbell, and waited. After a few minutes, the minister’s wife opened the door. She said, ‘Oh, hello, Randy. How are you, son? Don’t you look good in your uniform!’ She stepped outside, and closed the door, in order to stifle our voices from the minister, I thought. “I said, ‘Not so good, Mrs. Wilson, not since I got the call from your husband.’ “She opened her eyes wide. ‘He called you? For what?’ “‘To tell me Donna drowned, is gone, dead. Is it true?’ “Then it all came out. Mrs. Wilson described how her husband sent Donna to England, because he pulled strings to send her to the University of Oxford. That’s why he hustled her to get settled before the beginning of the next term. She paused, and said, ‘Now I understand. So, now you want to speak to my

husband about it. We don’t want any trouble, Randy! I’m sorry about this, but he just doesn’t like Catholics.’ “I said, ‘I have to speak to him, mam. I won’t cause any trouble, I promise! But he lied! That man of the cloth! He lied!!!’” “She invited me in and went to get Minister Wilson in his study. I took my hat off and folded it neatly in my belt. I waited in the living room, so nervous I paced. When he came into the room, he glared at me, his nose and cheeks a shiny crimson. He always had a way of staring straight at me, his thick, gray brows almost covering his eyes, making me want to confess all my sins to him. But no more! “He roared, ‘Why are you here? Don’t you know you’re not welcome in my manse?’ “I grinned. I’d had every intention to tell him I had been willing to change religions to remain with Donna, but I wasn’t going to get a chance. I started to say, I would change, but he raised his hand. “‘Out of my manse, this very moment!’ He pointed to the door.” “Whatcha do then, Randy?” asked Willy. He made a fist. “Give him a good one in the nose.” Jules said, “That’s not the way to solve differences. That would make everything worse.” Randy went on. “Oh, I wanted to, Willy. But you’re right, Jules. I stood up and walked toward the minister, who is short, about 5’ 7” and he backed up and started to raise his hands in a defensive position, so I stopped. His wife came to the door and looked in. I wasn’t going to hit him. That was the direction of the door, right behind him. I said, ‘Come in, Mrs. Wilson. I was going to tell your husband, the minister here, I’d be willing to become a Presbyterian to continue seeing your daughter. But I see, now, that’s not what I’d like to become. When the minister, here, lied to me, I decided I’d rather not a religion where the leader, the holy man, the one charged with sending all of his flock to heaven, is probably going to hell himself because, if he’ll lie to get his way this once, he’s probably done it before,

and will do it again, and I think he’s a fraud, a fake!” Then I said, to her, but staring at the minister, ‘He’s a man, no not a man, a beast without honor, a coward and a liar!’ “Then I realized I’d probably lost Donna for good, and fought the feeling to start bawling. ‘I love Donna, and I know I’ve lost her forever, now, so I’ll go and never bother you again. I hope she finds some good, honorable man, because she hasn’t had one as a father! Sorry, Mrs. Wilson.’ And I burst from the room as the tears dripped on my uniform!” Randy continued holding his head down and trying to catch his breath. Jules said, “We’d best leave him alone, while he’s so lachrymose.” He paused. “Sorry, he’s, that means tearful.” So we walked away, leaving Randy behind us. No need to watch a man in such deep sadness.. No one spoke. All were quiet as at a funeral.

23 A FRACTIOUS FAYETTEVILLE VISIT

Early Friday evening, Jules, Randy, Willy, and I took the bus for Fayetteville. We could have gone in Jules’ Chevy, but decided we couldn’t afford the gas and have money left over for food and drinks. We looked “snazzy,” as Jules described us. We had our clean khaky uniforms on, were showered and shaved, and shined our dark brown jump boots, except for Jules, of course. His low shoes were shiny and clicked with each step he took. He was not a jumper. Willy asked, “Hey, where’s Bobby? I answered, “He said he was horny, and he’d go on his own, y’all!” Brief laughter. I had thought it would be good for Randy, I thought, to get out of himself so he wouldn’t drown in self pity, so I insisted on inviting him. I suggested we go to Rusty’s Waterhole, and the others agreed, although Jules thought a nice restaurant would be preferable, for a nice meal. So we agreed we’d “visit’ Rusty’s, then go and “dine.” Randy said, “I hope we avoid getting into trouble, okay, Willy?” “No problem, Randy. I’m not the type to cause any ruckus.” “I certainly hope not,” huffed Jules. Don’t forget we’re in our class A uniforms. We represent the United States Army!” “What are you insinuating, Jules,” I asked. “Do you think I’ll say something incendiary? “Yeah, don’t you believe we can be sagacious?” added Willy. Jules laughed, “My, my, you boys have certainly been studying your

vocabularies. That library visit is certainly proving efficacious!” The bus let us brilliant men off, and we walked toward Rusty’s, almost in step. We just automatically took up each other’s pace, probably habit from all of our marching in formation. Willy snickered, “Look at us, all in rhythm. Are we going on bivouac?” I picked up on it, and in a low voice, sang, “Hut, ho, hut ho, you left your girl at home!” Willy chanted “You’re right!” “By the telephone!” “You’re right! Hey, look at us, the great efficators.” Jules tsked, “No, Willy, you can’t, oh, never mind!” By that time, we reached Rusty’s Waterhole, so we calmed down. Jules said, “Let’s not make fools of ourselves, now. Don’t be capricious, you know, full of mood changes, whimsical.” Randy led the way, pulling the door open. Rusty nodded from behind the bar. There were few people in there, just one couple sitting at a table, watching the action at the pool table. We squeezed into a booth close to the bar. A waitress came over, and said, “Hi, my name is Amber. What’ll it be, boys?” She wore an apron that said, “Rusty’s Waterhole” on it. She might have been in her 30s, with blonde hair flowing out of dark strands closer to her head. She had a way of looking at each customer with a kind smile. She was quite pleasant, with a tiny nose and cute smile. She had a thin, gold band on her ring finger. Jules said, “Lemonade, please.” Randy said, “A Schlitz, please.” Willy said, “Budweiser, ma’am, with a shot of whiskey in it.” As soon as I heard Willy’s order, I sensed trouble. Whiskey in his beer? Wasn’t

that something like a ‘boilermaker?’ Was Willy addicted? We’d soon find out! I said to Julie, “Ask Rusty if I can have a beer, please. Tell him Ted is asking.” “Coming right up,” she walked away. I got up and walked toward the bar. There was Tuppence, a cocker mix, lying on the floor. I ed his name was British for ‘two cents.’ He looked at me and perked up his ears. “Hey, Tuppence, how are you, boy?” He yipped, and came over to me. I scratched his neck. His tongue hung down. Then he tried to lick my face. I gave him my cheek. I thought how strange it is, that a dog can acquaintances better than people can. “You do me, don’t you, boy?” Rusty came around the bar. “Hey, I you! You’re… don’t tell me. You were in that rumble with Brian and his farmer friends. You knew the lieutenant and Sarge.” He scratched his auburn hair. “Teddy!” he blurted. “That’s it, you’re Ted. That’s what Vickie said!” He offered his hand and we shook. “And I know that other one sitting with you. What is it? Willy, that’s it! Don’t let him go crazy in here, okay? Oh, and, you want a beer, okay, but don’t go overboard, okay?” “Thanks, Rusty!” I scratched Tuppence behind his head again. By then, several people entered and found their seats. Some were up putting coins into the juke box, and dancing to the music, mostly southern, “cowboy” style. I noticed the men, and some women, had boots on. They looked more like they were meant for riding a horse, than stomping on the dance floor, but stomp they did. Back at our booth, Jules sipped his lemonade, Randy and Willy slurped their beers, and I waited for Amber to bring my drink. Willy had downed his Bud already, and would order another before I had mine. When four more people entered, I recognized the cabbie who drove me to Fort Bragg from the train station, the one who chewed tobacco and spat it into a cup. The four of them sat at a table. He was facing me, though I was sure he could not recognize me. He seemed even skinnier than I ed him. His skull was much narrower than any I’d ever seen. It looked a bit wider around his right cheek because it was swollen, full of tobacco, I assume. The other man looked slim also, like Slim’s brother. He lit a cigarette. The women wore button shirts

with wide stripes that went down from their shoulders, the type I’d seen on women at rodeos. Vickie went to their table. “Hey, good ta see all y’all! Now the party can start! The usuals?” “You betcha, Vick,” the other man said. Rusty carried something to their table. “Howdy, folks.” He handed an empty stein to the cab driver. “Here ya go, Beau. Keep it outa sight, okay? It’s kinda disgustin’ ya know.” Amber brought my Budweiser in a stein. She had a cute body, one easy to watch as she walked away. The beer frothed high over the top. I drank deeply, and it was good, as the first cold gulp always is. Curious, I asked, “So, Jules, what happened to you? You had a business in the what industry?” Jules was wiping his mouth with his hanky. “The garment industry. I thought Peoria was ready for something new, but I guess I was wrong.” He sipped his lemonade. “This will just bore you. But I had an idea that clothing made up mostly of gabardine would sell.” Willy downed his beer and waved to Vickie for another. “Gaber who?” Jules looked at him a moment, as though counting his beers. “It’s called gabardine, Willy. Gabardine is a tough material. It’s tightly woven, and can be made into shirts, pants, uniforms, suits, you name it. It’s made of worsted or cotton, and…. “Worsted?” jumped in Randy. “What’s worse than worsted? Whatever that is.” Jules sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t be interested in this.” I said, “I am, Jules. What’s worsted?” “It’s a fine spun yarn made from wool. One day I can explain more, but the important thing is, men, I made many suits, pants, shirts, coats, and decided to open a store. I thought I had a wonderful source of materials, and I began to achieve a base of customers, and all looked wonderful, until….” He waved his backhand at us. “I see you’re losing interest already. But I’ll finish quickly. You

probably haven’t heard about the disastrous weather down south that ruined the cotton industry. First the boll weevil did the damage, and a late snow did the remainder. So all the people I had lined up, were idle. That’s my story. Amen. Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.” He patted his stomach. The juke box blared a song, much too loud. It was,“I Walk The Line.” Randy asked, “But what about the wool? Doesn’t that come from sheep?” “Yes, Randy, plus my principal provider was in Arkansas, but he retired, and his son let the business go to heck.” He wiped his hands together, to indicate an end. “That was it, all nugatory. Trivial. Inconsequential. Hopeless.” Willy guffawed. “He went to heck? Nugatory? Is that close to hell? ’Scuse me, was I being too obtuse?” He took a big swig of his beer from the bottle. “Good word, Willy. No, you’re being fine. But aren’t you drinking your beer a bit too quickly?” Willy waved for another drink. The juke box was now playing, “Your Cheating Heart.” “No, I don’t think so, Julie baby.” Willy got up and walked toward the tables. “Where you going, Willy? Uh, oh, he’s startin’ again,” warned Randy. Willy leaned over and asked Beau’s wife if she would dance with him. Beau glared at him, spat into the stein, but did not say anything. His wife got up, all smiles. She was a bit chubby, but a pretty blonde, with large breasts and hips. Willy and the woman made it to the dance floor where a few other couples were swaying to the words of Hank Williams. Randy said to us, “Willy thinks his girl friend back in Gary cheated on him. Watch him. This might be trouble.” “Oh, my,” worried Jules. “We should have gone to a restaurant, Ted. I was afraid of this.” He looked down, as though seeing disaster in the making. Willy was on the dance floor, whispering to the blonde as they spun slowly, holding her close, dancing clumsily, not quite in rhythm.

Jules leaned over to us and said, “Oh oh, what should we do? The skinny one is getting up. See him?” I started to get up. “Rusty said to watch him.” Randy put his hand on my shoulder. “No, let him go. I think he’ll be okay. See?” Willy left the dance floor and walked toward the back exit. He put his thumb up, smiled to us, and sauntered merrily, pointing at the men’s room sign, then disappeared. “See?” Randy sighed. “He’s okay. So tell us more about Peoria, Jules. That’s in Illinois? Is that where you went to college?” “Yes, I went to the university there. My father wanted me to go into business, but I wanted to be a teacher. I thought I could do that, and have a clothing store. I’ve always enjoyed instructing others, helping them, tutoring them, making them better than they ever anticipated.” Randy sipped his Bud, “And you’d be good at it, Jules.” Jules drank his lemonade. “I’m hungry now. Either you me in the next ten minutes, or I’ll go gallivanting away on my own,” he warned. “Okay, Jules, just a few more sips.” I raised the stein to my lips. It was then that I noticed Beau and the other man were not there. Just the women seemed to be at the table, whispering conspiratorially, hands close to their mouths. “Oh, oh!” I put my beer down. “I smell trouble. I’m going to the restroom. Be right back!” The door to the men’s room squealed, and there was the usual typical odor of urine and bleach. There were two urinals and two little metal rooms for commodes, with the doors open. No one was in there, so at the bar I asked Rusty if he’d seen Willy. He just shook his head. Then the waitress pointed to the back door, beyond the restrooms. “Thanks, Amber!” I hurried toward the back door, but Randy grabbed me by the arm. “Let him go, Ted. He needs this.” “What in hell do you mean, let him go? Are you crazy? You want to get him jailed? What if the military police pick him up?”

“Be patient, Ted. You’ll see what I mean. C’mon, Jules is hungry.” I hesitated. Could Randy be getting some kind of revenge for that beating after the tattoo incident? “Okay.” I waved to Jules. Randy, Jules and I left money on the table, enough to cover Willy’s beers also, and headed for the door. At the bar I leaned over and asked Rusty if there was an alley right outside the bar, in the back. Rusty nodded. “Try to keep ’em alive, Teddy. Come back and tell me if you need the police.” Outside the Waterhole, we put our military hats on and walked toward a sign that said, “Braxton’s Restaurant.” I said, I’ll see you two at Braxton’s. Save a seat for both of us.” “You’re crazy to go in there!” yelled Randy. Jules yelled, “Don’t soil your uniform, Ted!” As I headed for the alley, I thought about what Jules said. Had he been in communication with my mother? Don’t soil my uniform? Don’t soil my soul? No, I decided. It was just a coincidence. But it gave me a jolt. The street lights covered the entrance to the alley, but it gradually got darker. Large trash and garbage cans were against the wall. All was quiet, and I wondered why I was doing this alone. It felt strange that Randy didn’t want to me to protect Willy. What in hell was going on? I knew it wasn’t just revenge against Willy for the post-tattoo beating. There was more to it, but what? I heard laughter! It was Willy’s voice! Then Willy, yelled, “Goddamit, that’s disgusting! Your insides must be black! Come on! Again!” I hustled toward them, with my hand keeping in touch with the wall, so I could find my way, because it was getting darker. I heard scuffling, and walked cautiously toward it. My eyes were gradually becoming used to the dim light coming from above the exit door of Rusty’s. As I approached, I heard an “Owoooo,” like a wolf call!

Oh, oh, I thought, then I saw the three of them. Willy was in a crouch, hands in a defensive position, with a dark stain on his pants, and the cab driver, Beau, was in front of him fists up. Beau’s friend was sitting on the stoop. “Get ’im, Beau.” “Kill ’im, Beau!” came from the back doorway. It was the women, all excited. Beau swung and Willy back-hand batted it away so fast I couldn’t believe I’d seen it at all. Then Beau swung at Willy’s belly, and Willy batted it downward so that it hit his thighs. “Oh, oh,” yelped Willy, “that was close to raisin’ my voice permanently.” He snorted. I could tell, Beau was tiring, but was too stubborn to give up. “Comin’ after mah woman, Ah’ll show ya!” He put another wad of tobacco in his mouth and started chewing. Willy challenged, “Come on, I’ll take the two of you on!” Just then one of the woman, not Beau’s wife, but the other one, ed a large kitchen knife down. “Take this knafe, heah, Beau, an’ show ’im!” Beau reached up and grabbed it. The other man stood up, and cautiously stood beside Beau. Beau moved toward Willy, knife pointed at his chest. Now this was getting dangerous. This wasn’t fun for Willy any more. It was going beyond anything Willy expected. It looked like Beau was past the point of self-control. I yelled, “Willy! This is all nugatory!” They all stopped, looking defensive. Willy looked around, then his eyes found me. He grinned foolishly. Willy yelled, “Nugatory? Think so? Don’t bother me now, Teddy boy. This is going to be nugatorily amusing.” “This is not a game. Let’s go. I think you should apologize and get out of here before someone gets arrested, or hurt, or killed.” Beau jabbed the knife at Willy. Willy jumped backward, but the knife sliced

some of Willy’s shirt, his nice class A uniform of a shirt! Willy looked down. “Now you’ve done it. Now I’m getting pissed!” He backed up, tore off his shirt, and wrapped it around his right arm. “Let’s go, Beau, baby. You’re being quite nugatory, and inconsequential, you know. But let’s see whatcha got!” Beau and his buddy slowly moved forward, knife waving side to side straight at Willy. I walked toward them to protect Willy. Willy saw me and smiled, “Hey, Ted, didn’t wanna get you involved. Sorry, but I guess I was a bit stupid and nugatory again.” At that moment, three more men jumped down the steps. Obviously they were Beau’s friends, because they all wore what I called, “cowboy boots.” One called out, “Hey, Beau, need a bit a’ hep against these freakin soldier boys? We’re heah for ya, man. Think they kin take ovah this town? We’ll show ’em!” These men were in their 30s, 40s, maybe even 50’s. One of them laughed. “Hah! Ah see ya got this one wiv a mouthful a bacci! Good shot, Beau!” The new men came toward me, circling. One of them, the biggest and huskiest with a red beard, said, “Shiet, dis one ain’t even 20 yars old. He’s jist a kid.! Hey, don’t ah know y’all. Y’all that kid causin’t trouble ’bout a month ago, raght?” Though scared, I wasn’t going to back down to this farmer. I ed him then. He was the farmer, the drunk trouble-maker that Rusty had thrown out a few weeks ago; He took a wild swing at me. I ducked under it and head-butted him, then, lowering my body I shoved him into his buddies. Blood oozed from his nostrils. “You okay, Ted” Willy asked. “I could use a bit of help now. I think this Beau cut me bad!” “He stabbed you?” I started to panic. God, now we’re in real trouble. What could I do? Then I knew! I used what my dad taught me years ago. I put my teeth on my bottom lip and with my tongue on the roof of my mouth, I whistled my “hawk whistle” loud as I could! The three of them in front of me stopped,

shocked, looked up at the sky, then back at me in wonder. “Tuppence!” I yelled. The men and two women stared at me as though I was some kind of coo-coo crazy case, but then, Tuppence leaped down from the steps out into the alley. I clapped my hands and he ran to me, sat, stared at the farmers and growled, his teeth bared. Rusty pushed the women aside and stood at the top of the stairs. “Tuppence, sit!” The dog sat, growling. Rusty said, “This stops now, do you hear? I’ve got a gun, and I’ll use it! You, Willy, or whatever you’re called, are you hurt?” He pointed the pistol upward. Willy, looking sheepish, said, “He jus’ put a little hole in me, but I’m okay, sir.” “A little hole? Where?” “In ma side, right here.” “You’ve been stabbed? Amber, call for an ambulance, hurry! He walked quickly toward Willy. Get out of my way. You, Beau, you okay?” “Yeah, Ah reckon.” He dropped the knife. Rusty said, “That looks like my knife from the kitchen. Is it?” Beau’s wife said, “Yessuh. Ah took it, but this Willy ain’t had no raght ta….” “Enough! You, Willy, you’re banned from my bar. Come in again, and I’ll call the police. Is that clear, soldier?” He took off his apron, used the bloody knife to cut the cloth into pieces, and rapped it around Willy, covering the knife wound. “Keep pressure on it, damn it!” Willy, held the apron to his side. “Yessir, and I apologize. I’m the one that started it. I don’t know what gets into me.” “Well, let it get into you elsewhere. I just won’t have trouble-makers in here! You, Ted, don’t bring him back, or you’ll be banned too!” “Okay, Rusty. Sorry.”

“The rest of you, back inside. Drinks are on me!” Rusty, Willy and I left the alley and waited on the street for the ambulance. Finally, we saw Rusty, waving his hands, to the ambulance driver, explaining what happened, I think. When they left, he gave me the okay sign. An hour later, Willy and I were in the restaurant, Braxton’s, explaining what happened. Jules and Randy said nothing, just sat in a booth and stared. Randy commented, “Looks like a bit of tobacco juice got you on the leg, eh Willy?” “Wolf said, “Sheeit, you should see the other guys, all five-a-them.” Jules said, “And you, Ted, what happened to your forehead? It’s all red.” “I’m okay, Jules. We had to walk back from the hospital, but it wasn’t too far.” “Hospital?” Willy answered, “Yeah, but the doc stitched me up, so I’m okay. Just a little sore. Sorry, you guys. Guess I just shouldn’t go downtown any more. But Ted’s whistle sure saved us, or it coulda been worse. It all turned out to be quite nugatory!”

24 BASEBALL LESSON

In my fatigues, I waited outside the general’s office building, hoping he’d bring Ted Williams’ glove again. It was 0935 when the jeep came speeding toward me, the general apparently approving of his driving which seemed to me to be a bit reckless. The jeep screeched up in front of me and stopped. I saluted. General Thompson returned it quickly and threw a glove at me. It was the Ted Williams’ glove! “Are you ready, young Ted? Hop in!” I did so, and away we sped, the general holding onto his hat and laughing. He explained to me, “This is how we had to drive much of the time in Italy.” When we arrived at a parade ground, with a baseball diamond on it, General Thompson hopped down, and gave a catcher’s mitt to the driver. “Sergeant Woods will do the catching for us.” Sarge pounded the glove in his hand like an expert. We warmed up, by tossing the ball around to each other, extending the distance until it was just about what it would be from the mound to home plate, about 60 feet, 6 inches to the rear part of the plate, but of course the catcher had to be a bit further, behind the batter. Some boys, four of them, who looked like high schoolers were in the outfield playing “pepper.” One would tap the ball on the ground for the others to field it and toss back to the batter, who would hit the ball again, to keep them sharp. Then, when the sergeant was ready behind the plate, he went into a crouch and pounded his fist into the mitt. “C’mon, pitcher, pitcher, show me watcha got!” “Comin’ up, catcher,” replied the general. “So, Ted, here’s how I would throw a curve ball.” He turned his right hand over as he released the ball, and it lobbed in

toward the plate, spinning, but not curving much. “Is that how it’s done?” “Yes, that’s very good, General. That’s one way to throw it, while turning your hand as if it were a door knob. But there are other ways. I used to have fun experimenting with different grips until I found a variety of methods of throwing the curve ball. That way, I wasn’t so easy to hit. So, here’s one way, sir. I hold the ball with my index finger, not on the ball, but above it.” “Did you say, not on the ball?” “Yes, sir, watch!” I pointed the index finger toward home plate, and held the ball hard with my middle finger on the seam, and threw a nice curve ball to Sarge. Sarge yelled, “Hey, good one, pitcher!” “Nice!” the General said. “Here’s another way, sir.” I threw the ball, not overhand, not side arm, but threefourths, and it curved at a different angle. The general scratched his head. “Let’s slow down. I think there’s more to it than just throwing the ball. What are you doing when you let it go?” I explained how I had to stride further with my left foot for a fast ball, but a bit less with the curve ball, because I would cut short the forward motion of my arm to adjust the speed for the ball to curve. “Also, to keep the hand and elbow above the shoulder when you throw, or you’ll hurt your arm, sir!” By this time the high schoolers came over, sat on the grass and watched. “Okay, Teacher Ted, now let me try. You watch and instruct.” “Good one, sir. Try to , the path of your arm is further from the body with a fastball, but closer to your ear and body with a curve.” The general threw one in the dirt, which bounced up and hit Sarge on the knee. “Oops, sorry, Sergeant.”

“I’m okay, sir!” After several tries more, I said, “That’s it! Wow, you’re quite an athlete, sir!” “Well, I’ve got the general idea, Ted. After all, I’m a general.” He grinned. So now, how’s the knuckle ball work?” I took the ball, and said, “Actually, sir, I taught myself this pitch. No one I knew, knew how to throw it when I was growing up, so I experimented. I tried with my knuckles, again and again, but it didn’t work. Then I tried with my fingernails, and that’s when I had a Eureka moment, sir. So, it’s really a fingernail pitch, but it’s been called a knuckler for so long, I keep calling it the same. The high school kids, by this time, drifted our way. They were quite quiet and respectful, because they obviously saw the stars on the general’s collar. I assumed they were military “brats” as they were called, kids who grew up in the army environment most of their lives. They were quite interested in the movement of our pitches. One of them, who was the tallest, with blonde hair and muscular shoulders and arms, and was apparently the leader, said, “Is it okay if we watch, sir? Looks like something we can use.” General Thompson answered, “No problem, son, what’s your name?” “Pudge, sir, I’m Major Child’s son.” “Pudge? You don’t look fat to me.” “I guess I was when I was a baby, so they nailed me with Pudge, sir.” “Well, I know your father well. He’s doing a great job with the MPs. So come on in. I’m just getting instructions on the curve and knuckle ball, by Private Byrum here.” “Thank you, sir.” So we went over the curve ball again, while Pudge’s friends sat and watched. The general would throw one, then I let a few go, and finally, Pudge tried it. At first he was throwing spinners, but gradually he caught on. “Wow! I like this. Look, I can throw it at different speeds, and it breaks from different angles. I can’t wait to use this in a game.”

“Well, Ted here was just about to demonstrate the knuckler. Interested?” “You bet, sir!” We commenced. I demonstrated each pitch, holding the ball straight overhead, then three quarter, and because the wind was against me, the ball fluttered, rose, dove, all unpredictably. It seemed like a sparrow that drank too much grape juice. I suggested, “Why don’t we go to the diamond, and use the real plate, and let your friends stand in front of the catcher. You can use what you’ve learned. Okay, General?” “Excellent idea, Ted. Okay, Pudge?” “Yes, general. And can I try to throw some too?” “Why, certainly, son.” We were all set up on the diamond. Sergeant Woods, whose first name was Arnie, was behind the plate. One of the boys, Allen, was at the plate, bat ready. I threw the ball straight at him and he ducked back as it curved sharply right over the plate. “Wow! That was somepin’,” said Pudge. Then, the general threw one, and it started at the plate, Arnie swung at it, and missed as it slanted out of reach. “Can I try it, sir?” came from Pudge, all excited. We instructed him in holding the ball, and he threw. It broke a little, but sank sharply. “Now that’s a usable pitch, Pudge!” I exclaimed. “Deadly!” The general then said, “Now, let’s see your knuckler, Ted.” I showed Pudge how to hold the ball and where I placed my fingernails, close to the threads. Then I slow-motioned the release. “Okay, Sarge?”

“Bring it to me, Private.” He punched his catcher’s mitt. “Okay, Arnie?” “Ready!” I wound up and released the ball. It fluttered a bit left, a bit right. Allen swung just as the ball dipped straight down, bounced on the ground, under Sarge’s glove and rolled to the backstop. The general said, “That ball actually made me dizzy, just watching it. It was like magic!” It did seem to have a mind of its own! We spent a few more hours pitching and letting the boys take turns pitching and standing at the plate. On the way back, General Thompson said, “That was quite a wonderful day, Ted. I thank you. I learned so much that I missed as a youngster. And the boys added to the fun, too. Maybe we can do that again, son.” Sarge also agreed, “Yes, that was a treat for me, young Ted.” “Thank you, General and Sarge. It would be my pleasure. I had a great time, too. They left, leaving their usual smoky mountain.

25 A NUN ASSIGNMENT

When I arrived in the chaplain’s office one morning, there was a note from Father of a new assignment, in addition to my regular duties. It said, “You are to pick up a nun from the Sisters of Charity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in the city of Mount Pleasant, and escort her to St. Anne’s Catholic Church in the city of McCain. Then drive her back. This will be your task on Saturdays until further notice. She will be teaching Catechism there until the children receive their Holy Communion. The class will start at 11 am, so don’t be late!” I called Randy, and asked what I should do. He said to get a car from the motor pool, and get directions. I went to the motor pool to show them my driver’s license. I was very glad that I took the driver’s education class in high school. At the motor pool the corporal in charge, said “No problem, private. We’ll have it gassed up and ready to go nice and early on Saturday. It’s a Ford sedan, good car. I assume you can drive this stick shift?” I told him that was how I learned, in driver’s education in high school, on a stick shift. “Okay. So you’re going to pick up a nun? Be careful! Don’t screw it up!” So that Saturday, after chow, at 0730 I was dressed in my class A uniform, soft hat tilted on my head just right, jump boots shined not quite like a mirror, but pretty impressive, according to my proud estimation. Belt buckle was glowing gold. I wanted to impress the nuns with the idea that we cared about how we dressed. After all, the nuns were always neat, weren’t they? In the car I kept my hat folded under my belt. I timed the clutch and gas fairly easily, after a few shifts. I drove straight north through the Fort Bragg property on a road that was paved for a few miles, but then was dirt. I thought how that would make the car look dirty. I left a trail of behind me, so I slowed down a bit.

There were miles and miles of sand and scrub trees, mostly pine. So I finally closed my window and sped up to 60, then 70, since there was no one else around. I watched the screen of dirt and dust that clouded up behind me. I thought maybe by going fast I could escape getting the car filthy. To any onlooker I must have resembled a plane appearing from the sky. As I was speeding, I just quickly glanced to the right at something that looked like a tent behind a small hill and some scrub pines, but I wasn’t sure. I kept my eyes open after that, but didn’t see anything else. What was it Lieutenant Robson said, “Be circumspect?” I looked it up, and decided I needed to be inquisitive also. How I enjoyed using those words! But the tent made me curious, inquisitive. I’d pay attention when I drove back. I noted how many miles I’d driven, and decided to check the mileage on the way back, so I could pinpoint that location. It could have been nothing, just kids camping, but it wouldn’t hurt to investigate a bit. It was 21 miles from the motor pool. When I reached the end of Fort Bragg territory, there was no gate, but just a sign that said, “Welcome to Mt. Pleasant, Population 7,53l.” I had written directions to follow through town to get to what I called, the “nunnery,” and I made several turns, went past two traffic lights, then drove past some tobacco farms on the way until I saw a large convent up on a hill with a well-trimmed lawn. At the gate, I pressed a button. A very low voice answered, “Yes?” I said, “Private Theodore Byrum, to pick up a sister for catechism, Mam.” The gate opened for me, and I stomped on the gas letting the Ford chug me up the hill to the nunnery. I noticed that the fence went around the totality of the property. The convent was on top of the hill, and lawn sloped all the way down for about 150 yards. It was quite impressive, reminding me of some castles I’d seen in films. In addition to the lawn, which would require a bit of mowing, there were many flowers around the building. That too would require much attention. Behind the building were many grapevines, that I assumed were used to make wine. I drove up the driveway toward the large, red-bricked building. It had three stories, flat on top, but with a structure that held a cross. It all reminded me of the high school I went to, minus the cross, of course. When I drove up, a huge tan dog, just like the German shepherd that killed the cat, Buddy, in my neighborhood, startled me. It barked and growled, and, dragging a chain behind him, galloped right up to the car, put his big paws on the

window, snarled, stared at me, then showed its teeth. I was frozen in fear. Whew! I was glad I’d kept the window closed to keep the dirt and dust out. I inched my way away from the driver’s seat. Nothing and no one could have persuaded me to exit the car, with that wolfhound out there. I was tempted to turn around and speed back down the hill. Then out the huge doors a nun rushed, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the din. She held the door open. The dog immediately left the car and headed for the nun. She pointed, he whimpered, and went inside, and I sighed. The sister hurried toward the car, and I got out quickly and held the left rear door open. But she walked around to the other side and opened the right rear door. I started to go around, but she said, “Don’t bother, driver. I’m already in.” “Yes, Sister.” I got back in, and started the car. In the mirror I saw quite a young pleasant face tucked inside the white cloth that circled around her face, covering part of her forehead and ears and her upper chest. Her habit was long, covering her feet. I guessed her to be in her mid twenties. Her nose was a bit pointed and crooked, but she was still attractive, with a kind smile. “Yes, young man. We must hurry. We’ve a long way to go.” I drove down the driveway, and the gate opened for us, and closed quickly behind us. “Sorry about the dog, but we’ve had some break-ins and old Satan has been pretty good about keeping us safe.” “You keep Satan in the convent, Sister?” “Yes, ironic, isn’t it? He’s a Siberian Husky. He’s quite tame with us. Unfortunately, he’s been trained to hate strangers. And what is your name, soldier?” “Theodore, Mam, but they call me Ted.” “Okay, Ted, you know where we’re going now?”

“Yes. To McCain. We should make it on time.” “Good. My name is Sister Mary Victoria. Are you Catholic?” “Yes, sister, and I was an altar boy for a few years.” “Good!” Her voice was soft, kind. As I drove, I heard her beads clicking. She was praying, counting on her rosary beads which draped a bit from her waist-strap. Just having her in the back seat, made me feel I had to sit up straight at attention, and be pleasant but business-like. I was nervous, feeling her eyes were on me all the time! Is that the way kids felt in parochial school? I’d heard stories about how strict and cruel the sisters could be, punishing with rulers on the hand, or bare calves of the young girls. I could tell when I was back on Fort Bragg property because I was on a different type of pavement, then dirt road again. Her beads were still clacking away. I increased the speed until I neared the area I’d felt was suspicious, then slowed to about 10 miles per hour. “Is everything okay, Ted? Are we out of gas?” “No, sister. I’m looking at that over the hill there, can you see it? It looks like a tent, or is that two tents now? Can you see them?” “No, I must have missed them. I was looking in the wrong direction I think. Sorry.” “No problem, sister. I just found that tents this far from the main part of Bragg was a bit of a, what’s the word I was just studying? Anomaly. Yes, that’s it. It’s an anomaly.” “Very good, Ted. Working on your vocabulary, I see. That’s important. The more words you know, the more you will be able to grasp.” I drove west and found a good road, still on Fort Bragg property, but smooth, with few vehicles to worry about, so I sped up and we made it to the city of McCain by 1030 hours. I reading the sign that said, Welcome to

McCain, Population 9,998. I guess they’re waiting for someone with twins to make it to 19,000. I found St. Anne’s Catholic church and pulled up in front of the building. It was a large white-bricked church. I walked with Sister up the five wide steps, past four pillars, through tall, wide oaken doors, into a quiet church, with a wide aisle. It took a minute or so for our eyes to become accustomed to the dark inside. There were realistic statues beside the stained glass windows, representing the stations of the cross. Over our heads was the loft where the organ was, and I presume the choir sang. Close to the altar, several children looked around and whispered and giggled. “How old are these kids, sister?” “Oh, I suspect they’re 12 or 13, Ted. Still at their giggle stage I hear.” “I’ll just wait back here, or outside, Sister. Okay?” She nodded, genuflected, and walked toward the children. I knelt in one of the pews to say a quick prayer. A bald-headed priest greeted Sister Mary and introduced each of the children. I prayed, speaking to Mom, Pauley, all my friends, and, of course, God. Then I waited outside, walking around the church grounds, nodding to many of the parents who were smoking and waiting patiently for the children. As I stood at the entrance, I noticed across the street there were three men, wearing similar tan fatigues and blue bandanas around their necks, were conversing as one of them gassed up a red Chevrolet truck. One of them nodded my way, not to say hello, but to inform the others, who looked my way, lingered a moment as though memorizing my features, then all three looked away at the same time. I thought that was odd, but then I was in uniform, and some people down South resented us kids in the military. I ed a few months ago, the farmer with the suspenders who caused the fight in Rusty’s Waterhole when he was drunk. Maybe that was all. Bitterness against those of us who ed the service, even though we would be protecting them in combat. I looked away, so as not to antagonize them.

26 DOUBLE TROUBLES

On the return trip from the city of McCain, I asked Sister Mary how catechism went. “Oh, they were fine for the first day, Ted. I’m certainly having a time with their southern accents. They do extend their vowels, don’t they? The word ‘that’ becomes ‘thay-at,’ and ‘North Carolina,’ becomes ‘Noth Cuhlahna.’” But Ah’m ketchin’ on, y’all.” I looked in the mirror and saw she was smiling. I responded, “Ah been a-gettin’ use to eeut, too, y’all, Mam.” She laughed heartily. “I lak that, Ted.” Where are you from?” Her voice was mellow. I could imagine her singing hymns in church. “I’m from West Springfield, Massachusetts, a little town across the Connecticut River from Springfield. It’s about 90 miles from Boston.” “Well, I’m with the Maryknoll sisters in Maryknoll, New York. We’re missionaries.” “Wow, does that mean you might be sent to any location in the world? Even to Haiti?” “Why, yes, that would be a possibility, Ted. It could be there, or any other place where we might be needed.” “A priest friend of mine, Father Andrew, was sent there. We still communicate.” “That’s great, Ted. How old are you?” “I’m almost 19, sister. Would it be offensive if I ask you how old you are?” “No, I don’t mind. I’m 23 years old. Strange, I haven’t thought about my age in some months now. I entered the order at the age of 20, was a novitiate for 2

years, and now am on my ‘temporary vows.’” “I understand, Sister. And after that you will take some permanent vows?” “Yes, Ted, you’re quite perceptive. They’re called ‘solemn vows.’” “And that’s the final commitment, isn’t it? I mean, you’d be a bride of the Big Guy after that.” “Don’t call God ‘the big guy.’ That’s disrespectful.” “I don’t think so, Sister. It’s not disrespect if I didn’t mean anything evil about God. He know’s how I feel.” She laughed. “I guess you know best what’s in your heart, Ted.” “Thank you, Sister Mary. But as you were growing up, didn’t you ever think about getting married, and having a house full of kids?” Sister stared out the window. “Yes, Ted, I did. That’s what most young girls did in my school. That’s what my mother did, and then my sister followed suit. It was expected. I even had a boyfriend for a few months, you know, to go the football games, then the prom, but it never felt right for me. That is, until I met a boy named Philip King. And we were in deep love! Then we planned on a family. Then came the Korean War. He just had to go! And now he’s dead. So I’ll never marry anyone but God. Selfish? “No way, Sister Mary! I think it’s, it’s, being very brave!” “Thank you. I guess I needed to hear that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to pray with my beads and contemplate a bit. Do you mind? She wiped her eyes. “No. I understand, Sister Mary. I should concentrate on my driving now, anyway.” I drove out of McCain and entered Fort Bragg territory once again. I thought about this beautiful woman behind me, this dedicated nun, and ired her decision to devote her life in service of others. Of course, even though I didn’t want to it it to myself, I pondered, as many men do, what wonders were cloaked under the long dress, the tunic around her waist, and more. What color

was her hair? Did it match her dark eyebrows? Then I stopped myself. Pauley, Ted, you dummy. I saw in the mirror that Sister Mary had fallen asleep. As I was driving north, toward Mount Pleasant, I ed my goal, which was to discover why those tents were on Bragg property. So I watched the mileage, and paid attention to the signs. After 15 minutes or so, I slowed the car. There was the area, that made me curious. I slowed the car to a stop. “What’s wrong? Uh, Ted, what happened?” “Sorry to startle you, Sister, but I’m going to do a brief reconnaissance, to see what’s going on over that hill.” “I see. So you’re getting out of the car?” “Yes, but just for five minutes or so, Sister.” “Okay, but I have a request of you, Ted.” “Yes, Sister?” “I’m going to ask you to promise not to look at the left side of the car. You see, I didn’t take time to relieve myself before I left, and I’m afraid I’m in a bit of pain, do you understand?” “Of course, Sister. I’ll be back shortly. Don’t you worry about anything.” “Thank you.” She waited until I left the car and headed up the dune. I didn’t look back. She deserved her privacy. I ran then walked up the sand dune, trying to keep the pine trees between myself and the camp of tents. When I reached the top, I could see three tents in a row, and track heading eastward. Then two men exited the third tent, the one furthest away, and they were wearing tan fatigues and blue bandanas. I saw the smoke from their cigarettes. I watched for a few minutes, but nothing further happened, so I headed back to the Ford.

When I returned, Sister Mary asked, “What was it, Ted? Do you think they’re doing anything wrong?” “I can’t tell, Sister Mary, but two men were wearing tan outfits similar to those I saw in town at the gas station. It’s probably nothing.” I drove on until we entered Mt. Pleasant, reached the convent gate and pushed the button. When the gate opened I drove up the hill, where we were greeted by that wonderful wolf dog, barking and growling. I stopped at the entrance, and said, “Hello, you monster.” Sister exited her side, went around the car, and pointed down. Down went Satan. Sister opened the driver’s door, and said, “Satan won’t hurt you now, Ted.” She took my hand and urged me out. I hesitated, but she grabbed my arm and I stepped down. Satan growled. Sister hugged me and said, “This is Ted. Ted is my friend.” She let me go. “Shake hands with my friend, Ted, Satan.” Satan sat up and lifted his paw. I shook hands with this beast. “Hello, Satan,” I said, “please don’t have me for supper.” Sister Mary laughed. “Come, Satan. See you next Saturday, Ted?” “I’ll be here, Sister.” On my return trip to the base, I drove to the area where the blue bandana men were camping out. I parked the car where I felt it was hidden by the dune, exited the car, and walked slowly over the sand. The sun was descending and my shadow was lengthening, so I tried to be a bit more cautious and discrete. As I walked along, I noticed an area where the sand was quite smooth. It seemed strange. Hadn’t I walked there a short time ago? Where were my tracks? Also, it looked as if a much larger area of sand had been smoothed, perhaps even raked. I guessed others had trod there also. Why cover their tracks? I walked higher on the dune, my heart drumming a tune of fear. The tents were still there, and this time there were three of them! They were lined up, militarily. Or was I just too suspicions? Was I finding problems where they didn’t exist? That’s when I decided to get in the car and head back. I had to get ahold of

Lieutenant Robson to alert him. I drove slowly, so as not to make a big cloud of dust and sand behind me. It was probably a big nothing, but just in case. I knew I had to travel this way again with Sister Mary. She was nice. I hoped there would be no problems in our travels. I ed her hug, and how it felt, and how many forbidden things it told me that I must strike from my mind. I knew I was being immature at the time, just as we teens spoke kiddingly about what was under the nuns’ long habits years ago. Of course, we knew their bodies were just like the girls at school, but there was something secretive and sexy and magical about the nun’s hidden treasurers. No, don’t soil your soul Ted.

27 LETTERS

Dear Mom, November 1953

I’ve been waiting for your letter, wondering and worrying what you were trying to tell me. I saw how you held your side when I was leaving. Please tell me. Don’t keep something like this secret. You are so important to this family. If you are sick, suffering from some ailment, do not try to be a brave soul. Please get to a doctor or a hospital, and stay alive, please, stay alive. We all need you. Anthony needs you. Dad needs you. And you know I need you. You are my spiritual leader, my rock, no, my mountain. So stay with us, my beautiful mother. I had my 6th jump on October 31st. Some Halloween! And guess what? It rained and thundered and lightninged while I was mid-air. the storm we had on Belle Avenue when a lightning bolt hit the house by the dike and the fire it caused? Well, I was standing on the dike then when it hit. Was I ever scared then. So I felt the wrath of God testing me when I was floating helplessly in the air, and knew whatever He decided to do with me, I had to accept. But I’m okay, Mom, and Dad, and Anthony, and family. All was fine. I just landed in a bit of mud, and my uniform was soiled. I’m taxiing a nun back and forth from her convent to a church miles away so she can teach catechism to some children. Very interesting. And I’m trying not to soil my soul, Mom, and tell Dad I’m trying to be a man each day, fergod sake. And tell Anthony I’m not going to “big-bang” myself any time soon.

Please let me know how you are, my blessed mother.

I love you and ditto all of you, Ted

Dearest Pauley, November 1953

My darling. I know that sounds gushy for a man to say it, but I do miss you so much. It does seem such a waste to spend time apart, when we could and should be together, but those are the conditions we have. After all, I never would have met you if I hadn’t volunteered for the military and met your fine brother, Georgy. So we must be patient. It’s as if we have to grow up a bit to earn each other. I will work to deserve you, my beautiful angel. We are both so young, and the older people like to tell us we’re too young to know love. But we know what we have is love, don’t we? But I also know that things can happen when we’re apart for such a long time, and if you should meet someone else, well, I wouldn’t like it, but I would have to obey your wishes. Also, if you just want to go to a movie or dance or just to go out for entertainment and someone asks you, go ahead, because I trust you. Just don’t fall in love with anyone else, please. Don’t take this as any minimizing of my love, my darling. I’m just trying to be fair to you. You are so young and beautiful, and I want you to be happy. Even now i’m picturing you, ing your face, your shy smile, how you feel next to me when we hold each other. It excites me even now, just ing. Do you the Shakespeare poem that ends with the lines:

For thy sweet love ed such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

What are money and power without love? I’m glad we have each other. Also, I’m glad we’re of the same religion. We both believe in God and can go to the same church together, and when our children come, they will be with us in the pews. That reminds me, I have an assignment of driving a nun from her convent to a church to teach the children their catechism. It takes my Saturdays away, but It’s worth it in the long run, I think. So now, good night, my sweet love,

Love, forever love. Ted

Dear Father Drew, November 1953

Thanks so much for your letter. Yes, I agree that Father Roland Carpenter is strange, to say the least. I don’t like him, but I’m helping as much as I can, being his altar boy, and handling his office work. I don’t like how he acts with some young soldiers, but I say nothing. I hope all goes well with you in Haiti. I know you’ll do well. The challenges you’re meeting of people suffering from starvation and neglect are problems greater than any of us must face here at Fort Bragg. So I’m sure you’re probably hungry for some news of our lighter lives just so you can what life was like in the states. I’m meeting new people, one who lost a loved one at home, another who gets

into fights when he drinks too much, and another who is a bit older and is informally tutoring us. We’ve been expanding our reading materials, and increasing our vocabularies. I had the fun experience of teaching General Dennis Thompson how to throw a curve ball and a knuckler. Also, I have an assignment of chauffeuring (I had to look up the spelling) a nun each Saturday from her convent to a church so she can teach catechism. She’s a nice lady. One problem I have is, I overheard a confession from a soldier to Father Roland. My mother said I should never “soil my soul,” so I’m at a loss about what to do. I think I’ll have to go into Fayetteville to confess to a different priest at the Catholic church there. Right now, I feel soiled. I think about what you do to yourself secretly on occasion, and understand it more. I think I do it often, but just mentally, and often it doesn’t feel like it’s quite enough. I need more pain. I’m sure you understand. Stay in good health, Father Drew. You’re so important to so many people.

Love and Respect, Ted

28 SUSPICIONS

I found the number that Lieutenant John Robson had given me. I dialed it when the priest was out of the office. A woman answered, “Special Services.” I asked for the lieutenant. After a quick click, “Lieutenant Robson here.” “Sir, I’m Private, Byrum, you know, from the chaplain’s office.” “Yes, Ted, what is it?” “I noticed something curious on the northern part of Fort Bragg, the desert-like area, and thought I’d mention it to you.” “I see. Have you told anyone about this curiosity, Ted?” “No sir.” “Good. Can you meet me outside of the istration building? Say in 12 minutes?” “Yes sir.” “Say nothing about this to anyone, understand?” As I prepared to leave the chaplain’s office, I thought about leaving a message for Father Roland, but decided that would be a mistake. I had to get into the habit of maintaining secrecy, if I were to succeed in this spy business. It felt strange even talking to myself this way, as if I were putting on a cloak and taking another identity. But it was a bit exciting, I it.

I saluted the lieutenant at the entrance, he responded and said, “Hey, Ted, let’s walk. I haven’t had enough exercise this week anyway.” We walked, briskly at first, then slowed our pace. The lieutenant’s eyes certainly seemed to be aware of his surroundings, staring at the woods, bushes, windows of the buildings. At first it struck me as being a bit melodramatic, but after thinking about it, he made me question myself, because I hardly ever cared that much about my environment. “What is it, you think you’ve seen, Private. Take your time.” I explained the whole situation, my having to drive Sister Mary Theresa from Mt. Pleasant to McCain and back, and my seeing the tents in the sand. “I also noticed three men in McCain wearing tan fatigues and blue bandanas. Then I spied men in the same type of uniform by the tents, sir.” “Interesting, Ted. Any other details you ? Even if they didn’t seem important at the time, they could become significant later.” “No, I don’t think so, sir. Oh wait, in McCain I saw that they were putting gas in a Chevy truck.” “What year?” “I don’t know, sir, but it wasn’t new. I’d guess about four of five years old.” “Good. Well done. Does this nun, Sister Mary know anything?” “No, I don’t think so. I think she saw the tents, but I tried not to make a big deal out of it.” Lieutenant Robson pulled out his pack of Camels and offered me one. “I don’t smoke. I quit a few months ago.” “Good for you. I wish I could. How’d you do it?” “One night, I decided I would slam the door in my mind and never light another cigarette. It worked. I stopped, and even kept a half pack in my pocket for weeks. I’m keeping the door closed, sir, and I threw the key away.”

He took another deep drag, made a few smoke rings and blew the rest out. “I still enjoy doing that, and having something to look forward to after a meal or nice cup of coffee.” “I understand, sir.” “Now, here’s what I want your to do, Ted. Be aware of your surroundings there. Don’t be conspicuous, but try to get as much information as you can. Meanwhile, maybe we can try to get some aerial photos of their camp. It might be nothing, but we can’t take chances, right?” “Right, sir!” “What you’re seeing could easily by youngsters camping out, with no evil intent. But we must ascertain the truth. This is a federal post, and if these people are attempting to form some sort of civilian militia, we must be on our guard.” The lieutenant seemed a bit nervous, agitated. He reached for his pocket with the cigarettes, but then dropped his hand. “One more thing, soldier. Do not endanger yourself or the nun. If you have to, to avoid detection, take another route. Stay in continual with me. Day or night.” He turned and walked away. I saluted, but he didn’t see me. “Yes, sir.” I walked back to work. I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I knew one thing, though. I was sure those people in the tents knew someone was spying on them. Didn’t they cover up the footprints? Then it struck me like a hammer on my dull brain! Did those men follow us into McCain? Were they just being curious about who we were and what we were doing? Or was I just building all this up, like imagining objects out of clouds in the sky?

29 `ESPIONAGE

I called Lieutenant Robson when I returned. I used the phone in the Day Room, where some of the men were playing ping-pong, some were shooting pool, and a number were playing cards in the corner. I knew the card players were playing for money, but they used chips so they wouldn’t be discovered gambling. Willy waved to me with cards in his hand and grinned before putting chips in the pot. I wasn’t surprised that he was playing poker. I dialed the number, and a woman answered. She asked, “Are you Private Ted Byrum?” “Yes, I am.” “He told me to give you this number. I’ll dial it for you.” “Thank you.” After several rings, Lieutenant Robson answered, “Robson!” “Sir, this is Ted. I just wanted to you to let you know I have a good viewing spot, but I need binoculars, sir. Any news from the air yet? “No news from the air. They’re waiting for more info from the ground. That means you. Are you comfortable doing this?” “Yessir, I just have to make sure I keep the Sister safe while I’m snooping. I don’t have much to report, sir, except that I see some men in McCain at the gas station. They look my way, but haven’t made any motions that they’re aware of the sister and me.” “Okay, Ted, I’ll get binoculars to you very soon. By the way, I think you and I should take a ride out there tomorrow afternoon. Are you agreeable to that?”

“Yessir! I’d like that.” “By the way, Ted, I forwarded the paperwork for your promotion to Private First Class. That should be approved within the week. How does that sound?” “Wow, sir. That sound super! I’ll try to earn it, I promise.” “I know you will. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 1400. Be ready, Ted. Wear fatigues.” “I’ll be ready, sir.” Sunday morning, I served Mass for Father Roland. I don’t much about the service, because I was excited to travel to Mile 21 with Lieutenant Robson. I met the lieutenant at 1400. He drove up in a light green 1950 Ford Tudor, which I thought was appropriate because it wasn’t shiny. It was similar to military camouflage. Lieutenant Robson was dressed in fatigues also. He wore sun glasses that made him look mysterious. As he drove, he put a Camel cigarette in his mouth, flicked open a Zippo, lit it, puffed and coughed. “Ah, good stuff. Want one Ted?” “No sir. I’ll never smoke again.” I opened the window on my side wider. “Good for you. While we’re alone, just call me Robbie. That’s what my friends call me. He smiled, revealing his yellow teeth again. “Okay, sir, I mean Robbie.” “By the way, General Thompson said “Ted Byrum will be a good one for our cause. I was surprised. “Really? Wow.” I was pleased the general knew. Robbie was thin, with narrow shoulders, more bone than muscle. His face was thin also, but with an intelligent look. His eyes seemed to penetrate when he observed something or someone, and he seemed always to be wide-eyed. I told Robbie about my “Mile 21,” which, I calculated would be about 22 this time, making up for the distance he made picking me up.

Robbie was trying to blow smoke rings, but the windows were open, destroying his attempts. He asked me, “Does this nun know what you’ve been observing? What’s her name?” “Sister Mary Victoria. She knows I’ve been observing those people in the tents. She also knows that two of them are usually at the gas station in McCain. That’s all she knows. I don’t what to get her involved. She’s just a nice nun and teacher, who will do some missionary work in the future to help so many people in the world.” “Good. We’ll do all we can to keep her out of trouble. But I want you to continue taking her to McCain for what is it?” “Catechism. It’s the basics of what one must learn to be a good Christian and good Catholic.” “I see. I never learned anything about being a Catholic or a good Christian. My parents were Pentecosts, who believed in the Second Coming of God, and speaking in tongues. I said very little to my parents, just pretended I believed, but I never got into it. Ours was called the Church of God.” “Where are you from, sir, I mean, Robbie?” “Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Actually outside of the city. I grew up on a farm. But now, let’s get to our task at hand. Reach around to the back, and pick up the binoculars. Have those ready. We’re on about Mile 16, so we should have a plan. We’ll go to the most distant outpost that you discovered. Sound good?” “Yes. In just a few miles, you turn left off the main road. It’ll be sandy, but not too tough to manipulate. I’d go slow so you don’t get much tell-tale sand or dust in the air.” “Roger that.” I took the binoculars out of the case and waited. When Robbie drove up the hill, I said “Right here, this is it.” We got out and I took him to the side where I caught the cricket. I handed him the binoculars and pointed. “Right there, over the dune.”

He took off his sunglasses and hooked them on his shirt under his chin. “Oh, yeah. Now I see them. Here, take a look-see.” I adjusted the focus and tried to find them, slowly glancing from left to right until I found them. “What are they doing around that pine tree?” I saw them, one on his knees, three others leaning over, observing. Then they jumped back and ran. Suddenly the tree rose in the air along with smoke and dirt, and I heard a mild explosion! “Did you see that, Robbie? Did you hear it?” I was excited to see it. They must really be up to no good. “I heard something. What was it?” “They just blew up a pine tree! Here, you can still see the smoke!” “Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch! Those punks are on government property, unauthorized. What in hell are they practicing? Let’s get closer. Have you got a better spot? I see some rifles stacked by the tents. We’d better be vigilant. Ready, Ted?” “Okay if I drive us there, Robbie?” “No problem.” I drove slowly, to cause as little flying dirt and dust as possible, making it back to the dirt road and ended up at the spot behind scrub pines and scrawny trees, where I’d stopped once before, left of the intruder’s camp. I parked and showed Robbie the best viewing position. “Ah, yes, there they are. Most are young, in their twenties, I see. But a few of them look like they could be fifty or so, with their grey hair cut short. Trying to look military, huh? They seem to be having a class there, moving some ingredients around on a table. Here, have a look, Teddy.” I noticed he called me “Teddy,” but it seemed kind of natural, since I was calling him “Robbie.” I saw the group hovering around the table. It could have been any innocent gathering, like a group of children at a picnic, or someone performing magic tricks, but this wasn’t anything so innocent. One older man clipped a younger on on the back of the head, pulled him away from the table, and threw

him to the ground. “The older man is pretty violent with one of the younger ones, I see, Robbie.” “I saw that. Wonder what they’re studying so intently.” Just then I looked at something I saw move by one of the tents. It was binoculars! I think it was aimed our way! “Uh, oh. I think we’ve been made, Robbie. Someone is looking through binoculars at us. See it, at the opening to that tent?”” Robbie looked through the spyglass, and said calmly, “Yep, you’re right. Let’s head out of here, slowly.” I took the binoculars and looked through again, as Robbie started for the car. I couldn’t believe what I saw! My head spun and wave of fear surged up from my thumping heart. A rifle with a scope on it was aimed straight at me! I gulped, not really believing what I saw. I felt strange. I was losing my equilibrium. I imagined a bullet going right through the binoculars into my eye. Then I couldn’t help it. It was some part of my brain that said, “No it can’t be true, so I put the glass to my eyes again. It was truly aimed toward us, but then a hand descended from above the shooter, pushing the rifle down. It was one of the older men. I ducked back and ran to the car. “Robbie! A rifle was aimed at us from that tent! They saw us, without any doubt. Holy shit, was I terror-stricken!” Robbie started the car. “That settles it! Let’s high-tail it out of here. Looks like we’ve got some kind of uprising of a civilian militia. I’ve heard rumblings about certain groups. They’ve got guts to practice right on a government facility.” As we rode back, I said, “That rifle was aimed right at me, Robbie! That was mighty terrifying.” “It probably would have missed you, Teddy.” “But there was a scope on that rifle.” “There was? Are you sure?” “Yes.”

“That changes things! They’re better equipped than I’d suspected. What a valuable asset you’ve become, Teddy! We’ll have to start a civilian investigation.” I sat in the car, feeling stunned, realizing I could have been killed, shot by someone firing a rifle at me. What if he hit me in the eye, or chest? This was real. I thought of the movies where the heroes never seem to show fear. But when it’s real, how brave can they be then? I still felt the fear, and was close to tears. “You okay, Ted?” I snapped out of my trance. “Huh? Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a shock to see a rifle aimed at me.” “I know the feeling, Teddy. It’s not fun facing our mortality. , we all have to die.” “I know, Robbie, but I’d like to hang around earth for a while before I say ‘bye bye.’” When Robbie, that is, Lieutenant Robson, dropped me off, I was excited. He handed the binoculars to me. He warned me again not to tell anyone of our adventure. Walking back from the motor pool, i felt again the reality of a real rifle being aimed at me, and wondered what would happen if that happened again, and I was fairly sure it would.

30 WORD WORRIES & SPIDERS

All was peaceful in Able Company barrack. I told no one about my secret relationship with Lieutenant Robson and the Special Services, but had difficulty getting it all out of my mind. I was proud of being chosen for such an honor, and was tempted to tell Jules about it. It was like an invisible badge I could be wearing for the world but must keep hidden. I assumed, if I did end up with Special Services, I would have to maintain secrecy throughout my career. So to get my mind occupied elsewhere, I decided to do a bit of reading and memorizing. I read more of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Then I read the Pinocchio story which I’d picked up at the library. Mrs. Cates smiled at me when I took it out. I had never read the story before, but had heard about it when I was a child. We didn’t read much in our house when we were kids. I found the plot interesting, and the nose growing was a great symbol of almighty punishments for telling untruths. I guess we all need something like a Jiminy Cricket to help us figuring out right from wrong. Then I tackled the dictionary again, taking random words to memorize, like “prolific, ludicrous, and alacrity.” So when Jules walked in, I assaulted him with words, loud enough for the others to hear. Abe, who had been on leave, walked over, brushed his red hair back and said, “Well, I’ll be, you two started me on this frivolous journey, and I’m starting to suffer from word bombardments.” “How was your trip back to Johnstown, Abe?” asked Jules. “No floods there, I trust?” “None lately, Jules. It just seems that’s what the town is famous for, or is it infamous? We still get visitors there, just to take a tour up the mountain and all around town. But I guess it’s good for the economy.” “Is it prolific?” I asked. “Uh, yes, I guess, if that word means plenty.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You answered that with alacrity.” Bobby heard that, took a puff of his cigarette, and asked, “Who in hell is thayat?” Brian jumped in, “Hell, I guess it ain’t a who. I bet it’s a what.” “What is?” Jules raised his hands and declared, “You people are going vocabulary crazy. Alacrity is fast, speedy. Actually, this is fun, to see so many of you learning, growing. The more words you know, the broader will be your understanding of the world. And, Ted, you seem to be a catalyst in getting others interested in words. A catalyst is something that gets others moving, a stimulus.” Brian said, “I get it, he stimulated us to study words, right?” “Right, Brian!” “I like it!” Brian responded. “Me too!” Abe added. “You’re just a regular cata, cata what? “Catalyst,” Jules said. “‘List’, thayat’s it.” Jules looked frustrated. “Let’s not carry this to frivolity, now.” “Uh, oh, I guess we’re going too far, too fast,” I offered. “Frivolity, must be frivolous, I bet. That means kind of silly or foolish, right, Jules?” “Right. How about you? Everything okay at home, Abe? How long were you gone?” “Just a week, Jules. I saw my old girlfriend, Abigail, there. We’ll probably never get serious. She’s seeing other guys. And there’s not much to do there. We have three small restaurants, which aren’t very classy. And there’s one theater, a drivein. We used to go there to make out, but she wasn’t willing to get involved that way. She said she was afraid of ‘going all the way’ and getting in the ‘family

way.’ She’s pretty religious now.” Jules sat on his bunk. Changing the subject, he asked, “I imagine you still have visitors there, trying to find out more about the great flood?” “Huh? what flood?” I asked. We all were curious. “Tell them, will ya, Jules?” “Okay, let’s all sit down.” We sat on Jules and my bunk. We were like students about to get a history lesson. But I appreciated it. “It took place in 1889, in Pennsylvania. Johnstown is in a valley of the Allegheny mountains. The heavy rain and poor dam management caused the flood and landslide that came down with great fury, destroying almost every building in town, killing many people. It was such a tragedy in our history. Although water is a great friend and necessity, it can be a devastating killer, when running uncontrolled.” Abe added, “There’s a museum there, with many pictures. Lots of the houses ruined, wood shattered to kindling, good for nothing but the fireplace.” “Isn’t there also a movie, Abe?” asked Jules. “Yeah. It was the scariest movie I’d ever seen. In the flood I lost my grandparents there, and their cousins. I knew right where they lived, too. They got the brunt of it. My mom used to visit the grave site when she was alive. That’s not where they were buried, though. It’s just a memorial. They could have been washed miles down the valley. They still give tours of parts of the mountain, and our city. Oh, and for some real excitement you can take a tour of some of the farms, stepping around all the ploopy gifts on the ground left by the horses and cows. “I don’t plan on living there when I’m discharged. There’s just such nothing there for me. It’s a small town, and people think in small town .” “What will you do, Abe?” I asked.

“I want to go to a university and get smart, even smarter that Jules, here.” Jules clapped his hands. “Bravo, Abe. That’s the spirit!”” Abe added, “I just don’t want to become, what’s that word I read, uh, yeah, ‘entrenched,’ stuck in a life I can’t get out of. My dad is entrenched in Johnstown. He’s an editor in the small newspaper there, the Trib Democrat, so you can guess how my dad votes. Our population is just about 20,000, so small newspapers are always fighting to get readers from other papers, so Dad is in the middle of it.” Brian said, “So you’re entrenched, huh?’ “Yep! But not for life.” Bobby laughed, “Yore daddy’s diggin’ a trench, ain’t he?” “Yep, Bobby, he dug a deep one.” Just then Jules jumped up, and said “God, God, God, kill it, kill it!” I looked around. “Kill what, Jules?” “Look! Up on the window sill. A spider! I can’t stand them!” We all looked, and it was a large, brownish grey spider, entering under the window frame. I it, it made my heart jump. Spiders always called some deep, perhaps ancient fear to rise in me. Whether one bit me when I was younger, or I just imagined it, I respected spiders and tried to keep my distance from them whenever possible. I felt the same whenever I’d seen a snake. I a poem by Emily Dickinson that described pretty accurately how I reacted. I felt “a tighter breathing, and zero at the bone.” So we all stood there, frozen. Bobby, said, “Sheeit, it’s just a tiny insect,” as he walked toward it. Jules refused to look. He just kept moving to the other side of the barrack. “Kill it!” He was moaning, crying. I felt sorry for him. But then I was fascinated to watch Bobby, opening my foot

locker, picking up a handkerchief, and stalking the “little insect.” In reality it was a pretty huge “tiny insect.” The spider looked big enough to be a tarantula. It was brownish grey. “What’re you going to do with my hanky, Bobby? Are you crazy?” “It’ll all be over in jes a jiffy, now.” Bobby held his left arm out as though holding a shotgun, his right hand up so he could hold the handle up to his face. He was aiming an imaginative weapon! Then he pretended to fire by making minor explosions from his mouth. He was playing the way we did in our pretend war games as kids! As he neared the spider, it stopped, as though curious. That was Bobby’s moment of glory. He charged the enemy and with his handkerchiefed right hand pounded down on the poor spider, which was squashed, and parts of it squirted in all directions. Luckily I was behind Bobby so I didn’t get any of the benefits. Parts of it oozed down the window sill. “Great job!” enthused Brian. “A bit of overkill though.” Abe said, “What a mess! I feel sick!” He did look pale. Jules walked back our way and said, “Thank you, Bobby. I feel so indebted to you. “Is that a good thing?” asked Bobby. “Yes it is. You see, I have always had arachnaphobia. It’s something that brings out the irrational in me, as though some terrifying phantom has attacked me.” “What is that?” I asked. “Arach something?” Jules calmed down and answered, “An arachnid is a spider, and phobia is a fear. So arachnaphobia is a fear of spiders. Most humans have a phobia about something. Mine happens to be spiders.” Abe added, “Well I have a fear of water. Not to drink it, but when it’s flooding. All the stories of my relatives just pounded into my brain.” Jules said, “That would be aquaphobia, fear of water.” So I added, “I guess we all have phobias, then. Maybe not Bobby. He’s not afraid of anything, are you?” “Ah’m skeereda my paw when he takes out thaat belt! Ah guess that’ll be called

a beltaphobia, huh?” We all laughed. “Here’s another word we can learn, guys,” said Jules. That arachnid was sure eviscerated, because it’s splattered around the barrack now.” “I’m guessing that means guts, Jules,” he said, looking white, near fainting. “That is correct, Abe. Very correct. It’s visceral, deep down in the guts. We can also feel things deep down inwardly. I still feel my shock at seeing that spider. I feel it in my bones. God!” Brian, said, “So the same word can have different meanings when we take it apart. How about that. My head is spinning with all these new vocabulary words, Jules. Enough already, before our heads burst or detonate and our brains will be eviscerated and spill all over the window sill!” Later, as I recalled the spider killing, I thought about the poor arachnid. All it did was crawl up a wall, probably curious as to where the opening in the window went. It was not at fault, could even have been a young one discovering its world away from family for the first time. I felt sympathy for this other creature of our world. If I find one in my house or bed, though, I it I would kill it before it bit me. So many puzzlements to figure out in this existence.

31 LETTERS

Dear Ted, November 1953

Please don’t worry about me. I did have some pain in my side, but a few pain pills seem to help it subside. I’m scheduled for a doctor visit in a few weeks, so I’ll tell him about it. As long as I can make it to Mass each morning, I know the Lord will take care of me. I’m keeping any pains that I have a secret from your father. He has enough troubles with the torment he’s going through. He’s been drinking again, and I pretend I don’t notice. He prefers to keep it under wraps from me. It’s almost like a game to him. So I play along. Yes, my son, I do that horrifying day when the lightning struck the house up by the dike. I didn’t know it came that close to you. It must be the Lord did not wish to take you. He has plans for you, I feel it. You will do some good in the world, my son, I know it. However, I want you to know something just in case anything unforeseen should happen to me. There are certain very important papers, and some money hidden in the house. this, my Theodore, and tell no one. Coal bin, third beam. You’ll know what that means. So even if the house burns down, I firmly believe these items, which are in a tin container will remain safe and valuable. . “bin and beam.” I know you will. As to my health, yes, I’ve had some troubles, but I’m convinced I will endure, because I must, for Anthony and your father. But I’m not afraid of death should God choose to take me. I’ve seen plenty of

life in this world, and I know the suffering and sorrow we must experience, like being nailed to the Crucifix, and I am ready for the next world, the one I’ve been preparing for virtually all of my existence on this earth. Anthony sends his love, and Dad says to “be a man.” Goodbye my son.

We love you and miss you. Mom

Dearest Darling Ted Byrum, November 1953

How dare you tell me it’s okay to date someone else. As if I would even consider such a thing, going to a movie or dance with some stranger! I can’t even allow such a thought to creep into our relationship like a mouse after cheese. I guess you don’t know that such a suggestion forces me to conclude that maybe our love is not as solid as I’d thought. Is that what this is about? If so, do what your father said, “Be a man,” and tell me. Don’t pretend to be “generous” with your love for me, while you’re considering going out with someone else. Oh, I pray that’s not true, Ted. I do love you so much. You are the only man for me. No other man will take your place. I’m either yours or I’m no man’s, be sure you realize that. My love is unwavering. Until death do us part. Do I make myself clear? Enough of that. I heard from Georgy, and he is settled in a barrack in Camp Chickamauga, Japan. It’s Alpha Company. He said he volunteered to teach wrestling there as part of helping the soldiers stay in condition. He went into the downtown city called Beppu, and was amazed at the different types of “little” people and their paper houses. Cousin Laura giggled when I read his letter aloud. He hopes you’re doing well, staying out of fights, but he had a smiley face after it. He misses your companionship.

So, now, no more foolishness from you, my darling. I’m yours and only yours, put that in your pipe and cough on it. I thought I’d have fun ruining a metaphor. Sorry. But I must leave with a few lines from Shakespeare to emphasize how I feel about you, my love.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I will be your slave, my love, so stay safe and healthy and in love with me.

Amour, Your Pauley, forever.

Dear Ted, November, 1953

I do hope your jump on Halloween was a safe one. I worry about you. My studies at Boston U are keeping me busy, and that’s good for me, because it keeps my mind occupied, which is exactly what I need at this time. You see, no doubt, that so many major events occurred in my life in such a short time that my mind whirls at times, trying to encom such a vortex. At times I dream I’m in a river and the whirlpool is sending me down, down, down. First the military, then meeting you, then the hospital, then being discharged to the Boston hospital section for the unstable, then Aunt Lilith, and the funeral, and you leaving. It all seems too much, too many demands made upon me, but Aunt Dorothy has

been a steady com to keep me from drowning. Sometimes her silly antics drive me to fits of anger, but I then comprehend her purpose is to aid me in my life goals, and I break out in laughter, and she s me, while we apologize to each other. My classes are quite challenging and enjoyable and stimulating. I read and comprehend the course materials quite readily, so I’ve volunteered to tutor some of the others in my classes, especially philosophy and theology. Yes, theology, the study of God and religious belief. I know, Ted, you are a bit bemused about my being religious. I do believe in God, but I come at it from a more intellectual approach. Enough of that. I hold you in my heart like an eagle in its aerie, and am ever mindful of your friendship and love, which I’m confident will last a lifetime.

Yours in great friendship and Love, Darren

32 SISTER MARY VICTORIA’S HUG

I was up early Saturday morning, before Reveille, gobbled some eggs and bacon in the mess hall, slurped some coffee down, then checked a car out of the motor pool and was on my way to pick up Sister Mary Victoria. I had left at 0730 to arrive in plenty of time, but also to check out my Mile 21. I had to be cautious, I knew. I didn’t want to get involved in things that were more than I could handle. And I definitely didn’t want to get the sister in danger either. When I reached Mile 21, I slowed, but then decided to drive past the dune about 100 yards where there were some shrubs and pines that might cover the car and me. I parked and exited the car without closing the door, walked several steps, and ducked behind a thick bush. This time there were 4 tents! Men were coming out of them in pants and tee shirts, using large jugs on portable tables to wash, shave, and brush their teeth. Then they ducked down into their sleeping quarters to get dressed. I got back into the Ford and drove slowly, quietly, away. In Mt. Pleasant, I ed the tobacco farms. They reminded me of how I worked on one in Connecticut when I was 14. Most of the fields were picked then, but one was still full, with the sun-protecting cheese cloths still bulging high, being lifted by the extended growth of the plants. The boss made me a “row checker,” which meant I was to stay halfway through the rows. The other half would be picked on the next day. I would wait for them to get to me, sometimes even falling asleep. When a “picker” called, I got down on my knees and saw that three large leaves on each side were picked high enough so that I could see to the beginning of the row. If so, then I’d check off the row on a slip of paper. These slips were important, because, the men were paid by the number of slips, which represented rows picked, that they turned in. I recalled then how the leaves were sewed together by girls, and hung in the barn to dry. Later, they were made into cigars or cigarettes. I did enjoy learning about the process, but was quite happy I was able to quit this life-shortening habit for

all who indulged in inhaling this poisonous stuff. My father and most men back then smoked. Of course, that was the smoky image and habit which I followed for a few years after high school. I turned up the hill, stopped at the convent gate, and rang the bell. The low voice said, “Hello, Ted,” and the gate opened. At the entrance, Satan came up to the car. I got out, and he backed away, growling. We stared at each other. Satan stood there, tense, showing his teeth. I pictured him leaping at my throat, the same way that the wolfhound did to Buddy, the neighborhood cat, on Belle Avenue back at home. I told myself, I will not move, not give in to this fear. “Satan!” I whispered. His ears perked up, in what resembled a question mark to me. I decided to take a chance. I got down on my knees and said, quietly, gently, “Come.” I pointed to the ground. This big powerful dog, came toward me, slowly. I held my breath. Then he plunked his huge body on the ground, and stared at me, ears at attention. “Shake,” I offered my hand. Satan stuck out his paw to me. We shook. What a relief. It’s a strange warm feeling to be at peace with an animal, a different species. I wondered then about the few times I hunted with my brother, Jeff, for deer. I never killed, or even wanted to kill a deer, such a beautiful animal. I petted Satan, scratched his neck, which he liked, and felt a kind of kinship with him, with spiders even, with the world. “Good friends with Satan, I see.” I looked up and Sister Mary Victoria was smiling down at us. “Oh, hi, Sister.” I looked up and the son blinded me, so I rose and moved a few feet to open the door for her. She wore her usual white coif that covered her head and much of her forehead, a black veil, and long tunic. I wondered if the heat ever bothered her. “He growled at me at first, Sister, but I took a scary chance on my knees. Thank God he didn’t kill me.” “Yes, Ted, thank God continually for all His gifts. There are many things to be gained just from humbling ourselves on our knees. Time to go so we won’t be late. Stay, Satan!” Sister looked beautiful! Her face was peach-colored and

smooth. Her eyes were pure dark blue. We entered the car and started on our way. Sister signed her finger downward to Satan, and he sat. Then she started clicking on her rosary beads. I drove down the hill and out the gate. As I neared mile 21, I decided to take a slightly different route just to get past the dune with the tents. I wanted to protect Sister. So I turned west and found a decent path that wasn’t sandy. It might have been an old indian trail. After about a half mile the path rose up to a height of the roof of a barrack building that made me curious. I stopped. “What is it, Ted?” “Just one second, Sister.” I got out and looked east. I had a great view over the dune at the tented area and saw a bit of activity around some smoke. I decided I needed binoculars for more details. Maybe Lieutenant Robson could supply that. I got back in the car and drove down the hill. “Everything okay, Ted?” “Yes, Sister.” Are you getting involved in anything sinister?” “No, Mam, I just don’t want to involve you in anything sinister. I don’t know what those men are doing on the base with those tents, but I’ve ed some higher-ups.” “Good. You’re not getting us lost now are you?” “No, I was just steering away from trouble.” I drove on, and in less than a mile, I was back on the main road. I sped up to make sure we’d make it to McCain in plenty of time. “Do you have a girlfriend, Ted?” “Yes, her name is Pauley.” “Short for Pauline?”

“Yes, she’s from Rhode Island. She’ll be 17 in a month.” “So young. And you, you’re 18?” “Yes. Pretty young, I know. But we think it’s love. No, we know it’s love.” “I’m sure it is, Ted. I was in love, too. And I was so sure. It really was, too.” “What happened, Sister?”

“The war. Killed in action.” Her voice became emotional, stifling a tearful outburst. “He’d had a romantic idea of what war was about. He dreamed of being a hero.” I looked in the mirror. She was dabbing her eyes with a cloth. I said nothing. At last she said, “He was a quiet man, like you, nice, but protective. His name was Philip, Philip King. He was also tall and handsome like you. I suppose in many ways you remind me of him.” “I’m so sorry for your loss, Sister Mary.” I meant it, too. Such a sweet woman didn’t deserve such pain. I thought she was possibly hiding from life because off her boyfriend’s death. “I felt the same way. I saw myself as being a hero.” “Thank you, Ted.” She chuckled. “The other nuns have been calling me ‘Sister Vickie,’ because there are so many Sister Marys in the convent. As I drove, I saw, or imagined I saw, a car following us, so I pressed harder on the gas pedal. I also wanted to be sure to make it to McCain on time for catechism. We hit a few bumps and Sister Vickie cried, “If we turn the car into a tumble weed, we’ll have to run to McCain, and I don’t have my running shoes, Theodore!” “Sorry, Sister, I’m trying not to screw up this assignment. The Lord won’t be happy with me. And the Army won’t like it either.” “I’m sure the Lord understands, Ted, but I don’t think the church will close if we’re a few minutes late.”

It turned out, we arrived at St. Anne’s church about 12 minutes ahead of schedule. I let Sister Vickie off in front of the church, where an old, bald priest greeted her. He shook her hand and held it warmly while he greeted her. I knew he was just an affectionate, ancient priest, but I it it, I felt a bit jealous. I thought of the nice, warm hug she’d given me. Some of the children came out the door, and Sister greeted them with great warmth, leaning over and patting their heads and cheeks. I parked the car, and didn’t see any suspicious characters across the street at the gas station. Inside, I knelt at a pew in the rear of the church and prayed, that Jesus would help to keep my mind clean and clear. I also asked him for courage to face those civilian “soldiers” if I had to. I was hoping that they were just youths practicing living in tents and facing the hardships of desert life. When it was time to leave, I walked with Sister Vickie to the car. As we drove out of the parking lot, I spotted two men exiting the gas station, with drinks and a carton of cigarettes. They had tan fatigues and blue bandanas! One of them pointed at our car. “Do you know them, Ted? They pointed at us, I think. I’m pretty sure they did.” “I hope not, Sister. I believe they’re from that group that is camping out on Mile 21 on the base. I called it Mile 21, because that’s how far it was from the motor pool, where I started.” “That’s interesting. Do you think they’re up to no good?” “Not sure. Sister Vickie, I’m trying to find out, if I can. I probably should mind my own business, but I’m curious, and I don’t want to endanger you.” “I’m not afraid, Ted, just do what you think is right.” “Okay, Mam.” “Don’t you call me Mam, or I’ll hit you with my, my, uh, rosary!” A smile leaked out of her mouth. “Sorry, Sister. So how was catechism? Did you get through ‘Who made you’?” “Yes, we’re all the way up to Adam and Eve.”

“I . Satan appeared as a snake and tempted them and they bit into that apple and God threw them out of Eden, isn’t that how it went?” “Yes, Ted, you correctly, but your tone of voice seems to tell me you’re not a believer.” “I like to think I’m a good Catholic, Sister. I was an altar boy, and still am, but some stories in the Bible are tough to accept, aren’t they? And their disobeying God by chomping on an apple got them thrown out of God’s garden and now all of us are born with original sin, right?” “You’re right, Ted. There are events described in the Bible that are given to us to accept on faith, as difficult as this may be for some people.” “I understand that, Sister Vickie, and my mother accepts that whatever the bible says is true, because the priest says so. I think she’s a saint, my mother. It would be nice to have that kind of faith. I’m trying, Mom. I’m trying, Sister.” “Do you believe in God, Ted?” “Yes, I do.” “Have you ever seen Him?” “No. Okay, I see where you’re going, Sister. I give up. I’m ready to believe without question. Even that we were baptized to erase our original sin.” “Don’t do it just for me, Ted. Do it for yourself, for your soul. Are we getting close to your Mile 21 now, Ted?” “Yes, you’re right.” “Good. Now if you’re going to take that detour, I’m going to take advantage of your inspecting their camp, while I take care of nature’s call, if you don’t mind.” I turned left to the hill where we’d stopped before, and got out, while Sister exited the other side. Although my viewpoint was a bit distant to distinguish what was going on in the camp, I did see that there were perhaps 12 or 15 men, all wearing blue bandanas running, then falling to the sand close to the red truck, and after a few seconds, rising and running toward the tents. I definitely decided

to ask for binoculars before I returned. When I stepped back, a cricket leaped onto my sleeve. I almost shook it off, thinking it was a spider, but I was glad I didn’t. It stayed on my sleeve for a few seconds, so I gently eased it into my fist and carried it back with me. When I reached the car, Sister said, “Come here please, Ted.” She was standing by the car waiting. “Every thing okay down there?” “Yes, Sister. Look, a cricket landed on my sleeve.” It chirped, and I opened my hand. It leaped away. “Must be my lucky Jiminy.” “Very nice, Ted. Can you come here?” She stood by the car, waiting. I approached her. “Do you when I hugged you so you could be a friend to Satan?” “Yes, I do.” I felt strange, excited. She hesitated. “I want to hug you again, if you would help me. I was never able to say goodbye to my Phil. Will you hug me? Please?” I moved slowly to her, my mind whirring, my body excited. We were there, alone. What would happen? What could happen? She’s a nun, for God’s sake! I moved tentatively, then reached for her. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her, her body so close, her legs spread slightly, her chest tight against mine. “Don’t speak, please. Just hold me. Never let me go!” I was so confused, so dizzy, so excited. My body reacted. “It’s okay! Just keep your arms around me, tight!” Her tears dripped onto my cheek, my shoulder. “Damn you for leaving me, damn, damn, damn you!” She hit my back with her fists, but they didn’t hurt much. I just held her, letting her ease the pain,

release herself from the hatred or resentment she felt for her Phil. Then something different happened. She pressed her lips to mine, her soft, full

lips. I kept my lips closed at first, knowing that she was ing her lover. Then her tongue came between mine, and resistance became impossible. Could I stop my heart from beating? The sun from shining? The blood rushing from my heart through my veins? My lips opened. My tongue met hers. Then she held me the same, but much closer. Her thighs moved gently against mine. This was something beyond the loss of her Phil, and I knew I should stop it. But then, maybe she needed this, too! I know I did! So we held each other, rocking back and forth, in a sort of rhythm. We were an airplane on the runway, slow, engine running, then a bit faster, revving, until we both let go and went 50, 100, 200 miles per hour, lifted toward the heavens, roaring, soaring. At last we stopped, panting. Sister stepped away, leaning against the car. “God, God, what did we do? No, what did I do? Oh, I’m damned, damned damned!” She was on her knees, rocking. I caught my breath. “Sister, we didn’t do anything. We’re fully clothed! You were just saying goodbye to your Phil. He’s dead now. He would understand!” “Oh, Ted, don’t you see how sinful I was? We went too far! I went too far! God will never forgive me.” “Sister, I know I’m just a kid, or maybe a young man, I don’t know. But I do know that sins are committed when there’s intent, and you had no such intention, I know that.

It was just our bodies that reacted, not our minds or hearts.” Sister kneeled there, shaking her head. “And if you believe God will never forgive you, it’s a far, far different God from the one I grew up learning to love and honor. My God forgives sins if I repent them. My God understands what just happened. There was no evil intent on my part or yours, I know that. Please let me help you up?” She gave me her hand and I helped her to rise. “Thank, you, Ted. For a young man, you have such wisdom. You are right. There was no evil in my mind. And I’m sure you had none either. God will forgive, I’m

sure. I am so, so, sorry.” I handed my hanky to her. She accepted it and entered the car, then took out her rosary beads. Little was said on the ride back. When we arrived at the convent, Sister put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “God bless you, Ted. God will forgive. See you next week?” “I’ll be here, Sister Vickie.” I drove away, shaking my head. I was sure I did the right thing. But I knew I’d have to be cautious. People can’t fall in love that easily, can they? No, it wasn’t love. But it sure was something like love. Also, I couldn’t help ing what happened with Sister Vickie. It was as if a large stamp were slammed down on my brain, like ink on a page, indelibly recording my past, never to be erased. Of course, my body enjoyed what happened, but my brain lamented the fact that it happened. I prayed for advice from Jesus and Mary, and my mother. Of course, I could tell no one about this tumultuous occurrence, never. And I didn’t want my Pauley to ever hear of this. Yes, there are certain events that must be kept secret from a loved one. I’m sure she’d be very understanding and loving, but there would also be a shadow of doubt in her mind. The explanation would have imprisoned me in a deep cesspool impossible to clamber out of in a lifetime. I prayed that Sister Mary Victoria would be wise, and not reveal what happened to the other sisters. That would lead to her ruination. From my few experiences with nuns, I saw how cruel they could be. Once when I was in the 10th grade walking home from my public school, I waited for a friend, Stevey, outside the Immaculate Conception school, so we could go home together, one of the sisters came out the door, and yelled, “Get out of here, you filthy pig!” I turned to see who or what she was yelling at, but then found I was the culprit! I just ran, not looking back, wondering what I had done. Also, I how so many of the sisters in that Catholic school actually took rulers and whacked the hands of the students. I was happy my family couldn’t afford to send us kids to parochial school. No, Sister Vickie must confess it to a priest. But I hoped Sister wouldn’t make more of it than just a physical attraction that happened accidentally, and without evil intention, which

would not, could not, be an unforgivable sin. Of course, I ed Mom’s caution not to “soil my soul.” I had thought that I would have no trouble heeding her wishes, but I began to see the sheets of my soul, just like Mom’s on the clothesline, were becoming slightly begrimed. Regardless of my guilt over what I did with Sister Mary, I it I enjoyed it, and can’t hate myself completely for having been involved. I confessed, it would be stamped on my memory diary for many years to come. Nevertheless, I prayed deeply, sincerely, for the pure soul of Sister Mary Victoria, and trusted that her life in the sisterhood would be long and blessed, filled with great works and experiences. I certainly didn’t wish to soil her soul!

33 BARRACK BANTER

That Sunday evening, in the barrack after Robbie dropped me off, Jules asked me, “What have you been up to, Ted? Have you been going down town with the lieutenant?” “Yeah, where y’all been? You makin’ it with some nun? Is that it?” Abe asked as though he were interrogating me. Brian and Abe marched over and Brian questioned, “Are you in trouble, Ted? I saw that lieutenant drop you off over by the motor pool. What did you do? Are you going to be incarcerated? How’d you like that word, Jules?” Abe brushed his red hair back from his eyes and sat on my locker, stretching his long legs out, listening closely, smiling. Jules said, “That’s a superb word, Brian. But I don’t think it applies to Ted here. Does it Ted? You’re not going to be arrested, are you? I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I knew I couldn’t reveal what I was involved in, yet I needed something that was credible and not suspicious. I realized then, what many in the spy business had to overcome to be successful in their occupations. Of course, I knew I wasn’t a spy at that time, but I was going to be promoted to Private First Class soon, wasn’t I? Then I thought I had the perfect excuse. “The general and some more men wanted more baseball lessons this afternoon.” Bobby said, “Well, ah’ll be a rooster in the ole hen house. Jes imagine, the general, the big chief. Y’all mus’ be some ball player, Teddy boy.” “I’m just lucky I met Randy who works in the general’s office. Good thing I pitched, and did lots of practicing on my curves and knuckle balls back in high school. And you should never make disparaging remarks about Sister Mary Victoria. She’s a fine person, who will help many poor people in her missionary

work. She’ll be on her way to heaven while most of us will struggle to avoid hell when we’re close to Death’s door.” Abe’s face was reddening, “I didn’t mean any harm, Ted. I was just using friendly banter as sort of a greeting to you. Don’t take offense.” “None taken, Abe. I was just defending the sister, who doesn’t need defending. I see we’ve been working on our vocabulary.” Brian answered, “No, we’ve just been lying here in our salubrious luxuriance all day.” Jules laughed, then retrieved his hanky and covered his mouth. Brian said, “What’s wrong Jules, did I stump you?” Jules said, “Yes, you did, Brian, you certainly did. Combining those two words was fine. Salubrious means wholesome, pleasant, and luxuriance means rich, which could imply wealth, but in this case I’m sure you meant comfort, sort of like lying in a bed of roses. But just make sure you don’t use your new vocabulary to impress, rather than communicate. But in this case, it was healthful and wholesome. I approve.” “Well, you sure impressed me, Bri.” I said. Abe added, “Yeah, it filled me with euphoria, you know, great happiness.” “I like that, Abe, adding the definition after using the word. That way, it’s not a quiz for the others, but a lesson for us all.” Bobby stood up and said, “I’ll be damned. I bin fixin’ to find some high falutin’ words, but ah’m not used ta findin’ things in books, lak that.” Jules said, “Hey, that was a good one, Bobby! You said, ‘fixin’ to.’ I like that also. We can learn some of the southern terminology from you as you learn words from us. What do you say? Will you try?” Bobby scratched his auburn head and said, “You mean jes’ talk naturly an’ that’ll be okay?”

Jules was getting a bit excited. He walked out to the center aisle, then back by the windows. “Why sure, we can use your terminology in lieu of our more sophisticated words. What do you think, guys?” I answered, “I like the idea, Jules. I also noticed how you squeezed in that term, ‘in lieu of,’ which mean in place of, I assume? “Right!” See how often we can translate words just by context, how it’s used in a sentence.” “All ah kin think raght now’s ma maw was havin’ a hissy when she heard ah jined th’ army.” Abe jumped in, “Havin’ a hissy! That means a fit. His mom was pretty mad when he ed the service, right Bobby? My mom was, too, specially when she learned I’d be crazy enough to jump out of planes. It’s scary for me too!” Abe seemed to shiver. “Thas raght, answered Bobby! A hissy!” Brian put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and said, “Hey, this can be fun. It’s like learning two languages, high-faluting English, and southern terminology. I’ll be talking like a foreigner when I get home.” “Ah dunno,” said Bobby, “Them’s pretty hard words ta larn. It’ll be lak haulin’ a load a farewood uphill.” Jules said, “I like that, Bobby. It could also be like Sisyphus in mythology. He was condemned to push a huge rock uphill, and when he reached the top, it would roll back to the bottom, and Old Sisyphus had to push it back up again, forever.” “Well, ah’ll be damned,” declared Bobby. “I don’t know about you, Bobby, but Sisyphus was surely damned,” I said. I’ve heard about him somewhere in my classes. It’s kind of like having a task to do, and not thinking you’ll ever complete it, isn’t it?” “That’s right, Ted.”

“I guess you could call it being sort of Sisyphusian.” Bobby added, “Speshly if yer a sissy.” Brian said, “How ’bout that a sissified Sisyphusian makin’ a big fuss ’bout a pissy old rock.” Jules said, “Now you’re all getting silly and puerile, you know, childish. But you’re also making the language fun, easier to learn and . What a great idea. “Scuse me y’all, goin’ t’ the privy. Back in a spell.” Bobby headed for the latrine. “Wow!” I said. “I understood that. I guess ‘privy’ came from the idea of being private. I feel as if I’m at school and learning, and it’s fun, which is something which should happen more in the schools. My friend Darren is going into education. I’ll have to recommend to him to make his classes enjoyable for his students.” “That’s a significant concept, Ted. I agree. And perhaps you’ll become a teacher yourself.” “Oh, I doubt I’ll ever know enough to be a teacher, Jules. I’m just not smart enough.” Jules stood and said, angrily, “Don’t you ever belittle yourself like that! Any of you! There is so much in you that you’re not even aware of. Don’t ever settle that you’re going to be an average or below average person! Reach, stretch, learn!” Bobby was back, standing there. “I lak whatchyer sayin’ Jules! Ah allus figered ah was a sandwich short of a picnic, but ah’m willin’ ta larn, an become somebody, ah am!” He punched his open hand, emphasizing his point. I felt as excited as he was. He was right and I knew it. In school I realized I was more interested in sports than studying. So many of my grades were average or below, just a C student. But what would happen if I applied myself? There was so much to learn. It was at that moment I knew I would try to take advantage of the GI Bill and

continue my education. I would jump into the frightening world of colleges and universities as though I were hurling myself out of an airplane to see where I would land in that strange country of knowledge with large words and concepts. That night I stared out the window. I couldn’t sleep. I kept picturing that rifle aimed at me, and then hearing its explosion, almost feeling the long range bullet entering my body. Then I saw a casket. Was it mine? Then I recalled hugging Sister Mary Victoria, so innocently, until it wasn’t. And it took long, long minutes before I was able to calm down and let it go.

34 WILLY FROM GARY, INDIANA

One evening after work, I was at the PX, the Post Exchange, which is actually a military store for soldiers. It’s a place where we can buy a large assortment of goods, like cigarettes, (which I proudly don’t buy anymore), clothing, like shirts, shoes and boots, jewelry, even toys for children. It’s all sold at far below the civilian prices. It even had a little nook where people can sit and have coffee and a snack. So I was wandering up and down aisles looking for soap and shampoo, maybe a civilian shirt, and a trinket for Sister Vickie, when I bumped into Willy, or actually, he bumped into me. He had his head down, reaching for a jackknife at one of the lower shelves. He said, “Scuse me,” and picked up the knife. I said, “You’re excused, soldier!” Willy looked up and exclaimed, “Teddy! I didn’t see you! How are you?” He looked as if he’d gained weight. His face seemed a bit puffier that I ed him. Of course, I hadn’t seen much of him since that night in the alley behind Rusty’s. “Doing fine, Willy. I’m busy and staying out of trouble. How about you?” “Do you have a little time, Ted, time for a coffee?” “Sure, I’d like that.” He put the knife down and said, “This way, follow me.” He walked ahead of me. I noted again how bowlegged he was. I could picture him riding horses on a ranch out west. We strolled up one aisle, across another, then down the next, until we found a place where we could sit at a counter and order food and drinks. There was a glass case with sandwiches, cakes, and candy bars. Willy still had that purposeful, turtle-like walk, straight ahead, shoulders tilted forward, looking powerful.

When we approached, a woman with an obvious blonde wig wiped the counter for us. We sat and ordered coffee. I took mine black, he added cream and two sugars. “So how are things in your home town, Gary, Indiana, wasn’t it? What’s it like there?” “Oh, Gary is just a little, boring town, that became crowded because of the boom of steel plants. It’s full of so many foreigners now, I hardly know the place. There are Poles, Italians, and Negroes and so many others that came in to work there, the school teams are mixture, a stew of the United Nations, f’Christ sake.” “Isn’t that a good thing for the city?” “I dunno. I guess. They built these big 10 story buildings, and lots of houses. They threw up lotsa crappy houses over in “The Patch.” That’s what we called it, where the poor people and blacks had to live. Man, our population soared.” We ordered another coffee from a short man with curly hair hanging down over his forehead. His apron was stained with red tomato smudges. Willy said, “And a candy bar, too, one of them Hershey bars. Where were we? Oh, yeah, good thing, but we had a big strike last year, which was good for the workers, but not good for my dad.” “Is he okay?” “Nah, he ain’t been the same after that. He was a foreman, and a gang of strikers got to him after hours one day. This was called a ‘nonviolent strike’ but they lied. The sonsabitch cowards pounded on him. After a few weeks in the hospital he was okay, but his mind, his goddam spirit was broke.” I could see Willy’s face scrunching up. He put his Hershey down slowly, then was quiet. He was fighting the tears as though he could push the drops back into his eyes, and he succeeded, by plugging them up with his anger. “He would lie there in the hospital bed, his face all bruised and swollen so I hardly believed that was my father, and not some ugly tramp. His arm was in a sling, an’ he had one of them hoses stuck down his nose. God!” I didn’t know what to say then, knowing there was nothing I could really say.

“Man I’m sorry about that, Willy. Is he okay now?” “Yeah, I guess he is. They gave him a softer job in an office, away from the Bessemers.” “What’s that?” I asked. “That’s a big oven, where pig iron is melted. Air is blown on the melting iron and it removes all the bad stuff, impurities, they call it, so out comes steel.” “Oh, never heard of it. So that’s how it’s made.” “Yeah. But when Dad came home, he’d be sullen, not eating much. He stared into space often. I guessed he saw them bums’ fists an’ sticks poundin’ down on him again. Then he’d go in the den an’ watch TV, an’ go ta bed. He wasn’t the man he was. He used to play catch with me and ask how school was an’ watch me play football, an’ take me ta see the White Sox play. Then nothin’ after that.” He bit the chocolate bar as though he was trying to hurt it. “Is that why you ed the army?” “Yeah, I guess. I din’t know what else ta do. I was so bitter. They stole my Pa from me. Maybe that’s why I go a little crazy sometimes.” “So that’s what makes you drink so much and start fights?” Willy took the candy wrapper and twisted it until it couldn’t be twisted any more, but he kept on straining at it. “Yeah, I guess so. I get so mad about what they did to my dad, that I want to take revenge on them, maybe on everyone, I dunno.” I didn’t know whether to broach the subject, but decided to go ahead. After all, I was with them on the night of the tattoo incident. “How about that night after the tattoos when Randy and you got into it. How’d you feel about it?” “Oh, man, I didn’t want that to happen. He jus’ kep’ buggin’ me, so I hit him. Yeah, I it some of me felt good about it, but I never wanted to hurt Randy. He’s my friend, a real, true friend. It’s just, well you were there, you know what he was doin’. But that’s not what I wanted ta talk about. I was wonderin’ if, you know, you could get me a appointment with the chaplain. He’s a priest, ain’t

he?” “Why, yes, he is, Willy. That would be easy. But why do you want it?” “Maybe he can straighten me out, in my head, in my temper?” “Maybe, but I don’t think he can help you, Willy.” The words spilled out before I could reign them in. “Isn’t that his job?” “Yes, but take my advice. He has anger problems himself. I know I shouldn’t say that, and I could get fired for saying it, but that’s what I believe. I know him!” “Okay. There somepin’ I gotta get off my chest to somebody. I know who the leader was, of the guys that attacked my dad, so I’m afraid of goin’ home, of what I’ll do. Sometimes I don’t know who I am, I got dis big pile a hate in me.” “You’re a better man than you know, Willie. Now you told me. If you want, we can see the priest in downtown! But, one thing I know. If you carry hatred in your heart, you’re just making yourself an angry chump with no future. You’ll ruin yourself. The only thing to do is forgive and forget. And if you can’t forgive, at least forget, because hatred is like a hungry spider that eats and eats away at you, until there’s no you left, and all the goodness in you will rot like an old apple, rot, and dry up into a wrinkled core of despair. We finished our coffee and walked back to the barrack. I had an idea of what Willy wanted. I also thought about how the meeting would go with Father Roland. I pondered about their meeting, almost fearful of what would happen if Father treated Willy the same way he did with Francis Plustone. Knowing Willy’s temper, there would certainly be violence. Before we left the PX, I paid for a little pin I’d found among the trinkets, for Sister Victoria. In the barrack, I heard Jules’ voice, “Hey, there you are mystery man. Where have you been hiding? You’ve certainly made yourself scarce. Everything okay?”

“All’s okey dokey, Jules. I just met Willy in the PX. We talked a bit.” “Ah, and how is our fighting friend doing now? “He’s doing okay, so far. Just worried about his Dad, in Gary, Indiana.” “I see.” “Also, I’ve been a bit entrenched in work lately. And it’s quite nugatory, my friend, just a waste of time.” That night I paid attention to every note of “Taps.” I ed the story of the soldier in the Civil War, dying, screaming out in the field, with rifles aimed his way from the North and South. Then the beauty of the notes and the near prayer that accompanied them moved me near to tears.

35 A CATECHISM TRIP WITH SISTER

I was awake before Reveille on Saturday and was first in line for breakfast chow. I went directly to the motor pool to take out a car. The motor pool sergeant said, “You’re lookin’ mighty spiffy this mornin’ there, Private. The Ford’s all gassed up and ready.” I responded, “I know, Sarge, I can’t let the civilians think we’re sloppy now, can I?” I drove away, with the binoculars tucked away in a little case. I prayed there would be no danger this trip, for Sister Vickie, or for me. I’m no hero. I smiled at that thought, ing. It was just a few months ago, my brain was bulging with memories. Oh, those movies of wartime soldiers willing to face death, but never getting killed, seldom wounded, and always they overcame the enemies. How easy it seemed. And I and my friends had no doubt we could do the same, and perhaps even more, even greater, almost Messianic, saviors of mankind. But then I conjured up the image of that rifle aimed at me, in reality, and all of my heroism melted like snow on a mountain, pouring down into a stream of cowardice. I shook away both such reflections, and concentrated on my driving. But I couldn’t shake the thought of Father Roland getting involved in I don’t know what in the chapel. I suspected it was with s, and I don’t know who else, if anyone. I didn’t know what to do, but it had to be something. Troubles just seem to follow me around like the odor of a skunk that lingers and stinks up my life whenever I feel I’m progressing in the right direction. Should I tell Lieutenant Robson, the general, Jules? I don’t know. I’ll just let it simmer for a while. Maybe my night visit will reveal something. I reached Mile 21, and slowed, driving past until I reached my secondary observation spot, and stopped. I took out the binoculars, rolled down the window

and swept the glasses from left to right, until I saw the tents. There were four of them, but I noticed they were sagging a bit, probably because the pegs that held the sides down were loosening in the sand. There was just one person there, with a rifle on the ground. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. I supposed he was on guard duty, but wasn’t doing a good job at it. Apparently any military discipline he’d had wasn’t drilled very deeply into his citizen brain. Otherwise, their camp was quiet. I drove off to pick up Sister Vickie, in Mt. Pleasant. After entering the gate, I drove slowly up to the convent entrance and parked. I was early, so I waited, fingering the little gift I had for Sister. At last, the entrance opened, and I exited the car, holding the door open. Satan came out first, growling and running my way. My fear rose, and I’d heard that they can smell fear, but I couldn’t help it. Satan charged at me, and I yelled, “Satan! Sit!” His back feet actually slid as he halted right in front of me, and sat, close enough to sniff me, and his ears went down like flags of peace. “Shake!” I said, and held my hand out. He shook it, and lay down in front of me. Sister Vickie came hurrying out, saying, “Good! Satan’s okay, and so are you. I’m so sorry to be late, Ted.” She was smiling, and just as beautiful as ever. “You’re not late, Sister, I was early. I didn’t mean to hurry you. I was just worried you wouldn’t come.” She smiled, said “Satan, shed!” and watched as the dog scurried away toward some doghouse somewhere on the premises. She entered the car, and sighed. “We have a few things to say, Ted, before that subject is closed. But let’s drive, okay?” I drove down the driveway and out the gate. We were both quiet as I turned around the streets of Mt. Pleasant. I heard the clicking of her beads. I said a few silent prayers to the Lord myself, that I would resist any temptation to continue in the direction we traveled last time, and that I could overcome the lust I felt whenever I relived our brief moment of ion. When we entered the Fort Bragg property, Sister said, “In another mile or two, I’d like you to stop so we can say a few words, Ted, if you don’t mind.” I drove until there was no sign of any buildings behind us, and no traffic, so I

stopped. I turned off the engine. Silence reigned. I waited. “I want you to turn and face me, Ted. I will move to the enger side.” When she was on that side, I faced her. She was just so beautiful. She held her beads in both hands. “Ted, I don’t know how to start, but I must start.” She paused. “I, I, am so ashamed of what I did to you, to us. I couldn’t believe I let myself go like that. I’ve been wondering if I have future in the order.” She tried to stifle her tears. She started to place her hands over her eyes, but then she slapped her lap, and angrily said, “No! I will not give up the order! I will not!” I jumped in before she could continue. “Sister, I want to say something, if you’ll let me.” “No, I’m not through, Ted. You are not to blame. I am! Do you hear? I am to blame!” I had to say something intelligent, but couldn’t think of anything. So I just gave up, and said, “Well, okay, I’ll go out and get a gun or a knife or wild buffalo, so you can kill yourself! Or maybe give you a rope so you can hang yourself on that tree over there. Because, you’re an evil woman and no God on earth will forgive you for what you did. Look at me. I’m also a ruined man, because I’ve turned evil. Notice how ugly and distorted my face and body have become because of the power of your evil ways. Shame upon you. Help me dig a grave so we can both be buried in it.” She laughed. “Stop it! Don’t belittle my shame, Ted.” “I am, and I will, Sister! Don’t you realize, as I do, what we did was not intentional? Our bodies reacted, yes, but oh so briefly. I just cannot believe such a sin, which was unintentional, not planned, could be punished the same as murder, or any of the other Ten Commandments. I just can’t. Can you agree with that, Sister?” “I guess so, Ted. It’s just that, I felt so evil and weak at the time, I didn’t know how to erase it. And how to get forgiveness.” “We can’t erase it, Sister. We just shouldn’t let it grow into something it wasn’t.

If it was a sin, I hope you don’t confess it to the other nuns, because I doubt they would understand. Confess it to a priest, because he represents God in the Confessional, and let God forgive.” Sister seemed to relax and sit back in her seat. “You seem so sagacious at times. I can’t believe you’re only 18 years old.” “I don’t think I’m very wise, Sister, but I do know how I feel in my heart.” I took a little package out of my pocket and gave it to her. “What’s this?” “It’s just a tiny gift, Sister.” She unwrapped the paper, and held the insect in her hand. “Is this what I think it is?” “Yes, it’s just a gold cricket, but it’s not real gold.” She stared at it. I noticed again that Sister’s pointed nose was a bit crooked, but it did not detract from her near perfect, smooth face. I asked, “Do you the story of Pinocchio?” “Yes, of course, whenever he lied, his nose grew longer.” “That’s true, but do you Jiminy Cricket?” She held the little cricket up. “Yes, I do.” “Well, Jiminy was Pinocchio’s conscience, who kept trying to straighten Pinocchio out whenever he headed in the wrong direction. It’s a simple pin. I probably shouldn’t have given you such a stupid thing.” “No, no, no, Ted! It’s perfect! I will always keep this memento. It will be something I will keep for my conscience. And I’ll always keep it to remind me of you, the mature, wise, 18 year old, who was able to straighten my head out, and my path with the Lord. I thank you a thousand times.” I was so pleased with her response, I felt I could fly us both to McCain and land

us on the roof of the church, perhaps even to float down from the belfry. “You are so welcome, one thousand and one times, Sister Mary Victoria.” She grinned, “Drive, Brother Theodore. The little starving minds crave catechizing.” I drove on, feeling quite relieved that we’d resolved what could have been an enormous problem for each of us. When we reached St Anne’s in McCain, I dropped Sister off and parked the car. As I walked toward the church, putting on my soft hat, two young men wearing blue bandanas were sauntering across the street from the gas station, toward me. The taller, slim one wore his kerchief around his neck, and the shorter one, who looked 18 or 19 wore his on his head. The taller man, who was perhaps 20, said, “Pardon me, suh, ain’t we seen you before?” The shorter, chubbier one accused, “Yeah, ain’t we seen you sniffin’ ‘round our camp?” I answered with a question, “Do you gentlemen have a camp on Fort Bragg property?” I felt uneasy, but stood tall in my uniform, my legs apart, ready. Part of me felt trepidation, but I was not going to show it. The short one, he must have been 5’2”, stepped in front of the other and said, “You talk lak it’s yore proppity, but it ain’t, heah? It’s all of ourn, an If’n you try t’kick us off, y’all be in fer a big s’prise, heah?” His teeth were crooked and yellow. He made a fist. Yet, he was staring at my face, almost studying it. He licked his lips. I looked at the taller one, and said, “Is he the leader here?” The tall one pulled Shorty back and said, “No, he ain’t. Back off, Chet, or Ah’ll start callin’ ya Chester agin, heah?” He put his short-sleeved arm in front of Chester, stood in front, tucked his flannel shirt in, in spite of the heat, and said, “Ah’m in chage.” I continued walking toward the church past them. “Jes one question, soldier, okay?” the tall one asked. I stopped and turned toward him.

“Mah name’s Choogah, what’s yourn?” “Byrum.” “Bahrum? Sounds lak a bar room, don’t it?” “Yep,” I responded. Just lak a bar room, that’s me.” “Well, Ah don’ criticaz what people does off duty. Ah jes wanna know if you bin spyin’ on us ‘n our tents?” “Listen,” I said. “I’m delivering this nun from one city to another, see? From Mt. Pleasant to McCain and back, so she can teach the children, and I want to make sure she’s safe. You see anything wrong in that, Choogah?” “Nope, not a goldang thing wrong in that, but Ah don’ lak yer spyin’ on us, heah?” He walked toward me, Chet following. I didn’t know what to do, because this was getting threatening, and I didn’t think I could take them both. But I didn’t want to seem like a coward, standing there in my uniform, so I started walking toward them. They stopped. I stopped. Silence reigned. It felt like we were two trains on the same track, and without brakes there’d be a collision. “Look, Choogah, I don’t want trouble with you two, but….” I thought a bit. “What kind of a name is Choogah, anyway? Is that what they call a ‘choo-choo’ train?” Chester laughed, “Yeah, Choo, what kanda name is Choogah anyhow?” “None’ve y’all’s bizwax! So drop it, heah?” That seemed to quash the tension. “Nice meeting you two. Take care.” I walked on toward the church. “Hey, Choogah, we ain’t done, heah, are we?” I heard Choogah say, “Leave it, Chet, willya? We ain’t spose ta be heah no how.” “But ah wanna meet thayat nun chick, donchoo?”

I heard that, and couldn’t help myself. “You so much as come near the nun, you’ll be a dead man.” “Dijou heah thayat Choog? Lemme atim!” I stopped walking and waited. Choogah grabbed Chet’s arm and yanked him until they both walked toward the road. When I reached the front door to St Anne’s, I turned, and saw Choogah stomping toward the gas station and his red truck, bow-legged Chester trying to keep up. I knelt in the back row, and prayed to the Lord. I reflected about how many times, even while an altar boy for 5 years, that my faith seemed to flutter like a flame on a candle in a breeze. Believing in God was not an easy task for me. Sometimes the flame would be strong, following its smoke up to the ceiling. Other times the flame seemed to sputter because it had never been easy for me to believe in someone invisible, and who will never be visible to me. But my mother’s belief sustained me so many times. So I thanked the Lord for allowing me to escape having a brawl which would have served no real purpose. But then again, I was able to meet those who might soon become our enemy. It always feels a bit more manageable when you know the opposition. It’s like preparing for a boxing match, all fretful before meeting the opposition, but when you see the one you’re about to fight, he becomes more conquerable. “That must be some deep conversation you’re having with the Lord, Ted, but it’s time to return me to the convent.” “Oh, sorry, Sister. I guess I was deep into something. I’ll tell you about it in the car.” When we were riding along, I asked her how catechism went. “Oh, the children were their usual, very respectful, a bit giggly at times, but I like to make if fun for them. That makes the learning more fun for them, and a bit easier for me.” She paused. I looked in the mirror. She was biting her bottom lip. Then she started again, tearfully, “The kids are actually amazing, full of wonder about angels, and the saints, and God. I have to it it Ted, sometimes

it strikes me that I gave up much more than I’d thought.” She lifted a hanky to her eyes, trying to suppress the tears. “What is it, Sister?” She took a while. I waited, just kept driving, a bit slower than usual. Finally, she burst out, divulging what was inside her. “I’ll never have children like some of those in my class, never have a family, a home, a husband, none of those normal things most women have that make them happy. Never!” She shocked me. She had been like a hand grenade that had been tossed high in the air, and was about land and explode. I thought about what I could do. Finally I said, “Sister Mary Victoria, apparently you don’t understand how special you are.” “No, I’m not!” I interrupted her before she went down that river of self-pity again. “Oh, yes, you are! You will have thousands of children to tend to, not just a few. You will belong to so many families, that will love you and look to you as their savior, while you’re teaching them about God. what you will be doing will be for God and with God. “Tell me, do you believe in God, or is he some invisible being that people talk about but no one ever sees, and therefore doesn’t really exist?” “Of course I believe, Ted, that’s what the catechism is all about.” “Well, can’t you see that you’re someone quite special, giving up a so-called ‘normal life’ for a much higher calling, being so much closer to the Big Guy, your God? I’m actually quite jealous of you!” Sister laughed. “All right, Ted, all right. Stop. And thank you. You are so right. It’s just difficult at times to realize what I left behind, while forgetting what’s ahead of me. But thank you. You were like a shower that poured down on me and cleansed me of my self-pity. You should be a priest, you’re so good at this.”

“Thank you, Sister, but I can’t see myself as a member of the clergy. Maybe I’d like to be a teacher some day.” “Why, that’s great, Ted. I hope you achieve that aspiration.” I looked up, and in the rear view mirror saw the red truck speeding toward us kicking up a trail of dust and sand. I pulled over. It ed by, Chet sticking his ugly head out the window, his yellow teeth in a grin and his blue bandana wagging like a dog’s tail. “That’s what I wanted to tell you about, Sister. Those two confronted me outside the church. I don’t think they’ll be much trouble, but they’re part of a larger group. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re too special.” “Why, thank you, Ted. But I’m not afraid. What are they up to, do you think?” “I think they’re part of a citizen militia protesting the military. I’m not sure.” “Well, God will reveal all to us in the near future. Right, Ted?” “No doubt,” I responded and fearfully accepting sister’s comment like a promise of some disaster.

36 A LEROY RIVERTON VISIT

The following Monday I was typing away in the office, and Father Roland was somewhere else, I don’t know where. His absences were becoming usual with him. I heard rumors that he played golf, which I had trouble believing. I had trouble picturing him, with his big bulging belly, swinging a club. I imagined his arms would be quite tired by the time his driver went all the way back, then attempted to find its way back around that mountain in order to hit the little pellet smiling on the tee, teeheeing, which I took pleasure in contemplating. While I was typing reports, which were just busy work, because sometimes the army required what seemed like unnecessary forms to be filled out regularly just to keep us bees buzzing and flitting around every day. It was nugatory, I say! I thought I heard a knocking on the door, but then figured I was wrong. It was something down the corridor, at some other door, I thought. But then I heard it again, such a gentle tapping sound that I started looking on the floor. Rats? Nothing. But there it was again. I decided it was the door, so I opened it, and I was quite startled. Hat in his hand, standing there was a black man. I mean he was negroid, but there are many tones of color in that race. Some are tan, some are brown, some are deep brown, but then, some are black. This man, whom I recognized at last, was black, inkwell black. “Why, you’re Leroy Riverton! Come in, Mr. Riverton, please.” He walked in slowly, hat in hand. His walk was awkward, slow, with his right foot turned inward. He almost, but not quite, dragged it, but then lifted it. His face was wide around the cheeks, and he had a small mustache, greying a bit which made him look a bit distinguished. I held out my hand to him. He hesitated, but took it this time, and we shook. “Come and sit down, sir.” I pointed to the chair by the chaplain’s desk, which I was using.

He sat. “Y’all don’ got no call to ‘sir’ me, suh. Ah knows mah place.” “I didn’t mean to insult you Mr Riverton.” “Y’all kin call me Leroy, suh.” His eyes moved back and forth, around me, but never directly at me. He was obviously uncomfortable. “Okay, Leroy. How can I help you?” “Well, first off, Ah need cleanin’ stuff. Another mop, cleanin’ soaps fer the baffrooms, wax, an’ some clean rags fer the altar.” “Okay, I’ll order all of that for you. It might take a few days, but it will be delivered. Anything else?” “Well….” He sat uneasily, rocking side to side. “Well, Ah know it’s prolly non’ve mah business, but, ya see, suh, Ah’m a God fearin’ man, an’ dere’s jes’ some things Ah don’ lak. It’s unnatur’l, n’ he’s a holy man, ain’t he?” “Wait, what? Are you referring to the chaplain, the priest, Father Carpenter?” “Ah dunno, dat’s his name, the priest, Carpenter? Ain’t dat a name fer a man who hammer and saws?” “Usually, Leroy, but in this case he’s supposed to hammer sins out of people and nail them to the good life. But tell me what you’ve been seeing. This goes on at night when you’re working there?” “Das right. Well, y’all don’ know, but dere are some rooms mos’ people don’ know bout, but I does. Ya see, dere’s anudder room b’hind the altar mos’ people nevah see’d, but ah know ’bout it. An anudder one up d’steps fer dat bell place.” “You mean the belfry?” “Yeah, dassit, de belfry. An’ it ain’ no use lockin’ dem cause ah got’s da keys to ever room in dat church!” I took out a pen, and started doodling on a pad. I felt nervous, almost hesitant to find out what Leroy was about to tell me, but I knew I had to hear it. It seemed almost as if it was something I’d expected. I saw the signs.

“Wait!” I said. I got up and locked the door. I knew the chaplain had a key, but the unlocking would give us a heads up. “Go ahead, Leroy. What did you see?” “Well, it ain’t as if Ah done saw, but my ears done seen it. Y’ know, mumblin’ an’ moanin’ an’ sometimes low yellin’ an’ cryin’, den all’s quiet lak, an hushhushin’.” “Did you see anyone?” Yeah, sometames a tall youngun’ an’ sometames a diffrunt youngun’. An’ Ah lak ta kick somebody, ‘f ah din’t have such a bum leg’s Ah gots.” He paused. Then he stared at me. “Ah knows you jes a youngun’ y’sef, but y’all seem lak a straight one, Ah kin trust. So thar ’tis. Ah dun tol’ someone. Mah cahscience is shed of it. So whatcha goin’ do?” I thought about it. I knew it was something I didn’t want to jump right into, without considering all of the consequences. “I don’t know yet, Leroy, but I will do something, and all that business will stop, I guarantee it. But not right away. I want to do this the right way.” “Why wait?” “First, I don’t want you to get into trouble. Then I want to find out all the facts. Just some moans aren’t enough, Leroy. So do me a favor and don’t tell anyone about this. No one. Understand?” “Yessuh, Ah do. I din’t think about dat, dat it maght git me inta trouble. I don’ plan on doin’ anythin’, so nuffin’ s’all Ah’ll do.” “Okay. Thank you, Leroy Riverton. I mean that. It took guts to take time in the day to come here. I appreciate that.” I held out my hand to him. He shook it, and limped his way out the door. After he left, I sat, staring at the desk, just imagining what that priest was thinking. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking. I guess people like that are driven by something deep within them, or deep within their own pasts that haunt them like some evil Satan, that forces them to seek the thrill and hope, or pray, there will be no consequences. But what about poor s Plustoni, or whoever else

Father Roland was ravaging. I knew some night maneuvers were going to be necessary for me.

37 CONFESSION, AND THEN SOME

As I drove away from the convent, I was pleased about how our relationship was smoothed over. I didn’t wish to have our one incident affect our relationship on the catechism trips. It would have been a pretty uncomfortable ride each way, as though there were holes in the road. This way, all seemed newly paved. When I reached Mile 21, I slowly ed it, then turned to my second spying spot, higher up. I stepped out of the car and stood carefully behind a tree, being sure that very little of my body or head could be seen. Through the binoculars I saw Choogah and Chester standing at attention in front of an older man, who wore a tan shirt but blue work pants. They must have sped here. The older man seemed to be yelling at my two “friends,” waving his hand, then showing his fist. That’s about all I saw of interest, so I hopped back into the car and drove away. I planned to report to Robbie first chance I saw. I would try on Sunday. If not, it would hold until Monday. At least I had some names to give him. I was also glad that General Thompson was aware of my involvement. As the car ate up the miles, my mind was a muddle of thoughts, sort of like puzzle pieces being dropped from the box and lying there in a pile. I thought of my Pauley, wondering what she was doing, and what her brother Georgy was up to in Japan. I had to write a letter to Darren in Boston too, really soon. I’ll bet he was still dejected in bereavement over his Aunt Lilith’s death. So many of the faces flew in my mind, I was approaching the point of dangerous driving. Saturday, this was confession night. I knew I wasn’t ready to confess to Father Roland, because of the type of man I thought he was. But I thought this would be a fitting night to do a bit of investigating into the mysterious rooms of the church. So I planned to eat chow as soon as I returned, and change into fatigues. Then I would get to the chapel early like a secret agent and gather intelligence

that might become useful just in case. In case of what? It depended upon what I discovered and whether it became necessary to divulge any or all of it. I ate chow with Bobby and Jules, then excused myself, saying I had to get to church early to set up a few things for Mass. A lie, but that helped me arrive at the church before any mysterious things occurred. Sorry, Mom, and God, but I believe some lies are necessary to avoid jeopardizing friendships or awkwardness. I know. I can hear Father Drew chanting, “You cannot do evil, so that good may come.” Sorry, Father, but I disagree. I can think of countless cases where a small lie can save a person’s pride, or even his life. I believe it’s what’s in the person’s heart when he lies for a nobler purpose. So, when I entered the church, none of the lights were on. The dim glow that flowed through the windows was all I needed. I first decided to look behind the altar. There were some long white and red curtains that draped down, revealing the crucifix in the middle opening. Behind the right side I discovered just a bare wall. There were some holes in it, signifying to me something like a picture hung there at one time. To the left was where I found some similar holes, but I detected a straight line, indicating to me there was an opening. I pushed and the wall moved begrudgingly, scraping along the bottom. At last it was open enough for me to squeeze in, but it was like a closet. I saw what appeared to be another door. I decided to come back at another time when I had a flashlight. I pulled the outer portal as close to being sealed as possible. I thought I just had enough time to get up to search for the room near the belfry before Father Roland arrived to hear confessions. I realized I did not have a key to the room, but I would try to find its location and see if it would open. So I opened a door that led to the flight of stairs. I found a light switch, and started up. I soon discovered that it wound its way upward and there was no handrail. Up I ascended, but the more turns I made, the darker it became. Suddenly I heard what sounded like voices whispering above me. I heard “Don’t!” then a cooing sound. I waited, thinking, considering what options I had. I knew he (assuming it was the priest) would be descending soon, to prepare for the confessional. I thought about confronting him and whoever else was with him, but didn’t feel I had enough evidence yet. Say nothing? Ignore it for now? What should I do?

Suddenly I had it. I would attack from within. So I retreated quickly down the stairs, turned out the light, and headed for the pews. I chose one up front toward the altar on the side where I would not be readily noticed. I made the sign of the cross, and prayed for strength and wisdom. If what I suspected turned out to be true, it could involve me in something way over my head. Who was I, but a private in the army for only a few months about to enter a situation where I could end up in great trouble? It would be like entering the ring against the great Joe Louis. One swing from him and I’d go flying out over the ropes in seconds. But I felt I had no choice. I had to do what I thought was the proper, moral thing to do. I also had to try save poor Francis from what seemed like a Hell that could destroy him. That settled it. I called on Mom, Sister Vickie, God, to help me please, if they deemed me worthy. Then I espied Father Roland all dressed in his robe, swishing his way into the confessional. The soldiers were kneeling in the pews closest to the confessional, waiting their turns to reveal their sins, and be told their penance. I went back and sat in a pew next to them, waiting my turn. One soldier would enter behind the curtain to the left of the priest’s closet, and another would enter behind the curtain to the right. I could hear the “s” sounds of the whisperings hissing going back and forth between the sinners and the priest. I prepared what I would “confess” to Father Roland, and waited. At last it was my turn to take the curtained room on the right side, so I entered and knelt facing the left where there was a little window. I could hear the sounds of praying and the spaces of silence, then Father Roland’s voice, saying words, “my son,” and “forgiveness,” penance.” Then the closing slide of the window covering, a pause, and the opening slide of the window in front of me. I waited. He waited.

I covered my face to make sure he couldn’t recognize me.

At last he grumped, “If anyone’s there, start speaking!” I answered with a low, gruff voice. “Bless me, fadder, for my sins. I taked the Lord’s name, ya know, I cussed lots.” “Yes, go on.” “’N I bin sneakin’ aroun’ the church, y’know here, an’ I clumb those stairs, y’know, right above us, ta look at them organs, an clumb the wrong steps I tink, cause I heard stuff.” “What? What kind of stuff?” “Ah dunno fer sure, but it sounded lak kissin’ an’ whisprin’, ye know, or was it jes’ pigeons, ah’m not fer sure, ony it d’pends what mah lips bein’ sealed are worth, y’know?” I started opening the curtain, ready to escape. “Who? What? Tell me, my son, what it is you suspect?” I left and hurried out the front entrance so he couldn’t open his door and recognize me. My next move was to hurry to Able Company Barrack and wait for s. I sat on the steps and waited. Some soldiers went in and others came out, but none of them was s. I didn’t think he’d be back so soon, because no doubt he was still at or near the chapel. At least that was what I suspected. Suddenly I heard a voice from the past! “Hey! Is that you, Byrum? I never expected to see you here!” I knew I’d heard the voice before, but couldn’t connect it with anyone I knew. It was a distant echo of a voice, from some mountain in my past, but I knew it wasn’t that distant. Then I looked again as he neared me at the bottom of the steps. It struck me suddenly. I saw once again the scenes with this man, openly, brazenly homosexual, bullying his one “friend,” and threatening others with death, and forming his hand into a claw. And I saw again clearly how a mob of soldiers were kicking

and beating him with sticks and, and how I almost blundered my way into trouble, complaining about the “military” method of dealing with homosexuals. “Lit’burn? Hey, you’re still here, eh?” I answered. “Oh, that’s right. Finishing jump school. How are you doing now?” “I’m doing quite well, actually, thanks to you. I’m straight arrow, and leading the class in every part of jump school.” “That’s great. Your first name is Regis, isn’t it?” “Yes, and I yours. It’s Ted.” “No incidents?” I noticed his body had imposing muscle tone. His bruises had faded quite well. “No, I don’t even look at anyone in a sexual way. That doesn’t fit here in the military.” “Good for you!’ I held out my hand to him. He shook it. “I want to thank you again. I thought you were going overseas.” “They changed my orders. Now I’m working out of the chaplain’s office. Don’t know why, but there must be some reason. By the way, I’m supposed to check up on Private s Plustoni. Know him?” “Sure, everyone knows him. He’s tall and could be imposing, but he acts, how should I say it, quite effeminate. Always seems on the verge of crying.” “Well, keep an eye on him, would you, as a favor?” “Sure. Gotta go and write a letter home before lights out.” He held his hand out. Thanks again for sticking up for me. I know I didn’t deserve it.” “But you didn’t deserve the mob-beating either!” “I guess not. I don’t know. Anyway, hope to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Maybe you’ll be around when we get pinned?”

“Maybe. I’ll try.” He left. Then I was startled to hear, “Can I help you, soldier?” It was the same corporal I’d spoken to last time I was there to see s. “I’m just here to talk to Private Plustoni, corporal. Something to do with the chaplain.” “Not in trouble, is he?” “I don’t think so. How’s he doing in jump school?” “He’s like so many of them, scared and slow, but coming around, I think. Next week is the final. He’s got to jump out of the real thing, not just some tower.” “Well, I’ll wait a little while longer.” “Suit yourself, soldier.” He entered the barrack. I sat, thinking about Litburn. Writing a letter. Good. That reminded me, I’d better write a few also. Then I saw s Plustoni, walking dreamily it seemed, his head down, walking slowly, mumbling to himself. “s?” I said, gently. I didn’t wish to startle or frighten him. He stopped. “Who? What?” His face seemed pale in the dark, and he held his arms up to his body in a defensive maneuver. “It’s just me, from the chaplain’s office, , Ted, Ted Byrum,” “Oh, oh, yeah. What? Did Father Roland send you?” “No, I’m here on my own, s. I’m just making sure you’re safe and well. I know next week is your week with the final jumps. Are you fit, physically? And mentally?” “Why? Dddid someone say sssomething? I think I’m okay for jumping out of the

plane. I just have to close my eyes and throw myself out. If I die, who will grieve me? Not me, I’ll tell you. I don’t care anymore. I guess that’s the answer for my mental state too, isn’t it?” He put his fists up. “ I beat you down once! I’ll do it again, if I have to.” I smiled to myself. Maybe it was selective memory, or he really believed it happened that way. “That’s right, Private. , you can be tough. And if anyone tries anything with you, just think about how you beat me down. I don’t care who it is, you can beat him!” “You damn right!” he responded, sticking his chest out. “By the way have you seen Father Roland lately?” “What? Why do you ask?” His whole body tensed like a puma that sniffs possible danger nearing. “I would just despise seeing anyone get in trouble with the priest. Rumors have been spreading about him. I just don’t want to see a nice young man like you getting entrapped in any spidery webs that might be set to entrap you.” “What do you mean?” I reed, “That’s all I can say at this juncture, Private Plustoni. Just be aware of what you get involved in, okay? Don’t let any spiders treat you as a fly. Just how big and tall and tough you are. I walked away with him staring at me. I just hoped this would solve one portion of the problem. Time to go back and write some letters.

38 I AM PROMOTED

One day in the barrack, when we were discussing Christmas plans, I still recall vividly my excitement, and at the same time, apprehension, when a corporal entered the barrack, and told me I was summoned to the General’s office “posthaste,” which caused a stir amongst the others. Jules queried, “Not another baseball lesson this early, Ted?” I responded nervously, “I don’t have any idea. I know it’s not concerning baseball, because it’s the middle of the week. We only did that on Saturdays. And we don’t do that anymore, since I’ve been transporting the nun for catechism. Besides, it’s too cold and wintry out there now.” “Well, you’d better go there in your class A uniform, and go post-hastily.” He smiled. “Wha’sup, Teddy?” asked Bobby. “I have no idea, but I’d better hustle.” I was dressed, but gave my boots a quick brush. “Hope he ain’t goin’ give ye privy duty!” “It won’t be my first time cleaning the latrine!” I said as I left. On my brief walk I recalled the last time I worked in the latrine, and the vision of Timothy Murphy appeared when he saved me as I was fainting and descending to the floor. He hated me, yet he saved me. Strange. Why this scene reappeared to me at this time, I could not fathom. I do know, as it turned out, that this was a turning point in our relationship, and in his reversal into a soldier and man without bitterness and anger at the world. As I walked to the general’s office I heard the cadence count of the trainees as

they marched toward, what I presumed was the airport. The fear I had of my first jumps floated back to me like evil spirits, trying to haunt me again. I hoped these men did well, including Regis Litburn. I arrived at the istrative building, and in the clerk’s office leading up to the general’s, I saw Randy, dressed neatly in his class A uniform, which is what he usually wore, I guessed, seated at his desk. “Hey, Ted, they’re waiting for you. You’re in deep doo-doo now, kid!” He wore a wide grin. Better knock first.” When I reached the general’s door, the sign, “General D.T. Thompson” greeted me. I stood at attention and knocked. “Come!” I opened the door and the general shouted, “At ease! Catch!” and a baseball was lobbed at me. I caught it, and looked around. Beside the general, was Robbie, Lieutenant Robson, that is. Much to my surprise, beside them were Sergeant Scafura, and Lieutenant Smithson! And beside them was someone I’d never seen. He had a colonel’s brass on him. I awkwardly dropped the baseball and stood at attention. “Sir! I mean, sirs! reporting.” “At ease, soldier!” the three officers bellowed at the same time. I stood at parade rest, even though my body wasn’t really resting. I felt as stiff as the door I just walked through. “Private Byrum reporting, sir!” Lieutenant Robson exclaimed, “Congratulations, Theodore Byrum, as of today, you will be a private first class. Shake hands, Pfc!” He came forward and pumped my hand up and down. General Thompson added, “Bravo, young man.” Then he turned to the colonel, “He’s the one I was telling you about, Ham. I think he’d be a good choice. Private First Class Byrum, let me introduce you to Colonel Hamilton Dempsey. Colonel, this is Theodore Byrum, private first class. You can do the honors.” The colonel stepped forward. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous stick of a man. He stalked, rather than walked up to me, looked down because he was so tall, studied my face, then saluted me, and in a low scratchy voice, said,

“Congratulations Private Byrum,” then held his hand out to me to shake. I did so, and he handed me my stripes. Actually, it was one stripe in the shape of an upside-down V connected on the bottom by a curved stripe in the shape of a single rocking chair. I saluted the colonel and thanked him. His hand felt more like I was shaking long, meatless bones. His head, which was three-fourths bald shined under the light. He had a stare which seemed to penetrate, an eagle stare I thought. “Now, are you ready for some serious talk, Private Byrum?” “Yessir, I think so.” The colonel explained that I wasn’t just chosen at random to be involved in the “psychological warfare and spy game.” He turned and pointed to Lieutenant Smithson, Sergeant Scafura and Lieutenant Robson. “According to these gentlemen, you’ve shown a bit of intelligence, besides being, as a few of them said, ‘A genuine pain in the ass.’ But for the most part, they all agreed that you’re honest, and you’re not afraid to question things beyond the surface, sometimes too deeply at times, but always sincerely.” He turned to the others. “Can all agree that this is a valid summary?” The two officers nodded and mumbled agreement. Sarge hesitated then nodded. “So, it turned out to be a fortunate accident that you found the unhappy dissidents camping out on the base. It gave you a chance to get involved in some of the activities we are forced to get immersed in, here in the states. I believe there will be more promotions for you in the near future.” “Thank you, sir!” Colonel Dempsey said, “What is your reaction to all this, Private Byrum?” I didn’t know how to react. “I, I don’t know what to say, sir.” I looked at Sergeant Scafura, and ed all the times he’d put me down as worthless. “I mean, sir, I don’t understand most of what’s been going on lately. I’m just a kid, 18 years old, and it feels like the major leagues are calling me, when I haven’t even seen the minors yet.”

I felt my enemy, self-pity, attempting to enter the door of my emotions, and fought the tears that could easily have flooded the ducts and come forth. But, damn it, no, not this time. I glanced at the grin on Sarge’s face. He seemed to be communicating failure to me. That got to me. I felt sparks of anger lighting in me. I took a deep breath and stood tall. I was not a child, nor would I act as one, damn it! I started again. “Maybe I don’t comprehend all that’s involved, sir, but I’m ready to try to tackle it, no matter what. Maybe there’ll be some curve balls pitched at me, but I’ll try be ready for them.” The general smiled. “Good, now what shall we do about the citizen rebels? I don’t want this to grow into some major incident, but we must avoid bad press if at all possible. Agreed? The colonel agreed aloud, then said, “Let’s sit around this table and discuss.” The others nodded and mumbled “Yessir!” We sat at the long table in the conference room. The general queried, “So what do we know so far? Anyone?” I hesitated. “I met two of them on Saturday, sir. I told Lieutenant Robson about it briefly.” “Repeat it to all here, Ted. Okay?” “Well, when we got to St. Anne’s Catholic church in McCain, I dropped Sister Mary off at the entrance. That’s where she teaches catechism. Sister went into the church, and I parked the car. Then these two men, or boys, came across the street to talk to me. They both wore blue jeans with khaki-colored shirts and blue bandanas. The tall one, who looked to be about 20 years old, wore it around his neck. The short one, who looked like a kid of 15 or 16 wore his on his head, looking foolish.” “What did they want with you, son?” the colonel asked. “I don’t think they knew, sir. The short one said the fort belonged to everyone, so they had a right to be there. He’s the one who wanted to start a fight. But the

taller one, who called himself Choogah, held him back. The colonel interrupted. “Choogah? What in hell kind of name is that?” I answered. “I don’t know, sir, but I think it might be something they called him when he was a little kid, which came out like a southern accent for “Sugar,” but I don’t know.” Lieutenant Smithson reed, “Sounds very lak ‘sugah’ ta me suh.” The general laughed, “So, that’s what we’ll call him, until we learn more about it. But do we have a plan of action?” Lieutenant Robson said, “I have a plan, sir, but it might be a bit dangerous.” “Let’s hear it, Robbie,” the colonel said. After an hour, we all agreed, and I left, telling Randy I’d see him later.

39 LETTERS HOME AND BEYOND

December, 1953 Dear Pauley,

I’m sorry to take so long in responding, my sweetheart, but I’ve been running around quite a bit lately. The army can sure get me in a race at times, and I feel as if I’m lagging behind puffing away, trying to catch up. I thank you for your last letter, and I am justly chastised for saying things like my allowing your freedom with others. I certainly do not want you to be with other men. But I do hope you have some women friends to keep you company, beside Cousin Laura. By the way, say hello to her for me. I want to say hello to Georgy through this letter, if you don’t mind. This will be about what I’ve been involved in lately, and it is intended to keep you informed, also. Hey, Georgy, I hope all goes well in Japan. It’s the island of Kyushu, the southern-most, if I correctly. I envy your traveling to a country so far away, and I envy what you’re seeing, the people you’re meeting, and the language you’re learning. Tell me about some of it if you get a chance. Just write through Pauley, and that way she can stay enlightened about what the many activities we’re involved in are. Pauley can be like a priest, hearing our confessions, but they won’t be sins. They’ll be actions. So, I’ve been working in the chaplain’s office, and altar boying on Sundays. The priest is a bit chunky, who munches many cookies. I don’t like way he gets involved with some of the parishioners. That’s all I can say at this point. But I

don’t like where it’s going. On Saturdays I have the extra responsibility of picking up a nun in one city, then driving her to another so she can teach the young ones their catechism. Sister Mary Victoria is very nice, and courageous, also. I say that because there are some tough guys camping out on the post and she shows no fear. That brings me to another activity I’ve been involved in, but I cannot divulge what it is. Enough said about that. And guess what? I went with a small group to Rusty’s Water Hole where some of us had a little rumble. I’ll explain another time. No one was hurt. Also, three of us got tattoos. Mine is high on my left shoulder of a parachute descending through wings, just like our pins. I hope my mom and Pauley don’t disapprove. :) Stay well my friend, and try to write. P.S. Some of us are working on increasing our vocabularies. Here’s a new one: nugatory. So that’s it, my lovely, Pauley. And thanks again for reminding me I have a birthday coming up. The years tell me how young I am, but I suddenly feel so much older. Am I changing that much? All my love, my darling, forever and beyond. Ted

P.S. Each night I see you again, on the swing set, confessing your love to me, and feeling again how startled I felt, as though Joe Louis had knocked me dizzy, but how intoxicated I became, as though I’d inhaled your words and become a new and special person. You did that to me, my love.

December 1953

Dear Mom, Dad and family,

All is well here in North Carolina, I think. Guess what? I’m going to be promoted to Private First Class very soon. It might mean a few more dollars, I think, but not any more power or prestige, not that I want any, anywho, you know. Working in the chaplain’s office has been a bit of a challenge at first, but I’m getting used to the office work. I serve mass for Father Roland Carpenter on Sundays, and doing okay. I met the general of the post, and had the honor of teaching him how to throw a curve ball, and a knuckler! Boy, am I glad I practiced pitching with Sonny and the team for so long. Also, each Saturday, I sign a car out of the motor pool, and drive to one city, pick up a nun at the convent, and drive her for miles to another city so she can teach catechism to some children. It’s quite an honor, and the nun, a Sister Mary Victoria, is very nice and kind. Also, a number of us went down town to Fayetteville, the city close to the base, and three of us got tattoos! Two of them had been drinking. I had just one beer, but I decided to put a permanent picture on my arm, boasting of my being a paratrooper. My tattoo is on my upper arm so a tee shirt can hide it. It’s interesting to me that the word tattoo also imitates the sound of drums used in certain armies to call the troops back home. Yes, my friends and I have been studying vocabulary words to increase our knowledge. It can’t hurt, right? For example, did you know that the derivation of the word, “enthusiasm,” means god inspired. From the Greek I think. But, anyway, I’m enthusiastic about increasing my education whenever I’m able. Also, I do plan on going on to college, using the GI Bill, which will contribute to my education, and my future. It’s almost “lights out,” so I should conclude, but I must say hello to Anthony. “Hey, my brother. Stay well and help your mother and father, will you? I don’t plan on being “big-banged” any time soon, so I will return, maybe to go fishing,

would you like that? So long to everyone, Mom, Dad. Love, PFC Theodore Byrum

P. S. We had a jump the end of November, and all went well again. We had a chance to fly out the door with the general, General Dennis Thompson, who, of course, didn’t have to do it, but he likes to be with the men, I think. He must have been quite a leader in WW2, I bet. Most of us had no problem, because we’re used to doing it properly, checking each other’s equipment, leaping out the door clear, (not just falling out) holding onto, and steering with, the risers, and landing using all the soft body parts. But one man, Abe, a tall, skinny shell of a man, confessed he always spends the night before a jump, pooping with the runs, so frightened he knows his shorts will be brown and he’ll be pale with be terror each jump. When we landed, he was so weak, I had to almost carry him off the drop zone. Don’t worry about your son, because for me, it’s almost routine.

40 SEWING PFC STRIPES AND PLOTTING

At the Quartermaster’s I ordered several more PFC stripes for my uniforms, and back in the barrack, I started to sew one on a sleeve, until Jules stopped me, uttering, “What in sam hill are you attempting to do, Theodore?” I reed, “This is what happened in the general’s office, Jules. I was promoted. So I thought I should sew these stripes on, but I’ve never sewn before.” “That’s an understatement! Give me those stripes and needle.” He took them from me, pulled his footlocker up to his bunk, sat down, and commenced to work on my sleeves, one at a time. He worked the needle in and out, skillfully. “By the way, did you inform the CO here? Captain Parnell?” “Yes, I saw him, and he wasn’t too happy to find the general’s signature there before he signed on the line above, which is the usual procedure. He asked me what in hell I was up to, but I told him, I wasn’t able to answer that, under orders. He said to get the hell out of his office.” Jules kept sewing. Then he stopped, and commenced putting another thread in his mouth and pushing it through the eye of the needle. As he sewed, he quietly declared, “I know something quite unusual is happening to you, or for you, and I assume you don’t want any of us to know what this is, but if you need help, just let me know. We might be able to help.” He picked up another shirt and continued sewing on the PFC stripes, one on each arm. Then I realized that this might be the best time to introduce my assignment, to Jules and Brian and Bobby. So I sat next to Jules and said, almost in a whisper, “As a matter of fact, there is something I’d like to ask you and Bobby and Brian. If you say you’d rather not, I will understand.” Jules stopped and looked at me. “I knew it was something. Are you kidding? I’ve been getting bored here. We need a bit of excitement, a bit of intrigue. What is it?” He waited, expectant.

I paused and looked around. Others in the barrack seemed busy with their own affairs by their bunks shining shoes or writing letters. “I have to visit two of the surrounding cities, but not alone. I don’t want to seem like anything more than just a guy going to a bar or two, having a beer and meeting some of the locals.” “What’s so novel about that? Where’s the intrigue? Isn’t that something similar to what we’ve been doing in our downtown visits already?” “Well, on my trips to the city of Mt. Pleasant to pick up the nun, and then taking her to the city of McCain, I’ve spotted some civilian dissidents who seem to be plotting against the army, and maybe even our government, so my assignment is to visit these cities, sort of innocently like guys just out for a beer and a good time, while we’re being observant of possible agitators against our country.” Jules stopped sewing. “Well, now, that’s not mundane at all. But it could be a bit dangerous, couldn’t it?” “Yes, but I don’t want you to do it if you’re the least hesitant.” Jules reed, “No, no, no. Don’t get me wrong. Count me in, definitely. I’m scared, but excited. I want to do it. Can we trust the others?” “That’s the tricky part of this, Jules. I’d like to keep this confidential, just between the two of us until we find we have to reveal the assignment.” “Good idea. So you’re involved in deeper waters than most would expect. Are you sure you’re a good enough swimmer?” “No,” I whispered. “Tell the truth, I’m pretty scared, but I like the challenge. I’m going to try to swim until I think I’m about to drown. Then I might have to call for a life preserver. But I don’t think the powers involved will let me try to tread deeper, dangerous waters by myself for too long.” “But why Bobby, and why Brian?” “Brian is uneducated, but very sharp, I think. And Bobby speaks the language of the South, so he could lend some authenticity to our visits to the local saloons. And I suspect Bobby is a bit more clever than he appears. Agreed?”

“Good idea. Okay, let’s do it Friday night.” I concurred. Then I called Brian and Bobby over. “You guys want to visit a different city this Friday? We can go west to the little village of McCain.” Brian said, “Sounds like fun. Hope nobody gets inebriated then!” Jules responded, “Good one, Brian. I guarantee I won’t drink too much. I’ll be driving.” Bobby said, “Ah’ll be a’comin’ along, too. But ah nevah drank no nebriate stuff. What in hell is it? Some kinda ale?” “No,” said Jules. “Inebriation just a fancy way of saying you’re getting drunk, Bobby. We’ve been practicing our vocabularies, ?” “Oh, oh, raght. Ah member. Mah mama nev’did approve a mah drinkin’ nohow.” I added, “We don’t need to get drunk, Bobby. Maybe we’ll meet some interesting people in McCain. If not, we can just shoot pool or something.” Brian said, “Good idea. I’m pretty good at shootin’ pool.” Jules said, “Well, I’m pretty horrible at it, so we’ll have to play partners, okay?” “I’ll be your partner, Jules. We’ll stomp them to the ground,” I challenged. Brian jumped in, “You think so? They don’t stand a chance, do they Bobby?”

41 THE CHAPLAIN IS CURIOUS

I was in the chaplain’s office early one morning, typing away in my little room when Father Roland entered. He said, “Mornin’ Private Byrum.” He walked over to my door. “You been talking to Private s Plustoni lately?” He stared directly at me, with a threatening face. “I think I saw him a few nights ago, Father. We didn’t say much though. Why?” “Just mind your own business, do you hear?” He looked down at my sleeves. I see you’ve been promoted. I can knock you back down in an instant. Did you hear that? In an instant!” “Yes sir! I guess you can, if you have a reason.” “I don’t need a damn reason, damn it. I can do it on a whim, if I want!” “Yes sir.” I looked up at him innocently. “Have I done something, Father?” “I don’t know, have you? Have you been in the Confessional lately?” I wondered what he knew. Or was he just probing. “I guess that’s confidential, sir. I don’t think I have to answer that, do I?” He slammed his fist on the door. “You do if I say you do, damn it!” I stared at him, innocently, blinking my eyes. He glared at me. Then he stomped his way to his own desk. He sat and stared for a moment, then pulled his drawer open to grab a chocolate cookie, one of his addictions, I was sure, but not as bad as his other one, I guessed. He tore the wrapping open, with his teeth, and started chomping, as if he were about to consume someone’s flesh. For a second I thought I heard a snort.

But I was wondering if I had been effective in alarming him of others being aware of his activities. But I had to it, I really had no evidence, no facts of the priest’s guilt, and yet I had no doubt of what he was doing. I just did not know how many other “victims” were involved. What should I do? I could not confront him without real proof. The facts were there, but they were invisible. Present them in a courtroom and they could be refuted easily. Poof, and they’d disappear. And what about the janitor, Leroy Riverton? I certainly did not want to bring him into the picture. Why ruin his career? He followed his conscience and came forward bravely. Why punish someone for doing the right thing? But Leroy did say he had keys to all the rooms of the church. What other rooms were there where clandestine affairs could go on? No, let it go, I told myself. I decided to let it all settle down like leaves after a strong wind had ed. The telephone rang. Father Roland snatched it up quickly. “Father Roland! Uh, yes he’s here, colonel. One moment, please. For you!” He stared at me, half curious, and half unnerved. “This is Private Byrum, sir.” “Just curious, young man, how are your plans going?” Father Roland was staring and listening. “All is a go for this Friday, sir. Can I give you more details later?” “I understand. He’s listening. Okay, call the general’s man, Randy, as soon as you can. We have something you should be aware of. A bit of . Got it?” “Yes sir!” He hung up. “What was that all about, Private? Have you been calling people about me?” He tried to look threatening, but didn’t succeed. His fear was tucked under his question like a child frightened of the dark. “No, father, this was about my promotion.”

“Okay. Just mind your own business. Understand?” “Yes sir!” I resumed my typing, convinced the activity in the church would be curtailed, for a short while at least. Who knew, possibly forever. But that made me grin. The poor priest was too deep in his night-time addiction, and I doubted he’d be able to find the strength to climb out of that pit.

42 I VISIT RANDY

I saw Randy in the mess hall, seated with some men from his barrack, so I just tapped him on the soldier, and said, “See you after chow?” “Yeah, Ted, meet you by the door, okay?” “Okay!” I finished chow early, and left Jules and the others, saying I’ve got to have a little confab with Randy. I winked at Jules when the others weren’t looking. He nodded, conspiratorially. I talked to Cookie for a few minutes. He asked, “What kinda trouble are y’all gittin’ inta now, young Ted?” “None yet, Cookie.” I ed how he interrupted my disastrous battle with so many black men, when I was trying to save Private Washington, a black friend of mine. “Will you come to my rescue again if I need you?” “I sho will, soldier!” He gave me his wide, beaming smile that always made me feel so welcome. It felt like a furry jacket on a winter’s night. Outside the exit of the mess hall, I waited until Randy came out. When he did, he was dressed as usual, in his neat, class A uniform, tie and all, which is what he usually wore when working in the general’s office. He pushed his hair back with his hands, then put on his hat. “Hey, Ted, haven’t seen you since your promotion in that big meeting with all the brass. Did the colonel call you?” “Yes, but he couldn’t tell me anything. The chaplain was very interested in what some colonel had to say to me. So what’s the news?” Randy looked around. Since so many others were leaving the mess hall, he grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s take a walk, okay?” He let go of my arm

quickly, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about the two of us. We walked toward the baseball field, slowly. The sun was fading in the west, but leaving a brownish, crimson color, and my eyes seemed to devour such a sky before it faded into the past. “Isn’t that sky fantastic, Randy? It kind of makes our little problems tiny for a few moments, doesn’t it?” He stared for a few seconds. “Sure does. But I should get this out before anyone interrupts our conversation. Have you made arrangements for the weekend?” “Yes, it’s all set for Friday night. I told my friend, Jules, the whole story, but kept it secret from Abe, Brian and Bobby. They’re on a need-to-know basis. I figured the fewer understanding what our purpose is, the better.” Randy stopped. “Good thinking, Ted. I like the way you’re going about this. I wish I could get involved, but the general hesitated, because too many people have seen me connected with him, and that could invite problems he’d like not to happen at this time.” “That’s a bit disappointing. It would have been great to have you along. But, we’ll deal with this. I don’t think much will come of this visit, so it could be one big disappointment.” “As the colonel told me,” and here Randy lowered his voice, trying to sound like the general, “we could easily kick those bastards off the base, but then where in hell would they be and what would they be up to? Involve news reporters?” I laughed. “Good imitation. But the colonel was right. Where would they be? So it’s best they camp out where they are, where we can find them. So what’s this new intelligence you’re supposed to tell me about?” Randy leaned over to wipe some dust off his boots. While down, he looked all around. He straightened his tie and tucked it in neatly, glancing . There were men on the street beyond the baseball diamond, but none close enough to overhear anything he was about to say. After pausing again, he finally said, “As long as you tell me where you’ll be and when, I can inform the colonel. He and Lieutenant Robson have selected someone under cover, disguised as a local who can be around, not with your group, but close by to protect or perhaps keep you out of trouble. So where will

you be this, what was it, Friday?” As we walked along, I noticed how dark it was getting. We turned around. “We’ll leave about 18:30, driving there. We’re going to hit some of the bars in Mt Pleasant. I don’t know exactly where they are, so we’re going to have to wing it.” Randy thought a minute. “I know, I’ll tell the colonel, and maybe this mysterious person will check out the local bars and let us know their locations. Good idea?” “I’ll say! Otherwise we’ll just be driving around, but it’s a small town. That would be a great help, though, Randy. Thanks!” “You bet, Ted. Now, what about you? Are you okay with all this cloak and dagger danger?” “I think so. I it, I’m scared, because I’ve never done anything like this. I just don’t want to screw this up for, for the colonel, for you know, my country, man.” Randy said, “From what I’ve heard about you, you’ll do it well. They say, there’s some tough core in you that drives you toward the right thing. Okay, enough of that. I’ll be in . Stay out of trouble.” He jogged away back toward his barrack. I felt somewhat relieved. At least we wouldn’t have to go into a strange town blind. As I walked back, I saw the last embers of the sun before it burned out.

43 A LIBRARY TRIP

Before I returned to Able Barrack, I saw the light on in the library, so I decided to visit Mrs. Cates, who might offer some aid in a few things I was curious about. I entered, and apparently the slight squeal of the door alerted the librarian of a customer. She came around a corner of a row of books. Apparently no one else was in there. She wore a light brown skirt and tan blouse. Her light brown hair with grey streaks rained down in waves onto her shoulders. I guessed she had a date. As she walked past me, I noticed an exciting fragrance. I couldn’t resist exclaiming, “Wow, what a great aroma! May I ask what it’s called?” “Hello, young man. What brings you here so late?” She looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ll be closing in about 30 minutes. My perfume? It’s called Shalimar, one of my favorites. It has vanilla, jasmine, and bergamot, which is an orange, in it, even though I know you’re not interested in the ingredients.” “You’re right, madam librarian. But it would make a great gift for my girlfriend.” She smiled at that. “A bit expensive for you, I wager.” “Well, I know you’re in a hurry. I was just curious about a few things, and I thought maybe you could help me. What can you tell me about the city of Mt. Pleasant?” “Okay, let’s get to it. I have an appointment this evening.” She eyed her watch. So she dug out some books for me, and some maps, and helped me to understand the terminology. How nice it was standing next to her, while my nose drank the essence of such a sweet, even sexy meal. We poured over a map of Mt. Pleasant and she handed me a short history of the city, authored by none other than Lillian Cates.

“Is that you, Lillian Cates?” “Why, yes it is. I wrote that back when I worked in the mayor’s office.” She sat back, revealing an ample bosom. “I was so young then, eager to prove my college education was not a waste of time.” “But you have no accent at all!” “Ah know, young’un, don’cha thank ah din’t have ta work ta lose it.” “Wow, you’re quite a mystery woman. And beautiful, too.” She looked up at me, her body tense, defensive. “Now, young man, as great a compliment as that seems, comin’ from you, I must warn you not to try to make any moves on me, or you will be in a heap of trouble.” “No, no, no, Ms. Cates! I didn’t mean that flirtatiously. I’m a bit too young for any such activities. Besides, I have an almost fiancee at home, and I am true to her, because she will be my future wife.” Ms. Cates smiled, chuckled even. “Good to hear that. What’s her name?” “Pauley, ma’m.” “That’s a good name. Stands for Paula, I presume?” “Yes’m.” “Well, we’re running out of time. Do you have any questions about Mt. Pleasant?” “I think so. I the sign said the population is 7,000 and something.” She waved her hand. “That’s an old sign. It has swelled to over 10,000 now.” I nodded. “What’s this black mark here.” I pointed to a wooded area in green, which had a black circle near the edge of it. “That’s a place you don’t want to go near, Ted. It’s called ‘Woods Hole,’ and it’s where there were some strange disappearances. People heading in that direction just went ‘poof,’ and were gone forever, or at least that’s according to police

reports. Do not go there, I warn you.” She looked directly into my eyes, as though she were viewing my soul. “Do not go there!” “Okay, ma’m, I won’t. It looks like there are only two main streets here. Do they have a theater, or bars?” “No theater, but they do have two saloons, which is a crime, I think. But I suppose they exist to contribute to the economy of Mt. Pleasant. One is called ‘The Bamboo Lounge,’ and it’s owned by an ex-marine, named Beau Carey, a nice person. The other one is called, ‘Wild Thang,’ and Ah dunno what th’ sam hill thayat one’s lak.” I laughed, and she appreciated my being an audience. Then I noticed that the black spot was not too far from the church, Immaculate Conception, which was fairly close to the nun’s cloister. “Okay ma’m I’ll stay away. Do we have time for one more map?” She looked at her watch. “We have five minutes. What is it?” “I was wondering about the city of McCain. Do you have one?” She arose, and said, “Yes, and the population is about the same as Mt Pleasant, but we can just glance at it.” She came back from the aisle and opened up the map. “There you are. It’s not very big, see. There’s the Catholic church, and there are two or three other churches. There are three main streets, see them? I believe there are three drinking establishments there, but I wouldn’t recommend going there.” She closed the book. “Why’s that, Ma’m?” “Now these here people ain’t ver’ eddicated, see? An’ they kin be purty rough, y’all. See?” I arose. “Thank you, Ms. Cates. I hope you have a great date tonight.” She started putting on her coat. “Now how would you know that? Never mind. I just assume you checked out how gorgeous and sexy I look.” “That is exactly right, Ma’m. And that perfume is irresistible. He’s a lucky guy.”

She grinned. “That’s enough, now, out, out, out, brief candle!” She flicked off the lights and followed me out, locking the door. As we walked away from each other, she sang, “Be careful you don’t spread that sexy manure too thick, young man, or some young gal might come after y’all with a pitchfork.” That night I stared out the window at the stars that seemed to shine more brightly than usual. They were the jewelry of the sky. I thought of Mrs. Cates and how nice she looked, and with such nice fragrance lofting from her. She certainly was a beauty! But not like Sister! That hug floated back to me again, tempting me. As sweet and innocent as she was, she was also a temptress, that could torture me, become my addiction!

44 A CURIOUS KEEPSAKE

It was hard for me to realize that months had ed since that near-fatal excursion into Mt. Pleasant. So many events had occurred, yet it seemed no progress had been made in solving the obnoxious problem of civilian insurgents on the base. It actually became magnified, as a matter of fact. It seemed to grow like a cloud, that expanded gradually into a moving black storm, more and more threatening. It was shortly after my 19th birthday, early in December, that Jules, the intelligent one, Brian the non-graduate from high school, and Bobby, the daring one from Georgia, and I, the kid from Massachusetts, headed back to Mt. Pleasant, North Carolina, to have a few beers in the local establishments. Jules is the only one I had informed regarding the real reason for our excursion into town. Abe was not interested in ing us. I believe he wanted to avoid trouble. He seemed pretty timid. Jules drove, and I gave directions, because I knew the route from all my expeditions back and forth with Sister Mary Victoria, for her trips from Mt. Pleasant to McCain and back for her catechism classes. When we ed Mile 21, I said nothing, but I noticed a few bonfires that lit up the tents, and puffed smoke on high. I ed wondering if the people we wished to encounter were there. Would there be any at either of the two bars in Mt. Pleasant? I wouldn’t it it to the others, but I felt some trepidation about this whole sojourn into a strange town. I was pleased that each of us was wearing our civilian clothes. People there might guess that we were military, but they wouldn’t know definitely. And I had no idea what our collaborator would look or act like. Jules said, “I am so looking forward to this experience with you three. It’s actually exhilarating for me. I just hope no one gets too drunk, right, Ted?”

I turned to the two in back. “What do you guys think? Will we make it home in one piece?” Bobby said, “Jes don’ y’all worry ’bout me. Ah can handle mah licker.” Brian said, “I ain’t had a good toot in many months, so I guess I ain’t promisin’ nothin.’” “Just so we stay out of jail,” I retorted. “Can we do that, guys?” Those in the back seat agreed. We entered Mt. Pleasant. The sign that said the population was 7,531still kept the lie. A few thousand wouldn’t make a significant difference, I thought. I gave directions that went right past the convent up on the hill. I didn’t say anything about it, though. But I did think about Sister Vickie. What was she up to right then? Praying, I assumed. I still had the map of downtown in my mind, so I told Jules where to turn. After we turned a few times, we were on Sycamore Street. Most of the houses were old, one-story bungalows, with huge lawns, and small attached garages. For the most part, they were well-kept, with few of them needing paint on the clapboard sides. At the corner of Sycamore and Russell Streets, I saw large colonials that were three stories. Obviously the wealthier class domiciled there. All along both streets there were white oaks and red maples, and sure enough, the good old Spanish moss that attached itself to many trees, drooping down like torn curtains. It always seemed to me they were killing the trees, but what did I know? They just looked dirty and unhealthy to me. And, of course, there were the usual ubiquitous loblolly pines that seemed to grow like weeds, on Sycamore Street mostly, not, of course on Russell, where they most likely had servants tending to their yards. As we rode on, we reached the end of Sycamore, and there at the corner was an arrow pointing to the right, saying “Woods Hole.” I couldn’t see much more that a thick patch of trees down there. At last I told Jules to turn onto Maple Street, which was the main artery through town. The street had small stores, a hardware, an ice cream shop, an old, faded Five and Ten store, a shoe and repair shop. I noted a barber’s pole, which might

be a nice place to visit for some nice gossip. Then we spotted it, “The Bamboo Lounge!” “That’s it!” I called out. “Park where you can, Jules. Let’s start there.” As we walked from the car, I checked out what we, ‘undercover’ agents were wearing. I wore a flannel shirt, blue work pants, and white sneakers. Brian had a longsleeved pullover with the big letter, “D” over his chest, which stood for Detroit. He had long, faded blue pants on with old brown shoes. Bobby wore a longsleeved shirt, with overalls, featuring a front flap across his chest and a strap up over his shoulders, and boots that reached over his ankles. Those were his work clothes “down home.” Jules stood out with a white dress shirt, without the tie, thank goodness, dress pants, and shiny black dress shoes. I couldn’t help uttering, “Work clothes, Jules?” “I’m afraid so. I never worked where I could have the fun of getting dirty. I don’t think I want to either. I should be able to go under cover by checking everyone’s deportment. I’ll be a sort of tutor or coach, okay?” Bobby said, “Y’all goin’ ta check our what? De whatment?” Jules answered, “No, sorry. Deportment means manners, how you act among strangers. Okay?” “That’s fine, Jules,” responded Brian. It’s probably all nugatory, anyway.” “Ah recall ‘at one, fellas, nugatory is jes lak hoss puckies. Wuthless.” We got to the entrance of The Bamboo Lounge, and looked through the large plate glass window. It was dark, except for the bar, which was not long, but shiny under the dim overhead lights. I led the way, a bit worried about how this would work out. I knew Ms. Cates said it was a reputable establishment, I did not know how the four of us would be together. I just knew I had to stay under control, keep my drinking at a

minimum, and observe how we acted together, and with others, in other words, check out our “deportment” under fire. Another part of me felt self-conscious and bit absurd, acting the part of a sleuth, some super detective, when I was not even old enough to drink legally. But there I was, sort of thrown into this position.

There was just one customer, sitting at a table by himself, with a shot glass and glass of beer in front of him. I noticed that he looked at his watch as we entered. Was he the one we were to forces with? “Welcome, gentlemen, Konbanwa, welcome to The Bamboo Lounge. Have a seat at a table or at the bar, your choice. Just call me Beau, or Gunny, your friendly bartender.” We sat around a table which was close to the entrance. Beau was about 6 feet tall, had rounded shoulders, and powerful arms. He had a GI Haircut, short, with the hairs sticking straight up. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He came around the bar, and up to the table, setting down coasters with pictures of bamboo, that had been cut short, but had curly side shoots. I noticed several of the real things, bamboo in planters spaced on the bar and behind, by the mirrors, where the liquor bottles were. “What’ll it be? I assume you’re of age?” Brian said, “Beer, please.” Bobby said “Me too, y’all.” Jules said, “Lemonade if you have it, please.” Beau looked at me, “And you, young man? Beer?” “Yes sir, if you don’t mind,” I sort of mumbled. “Okay, but next time you should grow a beard, to be more convincing.” He grinned and returned to the counter.

Beau called out, “Here you go! Come and get them.” He set them down on the bar. I got up. “I’ll go,” I said, and brought two beers and the lemonade back to the table. I returned to the bar and poured my beer from the Schlitz bottle into a mug. I noticed pictures of pagodas on the walls, with mountains behind them. “How come they call you Gunny, Beau?” Beau sighed, “I guess you’re too young to know. Gunny stands for gunnery sergeant in the Marines. “Is that an officer, Beau?” “Hell, no! Gunnery sergeant is just above a staff sergeant and below the master sergeant.” Gunny drew a little picture on a note pad, of a symbol with three stripes on top, and two below that looked like the rockers on the bottom of a rocking chair. In the middle are two rifles crossing each other. “That’s the symbol I wore for years. In combat I managed the fire power we used - rifles, cannons, grenades, you know.” “Wow, I bet you have some stories to tell, huh, Gunny?” “A few,” he answered, then busied himself at the bar. I happened to look down behind the bar, and on a little shelf where Beau was standing was what looked like a bible, or some kind of religious book. But the pagoda temples were uppermost on my mind at the time. I couldn’t help but inquire, “Were you in the Far East, Beau?” “Yep, sure was. Japan. Okinawa. For over two years. Not during the war, but shortly after. I was in a sort of mop-up crew. Those pagodas have great history behind them. They can be found all over the Far East. They’re religious buildings, sacred. I always ired the beauty of those tiers. Note that each story tilts upward on the outer edges.” “Wow!” I exclaimed. “And I noticed all the bamboo around your place.” “Oh, yeah, the bamboo is one fascinating subject. It’s considered to be grass, you

know, and is the fastest growing plant in the world.” “Would you mind telling the guys at the table? I bet the older one of our group will be fascinated. His name is Jules. I’m Ted.” “Nice meeting you, Ted. I’ll be over in a sec, as soon as I check with our other customer, before it gets crowded.” I took my mug to the table, and said, “Beau’s got some interesting things to tell us about pagodas and bamboo and stuff. He was in Japan for two years.” Bobby said, “Looks lak he’ll be here dreckly” He nodded toward our bartender. But just then, three men entered. One of them, who ed us by, the shortest one, who looked to be the oldest, about 45 or so, his face all pocked from what must have been pimples years ago, seemed to be the leader. Had I seen him before? He pointed to a table for the others, then walked straight back, all business like, for the men’s room. He nodded to the lone man at the table, and continued past him. Beau walked over to their table, which was in the middle of the bar. “Gentlemen, what’ll it be?” The youngest of them, a big hulk of a man, about mid-twenties, said, “Shot and a beer, Beau, same’s always, Pabst.” The second of them, a small man with glasses, said “Just beer, please, Beau.” “Comin’ up!” Beau returned to the bar, while putting his finger up to us, which seemed to say he’d be right with us. When he finally came over, Beau grinned and said, “Sorry ’bout that. Ted here tells me you might find the Pagodas interesting. As you can see, they’re tiered towers meant to be houses of prayer, sort of like our churches with their steeples. I saw so many in Japan, I photographed them.” I introduced Beau to Jules, Bobby and Brian. “Call him Gunny. He likes that.” “And what about the bamboo, Gunny? You seem to have deposited them all over the lounge, as decorations?” queried Jules.

Beau responded, “Yes, as decorations, and as a great topic for conversation. I find many Americans are fascinated by the topic.” I added, “And you said bamboo is a fast growing grass, right?” “That’s correct. And bamboo is stronger than steel. It has many uses.” “Lak what?” Bobby asked. “It’s used for building many things, or food, or even as weaponry!” Jules, shook his head, and said, in wonder, “That’s absolutely fascinating, Beau! I never heard of such things. All I ever read was that the giant panda uses bamboo as its main food.” “That’s right. For some reason it’s a tasty treat for them. And it’s their main source of nutrition.” Beau looked up and saw the pock-faced man had returned. He continued, “It’s a fascinating topic. Throw rattan in with bamboo, and you have a whole building industry. Gotta go, guys. Work calls.” He walked over to the other table. I asked, “What in hell is rattan?” Jules responded, “They’re leaves that grow from a palm tree. I’ve seen them used in chairs. I guess they’re also plentiful out in Asia.” Brian sipped his beer. “Seems like an entirely different world in the Far East, doesn’t it? Scuse me, guys, little bathroom trip.” Bobby got up too. “Ah gotta empty mah bladder, too, y’all, fore it gives me a hissy. Ah’ll jine ya ta the privy, Brian.” Jules chuckled as they walked away. “That was quite a mouthful of the South, wasn’t it?” “Sure was, Jules.” Then I thought about it. “But his accent might be just what might suit our purposes here in Mt. Pleasant.” Jules responded, “I think you’re quite correct, Ted. Look at them over at that table.”

Sure enough, Bobby and Brian were at the table where the threesome was. Bobby was laughing and snorting and quite entertained by what they were saying. “See that, Jules? Looks like just what we want. I didn’t think it would be quite that simple.” “Don’t assume too much, Ted. Let’s be patient and find out what they were talking about.” When Bobby and Brian returned, Brian announced, “We’re invited to a gettogether later tonight, at the bar called, what was it Bobby?” “Wild Thang! It’s jest a stone’s throw from heah. Sounds good, eh?” I asked, “What’s the meeting about, Bobby?” “Why, bout the gov’mint, Ah thank!” I said, “Good! We should go, right, Jules?” “Of course! Why not?” We ordered more drinks. Brian walked over to what looked like it could have been a dance floor, and played some songs from the juke box. One was by Hank Williams, and another by Johnny Cash, whose voice came up from the floor. I liked their voices. Shortly after that, the threesome left. The leader, as he walked by, said, “See y’all later?” I nodded. Bobby said, “Shore thang!” I got up and said, “Bathroom visit,” and on the way, asked Gunny if I could buy one of his bamboos. Gunny picked one up, a nice green healthy one, which was about 8 inches tall. It had been sawed off at the top, but grew out of the side in a nice curled shape. At the bottom it was in a small planter filled with some dirt and rocks. “Water it every other day if you can, soldier boy.” He grinned conspiratorially at me.

“Don’t tell on me, Gunny, please.” “About the plant? Or underage drinking? No worries, Teddy-boy, not from me.” He let me keep the bamboo by the bar, with a cloth bag around it. “Semper Fi” he said, with a quick salute. “That means, ‘always faithful,’ to each other in our unit, or in this case, in the military. That includes you boys, too!” Thinking about the term, I then strolled slowly toward the men’s room, closer to the table with the man alone at a table than was necessary. I nodded. It looked like he had a patch over his left eye. He waved so that just I could see his hand. “Stop on the way back, kid, heah?” I nodded. In the toilet, were two urinals and one commode with a door that had graffiti on the wall, printed in what looked like Japanese. After I washed my hands, I stopped at the table. Beau, or Gunny, looked our way, but then turned his eyes to the door just as a man and woman walked in. The man with the patch slid a chair out with his foot. I sat, nervously. He looked around and pulled up his eye cover. “T’ain’t real, but it works for me.” His grin was crooked, and teeth were brown. His jacket was a light blue denim with holes in it that looked as if it had been worn for many years in the field. “So the meetin’s tanight. Y’up ferit, Byrum?” “Yep. I mean yessir. But what do I call you?” He tightened his lips and grumbled, “You don’t call me nothin’ y’heah? Spec’ly not sir. But, yeah, nev’ mind, you should call me somethin’, so make it Nails, y’know th’ ones ya pound?” “Nails. Okay!” I started, but then stopped myself from saying, ‘sir.’ “I don’t know what to expect there, but I’m glad you’re with us, sort of.” He put his hand down toward his pocket. “Litle somethin’ jest in case. Now git back ta yer table.”

I did, and after we finished our drinks, I asked “Ready, guys?” Jules looked at me waiting for a sign. I nodded, as if to say, “This is it.” He nodded back. But he did look a bit nervous, edgy. “Thanks, Beau!” I walked over, avoiding even a glance at Nails, picked up my bamboo and shook his hand. He winked and said, “Be careful, young man. Konbanwa!” I asked, “And goodbye is?” “Sayonara!” I responded, as I ed the others, “Sayonara!”

45 INTO THE WILD THANG DEN

When we left The Bamboo Lounge, we had to walk right past Jules’ Chevy to get to The Wild Thang. I wanted to leave my bamboo in the back seat to keep it safe. Bobby rapped the fender with his knuckle and said, “Shiiit! That ol’ bucket must weigh 10 tons!” Jules said, “Yes, I it’s also made of steel. It is a heavy vehicle.” He unlocked the doors. I changed my mind. I kept my bamboo, just the plant in my pocket. We strolled toward the next bar. I was feeling a bit of trepidation over this next adventure. I looked around but could not see Nails on the street. My head swirled a bit the way it did when I was punched, while boxing, by a lefty, back in my high school days. I stood still and waited for it to clear. “Are you okay, Teddy?” asked Jules. “Uh, yeah, I was just trying to something, but I can’t grab it. It fell into that pool of forgotten things my brain keeps hiding, I guess.” “You got a pool lak thay at tahome, Teddy-boy?” inquired Bobby. I answered, “No, it’s just the pool of things in my head I keep forgetting that my brain loses all the time.” By this time my head cleared. I winked at Jules. Then Jules said, “I’m a bit apprehensive about this bar, guys, but we wanted to have an adventure, and I guess we’re about to have one.” Brian said, “Hell, is’just another bar, an’ we’re invited, so let’s jus’ stop stallin’ an’ have some fun! What the hell is there to be afraid of?”

I answered, “You’re right. Let’s go. But let’s not get drunk, okay? Stay aware. Let’s not get arrested, okay? As we neared Wild Thang, Jules declared, “A blind man could find this place, it’s so loud!” He was right. Drums thumping, cymbals crashing and what sounded like a trombone were shattering the quiet of the street. Also, a huge sign in red and yellow, bragged that this was “The Wild Thang.” No windows gave a clue as to the inside. The blasting music stopped suddenly. Just as we were about to reach the entrance, the door swung open, and out spilled an old, ragged, long-haired man, with a bulge in his cheek, who fell, or was thrown to the ground. “Goddammit, you stole mah Piels. An’ that whiskey was nuthin’ but crick watah! Ya heah, crick watah, an,’ an,’ an piss watah!” He scrambled to get up, and Billy grabbed his arm to pull him up. The man at the door shouted, “Eustice, ah’ll call the palice if ya ain’t outta heah in ten secon’s ya ignert bastid.” Billy pulled the old man up. “Whew! Y’all need a splash in that crick, ole fellah! What in hell ya bin sleepin’, in, a pig sty?” Eustice grumbled, “None a yer nosy bizness, lemme go.” His mouth had a wad in his cheek. “Take ya ta Wood’s Hole, n’ ye’ll nevah git back, I swear.” Brian roared, “Watch it, Billy! He’s got a mouthful of something!” Billy let him go and Eustice reeled, spitting his tobacco out. Eustice had a huge, bulbous nose, which we could see clearly under the light of the sign. His face was also scrunched to the side, almost closing his left eye. I guessed he was old, in his 70s, but he could have been younger, judging by the type of life he must have lived. He then stumbled away, down the street, and I thought I heard him say something like, “No goddam ’preciation,” and something else that sounded like “faghtin’ fer mah goddam country, sheeit. Come to Wood’s Hole, Ah’ll show ye ’preciation!” Jules grabbed my arm. “Are you sure you want to go in here, Teddy? I don’t

know.” Brian said, “What in hell? Why not? He’s just an old man. Besides, we got a meetin’ ta go to, don’t we? Maybe there’ll be free drinks.” I looked around, and saw Nails down the street. It looked like he was giving something to Eustice. It was good to see Nails. I said, “Brian’s right, let’s go in. We’ll be okay.” Brian led us in. The room was long and narrow, so the tables were close together the first few feet. Then a space of about 10 feet wide and 20 feet long, was clear of tables and chairs. Two women in jeans and a man were standing in front of a juke box, making selections, while two other couples waited. One of the heavy women waiting said, “C’mon, Bubba, it ain’t a novel yer readin’ so pick ole String Bean, er even Earl Scruggs. C’mon, les daints.” She swayed her hips with one arm on a man standing there, waiting, with his crumpled hat on. “Hep y’all?” came from a deep voice. I turned and then looked up at the massive man with a red beard stood before us. He must have been close to 7 feet tall, and wide enough to make two of me. Words like ‘Hercules’ or mammoth came to my mind. Here was someone who could have had the power to clear out everyone in this bar grabbing someone by the legs and using a few simple swings and out all of us would fly as though from a rocket launcher. Instead, he whispered, “Follow me.” He gently led Brian by the arm, and the rest of us to a table toward the back of the room. He set down a few small paper napkins, and said, “Hyacinth’ll be raght wiv y’all,” and walked deftly back toward the entrance. I asked, “Isn’t Hyacinth a flower, Jules?” “It certainly is. I wonder what this one will look like.” He put his hand to his mouth, to be secretive, “or smells like.” We sat and looked around. We could hear voices further back in the Wild Thang, behind a door. Then the loud jukebox came alive again, like a volcano that resumed its warning to all trying to sleep in the local town. I wanted to block my ears for fear of going deaf, but after a few minutes they became accustomed to the pain.

People were stomping around the “daints” floor, men swinging their partners, women belting out an occasional “Wahoo!” to express their joy, or excitement, or something wild. Then at our table a gorgeous miniature of a person said, “May I hep y’all, gennemen?” Then she walked around and talked to each of us, to hear our orders and be heard. “She repeated to each of us. “What’ll y’have? S’okay ta stare jes this once, but no moah, heah?”

I stared. She might have been close to 4 feet tall, maybe a few inches higher than my belt buckle. My mother was just about 4’10”, but much taller than our waitress. Hyacinth’s hair was dark blue with orange-red tints, tied back by a red ribbon. Her face was full, and her eyes, though the room was dark, were bright, sharp, alert, perceptive. I felt stunned by her beauty. Jules recovered first. “Yes, Hyacinth, I’ll have a lemonade if you have it.” “And I’ll have a Schlitz, please,” I added. Brian ordered a beer, and Bobby a shot and beer. Jules whispered, “Don’t get intoxicated, Bobby. No trouble, okay?” She nodded, and said, “I won’t ask yer ages, but don’t cause no ruckus, heah? Or I’ll sic ol’ Horace after ya. Ya know, the giant ova theah?” “Yes, mam, y’all,” answered Bobby. “An’ ah’ll be eye’in you mos’ of all, Bobby-boy.” She sashayed away, maneuvering her way between the tables easily. We waited. I watched the front door, hoping to see some sign of Nails, but nothing. I bounced my hand on the table, keeping some rhythm with the juke box, which was easy to do, because even the floor seemed to be dancing. At last Hyacinth returned with our drinks, balancing the tray over her head. As she arrived, her perfume enveloped me. Had she added more back at the bar? No matter, it was hypnotic. I couldn’t help exclaiming, “Whew, that sure is

bewitching, Hyacinth!” She placed the drinks on the table. “I know, ain’t ah a siren temptress? Sorry, kids, ah’m predisposed tanaght.” Her voice was musical. I could easily picture her on a rocky island, whispering, singing, tempting, a miniature siren. She wafted away. Then we saw a door open in the back, opposite the men’s room. The older man with the pockmarked face waved us his way. I said, “Okay, guys, here we go. Stay in control, okay Bobby?” “No worries, y’all. Ah kin hol mah licker. No intox-i-stition f’me. Ah aim ta quit ma drinkin’ dreckly.” He downed the rest of his shot glass. I raised my eyebrows to Jules and Brian, as if to say, “Uh, oh, here we go!” After leaving some money on the table, we took our drinks to the back room where the group was waiting. Just as we neared the door, I saw the men’s room door slightly ajar. I tapped Jules on the shoulder, and pointed toward the lavatory, and whispered, “You go, Jules, I think our man is in there. I’ll catch up, okay?” The others were already entering. Jules looked almost paralyzed. “I think we’re over our heads, here. Let’s just get out while we can, okay?” “I’m scared too, but our backup is in there. He’s a tough guy with a patch over his eye. We’ll be okay, I think. We’re this far now. Go on in. I’ll be right behind you.” I left Jules to follow the others into the den of I-don’t-know-what-kind-of-hell, and I pushed the latrine door open. Nails stood there, but it didn’t resemble the Nails I’d seen before. He had a different patch over his eye, and he apparently had changed his outfit to look like many of the locals. “Okay, young trooper Byrum, I want you to take me into that room with you. I’m an old friend, okay? Look, they’re goin‘ to pick you out as a

soldier, no doubt about that, but with me we’ll be able to pull this off. Ya see, I ain’t happy with the drecksion this heah gov’ment it takin‘ us, so nuther r‘ y’all. So wid me outside an‘ y’all inside, we kin blow this post ta smithereens, heah?” “I see, Nails, but is that going to be your name?” “No, you’re right. Let’s make it Clint. Can you that?” “Yessir, sure can, Clint. “Okay, y’all. Les’ jes’ keep ahr hayeds, awright?” We pushed the door open, and there were Jules, Bobby, and Brian taking seats at a table next to three others, who were filling glasses of beer from a pitcher. The pock-faced man, said, “C’mon in, y’all, so we kin call this heah meetin’ t’order, dammit all ta hell.” He looked at us. “You two, sit heah, raght heah, y’all.” He gestured toward his table, and waited. He was authoritative, determined. We sat. There were three tables squeezed into this small room, which was about the size of the latrine in our barrack, narrow but long. There were maybe ten of us in the room. Most of the men smoked, so what resembled a giant snowbank hovered upside down along the ceiling. Some of the men laughed at something and others guffawed. But there was a tension in the air, and most there glanced around, trying not to seem apprehensive. Most of them caught glimpses of the others, then looked at their drinks, or flicked cigarettes over ashtrays. Across from where Jules sat, while I was sipping a beer, I saw one young man eyeing me continually, then puffing his cigarette, then sipping, then staring at me. I felt he looked familiar, yet I couldn’t fathom how or where. I set my bamboo on the table. Then Pock-face got up on his chair, pounded the table with his shoe in his hand, and bellowed, “At ease, y’all!!!! At ease!!!” The people quieted down, and all stared his way, expectant. “Now, y’all know me, er mos’ a ya does. Ah’m Harley Sterling, an ah own the hardware heah in Mt. Pleasant, an ah don’ lak the govmint taxin’ mah hardearned money that ah bust mah back ovah ta pay f’no war mahles ’n mahles

away, and mos’ people agrees with us. An’ they’re taken ar’ young men ta be slaughtered ovah yonder.” He paused. His face scrunched, tightening. An’ ye’all ‘member my son, Bart.” Here he paused, fighting tears, gaining control of his voice. “Ah jis’ cain’t abide it any moah.” He regained control. He looked around. “Now some a’y’all ain’t from heah, an’ ah spect some are soldiers, am ah raght? Yore one, arncha?” He pointed at me and Clint. Clint stood up, and slowly turned his head, staring at each person in the room. All was still. except for the smoke rising. Clint spoke at last. “Mah name is Clint Grayson. Yeah, I was in the last war, over Italy and and that’s how I got this.” He pointed at his eye. “And ah saw up close the stupidity of it all, the fat ass generals, sendin’ kids ta the front while they smoked their cigars and drank their brandy and bragged about the numbers of their ‘precious men’ dyin’ for their country. An’ I saw kids tryin’ ta hold their entrails in while they cried for help which ain’t comin’.” He paused. “Ain’t comin’!!!” After a silence, when no one moved, no one spoke, he continued, “So I’m here with my cousin, Teddy Bahrum here, and those three over there, who are soldiers. Yeah, that’s right, we’re not tryin’ to fool anyone. We’re here ta help in your effort, if you’ll have us. So what’s your opinion? you or go off on our own. But we’re goin’ do somethin’, I don’t know what right now.” People started lifting their drinks again. Then whispers took over. The smoke was quite thick by then. Some faces seemed quite indistinct. And yet they lit up their cigarettes, along with one powerful cigar. At last, Harley spoke. “Ah say it’s ahr chance ta do somethin’ that means somethin’! Ah kin git some guns, an so kin y’all! Raght?” They all responded. “Raght!” One man at our table arose. He had a neat, trim beard and mustache. His blue work clothes were clean. He waved a cigar between his thumb and fingers. When the others saw him, their voices gradually faded. Someone said, “Hey, y’all, let Cletus talk.” Cletus puffed his cigar and waited. The smoke curled upward. When all were

listening, he charged us to action. He took one more drag of smoke, blew it out and said, “Mosta y’all know me, an’ ya knowed my boy Bubba who volunteered fer the army, cuz he had some romantic notion he could be a hero, lak in the movie-shows.” Mumbles from the others. “Yah, we know, Cletus.” “Well, Korea swallered him up, dammit! An’ he’s gone, an’ fer what? What in hell fer? Faght communism? An’ we’re still ovah theah! Hell, let the communists have Korea, n’China, n’ Japan, n’ all them yellow, slant eyes!” Ya all ‘member my Bubba? He got teary-eyed and sat back in his chair. I felt a bit teary myself. Then Harley, looked around, and announced, “Now, y’all newbees, ah don’ care if y’all’re soldiers er not, will ya’ll raise yer raght hands an’ swear to follow ahr cause?” I raised my hand, as did Clint, and the other three of us, and all in the room. “All raght. Ah’m goin’ set somethin’ up. Next meetin’ raght heah, same tam. N’ let me warn y’all. We know howta deal with traitors! This heah meetin’s adjourned!” Clint and I walked out with the others, nodding to them as they ed. Most ed others at tables where their friends were. Hyacinth became busy, taking orders and hustling back and forth from the bar. Behind the bar was a man serving drinks and talking to customers. He looked quite a bit like our leader, Harley. Twin? I decided time would tell. Just then the young man I thought I’d recognized, the one who kept staring at me, came up to me, glared, and said, “Ah’m Buck, an ah gotta talk t’y’all! Now! Let’s go ovah heah.” He grinned. Then I knew who it was. I held my bamboo, tight in my hand. I had spied him through my binoculars! He must have recognized me, or at least thought he did. “Ah know you now! Ah had y’all dead ta raghts in mah scope. Ah coulda brung you down lak a skunk out’n a tree, but ol’ Harley says I dasn’t do it. Ah says ta him ah kin getter done dreckly, but Harley’s raght. S’too soon, ah reckon.”

I shook his hand, squeezed it, and said, “Hey, Buck. Glad you didn’t kill me. I still got a bit of living I’d like to do. See you next week!” Then, I realized I hadn’t seen Chet and Choogah, the ones I’d met in McCain, while Sister taught catechism. “Hey, say howdy to Chet and Choogah, if you get a chance, will you?” “You know them? Shore, Ah’ll tell ’em.” As I made my way past the dancers toward the exit, the giant, walked up and uttered something like “y’all come back, heah?” but it was too noisy by the dance floor to distinguish. I waited for Jules who was snaking his way through, and he was followed by Brian. I did not catch sight of Clint any where. I asked, “Where in hell is Bobby? Jules, where’d he sneak off to?” Then I saw him on the dance floor, trying to keep time as he stomped, but he was clumsy, falling into other customers, who started to push back. I hollered, “Bobby! Get your ass over here now.” He stopped his gyrations, and sheepishly moved clumsily our way. One of the dancers, who wore cowboy boots and, I don’t know how many gallon, hat, pushed Bobby, and declared, “ye’ll end up in Woods Hole, ya galoot!” Then I saw a reflection of light in his hand. A knife! I moved quickly, without thinking, as the man in the boots, obviously tipsy from drink, turned toward Bobby. I wormed through, lunged, and stuck the cowboy in the side from the back, with my bamboo! “Stronger than steel,” Beau said. I believed it. Cowboy dropped the knife, which thumped and stuck into the floorboard. The giant, Horace, reached over and down, and picked the cowboy up like a light shirt off a rack. “Y’all’re wanted in the back room, Colt. Ya’ve been warned!” I grabbed Bobby by the arm, and guided him out. “Let’s go, Bobby. It’s all over, now.” “Thanks, Horace!” we said together, and exited, feeling as though the loud noise

had thrown us out. Horace waved with his free hand, while semi-carrying Colt. Before I made it out the door with Bobby, I could see Hyacinth waving swayingand as though from behind ruinous rocks. A beautiful siren.

46 ANOTHER CATECHISM CLASS

The following morning, Saturday, I was up early to eat breakfast chow, and sign out a car at the motor pool. It was cold enough, about low 40s to see my breath as I traveled toward Mt. Pleasant. It reminded me of my smoking days. I was certainly delighted then, that I’d quit that horrible smoking habit. My drive was uneventful and smooth, until Mile 21, where I slowed and tried to see if there was any movement by the tents. The tents were still there, but no one was stirring, as though it became a ghost town. I thought about the meeting the night before. Some faces were revealed to us, and, of course, they saw ours as well. I was sure they were not going to the point of trusting us, but they were hopeful. Having someone on the inside to act as traitor to his country would certainly enhance their intentions, whatever they were. As I neared the convent, I found I’d missed seeing Sister Mary Victoria, and became eager to be her chauffeur again. I announced my presence at the gate, and drove up the hill to their large, ornate building, with statues of faces high up above the third story. I smiled at the fact that they were also used as drainage. How holy, and how practical! As soon as I parked, loud barks and growls caught my attention. And, of course, there was that giant of a dog with short light brown fur galloping his threatening way toward the car. I waited. He growled and raised his front paws to the door, his tongue dripping. I opened the window just enough to holler, “Satan, down!” His ears shot up, and he let himself fall to the ground. I opened the door, got down on my knees, and scratched him on the neck. “Good old Satan, good dog.” He licked my face, as if I were an old buddy of his. As I petted him, I thought how I’d like to have him with me if I do any reconnaissance work in the future.

“Glad to see you’re renewing old acquaintances, Theodore.” Sister smiled at me and held out her hand, as though ready to start with a clean slate. I shook it, and said, “And I’m very happy to see you again, Sister Vickie!” “Shall we embark upon another catechism journey?” “Certainly, Sister!” “Stay, Satan!” Sister entered the car, her beads clacking, and I drove down the hill. It was quite pleasurable to be driving Sister Vickie again, although I would never it it to her. The few intimate moments we’d had revealed the desire two young people could have for each other when alone. Plus, the fact that any repetition of such affection would be dangerous, even disastrous for the sister, and myself. So, I remained aloof, but content in the warmth of her friendship. She shattered the silence when she asked, “How have you been, Theodore?” I answered, “I’ve been in good health, Sister. I drove past your convent last night, when some of us went to a few local establishments.” “Aha! I see. Living the life of a libertine, eh?” “Actually, I was on assignment, Sister Vickie, but I’m not supposed to reveal anything classified.” I looked at her in the mirror, noticing her beautiful face, her crooked nose, which seemed so perfect for her. She smiled. “I won’t reveal your secret, Ted. But I can guess what it might be about.” She paused. I waited. “Let’s see if they still have their tents up over the sand dune.” “You’re right, of course, Sister. You are what my friend would say, quite astute.” She chuckled, obviously enjoying herself. “Thank you, Ted. My dad and I always enjoyed a mystery. He read them to me while I grew up. They were fun, allowing us the chance to follow the clues and name the culprit, before the author did.”

“Well, I worry about your safety, you know. But since you know what is going on, I had a thought, when I picked you up today.” “What’s that, Ted?” “I was wondering if it would be possible to let me borrow Satan, some night.” “Satan? What could you possibly do with Satan? Never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t know if you’d be able to handle him. He can be quite dangerous, you know.” “I suppose it would take a few sessions of training with him before he would trust me. I’ve made sort of a beginning with him so far, I think. At least he doesn’t want to make a hamburger meal out of me, so far.” Sister laughed. “I’ll have to see if my mother superior will approve such a loan of one of our protectors.” “One of your protectors?” Sister Vickie looked and pointed up. “Oh, of course,” I said. The rest of the day was uneventful. The trip to and from McCain went smoothly, and I saw no one at the gas station across from the church. Meanwhile, I wondered what I would do with Satan. Would I really have the nerve to enter their camp on the base at Mile 21? On the way back to the barrack, I decided to make sure I watered my new bamboo.

47 CRAZY WEEKEND

My mind was in turmoil, or as Jules would say, a “vortex,” with fears and possible disasters spinning around, with little me seeming to be the lead in this investigation. After that meeting at the Wild Thang, it became clear to me that these people were serious, and dangerous. And even if I could travel with the nun’s Satan, where would I go, to their camp on the base? The gas station? Could I even control him? Then there was Father Roland, and what he was involved in, which could somehow bring trouble my way. Just who did I think I was, trying to prevent what I thought were his affairs with young soldiers? I wondered if I could someone in Modesta, California, to get more information? Sometimes I wished I’d been sent to Japan, where I’d be free of all of this uncertainty. It certainly was a pleasure to be in Able Company barrack, where we could enjoy simple banter, using unfamiliar words, to increase our vocabulary. I called it “banter,” but of course there was Jules calling it “repartee.” Bobby heard the word and scurried over, “Where’s the party bein’ held, y’all?” Jules laughed. “It’s not a party, Bobby. It’s a word, repartee, which means having fun using witty comments. You know, using words we found in the dictionary.” “Oh, yeah, I ‘member now. Ah aim ta study more a them words masef, so ah won’t be th’ ownliest ’thout new words.” I said, trying not to sound too critical. “It sounds like you’re using new words all the time, Bobby. I’m learning new words every time you talk.” Brian, who came up the stairs from the latrine, wearing just his shorts, and brushing his hair, said, “What’re you guys doing now, destroying the English

language again? I’m just too enervated to demonstrate any exuberance regarding my vast sea of knowledge.” Jules laughed. “Well done, Bri. You fellows are doing the correct thing, increasing your vocabularies while having fun with it all. If you can continue to make it part of your circadian rhythm, you will become well informed. It will be like a young eagle growing more and more feathers so it can fly higher and soar further.” Brian, then sat on his bunk, said, “What was that word, Jules? Circa something? Circa means going around, doesn’t it? What’s the other part?” Jules waved him over and patted on his bunk, inviting him over. “That’s excellent, Brian. Circa does mean ‘around,’ just like a circle. The ‘dian’ in the word, circadian, means daily, so, it means daily rhythm. Usually, scientists studied animals and plants to understand their activities. We just apply the word to our activities every day.” I thought about what he explained, then said, “I don’t understand why you did not become a teacher, Jules. You’d be an excellent one. Have you thought about it?” “Yeah,” said Brian, “Teddy’s right. You’d be a good one! I mean it!” Bobby ed in. “Ah’m agreein’ wid y’all. Ah learnt alot a stuff from y’all, Jules. Ah was jes a ignert hillbilly ‘fore ah met yeh.” Jules blushed. “I never really contemplated becoming a teacher, but perhaps you’re right. I’m going to investigate that avenue.” “Good,” I said, but then realized I should leave, so I could visit Willy. I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. So I said, “I’m getting intoxicated with this overwhelming influx of knowledge, which might imbue me with too many sips of hubris. I’ll let the prospective teacher translate for me.” “See ya,” they said, as I headed down the stairs. After seeing Willy, I thought I should visit the church, not to confess, but to check up on Father Roland. I didn’t know when I’d have a chance to get to Fayetteville to find a Catholic church, so I could confess without his nose

sniffing into my affairs. He knew my voice too well. I found Willy lying on his bunk in fatigue pants and a tee shirt, eyes closed, listening to his radio, which was playing some kind of country music. I noted once again the remarkable hole in his chin and his broad shoulders like a boxer’s. Hey, Willy, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.” He opened his eyes. “Huh?” He sat up. “Hey Teddy, my man! S’good ta see you. It’s been a while. I thought you were avoiding me.” “No, I’ve just been busy, you know, with the church and chauffeuring the nun on Saturdays for her catechism classes. But I’ve been wondering how you and Randy are. Have you been downtown lately?” “Naw, I’ve been trying to be good. Do you wanna go tonight?” “No, not really. I just stopped to say hello before going over to the church.” “Well, at least, let’s go see if Randy is available in his barrack. I haven’t seen him in a month of Sundays.” “Okay.” We started walking toward Randy’s building. On the way I thought about how long a ‘month of Sundays’ would take. I’d never heard that saying before. So I said, “I guess you haven’t seen Randy in a year and a half, right?” Willy stopped, “What in sam hill are you talkin’ about?” “Oh, nothing, really. I just figured a ‘month of Sundays would take about a year and a half, right?” He laughed. “It’s just a saying we used back in Gary. Never thought about it that way.” “Just kidding. I figured that’s what it was. I just couldn’t resist playing with it.” Then I thought about the fact that I really had seen Randy recently, but I didn’t want Willy to hear about our meeting at the general’s office.

At Randy’s barrack, we asked where he was, and one man who had corporal stripes, who was doing pushups, said breathlessly, “I think he just went to the latrine, man.” So at the latrine, we saw Randy in his fatigues, shaving. Willy said, “Don’t do it, man! It ain’t worth it!” Randy jumped back, then looked in the mirror. “Damn it, Willy! You want me to cut myself!” Then he saw me. He gave me a conspiratorial stare, then said, “Hey, Teddy, how’s it goin’?” “Okay, I guess. You shaving at night? Got a hot date?”

“Nah, I just thought I’d head over to the church for confession. It’s been a while for me.” “I imagine it’s been a month of Sundays, huh?” I asked. “What? Oh, yeah, I guess it has been.” Willy interjected, “About a year and a half since your last confession, huh?” Randy grinned. “You guys been out drinking already?” I responded, “No. I was just using one of Willy’s cliches. So you’re going to church, huh? I was planning to go there myself. Okay if I you? “Sure.” I looked at Willy, who was walking, head forward, which always reminded me of a turtle. “Interested in ing us at church?” “Nah, I don’t know much about church-goin’. My ma had me goin’ to the Mt. Zion Pentecostal church in Gary. I went, but wasn’t very, you know, enthusiastic about it, ‘specially when the minister started gibberishin’ an’ gobbledegookin’ to us. I went, but just to please my mom, ya know?” I nodded. “I know. But there’s no service at our church tonight. So you can just

see the inside and observe what we do. Okay?” “Okay. Okay with you, Randy?” “Sure. Let me finish up here.” As we walked to the church, I asked Willy, who had pulled a weed out behind a bush and stuck it in his mouth, what he meant by what the minister was saying. “Didn’t he speak English?” “Sure he did.” He pulled the weed out of from between his teeth. “But then in the middle of one of his sermons, he’d start, you know, just letting sounds come out. The first time he did that, I asked my ma if he’d been hit by some boxer who’d knocked the sense out of him. But she just whispered, ‘He’s talking in some tongue that comes from God. Hush!” “So I asked what he was saying, and Ma answered, ‘No one knows. Now hush!’ So when she gave me that old look of fury, I just shut my mouth.” Randy stopped walking and looked at Willy. “I swear I never heard of such a thing. Talking in tongues that no one understands? Must be something in the Bible about that. Do you think your friend, Jules, would know something about it?” I answered, “I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s better than any encyclopedia. I’ll ask him.” Inside the church, about ten people were sitting in a pew waiting to confess. Randy ed them at the end of the line. I led Willy down to the altar. We sat in the front pew. I pointed out the altar with the crucifix above it, which had a statue of a handsome Christ with long hair a small beard and mustache. Willy whispered, “Wow. Look at the sorrow on his face! How he must have suffered!” “I know. But so many people avoid looking at it. It’s just a piece of furniture, a decoration, just like the stations of the cross. See them all along the sides of the church?” “Oh, yeah. How many are there?”

“Fourteen.” “What do they stand for?” “I think it’s from the judgment of Christ being a false god, and the many things he suffered all the way to his crucifixion and being laid in is tomb.” “I never heard that. I don’t think I learned anything in my church at home. Maybe I was just too young to understand. I don’t know.” I said, “Well, maybe you’re ready to learn. I’m no priest, so I think, it’s whenever you’re ready.” Willy thought a while. “Maybe.” Then he asked, “Hey, how come you’re not going to confession? No sins to report?” “I guess we all have sins, but I think I’m too close to this priest. He’s my boss, you know, and I don’t want anything to hinder a working relationship. Hey, look, I think Randy is just about ready to enter the confessional.” Just then, Father Roland waved at me, gesturing with his finger that he wanted me to see him. Apparently it was important, because he started stomping toward me. “Better wait here, Willy,” I said and met the priest halfway down the aisle. Father had a hanky covering his left cheek. He blurted, “Byrum, have you seen s Plustoni today?” He took his hanky down. His face was bleeding. I could tell it was a scratch. “No, Father, what’s wrong?” “I think he’s going a bit berserk. Will you go to his barrack, to see what’s wrong?” “Yes, Father. I’ll go right away. But shouldn’t you see a doctor?” His eyes wide, almost panicky. “No, it’s nothing, just a little scratch.”

“Should I say you want to see him?” “No, just calm him down, and talk some sense into him, will you?” “Yes, I’m just going to tell my friends and I’ll be gone.” And that was my first hint of danger. Did I encourage s to get too violent? Did I create a monster?

48 INSANITY THWARTED?

As I hustled toward King Company, I recalled how I tried to solve Franny’s fears, by pretending he could beat me down. I wondered then if I had created a Frankenstein out of that simple suggestion. Randy and Willy asked if I needed help, but I refused, indicating it would all amount to nothing. I snapped my fingers and said, “All would be over like a ing cloud.” But, as I left the church, I was afraid there was more to it. Why did the priest have a scratch on his cheek? I hoped it was not something that would blow up into anything major. At King Company barrack, I walked up the stairs and looked around for Franny. Among the many men, brushing their shoes, smoking, laughing, there was Franny, face toward the window, just staring. As I walked toward him, I could see he was closing his fist and opening it, again and again, then punching his left hand with his right. “Franny,” I said, gently. He didn’t answer. “Francis!” He turned, fists clenched. “ me, Franny? I’m Ted, from the chaplain’s office.” He stared at me. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips tightened. He jabbed his hand into his pocket. I thought he was about to attack me, so I tensed, ready for a complication, a squall of some kind. But then his lips opened, his eyes moistened, and his broad shoulders slumped. Tears betrayed him, rolling slowly down his cheeks. His storm became a light rain. He fell on his cot and punched his pillow. “God, god, what did I do? Now I’ll get thrown out, court-marshalled, damn it! My mom told me I couldn’t do it!”

Then I saw Corporal Winters at the doorway. One of the other men at a bunk a few rows down, started over, “Hey, Francis, whatcha cryin’ about this time?” I waved him away. He stopped, curious, looked at the corporal, and went no further. “Let’s go for a walk, Franny.” I grabbed him by the arm. He let himself be led. “Okay.” Then almost in a weeping whisper, “Ca… Can you do anything to help me?” “I’ll try.” Corporal nodded as we walked by. When we were outside, Franny burst into tears that lasted a minute or so, and I thought that was good, let it out. Let the storm . But then he commenced a strange sound, almost like purring, then a guffaw and a sound similar to a cackle. “I got him good this time when he started his stuff again. ‘No!’ I bawled. An’, An’, he reached for me there, an’ my hand was up the way my cat used ta claw at me, an’ I scratched ‘im good, an’ ran like the dickens, I did.” He grinned. Then his face wrinkled. “I can’t take any more of this. I just want it all ta stop!” I waited for his breathing to slow. “Just cool down for me now will you? Let the tension out of your muscles.. Let’s walk, and I’ll do the talking, okay?” “Kay.” We walked, slowly. “He’s touching you, isn’t he? You don’t have to answer. I think I know what he’s doing. It’s inappropriate. And he’s a priest. I have an idea of how to get it to stop. So from now on, I want you to be busy whenever Father Roland sends for you. Just refuse politely. You have duties to perform, don’t you? Marching, preparing to be a paratrooper? So just arrange to be too busy for him. Can you do that?” “I can try.”

“Just stay in control of yourself, and your mother will be proud of you yet. The priest won’t get you in trouble. I guarantee that.” “Really?” “Really. I’ll make sure of that. Now go ahead back. Tell the corporal everything’s okay.” “Thanks. What’s your name again?” “Ted, Ted Byrum.” “Thanks, Ted. Please do what you can.” He waved to me, his eyes full of watery thanks.

49 LETTERS FROM HOME

I it I felt guilty for not writing lately, although I did send Christmas cards, but my life seemed to change with all my mysterious activities lately, with the goings-on by Mile 21, and Mt. Pleasant, which featured The Wild Thang bar, and then what Father Roland was up to with the “boys,” so many things seemed to become like a vine, growing longer and longer, entangling my mind until I could think of not much else. So I received these letters with a sense of guilt.

Dearest love, Theodore, Feb 1954

I don’t know how long I can stand being without you, my darling. I think about you every hour of each day. Sometimes while I’m working with a customer, I’d forget what I was saying, just wondering what you’re up to. Are you safe? In danger? Sometimes I catch myself smiling just thinking about something you said, and a customer will stare at me as if I was just released from the asylum. I read the newspapers each day, and worry about what could be going on in your world. One girl I work with, Annie, is married to a guy who is in , and she worries all the time. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the conference in Berlin with ministers from the U.S., Russia, and England, trying to agree on many things too confusing to me. But anyway, my sweetheart, nobody could agree on anything, mostly because of Russia, from what I gather, but it all just seems to continue the distrust and hostilities, and Annie who tells me all this, is really scared, and so am I. If there’s another war, what will happen to you, my love? Oh, guess what? I wrote to your mother again, and she wrote back, and I’m

going to visit her and your family in a few weeks. Won’t that be nice? She seems so sweet in her letters. But, I it, I’m nervous. What will she think of me? Will she say I’m too young? Will she ask how many times I go to church? To confession? What should I wear? I want to see her and the rest of your family, but I’m so nervous just thinking about it. Annie and I went to a movie last weekend. At the Paramount they showed “The Death of a Salesman” again. Wow! So powerful! And so sad! Then we stopped at a restaurant on the way home, and some guys tried to pick us up. Annie, showed her ring, then a picture of her husband in uniform, and they backed off. Well, that’s all the news I have for you, my darling. I will not tell you how hard it is for me to sleep at night, but it is, and whoops, I guess I just did. Oh, well, I love you and miss you and am dying to get a letter from you, or else!

All my love, my dearest darling, Your Pauley

P. S. I don’t want you to worry, Honey, but I’ve been seeing Filippo hanging around at the corner, by the store. No need to worry, now, because he’s all alone, but I’m keeping my eyes on him.

I pondered that for a bit, ing that punk, Filippo, but I trusted Pauley’s instinct. I felt she would be okay, but I would fly out to Woonsocket in a flash if I felt she was in danger. The next envelope was from my friend, Darren Lattimer. How strange it was that I’d made such a friend as this brilliant young man. I smiled, ing how I’d met him on the campground, when I’d helped him pitch his tent, and he cut his hand badly, trying to hammer his tent peg in with his bayonet. This man, so educated, so unlikely a friend, had changed my life in ways I’d never have imagined. He opened my eyes to the world of poetry. But more than that, he let me see it was okay to love another man, and even use the word, “Love,” and not

feel ashamed to let that word, so frightening to explode from one’s mouth, yet so powerful when expressed from the heart, without, of course, any sexual connotation whatsoever.

My Esteemed Theodore, February, 1954

I miss you my friend, but then, I assume you know that. I’m sure you’re busy doing some military work, somehow for the chaplain. It surprised me, at first, when I’d heard that you were assigned to work for him, but then I thought how natural it seems, after you served mass for Father Drew so assiduously. I assume you are doing well, my Massachusetts confederate. I have been consumed in my studies at Boston U. I’ve decided to major in English, which, I am sure, is no surprise to you. My nose is deep in world literature, and I have decided to read them in their original languages, so, I’ve been studying French, Italian, and Russian, slowly and carefully, and I must confess, so joyously. I plan to go on studying for my masters and doctorate degrees, which will take a few years, but I’m in no hurry. Of course, I project that I will teach here at the university. Aunt Dorothy, or Dot, as most call her, has been faithful to her promise to reside here with me, and although she can be a positive pain when words pour from her like a broken fire hydrant, she has a heart as large as the moon. But she feeds me well, and allows me to study for many hours. I do spend time with her at church, and at the movies on Saturday nights. And, Ted, I’m sure you know how wide the hole in my heart is for Aunt Lily. She is with me always, like a beacon guiding me where ever I go, whenever I question my path. You, also, have become such an important component in the construction of the person, Darren Lattimer. Enough of that, Ted. Just know that I miss you and you are with me always.

Love, Darren Dear Son,

February, 1954

I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks, and I worry about you. We are all proud of you and your being able to jump out of airplanes, which is such a dangerous thing to do. But I know how important it can be in war time, I guess. I have been praying for you every morning at mass at the French church. Sometimes, it seems, I can just barely make it to the corner, but the Lord gives me strength to make it. I struggle up the steps, but once I open the door I feel renewed, and I know God has been waiting for me. It is a comfort to be able to pray in French, as I did as a child. That is how I feel, son, like a child once again. I don’t wish to be morbid, son, but the pain in my stomach and side is getting worse. I know I should have done this sooner, but I finally made an appointment with the doctor. Your dad nagged me until I gave in. I think it frightens him when I bend over, sometimes to my knees from such stabbing cramps. I’m not afraid of death, dear Ted, because it would be such a relief to me. But I still have Anthony to take care of, and now, your father. They both need me, I know, and I will continue to find the strength to cook and clean and sustain their existence as it is now, Lord willing. But I also know, if He chooses to take me, he will provide some way. I miss you my darling, boy, and don’t worry about me. Forgive me for giving you such a burden, by writing so much about my tribulations, but somehow it relieves some of my torture knowing that you know about it. You are the only one I’ve told, and I know you can handle it, and will understand.

Your father says he’s proud of you, though it’s not easy getting him to it it. Anthony wants you home, as soon as you can make it. He says you can take his bat to hit rocks into the Connecticut any time you want. He wants to go with you next time. That’s all for now, my son. Please stay safe, and guard your soul in this crazy wily world.

All my love, my son, Mom

Ah, me, now my mother is in real pain. I wish I could just pick up and fly home to relieve her pain somehow. Then I would rush to Woonsocket, and take care of that Filippo for good. My head felt like it was spinning around above me like propellors on a helicopter. Strange, I thought of smoking a cigarette to calm my nerves. But, of course, I knew that would be no solution. Actually, it would add to my struggles. No, I just waited for lights out, and stood by the window, staring up at the sky, trying to spot a star, perhaps even a planet, which allowed me to wonder if there were beings in that world with similar problems.

50 UNHOLY NIGHT AND CHURCH

That Saturday night, the rain poured, thunder clapped, and I rolled back and forth on my bunk, trying to acquire some semblance of sleep. It seemed as if the sky was just as upset as I was, as I tangled with the problems of Francis and the priest, Mom’s health, Pauley’s worries about Filippo, and Mile 21. I gave up at 0430, and decided a hot, hot shower might rinse this all from my mind and body. I felt relaxed. Time, good old Time would take care of all, I decided. As the hot water eased the tension in my back and mind, I decided to Lieutenant Robson to establish some plan to deal with the problem of Mile 21. I was apprehensive about seeing Father Roland in church later that Sunday morning, but I would try to appease him, if possible. Perhaps I would even use a subtle comment that suggested the possibility of exposure, but I didn’t think I could stand up to him directly with out getting a court martial. I sat at my bunk dressing slowly, waiting for the others to awaken. Out the window, the rain seemed to have ceased, but the wind was still whipping the limbs of the trees, bouncing them up and around. Jules, of course, was up early before the others, so he showered, dressed, and we decided to eat breakfast chow, then leave walk slowly to church. As we walked, fighting to keep our hats on in the wind, Jules said, “You’re unusually quiet. Is anything wrong?” I thought a bit, then said, “I’m worried about my mom. She has a pain in her side or stomach, and she kept refusing to see a doctor. In her letter yesterday she said she was seeing one, so I’m praying it is something simple, something a little operation can cure. You know, snip, snip, and all better, but somehow I doubt it.” As we neared the church, Jules held his hands around his mouth to form a sort of

echo chamber so I could hear better, over the wind and hollered, “I will pray for her in church this morning that she will be well, my friend!” Inside the church, it was quiet, still, with just a tiny soprano whistle of the wind playing the steeple like an instrument. I left Jules in a pew at the back of the church and walked forward to enter the sacristy. I prepared the priest’s vestments, the chasuble and stole, on the table, ready for him. I did this all while wondering what to say to Father Roland about Francis. I went out of the sacristy to pray a bit. I waved to Jules at the back of the church, then knelt at the altar and prayed to God to protect my mother and Pauley. Sometimes while praying, I felt like a hypocrite, because I’d never had a flash of recognition, never seen a vision of Christ other than those in pictures and statues, never felt an emotion that convinced me of the reality of God, and yet I believed. I could not live with the thought of there being no God, no higher being who created this magnificent world, no, no, I couldn’t accept that I was an accidental sperm among millions just fortunate enough to become an animal amongst the many. Where is the purpose? Why am I here? So my prayer was simple, please protect my mother and Pauley, if it is your will, Lord. “What are you doing out here, young man!” was the loud angry whisper of Father Roland. “Let’s get ready! Now!” I made a quick sign of the cross, and ed the priest in the sacristy. “Help me put these on, Byrum, quick!” muttered the red faced priest. As I helped him, the thunder started again angrily, sounding like it was right above the church. “Well, did you talk to Private Plustoni? What did you say to him?” “Yes, I found him, Father Carpenter. He seemed upset.” “What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want to get into trouble. He’s going to be busy with the sarge now.” “That was all? What did you say to him?” I thought about it for a few seconds. The rain started bouncing of the roof tiles. “I said I didn’t like what I thought was going on.” Father took a deep breath. “What do you mean by that? Who are you to judge?” “Oh, I’m nobody, Father. I just don’t want Francis to get a dishonorable discharge, do you?” His face reddened like a ripening tomato, his arm cocked on his side, and he slapped my face, hard! I was dizzy for a moment. He yelled, “Who in hell do you think you are? It’s none of your business what’s going on. It’s priest business, that’s what it is! I’ll get you a dishonorable discharge!” I was in shock. I rubbed my cheek. This was getting serious. I made a fist, thinking about swinging, hitting him right on his fat face, or maybe even his protruding belly. I moved toward him, feeling fierce, like a lion, ready to leap. But then sanity invaded my emotion, like a wave from the sea. I thought, no, that would really be something unforgivable in the military. Not even the general could excuse that. But I believe he saw my clenched fist. Father was back against the door. He must have sensed the anger I fought, but then relented. He said, “Let’s go to mass. Sorry, Private, but I’ll handle the problem. You just stay out of it, okay?”

51 A NUNNERY VISIT

After discussing the possibility of using Satan in our fight against the insurgents, Lieutenant Robson, though doubtful at first, agreed that I could try to train him, but he would check with the others for their reactions. I told him I didn’t even know if I could get permission, but it was an idea I wanted to pursue. Robbie puffed on his cigarette as we walked. “Do you even know how to train a dog?” “No, sir, never tried, but I’d like to give it an attempt. Besides, maybe the Sister Mary Victoria will help me, I don’t know. But we can decide later after we determine whether Satan will obey my commands or not..” The lieutenant field-stripped his cigarette and let the tobacco disappear in the wind. The paper disappeared in his hand. “Okay, Ted, I’ll be in .” He shook his head as he walked away. “Satan. That’s a helluva name for a dog that lives with those angels!” So that Saturday, I waited outside the convent for Sister Vickie. I was early and didn’t mind waiting. At Mile 21 I saw a bit of smoke, but no movement of humans. I wondered what kind of wood they were putting under the flame. I learned in a bivouac at basic training that most of the trees around there were pine, and I knew pine didn’t burn very well, because it wouldn’t last long, hardly enough to cook a meal. Maybe they brought some in from outside, some good dry oak maybe, which would endure much longer. At last out came Satan. He exited, then looked around, before bounding toward the car. He immediately put his huge paws up to the window, and looked through the glass, baring his teeth, but then he must have recognized me, and his ears fell back. Then his tongue began lolling to one side. I opened the door and commanded, “Satan, sit!” He raised his ears, stared momentarily, then sat. “Well done, Ted! I see our Satan likes you. Looks like you have a way with

dogs.” Sister picked up her robe to keep it above the muddy path as she made her way to the car. “Not really, Sister, but I do have a respect for them, and their teeth!” Sister Vickie laughed at this. “And well you should.” She bent over and patted, then hugged the dog. “That brings me to a question, Sister. I’ll bring it up when we’re on the road.” As we rode along, I looked at Sister in the mirror. I heard the clicking of the beads while her lips moved slightly mouthing “Hail Mary, full of grace.” Finally, she said, “Okay, my friend, what about our evil dog, Satan?” “Oh, he’s certainly not evil, Sister, but I….” I stopped speaking, just as we neared Mile 21. There were about 10 or 12 cars parked away from the tents, and many men were lined up in what looked like a company standing tall in line, with one man giving orders in front of them, like a platoon leader. I went on, “I mean, uh, where was I?” Sister chuckled, “Those groups seem to have grown, haven’t they, Ted? Is that a concern to you? To the army?” “Yes, Sister, I don’t know if this will work, or even if it’s an idea worth while, but I was wondering if I could take Satan on a maneuver to find out what they’re up to out there.” “Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to put our protector in danger. And we feel so safe having him in the convent, protecting us from burglars, or anyone else with evil intent. We certainly would not want the dog to hurt anyone, but you have to it he can put a pretty good scare into any intruders.” “I understand, Sister.” “Would it be for an important cause, Ted?” “I think so, but I can’t say for sure. But I went to a meeting of these people, and I think they’re ready to resort to some kind of violence.”

“Oh, I don’t know. But, of course, it would not be up to me. Mother Superior would have to approve.” “Of course, but I don’t want anyone else to know about what’s going on, on the base, Sister. It would have to be confidential.” “Okay, when we return, I’ll see if we can get an interview for you. Will this all be approved by your leaders in the military?” “I’ll make sure it is, Sister.” When we returned to the convent, Sister said, “Please wait here, Ted, my friend. Can I call you my friend?” My face felt flushed. “I would be so honored if you did, Sister.” Sister Vickie smiled, then headed to the convent after telling me to wait for her signal. I waited nervously. My experience with one nun in the past did not leave a favorable taste in my mouth. A bitter memory lingered like black smoke above my head just ing the anger and unjust accusations I’d received just for standing at school, waiting for my friend. So when Sister waved me to the door, I felt nervous the way I had the first time I was an altar boy, praying I wouldn’t stutter with my Latin, which, of course, I did. I walked slowly, until Sister Vickie said, “Hurry! She doesn’t have much time.” Sister led me through a short hallway. Then we turned a climbed a narrow stairway, that turned snakelike, once, twice. The walls were painted blue, dark, then lighter as it rose to the ceiling. Sister saw me staring up, and she said, “The blue is reminiscent of the sky, and God’s heaven. And notice the green on the lower part of the walls. They suggest new plants and His ever renewing , promising, no matter how evil our lives become, Life will renew our love and faith.” “I like it Sister.” She stopped at the top of the stairs, catching her breath “I must warn you, she

can be a bit intimidating. But we love her and respect her for her dedication and wisdom.” Okay. I’m nervous now. But we’re here. What can she do to me but refuse?” “You’ll see.” That comment alone filled me with trepidation. At the same time I smiled to myself, thinking of Jules’ reaction to my use of vocabulary. Too soon we came to the Mother Superior’s door. Sister Vickie knocked. “Enter!” The door creaked eerily as we walked in. There, behind the desk was the covered head of a nun. I assumed she must have been leaning down to pick something up. But then Mother Superior got to her feet and there before me was a woman shorter than my mother. She couldn’t have been more than 4 feet 6 inches, or so. She had a tiny mouth, much too small for her face, and I imagined the food she ate must be child size. I mused she might eat baby food, saving her the trouble of cutting any meats small enough to fit in her birdlike gullet. She also had thick, gray eyebrows that needed to be trimmed about a year ago. But there she stood, staring, as though she were standing in judgment of me. “Uh, hello, Mother Superior,” I mumbled, half genuflecting. “No need for that, young Ted. I’m not Jesus at the altar,” she said firmly. “So, you’re the young soldier serving as Sister Mary’s chauffeur.” “Yes, Mother, I mean, Mother Superior.” “Sit down, soldier, right there. Sister Mary Victoria come with me. We’ll be right back, Private Byrum.” They left, and I sat in a hard wood chair with a stiff back, almost inviting me to be at attention, so I gave up trying to relax. Mother Superior’s desk appeared to be 5 feet long and 3 feet wide, much too large for such a tiny woman. There were few things on it, a bible and a missal on top of it were all. Other than the window behind her, the walls were light green, with a cross, a photo of Pope Pius X11, and another photo of a grouping of the nuns in front of the convent,

with Satan sitting in front of them. At last, Mother Superior and Sister Vickie reappeared, and Satan came with them, walking around the office, sniffing, ears alert, until he saw me. He stood, staring at me. I didn’t move, at first, wondering if this was a test. Then I cautiously, whispered, “Satan! Come!” Satan didn’t move. Then Sister Vickie came to me. She waved her finger, and Satan walked to her, eyes on the finger, until he was right at her side, and stopped. “Sit!” Sister Vickie commanded, and Satan sat. Mother Superior stood in front of her desk and said, “Young man, I spoke to your General and he said he would approve if you felt the need of our dog, because it could be of national import, so I do not wish to stand in the way of our country’s safety. But, and I do mean but. Look at me young Byrum!” I was staring at the dog, and looked up. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother Superior! I was listening to you while I was staring at Satan. I apologize, sincerely, mam!” Her bottom teeth were uneven, crooked, as if she were given too many at birth so they were jammed in. Mother Superior waited, glaring at me, my eyes, my soul, it seemed. “Now, heed my restriction! I will not have our dog responsible for the death or maiming of any human being unless the situation is one of life or death.” As she spoke, her voice was commanding, sure, and I understood why she was the Mother Superior. She was firm, wise, sure of herself, and there was no doubt in my mind why she led the convent. “Am I quite clear, Private Byrum?” “Uh, yes, sir, I mean Mother Superior!” I lifted my hand as if to salute her, but brought it back and hid it behind me as if it were a naughty boy in church. She laughed at that, “I am not a ‘sir,’ young man. Now listen. Sister Mary also. None of the other sisters in this convent can be told of this. Is this clear?” Sister Mary and I answered together, as though we were in a choir. “Yes, Mother Superior!” Sister Mary Victoria and I began to leave, when Mother Superior said, “And

there is one more most essential caution.” We waited by the door. She walked toward us. I tried not to let her bottom teeth bother me. “You are both young, and although I may not look it, I understand the cravings and appetites of youth. You are not to answer them, do I make myself clear? Do not succumb to them! Do not ruin your careers, your lives!!! Is that perfectly and completely clear? “Yes, Mother Superior,” we said in unison. “Now get out of here. Use the back stairs.” We left, quietly, as though being secretive was essential, but I felt like I was back in high school, after being scolded by the principal.

52 THE CHAPLAIN FIRES ME?

That Sunday, after I served Mass for Father Roland, I followed him into the sacristy, and as he was taking off his raiments, he announced, “I’m going to fire you, just as soon as I find a replacement. Just warning you. Start looking elsewhere.” This was a shock to me. That feeling of disaster started in my gut and rushed to my head, blood pooling in my brain. Then I asked, “Why, Father?” “Because I have found you wanting. And I don’t want you sniffing around in my business.” “Just what business is that, Father?” Then I couldn’t resist. “Is it the business with s?” As fast as a fired bullet his hand flew and slapped me on the face, not hard, but sharp. No pain came with it, but the surprise of being thwacked by the priest, brought an instant response. My fists were up in the defensive position instantly like Joe Louis. That was the second time he slapped me. Father backed his fat body to the wall, and said, “Wait! I didn’t mean to hit you!” But when he saw my fists go down, he grinned, and seeming to regain control, exclaimed, “That will make it easier for me, now, raising your fists to a priest. You’re as good as gone, young man. Are you familiar with the term, ‘court martial?’” “Yes, I am, Father.” My face still burned from the slap. Then I thought a second, and my defense came to me. The words tumbled from me like lava down a volcano. “And I’m also familiar with Modesta, California. I’m also familiar with Leroy Riverton.” “Leroy Riverton? Who in blazes is that?”

“He’s the janitor of the church, where he says you commit strange things in hidden rooms, that bother his Christian beliefs.” The priest’s face flushed like a ripe radish. “Leroy the janitor? Never heard of him. What is he, a ghost? Why haven’t I ever heard of him? And what do you know about Modesta?” “Oh, Father, I know about many things. But I just don’t want to be fired right now. I’ve been on special assignments for the general, that he doesn’t want me to divulge, right now.” “The general? What if I tell him you struck me on the face? That’ll be a court martial for sure!” “You might be right, Father.” I thought a bit, hardly believing I was involved in such a dispute. But this meant my career. I had to fight back, not physically, but with my brain. “Sorry, sir, but if you insist, I’ll have to Modesta to find out why you left there in such a hurry. Besides, the military treats soldiers who engage in certain same-sex activities pretty harshly. Believe me, Father, I’ve witnessed it, and it’s not pretty. It’s pretty bloody as a matter of fact. So go ahead and say I hit you. You might as well add lying to your list of sins. Most priests I know, shun sin like a disease, but you seem to add and claim them like medals on your uniform.” Father turned and threw his raiments on the floor. He lifted his arms and prayed, “Oh, God, why, why did you make me the way I am? How did you let me go this far? Who am I, but a piece of excrescence my father shat upon me? I thought being a priest would help me to be the kind of holy man I thought I could be!” He knelt clumsily, tears dripping onto the floor. He turned to me. “Get out of here! Do what you have to do! I don’t care!” I left, feeling like an unwilling victor in a boxing match.

53 ON DOG TRAINING

Jules asked me, “Why do you wish to strain your brain studying dog training?” Brian overheard that from his bunk, and jumped right in. “Is this a rhyme thing? Isn’t that a crime thing? Who are you braining?” He stomped easily with his long legs over a series of bunks to reach us. Hey, Teddy boy, haven’t seen you in a few days. Everything okay?” “Yeah, I was just telling Jules, I’d like another trip to the library.” “Hey, cool, let’s go. I need some more books to boost up my vocabulary. I found my last visit quite poignant.” Jules laughed. “And sometimes your use of are quite poignant to me. Poignant is usually a term for deep feelings of sadness, Brian.” “Oh, oh, I goofed. But at least I learned something, didn’t I?” “You sure did. So I guess it’s still doing some good. Teddy, here, wants to learn about training dogs, but he won’t say why.” “It’s no big deal. At the convent is a big German shepherd, and it made me curious how the nuns were able to train him. I’m intrigued, and how’s that for a word, Jules” “That’s a great word, Ted. Very apropos.” “Hah! I’ve got that one, guys. It means appropriate, right?” “Yes it does, Brian. Exactly. So let’s go this evening, shall we?” We agreed. And we would rope Bobby into going when we found out where he was.

At the library that evening, Ms. Cates looked up from the desk, and with a crooked grin, exclaimed, “Okay, what are you hooligans doing, stomping into my library?” She wore a light green skirt, sort of like an unripe tomato, and a tan blouse. Her orange-red hair was pinned up in a swoop which reminded me of waves in the ocean. I don’t know why, but her looks always fascinated me. Jules said, “Good evening, Ms. Cates, we’re back again to increase our woefully deficient vocabularies. And Pfc Byrum here desires to train Siberian huskies. If you have any sanity tests, you might endeavor to find if he is minus certain faculties and has a serious case of dementia.” Ms. Cates said, “I assume the rest of you know what your minds need to read. I’ll attend to Mr. Byrum.” Jules led Bobby and Brian into the stacks. “Now,” said Ms. Cates, “What’s this about a Siberian husky. That’s a pretty large animal, I must say.” “I know, Ma’m, but anything you can show me, will help.” “There’s only one book here on animal training, son, and perhaps you can gain some general knowledge, but you have experts on your base training dogs by now, don’t you? I know you must.” It struck me as news! I hadn’t even thought of that. “Wow, you’re amazing Ms. Cates. I never even thought of that. I didn’t know there was a unit that trains dogs. How do you know such things?” “A librarian learns many things. I heard from a soldier I’d been seeing that they’ve been trying to recruit some soldiers for the training unit. You should investigate. Meanwhile, you can look at the one book we have.” I glanced at the one book, and in the section on dogs, all I could get out of it was, I should always use one-word commands, or the animal will get confused. Also, I should never waver in rules I’ve established with the dog.

Then, having made my decision to use the unit on base, I decided I should look up a new word to impress Jules and the guys. When I met them at Ms. Cates’ desk, I said, “I just had such a frisson over my discoveries of knowledge!” Bobby said, “You had a what? Is it sompin’ one kin ketch?” Brian asked, “You had a free what?” “How come you’re freezing’?” Jules said, “Okay, Teddy, you’ve stumped me. What’s a ‘frisson’?’ “I’m glad you asked, Jules. It’s nice to know I found something you don’t know. It gives me such a frisson just stumping you. A frisson is a shiver or a thrill at learning something, or hearing something that excites you, or scares you. It’s like having goosebumps over something that thrills you.” “Good word! I like it!” said Jules. I signed the book on animal training out. Abe added, “I like this! It’s like digging into the abyss of knowledge! Bobby exclaimed, “Yeah, it’s pert near lak followin’ y’all’s proclivities, ain’t it?” Jules raised his hand, “Whoa, see what I started Ms. Cates?” Ms. Cates answered with a grin, “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, gentlemen. Don’t get arrested for excessive speeding on the vocabulary train. Someone might get hurt,” she chortled. “Now go on. Git on outa heah, y’all.” Back in the barrack, I read some of the basic rules for dog training. One of them was, whenever rewarding the dog, do it within a few seconds so he’ll connect it with his recent activity. I’d never thought of that. Another was, “When disciplining the dog, approach him, because if you tell him to come to you, he’ll think you’re punishing him for coming to you.” Finally, it said, “Never waver in your rules.” They seemed to make sense to me, but I’d never thought about the fact that, dogs

can’t understand our language. Too often at home I’d assumed our dog, Tuppence, understood. At last the light bulb lit up for my dense brain.

54 SATAN TRAINING BEGINS

The phone rang. “General Thompson’s office. Corporal Smith speaking.” “Uh,’ I said. “Is Randy Williams there? This is Pfc Theodore Byrum.” “One moment please. He’s in the general’s office.” I tapped my fingers until at last Randy breathed heavily into the phone, “Hey, Teddy, how in hell are you? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” “Yeah, I know, I’ve been on the go, but I assume they let you know what I’m up to, right?” “Sort of, I guess. Are you staying out of trouble? How was the Wild Thang experience?” “That’s what it was, an experience. I got a glimpse of a much different world, I think, and suddenly I’m stuck in the middle of it. It’s scary for a kid like me, but I’m kind of eager to meet the challenge.” “Can I help you?” “I think so. I heard they’re trying to start a new unit, training dogs. If so, I’d like to meet one of them for advice.” “Okay, I heard what you’re trying to do. I’ll find out who it is, and set you up.” “Thanks, Randy. Gotta go.” I drove to Mt. Pleasant, wearing fatigues and jump boots, late in the cloudy afternoon, having finished my paperwork in the chaplain’s office. Sister Vickie had arranged with me to begin some training of Satan. On the way I parked the car next to the sign for Wood’s Hole and got out. I walked to the edge, where two giant oak trees stood like guards in front of a gully. The ground was thick

with tall green weeds and vines. A path led down past the gully into a small clearing, but following that it looked muddy as it led into thick bushes, thick pine trees and thin maple trees, and the path seemed to disappear. So this is what the librarian, Ms. Cates warned me against. “Don’t go there,” she said. People disappear in there? It struck me that this might be an ideal place to take Satan. Maybe. At the convent Sister, wearing a puffy white blouse, slacks and sneakers, came out with Satan following her on a leash. They walked up to me and Sister pointed down. Satan sat, his tongue lolling. But the dog was alert. ears perked at attention. “Here’s what I learned about taming the dog, Ted. Satan was already tamed before he came to us ‘poor, fragile women.’” She tugged on the leash, then handed it to me, being sure the dog saw the exchange. “Always give one word commands. Start walking, then tell him to (and she whispered) ‘Come!’” I took the leash and walked with it toward the car. “Come!” Satan looked at Sister Vickie, who pointed toward me. Then Satan followed the tug of the leash toward me. I stopped at the car. Then Sister said, “Command him to sit with authority.” I pointed down and commanded, “Sit!” I assumed by Satan’s actions that he understood what we were doing. His ears were still at attention, and he sat immediately. Sister Vickie then glided toward me, and held her hand out, “Take this, and use it to reward him.” I took it. Then I happened to glance up at the window, and saw Mother Superior looking out the window. She nodded. I nodded back. Then I held the meat chunk out, and Satan took it gently. “Now let him in the back of the car. Say ‘sit!’ and pat the seat so he knows it’s okay to sit there.” I did so. Sister sat in the front enger seat. “I’ll ride with you just so Satan knows it’s okay to follow your commands.” As we coasted away she waved up toward the upper window, at Mother Superior I was sure.

“Put these pieces of meat in your pocket to reward him for following your commands.” I coasted down the hill and out the gate. I felt Sister Vickie’s presence once again, and sensed her pleasant odor envisioning her washing her naked body with some exotic soap. Then I quickly slammed that imaginary door shut. “Have you heard of Wood’s Hole, Sister?” “Yes, I do some reference to it having something to do with mysterious disappearances, but I took it to be some local spooky sinister mythology. Why do you ask? Is that where you wish to take Satan? And me?” “That’s what I had in mind, Sister. Think it will be okay?” “Of course. Besides, Satan will be there to protect us.” I parked on the grass by the Wood’s Hole sign, opened the back door and said, “Come!” to Satan. He jumped down, sat, and whimpered. “Ah, yes,” Sister said, “Satan has to relieve himself. I think it will be okay if you take off his leash and say, ‘Go,’ to him.” I did so, and the dog ran to a tree, lifted his leg and peed. Then he sniffed around in the bushes while we watched. Then he squatted and pooped, until he came away scratching the earth as if to cover up his crime. He trotted back wagging his tale. I asked Sister if she would be okay walking into Wood’s Hole a bit, and she nodded. I understood her sneakers might get muddy, but she seemed undaunted. “Come!” I ordered to Satan, and he started following us, sniffing along the way. We walked down the hill slowly, because the path was still a bit moist and muddy from the recent rain. I had to hold back some limbs of trees and bushes to protect Sister as we made our way. When we got to the opening the footing was dry, giving Sister Vickie a chance to catch her breath and knock some of the mud off her shoes on a tree trunk. I did the same with my jump boots.

We continued on into the thicker bushes, following the path as well as we could. Satan was behind us. He growled. We stopped. I ordered, “Satan, come!” He came to me, and I gave him a morsel of meat. Then his ears perked up and he growled again. “What is it?” He looked up at me. “Go!” I ordered and he set off ahead of us. But before he disappeared in the thick brush, I had this idea, which if it worked, would come to be quite useful when the dog was out of sight. I whistled, the kind I’d always used to imitate a hawk, and followed it with, “Satan, come!” Nothing, no movement in the greenery. I whistled again. “Satan, come!” Sister and I looked at each other. Then she shouted, “Look!” And, sure enough, Satan was loping back to us. “Good dog, Satan. Sit!” He did, and I gave him another chunk of meat. Sister Vickie, gasped, “Why, what a great idea, Ted! And the whistle was very effective.” The trainers used whistles, but I never did. I think Satan understands that language.” Satan then growled and gruffed again. “Go!” I commanded, and he ran toward the brush, but cautiously. I followed. “I don’t know what’s out there, Sister. Want to stay here?” “I’m no coward, young man. There’s no way I’m staying here. Besides, you might need protection,” she grinned and walked ahead, tip-toeing to keep just aside the muddy path. So we strode toward the underbrush. As we were bending over to go under and around the bushes and limbs, I heard Satan growling and barking. Then I heard a man’s voice, yelling, “Help! Git ta hell offa me, wolf!” Satan stood there, at attention, in front of the man, growling. I saw the man’s long dirty grey hair, and knew who it was immediately. “Satan! Come!” and the dog came to me. “Sit!” He did so, and I fed him again. They he turned toward the man, ready. We walked closer to him. He glared. “Don’t come no closer! I gotta gun heah!”

I said, “Stay!” to Satan, and glided closer to the man. “No harm will come to you, Eustice! We come in peace. I’m in the military. I understand you were in the war? Am I right?” Eustice paused a moment and stared. “What? Y’all ain’t after me? Ain’t gonna arrest me? Hey, ain’t that there a nun? What in hell? Hauntin’ me? She real?” He stared, squinting, but couldn’t seem to see very well. “Yes, Eustice, I’m a real nun. God bless you. We mean no harm. What are you doing here, Eustice. Surely you don’t live here, do you?” “Damn raght ah do, scuse mah language, but ah ain’t worth savin’, Ma’m. Ah bin meanin’ to git better, git a job an so on, but nobody ’preciates me an mah talents.” Eustice was edging his way backwards. “Well, will you let us help you?” Eustice dove into the thick brush behind him and after some rustling, all was quiet. Satan whimpered, looking up at me. I said, “Stay!” Sister urged, “Ted, we must go after him! He needs our help!” She looked at me with consternation. Her face reddened. “I don’t think so, Sister. I have a strange feeling about him. He’s been after revenge for quite some time. He’s been living here in Wood’s Hole, and the stories about this jungle of a place and the many disappearances convince me to be cautious. He knows Wood’s Hole, and we don’t. I’ll just bet he spent time in thick woods in the war, too.” “I see, Ted. Let’s follow your instinct.” We moved slowly, circumspect. “Come!” and the dog followed. I moved the brush back slowly, cautiously so I could scrutinize the terrain. I half expected to see Eustice waiting with a weapon, but he was out of sight. I found a small clearing and waited for Sister, who was ducking below the tree limbs as she scrambled toward me. Spanish moss hung down from many of the trees, giving the area a dark mysterious aura.

When we had a chance to observe the surroundings, we saw that it was dark and dank, and ten yards from us was a depression and what looked like a dark pond. “It’s a swamp, Sister! Let’s follow this little walkway to the right. Come, Satan!” I had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for, but I had the strange impression that someone, or something was watching us. At last, I decided we’d gone far enough. I turned, and Sister was gone! “Oh, God! Sister, where are you? Satan! Find Sister!!!” Satan led the way back, and there was Sister Vickie sitting in the mud, trying to get up. I hurried to her, grabbed her muddy hand, and pulled her up. “Are you okay, Sister?” She wiped the tears with her sleeve. “I’m okay, Ted. I was scared at whatever crackling noise I heard, and tried to run, but fell in this muck. Now I’m a mess!” I chuckled a bit, and tried to wipe a smear on her cheek. “You’re beautiful even with mud on your face., Sister Vickie.” I handed her my handkerchief. I couldn’t help envisioning her naked once again, in a shower, scrubbing the mud off. “Thank you, I’m so mad, I could scream!” she blurted. Then she ed me in laughter while trying to erase the smudges from her outfit. Then I heard a splashing noise back by the swamp. I ordered, “Stay here, Sister. Satan, come!” I ran back through the thick brush, and just caught sight of Eustice running away. But on the path was a huge snake, maybe 3 inches in diameter, slithering toward us, slowly, dragging its long, heavy, narrow body behind him. Satan growled and whimpered, looking up at me. “Satan, come!” I said, and we both quickly scrambled back toward Sister Vickie. “Let’s get out of here, Sister! Giant snake!” I yelled, and we clambered our way back up the hill then hustled to the car. I opened the back door for Satan, while Sister entered the enger side. Once inside, we sat for a moment and caught our breaths. “Whew, that was an experience, wasn’t it, Sister!” Satan was panting, as if in agreement, still trying to wipe mud off his paws.

On the way back to the convent, Sister chuckled, “Mother Superior will get a big kick out of my rendition of this wild outing!”

55 OF JUMPS AND ORDERS

Randy asked, “Well, how was your dog training, Ted?” We were in his office, waiting for the general to open his door. “Okay, I guess. The dog I worked with was already trained, so he was easy to deal with. I did learn a lot about the training, though. The people in the K-nine unit were quite cooperative. But they’re going to train them to attack and go for the throats. I’m not too crazy about that kind of violence. I don’t know.” Randy smirked and said, “This is serious business, Ted. We have to let those people know they can’t overthrow the government on a whim.” The general’s office door opened. General Thompson said, “Come on in, Ted. You too, Randy.” The scar on his neck, was a much deeper red than usual. Sit down here, around the conference table, boys. You already know Colonel Dempsey, Sergeant Scafura, and Lieutenant Smithson. Randy and I nodded and sat. There at the end of the table was a man with a patch over his eye. I recognized the man I met downtown who called himself “Nails,” and later, “Clint Grayson.” I nodded and said, “Hey, Nails.” He didn’t smile, just nodded back. General Thompson, sat, and said, “I know you people all know each other now. And Ted, here, has acquired a dog named, what Private?” I responded, “Satan, sir!” “Satan, huh? And he is living with a nest of nuns? I’d think it would be ‘Savior,’ or some such other heavenly name, maybe ‘Angel,’ but not Satan!”

All at the table laughed. I had to it it was a bit ironic. “Well, Ted here is going on a sort of advance reconnaissance mission. How’s it going so far, Private?” “Decently, sir. We took Satan down to Wood’s Hole, and the dog obeyed pretty well. Of course, I had Sister Mary with me. We encountered an old soldier named Eustice, who seems to be living there, small pond or mud hole, and a huge giant snake that, I think, could have been a python. Sister fell in the muck, but we high-tailed it out of there, sir.” “Okay soldier,” uttered General Thompson, “but,” he paused, then observed, “so the sister is in on all of this?” “Yessir.” “Who else?” “The Mother Superior, sir, but that’s all. None of the others.” “And you trust her?” “Completely, sir. She’s a tough lady.” “She goddam better be.” Sergeant Scafura guffawed. General Thompson, rubbing his hand along his scar, unconsciously. “Okay, if you trust her, I trust her. And the Mother Superior. I don’t want to mess with her!” We all laughed. Then all was quiet. We understood we were doing something important for the army, for our country. At least that’s the way I felt. “Okay, here’s the way this committee wants to handle the situation. Lieutenant Robson will explain, since it was his plan, approved by Colonel Dempsey. Go ahead, Robbie.”

Robbie, who was just taking a cigarette out of the pack, put it back in the pack and stood up. “Thank you, General.” He looked suspiciously at the windows, then the door. Then he walked over to the tripod, where a map of the base and surroundings was pinned. “Young Private Byrum here, and Clint will attend one more meeting in Mt. Pleasant to ascertain what and when their plans will be completed. By the way, I believe Byrum is doing an excellent job. We never would have been aware of the insurgents without him.” “Bravo, Ted!” The general applauded, and others ed in, even Sgt Scafura, albeit with a scornful look. Robbie went on, “And I propose we all take a night jump in preparation for a night raid on these subversives. The jump will be over Swamp Stenchy, near it, but not in it, I hope. And I hope it’s not a windy night to cause any problems. I’ve heard a few of you are quite familiar with this location.” I nodded, and I noticed Sergeant Scafura and the lieutenant indicated they did also, glancing over at me. “Meanwhile, Ted here, will do a recon for us with his dog, uh, Satan.” He pointed at Mile 21. “But he won’t be alone. By that time, Clint will have infiltrated their unit, so he can protect our young spy with his Satan.” The general stepped up, and said, “For those of you worried about your monthly pay for a jump, this will count toward that requirement. Now I’ve included you Lieutenant, Smithson, and you Sergeant Scafura, because I’m well aware of your experiences in the past war. So I want you both to be combat ready in a moment’s notice, is that clear?” “Yessir!” they said in unison. “Thank you. Any questions?” No one answered. The general said, “Well I have one. Ted will you have any trouble getting away from the chaplain at a moment’s notice?” I answered, “No, sir, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Good! I don’t need to tell you people, that this must remain secret. Randy, here, will see to that, right, Randy?” “Yes, sir.” He was standing at attention. “Dismissed!” As we left, I walked with my chest out, head high, a brave soldier serving my country, and felt proud. On the way back to my barrack, though, I knew how silly I would seem to soldiers who had been in actual battle. Pride! I warned myself, that could be and addiction, also, couldn’t it?

56 FAYETTEVILLE CONFESSIONS

Saturday evening, I thought of going to the church, but it was too depressing to think of encountering Father Roland with his shenanigans, plus his curious looks at me, wondering why he’d never heard my confession. No, I didn’t wish to experience that guilty feeling again. Also, there was my mother, who could pluck my conscience like a guitar with just my memory of her and her final words. My sins, though not great, were enough to weigh my conscience down like and anchor. especially when I ed the episode with Sister Vickie. Finally, I decided I’d go to confession, but not on base. I would go downtown to the church in Fayetteville! “Jules!” I shouted. He was lying on his bunk with his eyes closed. He jumped up. “What?” He looked around. “What’s the matter, Teddy? Why did you scare me like that?” “Sorry, Jules, but I just made up my mind to visit the Catholic church in downtown Fayetteville. Wanna come with me?” He smiled at me. “Does that mean you want a ride?” “Yes, guilty as charged. Sorry. I need to go to confession to a priest who doesn’t know me. My mother is in my head, playing a fiddle with my guilty conscience, and she’s taken over my head like a jailer.” “Good idea. Otherwise, I’d just lie around getting fat.” He looked around. “Abe and Bobby went to the theater, to see Roy Rogers in some cowboy movie. “Shall we ask Brian over there? He’s playing solitaire.” “Yeah, why not? Hey, Brian, wanna go to Fayetteville? I’m going to the Catholic church for confession.” Brian riffled his cards in the air and let them float down onto his bunk. “Beats

just sittin’ here. Let’s go. I can be ready in three minutes.” In the car, Jules pulled out slowly. Brian sat in front. “I need this.” he announced. “Why’s that?” I asked. “Bored?” “Nah, my dad’s not doin’ so well. He fell at work, or was tripped. He ain’t sure.” Jules asked, “What does that mean, Brian? Where does he work?” “He’s been workin’ in that same damn Ford plant since he was 18! An’ he ain’t ever missed a day! That’s what he’s got to be proud of. Went to not one of my baseball or football games, but was so proud he never missed work! So he’s crippled himself, likely, but will he miss a day? Naw. Not him, the a-hole. Just wants ta stick a nut on a screw all his life. How’s that for ambition? Never missed a day. Not even now, I’ll bet! But he provided for my brother and me, I have to it that. My mom ruled the family though. She was such a sweetheart,’til she ed.” Jules said, “Sorry about your mom, Brian. But wasn’t your father typical of most fathers then, Brian?” “Hell, I don’t know. But it hurts, man, know what I mean?” “Sure do, Bri,” I said. “What about you, Teddy?” Jules asked eyeing me in the mirror. “Did your dad work in a factory?” “Yep, he did, a paper factory.” I could see their reactions. Jules glanced at me in the rear view mirror, and Brian turned and stared, as if waiting for an explanation. “No, they didn’t make paper, but they distributed it. They cut big sheets into different sizes for note pads, writing pads, and so on.” I paused. They were quiet. “He was a good man, but he was always late coming home on payday. And when he did, early in the morning, he was pretty plastered. An’ he smoked like a train engine, but he always made it home to us.” It hurt at first for me to sort of “confess” this to my friends, but it was also like taking a backpack full of rocks off my shoulders. This was a “secret” from the neighbors at home, but I was pretty sure they really all knew. I did not wish to

reveal to the guys about my dad’s “affairs,” though. “What about you, Jules?” Brian asked. “You must have lived in some castle, huh?” “I don’t wish to talk about this, boys.” Jules held the steering wheel with his left hand, reached down in his pants pocket for his hanky. He pulled it out, wiped his mouth, and held it there, as though trying to gag himself. We said nothing. He looked straight ahead, driving toward the post gate, then said, “Okay, I’ll tell you when we get through the gate.” After they checked our IDs and waved us through, we waited for Jules to continue. “I guess this is a confession night, after all.” He pulled over, onto the sand, holding his handkerchief tightly. He leaned against the door so he could face each of us. “No, I didn’t come from some mansion, Brian. In fact, from what I was able to gather, the family was quite poor. The man who would have been my grandfather, whose name was Darius, was a horrible person, cruel and lazy. The family lived in the backwoods of Alton, Illinois, a city on the Mississippi River. So his daughter, Faith, my mother, whom I’ve never had the pleasure to meet, ran away to Peoria. Probably because her father got her pregnant. I don’t know. She never revealed who the father was. Well, I suppose I did meet Faith in an indirect way. She died when I was born. It was somewhat like two clouds ing each other. I guess she was quite sickly, but I’m not even sure of that, which was a rumor I’d been able to gather from the hospital staff years later. I guess it took some doing, but finally Faith’s aunt, Edna, was found. So Edna took me in and eventually adopted me.” “That’s quite a story, Jules,” I said. “That must have been a tough life for her. Did Darius ever interfere?” “I’m not sure, but the last I heard, but never cared to confirm, was that he was killed in prison.” Jules opened the car door. “Let’s get outside. I feel like my confession needs wide open spaces.” We all got out. I watched a bird circle something below out in the dunes beyond us. Jules continued, “I was fortunate to live with Aunt Edna for years, and didn’t mind when she had a friend, Abigail spend time with us until she eventually moved in. Little did I know until I saw them in bed once, that they were, you

know, I hate the word - Lesbians. I was shocked by this, and from the open-mouthed look of Brian’s, I’m sure he was also. “Wow!” I sort of whispered. “That’s a surprise! What was that like?” “Oh, they were absolutely wonderful to me, at first. That wasn’t the problem. Edna and Abigail had me reading when I was quite young, and cultivated in me a great curiosity for nature, music, culture. They were wonderful. But they sheltered me from the world, making me, don’t think I’m not aware of it, somewhat effeminate. So I was bullied at school, but I eventually overcame that by helping others with their homework and projects.” Brian said, “That sounds kinda ideal. So what happened?” Jules sighed. “Edna was at work. She was a teacher of fourth graders, and she loved it. But the principal started taking an interest in her, asking her for dates, you know. And Mom, uh, you know Edna, who was quite beautiful, kept refusing, until she let it slip that she prefers women, and that set the whole horror in motion. Suddenly all was taken out of proportion. The principal leaked it to the board of education, and then the newspapers began asking questions about whether or not a lesbian can educate children without recruiting them to change sexual preferences. The same question of men teachers seducing students, whether male of female never came up, of course.” I offered, “That’s horrible, Jules. Sounds like it got worse after that.” “I’ll tell you more when we stop at a bar or restaurant.” He wiped his eyes. “But first we have to get Teddy to confession.” In the Fayetteville telephone book, we found St Patrick Catholic Church, then found Village Drive easily. It took less than ten minutes to find the huge building, on a hill, set back on a large piece of property. Jules stopped the car, so we could stare. A brick fence about 5 feet high announced “CATHOLIC CHURCH OF ST PATRICK.” We saw the church over the fence. Two huge trees stood guard on each side of this red brick building, their shiny green leaves waving invitingly. As we drove up, we were quite silent, staring at this impressive edifice, which stood there, seeming to demand respect. It was shaped like a pyramid in the front, only wider. Brian gasped, “Wow, you sure we can go in there?”

Jules smiled. “It’s a church, Brian, they’re supposed to welcome everyone, rich or poor, with open arms.” Jules parked in the huge parking lot. Several other cars, and a truck were also parked there. We exited the car and approached the church. There was a rectangle of tan bricks that led up to the roof, where a simple cross stood out, for most of Fayetteville to observe. We entered through large doors. I was quite impressed by how wide and long the inside was, with stained glass windows all along the sides. I looked up behind us and there on the balcony was the symmetrically shaped tubes of a giant organ. Many seats up there also indicated plenty of room for a choir. The church, like most of them that I’d entered, was hushed and dark, and I detected a slight odor of incense, and burned candles. As usual, I felt compelled to show respect in this house of the Lord. I dipped my hand in the holy water, made the sign of the cross. Jules and Brian did the same. I pointed to the left where several men and women were either perched on kneelers praying, or seated in their pews. All were waiting to confess. I pointed to some pews and whispered, “If you’re not going to confess to the priest, you can sit or kneel here and confess to God, you know, sort of like taking a direct route of communication, skipping the middle man.” I grinned. Brian said, “I was Catholic at one time. I guess I could try it again.” Jules, answered, “I guess I’ll sit here and take the direct line this time.” Brian and I headed for the pews and sat. I examined my conscience, deciding to confess whatever I deemed to be a sin, either in thoughts or deeds, including the nun. At last, I entered, waited until the window opened, and prayed, “Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been about 3 months since my last confession.” An onion breath whispered, “Yes, son, and what are your sins against God?” I hadn’t thought about them as sins against God, but I guess that’s how the church views it. I went on, in a quiet monologue, mentioning temptation with a woman, but not as a nun. Also, I mentioned observing a man, messing sexually

with a boy, but did not indicate he was a priest. I saw no need in stirring up any churchy, religious politics or slurring of Catholics anywhere else. That would be a mud storm with no end, I feared. After we left St. Patrick’s, Jules drove us all to downtown Fayetteville. Little did I realize then, all that we would reveal to each other during this night of confessions.

57 DANGEROUS REVELATIONS

Jules parked the car close to Rusty’s Waterhole, but we saw that it was much too crowded. The swinging door that was usually closed, was wedged open, which let thick smoke float out as if on the wings of the dance music. I wondered where Rusty’s dog, Tuppence, was. “Whoops!” I blurted. “Can’t continue our confessing in there. How about the restaurant over there, Braxton’s? it, Jules?” “Yes, I do, and I that nightmare night, too!” We walked across the street. I looked up and said, “Wow! Look at that full moon! It looks like it’s only a few hundred feet up. Wouldn’t you like to reach up and take a piece of gold from it?” Brian added, “Yeah, it looks like it’s not a real one, just a paper moon someone hung up there.” “And look at how the smoke coming from the bar is trying to rise and smother it! I’ll bet it would cough and spit rain!” came from Jules. “Let’s go in. As we walked into the restaurant, he also added, “Did you know the moon doesn’t really shine? It’s just a reflection of the sun.” I said, “Yeah, Jules, take all the romance out of it! Don’t you have a heart? Do you like spilling ice water on the backs of people’s dreams?” “Sorry.” Inside we sat at a booth toward the back, by a window, and ordered burgers and Coke, from a grey-haired woman whose mouth looked continually set in the frown position. She stomped away as if our order was an affront to her dignity. It was a wonder the floor didn’t crack under her feet. The yellow walls had photos of old cars that seemed to enjoy crashing into each other, a kind of sport, I

guessed. Then Jules put his hands together, thumbs and fingers touching, in the prayer position. We waited. We knew he was formulating some thought. “I was just thinking about that full moon. It really symbolizes many things to different cultures. One interpretation is, it’s a sign of power.” I answered, “I don’t feel very powerful right now.” “Me either, man!” added Brian. Jules added, “Another is, it’s the end of an event in someone’s life, and a new beginning, with a certain clarity of mind.” Brian said, “Yeah, I guess we all could do with some of that.” I added, “I could sure use a bucket full about now, too!” Jules hesitated, but then said, “I know what you’ve been going through, Teddy, but we can keep it confidential.” I stared at Jules. He said, with his lips, but no voice, “Later.” I nodded. Then, I ed Jules had a story to tell us. I started with, “Jules, if your ‘confession’ hurts too much to tell us, don’t feel you have to.” Our burgers and Cokes were set in the middle of the table, and we had to sort out whose was whose. My burger was over-cooked and crunchy, sort of cardboardy, but I was hungry and it was still kind of tasty with mustard and ketchup on it. Jules answered, “No, thanks, Ted, but I’ve been mulling it over, often, and I think I need this. It’s just the sort of cleansing I need, I think. I’ve been keeping it inside for too long. And I hope you two can keep it under wraps.” Brian wolfed his food down and slurped on his Coke. “So, go ahead, Julie, babe.”

Jules stared at his soda. He kept sliding his hand down the wet, outer part of the glass, and wiping his hand on the napkin. “My mother Edna, was afraid to be seen outside after the incident. Then Abigail lost her position at Sears, where she worked in the office. I guess the rumor spread, about two women living together, and she was fired outright, without an explanation. By that time I was in high school, and the bullies came out again. But that wasn’t all. We lost our house. Oh, it’s a long story, but my mothers, for that’s what they were, couldn’t make payments, or get a loan.” Tears formed in Jules’ eyes. “Oh, damn, I still see my Edna hanging from the rafters in the cellar, that dark cellar! I see her still, swaying, tongue pointing out of that beautiful face. i held her and screamed until Abigail came down. I held her while she cut her loose. What was her crime? She was so full of love, for me, for Abigail, for her students, for life!” His tears came, and I felt the lump in my throat also, hating the cruelty of some people, and I hated their hatred.” No one said anything. We just waited for Jules’ spasms to subside, for the ocean of pain to reach shore. His face was distorted at the time, and I knew he was still in the cellar with his mothers. The waitress came by, and I waved her away, nodding toward Jules. She left, quietly, without the stomping, seeming to understand. Finally I said, “Maybe that full moon is a sign of new beginnings for you, Jules, and for us.” Jules sat up, patted his eyes with his hanky and said, “That would be nice, Teddy. Abigail made plans for our move to Peoria, but before we left, I made sure to visit the principal’s office in school. Now I’m not a violent man, as you probably know, but I was full of hatred then. I closed the door before he even noticed I was in there. He looked up, over the glasses that hung low on his nose, setting down a ruler he was using. ‘Oh, uh, you’re young Miller aren’t you? I was so sorry to hear about your-ah mother.’” Jules said this, imitating the principal’s voice with bitterness. “Then I said, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful to hear. I imagine you can claim this as one of the deaths you caused, something you’re quite proud of.’ “He stood up, ‘Now look here young man, don’t be impertinent. I did nothing wrong!’

“I was quite frightened of this man, but I was also angry. I wanted him to feel, really feel what he did. So I walked up to his desk, picked up the ruler, with my tears spilling down so hard I could hardly see, and broke it over my knee. I bawled at him. ‘At least face what you did, you coward! You condemned her, the family, me! You broke us in half, like this damned ruler! And all because she turned you down! Here’s what I promise you, Principal Yelinak. I will you often in the coming years, reminding you of what you did. You are an evil person!’ “As I left, I heard him say something like ‘Young whippersnapper,’ and I laughed, slamming the door.” Brian said, “Wow, Jules, that was pretty gutsy! Have you made since then?” “I can’t tell you that, Brian. Don’t ask, please.” Brian got up, saying “Gotta go to the latrine.” When he was gone, Jules said, “I saw Willy and Randy last week, and while we were talking, Randy hinted, then let spill what you’ve been doing so surreptitiously these past few weeks. I put that together with your interest in dog training, and deduced what you’re up to. I don’t want you or anyone to get in trouble, but I want to help, Teddy. Just give me the word!” I was stunned! Jules’ news hit me in the stomach like a boulder! This was supposed to be a quiet maneuver, top secret. “Randy should never have revealed this! Wow! We can get into serious trouble. But thanks, Jules, I’ll let you know. Maybe this can be worked out.” Later, while riding back to the base, I thought I would have to Robbie, to see what we should do. Maybe there would be a way this could all work out for the good. Maybe we’d need a meeting with the general also.

58 THE ANGRY GENERAL

After I spoke to Lieutenant, we decided to tell the general. That’s how I ended up in the general’s office, and his cheeks were flushed so red, the walls seemed to echo the heat of his fire. A torrent of accusations hurled from his mouth. “What in hell am I dealing with, a bunch of amateurs who can’t keep their traps shut? Just a bunch of kids playing soldier?” He glared over at Lieutenant Robson, Lieutenant Smithson, and Sergeant Scafura. They were statues, immovable, standing at semi-attention, in the at-ease position with legs apart and hands behind their backs, but they stood stiff, like marble. But they were not the ones in trouble. So who were the accused standing at attention against the wall? Of course, the one who always seems to be falling into a hole of trouble, the one called “me.” But I was not alone this time. Next to me were, Mr. Perfect named Randy, good ole Willful Willie, and Mr Innocent named Jules. I was pleased we didn’t tell Brian on the way home. General Thompson paced in front of us. “Do you kids know what this is? It’s a goddam court martial offense. If anyone sniffs word of this, it’s your asses. Do you understand?” he demanded. “Yessir!” we answered in unison. He paced again, the steam seeming to rise from his anger. This man, so ready to smile, to learn to throw a baseball, was not that person today. No he was a redfaced back and forth stomper with murder in his eyes. He was an open furnace with red coals crackling. “And Randy! What the hell got into you? You’ve been trusted to so many secrets in this office, did someone beat it out of you?” Randy shot out, “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Let’s hear it, soldier!” “Yes sir. I am at fault in this, sir. I’m the one who opened the can, and spilled the information to others. I am truly sorry for this, sir, but I’m afraid I was viewing this little group of citizens on Mile 21, as an unimportant threat, something that could be wiped out with a snap of your finger, sir.” The general stopped pacing in front of Randy, then put his face within inches of Randy’s. “No military mission is unimportant, do you understand?” His voice rose in pitch to soprano, and anger to boiling water spilling over. “Wars have been lost due to overlooking the threats of an enemy! Do you understand that now?” Randy stood even stiffer like stone. “Yessir, I understand now, sir!” His eyes leaked drops of shame and sorrow. “I am so sorry, sir, and deserve any punishment you say!” His eyes imitated a defective leaky faucet. Then a change in the atmosphere of the office slowly took place. The temperature lowered. Then General Thompson huddled with Lieutenants Robson, Smithson, and Sergeant Scafura. They mumbled to each other behind the conference table, as though planning a play that could score. The general pounded his fist into his hand and said, “By God, we’ll do it!” Lieutenant Robson slowly walked toward us. “At ease, men!” Our stiff muscles loosened, as we put our hands behind our backs, and widened our stances. “Men,” he said slowly. “The general has very generously decided to use this error of yours to advantage. But only if you can keep your mouths buttoned and zipped. Can you do this? “Yessir!” we answered in unison like a Greek chorus. I breathed deeply thinking maybe we were avoiding the punishment we so richly deserved, especially Randy, of course. But his chastisement by the general, in front of all of us, seemed to be sufficient punishment. “Okay! Now all of us will take a night jump on Thursday, except for Pfc Jules Miller, here, and on Friday night you will make one more visit to the enemy headquarters in, what’s it called, that bar?” “‘The Wild Thang’ sir!’” I responded.

“That’s it, The Wild Thang. Well, we’ll show them how wild the army can be, won’t we?” “Yessir!” we responded in unison. “Private Miller, of course, you will not be there, but you’ll be ready to come to our aid at a second’s notice, won’t you?” “Yes, sir, whenever you say, I’ll be ready.” “Fine. Now the rest of us are in it all the way, am I right?” We answered, almost yelling, in the positive. I glanced at Willy. He grinned as if he’d won a hand at cards by bluffing. He was ready, as always. My last experience night-jumping was not a positive one, but I hoped this one would not be windy, driving us any where close to what was called, “Swamp Stenchy.” That gaseous odor attacked my nose and stomach even then, just thinking about it.

59 LETTERS HOME

I thought it was past time to write some letters home. My God, how long had it been, a whole month since I received some from them? They’d be worried, I was sure. But I’d been involved in so many things recently, and many of them that I could not discuss, I wondered what I could reveal. I began to understand how some spy-type soldiers were forced to live their lives behind cloaks, and I wasn’t comfortable with that. I was carrying a load of secrets on my shoulders and couldn’t unload the burden. I felt most comfortable starting with my mother.

Dear Mom, March, 1954

Sorry it’s been a while since I answered your letter. I pray that your pain is gone now. It’s really been busy here, lately, with my early morning calisthenics, dealing with an unusual, demanding priest, and delivering a nun to a local city so she can teach catechism. I’ll try to do better, I promise. But here are a few things I’ve been involved in. Each night we hear a bugle playing taps, you know, “Day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hill, from the sky. All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.” It’s kind of nice and peaceful to hear each night. Did I tell you I met the general of the post? He’s a really nice man, despite all

the power and responsibility he has. His name is General Dennis Thompson. I even had the chance to teach him how to throw a knuckle ball, and a curve. He grew up in the military, so he never had a chance to learn those things. Thanks for staying in with my girl, Pauley. So you met her. What did you think of her? She’s just the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. I hope you approve. I know the question will come up eventually about her religion, but she will be a great Catholic, I’m pretty sure. Anyway, I’m stuck in the military for a few more years, and it seems, occasionally, Old Father Time, moves the sun up and down taking his time, as though his machine is stuck in some muddy mire, and he has to use first gear to get through it. But I know, Mom, as I’m sure you do, at other times he’s skiing downhill zooming through days, months, years. All we can do is treat each minute as a generous gift, that we can savor and appreciate, without letting it go without purpose. Sorry if I’m getting a bit philosophical, but I’m also sure you will agree. Say “hi” to everyone at home for me please, especially Dad and Anthony. Stay safe and well, and let me know how your pain is. Did you take care of it? Tell me about your appointment with the doctor, please.

All my love, Your Ted

My darling Pauley, March 1954

Please don’t be angry at me for not writing right away. In the past, before I met you, I didn’t write many letters then, either. Sometimes I get so caught up in life here on the base, and I’m so exhausted at night, I just listen to the bugle blow out

“Taps,” which I think is beautiful, and fall asleep peacefully. One thing keeping me busy is the nun I’m assigned to take to a church in local city, so she can teach catechism. She is very nice. The nuns also have a dog protecting them. His name is Satan. How about that for a name? I’ll bet they have fun calling him by name, knowing how they were able to tame him. That’s probably how they feel about the real Devil, I’ll bet. Your last letter mentioned Fillippo, that evil person. Please let me know if he’s bothering you. the bus rider who helped protecting us? Well, I can call on him to help. And if that doesn’t work, I can find a way to get home to solve the Fillippo problem for good. In the last letters you were supposed to meet my mother. I haven’t heard what happened. So, did you like her? Did she like you? What was your impression? To me, both of you are like saints. And I’m not exaggerating. I went down town to Fayetteville with a few others from my barrack, Jules and Bryan, to a Catholic church to confess, because I don’t like the chaplain on the base, who is also my boss. He is another story I can’t get into at this time. He doesn’t like me and the feeling is mutual. He is very unlike any priest I’ve ever met. He’s fat and lazy and I don’t know what else, but if I’m not careful, I could get into trouble and that could ruin my career. I guess I can call it a career, but it’s just for 3 years I volunteered. So my darling, I miss you like crazy. You’re the important part of me, like a heart, and without you, the blood will stop being pumped, and there’ll be nothing left of me worth living for. Write soon, my love,

Yours, forever, Ted

Dear Darren, March, 1954

I’m so proud of you, studying all those languages, which is just amazing to me. Here I am, still trying to learn English, which is native to me. Of course, I always knew what a brilliant man you are. So the path before you is whatever you care to make it. You can walk as many miles as you wish to, over mountains if necessary, to claim your career. Of course, teaching English in the university is a natural for you. I imagine you’ll also end up writing books, if that’s your desire. I’ve been quite busy here, wrestling with several problems at the same time. It reminds me of some jugglers I’ve seen at Riverside Park at home, keeping so many things up in the air at the same time. The chaplain I work for is nothing like Father Drew. This one is very over weight and a bit underworked, I’m afraid. And we’re not getting along well, at all. I’ve been chauffeuring a nun back and forth to a church so she can teach catechism to youngsters. What a delightful lady! Also, the wolf hound that protects them at the convent is named, “Satan!” I imagine some jokes and crazy comments could be made of that. But Satan is a beautiful, intelligent canine, sort of like you. I’ll bet he knows other languages, just like you. No insult intended, my compadre. Stay well, my bright friend. I look forward to a lifetime of that friendship. Study hard.

Love, Ted

60 NIGHT JUMPING AND FAREWELL

Old Man Time sped along so quickly, I could almost picture him, still with his long beard, in racing shorts, looking ridiculous, but still winning the race around the track, which was set up like a clock, of course. Hours became minutes. I wished I’d had the ability to trip him, so he could land in some nice, slow, mud. But this was already Thursday, the night for our jump. Hopefully, it would be over as quickly as it arrived. At least the temperature was predicted to be 75 degrees with an almost full moon. The plan was to fly over Mile 21 before dark so we could get a clear idea of the terrain. Then we would proceed to the drop zone to heave ourselves out and say hello to the clouds. We climbed into the C 47 airplane, and the general, seated close to the doors, his helmet in his hand, yelled to the jump master, “Sergeant, tell the pilot to start the engine and get us out on the runway!” We were all sitting in those canvas seats on each side of the plane, the ones that are never quite comfortable, but swing with each lurch of the plane. “Yes sir!” Then he addressed each of us. “Lieutenants? All okay?” Lieutenant Smithson sounded out “Yes suh, General!” The general turned to Lieutenant Robson, “Robbie?” “Can’t wait, sir!” “And Sergeant Scafura?” The engine started up, nice and noisy.

Sarge wiped his pimpled face and yelled, “Goddam right and ready, sir!” “And you enlisted men? Are you ready for this?” There we were, the guilty soldiers, doing what we could to avoid prison, even though I wasn’t really guilty of telling secrets, I was included in the treacherous act by Jules informing me. But to tell the truth, I was pleased to be included. So Randy, Jules, Willy, and I were being addressed by our general. We answered, sort of in unison, but more like train cars that bumped into each other, “Yessssirrr!” “All right!” hollered General Thompson, “take us up!” The engine started, as though at the starting line, then lurched forward with an angry roar, throwing our bodies into a long lean toward the rear, and within seconds were off up, and no longer felt the wheels bouncing in the ground. We were up, heading for the clouds. We stared at each other, all serious-faced, staring ahead thoughtfully, as we always did, when the danger of oncoming leaps into space loomed nearer. Years later, when people asked me if I was ever scared, I would tell them, “Oh, yeah, every time.” And with no shame. In the air, the plane turned northerly toward Mile 21. We were able to turn our bodies so that we could see down out the side windows and my eyes widened, then blinked, and stared! There must have been over 10 tents down there, each one with a campfire and men sitting around it. The general hollered, “See that, men? Looks like they’re spoiling for a little war! Glad you spied that in the first place, Private Byrum! Good going!” He chuckled, “And thank goodness for Catholic catechism.” He yelled, “Everyone see it?” We all hollered, “Yes, sir!” “All right, let’s go have a successful jump! We’ll meet later. And stay out of the swamp! That’s an order!” We turned away, and I kept staring down at the rebels in their camp. Were they

aiming rifles at us, or was that my imagination? When we reached the Drop Zone, the door slid open and the roar of wind and engine deafened us a bit. The jump master yelled, “Stand up and check equipment!” We all did so, except, Jules, who scampered to the rear of the plane. “Hook up and stand in the door, sir!” General Thompson arose confidently, hooked his carabiner to the cable above his head, then stood in the door. “Get ready, Hoo!” and the general disappeared. The rest of us hooked up, shuffled forward, and followed the general out into the night air. When my chute violently tugged me to a near stop, which meant it was safely open, I let go of my reserve chute which I had held over my chest, and held on to the risers which spider-webbed their way down from the chute. I looked below me at the white, oyster-shaped silk of the others, slowly floating downward. Above I saw a near full moon, pure amber like ripe corn. I could almost imagine it dripping with butter. I thought, at that time, this could be the stuff of a poem for my love. The night was clear, and I could see below, the general had several bright flood lights delineating the drop zone clearly for us. I smiled when I saw the Swamp Stenchy just east of our DZ, and could almost smell again the gaseous perfume that the wind brought to us when in jump school. I worried about Mile 21 on the way down. I ed the one time, through the binoculars, a rifle was aimed at me. How easy it would be for someone to fire at, and kill me while floating down. I’d be like a slow crow, an easy target. And that would be me, helpless, in a chute, on the way to earth which I couldn’t reach fast enough! Suddenly a ground wind started pushing me and my chute around. “Oh, no, not again!” I fought by leaning into it. This resulted in my swinging back and forth under the silk, down, down, until I slammed into the damned land, midoscillation and that took the breath out of me like a belly punch from Joe Louis. I lay there momentarily until I was able to get up, slowly, groaning. Then I

commenced to roll up my silk. At least I was a good distance from Swamp Stenchy! Later, when we were in the truck, set to transport us back to base, the general popped his head in. We were surprised because he usually had a special ride back by himself. Robby yelled, “Tenhut!” General Thompson quickly saluted and said, “At ease, men! I need to hear what’s going to happen at The Wild Thang meeting. They must be planning something pretty immediate. So I’ll meet with you after that, day or night, depending upon how immediate their plans are. Agreed?” We yelled, “Agreed, sir!”

With the jump in my mind, when I returned to my barrack, noticed, but my mind did not acknowledge the absence, of uniforms hanging in back of a bunk. Then, after clearing my mind of the excitement of the day with a mental washcloth, I realized the emptiness was Abe’s belongings! I shook Jules’ shoulder, and asked what happened. Jules sat up, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Abe’s gone! His father was killed in a fight. Not sure why, but it sounded like it was political! So I told Abe to pack all his bags because he’ll be the only source of money for his mom and sisters. I told him I’d help him apply for a hardship discharge. I think he’ll be gone for good.” Well I didn’t know Abe that well, but I sure like him. Farewell Abraham of Johnstown! He will be missed!

61 THE WILD THANG

I did not stop thinking about the jump right away. The thought of being a target was a bit upsetting at first, but then I thought about the act of jumping out of an airplane itself? Wasn’t it dangerous also? Couldn’t something happen doing that crazy stunt of tumbling out of the air like clowns out of a small car. Then I thought about the fact that an airplane itself could be an easy target, couldn’t it? I convinced my self to let all that kind of imagining go, since I couldn’t do anything about them anyway. “Besides, I was quite proud of the fact that I’d jumped out of an airplane! It was an accomplishment, wasn’t it? It was something that took courage, and I had it. I would never look at as something to brag about, but it was a performance that made me feel like a man. Even though I was still just a kid. Shut up, Ted! Time to sleep, and think about The Wild Thang. And say a prayer for Abe and his family. Losing one’s father is a tragedy. Jules kindly drove us, Bobby, Randy and me back to Mccain in his car. On the ride, it was quiet as a church, although the tires and springs still complained outside on the road. Inside, we were speechless, dumb. I was worried about what would happen in the meeting. What are those bitter citizens planning? Will we, as soldiers be under suspicion, or will they simply accept us at our words? Also, I didn’t trust Bobby. If he drank too much, what wild things might come bubbling out of his hillbilly mouth? Then Jules steered and swerved as the wheels complained. “My hands are shaking and sweaty! I don’t like this!” I said, “I’m pretty nervous myself, Jules. Why don’t you just stay in the The Bamboo Lounge and we’ll come back for you to drive us home?” “I think that’s a good idea, Ted. You don’t mind?”

“No, I think the fewer people involved, the better. Besides, we’ll have Clint with us. Maybe you should stay with Jules, Bobby?” “Hell, ah don’ wanna git skeered outa any action! Ah’m ready to bust anybody!” He put his fists up and flexed his farmer-muscles. I answered, “That’s just it, Bobby. We don’t want a fight. We’re just on a reconnaissance visit. Maybe we can get a clue as to what they’re doing, see?” He sat back in his seat. “Shi’it, ah guess so.” The child in him pouted. Randy would be ing us this time, but not “Willful Willy.” Randy told me that Willy was not invited, and the general said, “Definitely, no!” when he’d heard about good ole Willful’s last episodes. So Jules parked down the street, away from The Wild Thang, and a distance from The Bamboo Lounge, just to be unnoticed. Jules, Bobby, Randy and I exited the car and we walked casually toward the Bamboo Lounge. At the entrance, I peeked in and saw Beau, the bartender, pouring a drink from an exotic-looking bottle. “Hey, Beau!” I said as I peeked in the door like a bodiless head. He looked up. “Hey, I you! It’s Ted isn’t it? Good ole Ted!? “Yes, me in the flesh. See you when we get back from The Wild Thang, okay?” “Yep. Y’all c’mon back!” he said as he lit the drink in the glass with a flame, which shot up toward the ceiling, then died. We left Jules and Bobby and continued on toward the next bar. I looked around for Clint, but he was not around. When we reached The Wild Thang, it was just as noisy as before. The usual foot-stomping excuse for dance went on, in competition with the banjo and drums. Smoke still oozed out like it was trying to escape the madness. The door opened and the light beaconed its way out. Randy and I entered, trying to adjust our eyes and ears. Sure enough, there was the giant, Horace, in yellow shirt and brown pants that looked like they were

quite tight on him, like part of his skin. “Evenin’ gentlemen, ya heah fer the meetin’? Er should ah send Hyacinth fer yah?” “Evenin’, Horace, just the meetin’ I guess,” I responded. “Say ‘hey’ to Hyacinth for us.” He waved his huge arm toward the meeting room, as if magically to open the door. Just then, it opened. There was old pock-faced Harley Sterling again, waving us in as waves of smoke slithered out and up toward the ceiling. I paused, looked around, and there was Clint coming from the back room, readjusting the patch over his eye. “Hey, cousin, wait fer me!” “Evenin’ gennelmen. Welcome, y’all. Ready fer action?” “You betcha, Harley!” answered Clint. “Good memory, Clint! And y’all brung a new man. What’s yer name soldier?” Randy said, “Randy Williams, sir!” “No need to ‘sir’ me young man. Jest Harley. C’mon in. Whyn’t ya sit right heah again soldiers.” We sat at the table closest to the door again. I felt how small the room was, and it felt even closer with all the smoke. At each of the tables were the men with eyes staring at us. Then they’d whisper to each other. Their distrust was palpable, like grenades ready to explode. The room seemed smaller than last time, about the size of two men’s room, absent the commodes and urinals, of course, but the staring eyes made it seem smaller. Then I noticed at one of the tables was the cowboy, Colt, the one with the knife that I’d stabbed with my bamboo last time, to save Bobby! That didn’t bode well for me. He didn’t look like he was just interested in dancing then. I was thankful Bobby wasn’t there. All together there were 3 tables, with about 7 or 8 people per table, perhaps 24

people squeezed in. Pitchers of beer were in the center of each table, being ed around liberally. At our table were pock-faced Harley, Cletus, with the usual cigar in his mouth, and others, who drank impatiently. Then, Harley Sterling, said, “Okay, y’all, let’s git ta gittin’ this heah meetin’ goin’. Y’know we got quite a detachment of eager, young men in the tents on the base, and they’re impatient to git goin’ inta action, so let’s start with a few maps and layouts and plans. Pay attention to the map on the wall, y’all.” Harley pointed toward the wall on the left. “Raght heah y’all can see is a view of the post of Fort Bragg. Now, most of it ain’t got enough ta worry about. But ovah heah are the barracks and buildings. This one, in particular is worth notin’ because that’s where General Thompson works. But that there ain’t nothin’. Ovah heah,” he pointed with an ink pen “is the ordnance, an’ splosives. That’ll git some attention. So we plan on movin’ some men at naght, fully armed n’ ready fer action. We’re agoin’ ta blow a buildin’ by god, ta let em know we ain’t pleased with this gov’ment, an’ we’re b’god serious! Are we agreed? All in favor, say ‘aye!” Loud “Ayes!” filled the room, like drum rolls. Then Randy asked Clint, “Who will be his attack team?” “Good question, so maybe I’ll ask.” He waited for the men to quiet down, and sip their beer, then stood up. “Scuse me, there, Harley, but who of us will be doin’ the attackin’?” One of the men in the other side of the room, yelled, “Not the lakes of y’all! startin’ thar, Mr. One Eye. Ah don’ trust y’all atall, Yer some kinda spy!” He kept his seat, but mumbled to the others at his table. Clint stood tall. “Any time ya wanna show me how brave y’are, let me know!” Harley interrupted before people became interested in a fight. “Now y’all hang on, dang it! Everyone in this room is to be trusted, y’all, until they prove elsewise, heah? D’ja heah me, Chet?” “Yeah, Ah guess,” came from the table where Chet was, but he didn’t show his face.

Harley continued, “So, ah propose we start final plans tomorrow. We have to figure transportation, an’ weapons, just lak the military. We also have to figure how to work you soldiers in, too. Maybe as our inside men. Sound lak fun?” Clint answered, “Sounds okay, Harley, but if we ain’t wanted, we can do it on our own. Y’all heah, Chet?” Then it was the dancing cowboy, Colt’s turn. “Shi’it, sounds lak yer all talk, no action, you an’ the backstabber next ta ya!” I started to rise, but Clint pushed down on my shoulder. “Not now, Ted,” he whispered. “Let them bluster for now.” Randy, who just sipped on his beer, said, “He’s right, Ted. Cool it for now.” Harley banged the pitcher on his table. “It seems lak some of ya ain’t interested in a cause, but jus’ drinkin’ free beer and gittin’ inta faghts. If that’s the case, we cain’t use ya, d’ya heah?” No one answered. Harley banged again. “Meetin’s ovah!” He poured and took a long drink of his beer. We exited through the door, ahead of the rumbling clack of boots. Then Clint pulled Randy and me aside. “Well,” he said, pausing, “try not to get into a ruckus, boys. I’m going to talk to Harley if I can, to get more info.” “Okay, good idea, Clint,” offered Randy. Clint made his way back in, to see Harley. Just then my shoulder was yanked backward, and a pounding in my side felt like a sledge hammer had swung and struck me from the arm of Samson. I fell to the floor, and saw cowboy boots, and I knew. It was Colt. Randy helped me up. A crowd developed around us. Colt stood there ready, his hand on his belt, waiting. I felt sure that’s where his knife was. That set me off, more than his punch did. I felt the anger grow like a boiling pot of water.

“Nice one, Colt,” I said. “I guess you’re good at that. I think you broke a rib. Got your knife ready?” I was waiting for the pain to subside. And to catch my breath. While I was deciding what to do. He was a short man, nervous. Then I decided. The pot was whistling. “Ah’m ready fer ya,” he said. I surprised myself. My fist flew at his chin as though it came all the way from West Springfield. My hand felt nothing. All I saw was Colt slow-motioning his way to the floor, his knife clanging beside him and bouncing, as though looking for its scabbard. Colt was out. Randy helped me out the door. I knew my side would hurt for a long time.

62 SISTER VICKIE AND SATAN

That Saturday morning, I arose with the company’s reveille, and hustled as best I could, despite the pain in my ribs. I wore my fatigues with muted green colors in case I needed them for camouflage in the woods. After breakfast and picking up the car at the motor pool, I drove toward McCain, being careful not to move my right side too much. The pain throbbed, as though the spirit of Colt were still using me for a punching bag. But while driving, I had some quiet time, time to reflect. My life certainly became complicated. What should I do with Satan? I could take him with me, to investigate the camp at Mile 21, but what would I find? And was it fair of me to go there with Satan? What could happen to him? But that probably wouldn’t happen. It hasn’t even been discussed in our meetings with the general. But then another thought hit me! Why were we accepted so readily by the rebels? It was too easy! What were they planning? What if they planned to use us? But how? But then the pain in my side forced me to concentrate on my driving. I came to Mile 21 before I realized it. I drove right by. I saw there were the usual tents there, but not much action. Then I realized I anticipated seeing Sister Vickie. I missed her. She became to me a friend, and I dared not think what else. I reached the bottom of the hill of the convent. I rang the bell at the gate and waited. The grass on the hill was mowed and neat. The building on the top of the hill was well back from the main road, giving it a remote, mystic atmosphere. “Who is it, please?” “It’s me, Private Ted, Sister.” The gate opened and I drove up to the driveway behind the building. Satan came

up to the car, wagging his tail. He recognized the car. I opened the door and he came up to me, then stood, waiting. “Sit!” He did so, and I knelt down rubbing his back and neck. Apparently he liked the military way I treated him last time. “Hello, Ted!” Sister Vickie walked up and said, “Ready?” She looked fresh and lively, and her smile made her look even more beautiful. “Yes, Sister. I’m ready. I was wondering if we could take Satan along also?” Sister hesitated. She looked up at the window where Mother Superior was looking down at us. Then Sister Vickie pointed at the dog and the car. Mother nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “Satan, come!” as she opened the back door. Satan quickly entered, wagging his tail like a whip. Sister pointed to the seat, and Satan jumped up, his tongue hanging down, which indicated to me his pleasure at ing us. Sister rolled the window down for the dog’s comfort. Sister Vickie opened the enger door and said, “I’ll you up here, if you don’t mind. I don’t need a forest of hairs all over my tunic.” “Certainly, Sister.” I drove down the hill and out the gate, trying to ignore the pain in my side. Then I thought about what was forming in my mind. Right then it was a bunch of tangled wires that wouldn’t behave. Then I realized what must have been there for weeks. I was so curious, but didn’t know if I’d had the guts. “I thought maybe on the way back I could take him for a walk, sort of close to Mile 21. With you permission, that is.” “Well, Ted, I don’t know. Let’s think about this on the way, okay? Mother Superior will be a bit angry, I think. What do you think you can do, while I’m in the car, waiting?” “I’m not sure, Sister, get in trouble maybe.” “I hope not, Ted. This could be serious for both of us. And what if it endangers Satan?”

“I certainly don’t want that. Maybe it’s a bad idea, I don’t know.” I drove on, not saying anything, just thinking. I wished I could Randy, or Clint, to bounce this idea off them, but then I knew their answer would me an emphatic ‘no.’ But still, the idea of getting more intelligence intrigued me, tempted me, like a forbidden fruit I must taste. I must it, the thought of discovering something valuable that could help us win this little war, along with the general’s acknowledgement, tempted me the way cigarettes used to. So, our ride to catechism class was quiet. Satan kept his head out the window, as though he was eating the air. He’d poke his head back in, then right out again, as the trees and hills ed by like as though they were moving and we were standing still. When we reached St. Anne’s church in McCain, I dropped Sister off at the front door, then drove to the parking lot. I let Satan out by some bushes so he could relieve himself. I looked around, and took the opportunity to take a quick leak myself. It was then I was surprised to see two men walking across the street from the gas station. It was Chet and Choogah again, wearing tan fatigues and blue bandanas as usual, except Chet’s head piece looked soiled and raggy like a snake peeling its skin. Satan stood, alert. He looked up at me, then the two walking my way. “Sit, Satan!” I ordered firmly. Chet spoke first, as usual. “Well, looka’ this Choog, Mr. Teddy’s got a pet. Think he’s gonna perteck ya? Jes ’cuz y’all was at the meetin’ don’t mean we gonna trust ya, heah?” His grin showed his crooked, yellow teeth. Choogah said, “Shut yer stoopid trap, Chet. Ever tam ye open it, ye show how stoopid y’are! Hey, there, Ted. “What’s that animal’s name?” “Hey, Choogah, his name is Satan, and he’ll give you a bit of hell if you try anything. Is everything all set in the camp? We’ll be getting things going pretty soon now, won’t we?”

“Ah swear, ah don’t know what y’ere talkin’ bout. Y’all hear some thin at the meetin’?” That surprised me. Either he knew, or he was pretending ignorance. “No, I was just guessing I guess.” They walked a bit closer to me, and Satan growled silently, just so I could hear it. “Better not come any closer, boys. I don’t know what this dog might do. He belongs to the convent, protecting the nuns.” Choogah stopped, holding Chet’s arm, “Hold it, Chet,” he ordered. I noticed a bit of reddish hair leaking out of the bandana. “Mebbe we should not rile the animal. What kind is he, thar’ Teddy?” “Wolf hound. He protects the nuns. Military once, I think.” “Jes came ta say ‘hey’, Teddy boy. See ya soon, maybe,” said Choogah quietly. Chet couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, see ya reel soon Teddy boy, without an animal ta perteck ya, yeah?” “Yeah, I hear you Chet. Guess I’m tremblin’ in my boots, now!” I stared at him, then Satan. Chet hurried in from of Choogah, as though he had an appointment someplace. After they were gone, Satan made a sound like “Gruff!” “I agree, boy.” I petted his neck. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” We walked up to the church entrance, and I thought, ‘why not?’ the kids might like a break. So in we went, and walked toward the group near the front of the church. Sister espied us and declared, “Well, well, we were just completing the lesson, and what do we have here? Come, Satan!” Satan padded his way to Sister, and sat. She reached her hand out, and the dog did likewise. They shook. The children walked up, carefully at first, but then, when Sister nodded, they slowly touched the dog’s neck and back. One girl

kissed his head. One boy, who was brave, got on his knees and said, “Woof, woof.” Sister said, “Speak, Satan!” and Satan gruffed and woofed, and the boy answered in dog language. “Now, Children, watch carefully,” and she used her hand and arm and made a circle clockwise. Satan, in the middle of the aisle, rolled on the floor, clockwise, then stood up. Then Sister made a sign counter-clockwise, and Satan rolled the other way. The children looked amazed, and said, “Wow, that’s great, Sister.” Sister responded, “I see your parents are at the door. See you next week! Don’t forget to genuflect and make the sign of the cross with the holy water. God bless you!” They were gone mumbling, “g’bye, Satan, g’bye Sister Vickie!” It was time for us to go, too, but I didn’t know to what. Would I do it? Did I have the nerve?

63 HERE I COME, MILE 21

On the ride back from McCain, the miles seemed to fly faster than I wanted them to. It’s a strange thing about Time. It seems to fly by sometimes, like a seagull disappearing in the clouds. At other times, when I’m not enjoying myself, or doing something I don’t want to do, it chugs along, like a jalopy up a hill. Sister Vickie asked me, “So, Ted, have you thought about what you’re planning? Will you get in trouble? Will I? And what about Satan?” “I don’t know, Sister, I just can’t get it out of my little brain. It seems like a chance to do something needed, and I’ll be so sorry if I don’t do it. It’s like an itch on my back that I can’t reach to scratch. It just keeps itching. I know what I’ll do. I’ll leave Satan with you to keep you safe while I do a reconnaissance on their camp. I’ll try to be safe and shrewd but brief. Does that sound okay to you?” “It certainly does not sound okay to me. You will need Satan with you, to protect you. But please, please don’t do anything foolish. Promise me?” “I promise, Sister. Will you be safe?” “I’ll be here with the Lord, Ted. Don’t worry about me.” At Mile 21, I drove past about a quarter mile and parked behind some shrubs. I got out and let Satan out. “Wish me luck?” Sister had her beads in hand, clicking away. She said with a quiet, sincere voice, “Go with God, my friend!” “Come, Satan!” He looked up at Sister, who stepped back into the car, then followed me. It was a sunny day with partial clouds, and the temperature about 80 degrees, but humid.

I was thankful I wore my fatigues because it was easier to blend in with the foliage. I it my hands were shaking, and my heart was beating faster. The clouds were dark and shifting quickly across the sky, as though they were late for an assignment. I was doubting whether what I was about to do was the right thing to do, because it was unauthorized. The general and none of the others even suspected I would do such a thing, but I felt compelled to get a closer view, to discover what they were doing, or about to do. In a way I didn’t want to go, but I felt compelled. My legs took me, almost unwillingly, toward their camp. We had about 200 yards to go, so we made our way past the pines and brush. The terrain had a great deal of sand and small hills, so we traveled slowly, Satan beside me. When we heard voices and a laugh. We slowed. Ahead of us was a sandy hill. Head down, we scrambled to the top and stopped. I had a view of what seemed to be the whole camping group! The red Chevy truck was there, and several other cars. Most of them were old, rusty models. About 12 of the men were sitting on the ground, listening to one man who wore neat khakis and what appeared to be a clean blue bandana. I watched as he held what looked like a rock. Then his hands went together and his left pulled away violently. This was followed immediately by the right arm heaving the rock, and he fell to the ground. Then I knew! He was instructing the men in handling and throwing a hand grenade! Did that mean they had a supply of them? They had rifles, and now grenades! What else? Then I looked down. Below us, was what looked like a hole. “Stay, Satan!” I whispered, and pointed down. Then, crawling snake-like, I slithered downward in the sand. When I reached the hole, I saw a bag of sand next to a dugout going sideways. A few shovels by the opening were more evidence. I heard voices down below, and heard someone say, “It’s too sandy for a tunnel heah, y’all.” Just then I felt the muzzle of a rifle on my cheek, “Ah gotcha, church boy! Jus’ make a move an’ ah’ll blast ya….” but he didn’t finish, because, with a growl like a roar, Satan was on him. He was on the ground with the dog at his throat, growling viciously. “Down, Satan!” I yelled. He moaned, but came down off him, and sat next to me.

I saw the man on the ground was Chet, the one with Choogah, in McCain. Just then, sure enough, Choogah held his rifle pointed at Satan. “Ah’ll blast ’em ta kingdom come, theah, church man!” Satan growled. “Sit! Stay, Satan!” I put my hand on his head and scratched his neck. Satan sat. Alert. Just then an older man, dressed the same, in tan khakis and blue bandana, arrived. “What’s goin’ on here, Choogah? An interloper? A spah?” I could tell he chewed tobacco, because there was a bulge under his lower lip, and the tip of his tongue kept sticking out, then in, like a snake’s. “Yessir, an’ ah knows ’im from the church in McCain. He drahves the sistah around.” Chet grinned with his crooked, yellow teeth. “But ah found ’im, suh. Kin ah shoot ’im, huh?” “No one’s goin’ tag shoot noone heah’, Chet. That ain’t what we’re about. We goin’ ta do some tunnelin’ an’ blowin’ shit ta smithereens, an’ that’s it, fer now.” He spat brown disgusting liquid out, and wiped some off his chin with his yellowed hand. “I’m certainly glad to hear that, Obadiah, please don’t kill my driver. My dog was chasing a rabbit, and Ted, here, tried to fetch him.” She stood at the top of the hill. She resembled an angel that had just flown down from heaven to me. “Here, Satan, come!” The dog looked at me, then ran up the hill to Sister Vickie. “Oh, come on, sistah, we know he was spyin’!” “Well, in that case, Obadiah, maybe you should arrest me as a spy also.” She made as if to start walking down in the sand, but stopped. “Okay, okay, Sistah. We’ll let ’im go, but we know who he is, don’t we Choogah?” “Yessir!”

“It maght not make much difference in a week er so anyhow.” He looked at me as I were scum, and said, “You kin go, soldiah, but don’t be spyin’ on us, h’eah? An’ Sistah, shame on y’all fer lyin’!” Then his tongue got busy again. “Go with God, Obadiah. May all you do be justified before the Lord!” Back in the car, I realized how hot I was. My shirt felt wet from sweat. I said, “Thank you for saving my life, Sister Vickie.” “Now I have a lie on my conscience, Ted., but it seemed necessary, for a good cause. Forgive me lord.” Her beads were clacking furiously like a rattle snake. As I drove her back to Mt. Pleasant, I thought about what had happened. I could be in trouble with the general, but I did gather some information that might come in handy. Maybe it could get me out of trouble.

64 IN TROUBLE WITH FATHER

After I dropped Sister Vickie and Satan off at the convent in Mt. Pleasant, I drove by Mile 21 without stopping, but I did sneak a bit of a peek to see some of the men throwing something away, then ducking. I assumed they were rocks, or pretend hand grenades. It was certainly a scary visit I’d had, and I was half sorry I took such a chance. They would not trust me after I’d been discovered. I knew that. But I felt gratified Sister Vickie and Satan were safe. I don’t know what I’d have done if anything had happened to them. But I had to ire Sister for her courage. After all, I guess she assumed I was a young, inexperienced kid, taking unnecessary chances, reaching for some romantic conclusion that made me a hero. And perhaps she was right about that. But I didn’t think so at the time. I did feel bad about her lying for me, though. It’s one of those dilemmas of doing evil for a good cause. Forgive her, please, Lord. When I returned to the base, I left the car off at the motor pool, and walked back to my barrack. The first thing I heard from Brian was, there was a message to make sure I saw the chaplain early that evening. I’d almost forgotten it was Saturday, confession night. “How was catechism today, Teddy?” Jules asked. “Uh, I guess it was okay, Jules.” I looked at the others, then quietly, “Lots of stuff going on around Mile 21 though. Tell you about it later, okay?” “Okay,” said Jules. “Maybe I’ll go to confession with you tonight.” “Me too,” Piped Brian. “I need it!” I looked over at Bobby and thought I might as well invite him also. He was still in his shorts, bow-legged as ever, with some kind of candy bar in his mouth. “What about you, Bobby, want to go to church with us?”

He took the candy bar out, and said, “Naw, ah guess ah’ll havta on thayat. I got ta wraght a lettah to mah maw.” Abe was busy writing. “Abe? Church?” “No, thanks!” He grinned, “Don’t need it!” I took a shower and washed up to get ready for chow. In the latrine, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Who do you think you are, kid? My world seemed to be getting confusing to me. I thought of the simple life I’d had before, in high school, and even in jump school, but now I felt entangled in a web, wondering when some spidery thing would come and get me. At chow, I saw Willy. “How are you, Wilfred?” I asked. He looked at me. “Ted, uh, wait, it’s Theodore. How are you?” “Fine. Want to go with us to confession tonight?” “Sure. Why not?” “See you at 1800? Outside our barrack?” “Okay. See you then.” I wasn’t sure why I’d invited him, but I missed him, I guess. Also, I didn’t think he’d do anything foolish in church. After chow, Jules, Brian, and Willy ed me, and we were off to church. The day was sunny with hardly a cloud. There was no wind. It was just hot and humid, and still, too still, I felt. We marched to the church, hoping to cool off in there. In church there was no air conditioning, but at least we were out of the sun. Father Roland was in the vestry munching on something. When he gestured to me, I left the others in one of the pews and went to him, making sure to genuflect on the way, Father let me in, then closed the door. “Is everything okay with the nun? No

funny business?” “No, Father.” “Did you know there’s a black janitor cleaning the church at nights? “Yes, I did. I’ve been sending the forms in so he’d get paid. Why? Is anything wrong?” “No, I guess not. I just don’t like him staring as if he knows something.” “Sorry about that, Father. I’ll talk to him.” “Never mind that!” He munched his candy bar and threw the wrapper in the basket. “I just don’t want him to have keys to every room in the church, understand?” “I’ll take care of it, Father Carpenter!” “All right! Who are those men you brought with you?” “Friends from my barrack. Going to confession. Is there a problem?” “No problem! Have you been talking to Francis Plustoni? What have you told him?” “Francis? I haven’t said a word to him for a month or so. I just told him not to take any crap from the men in his barrack. Why?” “No reason! Now get out of here. I have to get ready for confession. Will you be going?” “No, I confessed at the Catholic church in town, sir.” I left, and ed the others at their pew. By this time many soldiers, including officers, were waiting to confess. I started to pray, then saw someone waving from the other side of the altar, behind a pillar. I knew right away who it was. So I slipped out of the pew, genuflected in front of the altar, and gradually made my way to him. “Mister Riverton, how are you?”

“Thas okay, sir, yo dasn’t have to call me mistuh. Ah jis’ wondrin’ if ah goin’ lose mah job, cuz a cain’t afford fer it ta happen, suh.” “No, Leroy, you’re not going to lose your job. I guess you opened one of the rooms and saw something, is that right?” “Yessuh, thas raght, n’ ah cain’t abide by it.” “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to clean rooms that haven’t been used for church. Do you get my meaning? I want you to stay out of trouble, until I straighten out the other problem. You know what that problem is, don’t you?” “Yessuh, ah think ah does.” “Good! Let me shake your hand, Leroy. He wiped his hand on his pants, then shook mine. “Thank ya, young man. Ah preciate it!” I went back to the others. “I’m going to kneel in a front pew and wait for you.” Jules said, “I’ll you. The others stayed in line to confess. I prayed for several minutes, for my mom and dad and friends in Japan and Europe, whom I missed, and my brother and sister, naming each of them as I talked to God. I knew He knew them, but I told Him anyway, because that became part of my ritual. Then I felt a presence next to me on the kneeler. I turned slowly, not wanting to be rude, and saw that it was Francis! He was just the one I wanted to see. It seemed almost miraculous for him to show up, just as though I’d created him from thin air. “Francis! How are you? I was wondering what you’ve been up to.” Since he was so tall, and seemed awkward on the kneeler, he sat back on the pew. His face was red, flushed. “Why do you want to know? And why should I tell you?” He stared at me angrily. “I was concerned about you, but if that’s the way you feel, go to hell!” I said. “I guess I can be just as mean as you, if that’s the way you want it!” I turned away from him and got up.

“I’m so sorry.” said Francis. “But I’m so mad I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?” I stood up. “Come with me, please, so we can talk.” I grabbed his elbow and led him away. “See you guys later!” We went out through the vestibule to the church entrance. Outside, I led him to a pillar, so we could have a relatively private conversation. “So, tell me about it, Francis.” I noticed how he’d lost weight, and his uniform was loose on him around the stomach. His pants were baggy also. “I think you know what’s been going on, don’t you, Ted? You know what that so-called priest has been up to with me. And I’m not the only one, either.” I leaned against the pillar. Was this it? Would this be where I was forced to do something? Of course, I knew I could just report the priest. But I had no facts I could use without getting him or Leroy involved. “Tell me what’s going on, Francis.” He just started to open his mouth, when Father Roland came out, hands on hips, “What’s he telling you, Private Byrum? And why in hell should he be telling you anything?” I started to answer, “Sir, because….” But then Francis stepped in front of me, “Because I needed to, and wanted to, and….” He was too choked up to continue. Father said, “Well, I’ll just get Private Byrum thrown out of the army, that’s what I can do, if I so choose! What are you, having an affair with Byrum too?” Francis changed. It was as though he were a balloon, and he blew himself up into mammoth proportions. “No you don’t! He did nothing wrong!” The priest turned red. “So a new lover, huh. Give him a blow job too?” The priest was down on the top step before I could fathom what had happened. Francis was on top of Father Roland, slapping him on the face.

I grabbed him from behind and tried to pull him up, but he wouldn’t let go of the priest. I finally wrestled him up. “Whoa, Francis, whoa! He doesn’t deserve your getting a court martial and being sent to the brig. Go back to the barracks, now, please!” Francis, was puffing, and his mouth was scrunched with hatred. “Let me hit him some more, for everything! Everything! God, how can I ever go home now?” I held him by the arm. “Listen! Listen to me now, will you? I’m going to try to fix this, if I can. Now get the hell out of here! Please!” He suddenly let his emotions go, and his anger seemed to seep from him, like dirty water down a drain. “Okay. I’ll go. But how can I face the guys in the barracks? Face anyone?” “Just go, now. Please, Francis.” He started down the steps slowly, stumbling. I hoped he could make it back safely. Father Roland was just getting up. “You okay, Father? Try to hear confessions. No one will notice a little redness on your face.” “Are you sure, Private Byrum? There won’t be any trouble?” “I don’t think so, Father. Go ahead in.” After he left, I sat on the church steps, wondering how this would end up. I was sure this wasn’t the end of it.

65 WRITING LETTERS HOME

After Brian and Willy confessed and prayed their contritions, which, of course, means to pray 10 prayers, etc., to show how sorry they were for their sins, they ed Jules and me outside the church. Jules asked me quietly while the others were walking ahead, “Everything okay, Teddy?” “Not a problem in the world, Jules, that a little time won’t cure, I hope. Tell you about it later. I guess it can’t get any worse in the next few hours.” “Let me know if you need me.” “Thanks,” I responded. We caught up with the others. “How’s Randy doing now, Willy?” “Pretty good. He’s staying out of trouble, not going down town, and he’s gone quite a bit, mysteriously, sorta.” “Oh, well,” I said. “He is in the general’s office. Who knows what he’s got poor Randy doing?” I made sure not to look at Jules, to give anything away. It would be too dangerous to let Will get involved. He’d probably explode with the knowledge. He’d never be able to contain himself. When we got close to the barrack, I said, “See you guys. I’ve got some letters to write. I’m way behind. My mother and girlfriend will sure scold me.”

Back at the barrack, I began a letter to Mom first, of course.

Dear Mom and Dad and Family, March, 1954

I am so, so, sorry for taking too long to write, and I’m glad you didn’t write either, so I don’t feel so guilty. I guess you know how busy it can get here suddenly, or maybe you don’t, but that’s what happened. I’ve been involved in so many activities lately that it seems there is hardly time to think or breathe. The army thinks I’m three people, I think. I can tell you about some of the things I’ve been involved in, but not all, because they are military secrets. I know, I know, it might sound mysterious, but I’m not trying to blow this up like a balloon, way out of proportion, but it’s true. Anyway, it feels good just to be writing this to you. It’s like being there with you for a short time, as if this paper were a magic carpet carrying me to you. I can almost taste your pancakes and bacon, Dad. First, you probably know I’ve been taking this nun, Sister Victoria, to catechism class and back, from one city to another, each Saturday, for a number of months now. The nuns at the convent have dog, a wolf hound to protect them. His name is Satan. How about that for a name, in with the nuns? But he’s not evil. He’s a beautiful dog, and I think he was trained by the military. We even took Satan with us on one of our travels. We felt like we were protected by Joe Louis, blocking all the punches. Next, the priest I work for, the chaplain, Father Roland Carpenter, seems to have been involved in some activities that the army would find questionable, and somehow I’ve been trying to straighten it all out with no one getting hurt. I feel like I’m a bullet-proof vest, blocking all the bullets fired our way. I can’t tell you any more. What I said could be objectionable, as it is. That’s all I can reveal to you at this time. I can say it involves the general of the post, and it is about national security, but that is all. Please don’t mention this to any one, okay? Other than that, I’ve been busy missing you, and, of course, you too, Anthony. I will come in through the back door when you’re not expecting me, just so I can say, ‘boo,’ and ‘I love you,’ my brother. Miss you, Mom and Dad! And please let my wonderful sister know I love her.

I’ve had a few jumps, which were fun and interesting. One was in the rain and I landed in the mud. Another was at night. I know I’m just a 19 year old kid, but I feel like I’ve learned a lot, and am rapidly becoming older and more mature, just because of the experiences I’ve gone through. That’s all for now. I enjoyed my time at home with you. Hope to see you all soon in reality.

Love, Your son and brother, Teddy.

Dearest Pauley, February, 1954

I have missed you dearly and deeply, my darling Pauley. Some day we will be able to look back at this separation and think it was like a few seconds, instead of months, but right now it seems like centuries we’ve been apart. In the future, after we’ve been married enough years, we will smile at those days in the past, and even laugh at the youthful tears we’ve shed while being separated from each other. But the time will quickly, my sweetheart, and we will be back in one another’s arms. I get sweaty just thinking about it. Enough of that, for now. I am so sorry I haven’t written in a while, but the army has kept me quite busy. I have been transporting this nun, Sister Victoria, from one city to another, across the Fort Bragg post, so she could teach catechism to these young children. She is a nice lady, and young, but do not worry about her. She is a devout nun, dedicated to the Lord. And, guess what? The nuns in the convent have a wolf hound, named Satan! How about that? But he’s not an evil dog. I think he was trained by the military, and he minds perfectly. Of course, it took a while before

he could trust me. We even took the dog on one of the trips to the church for catechism, and he was gentle and not a problem at all. In addition to chauffeuring the nun, I have been busy with the priest, who has caused a deal of trouble for me and some others on the base. Of course, since I work for the chaplain, I’m involved in all that he does, so somehow I’m wrapped up in all of his activities. It will all work out, I’m sure. But if it doesn’t, well, I might be home sooner than you expected. But all will turn out for the good, God willing. None of this is anything to worry about, my sweetheart. I may not answer your letters right away, but please write anyway. After this problem that the general has me involved in is over, things will settle down to just a minor bit of chaos. I’ve been reading some Keats again. In one of his letters where he asked his love to write to him, he said, “Make it as rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me. Write the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours have been.” Do that for me, my love. to pray for me and talk to me each night as I do you. I’ve been writing a poem in my head to you, of how floating down in my parachute I see such beauty, that I want to share with you. I’ll finish it, eventually, my love.

All my love, my darling, Your Ted forever

Dear Darren,

It’s been too long since I’ve written you. I think of you often, and wonder how you’re doing, and how Aunt Dot is. (I smile often at her last name, Chatterban.) I also think a great deal about Aunt Lily. Amazing, I think of her as if she were my aunt, as well as yours. You and yours have become important parts of my life. How fortunate I am that I ran into you, even though it involved a bayonet as a hammer, and trips to the hospital. I know you must be doing well in the university. You were born for it. And you will become a great professor. These things are in the stars for you. I’ve been involved in some interesting, even somewhat unusual, activities here on base. One involves the priest, who is nothing like Father Drew. Enough said, for now. Other things I can tell you about when years have ed. I’m still reading poetry when I get a chance. I came across a great one lately, by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I’m sure you’ve read it. It’s called, “What Lips My Lips Have Kissed.” What a great sonnet! And after comparing herself to the tree and birds outside her window, she says, “I cannot say what loves have come and gone. I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.” I consider that one of the most well constructed and powerful poems. I’m sure you will agree. It’s sad to think of the years I’d spent before I’d met you, without literature, without poetry. It now makes me feel alive! That’s all for now. Just know that I miss you and think of you often.

Love, PFC Ted

P.S. That reminds me. I was promoted to PFC. I’m no longer a lowly private!!

66 OF SUICIDE AND THE LORD

Sunday morning, and I anticipated a normal morning, serving as an altar boy for a priest I didn’t like, or respect. I awoke at 0700, and showered and shaved. I noticed my tattoo had lost all redness around it, and although still itchy, the wings were spread, proud and colorful. I felt proud to be a paratrooper. In the mess hall, with Jules and Brian, I was just about to finish eating my scrambled eggs on toast with bacon, and looked up. A soldier stood before me at my table, as if he’d appeared from the clouds. I knew I’d met him, but couldn’t place where, until I saw his name tag. “Winters,” that was it! Corporal Winters from Francis Plustoni’s barrack. ‘Uh, oh, trouble,’ I thought. “Private First Class will you come with me, please?” I got up. “See you later, guys, at church.” Outside the mess hall, the corporal said, militarily, stiffly, what this was about. “It’s a mess over at the barrack. When did you see Private Plustoni last?” “Yesterday, in the church. Father Roland was hearing confessions. Why? Has anything happened?” “I’m not supposed to tell you anything. But you were kind to Francis, and not many others were. I’m afraid he tried to jump without a parachute this time. Sorry, not trying to be funny, but it is ironic.” “What happened? Can’t you tell me?” “I have orders, so the brass can find out how guilty you are in all this.” “What in hell? Guilty of what? Sorry, Corporal, but can you give me a hint? Is he okay?” It seemed that the answer to this question was like a card game of

chance. Pick a card! “Oh, he’s okay. He’s not going anywhere now. Except maybe up or down.” I didn’t say anything. I chose not to play his frustrating word game. We just walked. Finally he said, “Yeah, I trust you. Franny jumped out the second floor window!” “What? Was the window open?” Normally they’re not. Corporal said, “Oh, it was open after he went through it. And his landing wasn’t good either, full of glass all around him.” “Are you sure he jumped? He wasn’t pushed?” “Apparently no one was around him at the time. I believe the men.” I was stunned by the thought that Francis killed himself. He seemed lost in a world that wasn’t suited for him. People were cruel to him. Even Father Roland didn’t really care for him. He just used him for his own filthy purposes. But perhaps I shouldn’t accuse the priest of something I’d never seen, but assumed. All the facts were there, of course, but he could never be convicted in court, I was sure. Even this corporal was coming up with quips about poor Francis’ death. I thought of telling his mother about her son’s death. Then I had an inspired, almost devious thought that the priest should tell her. Also, he should eulogize him at mass, if he could. When Corporal Winters made it to the barrack, the body had been taken away. A small crowd was noisily talking and pointing on the ground, apparently where Francis landed. There were many pieces of glass strewn in varied broken shapes on the bare ground where they were staring and gesticulating. One person leaned over as if he was diving. Then he made motions of flying and landing hard, as he clapped his hands to imitate the landing, hard, again. Corporal Winters saluted, then introduced me to a Major Willett. “Sir, this is Pfc Theodore Byrum, who knew Private Plustoni well.”

I saluted. “Hello, sir. Do you know where the funeral is to be held?” The major saluted back. “What funeral? Did someone die?” I answered, puzzled, “The corporal told me he was gone, sir. He’s not dead?” “My mistake, sir. The way he looked, all sprawled out, it sure seemed the picture of death. I checked with the men right away, so I didn’t see him recover. They all agreed he jumped.” The major demanded, “Pfc, can you explain any of this? Why did this young fella feel he had to resort to such an ending?” I knew, of course. Or I thought I knew, but I hesitated to accuse the priest right away. Then it came to me like a hurricane. I might be able to use what I knew as a way to change Father Roland’s smug attitude and find a solution to what was going on in the many secret rooms of the church. Leroy, the janitor, would certainly be happy with such a change, of course. I answered, “I’m afraid he had a life-time of being treated like a child, sir. His mother sent a letter to the chaplain, asking him to watch out for him. I’m the chaplain’s clerk. It seems Private Francis was over-protected most of his life, sir, and he seemed quite childlike.” “I agree with that, sir. Plustoni was certainly pretty feminine, like a giant girl.” I said, “I’ll tell the chaplain what happened. I’ll be seeing him shortly to serve as his altar boy, sir.” “Okay, Private. I assume you’ll be visiting this Plustoni in the hospital, correct? “Yes, sir!” “And you tell the chaplain to me, son. Dismissed!” I saluted and left. I hurried to church. I met Jules and Brian at the front, and explained briefly what had happened. Then I went to the vestry where Father Roland was grunting, trying to get into his vestments. “Damn it, where’ve you been? It’s almost time for mass! Help me into these vestments! Hurry!”

I didn’t hurry. I sat down. His face was crimson on each cheek, and his left lip swollen. The priest stared at me, his face twisting into a tense snarl. He came toward me, looking as if he was ready to kick me. “Go ahead!” I yelled. “Kick me and I’ll see that you’re court-martialed and sent back to Modesta, California, the city you escaped from! Now, do you want to hear the news?” “What news? Here, help me, will you please?” The priest saw no fear in me, so he became suspicious. He acted as though I had something hovering over him, something I could let fall on him whenever I chose. He struggled with his garments. I helped him. It was 0900, time for mass. I revealed it. “Francis jumped through the second floor window, and is in the hospital now.” “What? Is he dead? What in hell did he do that for? Why?” “You would know better than I would,” I said. “He’s in the hospital. You should pray for him in the mass, tell the people about it. Pray silently for yourself while you’re at it. Oh, and Major Willett wants you to report to him as soon as possible.” He was quiet as we walked out to the altar. The church was crowded, and they were mumbling about our being almost 15 minutes late for mass. During the mass, Father Roland Carpenter prayed slowly and deliberately. He acted differently this time. Then in his homily, he didn’t mention Francis, specifically, but he said there was a person, and maybe more than just one. This young paratrooper is “in serious trouble, ready to attempt to destroy his body in desperation. Even though Jesus was willing to give his life up to save us all, this man was giving up, not ready to face the cruelties of living. Please pray with me that this young man will survive and find a way to forgive the world. I pray that he will recover in the hospital, then find a place on this earth where he can become a man…a man who will forgive the weaknesses of others, and find that he has wings that can soar over

the tiny minutia of others who try to drag him to the ground.” Were those tears gleaming on his cheeks? I believe so. Then Father Roland seemed to believe what he was performing, that Christ’s body and blood were actually there, had actually transubstantially appeared on the altar. I noticed his hands were shaking. Following mass, we retreated to the vestry. I helped the priest out of his vestments. I said, “I think you should go to the hospital to see Francis, but not right away. He’ll be too upset right now. Give him time. And if you’ve been involved in any other activities in those rooms at the church, please let me know, so Mr. Leroy Riverton will be prepared.” Father Roland turned and stared at me, then looked down. He knelt, made the sign of the cross, let himself fall to the floor and moan. I left, and ed the others, feeling no sorrow for this evil man.

67 SCOLDINGS AND PLANS

On Monday, in the chaplain’s office, I waited for Father Roland to show up. I planned to explain to him that I will be involved in a serious operation with the general and others, because it could become dangerous on the base in the next few weeks. “Not just trying to get out of work, are you?” He said this with a smile. He acted as if a magician had waved a wand and changed him into a different, more pleasant, diffident person. “Is there something I should know, Ted?” I thought about my answer. Then I decided that some of the truth would be the best way to let him know I was involved in something more than just clerking and altar-boying, and that snooping on him wasn’t a favorite activity. So, I said, “There’s a group of people in a few of the towns around here, sir, that don’t approve of the army or the U.S. Government, and they may be getting dangerous. I discovered them in my driving the nun back and forth to catechism. So the general has me involved in this, with your permission.” I added that like bait, pretending to give the priest the power that he didn’t really have. Father took the bait. “Well,” he said, “by all means, tell the general I approve.” I reeled him in. Thank you sir. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. But please don’t mention it to anyone. He said it should be top secret. “I won’t,” he said, as he reached in his drawer, for a candy, I assume. “I have to leave now, for a meeting with him, right now.” “Good. Go!”

In the general’s office we were almost all present. We sat around the conference table, waiting a few minutes. Randy had said the general would be a bit late. So we sat awkwardly, waiting. There were glasses on the table in front of each seat, and a few pitchers of ice water. I saw that Sgt. Scafura and Lt. Smithson were whispering to each other at the end of the table. Sgt. Scafura’s face seemed red, and alive with pock marks. Colonel Dempsey, the director of Psychological warfare, was talking with his scratchy voice to Lt. John Robson (the one I called ‘Robbie’). The colonel was pointing to the map on the board with his long, bony fingers. Jules and Brian were not there. I was not surprised. If ordered, I would keep them informed. Otherwise, I would do as I was told. This was important, not just to me but to the army. In other words, it was the most significant and dangerous thing I’d ever been involved in, and I was nervous. My hands were shaky, as if they had lives of their own. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d finger walked away from me. That was silly. My mind was wandering foolishly. “Well, Pfc. Byrum, are you with us?” General Thompson asked. “Uh, yes sir!” I stood up and saluted. They all laughed quietly, respectfully. They were already standing. The general saluted back, and said kindly, “You seemed to be in another world, Ted. Welcome back. At ease, everyone. Take your seats.” When we were settled, he continued, “Byrum, you have the floor. Please report on what you’ve discovered at the, what did you call it, ‘Mile 21?’” “Yes sir.” I stood up, and nervously looked around. “Well, sir, I don’t know if you know I made an unauthorized reconnaissance of Mile 21.” The general grimaced. “I know, Ted. And so do all of us.” His voice rose “My people saw you and the nun and the dog from long distance. What in hell are you trying to do, young man, be a hero? You certainly ruined any surprise we may have been planning! Have you ever heard the term, court-martial?” I felt all eyes on me, from faces looking grim. The room closed in on me like a giant vice. It seemed to rise in temperature to the boiling point.

“YYYYYes sir! It was stupid of me, sir. Sorry, sir. I thought I could find something out that would be of value.” “From now on do not think without permission, do you hear?” “No sir! I mean, yes, sir!” My face felt flush. I wanted to shrink under the table. General Thompson came closer to me and stared directly into my eyes. “Now, be a man and report to this group! What did you discover during your unauthorized visit?” I couldn’t help but what my dad had said to me when I took the train to the army. “Be a man, fergod sake!” “Well, sir, I….” “Go to the front of the room, soldier, and report!” At the front of all these men I was even more nervous. “Well, sir, as I neared their camp, I almost fell into this deep hole they’d dug in the sand. Apparently, they were practicing digging a tunnel.” “That’s what I noticed near the post!” the colonel said. “It looked like there was a bulge by the parade ground, but it didn’t sink in until now. So that’s what they’ll try to do to get close to our barracks!” “No, sir,” I said, “I think they’re trying to get closer to our armory. The rebel leader, a Harley Sterling, who seems to be the leader of the group, said he didn’t want to hurt people. He just wanted to make a statement. They’ve lost people in World War 2, and in Korea, and they don’t like paying taxes to a government that takes them to war.” “Well, dammit, they think they know more than we do about what’s going on in the world? That’s the trouble. They never see the big picture. They want to destroy the wall that’s protecting them. It’s always the same! Who in hell is this Harley Sterling anyway?” “I guess he’s just an owner of a hardware, sir,” I said, “but so many of the men have lost someone in or Japan or Korea, I guess they just want to make some kind of statement.”

Robbie stood up and blurted, “It’s good to know that, sir.” He stood up. “At least we know the enemy. Sounds like they’re just trying to get recognized.” “But,” the general responded as he came forward, “they’ll find out the statement they’re trying to make might blow up in their faces. Now, Ted, continue with your report. What else did you find out from these rebels?” “Well, sir, I found that they have weapons.” “What? What kind?” “I know they have rifles, sir. I even saw one with a scope. And also, they were practicing throwing hand grenades, so I assume they have some of them also.” “Grenades?” the general said, throwing an eraser down. “Are they crazy? Now they’re playing war a little too seriously! Up until now, I was willing to take this slowly, but we must stop them before this whole post is at war! No more games! Do you all agree?” Everyone affirmed it, by saying “Agreed!” “All right then! Let’s start!” The general reached for the pitcher and poured some water into his glass. “Randy, will you do the honors?” and Randy poured pitchers all around. The four-part plan began.

68 A FOUR PART MANEUVER

On Tuesday, 2100, In the barrack, on the sly, I kept Jules informed about parts of the General’s plan. We acted as if we were discussing the paper he held in his hand, and as we talked about the blank sheet, I spoke in a low undertone. “Part of it will be searching for any suspicious-looking holes on the post grounds, sort of the way my brother and I tried to find any night-crawlers on the grounds after a rain. This will be done by a select few at about 2300. You can me if you would like.” Jules eyes opened wide. “Are you being facetious? Of course I want to you. Just say when, and we’ll find this underground tunnel.” He wiped his mouth and eyes with that perennial hanky. “But I don’t see how they can make a tunnel anywhere on the post. Where will they put the dirt?” “Good question, Jules. They must have some way of trucking it away. Maybe they already have. We’ll have to be substantially observant. How do you like my vocabulary? Getting better, huh?” “Yes, I’ve noticed, Ted. You’re definitely improving. All of you have. What about the other phases of this maneuver?” Brian came over, trying to sew a hole in a sock, making a mess of it. “What’s this? Did I hear something about a ‘man over?’ Man over board?” He stopped brushing. “Or is this about The Wild Thang gang?” Is it on the brink of time for their attack?” He sat on my footlocker. “Count me in, okay?” I glanced at Jules. “Ever been night-crawling Brian?” “Me? Yeah. A couple of us would walk some of those streets in Detroit, lookin’ for some available girls in red, only they didn’t wear red, you know?” Jules jumped in, “Sorry, Brian, but he means real, creep along the ground big worms.”

I laughed. “No, I guess you’ve never been out late at night after a rain storm, walking in school or golf course lawns for night crawlers to be used as bait for fishing.” “No, thanks,” Brian made a face of revulsion. “I can’t stand to look at worms. Once I went fishin’ with my friend, and he had to hook those disgustin’ things ’cause I couldn’t touch ’em. Nope. No night-crawlin’ for me.” He started to walk away. “We’re not going night-crawling, Brian!” I rasped with a muffled voice. “But we’ll have to crawl around at night looking for holes in the ground, that might lead to a tunnel.!” Brian turned around. “That’s okay, then. I don’t mind losin’ a bit a’ sleep at night. When’s this happenin’?” “Tomorrow night after ‘lights out,’ we’ll meet a team out by the parade ground,” I said, surreptitiously. “There will be flashlights, but to be used only for seconds at a time. Agreed, Jules?” “Certainly. We can go out together. So Wednesday, February 11, 1953, will be a historical day for us soldiers. It’s about time we’ll see a bit of action,” complained Jules. “I’ve never seen any, except for that plane ride with the general and you a few weeks ago. I think I’ll be okay, as long as there are no spiders, or snakes. I can’t stand them, or even be near them.” He shivered and closed his eyes. “Well, I hope we get to see some tunnels. Otherwise, we might jus’ get a few night crawlers fer’ Cookie to fry up for us,” Brian snorted. Brian left, rubbing the sock across his boot as though trying to wear a hole in it. “So what’s maneuver two, Teddy,” Jules asked, back to using our under-voices. There were others in the barrack, smoking, joking, laughing, paying no attention to us. I answered, “There will be extra guards around, surreptitiously, not trying to cause any extra attention, but they will be guarding mostly places like the motor pool, the airport, and especially, the armory. Because at Mile 21, I saw them with scoped rifles, and most likely they’ll use hand grenades, so they can be

dangerous, but I don’t think they want to kill anyone, unless they have to. They just want to make a statement,” I guessed. “But they could get desperate. So the general is taking all precautions.” Jules was excited, “Well, I’m certainly glad General Thompson is involved in this. I’ve heard good stories about him. He was quite a leader in WW2 I hear.” I smiled. “I like him too, because he’s quite down-to-earth.” Then I thought about his yelling at me, threatening court-martial. “But he can be tough when he has to. I know that first-hand. He gave me quite a scare for my foolish heroics.” “And you probably deserved it, I’ll wager.” “Yes, I did. He threw me a fast ball, when I was expecting a slow curve, though.” “Somehow, that makes sense, Teddy. But what will we do if we find the rebels at those locations?” Jules wiped his mouth and forehead briskly, even nervously. His eyes were wide open, somewhat fearful. “We’re really going to get involved in this, aren’t we?” “Yes we are. But we will just be involved behind all the other armed guards. We won’t even have weapons.” Jules thought about it, seemingly relieved. “Well, I want to be in, no matter how small a role we’ll be playing. Can you tell me the third maneuver? “Well, I guess I can tell you, but I see Bobby coming over, so let’s try it later. “Hey! How’s all y’all? Anythin’ new, Teddy, Jules Baby?” “Yep,” I said, “But my boots are filthy. Gotta give em a good polishing before ‘Lights out.’ Tell you later, okay, Bobby?” After Bobby left, I began polishing my shoes, trying to get the toes to a brilliant, reflective shine. Jules did the same. So I continued. “Maneuver 3 will be a sweep of Mile 21, cleaning out all their tents and confiscating their weapons. There could be violence, and some could get killed, I don’t know. They don’t seem like bad people.”

Jules applied more polish. “You know even good people can get caught up in evil things, Teddy. I’ve seen it happen, and some get entrapped in others’ plots, even killed. Sometimes we get involved in things that are bigger than ourselves and we have to pay.” I used a rag to rub my boots to a high shine. “I guess you’re right, Jules. Then, at last, there must be a sweep of the Wild Thang bar, to see who’s left in this conspiracy. That might take care of it all, I hope. There might even be a night drop, but that will be up to the general and his staff.” I finished my boots, and could even see my reflection in them, slightly. Jules’ shoes looked much better and cleaner and shinier than mine. Of course, we told each other not to wear anything shiny on the tunnel hunt. If the moon was out, we’d be easy to pick out.

69 MANEUVERS BEGIN

Wednesday night, 2300, I was walking with Jules and Brian. Brian carried the small flashlight as we walked in a line, covering the parade grounds closest to the armory. About 10 others were in our line. We were all in dark clothing. I had on fatigues and a dark sweater. My face and hands were smeared with mud, so there would be no reflection from the moon, in the boots, or elsewhere and the others were the same. But there was no moon. It was cool, and eerily dark, with black clouds. We walked slowly, aware that there might even be a trap door to cover up the tunnel or tunnels, if any existed. Earlier, I had noticed Sgt Scafura, and Lieutenant Smithson, preparing to the line. The lieutenant, as usual, managed to make himself look neat, even with a smudged face. But they were also dressed in dark, green fatigues. The general was there, but he did not the lines. He had made sure to assign armed men intermittently along the line, mostly with pistols. One on each end had a rifle. “But don’t fire unless fired upon! the word down!” he emphasized under his breath. Jules, who walked next to me, was nervous. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Yyyes, of cccourse, I am, Teddy. Just help me watch for spiders or snakes, all right? I’ll be fine, otherwise.” “Okay. Must have been something that really scared you sometime when you were young. I understand. I had that fear of big dogs for years.” Jules muttered, “I was locked in a closet when I was 5 years old, and there were spiders in there. big ones. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them, spinning

their webs, getting closer all the time.” “Must have been clumsy spiders!” Then I asked, “What about snakes?” Jules looked up at me while we were lining up, and said, “You’ve been reading poetry, Teddy, so did you ever read Emily Dickinson’s “Narrow Fellow in the Grass?” “I don’t think so.” “Well, the last stanza of it says, But never met this fellow Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing And zero at the bone. “That’s exactly how I feel whenever I’ve seen one. I saw one in the garden in our back yard, and it just kept coming right at me in its crooked crawl, and I screamed and screamed and stood there, horrified. I’ve been terrified and petrified of snakes all my life.” “I don’t blame you. I can’t stand the look of them either,” I said. “They just look evil, sliding along the ground. I get an eerie feeling, like it’s something evil crawled up from hell.” We all started, walking slowly, alertly. Brian, while flashing in our paths, then turning the light off, said, “Hell, we used ta go down to th’ river, and snatch snakes! We’d put ’em in a sack, take ’em home, fry ’em up an’ eat ’em down.” “Disgusting!” spewed Jules. “Shhh!” came from someone down the line. So we walked, slowly. I had trouble making out anything other than the soft feel of grass under my boots until the flashlight’s beam sprayed the space in front of us, momentarily. Once I spied a

night crawler scooting back into its hole, but I said nothing. I didn’t want to alarm Jules. We walked slowly, across the parade ground in one direction, then shifted over, and walked the other. It became boring, and that’s when my mind wandered to the day Pedro had to march these grounds after cowering when told to jump out of the plane. How vividly I could picture him, even while we walked through the darkness, as if it were that day again, with Pedro, that small man, backpack filled with rocks, trudging back and forth to the cadence count, head held high, even adding sporting, dance-like steps, all in that heat, his uniform drenched, yet by shear will, marching, marching, as though showing the gods of his cruel world, his will would stand up with his last ounce of strength until he found release in death. “What the hell!” came from Brian. We stopped, and others down the line slowed also. “What is it, Brian?” asked Jules. “I stepped on something solid!” He shined his light on the ground down by his feet. He stepped. “Feel that?” I stepped where his foot was. It was not soft. It felt solid, then it shifted! “This is it!” I hadn’t thought they would actually do it, but this must be their tunnel! Then I felt a two hands on my ankles, and it was tugging me down! I resisted, but one, strong yank, and I was sliding down through the hole! I tried to grab Jules’ leg, but he had backed away, just out of reach! My heart was pumping double-time! I doubt I’d ever been that scared. Even jumping out of a plane, I knew what to expect. But this brought a dizziness at the top of my skull! As I was tugged to the bottom, which was about 10 feet deep, I heard voices above, “Over here! We found it!” This gave me hope, that someone could help! Then I was dragged along the tunnel, feet first. I could tell the direction was toward the armory! Was this really happening? Then I saw a dimmed light ahead, where the tunnel took a slight turn. I felt the ground getting colder as I

was moved along, on my back, by my boots. It was happening so quickly, I had no real chance to grab anything. The tunnel was about 4 feet in diameter. As I was being tugged, I felt some of the dirt above falling on my face and shoulders. “Look what ah found heah, suh! A big-assed fish! Mebbe we can cut ’em up fer bait, huh?” I recognized the voice. It was Chet, the one with Choogah, in McCain. I was blinded by a flashlight on my face. “No! Don’t kill ’im! We’ll need him for swappin’ our escape. Damn, damn, damn! They found us out. Wait, I know this soldier from The Wild Thang! Well, who’s side’s y’all on, soldier? Ye come t’ jine us?” It was Harley Sterling from the hardware, the leader. Just then I heard screaming behind me, and down the tunnel came Jules, in a panic. “Snakes! spiders! God!” and down he came, head first, right to my feet. Two flashlights were concentrated on Jules. He flopped like a fish out of water. Then Jules screamed, acting like he had bugs and animals all over his body, twitching and turning and babbling and slapping himself on the legs, on the face. Then I saw another flashlight coming down from above us, and sounds of voices. “Bring that pistol over here, soldier.” When I turned back, Chet aimed his pistol at me, but Harley grabbed Chet’s arm, lifting it. The gun exploded. Dirt fell from above me, onto my head. I brushed cold, moist earth from my face. I wiped my eyes, expecting to be killed. The fear was leaving. If this was to be it, I was ready, imagining my body being dragged out. I thought of funeral services. Pauley. Mom, Dad, Anthony. When I could, I looked up. Chet and Harley were gone.

70 “INSANITY” AND GRENADES

About 8 of the soldiers came into the tunnel, crawled over, then past us, in pursuit of Harley and Chet, pistols out, flashlights illuminating the tunnel. They moved caterpillar style, toward the armory. I pulled Jules back up the hole. With one hand I grasped Brian’s outstretched hand and arm and he helped pull me up. When I reached the top, I saw others were holding Brian, aiding in their effort to tug us to safety. I looked around and saw that the flashlight lines were moving quickly, probing the grounds nearby, searching for other tunnels. I doubted they’d find any. The general hustled to us. “Was that a muffled shot I heard coming from that tunnel, soldier?” I gave him a quick salute, then realized he couldn’t see it. “Yes, sir! It was that young punk, Chet. But the older one, who owns the hardware stopped it. He’s the one in charge.” “Fired at you? Now it’s serious, damn it!” He paused. I’ll show ’em weapons!. Okay, young Ted. Get settled here. Report to me in 5 minutes.” “Yes, sir!” Finally, I allowed myself to turn back to Jules. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Of course, Ted.” He seemed cool, under control. He smiled, while brushing himself off. “What did you think of that performance? Was I good?” I was stunned. “What? I thought you were petrified by spiders and snakes?” “I am. But I just couldn’t let them take you. You’re my friend, so I will protect you, just as you would protect me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but. Wow, that really was a great performance, Jules. You sure had me fooled.” Then I heard Randy’s voice. What a welcome sound. “Ted? Ted Byron? Are you here?” Randy walked slowly, looking blindly until he saw us. “Are you guys okay? Hey, Jules. Hey, Brian. Ted, have you seen Willy?” “Willy?” I answered. “Was he here?” “I think so. He suspected something, and sort of wangled this night search from me. And it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been drinking. It gives him courage, or so he thinks.” “Well, I hope you find him,” I responded. “I have to go. General Thompson’s orders. Jules, we have to talk more about this later, okay?” “Certainly, Teddy! Now go!” Jules patted me on the back. I hustled. “Thanks for saving my life, Jules.” I left before he could answer. On the way to find the general, I saw many lights flashing, like octopus arms clawing at the earth. I realized then that there was no surprising anyone after that. But maybe it wasn’t necessary. Surely by then their action plan began. When I reached the end of the parade ground, the general was in his jeep. “Here, Private, hurry!” and when I reached him, he ordered, “Get in, now!” I did, and we were moving, slowly, with other jeeps and a truck behind us. The general asked, “How’s your pitching arm, Private?” “It’s okay, sir. Might be better with a few warmups, but it’s good.” “Good!” Ever pitched a grenade?” “No, sir. Is it different from a baseball?” “No, not really. It might be a bit heavier, but other than that, it should be pretty much the same. And I like your accuracy. Are you ready for a challenge?” “Yes, sir, of course, sir.” I imagined it, and asked, “Will it kill anyone, sir?”

“Will that make a difference, Ted?” I hesitated. We’re supposed to be ready to kill people, aren’t we? “Yes, it would bother me, sir, but if these are the orders, then, I guess not.” The general touched my arm. “Good, son. Of course it makes a difference. You’re a good man, Ted, and I’m glad to see you’re ready to make a distinction. In the army we slaughter people when we’re at war, when we have to. But I certainly pray we never annihilate anyone when there’s another alternative. Do you know what the Latin is for ‘annihilate,’ son?” “No, sir!” “Well, it means ‘nihil,’ which means ‘nothing,’ and I’d prefer not taking a man’s life, as if he were nothing. We must respect all human life when we have a choice. People should never be viewed as ‘nothings.’ They’re more like flowers, that can grow and add so much beauty to this world. So that’s why I wanted you for this exercise against the civilians. You’ve met them. They’re not monsters, are they?” “No, they’re not, sir. I think they’re just angry. It’s like the government is so big, and the war was so huge and remote, they want to feel they can express themselves in some way and be heard, even if it can be dangerous. They need to know they’re not nothings.” “Good. I like the way you think, son. I was so angry when I heard they fired a shot, but maybe we can overlook that one incident.” Sergeant Woods, slowed the jeep to a crawl. “Almost there, sir, on the side of the armory.” “Okay, Sergeant. Ready, Ted?” “Yes, sir, but what if one of the tunnels went under the armory walls?” The general nodded to the sergeant, “The floor is cement, isn’t it Sarge?” “Yes, I believe so, sir.” “What’s inside the armory, sir?” I inquired.

The general looked at me, surprised. “What? Why, arms. An arsenal! Rifles, cannons, ammunition, filled with gun powder, enough to blow up everyone within 100 yards of this building. “But what if they had time to chip through the cement, sir?” The general paused. “Good point. They probably didn’t, but we must be ready for all contingencies. Park the jeep, Sergeant, and make sure some of the guards hustle inside the armory, just in case. It could be dangerous. Lord, I hope no one gets killed over this. These are civilians! We’ve been treating this a bit too lightly, I’m afraid. Ready, Ted?” “Yes, sir, ready. Let’s do this, sir.” I tried to sound brave, but I it my hands were shaking, and inside I tightened my stomach and gulped. This was a reality I couldn’t avoid, the same way I felt standing in the airplane door the first time. Nothing to do but go forward. “Go!” ordered General Thompson, and several men ducked low while shuffling toward the armory. As soon as they were 15 feet from me, they disappeared. “Do we know where the civilians are, sir?” “We believe they’re close to the building now, son.” “Do we plan on using headlights or flashlights to expose them?” “That’s exactly what we plan to do, in one, two, three, four, five….now!” The flashlights flashed, and several headlights from jeeps flooded the field next to the building. Next to the corner of the armory, about 20 feet from the big, garage-type door, were several men, wearing blue bandanas over their mouths, like masks! I recognized the short one, Chet. “The short one is Chet, sir. He’s a hateful, young one. He even tried to shoot me in the tunnel. But the one who saved me was Mr. Harley Sterling, owner of a hardware. He’s one of the others, sort of the leader of the group.” The general said, “Sergeant, give me that bullhorn.” He took it, and asked me if I could throw a baseball and hit the roof above the men.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure, sir.” “Okay, son, take this grenade and hit it.” I hesitated. “It’s all right, soldier. This one is not loaded to blow up. It will just pop like a firework.” I took the grenade. I lifted and tossed it up slightly to test its weight. “Ready, sir!” Then the general spoke into the megaphone, “Hello, men! Hello, young Chet! Hello, Mr. Sterling. I’m General Thompson, commanding general of this post! I think I might have been in your hardware a few times. Well, it’s time to cease all this before someone gets hurt, don’t you think?” Chet raised his rifle and pointed it toward the general. “Y’think, do y’all? Well, ah’ll give ya a taste a this heyah!” Harley Sterling stood up, then put his hand on Chet’s rifle, pushed it down, and yelled, We’ve got the tunnel covahed now, and we kin blow ’em ta smithereens. An’ ah’m afraid it ain’t that easy, ta stop us, suh, cuz we kin blow up this buildin’ an’ y’all kin see we need ta be heard!” General Thompson offered, “Well we’ll certainly be able to hear you, sir, without all these deadly weapons that might make conversation beyond possibility. Destroying government property or lives will take you so far beyond conversation, you’ll wish you stayed in your hardware store selling tools!” The general looked at me. “Ready?” “Yes, sir!” “Now Mister Sterling, a hand grenade is going to be tossed above your group, just to show you what could happen if you persist in attacking our armory. Don’t worry, this one is just a dud, but we have many that can be quite dangerous!” Chet abruptly hollered, “An’ ah got a real one raght’ heyah ta blow y’all ta bits”

“No, he doesn’t! I’ve got his ass now!” All the lights beamed at the two. There was Chet, with Willy behind him! One arm was holding the wrist of Chet’s hand holding the grenade, and the other arm around his blue-bandana’d neck. The two seemed to wrestle, until Willy pulled Chet’s arm behind his back! Just then I saw Choogah hit Willy with something, and down went Willy. “What in thunder is going on!” shouted General Thompson over the loudspeaker. After a silence, came, “Looks like your lil’ trick of sneakin’ up on us didn’t work, General! Now we’ve taken a prisoner. What y’all have to offer for ’im?” General Thompson turned to us, and snarled, “Who is that god damned soldier? Anyone, know him?” “I do sir,” I said. “It’s a friend, Willy. Sometimes he’s a bit unstable when he’s been drinking.” “I see.” I could tell the general was angry as boiling water.. He turned the speaker back on. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to offer, Mr. Sterling! You either surrender now, or people are going to die! The man you captured was not under any orders of mine, so he may die in our little skirmish along with the whole lot of you. Now, do you surrender?” “No, suh.” hollered Mr. Sterling. “Ya see, we have a little armory of our own, with pistols, rafles and hand grenades, an’ what all. So we ain’t aimin’ ta s’render, raght’ now.” The general leaned over to me. “Sorry, son, your friend may get hurt, but I can’t let them get into that armory! I’m going to send a platoon in, rifles ready.” What happened next, confusing as it was, is still a puzzle with missing pieces in my mind.

71 A RELUCTANT ATTACK

It seemed as if we were in a moment of decision. If the general decided to send his men forward, some could be killed by the rebel’s grenades and rifles. And, of course, many or most of the rebels could be killed. The general said to me, with heat, “Ted, you know these men. Will they shoot? Will they kill some of my men? What do you think?” I thought about it for a few seconds. “Yes, sir, I think they will return fire, especially if we start shooting first. They will throw their grenades and fire their rifles at us. Some will definitely be hurt or killed.” “Don’t the damn fools know we can wipe them all out? And we can clear these hillbillies out of the towns, too?” I was quiet for a moment. What did I know? How did this question become mine? I felt the pressure of eyes, those of the general’s, the sergeant’s, even Lieutenant Smithson’s and Sergeant Scrafura’s. I blurted out, “But then what, sir? Word will get out, and we will be the bad guys. Newspapers will hate us around the country, and we’ll never live it down, sir.” The general was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, young man. You seem wise beyond your years. Lieutenant, order the men to retreat, quietly. Way back. No one is to fire a shot! Do you hear, not a shot! And do not return fire! Turn off all flashlights and headlights!” Then he grabbed the loudspeaker. “Mr. Sterling! Do you hear me? You win! My men will not attack you. As long as you do not try to enter the armory, you have committed no serious crime. And we will find a time and place to talk reasonably. But do not try to enter the armory! That will change everything. I agree with you. It is time that we discussed what is going on. What is your

response?” The silence lasted one minute, two, three. All I could hear was the rustling of soldiers retreating. From the armory I heard nothing. I wondered how Willy was. “God, don’t let him be dead!” I prayed. We stared at the area where the rebels were, by the armory building, but saw no movement. The moon gradually came out from behind the clouds, revealing more and more of our terrain, which was primarily grass a bit overgrown, but it was the end of the parade ground leading toward the armory. The general tried again. “Mr. Sterling, can you hear me? Are you still there?” Then to me he undertoned, “Ted, are you ready to heave that grenade?” “Yes, sir. Are you sure?” “Yes I am. Just throw it on the roof and it will fall down lighting up the area. Then we can see if they’re still there.” I picked up the hand grenade, tossed it in the air a bit, then let it fly. It disappeared in the darkness. Then I heard it hit the roof and roll down, then, “Pop!” and the brighter light revealed that, the area where the men were, was empty. I asked, “Permission to go forward, sir? I don’t think there will be any more violence. They’re probably gone by now.” “All right, son, but be careful. We’ll be ten feet behind you.” I yelled, “Randy, Brian, Jules, come with me, please, now!” “Sergeant, go with them!” ordered the general. “The rest of you, follow slowly!” I walked hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. But I worried about Willy. I ed when I’d first met him. Randy called him, “Willful Willy.” He sure proved to be that! When we arrived where the rebels were, I saw where the ground was lifted where their tunnel was, but no one.

Jules then said, in a subdued voice, “Teddy, come here, please.” I walked toward the entrance of the armory, and saw Jules on his knees, surrounded by Randy, Brian, Sergeants Smithson and Scrafura. “What is it? I looked past the men and saw Jules patting Willy on his head with his handkerchief, which was soaked with blood. “Willy, no!” I shouted. “No, no, no, you damned fool! Now they’ve gone too far!! Is he dead, Jules? Tell me! Is he?” “I can’t tell yet, Teddy.” I’d never felt such anger coursing through me like a streak of lightning, so I looked around me. Where were they? “Someone give me a pistol, or a grenade, or a rifle!” I sobbed. I ran to their tunnel opening. “Are you in there, Chet? Come on out! Be a man, will you. Face me, you big-mouthed coward!” I ran to the corner of the armory. “Where are you, you big shots?” Some soldiers came back from the field leading to the fence. One of them said, “They took off on two vehicles heading north. I’m afraid they’re gone. But the general ordered us to stand down. Nothing we could do, Private.” I ran back to Willy, where the general was ordering some men to carry Willy to one of the trucks. I stopped, then walked slowly toward him. “Sorry, sir. I was wrong.” The tears flowed freely down my cheeks. “His name was Willy. He was a good man, just a bit rambunctious at times,” I blubbered. The general stared, then said, “What in hell do you mean, ‘was,’ soldier? He’s not a ‘was’! He’s alive! But he’s pretty bloodied up!” “Thank God. But that changes it, doesn’t it, sir? They’ve gone too far, haven’t they? Now we can punish them!” I was still so emotional, half-tearful, and halfangry, I didn’t know whether to let out a bathtub full of tears, or blow up The Wild Thang just to see it explode! “Do you think so, Private? Let’s get all the facts first, shall we? Aren’t you the one that just cautioned me? We can’t just blast away at anyone, can we? We lose, whatever we do that involves violence, don’t we?”

I felt my heart beating hard, ready to explode and escape my helpless body. “Can we at least go after them now, sir? They’re getting away!” I wanted to move, run, chase them, find them, punish them somehow. General Thompson put a hand on my shoulder. “No, son. We know how to find them. Right now you should go with your friends and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be soon enough to see your crazy friend. He could be in trouble, but we’ll worry about that later. Sergeant, see that they take Private Byrum and his friends to their barracks. “Right away, sir!” He said, “Follow me, men, to the truck!” As we left, I heard the general order his men to search for any more tunnels. Jules walked beside me. “Well, that certainly was exhilarating, Ted, wasn’t it?”

72 HOSPITAL VISIT PLUS ONE

The truck stopped at the entrance to our barrack. My watch said it was 0500. The sky was lighter, awaiting the first beams of the sun. Suddenly a wave of sleepiness washed across my brain, making my eyelids heavy. We said a quick ‘so-long’ and hurried back to our welcome bunks. I fought with hot thoughts of revenge until sleep finally took over. Reveille was never so unwelcome as that morning. It seemed my eyes had just closed and were too heavy to open. Jules, the ever-amazing Jules, pushed me until I rolled out of bed. A shower woke me up. Last night’s episodes rolled through my mind, like a newsreel. Only then did my hatred for Chet rise to a boil. It was then that I vowed to myself to extract revenge against him. I even pictured my fist slamming the side of his jaw and his falling. And I’d fight Choogah as well, if necessary. I don’t know who hit Willy from behind, but someone had to pay. After roll call, we ate breakfast. I have no recall of what I ate, or even if I ate. My mind was so set on somehow getting to Chet. Saturday, I decided, when I take Sister Vickie to catechism, will be the time, if he’s at the gas station. Meanwhile, we had to visit the hospital to see how Willy was. Also, of course, I had to try to see Francis, if he was still there. At the hospital, where we met Randy, Jules and I walked stiffly and solemnly, accustoming our manners to the usual hospital expectations. I made sure my boots did not create an echo. At the front desk we discovered we were too early to visit Willy because he hadn’t been assigned a bed yet. I told the others I was going to visit another soldier, Francis, and would meet them back at the waiting room. Jules nodded.

He seemed to understand where I was going. Sometimes I swore he was omniscient, one of my vocabulary words, meaning all-knowing. It was as if he’d read my mind at night when I was sleeping. I inquired, and found that Francis was still there. He was on the fifth floor. I found him in a semi-private room. The other bed was empty, as if it knew I desired privacy. There he was, sitting on the side of his bed, staring out the window. Outside was the parking lot, and thick woods beyond, with a path to a fast-running, frothy stream. “Hello, Francis.” I said quietly. He glanced at me, then turned and continued his blank stare. “How are you doing?” Francis glared at me. “Don’t pretend you care, or you’d have been here earlier than this!” I took a seat and stared out the window. “I’m sorry about that. I was on an important mission for the general of the post, General Thompson. It was something that involved all of our safety.” “Yeah, nice story, Private Ted. Doesn’t matter now, does it? I’ve made up my mind anyway.” “And what is that, Francis. You’re planning to end it all, aren’t you? But I guess these windows are quite a bit thicker than the barrack windows, so you’ll just get a big headache if you try to crash through these. Aside from that, is there some reason you’d like to end your life?” He glared at me. “Look at you. You’re slim and good looking. Probably played football and all those manly things in high school. And now you’re even working with the post general. Now look at me, tall and blubbery, and an easy mark to be beaten up, or even to invite any homosexual that wants to attack me, forcing me to like it so much that I hate myself. My mother saw all this, so she thought ing the army would help cure me. And it was working, sort of, because I was becoming a paratrooper, really manly, until Mom’s letter to the chaplain exposed my

weakness, and set that priest off after me like a wolf hunting for fresh meat. Sometimes I wonder if…. No, never mind.” I sensed what he was about to say. Did his mother want this to happen? Was there some distorted desire on her part to punish him, or to involve him in some homosexual dalliance, or was she truly interested in protecting him? “Tell me about you mother, Francis? Is your father still alive? Are there any brothers or sisters? Where are you from?” He looked down at the tray in front of him, started moving a glass around a water pitcher, round and round. “I’m from Milton, Pennsylvania, close to the Susquehanna River. There, I bet you can’t spell those two words.” He was right, I probably couldn’t. “Well, I used to sit on the bank of the Susquehanna River and picture myself floating all the way, forgetting everything the whole 150 miles to the Chesapeake Bay, then sinking, sinking so deep, no one could ever find this worthless piece of flesh called ‘me.’ There, another word you probably can’t spell. But I don’t care if you can or can’t.” I didn’t like the picture he gave me. I could spell ‘Chesapeake,” but that was irrelevant, “What about your father? Is he alive?” I asked. “I don’t know where he is. I think he just gave up, the bastard. When I was just a toddler, he used to try to get me involved in playing catch, or bowling, or anything physical, because I think he saw I was slow when it came to physical dexterity, and needed some attention, some kind of help. But no, blessed Mother insisted he leave me alone, that she would take care of me, let me grow in some natural way. She would scream, telling him to leave me alone. So I had little physical exercise, when I’d much rather have played with my father, but he gradually left me alone, spent more time away from home, lost interest in me, I guess. So there I was, growing up with Mother, playing with dolls, learning how to crochet, how to play the piano, doing very little physical. And now, she sends me away, because she has a new friend, a woman, so she wants me to “be a man,” but, of course, it’s really to be anything, as long as it’s away from her and her friend.”

“I’m sorry about that, Francis. But you don’t have to end it all now if you don’t choose to go in that direction. That direction is down, when you can choose up. Who says you can’t decide to be someone special, if you want it. To hell with those poor excuses for parents. And to hell with those sick, secretive homosexuals. Try to be a man for god sake. And I’ll do all I can to help you, if you’re willing to try.” Francis stared at me, directly into my eyes, studying them, as if searching for some answers swimming in them. “I don’t know. I’ve been staring at the frothy stream down there in the woods. It seems to have simpler answers.” “Okay, if that’s what you want. By the way, any brothers or sisters?” “No, I was it. Just me. The village idiot.” “You’re not an idiot! I can tell that you’re three times smarter than I am. I was just a ‘C’ student in high school, and I know you’re much smarter than that.” “Well, that’s true. I could get ‘A’s’ about anytime I wanted, except in calculus. I didn’t get calculus at all, studying two or three things moving at the same time.” “So there,” I said. That proves it. You can be a valuable, intelligent contributor to society. But only if you want to. If you want to believe you belong in an ash can, well, I can’t help you there. But I think you can be better than what your parents, or the priest, or anyone else thinks. So it’s your choice. I have to visit a man who was wounded in last night’s raid and is also in this hospital. I’ll be back. Think about all the good things about you, the assets. Let me know, Francis. I want you alive, and so does God!” I left him, and headed for the waiting room, then a visit to Willful Willy.

73 WILLFUL WILLY

At the base hospital, I had to tell people at the front desk that Willy’s name was really Wilfred Fredrickson. The nurse said he’d spent some time in the emergency room, where he had to be examined and treated for his injuries. “He had quite a gash on the back of his head!” she said. “Took quite a few stitches.” I smiled to myself at the craziness of the English language. Apparently?quite a few” meant “many” in this case. Words sometimes wiggled like worms with their definitions. “Is he conscious?” I asked. “Check with the nurse on the second floor. It looked like he was coming around when he was rolled away. He was mumbling something that didn’t make any sense. Something about nuggets I think.” Good old Willful Willy. “Do you mean ‘nugatory?’” “Yes, that’s it. But what does it mean?” I answered, “He felt he was feeling quite useless, I guess. Either that, or he was tired of being useless, and wanted to get into the action.” “I see,” the nurse said, but then she turned to other matters that must have seemed more important to her. We headed for Room 222 on the second floor. When we reached the room, we heard Willy griping, “Ouch, what the sam hill are you doing? Is that a hand you have, or a knife?” We entered. The nurse, who was a man, said, “Sorry, Mr. Fredrickson, but I have to check under the bandage for any bleeding. I know it hurts, but try to take it like a man, can you?” The nurse looked up at us. “I assume you are friends, so

I’ll let this poor man complain to you people. That should tire him out.” He put the padding back on Willy’s scalp, patted it, then left with a partial smile, which revealed his humor as well, as if to say, “Your turn. Have at him. Maybe he’ll tame down after a while.” Willy was taped up so it looked like he was wearing a turban. He also had a sling holding his right arm. “What in hell happened to me? Can anyone tell me? Where’s Randy?” Randy stepped ahead of us. He took Willy’s left hand. “Here I am, Willy, old Willful Willy. Were you being willful again, Willy?” “No, just nugatory. Ouch. Even talking hurts.” I asked him, “Who did this to you, Willy, or should I call you Wilfred? Was it Chet? Or Choogah? Could you tell?” “Hell, ouch, I don’t know, but whoever it was, I’d like to sneak up on him from behind. What did he use a shovel?” He kept using his left hand to hold his head. Then he reached for the water on the little table down by his lap. “Can someone get something for the pain? Please?” Then he stared at the wall, as if there were something interesting there. But there was nothing on the wall, not even a spider or fly. Randy sat on the chair next to Willy’s bed. We remained, standing up, feeling awkward. I said, “I’ll be right back.” I left and looked for the desk for those in charge of Willy’s floor. When I found the nurse’s station, I asked, “Is the doctor here?” “Yes, here I am. Is this about Mr. Fredrickson?” “Yes sir.” The doctor had lieutenant bars on his collar under a white smock. “Well, I’m afraid he took quite a serious blow, resulting in a concussion. So he seems to float in and out of reality. Sometimes he’s quite sharp, but then he stares away, and his mind seems to float away with it. The cuts and breaks we can cure, but his brain is a fragile thing, and only time will tell us if he can recover completely or not. The positive view is just to consider this the same as

the concussion a boxer receives when he’s knocked out. Once he comes to, he should be fully recovered. Oh, and when the alcohol wears off.” “That sounds mighty scary to me, Doctor. Of course, we’ve been calling him Willful Willy because he seems to be addicted to doing crazy, dangerous things pretty often. He wasn’t even supposed to be involved in this maneuver last night, but there he was, right in the middle of it, trying to be a hero saving the day after he’s had a few drinks. That’s Willful Willy.” The doctor put his hand on my shoulder. “Interesting! Well, good luck, son. But he’ll have to stay in the hospital for observation for at least a few days.” “Thank you, sir.” I started to salute, but he’d already disappeared around a corner. Then I ed. Whoops. I didn’t ask him for something to ease Willy’s pain. When I made it back to 222 Willy was moaning. No one said anything. Jules looked at me. “Anything for his pain?” “Not yet.” Then I asked Willy, “What in hell were you doing out there? Didn’t you know the general and his men had it under control?” Willy said, “It sure as hell didn’t look like it to me. I saw some soldiers in the tunnel and they just sat there. So I crawled over them, came out and grabbed the short one with the big mouth. He was threatening to throw a grenade at you guys and the general, and I stopped him, me, I was a hero, saving lives.” He waited and caught his breath. He was cringing from the pain. “But do I get any credit? Hell, no. Not me. Not Willful Willy. So all of you can go to hell. You’re just cowards as far as I can see. Cowards!” He held his head. “Owww!” Randy said, “Well, the general doesn’t see it that way, Willy. But I’ll talk to him, to explain it from your point of view. Maybe he’ll change his mind.” We looked at each other. It was obvious we weren’t sure what else to say. I felt sorry for him because he was in pain. He kept scrunching his face and closing his eyes until I felt his pain becoming mine, pounding at me. I finally said, “Time to go, Willy. I’m going to get someone to relieve your pain, or I’ll steal some pills if I have to.”

“Good man, Teddy. Find something, please! Or come back with a sledge hammer, and put me out of my misery.” We all walked out, mumbling our goodbyes. Jules and I went to the nurse’s station. Jules demanded, “Someone must do something for Private Fredrickson’s pain, or he’ll start breaking things. And we’re all witnesses that you’re doing nothing for this poor man. Can you help him, please!” “Yes, it’s on the way right now,” the male nurse answered. “I know he’s in pain, and the doctor ordered it.” As we walked out, Jules said, “Willy certainly has a sense of hubris, doesn’t he?” I paused, letting his question hang in the air. “What is that, Jules?” “It means he’s arrogant, full of excessive pride. He’s just so sure he’s right, and the world is wrong.” “I think you’re right, Jules. He thinks he’s correct, no matter what the facts are. That’s a tough position to be in. Even the battle he started in the bar. He didn’t think he did anything wrong, did he? But I also think his addiction to alcohol is painting his world with hero colors. “I agree, and, he showed no remorse that I can recall.” As we headed for the barracks, I thought about Willy. But even more so, I recalled my intention to extract revenge from Chet. I even had a thrill, picturing my fist on his chin, and his falling onto his fanny. Then there might be Choogah to deal with. He scared me.

74 MY DAY OF REVENGE

Saturday morning came on wings flapping too quickly for me. But I forced myself up, showered, dressed neatly, ate chow, and dragged myself to the motor pool. On the way to pick up sister, I amused myself by picturing a revenge battle with Chet. His blood would be pouring from his nose, and his smug smirk would change to fear. Choogah was a different story, a page I didn’t wish to turn. I would see. At Mile 21 I slowed, and saw the tents were still there, but no one at the fireplace, which had no smoke rising from it. I wondered if they would continue to use their campsite after being found out in such a illegal act. I thought they were like children getting caught stealing candy. They wouldn’t continue their actions now, would they? In Mt. Pleasant, I went through the gate, drove up the hill, and waited for Sister Vickie. She finally came out, sweeping the ground hurriedly with her habit flying like wings attempting to lift off in the sun. “Come, Satan, you’re ing us today!” As she approached me, she said, “I hope you don’t mind, but this was approved by Mother Superior. I believe you might need it when we’re in McCain, after what you went through.” I was dumbfounded. “How do you know what happened, Sister?” She smiled. “Nothing happens on that base that we don’t hear about. Other nuns are working elsewhere in the town, and they pick up the clues, which we put together like puzzle pieces later. Are you all right, Ted?” She stood at the door, concerned. “Yes, I am, Sister.” I opened the back door for the dog, who was licking my hand. “Enter, almighty Satan. Try not to be a sinner.”

Satan entered, and sat up on the seat. I unwound the window part way for him. Sister sat in the enger seat. “Is it over, Ted? Or will there be more violence?” “I don’t know, Sister Vickie, but if a certain person is there across from the church, I want to have a talk with him!” Sister stared at me, as I shifted and drove down the hill. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, young man. My father spoke like that whenever he planned revenge on someone who got fresh with me! I was more afraid of what he’d do, than the kid who tried to make advances with me by the corner store. I wished I’d never told him!” Her mouth was tight, angry. “What happened, Sister?” “The boy was slapped around. But my dad was taken into police headquarters. He was given a warning against violence, and something about anger management. He had that same look that you just showed me. I could read you like a book! Maybe Satan will help you in your anger management!” I stared at her. She was so beautiful, even as serious and angry as she was. We were coming close to Mile 21, so I slowed. “Okay, Sister Vickie, I think you’re right. Here we are. I need to drive slowly to see if there’s any activity here.” I was surprised to see smoke rising, curling upward to their cousins, the clouds. But only one man was poking at the logs, sending sparks up. “Someone is still camping out there, Sister. Maybe they haven’t given up.” “I see. But maybe pride won’t let them just shy away.” I looked at her, wondering at her wisdom. “You might be right, Sister Vickie. You seem so wise. How do you do it?” She grinned. “Maybe that’s because I come from a different place, Ted. I don’t hate any one, and I don’t feel any compulsion to exact revenge or punish even one soul. All I want is peace.” As I drove. I could even envision a halo shining above her. Any hope I’d ever envisioned of hugging her or doing anything further slowly disappeared. She was so far beyond and above me.

Satan enjoyed the ride, with his head out the window, mouth open, as though eating the air. His tongue was hanging down, tasting the atmosphere. He was a beautiful animal. I understood how many of the soldiers who were in battle became close to dogs like him. At last we were in the city of McCain, and I slowed the car. Sister was just finishing praying with her beads. “Almost there, Sister Vickie.” She nodded, then put her rosary away. “Okay, Ted, my friend. So this might be a test for you. And Satan also. I want you to think very carefully before you act. Will you do that, for me?” “Okay. I will, Sister. Why don’t you take Satan with you? The children might enjoy seeing him.” “Yes, good idea. But I will be on the alert.” At the church, I parked close to the entrance. Sister and Satan exited on the right side, and I did the same on the left, without looking at the gas station across the street. Sister said, “Go to the bushes, Satan!” and he relieved himself there, scratched the ground, and returned, wagging his tail. “Come, Satan!” ordered Sister Vickie, and he followed right behind her. I saw no one at the gas station, so I entered the church. The children were oohing and aahing over Satan, asking to pet him. Sister allowed some of that, then ordered them back on their pews. Satan sat next to Sister Vickie. I sat on the last pew. I decided to kneel and say a quick prayer, but the words wouldn’t enter my mind. “Hello, God,” I said. “I know you must understand, I’m human, and it’s hard to concentrate on a prayer. It’s just repeating words that are memorized any way. But you know that, don’t you?” I paused. “I wish you didn’t have to be invisible. It would be easier to talk to you if I could see you or feel your presence, but you won’t do that, will you? I’d have to be pretty special for that, wouldn’t I? Well, anyway, I have this anger in me, you know? Of course you do. And I want revenge on this punk kid who hurt my friend. He also tried to shoot me and kill me in the tunnel. So I’m getting worked up with a need for revenge right now. It would feel so good if I hit him, and hurt him! So that’s what I’m planning, Lord. Please protect me, if it’s your will.”

I got up and looked around, as if I’d done something to be ashamed of. I was praying. Isn’t that what people do in church? I put my finger in the font for just a drop of water to make the sign of the cross on my forehead, heart and shoulders. “Heaven protect me, Lord.” I exited the church and walked across the street to the gas station. “Kin ah hep y’all, suh?’ It was an older man just coming out to pump gas for a customer. Have you seen Chet, or Choogah today?” I asked. “Why, ah b’lieve thas them raght now.” He nodded toward the truck, which was just pulling into the driveway. It had rusting red on the body, and the men inside, I noticed, had blue bandanas, which seemed faded, much more so than a few weeks ago. Hadn’t they ever taken them off? Weren’t they proud enough of their “uniforms” to wash them? So there they were. And here I was, in my uniform waiting for revenge, and they were in uniform, sort of, with their soiled cloths around their necks. I gulped. I didn’t want to take on two of them! But I knew I wouldn’t run. I felt that stubbornness in me. I was scared, but I was not going to be a coward. Choogah, who was the driver, got out and went into the gas station. Chet exited the enger door, and walked toward me, acting brave, until he got closer, then he slowed. I looked through the window at the station, where Choogah had his back to us. I took a stance, feet apart, body turned slightly to the right, ready for action. Chet said, “Ah’m goin’ settle yo hash, soon as Choogah comes out.” “I don’t think he’s coming out, Chet, so it’s gonna be just you and me, I guess. Come on, let’s see what you got, brave man!” Chet turned his head toward the station. “Choogah? Comin’ out?” No answer. I said, “You don’t have a weapon in your hands now, do you?” I started walking toward him.

“Thas’ awraght. Ah’ll take y’all mahself.” He walked slowly toward me. He was so short and young. It seemed almost unfair to fight him, but he kept coming. I ed he took a shot at me in the tunnel, and then he hit Willy from behind. That was enough for me. When Chet was close enough, he lunged at me with his head down. I ducked to the side then pushed his shoulder down, and his momentum sent him belly-first on the ground. He got up and started swinging with his eyes closed. My fist made solid with his chin, and he went sliding down. As he got up this time, he had tears dripping from his eyes, as he swung blindly. I got behind him and pushed him hard until he fell. Just then Choogah came out, yelling, “Thas enough, Chester. Y’all can stop now.” He turned to me. “Chet jis’ ain’t grown up yet. His pap beat him all when’ he was jis’ a young’un, an’ he’s a purty bitter kid, all while his drunk daddy never fought fair. So Chet’s jis lost. He’s too scared to faght a clean faght. But now y’all goin’ have ta take me on.” Choogah took out a knife, pushed a button, and a blade snapped out with a click. I backed off. I was really scared then. God, what did I get myself into? He came at me slashing left and right toward my stomach. I ducked one time and kicked him on the knee. He stopped. I could tell that hurt him. But then he came at me again, slowly, but as surely as a clock ticks out the seconds. I backed up, guardedly. Suddenly I was hit on the head with something solid and I went down, as though someone had turned the sun out with the flick of a switch. As I hit the ground, I saw that it was the cowardly sneak, that hit me with a big rock or something, from behind. When I awoke, Choogah was over me with his knife pointed at my neck. Then he and the knife went sideways, and a loud growl scared me. A yellow furry streak flew over my body. It took a second or two before I realized it was Satan! He’d saved me! I was up, ready, while Satan was growling, pulling on Choogah’s pants. Chet was dancing around, saying, “I got that ol’ soldier, dija see Choogah? I hit ’im good!” Choogah was too busy to respond, trying to kick Satan. Then Choogah went down and Satan was on him, at his throat. Choogah’s knife was gone! “Down, Satan, down!” I commanded, and he slowly backed off, whining.

I saw sister Vickie running across the street, her cassock rising and falling. “Stop it! Stop it, right now, you three! Satan, come! And you men, Harley Sterling will hear about this! Ted, come with me, please, before you get yourself killed. Satan, come!” She turned and headed back toward the church, where some children were standing on the church steps, and others were jumping up and down on the street, all excited. “Fight! Fight!” they cried. All that anger in me, and I’d accomplished nothing! What a fool I was. On the ride back to the convent, I was quiet, ashamed. The back of my head pounded. I even felt I deserved the pain. Sister Vickie sat on her side, silent, just clicking her beads. Satan was lying on the seat, his tongue out, ears up at attention, alert. Finally she said, with her voice breaking up, “You had to prove something, didn’t you? Why must you men prove you’re such supermen? Why must you fight, even when you knew deep down it would not accomplish anything? Why!!!! Satan whimpered, then growled, sitting at attention. I knew he was confused. I’m sorry sister. but that Chet hit Willy in such a cowardly way…..” “Oh, shut up!” Sister shouted. Then she moaned, “Damn, damn, damn, I went and fell in love with you, even though I knew it was wrong.” Wow. I was shocked beyond words. I sat there silent, stunned, while she wiped her tears. “No need to say anything, Ted. I never intended to do anything about it. I’m a nun, or almost one, anyway, and I always will be married to the Lord. It’s just that I expected so much from you, more… more maturity. Sorry. Mother Superior warned me this could happen. But it won’t change me. Nor should it change you and your love for your Pauley.” She picked up her beads and started clicking them. But then she stopped and stared at me. “Look at me, Ted.” She paused. “I’m asking you, now, never mention this again. Agreed?” “Yes, Sister Vickie. Never again. And I’m honored you love me. I -”

“Don’t say it, Ted. Please, let it go.” And I did. I just kept driving.

75 LOVE LETTERS HOME

As soon as I returned to the barrack, I knew I had to write some letters. She loved me! Such a beautiful woman. No, nun, I should say. Or almost. So you ain’t gettin’ none of that nun! I chuckled at my rhyming pun. Oh shut up, Stupid! Such a child. She’s too good for you. Stop it, Teddy, right now. Just let it go. It’s true, I was acting like a juvenile. Revenge and hatred can never, I realized, make me a better, more manly person. It makes me less of a man! So, it was time to write, especially to my Pauley. My head was aching, even with the cold, wet cloth I had balanced on it.

Letter to Pauley

Dear Sweet, Loving Pauley, April, 1954

I’m sorry it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written to you, but it’s not because I haven’t been thinking about you, my love. I haven’t heard from you, but I know your letters are somewhere lost in some military mail pouches somewhere. I’m not worried. I want you to be sure that my love for you has not faded at all. I still think of you, especially at night, while I’m watching the moon and stars, that light up the sky, just as you have lit up my life, my darling. I can’t tell you much about my latest activities, sweetheart, because they have to be kept secret for now. I’m not trying to act coy, or important, my love, but it involves the general of the post, and I promise I’ll tell you when I can.

All I can reveal to you, is, I’m learning more and more about what it takes to be an honorable man in this world. Seeking revenge only makes you a smaller person. Enough! How are things in Woonsocket? I hope you haven’t been bothered by the likes of Filippo and his gang? It sure would do them some good to the army, or navy, or one of them. It would give them some purpose, something other than wandering the city like bums, causing trouble wherever they go. And how is work? By the way, have you heard from your brother? Georgy and I became great friends. I know he’s probably too busy to send letters all the way from Japan. Give him my love when you can, okay? Well, that’s it for now, my sweetheart. Stay safe, and in love with me. You are my future.

Luvya big as the moon, Your Teddy

Letter Home

Dear Mom, Dad, Anthony, and all. April, 1954

I haven’t heard from you in a while. I realize we all get caught up in our lives, and it’s hard to stop, and take a deep breath from it. I’ve been quite busy lately, but I can’t tell you anything about it, except that it involves the safety of Fort Bragg. How’s my favorite brother, Anthony? Tell him I love him bigger than a bread

box, and to keep our baseball bat safe. There are still plenty of rocks to hit into the Connecticut River. He can be with me next time I do it. And tell Franklin and Gloria I miss them and love them, and trust their marriages are going well. I expect to hear about nephews or nieces arriving soon. No need to ask if you’ve heard from Jeff, and how he’s doing in my house in Chicago, or how he’s enjoying teaching. He’s not the letter-writing type, I guess. I’m sure he’s keeping the house looking neat, with the bed made every day, blankets so tight he can bounce a quarter 3 feet in the air. Just kidding. Tell Dad, I love him and feel for his pain every day. Now, Mom, I’ve been worrying about you. What did the doctor say? Do you need an operation? I can take an emergency leave if necessary. Please keep me informed, will you? Time for lights out. Goodbye for now.

My deepest love, Your Teddy

I thought of so many other letters to write. To Georgy, or Darren, or Kevin, or Father Drew in the Dominican Republic, but time didn’t allow. But they know how to write also. So, don’t pout, Ted. They get busy also, so let it go. All this will fade into the fog of the past soon enough. She loves me! Wow! I still when she hugged me. I have to stop ing that. It’s a sin. She’s a nun. She’s off the market, unavailable. Pure! And she must stay that way. But, oh, if only. Shut up! She’s up with the clouds, and you’re digging your way straight to the red hot coals. Oh, shut up, and grow up! Get over it!

76 STRANGE SUNDAY MASS

I was up early Sunday morning feeling drugged. It took the longest time to fall asleep, last night with so many things to think about, the fight with Chet and Choogah, Sister’s itting her love for me, the hospital, my confusion, how Mom really is. I stared at the sky for quite a while, until my eye lashes had ten pound weights on them. Sleep, at last. “You look like you died and are ready for burial and the fires of hell,” Jules murmured at me. “Or I suppose it could be heaven if you were cleaned up a bit. Everything go okay at McCain?” I rolled slowly out of bed. “No. I got involved when I shouldn’t have,” I moaned. “I’ll probably get court-martialed by the general once he hears about it. I’ve got to get ready for chow and Sunday Mass.” Brian was on his way to the latrine to shower, carrying a towel, waving his shorts, naked. “Hey, Ole Ted, Massachusetts boy, how’s it hanging?” I resisted the temptation to mention what he had hanging. “Not much, Brian, going to Mass with us this morning?” “Sure, why not?” Later, in the chapel, I helped Father Roland into his robes. I saw nothing but his back when I’d entered, so I was surprised when he asked for help. At last, when he turned toward me, I saw his face had extensive, red scratches on his left cheek, three lines of them that dug deep near his ear, then traced lighter, but distinctive paths ending by the corner of his mouth. The left side of his lip was swollen like a small red balloon. Father mumbled something about, “….no sermon…..” “What, Father? Something about a sermon?”

He covered his face on the left side. “Damn it! I don’t have a sermon! And look at my face! (It sounded like ‘by fashe’) I visited Francish, and thash what I got. I want you to gib the sermon! Just a short one about the sins of the flesh. Will you? Please? I know it’s unusual, but I know how bright you really are, eben if you don’t know it. I plan to change that part of my life, but I need help. Will you do it? Please?” I was dumbfounded. I did speak in church with Father Drew once, over the death of my friend, Timothy Murphy. I guessed I could do it again, but what would I say? God, why do you put me in such positions? “Please? I need you to do this. You’ll do fine. You’re wearing the cashock, which makes it sheem proper. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with anyone speaking out about God’s truth in church. So, you’ll do it?” “You’re really trying to repent, Father? Can you do it?” “I can do thish, Ted. I have to, or I’ll die trying!” he moaned, as though in pain. I didn’t like the way he said that. But I didn’t want to disappoint him. “I’ll try, Father. I’ll try.” Father covered much of the left side of his face with a long bandage. So on the altar, we went through the rituals of the Holy Mass, the introductory prayers, and the Liturgy was there before I could blink twice. Father sat. I walked slowly up to the lectern which resembled a small prison cell to me. Once inside, I wouldn’t know how to act, or how to get out. But before I knew it, there I was. “Father Carpenter ffell,” I lied, while staring at the wall above everyone, “and is, is, unable to do the hom..homily, so, so he asked me to do it. I p,p,pray I will not ruin this f,f,for you.” With trembling hands, I opened the huge tome, and read about Jesus spending 40 days and nights in the desert, being tempted by Satan. While reading, I was able to look up at Jules and Brian, and even Bobby in the back pew. Bobby grinned and waved. I read some more, and noticed Sergeant Scafura,

and Lieutenant Smithson, who gave me his crooked smile. I read how Jesus said, “Man does not live by bread alone,” and noticed General Thompson and Randy! Suddenly all the faces looked like enemies, wondering who in hell I thought I was, standing where the priest belonged. They grew in my mind to be giants, and I felt diminished, a fly waiting for a swatter. I turned to Father Roland, and he nodded his okay. “I have been asked to give a brief homily, and I’m pretty scared right now. And I know some of you, and that makes it harder for me. You know I’m just a young kid, barely out of high school, and not very smart. But I what a wonderful priest once told me.” I was talking to myself now, trying to forget others were in the pews. “He said, to , that all of us are sinners, soldiers, officers, priests,” I looked at General Thompson, “even generals!” Many in their pews turned to look at General Thompson, to see if he would react. No reaction, just an icy, cold stare aimed straight at me laden with bullets. “But the biggest sinner of all is the one in the body we are carrying around. It is me, and you, and all of us. Of course, the only one I can answer for is me. Sometimes I am so amazed at how stupid I can be. I got caught up in being angry at what someone did to a friend, so that all I could think of was revenge, punish, hurt back. But, of course, all I discovered is, I hurt myself! God saw this. He punishing me now, and He will, later!” “Then, of course, I will probably be punished by the powers above me!” I stared at the General and Randy. Randy nodded. “And I am so, so sorry for my stupidity.” I paused. All eyes were picking me apart and discarding the ragged remnants of me. The pulpit was growing, and I wished I could shrink behind it. Then I thought I would try one more idea before I shrank to the size of a sardine and crawl back into the can. So I said, “There’s just one more thing we should ! The Lord is merciful! He forgives! Father Roland is a sinner!” This came out too loud,

maybe. But too late now. Silence! Cold damning silent stared at me. Father started to rise! “The general is a sinner!” I said just as loud. More stares. Father sat back down. “You’re all sinners! I’m a sinner! That’s what Confession is for. But we must , God forgives! We will sin and sin and sin again, but the ever patient God will forgive. He knows we will make mistakes, because he made us weak, so He forgives.” I paused, taking in the whole church with my eyes. “And I am so, deeply sorry for being such a foolish kid yesterday, acting like some movie star. I discovered reality is much tougher than being some romantic hero. Please forgive me for being such a stupid kid, God! “Please have mercy Lord, otherwise, what a morbid place life would be on this earth. Now please forgive me for being up here so long. Father asked me to say something, and I tried. Amen.” I returned to the mass with Father, hands trembling. When the service was over, I walked out with Jules, Brian, and Bobby. Bobby said, “That shore was a wing-ding of a churchy talk, ole Teddy boy!” Then Randy ed us as we walked away from the crowd. “General Thompson told me to tell you, he’s not angry, but he wants a meeting early Tuesday morning in his office, okay?” “He’s not mad?” I asked. “Well, he said to tell you he was ‘mad as hell,’ just to scare you, but he winked at me. I think he wants to forgive you in his own way. He called you, ‘Ballsy!” “Good, thanks, Randy. You’re a good friend,” I answered, relieved. After Randy left, Brian asked, “Ballsy? Is that what I think it means?”

Jules answered for me. “Yes, Brian, it has to do with testicles.” We were all silent as we walked back to the barrack.

77 LATE LETTERS FROM HOME

On Monday morning, after breakfast chow, I was sitting on my bunk, shining my boots, getting ready to walk to get back to work in the chaplain’s office, when a sergeant came up to me. “Are you Private Byrum?” He took a number of letters from a canvas bag. “Yes, Sergeant.” “Well, these letters just arrived. Looks like they’re dated a few weeks ago. They were lost somewhere, but finally showed up. That’s the way it is in the army sometimes, soldier. Sorry about that.” He walked away, unconcerned, busy. I ran the rag across the boots quickly and put it and the polish back into my footlocker. Three letters lay on the bunk, waiting for me to open them, but for some reason I felt a foreboding. One was from Mom, and two were from Pauley. I wanted to rip them open right away, but feared what might be in them. I feared Mom’s letter most, so I took Pauley’s first. I took the one dated earliest, in March.

Letter from Pauley

Dearest Ted, March 1954

Sorry for being so tardy in writing lately. I’ve been a bit busy at the store, working extra hours to make a bit more money, just to help out at home with expenses.

I helped out with the inventory. You’ll never believe how many items there are that have to be ed for! Thousands of the tiniest things! I mean, it could boggle the mind. And sometimes I have to work way after hours, so I’m afraid to walk home in the dark. You know how dangerous it can be, especially for a girl in Woonsocket! So, the manager, who goes by the name of “Magic,” walks me home on some work nights. It’s really just a short walk, and it goes by quickly, so it’s all good. He really is quite nice. He was a football star in high school. He won some games as a quarterback. I hope all is going well with you, Theodore Byrum, because I worry about you. I haven’t heard from Georgy lately. He’s probably having too much fun with those geishas. Ha, ha! Write soon, my love,

Your Paula

Well, that was a shocker! Some guy named “Magic!” what kind of a name was that? And it wasn’t as warm as Paula usually wrote! What was going on? I felt shell-shocked! What the hell! “What do I do now?” I wondered. “What if he tries to kiss her? What if she likes it?” “Your Paula?” That’s a goodbye? I tore open her next letter!

Letter from Pauley

Dear Ted, April, 1954

Well, PFC Byrum, why haven’t you answered my letters? It’s not fair, leaving me alone here in little ol’ Woonsocket while you’re off having exciting adventures, seeing the world! I bet you don’t even care what happens to me in my little world. What did you think would happen while you were gone? I can’t believe how cruel you are. It’s all your fault, you know. Georgy kept telling me all about you, what a nice person you are, a “straight-shooter and great friend!” Well, I say phooey! Phooey on all of you in Japan or North Carolina! Phooey! Magic says to be patient. He says you’ll be back. But, oh my darling, you don’t know how frustrated, aggravated and exasperated I am, just waiting. And the hardest part is late at night when I can’t sleep. Sometimes my mind won’t stop worrying, and my body won’t stop…. Never mind. I will be patient, my love. I’m trying hard. I think I’ll start reading books. Maybe romantic ones, but they might be dangerous. I don’t know. It’s so hard sometimes. Write soon, my darling, and maybe a poem?

Ever yours, Pauley

Letter from Mom

Dearest Teddy, March, 1954

I hope all is well with you son. I can sense that you’re going through something dangerous. I don’t know why, but the Lord always lets me know in His own way, when danger is near you. I screamed and the truck driver stopped just

in time? I knew you would run after that ball in the street, ? Or when you almost fell out the attic window and I grabbed your arm? I sense you’re in danger now, my son, but I can’t be there in time to help you. I know what it feels like to be a mother when a son goes off to battle. I pray for them all. Please be careful, my son, extra careful, you hear? Or I’ll come out there and embarrass you with a mother’s love. Of course, I can read your mind right now, my Teddy. You’re wondering why I haven’t told you about the pain in my stomach. Well, I’m all right. Or I guess I should say, I will be okay, soon. The doctor said there’s something growing in my colon, and it must come out. So I’m scheduled for an operation tomorrow, Monday. I went to two Masses at the French church today, to ask the Lord for some help. Anthony and Dad and all the rest send their love.

Don’t worry, my son Love, love, love, Mom

That was it? How did they know there was “something” growing in her colon? What is the colon, anyway? It must have something to do with what we eat, I bet, because it’s in the stomach. I decided to ask Jules. I knew he’d know. Or if not, I could read about it in the library. But then I thought, “Surely, the operation is over by now.” Call home? Sometimes life got so twisted that I just wanted to jump inside my footlocker, and have someone lock it, without opening it until everything was resolved and clear. But, then, of course, that’s the child in me. I knew I had to face it all, to grow up. So I took a deep breath, sighed, and decided I would face each one as it came. No more whirlpools. No more spinning. I didn’t want to drown.

78 TIME FOR CONFESSIONS

Monday morning I arose with reveille, my mind still hovering around yesterday’s news that swirled like evil blackbirds. Pauley is having trouble holding off a new suitor named “Magic,” of all the names. What is he, some kind of magician? Can he perform magic tricks? Can he hypnotize my Pauley? And Mom, I’m sure she must be understating what’s going on with her body. And Sister Vickie, who loves me, but can’t love me. And then the rebels causing all kinds of trouble that could blow up in their faces, or ours, or both, and either way it might not turn out very well. “What’s happening, Teddy? Why are you lying here half-in and half-out of bed?” queried Jules, who was almost dressed. “It’s time to get up and start the day, the week, your life! Come on let’s go!” I shook my head and all the blackbirds fluttered out the window. “You’re right Jules, let’s hit the road running.” I grabbed my towel and hustled to the latrine. After a long shower, first hot, then cold, I was ready to shave and get dressed for chow, then work. I rubbed my tattoo, trusting in its magic, if it had any. Hope it wasn’t sinful to do it. Walking to the mess hall, Jules had asked, “Everything okay with the letters from home?” “Sure everything’s fine. Pauley has doubts and my mom’s having an operation on her stomach.” Brian had said, “Oh, oh, I hope it’s nothing bad!” “Aw, it’ll be fane, Ted. Don’t y’all make rotten aigs ’til they hatch,” advised Bobby.

“You’re right, Bobby,” I said. Even though it was worded strangely, there was wisdom behind it. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.” Later, when I entered the chaplain’s office, Father Roland was sitting at his desk, apparently waiting for me, fiddling with a pencil and ruler in the drawer. He had a thin strip of what looked like gauze taped down the left side of his face. The swollen lip had gone down a bit. He wore a neat, pressed officer’s uniform, with Captain’s brass on the collar. I said, “Good morning, Father. You look very sharp this morning.” “Thank you, young man. After you do your morning report, and whatever paperwork you have, I’d like you to go the hospital with me. I will need your help in setting things straight with Francis. Will you do that?” “Yes, sir. I assume he’s the one who did that to your face. Should you chance it again?” “I don’t know about ‘should!’ All I know is, it’s what I must! I want to get this straight with him. This has to stop in my life, now! Can you understand what I’m going through?” Father snapped a pencil in half and put it back in the drawer. “I’m a priest and I act like Satan on earth! I believe he put evil urges in me that I can’t fight. In the seminary I…. Never mind. Just go with me, will you?” “Of course, Father. I should be ready in 30 minutes.” “Okay. I’ll go for a walk and pray. I’m too nervous to just sit.” He went out, looking drained, defeated. At least, after his confession, I knew what he was guilt of. On the walk to the hospital, Father Roland and I were quiet at first. The sun lit up the post, and I noticed how our shadows shrank the higher it rose. I enjoyed the warmth on my body as I stepped in rhythm with the priest. Smoke rose above the barracks. Some companies were marching and singing in rhythm with whatever corporal or sergeant had them “sounding off.” I missed the marching and singing in rhythm. Then I saw a dark cloud just to the west. “I hate to put you through this, Ted, but there’s no one else who can do it but you. I’m the chaplain, but I’ve gone too far with Francis, and I know you have a sort of rapport with him.” Father was panting, from the walk. He was still a bit

blubbery and out of shape. “You are honest, almost to a fault, at times, but people seem to understand and ire that in you. I could see that when you took over my sermon. You’re a good man, with good intentions, so that’s why I believe you’re the only one who can help me with Francis.” “I’ll do my best, Father,” I said, not looking forward to the confrontation with Francis. Oh, how I missed Father Drew, who seemed to be able to handle any situation. In the hospital, I asked Father Roland to wait outside Francis’ room while I went in first. I pushed the door open, and noticed the blank walls with no paintings or photos hanging there. The blankets were brown, military. Francis was lying like a large lump on the bed, facing the window. He wiped his eyes and shook his head, quite flustered, disheartened. “Francis? It’s me, Pfc Ted Byrum. I came to visit you.” “You just turn around, Pfc Ted Byrum,” he answered. “You’re not wanted here.” “But I can spell Pennsylvania. And even Susquehanna, I think.” “Prove it!” I spelled Pennsylvania. “What about Susquehanna?” I started, “S u s q u a….” I really did know, because I’d looked it up and memorized, but I wanted him to take his mind off his misery. “Wrong! It’s an e, then h a n n a!” I sat on the chair next to the bed. “Ah, that’s it! It’s a tricky one. But maybe you’ll talk to me anyway. I don’t want you to hate me. when I wanted to help you, by having you pretend to beat me up in the barrack?” “Yes, I do, very clearly, and it worked for a while,” he answered smugly. “And I even used it for real, recently!” “I know, Francis. I saw the results on Father Roland. But he won’t press any

charges or anything like that. I talked to him, and he wants to make things better between you two. He wants to reform. He wants to act like a real priest.” “Ha! That kind of man cannot reform. He’s evil, through and through! I wanted to kill him for what he did to me! And what if he’s turned me into him? What if he’s turned me into a monster? God! I don’t want that! So what else is there to do, but end it all?” I knew that Father Roland most likely could hear all of this. What could I do then? How could I fix this? I started talking, not knowing where I was going. “I don’t know the bible very well, Francis, and I can’t all those examples the priest reads in Mass. You know, ‘If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off.’ Or your foot, or even if your eyes sins, pluck it out. You know what I mean. But I do know if you want something badly, I mean really, really want it, you can do it. This might not be a good example, but I was a smoker. I smoked cigarettes for years, since I was twelve, I suppose because I was imitating my father who smoked Chesterfields. But I really can’t blame my habit on my dad because I continued smoking. Anyway, I was hooked, and I told myself I had to have one, then the next, then the next. I smoked after meals, after drinking something, even when sitting at a table doing nothing, because I didn’t want to do nothing. So I did something. I took out the pack, poked out a cigarette, tapped it on the table to secure all the tobacco pieces neatly inside, lit up, and took big drags. I even knew how to blow smoke rings. So I was convinced I could never quit. They were part of me, of my needs.” Francis was still staring out the window, most likely watching the river flow, then disappear in the woods, but I knew he was listening. I paused. “So, you were a slave, just like me, afraid to change, a weakling, just like me.” “That’s right! Just like you!” He was helping me out without realizing it. “But one day I had a talk with myself.” I said. “I looked in the mirror and didn’t like what I saw. I was a slave, a weakling, a failure. I knew, I knew how easy it would have been to blame it on my father or my older brother, the ments in the magazines, or the army for giving us all those free cartons from the tobacco companies, which was a sneaky way of getting us further hooked on cigarettes, how easy that was. To blame someone else! It’s easy, isn’t it, Francis, to paint blame elsewhere, especially when we know we should be splattered with the blame ourselves.”

Francis turned and looked at me. “So what did you do, now that the guilt is painted all over you?” I saw Father Roland’s shadow outside the door, and I knew he was listening intently. “I’ll tell you what I did, Francis. I took an inventory of my body. I knew I was in good shape, maybe because of the football in high school, then all the calisthenics the army put me through. I felt good about that.” “Yeah, so, where’s the paint come from?” “It came from the truth!” “What truth? When are you going to get to the point?” “Right now, my impatient Francis. You see, my inventory revealed that I was lying to myself. I knew whenever I ran, I couldn’t run as far as I had before, because I was getting breathless too quickly. I knew that evil tobacco was ruining my lungs, even though the tobacco companies denied it. They even had doctor’s telling us it was good for us, helped us relax. But I knew they were lying. I’ll bet everyone who smokes now, is just using their lie as a good excuse to keep smoking. They know it’s bad for them! How stupid we all are, to participate in that lie! “So what did you do about all that lying, Mr Big Shot liar?” “I took one last puff, and said to myself that I would never, ever smoke again. I said to myself, ‘Slam the door in your brain, and never open it again, Theodore Byrum!’ And that’s what I did! No more lies!” “And you stopped smoking?” “Yes, I did. The door is slammed!” “Well, good for you, Pfc Byrum.” I didn’t like his attitude. He built a big wall in his stubborn brain, and there was no way to get through to him without taking the wall down. I wanted to do it gently, brick by brick.

“Now it’s your turn, Francis.” “What? For what?” “For no more lies!” Father Francis moved into the doorway so I could see him clearly. Francis was facing the window again. He was shaking his head as if to tell me not to do it, but I’d gone this far. “What do you mean by that Private Byrum?” “I mean, stop the damn lying to yourself! Somehow I don’t believe that was your first experience. There were others before Father Roland. Am I right?” “Yes it was my first experience What are you trying to say about me?” “Have you ever had an experience with someone your sex before you entered the army? Or ever had some curiosity?” He stared at me, his mouth tensed with what appeared to be hatred. “I, I never!” “Never? Be truthful, now! Don’t ever lie to yourself, Francis, because if you do, you’ll start to hate yourself without knowing why! Don’t do that to yourself, or you’ll end up in an asylum….Or dead.” I stared at him, watched him staring back. Tears gradually formed in his eyes. He said, “Damn, damn, damnit, yes, there were glimmers of it back then, and some touches, but nothing like this, this monster, this priest!” Some of the bricks of his wall started to crumble. “Nothing? Not even a kiss in some hallway or closet?” “Yes, yes, yes! Once, with Michael. But nothing happened, damn it! Nothing!” The tears were flowing then. But this priest read me like it was my diary! And it ruined me, just made mud out of me! So now what can I do? What can I become?” I waved Father Roland in.

He walked slowly, then fell on his knees at Francis’ bed, and cried, “Oh, God, what have I done to you, Francis? I’m so, so sorry. The same happened to me when I was in high school, but I was raped, and it hurt but then I liked it, and I’ve been trying to rape others ever since. God, what an evil spirit I’ve become, renewing the thrill and the pain again and again. God, God, please forgive me, and please save Francis if is your will!” I left them, not wanting to intrude. I felt they’d feel more comfortable expressing themselves without me.

79 A MESS OF MY OWN MAKING?

As I walked back to the chaplain’s office, I cursed myself. What in hell did I get involved in? It even started to rain, just to add to my distress. Why was I involved in their affair anyway? Beside all that, I should have been finding out about Mom. And Pauley. Boy, my head started to feel like the puddles, with the rain pounding down on them, and wind swirling them. When I entered the chaplain’s office, wiping my head and eyes, shaking my soggy hat, I found the priest, pacing from my little room back to his, and when he saw me he said, “Why in hell did you leave us? Didn’t you see how unstable he was, and still is?” He grabbed me by the arms to shake me, but stopped when he felt how wet I was. “It’s all your fault, you know. Damn, damn, damn!” He turned and paced again. I knew this was unfair, of course. I wasn’t the evil one, the one that seduced a young man into such a gruesome affair. I wanted to push that disgusting fat man against the door. But I simply replied, “I’m really sorry, Father.” And I was. But I needed to find out how Francis was also. “I should have stayed, but I thought he would be stable. What happened? Is he in a volatile condition?” The word just leaked out of my mouth as if it was the proper thing to say.” “‘Volatile? I’ll say! He looked as if he was ready to explode! I tried to apologize, but when I touched him on the shoulder, he flew into a rage. I, I, I was just trying to be a good priest, for God’s sake.” Ah, my father’s final advice, “be a man fergod sake” flew back to me. “I don’t know what to say about that, Father. All I know is, I tried, and you tried. Maybe it was too soon. But what happened? Is he okay?” Father paced again, “God, I don’t know! He spun from me and grabbed the glass on his tray and smashed it on the iron frame of the bed. He cut his hand, and blood started dripping. He turned at me and, and his eyes seemed to be red, as if glowing with hell’s fire, I swear.” The priest stopped and stared, transfixed. “He

came at me with like some huge monster, and his eyes glowed with such insanity. I ran out, yelling for help until a nurse came running and I ran past her shouting he he was going to kill me. I know it was cowardly, but what else could I do?” I answered, “Nothing, Father. I think you did the right thing. Why don’t you take one of those candies you keep in your drawer, sit, and eat one, or even two. They might help you to settle down.” Father sat at his desk and took out a chocolate, ripped open the wrapper and started biting into it, savagely, staring down shaking his head. “I’m going to go see how s is. You can’t do anything else now. Why don’t you go back to your quarters. I’ll walk with you, if you like. I think it’s stopped raining by now. Okay?” We walked slowly. I kept just enough distance to keep my elbow touching his, half-steering him. He mumbled to himself, “I know, I know how bad this looks, but I never had any evil intent, did I?” I was sure he didn’t want an answer to that, but I offered, quietly, calmly, “Sometimes we have to face things.” That was what I was telling Francis. Who was I to know what to say? I thought of Father Drew. What would he say? I continued, “Look straight in the mirror, and promise never to lie to the one staring back. Maybe it’s God, or maybe you in the glass. It’s never easy, but if you believe, Father, believe truly in the Lord, and in rewards and punishments for what we’ve done on this earth, you’ll talk to that image in the glass and allow nothing but cold, hard truth, and maybe you’ll come to achieve righteousness. Do you want to continue being a priest?” “Yes, yes, of course,” he mumbled. “But I don’t deserve it, dammit!” He stopped and hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Ow, that hurt!” He walked slowly, his head down like it was filled with lead weights. He was straying and I had to guide him back on the walkway. “But who deserves it, Father? I think priests are just like the rest of us. They have to try every day of their lives to deserve it, to deserve a final reward.” Father Roland sighed, “There was a reason Father Drew advised me to choose you as an assistant and altar boy, I see. You possess wisdom even though you’re

so young. Thank you, Ted. I’ve allowed myself to wallow so deep in the filthiest swamp, I don’t know if I can ever swim out of it.” I said, as we were nearing his barrack, that, “You’ve already started, Father. You tried to make amends with Francis, and you’ve spoken to me about all this. You did not tell me what you were doing, but you know I know.” I paused as a cloud slowly lazed its way, revealing a silvery moon, and we could see much more clearly the final path to his housing. “But now I think you will have to confess this to a real priest in a genuine church. The Catholic church in Fayetteville has a good one where you might go. I know it won’t be easy, but I think it would be best. If he recommends a bishop or something else, that’s different. But he can’t say a word, because it’s a confession, that he cannot reveal, right?” “Yes, yes, that’s right Ted. Lots to think of now. I thank you. Thanks for your understanding, and your mercy in spite of how cruel I was to you.” He held out his hand. I shook it and said, “Good night, Father. I’ll keep you informed.” Father Roland walked slowly, lifelessly, toward the steps of his barrack, then stopped, staring at the moon. Then he knelt on the walkway and looked as if he was praying. It sounded like moaning, I was sure. I felt sorry for him, even though I felt sure he’d been committing that kind of behavior for years. I walked quickly toward the hospital, wondering about Francis. God, how do these things get so spider web sticky? Somehow I felt guilty, not for doing any wrong, but for letting it go on for so long.

80 WHAT A FOOL I WAS

At the hospital, a doctor asked me what in hell I was doing, tormenting his patient, “especially at such a critical time in that young man’s life?” I responded, “I was just trying to help him.” “Well it didn’t work, did it? Don’t be playing with someone else’s life, you young punk. He’s in lock-down now, and I don’t know for how long that will be.” I left, feeling pretty low. The worms under the grass would feel higher than I did. I headed toward my barrack, slowly, and then, from some submerged location that came from as far back in time as my father spanking me, a 4 year old, I felt this rumbling feeling start attacking my chest. Then a pond behind my eyes, forced rope of tears to flow. Why did I ever think I could involve myself in all this? I meant, all of it! I started to run, then stumbled and fell, smearing my pants with muck. I cursed, angry and sad, in a spinning cyclone of emotion. Damn, damn, damn! To hell with it all! But then, gradually, I couldn’t, could I? But I did! The tears of self-pity, then the storm of rage must have helped! I guess extreme emotions can achieve a response of indifference! I convinced myself I didn’t care what happened! I was hardened, tough as a baseball bat! Wow! That could be a secret weapon! I should teach it. When I neared my building, I saw Randy waiting in the doorway, talking to Jules. Fortunately, it was dark, so I could try to hide my face. Jules declared, “There’s Teddy now. Hmm, looks like someone hurled mud at you!” “I slipped and fell. Hey, Randy, how’s Willy doing?”

Randy, neat as ever in his uniform, answered, “Hey, Ted. Willy’s doing okay in spite of his little meeting with whatever they hit him with. But I wanted to say something to you. Can we talk a little walk? Do you mind, Jules?” “No, not at all. I’m pretty tired now, anyway.” Randy and I walked around the barrack. Thunder cracked angrily off in the distance, followed by lightning flashes. Randy said, “I have something to tell you that you won’t like, Ted. I really shouldn’t repeat things I’ve heard in the office, but this isn’t life or death, so I guess it’s okay, as long as the general doesn’t hear it’s from me. You understand, don’t you?” “No one will hear this from my lips, Randy.” What now? We stopped. “Okay, I was working in my office next to the general’s, typing away, until I heard laughter in the conference room. I typed a bit more, then heard a bit more guffaws, so I went to close the door. As you know, there’s another doorway to get to the general’s office, the main entry, then one in back of the conference room. That’s the one that was left ajar, so I meant to close it, but as I got closer, I heard your name being used. I was curious, so I just stood there, waiting. After all, I worked there, didn’t I? I was privy to many other secrets before that, I can tell you. No, I can’t tell you, you know what I mean?” I was tired and growing a bit impatient. “I know what you mean, Randy. I’m waiting!” He took a breath. “Well, I guess one of the officers had asked a question, which I hadn’t heard, but the general had laughed. But then he continued, ‘So the young private, Byrum, was involved in more than he could handle, and I was going to stop it all, but I was having a bit of fun, wondering how far he would go with all of this, all on his own. So I let him go. He made a mistake in McCain, and it almost got him killed, but Sister Vickie saved him with their wolf dog. She calls him ‘Satan.’ I didn’t want him to get hurt, though. I just felt like Geppetto, you know, the woodcarver who carved Pinocchio, the puppet. I wanted to let him dance a bit, so I let him go on his own to see how far he’d go. After all, he’s a good kid. He taught me how to throw a knuckle ball with a baseball. But I’m afraid he danced a bit too far.’

“Then one of the other officers chuckled, ‘We should check to see if he’s lying and his nose is growing, sir.’ “General Thompson was chuckling when he said he could still see young Ted’s serious face holding that grenade by the armory. “They all laughed at that, Ted. I didn’t like the fact that you were the butt of their jokes.” I felt my face turning red, and full of crawling bugs. Such an epiphany never hit me that hard, to find out how those officers, and everyone else viewed me. “I guess I’m a pretty big laughingstock, no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to help. I should go find a bridge and jump off. Thanks, Randy. I didn’t want to hear that, but it’s important to me that you told me. Now I know how to act. I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” Randy stuttered, “But don’t let that get to you, Teddy. You’re better than that. Don’t forget, you’re the one that told us about Mile 21.” “Thanks. See you later. You’re a good friend.” I walked away. Damn! I thought I was feeling pretty low before, but then to find myself such an object of scorn, such ridicule! Before I was just worrying about the priest and Francis. Then to feel like a fool, to be laughed at by all those officers! That feeling arose in me once again, accompanied by the tears to the eyes. I sat on the steps to the barrack, feeling sick. I was tempted to stick my finger down my throat to force me to vomit up all that I felt, but realized that wouldn’t achieve anything in reality. No one else would care. Damn! I was such a stupid, stupid fool! To be laughed at like that! I it it, now, that I had suicidal thoughts, even envisioned myself going through with it, but how? With a knife, a gun? Drowning? How about going to Mt. Pleasant, to The Wild Thang, and force a fight with someone there? Or maybe I could visit Woods Hole and find some giant python looking to swallow a fool. The tears formed again, and I let them. I’m supposed to be a man, fergod sake! Ha! I didn’t want anyone to see this grownup cry baby! I quietly tip-toed into the barrack where lights were out, and found my bunk in the moonlight, crawled in, leaving my shirt on, squirmed out of my boots and

pants and stared at the ceiling. I tried to achieve a numbness beyond my embarrassment, and, at last, snug and numb in my cocoon, let shame haunt me to sleep.

81 LIBRARY VISITATION INTERRUPTED

Next day I returned to the office from the hospital, wondering how s and Father Roland were getting along after I left. I hoped they were peaceful, but it seemed they were both tense with such guilt, and that one or the other, or both would be unable to forgive each other. I did some typing and took care of all the paperwork, then walked, feeling quite tired, back to the barrack. Just as I decided to lie down and catch up on some sleep, which I hoped to find somewhere in the sheets, Brian asked if I’d go to the library with him. “I read this book, full of Hemingway’s short stories, and it’s the first one I’ve ever read all the way through in my life. Read ‘Big Two-hearted River,’ Too. Maybe the librarian can suggest another one. I’m feeling hooked about learning things, ya know, an’ it feels good. Besides, I can increase my pathetic vocabulary, ya know?” Jules heard us and put his book down. “Great idea! I’m sick of just lying around each evening. I’ll you two if you don’t mind.” Bobby said, “I heard that, y’all. Don’t ya be thinkin’ bout goin’ thout me. Ah need some improvin’, too.” He started putting his shirt back on. “Ah’m so bored ah could commit somnambulism while ah’m awake.” Jules laughed at that one. “It’s hard to be sleep-walking while you’re awake, Bobby! But it’s worth a try. You could even be sleep-snoring while you’re awake-walking.” We all snorted at that. “Well, let’s go, I urged,” and out the door we stomped, chins up with such higher purposes.

As we walked, I felt tension leaving my body, like a strait jacket falling off onto the ground. It felt good just to walk with friends on an innocent trip to the library. I let go of thoughts of Willy and Francis, the general, and mostly, Mom and Paula. I knew I had to pick them all up again and wear them, but for these brief few hours, I allowed the freedom to take command. At the library, we took off our hats and secured them in our belts, folded neatly. Ms Cates greeted us with a smile. “Well, it’s nice to have visitors again. Welcome. Hello, Jules, and Ted, and the rest of you.” She stepped behind the counter. She wore a blue skirt and matching top that didn’t seem to have a wrinkle in them. She was always so neat. “And how did the Hemingway short stories seem to you, young man?” I was amazed at her memory. “I do have another one you might like, it’s called ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls,’ and it will be a classic, I’m sure. And if anyone should ask you where the title comes from, does anyone know?” Jules answered, “Yes, ma’am. The bell is a church bell, tolling for one who has died. And John Donne is telling us, ‘Send not to find for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee,’ which means that when anyone dies, a part of us all dies.” The librarian said, “That is perfectly stated, young man. And it’s something we should . ‘No man is an island.’ One man’s death diminishes us all. That’s something we should all , especially you who are in the army.” Bobby whispered to me, “What’s dimin’ dimish…. what she said?” I answered, “I think it means to make somebody less, you know, smaller than he is. Right, Jules?” “That’s exactly what it means, Teddy, and it applies doubly for us who are in the army, especially if we are sent in to battle.” Brian asked Ms Cates to show him where he could find the novel, saying “I think I’d like it, specially if it’s about war.” She smiled grimly, saying, “Right this way.” When the librarian reappeared, I said, “I’ve been to the Bamboo Lounge in Mt. Pleasant, Ma’am.”

“Yes, I know Ted. Beau told me about you and your friends.” “He told you? Is he the one you’ve been dating?” “Yes, he is. I seem to be his source of what goes on here, and he keeps me informed about military matters off-post. Not secret information, but just about the people I meet, and he meets. But that’s not our primary reason for our relationship. We just enjoy each other’s company right now. We’re comfortable, and that’s enough. But why am I telling you about all this? “It will go no further than me, Ms Cates. I’m not a gossip. By the way, I’ve also been to Woods Hole, and The Wild Thang bar. You’re probably aware of much of this, too.” She went back behind the counter and said, “No, not much, and I don’t want to hear any more. Just be careful with that nun, okay?” That surprised me. How did she know that? It’s was as if every thing we did was filmed on a giant screen and shown to every person on or off the post. “And how is your vocabulary? Are you growing inside?” asked Ms. Cates. Jules answered, “What do you suggest?” “I suggest, even if you don’t study languages, you can learn the roots of words. With that, you can come pretty close to the meanings of the whole words. For example, acro means top or height, and ambi means both, and anim - means life or spirit, anti means against, anthrop’ means human. Then you can look at words like anthropology, study of mankind, or philanthropy, which means love of mankind, and it goes on and on. Do you get the idea?” Jules said, “Excellent idea. You can go through the whole alphabet, looking for word roots. Thank you, Ma’am.” “Yes, and the dictionary will provide the etymology of each word, what language it came from, what it meant then, and what it means now.” “Etymology?” I asked. “That’s good to know. What’s the etymology of that word?”

“Good question, young man. Now it’s time to look it up, right over there in that big book, the dictionary.” So we all went to look up the word, and learned it came from Greek, then Latin, then French, then Middle English, and the meaning was, “Study of the origin of words and their changes in meaning.” Bobby jumped in, “Dang! Ah nevah thought words changin’ what they mean. Ah knows you fellas from up north talk diffrunt, but ah thunk it was jes’ a way of talkin, but changin’ meanin’s a suprase.” Miss Cates smiled. “Ah was th’ same way when ah growed up, Bobby, ’til ah went ta college, an it was lak bein’ conked on the noggin with a sledge. I’m not making fun of you now, Bobby. That was just to demonstrate to you what you can become, if you have the desire. It can be quite volatile.” Bobby scratched his head, and said, “Wow, ma’am, you sure coulda fooled me. Ah guess if ye larnt’ th’ hard way, so kin this dumb Georgian. Even know what volatile is.” “Of course you can,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. All you need is the will, and someone to show you the way.” I looked up ‘volatile” while they were talking. It came from “volare - to fly.” It was then that we were interrupted by a corporal, who took his hat off when he entered the library, panting, wiping his brown hair, which seemed to match the dull colors of the library. He walked up to Ms Cates and said, “Beg pardon, Ma’am, but I have a message for Pfc Byrum there.” “Certainly, young man, go right ahead.” So I walked outside with him, and guessed, “It’s from the hospital, right?” “Well, no, it’s a priest, whose lookin’ for you. For some reason he was a captain.” “Yes, but that uniform is something they give to priests, just to make sure they’re respected. I don’t think they go through the ranks the way most of us have to.”

“Well, this priest’s uniform, looked mighty bloody, and the priest didn’t even seem to know about the mess. He said he’d be waiting for you in his office, so try to get there as soon as you can.” “Thanks, corporal. Sorry you had to go out of your way.” “Well, while I’m here, I might’s well try to learn something.” I hurried out the door, and walked briskly wondering what went wrong, and cursing at myself for not staying with the priest in the hospital! I decided not to see Father then. Let it simmer.

82 GENERAL APOLOGIES

Tuesday morning, feeling lower than an earthworm, I went to work and called Randy and asked for an appointment with General Thompson. “No can do today, Ted, because he flew to Washington. Won’t be back until Thursday. How about then? About 10:00?” “Okay, put me down, please.” I was nervous just asking for the appointment. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Ted. He can be scary at times, but he’s really a good guy. You should see the medals! He doesn’t like to wear them, but it’s a military duty when he’s in his class A’s. But I think he was just having fun with you. It’ll come out okay, I think.” “Okay, I trust you. You’re a good friend, Randy. What can you tell me that might help when I see him? I it, I’m kind of scared now. What can I do to get out of this laughingstock pickle? Anything you can tell me might help.” “Okay, here’s what you do. Stand at attention in his office, and shout, ‘I screwed up, sir! I was acting like a big shot when I’m not! I apologize and am ready for punishment, sir!’ And look him straight in the eyes! Be tough!” “I can do that. I’ll be nervous, but I’ll do it, damn it! Thanks! Hey, everything okay with you at home?” He paused. “No. No word. It’s a lost cause, I guess. Also, Willy was released from the hospital. He’s okay. At least, you know, okay for how Willy acts normally. I don’t mean normal, but you know what I mean. Abnormal normal willful Willy. “I know, I know. But he is a great guy, with good intentions, for the most part.” I had to smile at that. “And I know what that ‘most part’ means. We’ve all seen

him in action, haven’t we?” “Yep! Well, see you Thursday, Teddy.” “Thanks, Randy.” I hung up. My hands were shaking. Even thinking about meeting with the general made me tremble. But I was determined to do it. Time turtled through Tuesday and Wednesday, and suddenly Thursday appeared. At the general’s office, I saw Randy, looking busy, typing away, dressed just as neat as always, just as a clerk in the general’s office should look, fresh, pressed pants and shirt, with a neat tie. I knew I never looked that dapper, no matter how hard I tried. Even his desk was neat with papers lined up evenly in the Out box. Nothing in the In Box. I noticed how shiny his shoes were. I guess I noticed all those things because I was nervous and avoided the thought of meeting the general. I sat in the chair, when I would rather have run around it. When it was 10:00, Randy said, “Time, Ted. . Be sharp!” My feet took me to the door, and I was amazed they worked. Every part of my body was shaking, it seemed, and I wasn’t in the north pole. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. “Enter, damn it!” I turned the knob, which was cold and hard, just the way I expected to be treated. I pushed the door open, and my feet took me inside. After three steps I stopped, stood at attention, saluted, and yelled, “Pfc Byrum reporting sir! I screwed up!” The general saluted. He walked toward me, his face angry, lips tight. “You’re goddam right you screwed up. Who in hell do you think you are, anyway, starting a fight in McCain? Are you some big shot? Are you tough? Are you bullet-proof? You want to take over? You want to teach me how to run this post? This army? Who are you, anyway?” He stood with his face 6 inches from me. Spit came out with the word, ‘post,’ which hit me on the chin. I wanted to wipe it off but didn’t dare. I yelled back at him, “Sir, I was acting like a big shot when I’m not! I deserve

any punishment you want to give me. I’m just a kid! I don’t know anything!” Tears trickled down my face. The general just stared. His eyebrows were lowered, staring with anger. The scar that traveled down his neck seemed tinged red with his annoyance. “I apologize for myself and my friends!” General Thompson turned, saying, “At ease, soldier! Stop that crying! Be a man, damn it!” It was amazing how often those words haunted me since my father threw them at me! It seemed more like a knuckleball to me then. I straightened my posture. “I’m not doing a very good job at it, am I, sir!” General Thomson smiled, “Yes, you are, Son. You’re doing okay. I just didn’t want you to go too far. We have to do it as a unit, understand? So wait for the army, for me!” He raised his voice again. Is that understood, soldier?” I snapped to attention again. “Yes, sir!” “Good. Now that things are clear between us, let’s see how we can repair any damage. But no more of that funny business. You are just a kid with a shitload of learning to do, understand?” “Yes sir!” He went on, “Good! I apologize also! I let you go too far, just using you, I’m afraid, in a sporting manner, and I shouldn’t have. So I apologize also.” He turned slowly, walked to the window, and said, while seemingly staring at a cloud about to disappear behind the wind-blown trees, “Tears are good for us, I think. After seeing what we’ve done, and are capable of doing to each other, we all should let our eyes leak more often. Maybe we could be more humane, forgive ourselves more. Maybe even think, before hurling ourselves into combat! No, don’t ever be ashamed to let some tears flow. But now is not the time. Now follow me into the conference room.” He led the way. We sat at a table. He turned his chair so he could face me. “Now that we have all of the events of the past clear, we can attack this much more efficiently. As you may know, I’ve just returned from Washington, and the news

is good internationally, but not so great nationally.” I waited. I knew nothing about the world. I didn’t even listen to the radio when that boring stuff was on the news. The general called Randy in, then asked me if I drank coffee. “Yes, I do, sir.” “Good. Randy, can you please bring in some coffee and water?” Randy said, “Yes, sir!” and left the room. He gave me a sly look, then left. “And bring some for yourself, too!” When Randy came back, he had a tray of coffee, a coffee pot and water. General Thompson continued, “I realize you probably don’t get much chance to hear the news, so I’ll tell you two. Stalin is dead. That ambitious so-and-so leader of the Soviets, with the ridiculous pointy mustache, who took advantage of our to beat Hitler. Now he and his cohorts are dead at last.” He got up and walked. “So Hitler had fantasies of world domination, we defeated him, and another ambitious, power-hungry tyrant took his place. This time he called it Communism! Well, he’s dead, so now maybe there’ll be a chance to work on world peace. Are you understanding any of this?” Randy said, “Yes, sir, I’ve been listening to it and trying to keep up with it all. I said, “Yes, sir, I believe I understand it.” “Good! Well, that’s the international picture. But now for the bad news on the national side.” He paused, sipped his coffee. Randy sat stiffly, as if there was a board down his back. So I sat up, feeling I was at attention. “The national picture is not quite as clear, I’m afraid,” the general continued. It turns out there are other radical groups who are not pleased with our government. They are bothering other military posts, in Massachusetts, California, Florida, and I don’t know how many others. So it’s up to us to solve

this one as soon as we can. Agreed?” We both answered, “Agreed, sir!” “And I’m glad Ted here discovered those tents at Mile 21. That gave us a heads up. But it was my mistake to take this too casually. I was having a bit of fun, being too playful with the situation, and, I’m sorry to say, having a bit of fun at your expense, Ted.” Randy and I waited. I relaxed a bit. I felt my back was hardening into a board. General Thompson went on, pacing, “So here’s what I’m planning. We’ll have a meeting here of all of us military who have been involved, and make an end to it. And I’’m going to let you, Pfc Byrum, lead a small group into the, what’s the name of that bar?” “The Wild Thang, sir” “Yes, that’s it, ‘The Wild Thang,’ for god sake. What a name. Well we’ll bring a few wild ‘thangs’ of our own there and try to solve this problem quietly and peacefully. If not, then we certainly can call on this army’s powerful forces, to end it, can’t we?” He looked excited, hopeful, ready for action “Yes, we can, sir!” Randy and I answered in tandem. He went on, “You two won’t have to be at the general meeting. When I give Ted the word, I’ll want you two to go to The Wild Thang, with Clint Sterling as back-up, of course. And render an invitation to their leader, what’s his name?” I answered, “Harley Sterling, sir, he owns the hardware store.” The general rolled his hands together, as if he was washing them. “Yes, Harley Sterling. Let’s hope we don’t have to fit the hardware man in some hard clothes to wear, and some hard bars to keep him quiet.”

83 COLONOSCOPY LETTERS

Letter from Pauley

April 1954 Hello, my darling, Theodore,

I must tell you how proud I am that I ed your father in West Springfield. I was surprised when he answered the phone. But he said your mom was in the hospital because she was in such great pain. So I decided right there and then to visit her. I got off work on an emergency leave. Magic was nice about it. He said he understood. He even drove me to the bus station. That was so nice of him. I kissed him on the cheek as a thank you. I’m sure you wouldn’t have minded. In Springfield, I took a bus to West Springfield. All this was according to your dad’s directions. I got off the bus at Main Street, just past Belle Avenue. I walked with my little suitcase to 41 Belle Ave and rang the door. It took a while, but your dad opened the door. He was so nice. He was hunched over. The living room was dark. He turned on the light. That’s when I saw his glasses, with one eye soaped over. Then I was so scared when I met Anthony! He is so big. And so wide. And his face, in that permanent squint, as if he knew some secret about me. Oh, he scared me, Ted! But I overcame my discomfort, and hugged him and talked to him just the way I would any young child. He grinned. “You Teddy’s girl? he asked.

“Yes, I am. Is that okay with you, Anthony?” He answered, “You gonna take him away from us?” I didn’t know how to answer that, but I assured him, we’d never leave him. So he went and rocked on the rocking chair in the kitchen. He had a perpetual smile on his face. I even heard him scraping his teeth together, making an eerie sound, like mice skittering in the attic. But now I have to get to the important part of the letter. Your mother! First your dad, he’s such a sweet man. I can’t imagine what happened to his eye. And he’s in such pain, taking handfuls of pills, oh, Teddy so sad! You’ll have to tell me, someday. Anyway, your dad had a neighbor come with a car to drive me to the hospital. That was so nice! The neighbor’s name was, let me see, oh yes, Mr. Dale Rustoni. What a nice, handsome, older man. He said I was lucky to have such a fine boyfriend. I’m not kidding, Teddy, he really said that. Then he said, if I didn’t get along with you, he would take his place. He knows how to make women happy. But then he said he was proud of a young neighbor willing to jump out of planes, to save lives. So, at the hospital, I told the head nurse I was your fiancé, and she said normally she wouldn’t let me in, but since I was engaged to a man serving our country, she could make an exception. Sorry it’s taking me so long to get to the point, but I’m afraid to get to it, Teddy. I’m so scared of death, you know. Or maybe you didn’t know. Any way, Dale, your neighbor walked with me to the hospital room, then left me. I met your mother. I know I’d seen her before, but I was so frightened. I started stuttering. Your mother opened her eyes slowly, then greeted me. “Is that you, Pauley?” She tried to lift her head, then groaned. Dale must have been listening, so he came in and cranked her head up so she could see me without any difficulty. “Oh, hello, Dale,” she said with a tube down her nose. “That’s so nice of you. How’s Sherry?” Dale answered, “Just fine, Mrs. Byrum. Now you just rest, ma’am. See you back on Belle Avenue soon.” He walked out quietly, humbly, head down, almost on tip-toe.

Then I pulled a chair up to where your mom could see me. And I could see her. I could tell she had a pretty face when she was younger. Her round face had lines down her cheeks that almost looked tear tracks. I could see she’d seen so much pain. But her eyes. They had so much care. She said, “I’m sso ssorry you had to travel sso far, Pauley.” She held her stomach tight then, her eyes closed and her mouth grimaced. Oh, I wished I could take the pain from her. “Maybe I should go now Mrs. Byrum,” I said. “No, don’t go, dear Pauley. I like you. And it feels like my Ted is close to me, too, with you here. It seems like my children are growing up, and that means growing out of the house, and our lives. You’ll know what I mean when you have children.” Here she stopped again. Another grimace and shortness of breath. Your mother went on, “Oh, I was so busy with all the children. I even lost one, a little precious girl.” Your mom paused. “Her name was Marie.” I could tell Marie seemed alive then, in your mother’s eyes. “She was a spunky little one, into every thing!” Your mom stared off into space. “Where was I? Oh, yes, you’ll have pains, Pauley. But you’ll also have joy. Especially when you bathe the little ones, and tuck them in their beds with a prayer. ‘Keep them safe, Lord, please, if it is your will.’ But it wasn’t His will for Marie.” Your mom stared, as if she could see the burial at the cemetery. I just sat, quiet, waiting. “But Sunday dinners were so wonderful, Pauley. The whole family, joking, eating chicken, and my dumplings, which they all loved, and potatoes and gravy, beans from the garden, and strawberry shortcake with cream, and everyone overeating with my special silverware, and the laughter and love which we could scrape off the walls and ceiling and take with us forever, it seemed. Oh, Pauley, how wonderful it was, how happy. We were all so full of life!” Your mother then had such tears flowing, which she wiped with a cloth, and a smile beaming on her face, before the pain stole it again. I touched her hand, and she took it, put it to her lips, and cried aloud. I couldn’t help it, Teddy. I bawled with her. What a life you had! So happy. And now, so sad! Anyway, the nurse came and said visitor hours were over. Your mom thanked me, and said she’d like to see me again.

When I left, I realized I didn’t know anything about her condition, so, I asked the nurse when she came out. She explained to me that it was a “colonoscopy” followed by surgery, because the doctor found cancer in the colon, so he removed it and re-attached the colon. Time will tell if the cancer returns. That’s all I know, my darling. Then, after I spent the night, I thanked your dad, gave Anthony a hug, and the wonderful neighbor, Dale, drove me to the bus station, and waited with me to make me feel safe in such a “violent world” he called it. But I said not the “Whole” world I hoped, because I keep meeting nice people like him. The bus came. I went to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his head and I kissed him on the lips. He smiled and winked. I blushed, I’m sure. We said goodbye. What a nice man! So here am, back in the big state of Rhode Island, waiting for your letter.

All my love, my darling Pauley

Ah, what a letter. Pauley wrote with such magic. She put me in the hospital room with her and Mom, just as if I were there with them. And, Mom, I see you now, as if I can touch you, feel your pain and wipe it away. Aw, Mom, why should you have to be the one? Haven’t you suffered enough? I love you so much more than you’ll ever know. I’ll write to you right away.

Letter to Mom and family April 1954

Dear Mom and Dad, and you too, Anthony,

I hear you had a visitor. Hope you liked Pauley. She told me how nice Dad and Anthony were to her. And how nice Mr. Rustoni was to her, by driving her to the hospital. But he was full of his usual devilishness, of course. Sometimes people can be nice and fun. Thank you, Dad. I know you’re in continual pain. I wish I could wave a wand and take it all away. But I can’t. And I know you doubt the existence of God, but it might help if you gave a little knock on His door to ask for some relief of suffering. What can it cost you, but a few sincere sentences? Anyway, Pauley told me how Mom is suffering, but recovering from cancer of the colon. And yet, Mom was just as pleasant as ever to Pauley. I swear Mom is like a saint. I do believe she is one, without the miracle. And Mom, I’m sure they’ll be reading this to you. I’m praying for you continually, no matter where I am, or what I’m doing. I’ve asked the Lord to let me suffer some of your pain so that you can bear it while you’re recovering. Don’t worry about me, please. I’m doing fine, just busy with some unusual cases and people, but they’re about to straighten themselves out, and fall in line like good soldiers. Pauley said she likes you, Anthony. Write real soon. And so will I.

Love, Teddy

84 WILD THINGS AT THE WILD THANG

Friday night was the night I dreaded, because it meant a confrontation at The Wild Thang. I was to make it seem quite ordinary, just as normal as possible in such a unique place, with such remarkable people. It had a gentle giant of a man, Horace, and a beautiful woman of a dwarf, Hyacinth. And they were nice! I finished shining my shoes and brushed my hair back. I needed a haircut. My tattoo looked good, I thought. Work your magic, and fly on your wings to protect me, I asked it. I asked Jules to take me in his car, and invited Brian along. No word was said about it in front of Bobby. He might just drink too much and make a mess of it all. Brian whispered, “Yeah, Bobby might follow his proclivities, and say something that’s incendiary.” His face turned crimson, as he smiled and turned his face away from Jules. Jules said, “Well, well, Brian! You’ve really been working on your vocabulary! I’m impressed! So I hope you understand them. Like ‘proclivities,’ just whatever can that mean? Can you define it for me?” “Why, most definitely, if I had such a tendency or leaning toward doing it,” he said smugly. “Very clever! Well done, Brian!” I was in the dark. “Does that mean a kind of a habit, or way of thinking?” “Yup!” responded Brian. “And ‘incendiary’ means something that might provoke trouble.” “Wow!” I replied. “I am impressed, Brian. Looks like your mind is on fire. I bet

you go to college when you get out of the army.” “Yep! I made up my mind! There’s so much to learn, and I know so little.” I added, “I feel the same way. There’s a whole world of stuff that we don’t know.” Jules observed, “That’s the perfect attitude to have. Realizing how little we know, and starting our studies with a humble eagerness to learn can make the whole world of knowledge available to us. It’s as if they were apples on a tree, ripe for the picking. And some are higher up, so we have to reach or climb for them. But what an exciting climb!” “Great idea, Jules.” I added. “I will definitely apply to some college to see if they’ll take the likes of me. I never even considered going beyond high school. Never had the proclivity.” I grinned. “No one from our poor family ever did. We just figured we couldn’t afford it.” Jules smiled, finished putting on his freshly laundered shirt, and declared, “The government now has the GI Bill, which will help you pay for tuition to any college in the country! So now all of us military people can enter college!” We were all silent, thinking. Then I thought about my assignment for tonight. I lowered my voice. “Are you ready for tonight? It could get dangerous. So you might be safer to stay at the Bamboo Lounge. I’ll let you know, okay?” We were in civilian clothes. As Jules drove us, I noticed Mile 21, which had a bit of smoke rising to the reddening sky, but I didn’t say anything. I saw only one car. In Mt. Pleasant we ed Woods Hole, and I just pictured again discovering the time with Sister Vickie and Satan, and smiled. At last Jules parked the car close to the Bamboo Lounge. We exited, and walked slowly, noticing how quiet it was there, but how noisy it was further down at The Wild Thang. I knew the high-pitched music had a portent of danger, like rocks hungering for lost ships to sink. But first, we entered the Bamboo Lounge, where i would leave Jules and Brian. The plan was to meet Randy there, along with Lieutenant Clint Grayson. Then together we’d go to the louder location. I wanted to see Gunny Beau again. He seemed like such a level-headed veteran. He was the type that others would gladly follow, a leader, level-headed, but warm.

The first person I noticed was a woman sitting on a stool alone at the bar, talking to Beau. She turned, and I recognized her immediately. She was our librarian, Ms. Cates. I ed her saying she was dating Beau. They would make a nice couple, I felt. So I said to Jules and Brian, “Say hello to our lovely librarian, Ms. Cates, talking to Beau, the owner.” They did so. She smiled. Beau said, “Welcome back, boys! Grab a table. What’ll you have?” He had a white shirt on, and an apron over his belt. It looked like he was trying to grow his hair, because it was brushed to the side, but I could tell it would only stay down with the vaseline he was wearing. I guessed he did it to look more presentable for Ms. Cates. Ms. Cates said, “Hello, boys. Well, out here you can call me Alma - Alma Grace Cates, if you can get that mouthful out of your mouths.” She beamed. She wore a pleasant grey and blue skirt, not tight-fitting, and a pale-red blouse under a white sweater. There were the usual bamboo in vases, spaced on the counter, and Japanese paintings on the walls. Silk drawings of dancing geisha girls also beautified the windows. Then Randy and Clint entered and waved. I saw Beau nod to Clint almost imperceptibly. Randy and Clint took a booth, then patted the seat for me. I left Brian and Jules, and walked over to sit with them. No one spoke. It seemed to be an awkward moment, until Beau came over and pointed to a booth for Jules and Brian, and said, “What’s your pleasure gentlemen?” Jules ordered lemonade and Brian a beer. I waved to Ms. Cates and ed Randy’s table. Clint nodded. He said, “Ready, Ted?” I said, “I think so. You Randy?” He waited until Beau took our orders, beer for each of us. Then he said, “I am so ready for this, just go get it over with. I know there are other rebel groups around the country now, but I think we’ll be the first to settle it, starting tonight.” Clint left our table, opened a door in the back, then returned quickly. “Just in case. I left something there. Beau knows about it.”

We sipped our beer. Clint looked down at the foam, and as if reading its message, said, almost hypnotically, “We won’t go in there looking for trouble. Just be as tame as lambs.” Randy responded, almost in a whisper, “I hope it’s not lambs to the slaughter. What will we be expected to do?” Clint whispered, “We’ll just go in, sit at a table, and wait to be called into the meeting. The whole idea is to get Harley, and maybe Cletus to agree to a meeting with General Thompson and some of us, so that they can find a solution without violence.” I asked, “What if they don’t agree to a meeting? Or what if Harley does, but others don’t, then what?” Clint answered, “We have to be ready for anything. Randy, you and Ted here, will try to steer clear of any violence. I’ll take care of any violence, if I can. I don’t want you two hurt, especially you, Teddy. So stay back, away from any fighting, if you can. You, too, Randy! Are we clear?” We agreed. “One other thing. If I read the room to be contrary, I might disappear momentarily, so don’t be alarmed. I’ll be back.” I sensed he was referring to Beau’s back room. We sipped our beer. “Ready?” Clint asked. We took a last sip and walked out, nodding to Beau and Ms. Cates. Beau winked. When we entered The Wild Thang, our ears were attacked by the loud country music, accompanied by boot-wearing men stomping the dance floor, and laughing women being spinned in ecstatic raptures. It took a moment for our ears to be accustomed to the assault. “Welcome gentlemen,” a low voice assailed us over the sound of the music, “a table for you two?” There he was again. We had to look up at the body, then the head of this giant.

I answered, craning my head up toward him, “Why, yes, Horace. Thank you. Just a table for a short time, until the meeting starts.” “No problem, men. Just follow me.” Each giant stride, took one of our two. We sat down. “Hyacinth will be right with you. As soon as he walked away, there was Hyacinth, just as if she sprang from the ground, blossoming. “Hello you sexy men. What’ll you have, and you can’t have me tonight. I’m spoken for. Sorry.” Her perfume and lilting voice reminded me of an island of sirens. Clint said, “Just water for me, honey.! “Beer for me,” answered Randy, “and bring one for my friend here,” pointing at me. “Schlitz” I added. “You’ve got it, soldiers!” and she sashayed away. Even though we were in civilian clothes, she could tell, by our haircuts and bearing, I guess. When Hyacinth returned, she whispered in a low voice. “Just be careful in thar tonight, men. Looks lak they’re hankering for somethin’ that made them mad.” She took the cash we left on the table, and scurried away. Clint sipped on his water, and spoke with a low voice. “Try to stay close to the door, you two. I will also, if I can. Just keep your eyes open.” He adjusted the patch over his eye. “Look around for any trouble-makers, and stay aware. I don’t have to tell you this could be dangerous, do I?” We both nodded. After ten minutes, the side door opened, and Harley Sterling stepped out, glanced around, and nodded his head, as if to invite the whole world into his room. Randy murmured, “Here we go, then into the teeth. General Thompson, hope you’re right.”

We approached the door, but Clint, turned and walked toward Hyacinth and handed her something. It looked like a $20. Then he turned and led us into the room. Hyacinth was scampering out the door. I guessed she was scampering toward the Bamboo. As we entered, all was quiet, like a lion yawning, before tearing into his supper. We were surprised to find just 5 men standing, waiting for us, staring, as if we were the enemies. Harley, commanded, “All raght! Ever’ one. Take y’all’s seats! I took the one closest to the door, and Randy did the same. Clint kept standing, looking around, wary. Harley’s face seemed redder than usual, mostly because of the pock-marks, that seemed alive. “Well, Clint, y’all got somepin’ ta say? Fer’ the general? Ah know thas’ what yer all about. Y’all was never in’ in with us, were ya’?” “No, sir. I was here ta see if you were true Americans, or not.” Clint’s voice was loud, his stare was straight at Harley. Chet stood up, his brown teeth bared, his chest out, “Let me show ’em a true ’Merican, Harley! Ah’ll fix ’im ’fer good!” Choogah grabbed Chet’s arm and eased him back to his seat. “Let Harley do the talkin’ Chet! We’ll be ready when the tam’ comes.” The others nodded their heads. Clint declared, “The General, would lak to have a talk with y’all, Harley, and one other person to determine if there can be some kind of agreement made!” Harley, put his foot on the chair in front of him, as if to demonstrate an attitude of strength, I believe. “Now why in hell would ah do that?” He looked around the room at his men. Clint articulated each syllable, “To save yourself an’ all y’all men from bein’ sent to jail, or bein’ executed for treason!”

Harley put his foot down. “And what’s ta’ prevent us from takin’ you prisoner, or even killin’ y’all raght’ heah’ an’ now?” Clint answered with a threatening tone, “Does that mean you refuse to meet with the general, Harley? Consider this th’ last chance!” Harley looked down, thinking I believe, considering his next moves. I believe he sensed it to be a climactic decision, one that could change his life, and those of his followers. Then Chet made a run and dive at Clint, and Clint ducked backward, leaving Chet heading straight for me! I tried to get up, but Clint’s body was on mine and the chair and the two of us tumbled to the floor. I felt dizzy at first, then I realized Chet was pounding my head with his fists, back and forth. I had my arms up trying to cover my face. I noticed Chet’s eyes were closed and he just kept swinging, until Randy dragged him away. I got up, slowly, shaking my head, waiting for the world to un-spin again. Randy locked Chet’s arms so he couldn’t move them, but still he squirmed to get loose. Choogah kept yelling, “Let Im’ go, y’all. Ah’ll take care of Im’.” Above all this I heard Clint roar, “Do you agree to meet with the general, Harley? Last chance!” Harley threw his hands in the air, “All raght’ all raght’, ah’ll meet with him! But he kin’ never bring back mah son, Bartholomew, kin he?” Clint paused, “No, he can’t do that, Harley Sterling, but there is compensation you can receive, I’m sure.” Chet was swinging again, and he took another dive at me, and we tumbled to the floor again. Y’ain’t got no dog ta save ya now!” He swung from his powerful arms. I kept ducking my head to the right, to the left, but he hit me on the chin, hard. I was dizzy. Then, he did the craziest, unexpected thing. He kissed me on the lips, and stuck his tongue in! “Get him off me!” I yelled, and Clint and Randy were pulling him away. Choogah yelled, “Let ’im go, y’all. Ah’ll take care’ve Im, the damn fool.” Then he pulled Chet away by his arm. “Ah warned yew! He ain’t yer daddy! He ain’t

yer lover neither, so jes’ letim’ go. C’mon’.” He walked him away. Chet was sobbing, his head drooping. As I was wiping my mouth and spitting, I saw Clint and Harley staring at Chet, then me. I scrambled my way up, embarrassed, even though I did nothing wrong. I started to charge after Chet, but Randy and Clint held me back. I felt stained. Then the door opened, and outside were 5 soldiers, fully armed, rifles ready. One had a machine gun. I saw Hyacinth in the background, with Horace behind her, just staring, wide-eyed.

85 REACHING FOR NORMALITY

Clint stayed with the soldiers that night. Randy and I went back to The Bamboo Lounge to collect Jules and Brian. Gunny and Ms. Cates were staring with anxiety, but I signaled a circle meaning okay, with my thumb and index finger. They looked relieved, as though their tense strait jackets were loosened. They each held a drink up, Gunny a glass of beer, and Alma Grace Cates a drink with a cherry drowning in it. Randy and I ed Brian and Jules. I sat, relaxed, feeling like a puppet with all the strings loosened. Jules stared, holding whatever mild drink to his lips, but not drinking, “Well? Everything okay, boys?” I took Brian’s beer from him and downed it, to erase that stupid, ugly kiss from Chet! “Thanks, I really needed that!” I gasped. Randy held up his hand, and ordered two beers. Gunny brought them over and I gulped half the glass down, then wiped my mouth, again and again, trying to erase the disgust I felt. Randy did not mention the kiss. I appreciated that. I didn’t need anyone mentioning it, even casually, later on. I wanted it erased from my mind, though that would take a bit, I knew. At last, we said “so long and Semper Fi to Gunny and Ms Cates, then headed back to the post. Randy and I told Brian and Jules briefly about the scene in The Wild Thang, wondering ourselves what happened after we left. We were sure we’d find out, though, in the next few days. That night, Jules reported that Abe was officially “relieved from the army by a Hardship discharge.” “I’ll miss him,” I said. We all should write to him at his home in, where was it?”

“Johnstown, Pennsylvania.” “Good! Maybe we can write a t letter! How’s that sound, Jules?” “Great! I think he’d like it!” Saturday was a lazy day. We ate chow at 0800, then stayed in the barrack, cleaning our bunk areas. My footlocker was a mess, with unrolled socks in the bottom, looking like wimpy snakes sleeping. And my shorts were not folded neatly, so yellow spots looked shamefully up at me. The dirty laundry bag was pretty full in the bottom of my wall locker. “You sure do look poignant, staring at your lockers, Theodore!” observed Jules. “Huh? I guess you must be right, Jules, if that means disgusted at my state of affairs. I don’t have much property of mine to take care of, but I always seem to get behind taking care of things. I could fill two laundry bags here, but then I wouldn’t have much to wear!” I sat on my bunk, contemplating the work waiting for me. Brian walked over, and asked, “What was that word you used? ‘Poisoned’? Is that what you did, Ted? Poison your laundry?” “No, no, Brian, not poison, but poignant,” answered Jules. “It’s spelled p o i g n a n t, and It means sad, or filled with regret, but actually it could refer to a situation that is touching, or heart-rending.” “Ah heard that, y’all. Sorta lack the way ah felt when ah left Macon. Mighty sad.” “That’s the idea, Bobby boy,” answered Jules. “That’s really poignant! It sure is nice to hear all of you increasing your vocabularies like that. You’ll be changed individuals before you know it.” “I hope so, Jules,” I added. “Then we can walk around with, what was that word I read in the library? Oh, I . We can walk around with aplomb.” Bobby jumped in. Ma bought some a that at the market once. Tasted really good! n’ juicy!”

“No, Bobby, it’s not a plumb, the fruit that you eat. It’s aplomb. It’s like walking around with your head held high, composed,” Jules explained. He took a breath, in thought. “But it’s pronounced the same as the fruit.” Bobby scratched his head. “Well, ah guess an kin recall the word jes by thinkin’ of chewing on a plum, or a grape, n’ hold mah head up hagh ta the sky.” “That’s it, Bobby,” Jules smiled. “That’s an excellent way of ing it. We could all take a lesson from Bobby. Think of an image that will help us the vocabulary word we’re studying! I like it, Bobby!” Bobby stuck his head up, “Ah’s got plenty a’ aplomb!” “You sure have, Bobby!” I applauded, and the others clapped lightly. He blushed, then bowed. “If only ah could convince some gals t’ agree, cuz ah’m feelin’ lak’ ah’m wearin’ horns.” I instantly knew what Bobby meant. He was horny. Maybe he needed a trip to Fayetteville to find some relief. I didn’t allow such urges to enter my mind. I had enough troubles. “Maybe you can take matters in hand until you get downtown, Bobby.” Then I asked, “What’s another word that’s similar to those, Jules?” Jules sat on his bunk, thinking, then said, “Well, there is one more, but it’s a tough one. I don’t know if you can use it properly.’ We each urged him on. “Well, okay, it’s poise.” Bobby reacted, “It’s po-what?” Jules grinned, “Maybe it’s a bad idea, men. But poise means to be composed, graceful, self-assured, to walk with your head held high. I ventured a comment. “Poised when you face danger bravely?” “That’s the idea, Teddy, the way you did the other night in the tunnel, and after.”

Bobby threw his hand high. “That’s it fer’ me, y’all. I ain’t ever goin’ use poeese… what evah’ y’all call it. Let the hoss stay in the barn on that one. But ah don’ mind usin’ a plumb.” We all laughed, and agreed we were plumb tired of it for now. We gradually went back to cleaning our areas and straightening out our lockers, and shined our footwear. It was then that I had a chance to think about Chet. He certainly was a kid who grew up just spilling over with bitterness and mixed emotions. And according to what Choogah said, it started with his father, or at least the rage in him did. Oh well, I still didn’t want anything to do with him. But then I made the connection with s! Then with Father Roland! It seems there was violence involved in their homosexual inclinations! That evening was confession night, so I decided to go to church early to see how Father Roland was. As Jules and I walked to church, the sky was clear with a half moon shining overhead. And, low in the sky was what I thought was a bright star. But Jules thought it was a planet. “I think it’s Venus, Teddy. It’s one of the closest to earth.” “How on earth would you know all these things, Jules?” I questioned him. “Oh, it’s no secret, Ted. You see, I once took a class on astronomy, back when I didn’t know what my future would be. So I memorized the planets.” “You did? You’re amazing. So you know the planets?” Jules wiped his nose and mouth with his hanky, and then his eye, which seemed to leak now and then. “Yes, I memorized them in order of their distance from the sun. Would you like to hear the words I used? It’s a mnemonic device, a trick to memorizing.” “Yes, I sure would. Maybe I could use it, too.” Jules said, with his eyes closed, “My Venus Escapes Me, Just See, U Nincom Poop.” “What does that mean?”

“Simple, now listen closely. My stands for Mercury, Venus stands for Venus, Escapes stands for Earth, Me stands for Mars, Just stands for Jupiter, See stands for Saturn, U stands for Uranus, Nincom stands for Neptune, and Poop, stands for Pluto. Those are the planets in our galaxy. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto.” “Wow!” I exclaimed. “This is fun! “My Venus Escapes Me, Just See U Nincom Poop! I think I’ve got it! Thanks, Jules.” “You are so welcome, Teddy. And it’s a joy teaching you, because you catch on so quickly, and with so much glee!” “And you’d make a fantastic teacher, in case you didn’t know it. It’s like you were born to it, Jules! You could do it with such aplomb.!” I added that with a big grin I couldn’t wipe off if I’d tried. “And that’s the real poop!” I glanced back at the sky. “Good to see you, Venus! Keep your fires burning!” After congratulating ourselves along the way, we entered the church. I told Jules to wait in one of the middle pews, and walked back to the sacristy. It was close to confession time, so I guessed Father Roland would be there, preparing to forgive sins in the name of Christ. I was right. There he was, sitting there, staring into space, grumbling to himself. He saw me enter. “Here you are, Ted. I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know how it is, but even though you’re just a kid, yet you have some influence on people, on Francis,” he paused, “even on me, dammit. Why is that, do you know?” I saw he was staring at me, waiting for an answer. His hands were shaking, and his eyes seemed to be imploring me to respond. His straw-colored hair was combed over the bald spot on top of his head. I responded, “I don’t think I have any special powers, Father, but it’s probably just the fact that I work in the chaplain’s office, and people respect that and the authority it lends. That’s all I can think of, sir.” “Well, whatever it is, I want to end this whole charade with Francis. Can you help me? I don’t want to get any deeper into this. I’m afraid I hurt him, and he won’t let me near him. Tell him I’m through with him, and I’ve put in for a transfer to another regiment in another post. Help me get straight with him, and, and, and with my God, please.” He stared at me, his lips quivering.

The fact of his appealing to me to help him with Francis, I understood. But the irony of a priest pleading with me to straighten out his affairs with God struck me as, (could I use the word?) poignant. I smiled to myself. “Are you smiling, laughing at me, you young punk! I expected sympathy, not laughter. Where is your Christianity, your mercy?” I held my hands in the air to suggest surrender. I wasn’t smiling at you, Father. To tell the truth, I applied a new vocabulary word to the situation, ‘poignant,’ and saw that it seemed to apply. Sorry, Father. I’ll do what I can to try to help you with Francis. Then the part with your God might have a clear path. Okay?” Father put his head down. He looked genuinely ashamed. His hands still shook. “Sorry, Ted. I must learn to be more patient and understanding. I’ve got to stop jumping to invalid conclusions.” He paused. “That seems to be what got me started on the wrong path a long time ago.” He stared off at the doorway, at nothing. “In the seminary. Probably much earlier than that. But that’s where….” “You don’t have to do this here, Father, not now. It’s time to hear confessions, I believe.” He seemed to come out of the trance. “Uh, you’re right. Gotta go.” He got up and kissed, then draped the long purple stole around his neck and down his front. It had a gold cross emblem and other figures on it. “By the way, I haven’t heard your confession yet, have I?” “You didn’t recognize my voice, Father?” I guess it was an implied lie. But was it a good lie. Half a sin? Maybe I could confess it that way. He trudged out the door. I sat, thinking about Father Roland, and Francis, and decided I felt pretty poignant over this whole situation.

86 TROUBLE IN THE HOSPITAL

I asked Jules if he would me while visiting Francis at the hospital. He agreed, saying “It might be a good idea to have someone with you who is not involved in any way with the whole sordid affair. I feel sorry for you, Ted, that you had to get caught up in such a mess.” “Ah, Jules,” I patted him on the back. “You are such a wonder. You seem to know so many things, and understand all situations. You must have lived several lives before this one.” Jules looked down. “Oh, if only that were true, Teddy. If only it were true.” He looked sad. “One day soon, I’ll narrate a small tale called the memoirs of Jules Miller, Peoria, Illinois.” “I look forward to it, Jules. You’re a wonder to me.” We walked along, and the moon left our shadows along the sidewalk, making us seem twice as tall as we were. “I can say the same about you, Teddy. You never seemed to judge me, or say anything about my being a bit unmanly, or make any snide comments about it. I appreciate that.” “You’re welcome. But I always felt that, although you might be, what you said, somewhat effeminate, I never did suspect anything further about it. To tell the truth, I’m continually amazed at the knowledge that you seem to possess. You’re just omniscient!” “I know you know that word means ‘all knowing,’ but I assure you, Theodore, that word does not apply to me.” “I know, I know, Jules, but see what I just did? I applied that new word. Maybe I’m getting omniscient myself.” I smiled, then opened the hospital entrance.

Once inside, I felt uneasy, because I knew Francis could be unpredictable, dangerous even, to himself or others. When we were walking toward Francis’ bedroom, the nurse said, “We’ve been watching him closely. He’s not in lockdown, but we’re considering it. There is a military police woman, an MP outside his room.” The nurse was about 40, and she walked firmly in her crisp uniform. “Just be careful, young men, and try not to upset him.” When we approached Francis’ room, the nurse nodded to the MP, who waved us in. She was tall and trim and all business, dressed in a neat khaki uniform with an MP band on her sleeve. Francis seemed surprised to see us. His whole demeanor was that of a man who was determined. His mouth was set. He arose, and he seemed even taller than the 6’3” I’d estimated before, and thinner. He was no longer that soft, chubby soldier I’d first met. And his face seemed angry, contorted. “What are you doing here? I don’t want any visitors.” Francis sat down in the chair beside his bed. His face was flushed, and his eyes seemed bloodshot. He noticed Jules, then stared at him. “Who are you? Another homo? I’m through with that world. Any world! There’s not one I care to live in, so just mosey your way out of here, if you please, or even if you don’t please!” I kept some distance from Francis. I didn’t want him upset or angry. “This is my friend, Jules, Francis. And no, he’s not a homo. But I just wish you’d be polite to him as a favor to me.” “I don’t owe you any favors, Private Byrum,” he snarled. He reminded me of a stick of dynamite with a wick needing to be lit. Jules stepped forward, and with a quiet, warm voice, uttered, “Hello, Francis, I’m honored to meet you. Ted, here, told me about you. Have you ever played a piano?” “Yeah, so?” “I used to play myself. But just for a few years. I did not study classical, just modern tunes.”

Francis stared at Jules, then through him, it seemed. “I’m not interested in that world any more! Sorry, but I don’t wish to participate. I don’t think I ever will again. I’ve been dragged too far from the world of music and art and all that stuff.” He paused. “But, I have an announcement for you Private Byrum, because I made a decision to end all of this. And I don’t care what happens to me. So listen to this. I have charged your priest, Father Roland Carpenter with rape and sexual harassment an hour ago, and they should be arresting him at this moment. The military police are heading for his officers’ barrack right now, I believe. And the doctors and nurses in the hospital are on alert to watch over me, which is another was of saying I’m a prisoner in this hospital.” Tears slowly slid from his eyes. Then he smiled his gap-tooth smile. I stared at Francis, watching his reactions. He folded his arms, as if to confirm that he had done something righteous. I was relieved, I think, that this part of the problem I’d been trying to sort out was about to be solved for me. It was like a lock on the chain in my brain was loosened with a simple turn of a key. I smiled. “Congratulations, Francis! It took guts on your part. Of course, you might have some legal problems of your own, you know.” Jules handed him his hanky, and he took it, wiping his eyes, but grinning. “I know, and what a load it lifted. I’m not angry at you, Ted. I just didn’t know how to act. I guess I still don’t. I’ve never done anything that takes so much courage on my part. You taught me to hit someone, but this is a different kind of hitting, if you know what I mean.” “I know, Francis,” I responded. “I know exactly what you mean. By the way, the river is S-u-s-q-u-e-h-a-n-n-a, the river that flows to the Chesapeake Bay, right?” Francis turned, studied my face, then grinned. “You do , don’t you? Maybe you do care, after all, private first class Theodore Byrum.”

87 A LASTING CONFESSION

Jules and I were stunned. We just stood there in the hospital room, searching for words which would not come. Francis confessed, “I know, I know, I should have done this some other way, and I do feel sorry for Father Roland, in a way. Sometimes he would mumble to me things that were incomprehensible, about his father and the seminary and discipline, but I didn’t understand any of it. He wasn’t a completely terrible person. He just acted sometimes like he was under some compulsion. But then he’d be a demanding monster. He’d hurt me and wouldn’t stop.” Francis wiped his eyes and lay down on the bed. “Oh, I don’t know now! Please go, you two. I appreciate your concern, but it’s in motion now, and there’s no way to stop it.” I answered, “We’ll see you later, Francis. Call me if you want me for anything.” Jules and I nodded to each other. Jules said, “Nice meeting you, Francis. I hope it all turns out well for you. I’m so sorry for your troubles.” Francis said nothing, but he nodded. We ed the MP, who nodded and said, “Good night, gentlemen!” As Jules and I walked away, I felt as if I’d left something behind, something I’d thrown away, like a boomerang that might make a huge circle and return to hit me in the back of the head when I wasn’t expecting it. “Well, that was unexpected, Jules. Were you surprised?” “No, not really, Teddy. It’s something he should have done after the first attack. I assumed what happened, although no one informed me. It was sexual, wasn’t it?

Homosexual, and Francis was forced into it, although he was half enjoying it, I guess. Am I right?” “I believe so, Jules, and this has all been assumption on my part, but it seemed pretty obvious to me. All I ever heard, was whispering and squealing, but there’s no doubt in my mind what went on.” I added, “Now I have to go back to the church to see if the priest is still there. He’ll be picked up soon, and it might be there where they grab him.” “I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind, Teddy. I’m too interested right now to drop out.” At the church, inside, near the entrance were two tall, imposing Military Police watching us entering, and the others that were leaving. The MPs wore helmets and boots and black straps on their left arms with the insignia, “MP..” Their standing there meant Father Roland was still hearing confession. Just a few soldiers were in the pew, waiting. I quickly decided to sit in the pew as if to confess, to warn Father while I was in the confessional. “Jules, I’m going to warn Father while I pretend to confess, okay? I hope there’s no violence.” Jules agreed and waited in the pews across the aisle, pretending to pray, or was he really praying? I noticed one more MP was standing guard by the altar, close to the sacristy. I knelt and prayed and waited. I could see I was going to be the last person in line to confess. Perhaps the last one that Father would ever hear. Then, unexpectedly, I felt sorry for Father. Even he, Lord, even he, seemed to act out of some compulsion that he could not control. No, that’s not true. I quit smoking, didn’t I? It was a habit that was not easy to overcome, but I did it. Maybe the same could apply to the priest in a way, maybe a tougher compulsion to conquer, but still, don’t priests sacrifice countless practices, conventions, habits to become servants of God? So, he should never have given in to this weakness. No, it’s one that conquered him. And now he must pay. Nothing can change that now. So he must give himself to the Lord, accept the consequences, and surrender to the military police. At last it was my turn to enter the confessional. It was tradition to wait on one side, while a person on the other side confessed. I opened the curtains and knelt

down in the darkness, facing the thin, wooden window that was closed. I heard whispering on the other side, but couldn’t make out what was said. I didn’t want to hear either. I didn’t care to hear someone else’s sins. I briefly rehearsed the words which I’d learned many years ago before my first confession: “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been ……. (days, months, years) since my last confession.” Following this I would recite my sins. When I was a child, I would mention the number of times I’d committed that sin, like, “I threw rocks at my neighbor’s cat five times.” It was still necessary to estimate the number of times, I believe, just to give the priest an idea of the extent of the sin. I suppose we viewed this as a type of game to play when we were younger, when our sins were not great. But as we grew in years, we could see that our sins became closer to mortal, and not venial. ‘Mortal’ implied the death of the soul, which took serious confessing and much sorrow and repentance. I, of course, believed all of this deeply when I was an altar boy, but through the years, much of it seemed closer to a type of mythology. However, I strained and forced myself to be a believer, despite the fact that I was stuck in the material world, while the other one, the spiritual, remained stubbornly invisible to me. Then the window slid open. I whispered, “Father, it’s me, Ted. Forgive me for warning you this way, but I had to warn you.” “This is not the place, Ted. Do you have anything to confess?” Okay, I decided I could do it that way. “Bless me Father, it has been 3 weeks since my last confession. I confess I went to the hospital to see Francis, and he told me he confessed to the authorities about the sin he and a priest by the name of Father Roland were involved in, an unforgivable sin which could be mortal to the soul if not confessed and self-punished, with the person making serious and permanent amends.” The words flew from my mouth like heavy weights aimed at a man who was already sinking in a mucky pit of sin. A pause. “Are you telling me Francis told the authorities about our activities, young man?” “Yes, Father, he mentioned the Inspector General, so I think it’s pretty serious.

There are two military police waiting for you at the entrance, sir.” Long silence. Then a choking sound. Father was fighting, but losing the battle to his grief. I waited. “Thank you, Ted,” he whispered. “Please tell them to wait a few moments, while I gather my emotions and prepare myself.” “I will, Father. I’m so sorry. God bless you.” “Thank you, Ted. You’re still a good person. God bless you, and bless Francis, and please ask him to forgive me and pray for me. Goodbye, Ted. In nominee Patris, et filii, at Spiritus Sancti, Amen.” I ed this from when I was an altar boy. It meant, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.” I understood that what he said, and by the way he said it, I knew came from some place deep inside him, perhaps deeper, years, also. His voice had a determined, final acceptance in it. I assumed he had convinced himself to go quietly with the MPs. “Don’t go yet, Ted.” Long silence. I waited. The silence seemed as loud as screams. At last, he took a long sigh. “Oh, young man, I could tell you such a story. I could tell you how innocent I was, and what a future I felt was in store for me.” I waited, quiet, even though the wooden kneeler was painful. “I was actually slim, and good looking and wanted to go into business, like my neighbor’s father, a fisherman. He offered to help me. Oh, how I fell for that. I was tall for my age, at 14. I guess that’s why he liked me. But, it turned out he liked me too much! And that was just the beginning. Then in the seminary I became like my neighbor’s father! Oh, God, God! Bestial!!!” He sobbed. Then after a long sigh and silence. he whispered, “Give me some time away from the guards, Ted, while I try to settle my affairs with God. I’ve got to do this properly!” I didn’t understand what he meant, but I walked out slowly, then told the guards that Father Roland Carpenter would be with them shortly. “Please be patient with him,” I added. “He is still a man of the cloth, and deserves respect.” I waited with them.

As I waited, I glanced at Jules, who was standing and waving at me. I walked over to him. “What?” “He just scooted out of the confessional, and took the stairs up, two at a time. Isn’t that where the organ is, and where the choir sings?” “Yes it is!” I wailed, and ran for the stairs to the loft. What in hell was he up to, I wondered. As I took the stairs, Jules yelled, “Don’t jump!” Then I heard Father Roland’s voice holler, “Requiescat in Pace!” This was followed by a thump, then a loud crash” It sounded like wood splintering. “No, no, no, Father! You didn’t, you wouldn’t! I screamed as I ran down the stairs 3 or 4 at a time, only to find the MPs staring at Father Roland, lying in the broken pews, moaning, groaning, then silence. Jules stood there, holding his hanky over his mouth, gawking at the scene. Father Roland lay there his arms above his head, one leg bent back in an awkward position. He was not breathing. An MP felt for his carotid, then shook his head. Father was dead. The purple stole was wrapped around his neck, covering much of his face. I stood there, numb, witnessing a death I didn’t expect. I knew I didn’t cause it, but I felt part of it. Tears puddled in my eyes, and I let them flow and flood my face. I fell to the floor. Why, why? God, did I cause that? I couldn’t stop blubbering. God, why? Why? Jules was pulling me up by my arm. “Get up, Teddy! You’re not to blame. This was an inevitable result. Come on, get up.” His voice was gentle, soothing as a south wind. I let myself be led out the door The MPs said, “We’ll be in soon.” I nodded. I felt so overwhelmed. Is this what it takes to live in this world? I didn’t think I wanted it anymore.

88 A PRIESTLESS SUNDAY?

Jules and I were witnesses. The MPs took our statements and said we would be ed later. We were told not to leave the post, and we agreed. We didn’t return to the hospital. It was too late. Francis would have to wait for the news. Back at the barrack we told the others that the priest was dead, but we didn’t give any real details. I told Jules and Brian that I was wondering what would happen at mass on Sunday, without a priest. Brian said, “That happened in Detroit at Saint Mary’s once, and there was no mass, but one man who was regular ed out communion. All he had to do was say, “Body of Christ” as he put the communion bread on each one’s tongue. Maybe you could do that tomorrow?” I thought about that through the night. Would I have the nerve to do such a thing? I someone mentioning a position like ‘deacon’ who was an assistant to a priest. I couldn’t do that, but maybe I could distribute holy communion. After all, the communion wafers were already blessed in the previous mass, and I knew where they were locked up. In the morning, I asked Jules what he thought about it. He thought a moment, then said, “If there’s no one else who can do it, I think it would be a fine thing to do for everyone there. But, also, it might be important for you to explain to all those in church what happened. They know you, you’re the chaplain’s assistant, so you’re the one most appropriate to inform them and give them communion. I’ll be in the back, just to show my . Will you come too, Brian?” “Yeah, I should be goin’ back to church anyway. I’ll be there too, Ted.” We got to church early, and I hustled back to the sacristy. I decided to wear a white alb, which is like a long dress, or cassock. I thought this would make my

presence without the priest more acceptable. I went to the tabernacle, which was like a wall safe, where the communion wafers were stored. I opened it and put about 50 into the receptacle, hoping that was enough. I waited for the church to fill, feeling nervous. I was glad that I’d been an altar boy at Saint Anne’s church at home for a few years. At least that made me comfortable around the altar. But, of course, this was very different. Also, the priest just committed suicide right there in the back of the church. I notice there were orange cloth bands around the pew where Father Roland landed. I pictured the body again. His obesity shattered the pews, of course, like kindling wood. Tears bubbled a bit in my eyes. But I had to get control of myself. I asked God to help me. When Time, which seemed to be in a hurry, clicked 0900, I peeked out. The church seemed to be full. Had the news ed that quickly? A number of them were mumbling and pointing at the scene of the priest’s death. They were curious, of course. Then I saw Sergeant Scrofula and handsome, neat, Lieutenant Smithson. They were quiet, waiting. I was pretty sure they knew. In another pew, were Randy and Willy! And next to them. were Lieutenant Robson, and next to him, whispering was General Thompson! Wow, I was getting nervous, and I had to decide what to say, and how to say it! It felt like too much pressure! Please, no headache now! I had to concentrate. My pulse refused to slow down, pounding on my temple. It was time for me to go out to the altar. “Lord, guide me in the words I choose, and how I use them, please!” I walked to the altar, not looking at the pews. I knelt before the altar, asked God for help, then arose and genuflected. My legs were unsteady, and my hands were shaking. I heard mumbling from the pews. I decided to take the steps up on the pulpit so everything would be clear to the communicants, or at least a clear as I could make them, without spilling too much of the details. At the top, I put both hands on the desk part of the pulpit, and squeezed, to stop the trembling. “I’m sssorry t-t-to report to you, that there will be no ppriest today, But Father Roland usually had many wafers left over that were blessed

and were converted to the body and blood of Christ, in the mass, so I will be able to give the communion bread after I explain things to you if you’ll allow me. My mouth was dry, and I was afraid I was losing their attention. I felt desperate, then thought I would mention the post general. That might get some attention. “General Thompson is here, the post General of Fort Bragg. Thank you for attending, Sir!” He arose from his seat. He turned and said, in a loud voice. “You’re welcome, young man. It would be a great courtesy to me and to this young soldier to listen to what he has to say, wouldn’t you agree?” Silence. All were attentive then. I went on. “Some of you may not know me. I worked in the chaplain’s office, and I served as altar boy, or altar soldier, at mass many times. I know many of you will recognize me, and will be able to appreciate how difficult this is for me. “I’m sure you all noticed the ribbons around the pews as you entered. That area right now is a crime scene!” That brought some quiet mumbling and turning of heads toward the scene. “Yes,” I said, “I believe there is some question about whether Father Roland fell, or was pushed, or jumped out of the choir loft. Of course, if he jumped, that’s between him and the Lord. I will leave that up to them.” Just then, people in the pews started whispering and pointing toward the sacristy. I was a bit perturbed, but then I saw Sister Vickie, Mother Superior, and a priest genuflecting in front of the altar, and walking my way. They dressed, as though they were ready for mass! I stepped down from from the pulpit, trying not to miss a step clumsily. Sister Vickie, clothed in her habit, came up to me and whispered, “We knew you might need a priest here, Ted, so we brought him. He was able to drive us. I assume you need us?” “Thank God you’re here! Thank you. Thank you, Reverend Mother, and thank you Father.” He said, “I’m Father Rafferty. So happy to serve in the name of the Lord.” He was about fifty, with grey hair, a freckled face and a crooked, pleasing smile.

Father was garbed in an alb, a long white vestment that fell to his shoe tops, similar to a woman’s dress, and a light tan amice, a white cloth, which is draped around his shoulders and neck. “I will start mass, now, if you don’t mind. Will you serve as my altar boy, along with my engers?” I was stunned, that these three would arrive at the very time I needed them. I smiled at Sister Vickie and Mother Superior, and made the sign of the cross. I looked at the priest as though he were the Pope. I genuflected before the priest, and said, “I would be most honored, Father.” He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Then let us begin.” We started at the altar steps. The nuns were on the rail step, kneeling, heads down, beads in their hands. After the initial prayers, Father Rafferty, climbed the steps of the pulpit. He looked at all parts of the church, paused to look at the “crime scene,” then stared up at the choir loft. His Irish face was flushed red like a shy rose. The audience was hushed, waiting. “Hello, I’m Father Rafferty, from the St. Isidore parish, in Mount Pleasant. Mother Superior,” he pointed to her, “ed me about the tragedy that occurred on the post. I’m here to say the mass, and provide communion, the Eucharist, after the transubstantiation of the wafers. He paused, took a breath, let out a huge sigh, and said, “I know there is a controversy over Father Roland Carpenter, so let me try to consider what we know. We know he’s dead, that’s a fact. We know he fell from the choir loft, also, so the rest is up to the law and the citizens in charge of determining the reasons for his flight to death. But that’s not up to us, is it?” He paused. “No, of course, none of this is up to us. But let’s bring it out in the open. Did he throw himself over the railing?” Pause. “Did Father Roland Carpenter commit suicide?” “You know, his last name was Carpenter. This is what Jesus was also. We aren’t sure what Jesus built, except for making people whole. Well, this was also Father Roland’s task. Did he succeed? The Lord will decide. “It’s not up to us to decide whether it was suicide or not. But if it was, we should not condemn.” He looked around, paused at the general. “No. We must pray with every muscle we have for poor Father Roland, pray that our just and forgiving

God will forgive him. “Christ once said, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.’ I realize this quote was about paying taxes, but it certainly seems to apply to us in this case. We should render to God the judgements that are God’s. That is our duty. Pray for the soul of this poor priest! Amen!” Following this, Father Rafferty stepped down, and we slowly continued. The church was quite quiet, just a cough or sniffle occasionally. At the communion, about half of the people received the wafer. I held the plate while father said, quietly, “Body of Christ,” and put one on the tongue of each parishioner. Then Sister Vickie and Mother Superior were at the end of the parishioners, tongues waiting, then receiving. Their heads then went down in deep prayer. Finally, Father said, “The Mass is ended. Go in loving peace.” As Sister Vickie and Mother Superior were genuflecting then leaving, I hustled to give my thanks. “Thank you, Mother Superior. You saved us.” She said, “You’re quite welcome, young man, and Sister Victoria had a great part in convincing me to get involved, so she should receive your thanks also. You two are pretty good friends, by now, aren’t you?” I felt my face flush. “Yes, ma’am, I believe we are. But it’s very respectful, Ma’am!” “I know, son, don’t worry. I knew it was dangerously tempting, but I’d have stopped it all, if I’d thought any different.” She smiled and touched my shoulder. “Thank you for all your help with transportation, young man.” I thought, “Whew!!”

89 THE AFTER MASS

After mass, I accompanied Father Rafferty back to the sacristy, helping him with his garments. I thanked Father profusely. “I was stumbling up there, wondering how I was going to conclude my, I won’t call it a sermon, just an explanation of what in heck I was doing up there. Then I’d planned to out Holy Communion. I assumed it was legal since Father Roland often blessed too many wafers each mass, but I wasn’t sure. Thank you, Father, for saving me!” Father smiled his gentle, crooked smile, and said, “You’re quite welcome, young man. It was a brave feat you were trying to complete. But, of course, you should never try it again. Do you agree?” “Yes, I certainly do, Father!” I said that, but didn’t see what was wrong with my attempt. Then, he stared intently at me, as if his eyes were inspecting my soul. “You know what happened, don’t you, son? Did he jump off the balcony? Well, did he?” I paused. “I did not see it with my eyes, Father. I just saw it in my mind. I heard him yell, ‘requiescat in pace’, though, so I can just conclude, Father, but I don’t think it’s up to me to conclude, do you?” The priest stepped back. “Of course, of course, son. You’re right. That’s between Father Roland and the Lord. We should not be making any conclusions, right? “Right, Father.” Outside of the church, I said goodbye to Mother Superior and Sister Vickie, and thanked them profusely. “You are lifesavers, Sisters! Whatever pipeline travels from the post to you in Mt. Pleasant, I’m sure thankful for it. It’s like Divine

providence, isn’t it? Sister Vickie rubbed her crooked nose and smiled so brightly, then nodded to Mother Superior, who put a shush finger over her mouth toward Sister Vickie and winked. That’s a woman’s secret, young man, and you’ll probably never delve into the puzzling answer. We have to go, now. Duty calls, Ted.” Sister Vickie said, “Don’t forget next Saturday, Ted. They need me for catechism, you know.” She smiled and waved. Lieutant Smithson then came up to me, his shoes shining, his pants creased neatly. “The general wants to see y’all, young man. He’s a-waitin’ in the Ford ova theya’.” I saluted, “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” “Ya did a fahn job, young man, under the circumstances, isn’t that raght, Sergeant Scrofula?” Sergeant answered, “Uh, that’s right, sir. You did okay, Private. That was a tough one. I didn’t know what in hell you were doin’ up there, any way! But I guess it turned out okay.” “Thank you, Sergeant.” I smiled to myself how he kept up his prejudice against me, no matter what the situation. I probably could have saved his life and he’d have found some negative way of thanking me. In the general’s car, a long, black Lincoln which shined so much in the sun, it almost blinded me. The door opened for me. Sergeant Arnie snapped, “In the back seat, Private!” I entered. It was dark in there in spite of the sun glowing brightly outside. When my eyes adjusted, I saw General Thompson staring at me. “You’ve got some nerve, young man. Did you really think you were going to take over the church service?” He stared at me. “You think you’re hung like a bull, don’t you?” “I, I, I don’t know, sir. I just did what I thought was my duty because I worked in the chaplain’s office.” He scared me, with his stare at my eyes, my face, as if he wanted to punch them. This was a general in the army, full of the greatest power, and I was a nothing. He had been in a real war, and I’d been nowhere. Right then

I felt like less than nothing. I thought how nice it would be if I could be as thin as paper and be flown out the window. I couldn’t look at his face directly. I stared once again at the long scar on his neck, then looked down. The general, smiled. He ran his hand through his wavy gray hair. “At ease, young man. I ired what you did. You took responsibility where no one else would, or could. You could do well in this army, Pfc.” He chuckled “That is, if you don’t get yourself in trouble by doing things on your own without checking with a superior officer. What do you think, Sergeant?” Sarge said, “I think you’re right on, Sir! Ah’m goin’ out for a smoke, okay, sir?” The general retorted, “Sure, Sergeant, go ahead and kill your lungs a little bit more with each puff, what the hell!” “I know, I know, sir.” After he left, the general opened a little arm rest and leaned on it. “Look, son, I’m getting tired of this, all of this pussy-footing around with civilians that are trying to stir up trouble. But I can’t overlook them, because they can cause trouble for us, for me, and we can’t just kill our citizens, do you see?” “I certainly do, sir! I’m almost sorry I spotted them at Mile 21. I feel like I started something.” His mouth tightened, as it does so often, I learned. “No, no, you didn’t start anything, damn it! You just found them at the beginning of a movement! Don’t you see that? No, of course, why would I expect you to see the big picture. How old are you, kid?” “I’m 19, sir!” He put his hand on my shoulder, and squeezed. “That’s what I thought. Well, you’ve been in this whole debacle from the first pitch, and it looks like a bit more than a curve ball was thrown, maybe s screwball, but I believe we’ve got a mitt on it. How’s that for a baseball metaphor, son?” I grinned, “I think it’s a great one, sir! You had me swinging and missing for a

while.” “Good! I guess we taught each other! But, now, down to business! As you’re quite aware, we took Mr. Harley, what’s his name?” “I believe it’s Sterling, sir.” “Yes, that’s it ‘Sterling.’ What did that mean originally, something like first rate, or worthy, or something like that! Well, I believe that’s how he should be treated. And that’s what I did. I let him explain about his, and other deaths or their dear ones, and I sympathized with him. I understood. The other one, the young nutcase, he was just lost, looking for trouble. Just a er, for action. But not much upstairs, you know?” He pointed to his head and smirked. “I do know, sir. I’ve had a few occasions to learn that the hard way.” I grinned. “Good, so here’s what’s happening, son. I explained to Mr. Harley Sterling that all would be pardoned, as long as his negative activities are ceased. That means for him and all of his followers.” “That’s great, sir! And the rest of the country?” “The same. And we made arrangements to have regular meetings with the citizens, so that full understanding and cooperation takes place on a regular basis. How’s that for fast balls down the middle?” “I think that’s swell, General Thompson! You’re pitching a no-hitter!” The general shook my hand. I felt such a relief! That part of what was partially my responsibility was over. The weight made me feel so light I could fly without an airplane. The general said farewell to me, and I exited the Lincoln, and saluted. I saw him give a quick return as the window went back up. When I turned I saw Jules and Brian, coming toward me. I appreciated having friends there to me. Just then I thought about Francis. How was he doing? I had to find out soon!

90 FRANCIS IN RECOVERY

We returned to the barrack, to get a chicken dinner in the mess hall, a Sunday special. After that, Jules and I planned to visit the hospital to check on Francis. I felt good about Jules going with me, because he’s quite sensitive, and often know’s the right things to say at the right time. Willy shuffled to our table with food piled over the top of his plate, in danger of falling off the tray. He decided to eat at our mess hall for a change. “Hey, guys, long time no see. Hey, Ted, sorry about what happened at the church. Word is the priest killed himself, took a flyer from the balcony. That true?” “Yeah,” I mumbled in reply. “Take a seat, Willy. Jules and I will be going to the hospital after this.” “Not for me. I have to clean up my mess at the barrack, or I’ll be in deep crap.” Brian was attacking a leg of chicken, chewing on the brown, crispy skin, which was dripping a bit. The chicken was excellent, brown and tasty, with just enough of a salty taste. On the plate, posing like a magazine picture, were corn on the cob, string beans, buttered mashed potatoes, and rye bread, all followed by hot, bitter coffee. Wow! Best I’d ever had. Sorry, Mom. Maybe it was just because I was so hungry. Jules wiped his mouth. He had been taking mouse-sized bites. “The way you’re devouring that food, it sure looks succulent, Brian!” Brian returned, “Succulent, does that mean I can suck the food down?” Jules couldn’t help laughing, in a quiet, polite way. “In your case, Brian, yes, but normally it means the food is moist, luscious!” Brian chomped the meat of the leg. “Then succulent you are, little chicken,” he

held out the wing, “or was!” Then he sucked on the bone. After we ate, Jules and I said ‘so long’ to the others, resisting the temptation to go ask for seconds from Cookie. I felt pretty full as it was. I waved to him as we neared the door. He waved back with a half-salute and a smile. At the hospital, we walked through the heat, then took the elevator up to Francis’ floor, trying to cool off. When the nurse saw us, she immediately hurried her way to us, her shoes as silent as ever. Her hair was tucked under the little white hat. Her stocking was white under the white uniform. She was very shapely. Her face was quite serious. She spoke in a loud whisper. “The MP told us essentially what happened. That’s why he’s stationed there.” She nodded toward him. The nurse continued, “Francis is in a very delicate frame of mind. I’m glad you’re here, but, please be very careful. Tip him the wrong way to the right or left, and he could fall into an emotional state with no return. The psychiatrist said that your visit would be very important. Is all of this clear, young men? A lot depends on what is said in the next few minutes.” I answered. “I understand, Ma’am. But I guess he needs the truth, so we’ll try to tell him what happened, but straight and gentle-like.” She said nothing for a second, but held my arm. “The truth, yes, but not necessarily the whole truth. Maybe it’s not what you say, but how you slant it, do you know what I mean?” I was a bit confused. “I’m not sure, Ma’am.” Jules came to my rescue. “Yes, I think I see what you mean. What Francis doesn’t need is the whole truth told factually, second by second, but maybe what happened with certain interpretations of the truth.” She said, “Now you have it! That’s just what the doctor implied. Slant the truth gently and in young Francis’ favor!” “I don’t see,” but then it hit me like a slap on the back of my head, just like the ones my dad used to give me. “Oh,” I said. “I’ve got it! I know just what to say now!” I announced. “Okay,” she said, and winked at the two of us. “Tell it with a slant!”

Before we entered Francis’ room, I noticed a man in uniform, a few steps from the doorway, acting casually, looking off into the corridor, but not moving very far from the entrance. I nodded to him, and he did the same to us. Francis was in his gown, in his bed, sitting with a tray at his lap, but with most of the food still sitting untouched in his tray. A scarcely nibbled chicken wing sat on top of some corn. Francis, stared ahead of him, as though he was lost in a jungle, looking for a path of escape. Jules and I neared him cautiously. “Hello, Francis,” I said, gently, “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” “I know you are!” he responded. “Just the way you’ve been here for me all along, which is never!” He was right. I wasn’t much help when he really needed me. I had to it that. But what else could I have done? Father Roland was my superior. I guess I could have reported him on suspicions, but I never had any real evidence. But Francis would not have believed that, I realized. Jules said, “I don’t know anything, Francis, except that you’re in real pain, inside your head, but, Ted here never had any ill thoughts about you. So why don’t you give him a chance to explain what happened? You might find it interesting, even helpful.” Francis looked up at Jules, then me. “Okay! What do you have to say? Tell me what happened last night! I’d like to hear something about that man!” This was my chance. I started in the confession, ing the whole situation. I sat at the chair in front of Francis. “Well, after you reported Father Roland for improper activities, the guards were posted at the church entrance, waiting for confessions to be over. I decided to go into the confessional to warn Father, to let him be prepared.” “Ha!” came from Francis. “You were on his side!” “No, Francis, try to hear it out, will you? And stop jumping down my throat every time I try to say something! Do you want to hear this, or not!” Francis turned toward the window. I watched him stare out, his hawk-like nose

prominent. He turned back to me, then said, almost tearfully, “Sorry, I guess I just feel guilty that he’s dead. I didn’t want to have him killed. I just wanted to punish him for what he did to me, dammit!” Tears trickled down his cheeks, tears that symbolized more than just Father Roland, I was sure. They could easily have represented years of his suffering, from his “friends,” and, yes, even his mother. “Well, here’s what happened,” I started. I took a deep breath. “In the confessional, I told Father Roland about the MPs standing guard at the door. At first he seemed surprised, but then I heard him give a deep sigh. He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ‘I want you to tell Francis something for me. Tell him how sorry I am that I hurt him. I know I was like a monster, at times, cruel, vengeful, and caught up in my own punishing kind of love, to punish those who hurt me so mercilessly as I grew up.” “Ha! I knew that, so he had to punish me for his past?” Francis sighed, seeming to let a weight of guilt take him down. I paused. “I’m sure you knew that, Francis. And I’ll bet you were doing some of that yourself, whether you’ll it it or not. But I’m not here to expose guilt either way, Francis.” I had to say something quickly, or I’d lose him. Jules and I exchanged glances. I decided right then was the time for the lie. “But there’s one thing you might like to hear before my little confession was over, Francis. Father said, ‘Tell Francis I love him, and I’ll take that love with me to my grave.” Francis’ eyes opened wide. He stared at me, “What? He loved me?” “Yes, he said, he was so sorry for the pain he gave you, but he hoped you would the fine times, the quiet talks, the little gifts he gave you.” I was taking a chance, hoping there were some gifts. Francis put his head down. “The gifts. God, God, God!” I thought that was enough, so I added, “The last thing heard him say from the choir loft was, “‘Amo in aeturnum!’ and ‘requescat in pace!’” I was pleased I ed that from my altar boy days. Was it too much?

Francis said nothing for a moment. He fingered his plate, picking at it, not eating. “He loved me? That’s a first, I guess. So what happens now?” “I suppose there will be a brief investigation. There might be a funeral, but it’s doubtful. They might just send him home to California.” I added, “I’m pretty sure there’ll be a funeral mass at church in a few days.” Francis sighed. “Will you keep me informed?” “Yes, of course.” I put my hand on his shoulder. Then Jules and I left slowly, silently.

91 A FATEFUL PHONE CALL

Monday morning I woke up to reveille with eyes that seemed stuck closed, and did not wish to be opened. But I struggled to the latrine and washed them clean. I felt so exhausted, after all that had happened, the problems with the rebellion of the citizens, then the priest and his wild leap into oblivion, and trying to help Francis from escaping his cruel world to retreat into some asylum, so I felt relieved to have most it behind me. Then, after I showered and shaved and dressed for breakfast chow, Captain Parnell’s orderly appeared before me. “Pfc Theodore Byrum? Important phone call in the CO’s office! He sent me to tell you it’s important!” Uh, oh, I thought. That can only mean one thing. It’s got to be Mom! I ran out the door, my mind scrambled, and I ran right into the Captain’s office. Then realizing what I did. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!” I saluted with a quick snap to my forehead of my right hand. “I’m just scared it’s my mom.” Captain Parnell popped a half salute and snatched the phone up from his desk. “I understand, soldier.” Family comes first.” He held the phone out to me with a crooked smile. His cheeks were a smudged red. Drinking a bit too much, ed my mind like a fly buzzing by, but disappeared. The phone call was too important to me at the time. “Hello?” I hollered into the speaker. “Hello, Ted. You don’t have to yell! I can hear you quite clearly, dammit!” “Oh, sorry, Dad. I was just so worried. What is it? Is it Mom? Is she okay?” The line was silent. It felt like a dead connection, a snake with its head cut off. I stared at Captain Parnell, who looked up from his paperwork. Then I heard a hushed sound, “Teddy?” Then louder, “Teddy?” It was Mom! But

it sounded so weak. “Mom, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you? Are you in the hospital? At home?” A pause. Heavy breathing. “Teddy! Come home.. Can you come home to me?” Her voice sounded weak, pleading. “I need to see you before….” That settled it for me. “Okay, Mom, I’m comin’, soon as I can. Let me talk to Dad, okay? Silence. Then Dad’s voice. “Better come home, son.” He sounded choked up. “Dad? What is it?” “Better come home, and soon, fergod sake!” His voice sounded on the edge. Then he must have hung up. I’d never seen my father cry, or even come close to showing deep emotions. That settled it. It hit me like a flash of lightning. “No, no! Don’t you die on me!” I bawled. I suddenly realized I’d blurted this aloud in front of the Captain. Tears drizzled down my cheeks. “Is it your mother, Private?” “Yes, sir!” I cried. I fought for breath. I fought the lump in my esophagus. “It sounds bad, sir.” Captain Parnell patted me on the back and said, “Better pack, son. I’ll try to get you home as soon as possible. I lost my mother a few years ago. I reacted the same. Where’s home?” I wiped my face, feeling not quite so ashamed. “West Springfield, Massachusetts, sir.” “Okay, son. Sit outside in the reception room there. Let me see what I can find out about transportation. Sergeant! Find out about transport to Fort Devens, Massachusetts today!” I sat in the chair, thankful that I’d cleaned up, and was dressed decently for

travel. I’d have to pack stuff in my duffle bag. While thinking of what items to pack, fatigues, class A’s on a hanger, socks, shorts, shaving kit, boots. It felt good, safe to itemize things, just so I could avoid thinking about Mom and what was wrong with her. But that thought was there, above it all, curled up like a python, dangerous, deadly, eager to swallow my mom, who meant so much to me. Strange, I thought, that I didn’t realize how important she was to me, and how much I would miss her if she were taken away. Captain Parnell came out of his office, and, with a big grin, said, “You’re all set, young man. Apparently, you have a little pull with the general, so a plane will be leaving for Fort Devens in 3 hours. Can you make it to the airport by then?” I stood up and saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ve already packed my duffle in my mind. It will take me just a half hour!” I felt relieved to avoid the topic of Mom, so I didn’t have to burst out in girly tears again. But it was never far from my emotions. It hovered just around the corner, I knew. He returned my salute. “Good, I can arrange transport to the C46. The the plane ride might not be comfortable, but it will get you there. I assume you can arrange transportation to Springfield from the Boston area?” “Yes, sir. I’ll do it. My brother, or someone, or a bus will be there to drive me.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Death is one of those things we all must face, in our own way, son. If you hadn’t reacted with tears, I’d have worried about you.” The captain paused, and it seemed he had a lump in his throat. His eyes seemed watery. “It is so natural and necessary to let the thunder and lightning strike us so we feel it, right here!” He patted his heart. “So, when you’re sitting on the plane, let the tears pour. It’s no reflection on whether or not you’re a man.” He turned away, and I knew he was struggling with control, as I was. On the way back to Able Company, I ed my last goodbye with Mom quite vividly. She held her tummy while she cringed from the pain. I guess it didn’t get better. Then she held my face, and warned me about addictions. Apparently she wanted me to choose a good one. And, “Don’t soil you soul!” she warned, reminding me of the trains and the soot that hit us so often. The scene replayed in my mind often. But I hated to think about the pain she’d been suffering. I thought about Pauley’s letter after her visit in the hospital. I was afraid I was

going to be too late to see Mom when she was alive, I had Pauley’s letter and her visit to . It’s almost as if I was there with them. I told Jules and Brian I had to leave right away. The others in the barrack mumbled there solicitations while I packed my duffle. Jules took my class A uniform and put it neatly on a hanger. All else were neatly stuffed in my duffle bag, my shaving kit, my boots, socks, shorts, shirts, belt with buckle, all of it, which ended up being quite heavy. But I tossed it over my shoulder and hurried out to the captain’s jeep that was waiting for me. “Good fortune, Teddy! Have a nice flight, and I’ll pray for your mother. And you, of course,” Jules uttered softly. “Yeah! And make sure you come back, Ted. We’ll miss you,” added Brian, sort of shyly. The jeep ride to the airport was quiet, Sarge said, “Sorry, kid. It’s tougher losing a mother than a dad. Always is.” He stared straight ahead, mouth shut, tense. That was what happened to him, I guessed. “Thanks, Sarge.” At the airport, a C 46 waited, engine running. The plane was tilted upward in the front, with the tail much lower, so it looked like a giant frog ready to hop into the air. However, the “mouth” of it looked like a shark’s. I felt a bit guilty, but also somewhat special that the general ordered this plane to take me to Fort Devens. Waiting for me was a lieutenant named Jameson, according to the identification patch on his chest. He took my duffle bag awkwardly and dragged it up the steps. I followed. “So you’re the special private we’ve got ta take ta Fort Devens. Well, hell, I don’t know if you’re the general’s nephew or not, but I don’t need ta know. It was gonna be a borin’ day, so this sorta perks it up, know what ah mean?” He slammed the door shut and locked it. I noticed he had his right shoulder higher than the left. The inside of the airplane was a long, tubular structure that gradually narrowed toward the rear. I ed lining up and shuffling toward the door to jump out of the plane! “Yes, Lieutenant, I understand. Sorry if I caused a problem, but my mom is sick, and I don’t know if she’s dying or not.”

“I understand, kid. No problem for me. Let’s sit.” He sat in one of the canvas seats and I chose another, not too far from him. Lieutenant Jameson waved to the pilots in front and they revved the engines. We jerked and started down the runway. I held onto a bar on the wall above my head. Above us, I noticed the “static line,” from the parachute which we hooked up to. This way the line would pull open the chute when we jumped out of the plane. Lieutenant Jameson, said, in a slight yell over the engine noise, “I see you’re staring at the static line. I had to jump out of one of these old tanks also, back when.” He hitched his head to the side, as if he had some kind of tic. He went on. “This tank is a C-46 Commando, by Curtis Wright, but it wasn’t really meant for paratrooping. This is just a long range transport aircraft.. Came in handy in WWII. Was even used for nurses and doctors in Europe in the big one.” “Were you in the big one, sir?” “Yep! But I don’t jump any more. I guess you noticed I’m a bit deformed, didn’t you? And I make a strange twitch with my head, too?” “Yes sir, I did. What happened? I mean, sorry, sir.” “It’s okay, kid. I don’t mind. I guess I made one jump too many.” He stared at the door, as if transfixed. “But I’d do it again, dammit.” I waited. “We were to jump onto that crazy island, Sicily, ya see. Ole Jumpin’ Jim Gamin, ya know, the General, found some plans of the Krauts an’ we woulda’ bin ahead of the Germans, but what a helluva gale-forced storm blew us everywhere and nowhere! Damn! But the plane kept headin’ its bumpy way to Sicily, an’ damn if we didn’t go out that door! Crazy! The storm blew us every which way! Ya see, Sicily is mountainous, with bunches of buildings scrunched together next to the sea. Well, I ended up with a gust takin’ me toward them high rocks, so I pulled my cords tryin’ ta steer toward civilization, where we were sposed’ ta go.” Sarge was into it by then. It was something he’d told before, I was sure, because it came out so automatically. “So, I jes’ closed my eyes an’ pulled ’til I thought I’d tear the risers from the canopy, but it held, an’ I avoided the rocks. But under me were jes’ a forest of trees. I thought that was good, they weren’t as hard a a mountain, so inta the

trees I went.” He stared at the floor, as if he could still see the trees. “They looked innocent enough to me. No way they could have any dangerous plans against me, was there? No, course not. Wrong! Although it looked mostly like leaves, there were some wicked branches waiting for me with evil intentions.” His head made another tic. “No sir, I hit a small branch and went through that, but the next one was thick and it hit my back hard. But that wasn’t enough. I went to another limb, and broke it and it hit me in the neck, I think. All I after that was free falling, my chute must have slowed my speed. All I of my landing is sloshing in a shallow stream, alive, of course, but just barely, I guess. Some of the others pulled me out.” His neck made another tic. “That’s all I .” I could think of nothing else to say, “God must have been on your side, sir. But I’m so sorry for what you it did to you!” “Thanks, kid. I’ll never jump again, but the army is keeping me around. I was discharged once, and spent two months back home in Arkansas, but I got no family there any more, an’ I don’t know no one. So after wanderin’ around, with no where to go, nothin’ to do. I came back an’ reenlisted. They over-looked any physical problems I have. because they knew me. This is where I belong, kid.” Before I was aware, I awoke, and we were landing with a few rude bumps. “Here we are, kid, Fort Devens, Massachusetts. You’re the cargo we have to let off. I know where I can get a few beers before I head back.”

92 LOSING MOM?

I stepped down from the C 46 and read the sign on its belly, “Curtis Wright,” which I’d heard of before. They made many airplanes, especially for the war effort. Captain Parnell climbed down awkwardly, and said, “Will you be okay, soldier?” “Yes sir, thank you.” “Okay, then, go to that red brick building just right of the hangar, and you can whoever you need to get to West Springfield.” he tossed a quick salute at me, and headed in the other direction. I returned it, and slung my duffle bag strap over my shoulder, and carried the class A uniform in my other hand. The sky was dark, with low clouds that seemed to be in a race to reach some goal on the way to Boston, which I knew was southeast of Fort Devens. Storm coming, I thought, but it’s a good thing the captain isn’t flying in it. Bad memories, I’ll bet. I looked around. The faded yellow barracks with black roofs sat straight down several streets, with, of course, no paving. None of the military posts had paved streets with few cement sidewalks, just flat, hard ground which can blow up mighty dust storms at times. Looked like that was going to happen soon. In the building, I saw a corporal behind a desk, and asked him the best way I could get transportation. His tag said “Gambol.” The corporal looked very business-like, with a serious expression. “Are you Pfc, Theodore Byrum? Ah, yes, I see that you are by your name tag. We have a jeep waiting for you, which will take you into the wonderful municipality of Ayer. Will that suit you?” I was quite surprised. “Why, yes, that would be great, sir, uh, I mean, corporal.

So nice of you.” “It is my pleasure, soldier. I’d have done it gladly even without a general’s order. Sickness in the family?” “Yes. My mom.” I felt that lump in my throat again. I was okay until the subject came up again. “Sorry. Just go out that door, and a jeep will be around to pick you up. You need help?” I declined and thanked him. Outside the building I set my bundle down and waited, but not for long, because right around the corner, with a tail of dust wagging behind his jeep was Corporal Gambol. He slid to a stop, and with a big grin, said, “Hop in, Private!” He straightened the cap on his head and waved to the back seat. I put my stuff in the back seat, and sat in front, next to him. He didn’t object. Before I knew it, we were at the post gate, and through. They knew the corporal, so they waved him by. As we rode toward the city of Ayers, the wind picked up. The clouds were rolling in thunder and the clouds danced to their rhythm. We both snatched our hats off to save them from escaping and taking flight. More thunder rumbled somewhere north of us, in New Hampshire, probably. “Looks like it might be heading our way!” Corporal Gambol hollered over the wind. We were both scrunched down behind the windshield for protection. “April showers are going to turn into an April thunderstorm, looks like!” By the time we reached the bus station in Ayer, we were pretty wet. Corporal Gambol slowed down when we reached the outskirts of the city. “Must respect their speed limits, or I’d get in big trouble with their police, and my commanding officer. I found that out the hard way.” So we had to hunker down and try to make it without drowning. We stopped under a tree once, which helped a bit. “When you get home, If you need to stifle

the tears. pinch yourself. It works! I had to do it time and again in the funeral home.” “Too bad you don’t have a convertible top for this buggy,” I said, as I grabbed my wet duffle bag. Good thing it was waterproof. My uniform was pretty soaked also. Its tan color turned pretty dark, as if it had a sun tan, but in this case a rain tan, I guess. “Can’t have everything. Good luck with your family! Don’t forget. Pinch yourself!” He drove off, as I scampered in the rain toward the station. My duffle bag seemed a bit heavier. I bought a ticket for Springfield, and had to wait an hour for the bus, so I was alone with no one but myself, and I was not a good person to be with. I tried to picture Mom, but all I could see was her holding her stomach in pain when I was leaving for Fort Bragg. My throat lumped up at that vision. Then I thought about my Pauley, who had visited her in the hospital, so I decided to try to reach her. Damn, I was so busy I didn’t think to let her know! Don’t beat yourself up, I told myself. Your mother is dying, so it’s understandable. After that brief conversation with myself, I fixed my thoughts on Mom, and how wise she was. My mother, understanding, but firm when it came to religion. I smiled and thanked her for her insistence. She was so proud when I became an altar boy. The phone rang in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, a tinny sound, ring, ring, ring, until at last someone said, “Hello, who is calling?” It was Laura, Pauley and Georgy’s cousin, who was living with Pauley while Georgy was in Japan! I could picture her trying to set the phone just right next to her ear piece. “Hello, Miss Laura? This is Ted, ? Can you hear me okay? It’s Ted, Pauley’s boy friend!” “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you very well. Pauley’s not here now. Please call back later! Good bye!” The phone clicked, and silence took over, as if the phone died. Well, that was that! Maybe it was just as well. I might have had a hard time

talking about Mom, without losing control. Glad I didn’t have to try to pinch myself, to prevent the tears from exposing the childishness in me. On the bus, heading for Springfield, I was glad I decided not to get a ride from my brother or sister. I wanted to be alone. I stared out the window, which had water wriggling down the pane, leaving the trees, and towns we ed looking like water color paintings, still wet, shiny, deciding how to improve on reality. As we turned onto 90, the expressway, I saw a sign for Worcester, which was just a few miles across the border into Woonsocket, Rhode Island. I wished I could just head that way to pick up Pauley and escape to some place where there was no pain. Then that made me think of Mom, and, since I was alone, I let the tears come down, to the rain outside. I decided then to pinch myself, but it didn’t work. The faucet kept running. Unexpectedly, the bus slowed and pulled into the station. It took me a few minutes to shake myself awake, before I picked up my duffle bag and hanger, which I’d stowed in the seat next to me. As I exited the bus, I felt a tug on my duffle, so I pulled at it. “I’ve got it, soldier! Let it go!” I knew that voice. “What in hell! There he was, my Chicago brother!” “Jeffrey, how did you know I’d be here? Hey, it’s good to see you!” I held out my hand. Then I realized we’d never shook hands in our lifetimes. He hesitated, put the bag down, and grabbed my hand. “We called the base, and the company commander told us you’d get a flight to Fort Devens, so sweet sister Gloria called there and she found out you took the bus, so here I am, ready to pick up my hero brother to drive home.” Jeff looked the same to me, except he looked different, somehow. He was neat. His blue cotton shirt had no wrinkles, his grey pants had neat seams, and his shoes were shined. He almost seemed military! “Wow! Are you still my brother? You sure clean up well! You look great.” The mole left of his right nose, in the crease was still quite prominent.

Jeff blushed. “Come on, cut the crap. Let’s get you home. You know, Dad’s not doin’ well right now. I still don’t like the guy, but I feel sorry for him. He’s in a lot of pain. He’s still takin’ a mouthful of aspirins at a time! It’s gotta be eatin’ away at his stomach. To tell the truth, I came here because I thought Mom would be givin’ up the ghost, but now, I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be a funeral for Dad instead of Mom.” “But how’s Mom? Is she home? Or in the hospital?” Jeff turned onto the Memorial Bridge. “I’m not sure. Dale, our neighbor, said he’d take her if she needed it. You know Dad’s never driven a car, so he’s no help.” I stared over the cement side of the bridge, and watched the Connecticut River flow lazily on its way toward the Atlantic. Two men on a small boat were coasting down, their fishing lines extended on each side. I lost them as they glided under the bridge. I wished I could be with them, with nothing to worry about but the night crawler on the hook enticing a nice trout to enjoy a meal, so that I could have the excitement of easing a nice meal into the boat. “Yeah, I know,” I said, “Dad’s never driven, but in a way, that was a simple life. Take the bus and walk. It can keep him in shape, in a way. But you know, sometimes I wondered how he got home when he was so drunk. That must have been a sight to see, huh?” “I’ve seen him! A couple times I could have picked him up, stumblin’ down the street, but I didn’t. I just let him stew in his own alcoholic juices!” “You never did like him, did you? Your own father? What in hell did he do to you?” Jeff pulled over on Main Street, so he could say what he had to say before we got home. “See the bar right over there? The one I managed for 10 years? That and the hotel above it?” “I know, Jeff! I know. What’d he do?” “He came in there one night, and sat at the bar, and he was in his cups, you know what I mean? And he had the nerve to ask for his son, Jeff, who runs this establishment, and he needed a bottle to take home. And he laughed and

elbowed the customer on a stool beside him, and said he needed to refill his secret stash from the wife. Well I came out from the back, and went around the bar, and grabbed him by the elbow, and walked him forcefully out onto Main Street, and pushed him, and he fell, and I didn’t help him up. I called him a bum and never to come back again. He looked up at me with his bloodshot eyes pitiful. I’ll never forget that lost look, that shocked, childish look. The worthless bum!” I looked at my brother, and his balding head and the bitter look, daring me to contradict him. He seemed ready to fight me also. I guess I didn’t really know this man, my bitter brother. “You know, he might not what you did and said, but the bitterness he’ll always.” “Good! He was a failure as a father anyway! Just a no good old man trapped inside a bottle. I know what that’s about. I started to take a little sip of this, and glass of that, and it felt good, but I woke up one day when I saw Dad, and said whoa! So I quit. Not a drop since then. I just watch my customers drowning in that poison and smile at them, poor assholes.” “I think you can be proud of yourself for doing that, Jeff. Good for you. And I’m glad you got a degree and you’re teaching.” I decided to let the subject of Dad go. He was just too bitter about it all, ready to swing at someone. “Yeah, I’m the best teacher in that school. I have the 7th graders memorizing things that will help them the rest of their lives. And I take them on skiing trips, and visits to the museums. I even took them on a trip to Carl Sandburg’s home. They liked that. They never had anyone teaching like me!” I could see he was full of himself, but I just congratulated him. “Let’s get home, now, shall we?” We turned onto Belle Avenue, the French church on the corner, the elementary school across the street from it, where I’d had my first experience with teachers. I smiled to myself, ing how I tried to kick the kindergarten teacher before I started school. Jeff turned onto our driveway, next to our old 3 story house, where I’d spent so many of my years growing up. It seemed so old to me, with the tattered shingles

on the side, many of them torn, or missing. The chicken coop in the back yard looked like it was about to crumble. When we walked up onto the back porch and opened the door, I heard a scream and a loud bang! We ran inside and another scream led us to the stairs. I took them 2 or 3 at a time and ran for Mom and Dad’s room, where Mom was leaning over Dad’s body on the bed. She held his head, which was still gushing blood onto her shoulder! She cursed in French at him. “Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!” Then in English she screamed, “Damn, damn, damn, why, why, why?” She hugged his body. “Why did you have to do this? Now you’ll go to hell. Don’t you know that? Everlasting Hell! Well maybe you deserve it, after all you put me through for so many years! Yes, you deserve it! But I did love you. Yes, in spite of it all, the drinking, the other women, I loved you to the end!” She sobbed, and tried to wipe the blood from his head, her arms, her face, with the hanky she always had in her apron. She kept rubbing his forehead and staring at him. Jeff and I stood at the door. Then Jeff declared, “Let the bastard go! He was just an old drunk, anyway!” A cruel, twisted grin glued to his face. Mom stood up, turned slowly, normally such a short, tiny woman, but then she seemed to loom higher than the trees outside. She walked up to Jeff, pulled him down by the shirt, and slapped him across the face, hard, the sound seeming to reverberate through every room of our house. Jeff just let her continue. “You, you! What have you got to be so proud of, Mister Big? All you’ve ever done is put your father down. When did you help around the house, the garden, the chicken coop, the bills? And you were no saint around the girls either, I know!” She slapped him again. This time Jeff pulled away. “Ma, I’m sorry!” She glared at him. “You are not, you selfish pig! How did you ever grow up in this house? Look at Teddy here. He’s the next youngest, yet he turned to be an ideal son, a moral, hard working young soldier now. Why they even rejected you in the army! You probably cheated your way out of that, too!” “Ma, I didn’t mean what I said!”

“Yes you did! Don’t you lie to me! I want you out of this house, now! And don’t come back until the funeral! Do you hear? And no more lies. Just try to be civil for a change.” She sobbed and went down to her knees, her grey hair draped over her face like a shroud. “You can come back then,” she sobbed, “because you are my son, and I must let you back, but be on some good behavior, and watch your mouth!” She sobbed and gasped for breath. I heard Jeff’s footsteps going down the stairs, hitting all the creaky ones that I knew so well when going to my bedroom. I helped Mom up. “Go back to Dad now, Mom. I’ll go to the bathroom for a face cloth and towels to help you clean it all up.” She sobbed. “You’re such a good boy, Ted. No, I mean good man, now.” She looked up at me. “Go! Call someone! I need help with him.” She sobbed, again and again as she hobbled back to Dad, holding her stomach. I had forgotten! I came home because of Mom’s belly, which I thought was going to kill her, not Dad!

93 A PAINFUL FUNERAL

Arrangements were made for a funeral at St. Anne’s church on Memorial Avenue, and the burial at St. Thomas Cemetery, a bit of a drive, but it was what Mom wanted, so our good sister, Gloria, arranged it. Franklin picked Pauley up at the bus station, wearing a pink ribbon, so she would see him right away. She’d never met Frank. When the car drove up in our driveway, and she opened the door, my heart seemed to jump toward the top of my dizzying brain, she looked so beautiful. Her brunette hair was brushed back and wound behind her head, looking stunning. I loved her brown eyes that gleamed with such innocence. She wore a trim dress, blue on top and white down past her knees, and a dark jacket. Her body was so thin and trim. I didn’t her ever looking like such a movie-star. Frank said, “Don’t just gawk, Teddie, say hello, or give her a hug, or something!” I took her hand. “You look marvelous, Pauley. Wow! Thanks for coming. Sorry it had to be, you know, under these circumstances, but….” I felt that traitor lump ready to attack the ramparts of my throat again, so I stopped. Pauley just hugged me. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world, so just stop talking right now. Can we go inside the house now? I think neighbors are staring.” For being so young, she seemed to know just what to say or do. We went in. On Sunday Curran-Jones drove the casket from the funeral home to the church, and brought the casket down the aisle at St. Anne’s church, the service began. It was decided there would be no wake the night before. Few people knew Dad. Most of his friends were in Springfield, and he’d made little with neighbors in our neighborhood. Especially after his accident, with all the pain in his neck, and then his attempted suicide a short few months back, Mom felt it was too embarrassing to expose her husband, who might ‘going to hell,’ to let

others gawk at this woeful man. But Mom didn’t think he was ‘woeful.’ No, he was a fergodsake Man in her eyes, and she had spent the past few nights, citing examples of his courage and daring in providing a living through the Depression and War after that, how he dug ditches, and boxed, wrestled and speed-swam, just to scrape enough money to feed this growing family. So there would be no wake. But a decision had to be made to have someone give some kind of eulogy for this man that she loved. I hoped she wouldn’t pick me, but then I considered Franklin and Gloria, who had never spoken in front of people, and Jeff, who hated Dad, so although at first the arrow was pointing at others, I suddenly knew, it had to find its target in me. So I said, “I’ll do it, Mom, I’ve done this before on the base.” Mom, looking weak but lovely in her dark dress and rose-flowered hat, said, “I can’t ask you, Teddy, but I know you’d do the best job. Will you do that for me, for him, for the family?” “Of course, Mom, I’ll do it.” Then Anthony, who was sitting in a pew in the front row, piped in, “What’re you gonna do, Teddy? Huh? Tell me.” I looked at Anthony, sitting there, his blind eyes facing up, ears perked. He wore a brown suit jacket I recognized as one of my old ones. It must have been 5 sizes too small for him, but he was squeezed into it. Underneath he had a large white shirt too large even for him. But he had a nice tie hanging neatly from his thick neck. I answered, “I’m going to talk about Dad, Anthony. You loved Dad, didn’t you?” He paused, and gave a great wide grin, the spaces in his teeth leaving caverns behind them. “Yes, I loved him, Teddy. He was alway nice to me. Lotsa times he’d cry over me.” Then he whispered, “He used to give me shots of whiskey to drink with him, but nobody was supposed to know” He put his forefinger over his lips. “Sh!” We all laughed or at least snickered at that. That seemed to break some to the solemnity of our little meeting. “I guess the world won’t worry about the spilled beans now!” I whispered aloud to him. Shortly after a few Latin prayers, Father Goggin said, “Pfc Theodore Byrum will

say a few words on the death of this poor man, his father, Mr. Bert Byrum, and later I will perform the funeral prayers for him. Please be seated!” They sat. This was my moment, and fear rose in my body. My hands were trembling. I looked down. I had on my class A uniform, that Pauley ironed for me. The tie hung neatly from my neck and was tucked into the chest, buttoned down. I considered all I’d been through in the last year, the dramatic change from a simple civilian life to a military one, adjusting to a new life, jumping out of airplanes. falling in love, struggling for the general and Fort Bragg. Then my father, and his pain, and his firing a bullet at his head, not once, but twice. How could any man do that? I don’t think I ever could! As I stood up and walked to the podium, I saw my mother, staring at me. She looked nice, wearing rouge and lipstick, which she seldom did. I was sure Pauley helped her with that also. But Mom’s eyes! They stared at me with such faith, such trust. God I loved her! How is it possible that anyone could not love her as I did? When I reached the top of the pulpit, I put my hands on each side and gripped tightly, then slowly looked out at all the people in the pews. It was so crowded! So many neighbors! I also noticed the people who were my school mates in high school. A few gave a tiny, almost unnoticeable, hand wave. There were many grey heads of men and women wearing either kerchiefs, or formal feathery hats. “Most of you know me, I think! I’m just a kid who grew up in West Springfield, just like most of you. My mother asked me to say a few words about my father, the man down there in the casket. I know most of you didn’t really know this man. Few people did, I’m afraid. But, now that I think of it, who really knows anyone? So much of us is inside of us that others will never know. As a matter of fact, I don’t really know myself. “But I think I knew this man!” I paused. Thoughts were flooding my mind, searching for a faucet so they could flow out in phrases, drops of ideas. The people in the pews were quiet, still, expectant. I continued. “Pardon me if I go on too long, but words are coming to me as if I

were in a shower, so I’m just letting them flow, because they’re directed toward my father and mother. And while I’m getting showered, and I’m showering you, I’m trying to wring some truth out of this mysterious man, my father. “I knew he grew up poor, as many of us did. But he was especially poor, because his father took to alcohol too often. So when my grandfather, someone I never met, should have come home with money, all he had to show was where the money went, in his breath, in his pushing the kids and his tiny wife away, so he could wallow in his own sorry, meaningless life. I don’t care what his reasons were, he still had 8 children and a wife depending on him! There’s no good excuse to hide behind!” “And I can picture my dad, growing up in bitterness, seeing the family split, because he, his brothers and sisters were ripped from their home to work as slaves on endless acres for cruel farmers! That’s right! They took the children away from his father, and sent him to a poor house. So Dad rose, learning the value of hard work at a farm where he and his sister, Cora, were sent. Finally, as he grew to adulthood he moved from job to job, and from Belchertown to Springfield, scratching for work, finally working his way up to be manager at Buckley-Dunton Paper Company. I paused, stared at Mom. “But what really saved him, was marrying my mother, that special woman right there, sitting in pain, that good, faithful woman who stuck with my dad, the sinner. That’s right! He was a non-believer. He argued against the existence of God often, all of his life, I think. He argued so hard, I think he actually almost argued him into a belief in God’s existence!” I laughed. Some in the pew chuckled. “Yes, through Mom’s powerful belief, he actually came to believe. I sensed that.” I looked at the ceiling. “What do you think of that, Dad? You made him exist! You created the Creator!” I laughed. The audience laughed, sort of uncomfortably. But they seemed to be enjoying it, delving into others’ lives. “But then came the accident in the car that changed Dad’s life. The continual pain that he suffered! I saw him take a handful of aspirins, must have been 10 of them, and swallow them all at once. He said the medicine didn’t work any more. Just imagine how that was eating away at his stomach Just how much pain can a person take before it’s too much? Does anyone here know?

“And, yes, he did shoot himself in the head last year!” Several people nudged each other and whispered, something like ‘I told you so.’ “But don’t condemn him! Unless you can feel what he felt, you should not say he’s going to hell! Besides, that’s none of our business. “Is it Mom?” Mom shook her head, then held her beads closer to her mouth, praying into them. All eyes were on her. “Now I say, because I think I know, that my dad shot himself because he could not live in a world without my mom, so he took that same pistol and decided to go out first.” I paused. “Mom?” I waited until she looked up. “Mom? Dad loved you. No matter what evil things he might have done, he always came back to you. You were his strength. You, quiet little non-gossiping you. You were all our strengths! Please fight and live. I don’t care what some priests declared. Dad will not go to Hell, not after all that pain he suffered. Dad will be waiting! But if he’s not, I’ll go get him and bring him back to you! Mom, stay! We need you now. I need you! Stay with us, please. Fight! We love you!” Tears were racing down my cheeks then, and I let them. I was not ashamed. And I saw many handkerchiefs out in the audience, but especially my sister, Gloria, and my hard-hearted brother, Jeff, who with a grin, wiped his eyes. Anthony raised his blind eyes toward the ceiling and listened. “Is it over, Teddy? Is Daddy coming back?” “No, Anthony. He’s not coming back. Just try to him. Keep him alive in your mind,” I said. “Can I do that?” “Yes, we’re all doing that right now. Think of the nice things he did for you, or what he used to say to you.”

It took almost an hour before the crowd left. I shook so many hands, I saw most of the people, most whom I knew, in a continual train that never seemed to end. But I appreciated every one of them.

94 MOM’S RECOVERY

After the funeral, in a limousine, we were driven behind the long Cadillac carrying the casket ahead of a long chain of cars and pickup trucks that linked its way up the hills to the St. Thomas Cemetery This property was huge, and old, dated back to the 1600’s. After we arrived at the burial area, the priest and our family sat in wooden chairs, waiting for the many others who had parked quite a distance away, and walked briskly to stand behind us as we said our final goodbyes to Dad. Mom was laboring. She was in pain. “Are you going to make it, Mom?” I asked. She put her arm in mine. “I don’t know, my son. I’m going to try. I didn’t get a chance to say thank you for those kind words, Teddy. Thank you, and don’t ever change, will you?” “I’ll try not, Mom. Thanks. So, what’s going on inside you now? Can you tell me? What going on inside of you?” She stared at the casket perched above the grave. “They told me I had colon cancer. They operated right here.” She held the lower part of her stomach. “They took a big part of my colon out, and said they got it all. What do you think. Is there chance they did?” “I don’t know, Mom. I hope they did. Isn’t that the intestine, the gut?” “Yes it is, son. Maybe that will help me lose a little weight in the process.” She smiled shyly. “If that’s what you want, Mom. I don’t care how much you weigh. Just stay alive, okay?” She looked up at me, into my eyes. “Yes, I will, son. As long as you believe in me. I will stay and take care of Anthony and you.”

“And yourself, please, Mom.” “Yes, of course.” She stared at the casket. “Now it’s time for your father.” She brought out her beads. Father Goggin waved the censer over the casket, letting the smoke linger, as though providing Dad inside with some final whiffs of that exotic mixture. The priest had waved the holy water over all of it, pronouncing Latin prayers for all to hear. “Requiescat in pace!! I heard that distinctly, which reminded me of Father Roland’s final words while in flight from the choir loft. Another death! Both violent. I the priest’s broken body, lying there in such awkward twists for a human form. Then once again I saw Dad’s body, after Mom left the room to pray. Blood still spurted from my poor father’s forehead. The pistol was still clenched in his right hand, the thumb on the trigger. So this time he wanted to succeed in killing himself. I smelled the whiskey he’d been drinking. And the pint bottle was resting on his pillow, still spilling out, several more shots of Canadian Club, waiting to ease his pain, no longer needed as a sedative to ease his pain. Gloria and Pauley both tapped me on each arm. I stood up and ed the ritual of throwing clods of dirt into the grave. My tears betrayed me again, as I felt I was heaving a major part of my life, my past, maybe parts of my future, just by heaving a chunk of dirt into a hole. I stopped, placed my hand on the coffin. “Goodbye, Dad,” I whispered to him. “I understand you, understand the pain you went through. Maybe many didn’t understand you, but I felt I did. And Mom did, I know. I think you know that, too. She had such a way of seeing through things, reading them like, tea leaves, maybe, or the clouds, or even the stars. I will never forget you, you know. And you will not be forgotten. Not as long as I’m alive, me and Mom, of course. I love you, and I will always try to be a man, fergod sake. that!”

95 MY RETURN

Mom returned to the hospital, complaining of more pain, and they took her in for more testing. They knew about the funeral, so the doctor prescribed a rest of 3 or 4 days while recovering. So Pauley and I visited as often as we could, and Mom was improving daily. There were moments when she cried over Dad, but we tried to assure her that he was no longer in such deep pain and would rest comfortably now, waiting for her. She smiled, but, of course I knew Mom’s beliefs about Hell. It felt so good having Pauley with me. It felt natural, almost as if we were married already. But that was a long way off, almost like a fairy tale that would surely end happily-ever-after despite a few dips into muddy waters. But then, for the few hours we had, it felt so right, so comfortable. We held hands like school kids whenever we could, and even sneaked a kiss when we were alone for a few seconds. But nothing was ever sexual then, despite the great temptation of her sleeping in another bedroom in our house. Anthony being a light sleeper helped to keep me a saint. Besides, we were too busy with my grieving and worrying about Mom and Dad. Pauley slept in my old room on the second level, facing the back yard, and I was in the attic room, facing Belle Avenue. During the day, there was always Anthony, of course, to interrupt any discussions or conversations that were serious, and that served to provide a comic relief for my sister and brother. Gloria and Jeff were both older, so they assumed responsibility of arrangements for Dad’s funeral, Mom’s living conditions, and, of course, Anthony. “Are you whispering about me, you two? You sendin’ me back to blind school?” The tears were in his voice and expectation of an answer hung in the air like a jail sentence. I ed the horrors of his stay in that Fernald School for the Blind, the way he and others were treated as “idiots,” and the experimental drugs given to them.

“No, Anthony,” answered Gloria, “No one will ever send you back there again. Blind school is over. But , there will always be someone here to take care of you!” “Promise, cross your hearts?” We all answered, “Promise” at once, and we each crossed our hearts, then put our hands on his chest. At the hospital, Mom seemed stable, at last, and the doctor was about to release her. It was time for me to return to the post. Gloria dropped us off at the bus station, then drove off with a hanky to her face. She always was quite emotional. Then I said goodbye to Pauley when she took the bus for Woonsocket. We hugged until the driver honked. I saw many smiling faces in the windows, but didn’t care. Tears swam in her eyes as she stepped up into the bus. “Say hello to Woonsocket for me!” I said weakly. She waved to me from the window, and I held my hand over my heart to her. She waved and so did many from their windows. I felt my face flush. I hated goodbyes! They always had a vague threat of permanence hovering over them. Shortly after that, I took my bus to Fort Devens, and the whole mess of the priest’s suicide, and the civilian rebels haunted my thoughts like evil demons. At the post, there was Corporal Gambol to make quick arrangements for me to fly back to Fort Bragg. “You’re quite the arranger, Corporal,” I complimented. He grinned. “Yes, sometimes in my position they let me have a bit of power.” After a few hours, the plane and pilot arrived, and I was on my way back, flying to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I was able to rest on the plane, and take in all that had occurred. Instead of Mom dying, Dad was gone. and she was slowly recovering her strength. Poor Dad, ending that way. I suppose it supplied the neighbors and friends with some nice gossip for a while, but I couldn’t worry about that. What was in their minds was none of my concern, and out of my control, anyway. “Dad,” I thought. “I’m going to miss you, but your words and warnings will always be with me. I your smile, when you let me help you build the chicken coop. My mind’s motion pictures of it are floating in my memory now, like clouds. Your kindnesses, when you brought home dinners of lobster or chicken. Your firmness

when you clipped the back of my head for coming home late. I’m trying to be a man, but it’s not easy. I’m finding that out now. I don’t know if you ed your own test of manhood, or if anyone ever does, but I’ll take the task and keep trying to it for both of us.” Then I thought of Mom. I knew of the two, Mom or Dad, I had to it that I was most pleased that Mom was the survivor, because she was the one to provide the best for Anthony. She would cook for him, keep his clothing clean. Also, I had to it, of the two, she was the strength of the family, the quiet leader that all of us turned to. She was the beacon that bathed us all in her loving light. I believe Dad realized that. Could that be why he did what he did? At last I looked out the window, and saw that we were circling for a landing on Fort Bragg. Immediately the civilian world disappeared, and a world of uniforms and formality and orders returned to my mind like clouds covering up the sun. I wondered what adventures awaited me. especially how the rebellion was turning out. It was in General Thompson’s hands, so I knew I would find out soon. I noticed down below where Mile 21 was, but didn’t detect anything there, no tents or cars or people. Could it be that they were gone? I hoped that it was true. When we landed at about 1400, Sergeant Arnie was there, waiting with his jeep. “Wow,” I said, “I didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for me, Sarge!” “Yeah, I know, kid. The general must think you’re something special, but don’t let it get into your head, or he’ll chop it off. He’s a man of many moods, as you probably know by now.” Then he put his hand on the side of his mouth, as if telling a secret, and said, “He may be looking at you as his son, too, but don’t you say a word about that to him!” “I understand, Sarge, thanks.” Sarge dropped me off at my Able Company barrack, and left in a swirling world of dust. In the barrack, Jules was the first to greet me. “Teddy! Welcome back! I’m so sorry about your mother! Are you okay?” It struck me then how they all thought it was my mother. Of course! How could they know anything different? I set my duffle bag down and sat on my bunk. Brian and Bobby shuffled over and perched on my foot locker. I mumbled, “My mom’s okay, recovering slowly from colon cancer. But it’s my

dad, now, who’s gone. He shot himself in the head.” I let some tears attack my eyes, and my throat fill up with self-pity. “What?” demanded Jules. Your father is dead? Not your mother!!!?” The faucet flooded my eyes. “That’s right,” choked out of me. “My dad shot himself in the head and he’s gone. Forever! Dead and buried!” I quick-stepped to the latrine. I heard Jules advise, “Let him go. He needs to grieve over it all. This might his first time to really feel his father’s death. Later, I was able to return to my bunk area, and explain that my mother survived colon cancer, and is recovering slowly. My dad shot himself because he was in so much pain, something I can never condemn unless I felt the torturing pain he endured, and maybe even the fear of losing Mom. “Let’s go for chow, y’all!” grumbled Bobby. “Mah belly’s sayin’ hey ta ma backbone!” The four of us went to chow. In line, waiting to get a shovelful of spaghetti and meatballs, one of my favorites. A new cookie smiled at us. He was white, and quite corpulent, obviously tasting everything he served and then some. Beside his chest and belly, even his hands were fat, as if they gobbled the food with secret mouths. He probably had fat feet also. I would hate to see him dine. But he smiled nicely. The private on KP placed salads and apple sauce on our plates. When we sat, chowing down, Brian sprang the news. “So, we have to talk to Jules Miller with new respect. He now outranks all of us!” I hadn’t noticed the stripes on Jules” sleeves. “You’re a corporal, Jules? Wow! Congratulations! You certainly deserve it. You’ve always shown leadership qualities. I’m so proud of you!” “Thank you, Teddie. And you don’t have to call me ‘corporal’, unless we’re in the presence of officers.” A long pause took over, as we forked the food into our mouths “So how was it at home, Teddy?” queried Brian. “Did you see your girl?”

“I sure did. She is even more beautiful than I ed. And nicer, so everyone in my family likes her, even my blind brother.” “You have a blind brother?” asked Willy. “I didn’t know. What’s that like?” I almost regretted I’d brought it up. No one knew about Anthony. “Well, he’s only 15 years old, but he’s mentally retarded, so he’s always asking simple, but sometimes deep questions, that either leave us laughing, or scratching our heads, trying to find the right answer to something we’d never thought of before, like what color is love? And he’s quite childish, but growing bigger than most of us brothers, and wider, I’m afraid. Since he’s blind, he really gets no exercise.” Willy was spooning his apple sauce then, far ahead of us talkers. Jules put his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry to hear that, Teddy, but I’m sure you’re a great brother to him. But now tell us about your mother. I how you acted when you were leaving. You thought she was dying.” “I did. My mind is still in a tangle, with my mother dying, then my father putting a bullet in his head right in front of us. And my mother recovering. I how livid she was when my brother Jeff said something dis-respectful about my dad right after he shot himself. She marched at him as if she were 10 feet tall, when she’s only about 4 feet 10. And she whacked him hard on the face, twice! I swear they were like the impact of Joe Louis! And she commanded him to leave the house, to come back at the funeral, and be respectful. And Jeff was! At the funeral he was like a different person, truly remorseful. He was the nicest Jeff I’d ever seen, and I grew up with him!”

96 FAYETTEVILLE ADVENTURES

When we were ready to travel, I asked Jules if he could drive by the istrative building so I could check for any messages or other communications because the next day was going to be Sunday, and I wasn’t sure what would happen about the mass, with no priest. I didn’t fancy the idea of giving another sermon. So I used my key to enter the building, then my office. The soldier on duty saw me, and waved. I was glad I left the others outside. Otherwise they might have blown the building up with wise cracks and laughter, which certainly would have appeared in a report of reprimand for me. In the chaplain’s office, I found a number of messages and memos. One stood out from the papers, because it had a label from the Archdiocese of North Carolina which struck me as very important. It said that they were sending a priest to take over, and he Father Timothy Horrigan would arrive by plane early on Sunday morning, and I was to pick him up and take him to church in time for the 9 am mass. I sighed. That’s so fortunate to have someone to take over. He seemed, whoever he was, to be a gift from above the clouds, solving many problems for me, and all involved. I prayed he would be a normal priest, not one like Father Roland, who would only be as wicked a holy man as. I’d ever encountered. So, I told the others the good news while Jules drove us to Fayetteville. There were no incidents on the way. Jules laid down the rule, no drinking of any alcohol in his car, or he would stop the car, and turn around. All complied, although I suspected some resentment from Willy. He certainly looked suspicious. But he raised his hands to me. indicating his innocence. Then Willy suggested, “How about if we practice jumping out of a moving car, you know, the way Teddy did for his basic training?”

Bobby blurted, “Yeah, let’s do a bit’a trainin’ y’all! We kin be crazy lack Teddy heah.” Jules looked at me. “Sorry, Ted. I told them the story. I couldn’t resist.” I just said, “I almost got killed when my tailbone hit a rock, you guys. I still can’t believe I did that. But go ahead and tease me, guys. I can take it.” Silence. In Fayetteville, Jules parked the car close to Rusty’s Waterhole. We walked slowly toward the bar, and when we neared it, I observed a red Chevy truck! I knew it was Choogah’s, and was surprised to see he was in town. Usually, he was in McCain, and sometimes I saw him in Mt. Pleasant, in The Wild Thang. I was curious about what he was up to in this city, but of course he had as much right to be there as I did. At the window to Rusty’s Waterhole, we peeked in. I muttered, “Well that’s a surprise! Those two still go there!” “Who?” They all seemed to say ask at the same time. “There are Sergeant Scafura and Lieutenant Smithson, my instructors from when I was in jump school! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, because they live in Fayetteville.” Jules asked, “Will it be a problem if we go in there?” “No, not at all,” I answered. “They’re good people. They helped me out when I got involved in a bit of a rumble with a local once. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Let’s go in.” I held the door for the others. Of course, Willy sauntered in, looking around, as though sniffing for trouble. Bobby followed, his bow-legs seeming wider than ever. Brian seemed shy, waiting for Jules and me. Jules, observant as ever, pointed toward a booth. Since it was a bit early, the room was half full, and a man and woman were slow dancing to some soft music exuding from the juke box. The man wore a vest over a flannel shirt, with a kerchief around his neck, and work pants over high

heeled boots that came to a point at the toes. The woman, who looked to be in her 30’s, wore high, grey boots, a short skirt, and a kerchief dangling over a fancy, sparkly blouse. Her head rested on the man’s shoulder. It looked as if they were in mourning over some disaster. On the way to our seats, Willy, almost hypnotically I thought, started veering toward the dance floor and the lone couple. Luckily, Jules saw him, grabbed his arm, and steered him back to our group. We piled into a booth, but I made sure to be on the outside, so I could visit my old cadre. I left them, saying “Order me a Schlitz, please, Jules? I’m going to visit them, and see what news they had.” I walked past the new pool table to their booth, and saluted. The lieutenant, who returned my salute, was stately and handsome as ever. He wore his uniform, neat and pressed as always. I wondered why we wrinkled when he didn’t seem to. Even his shoes gleamed under the booth. Sarge was in his civies’, with loafers, corduroy pants and faded blue shirt. As usual, none of it helped me un-see his pock-marked face. Sarge said, “Well, I thought you were out east somewhere, seein’ your ma!” Lieutenant Smithson declared, “Hello Pfc Byrum, so sorry fear y’all’s loss, young man! It was yore mama? “No sir. My mother was real sick with colon cancer, but it was my dad who ed away.” A lump the size of golf ball rose in my throat. “So sorry, private. Thas’ tough, either way, ain’t it?” summoned the sergeant. “How you handlin’ it, Byrum? Out celebratin’ now?” That got to me. “No, sarge! I’m just trying to have a few beers and forget seeing my dad shoot himself and forget the sight of blood and brain spilling out!” Silence. A long pause. Then lieutenant Smithson responded, “So, so sorry to hear ’bout yer loss, son. Ah’m shore the sergeant meant no harm, did y’all?” Sarge’s face was flushed. Sorry, kid.” He picked up his stein, tipped it toward me, and drank deeply. I murmured softly, “Any news from the general about the civilian rebellion?”

The lieutenant responded, “There’ll be a short meetin’ Monday mornin’. Ah’m shore yer invahted, 0900 sharp.” Just then I noticed a little man in a booth I thought I’d recognized. Yes! It was Billy, from Billy’s Everything Hardware! I uttered, “Pardon me, Sir and Sarge, but I just recognized an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time.” They both looked over at the booth, then each other. Sarge snorted, “Do you mean old Billy, from his Everything Hardware?” “Why yes, Sarge. Do you know him?” Sarge grinned, “Sure do. He’s taught more would-be jumpers than you can count. Did he take you out in his ’37 Cadillac and teach you how to jump out of a fast-running car-plane?” Sarge and the lieutenant guffawed. “Yes, he did. That’s why I ended up in the hospital, after trying to break a rock with my spine! Could have been killed, I heard.” The lieutenant responded, “Yep, it’s happened a few tames, ah guess. An’ we done thought about stoppin’ ’im from all those so-called ‘lessons’, but nevah did. Well, I’d like to say hello to him, if you don’t mind, sir.” “Say hey fer’ us, too,” replied the lieutenant. I walked over to the booth, past the couple still slow dancing on the floor, who seemed lost in their own gyrations, as though they were on a cloud floating to heaven. In the booth sat Billy, who seemed too small for the seat. When I walked up to him, he seemed lost in his world also, mumbling something, maybe in rhythm with the music, or perhaps avoiding the future screams of his wife, who certainly would not have approved of his being in a bar. “Excuse me. Are you giving any jumping lessons today?” Billy, who had the bottle up to his mouth, stopped and said, “Hell no, kid! Ah don’ do anathin’ lak’ thayat’!” I slid down onto the booth across from him. “Are you sure, Billy? Maybe someone will jump out of your old Cadillac and hit his head on a rock, what do

you think?” Billy paused. He stared, confused. “What in hell you gabbin’ bout, soldier? Whazat? Hit yore head?” He glared at me, searching. Then at last he knew who I was. “I ain’t giv’ any lessons since the rock, soldier!” “How about some more golf lessons, Billy?” Then his partially toothless grin revealed how he recognized me. Heh, heh, it’s Teddy, ain’t it?” He extended his gnarled hand across the table. “Ah was raght addled when y’all hit that thar’ piece a’ desert. It lak’ta kill ya! Y’all right in th’ haid now?” “I’m doin’ okay now, Billy, thanks. It’s good to see you.” “Wanna beer?” I could see the bad suture on his right eye, which seemed to distort his face into a perpetual wink. I ed how he’d explained about being born with a tumor in his eye, and the country doctor stitched him up after removing. I wondered what kind of shovel he used to take it out. “No, thanks, Billy. I have to my gang over there in that booth across the dance floor. See them?” He squinted. “No, Ah cain’t see that fur any more. Cain’t do a lotta thangs no more. Mah lil’ wafe’ll shoot me wif’ mah own shotgun if’n ah even tetch a drap a whiskey. N’ this heah’ Rusty’s in cahoots with her, too.” He took his baseball cap off to wave a fly away. I could see how bald he was getting, with long grey sideburns and wild hair trying to escape off the nape of his neck. My friends were waving at me. “Well,” I said, “it’s time to my friends. Maybe we can go for some more golf lessons again some day.” Bill cackled. Just as I started walking, I spied Choogah out the window, staring in, and next to him was Chet, jumping up and down so he could look beyond the display of

beers. His eyes grew almost to window size when he pointed at me! But I didn’t pay much attention to the window after that. Billy seemed sad. “Y’all come see me, heah?” He held his hand out, his face sad. I shook it warmly, with my two hands. “Yes, I will, Billy! I’m going to surprise you!” I hated to leave him then. Hi seemed so forlorn, as if I were his only friend. I imagined one of his only excitements was taking young soldiers out in his Cadillac for “jumping lessons!” I probably loomed as a crowning achievement in his life, and it might have even contributed to the success of some of the jumpers, as long as their heads didn’t flirt with any rocks. I stopped at the bar to pet Tuppence, which of course means two cents in England, but this dog would be worth two million if I’d owned him. He perked right up, wagging his tail and licking my hand. I felt like I was an old friend of his. I waved to Rusty. He responded, “Hey, Teddy, welcome!” He seemed never to age, but I did detect some grey patches on his rusty sideburns, sad reminders we are not here forever. “Say ‘hey’ to my new waitess, Amber.” I said, “Hey, Amber, nice to meet you.” She nodded, her hands holding a tray full of drinks. “What’ll you have, Ted? I already served the others.” I thought for a few seconds, ing the troubles we’d had the last time. “They ordered me a beer already, thanks Rusty.” He grinned. “Try to keep them civilized, okay?” “I will, Rusty, I promise.” I walked to the booth and saw that Jules had a lemonade. Each of the others had glasses of beer. But there were no shot glasses. I was sure that if any of them had ordered whiskey, Rusty wouldn’t serve it to them. Willy, sullen-faced, offered, “Gonna be a tame night, I guess, Teddy. No whiskey for us. The barkeep reminded us of our last visit to the back yard.” He looked at his watch. Jules said, “I don’t blame him, either. He doesn’t want to lose his license. That

would be the end of his business. I’m sure we don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?” He was staring mostly at Will and Bobby. Bobby drained his beer, burped and raised his hand for another. I was sure Rusty would take a long moment before he came over to serve us. He would space our drinks. I said, half facetiously, “After we leave here, we can visit the tattoo shop, if anyone is interested. And, if not, we can get a nice meal at the restaurant across the street. the nice looking waitress?” I added that, though I couldn’t any pretty waitresses in there the last time. “Also,” I added, “I see the new pool table isn’t busy right now. I challenge anyone to a game of Eight Ball!” But when I threw out that challenge, no one answered. They sat there, staring up, above and behind me. “What?” I questioned. Then I turned and saw Choogah standing there, with a smile wide as the Mississippi.

97 BATTLE FOR PEACE

Choogah asked me if we could talk alone, so he and I found a corner close to the men’s room, and he muttered, “Chester’s hankerin’ fo’ a chance to battle y’all, one on one, once n’ fer’ all. He’s got it stuck in his craw, ah reckon, an’ it ain’t comin’ out easy.” I thought about it a bit, and figured there was no way to win. It was a dilemma. If I fight him, and I win, he most likely would not be satisfied. And if I lose, would he be satisfied? In a way, this is the Civil War again, on a minuscule scale. Does he want to continue this battle that the general is ending with Harley Sterling? Then an idea struck me as if by a cloud burst. Indian wrestling! I’d used it to solve the problem I’d had with Timothy Murphy in basic training. Maybe I can use it again. “Not scared, are y’all?” “No, Choogah, I’m just thinking about a battle that will settle all of this Tell Chet, I’m challenging him to an indian wrestle, right here, right now.” “Indian wrestle? Ah heard of it. Mebbe you kin descrabe it.” “It’s where we sit at a table, put our elbows down, arms sticking up in the air, and we grab hands. Then I try to force his hand to his right down on the table. He’ll try to do the same to me. It’s like this.” We tried it on a table, just so he would grasp the positioning. “If I win, the fight is over. If he wins, we can go have a fist fight if he still wants, or we can call it quits!” Choogah grinned. “Ah lak it, bah gawd!” We shook hands on it. “By the way, how’d you get the name of Choogah?”

He guffawed. “Blame mah lil’ sistah, Sara. Mah real name is Garth, but Ah used ta play with her on the train set, When it went around the courner, I’d say ‘choochoo’, so after that when the little darlin’ wanted me to play, she’d say, “choogah!” Git it?” I nodded. “Choo-choo and Garth! Nice!” So the name stuck. I like it.” Then I wondered where he was in this dispute. “So, are you still at war, like Chet?” “Naw. Harley n’ some a’ the others n’ the genral’ r’ at peace, n’ so um’ Ah. Ah’ll go talk ta Chet, see if he’ll take the challenge. Ah bin’ stuck with him since his paw died.” I went back to my booth. All 4 of them, Willy, Brian, Jules, and Bobby, asked at the same time, “What was that all about?” “I think I’m going to have an indian wrestle with one of the men from McCain. He was part of those civilians camping on Mile 21, ready to take on the army and the whole country.” “Indian wrestle? What in hell for?” asked Willy. I took a sip of my beer. “So I can avoid another battle in the alley. Also, if Rusty hears about a battle out back, he would kick us out for good. the last battle we had?” Willy grinned, “Do I? Wasn’t that great?” “No!” answered Jules. “No!” I said. “I like Rusty. I sure don’t want to get him in trouble with the police. And don’t forget. We’re in uniforms. We’d have KP for the next year, if not worse!” Of course, I was thinking about the trouble I’d be in with General Thompson. Bobby said, “Kin ya show me what it looks lak?” I sat across from Bobby, so I told him to put his elbow on the table and his hand straight up. We had to reach, but it was enough to demonstrate. Then we wrestled a bit, until he stood up to push. We all told him it was cheating. “Oh,

now ah’ve got it!” Choogah came back, saying Chet accepted the challenge. So at the bar I asked Rusty if he was willing to host an indian wrestling match in his establishment. He interrogated me with question after question until he acted as if a big exclamation mark hit him on top of his red noggin! “I like it! We can use it as entertainment, and a bit of a change from just drinking and dancing! And I won’t have to pay for dancers or singers.” Rusty went into action! He stopped the juke box, and set up one table in the middle of the dance floor, all the time announcing something new. Then he had people help him arrange tables around the central one, and said, in the speaker he had behind the bar, “Ladies and gentlemen, with your indulgence, we will have something new for entertainment. We will have us an indian wrestle!” This was a followed by grumbling and comments about turning this bar into some ‘cheap method of entertainment,’ etc, etc. But the man who had been dancing proclaimed, “Hey, y’all, let’s give Rusty the kandness he’s always given us! Don’t be skeered’ a tryin’ somethin’ a lil’ different! Indian wrestlin’! Ah lak’ it!!!. C’mon’! Give im’ a break!” The fact that his muscles bulged through his shirt like a Charles Atlas might have helped convince them. So, I sat at one chair where the action would occur, like a classic battle, with many sitting around, drinking, whispering, the dance floor now an arena. Then in stomped bow-legged Chet, clad in a flannel shirt and ragged pants, with some poor stitching of old rips and holes. His shoes were dirty, well-worn. I understood why Rusty didn’t like him in his bar, that and his tendency to cause problems. But good old Chester didn’t seem intimidated. His appearance reminded me of myself, when I went to school, elementary, junior high. I didn’t know I was poor!! My clothes were patched, covering the wear my older brothers put them through, but still, just what my mom gave me to wear, and I never even thought about what others were wearing. They were just things to put on, to cover nakedness, and keep me out of the cold, not fashion statements.

Rusty onished Chet about something, using his finger as a pointer, to establish some rules of behavior for him, I assumed. I saw in their booth, Sarge and Lieutenant Smithson, looking at me with what seemed to be disapproval. After all, I was wearing a military uniform. I felt a bit apprehensive, yet eager to get this over with. Rusty explained the rules of indian wrestling, as I had described it to him, and he warned the crowd, with a grin, “Don’t let me hear about anyone betting on the match. Understand? Don’t let me hear anyone!” Of course, I understood, he was encouraging the betting, because it would add to their enjoyment, but he didn’t want to risk making this a gambling business. So, at last, the contest was about to begin, with Chester sitting across from me, and Rusty ready to start us, and warn us against any rule-breaking. I didn’t realize that our bartender was a bit of a ham. I never did find out much about his background. He had his microphone with him as he stood over us, ready to move the way the refs do during boxing matches, continually moving to assure the customers of a clear view. “So, here we go. Are the contestants ready? Ted?” I nodded. “Chester?” He nodded and smiled, revealing his yellow, teeth, which reminded me of miniature, over-used piano keys, badly needing replacement. With that grin of his, I could see he expected to win easily. He certainly looked more powerful, with broader shoulders. He had that tendency to stick his head forward in attack position, like an ‘Ah dare ya to swing’ mode. Choogah encouraged Chet. “You kin do this, Chester!” Willy said, “Hey, some action. Go to it, Ted. If you need help, I’ll take him!” Rusty bellowed, “Ready? Elbows on tables! Grip your hands together!” We did so. I gripped his hand, but he squeezed, and I squeezed his harder. Chet the took his time, getting a good grip, first this way, then that. Finally he had a firm, strong grip on mine. I felt how strong he was. He must have worked on a farm. he had calluses on his fingers. He stared at me and his grin became a

smirk. Rusty bellowed, “One, two, three, wrestle!!!” We started! I powered my right hand to my left, which seemed to take him by surprise, and we tilted one fourth of the way down, to his right. “Oh, oh, Ted has him now!” People in the audience just stared, quiet, waiting to be entertained. Suddenly I felt like an actor on a stage. I saw Jules, looking disapprovingly, yet interested. Willy stared, gripping the table, as though ready to in the struggle. Then, as if Chester just woke up, he gradually forced his arm up, up, and up, until we were back to the start position. “Go, go!” came from some at one table. I was hoping this would not be a soldier versus citizen thing. I didn’t want to start another battle with people in town. Sgt Scrofula and Lieutenant Smithson, stared, quiet, looking tense, almost disapprovingly, it seemed. I felt the raw power in Chet’s grip, the force of his arm, and knew he could beat me, but not that easily, no, my arms were pretty well formed also. All those push-ups helped. So, we struggled, our arms and hands in the upright position, vibrating, tilting a little to his right, then tilting to my right. I heard whispering and murmuring. Someone said, “They maght jis bore us ta death, y’all!” Willy blurted, “C’mon, Teddy, crush this punk.” Then Chet started powering my arm downward. His grin came back. He started pushing, harder, forcing my arm backward. He felt he was going to win! But his elbow left the table! The crowd started to roar, “Get im’ put im’ down! “Look! His elbow!” I bellowed. “Cheating!” I shouted. Rusty saw it was 6 inches up and yelled, “Stop!”

We stopped, but stayed in the start position. A Pause in the audience. Then “Boo! Boo! What in hell! He was winnin’ y’all!” Rusty asserted, “He was cheating! I can’t have any cheating. You, Chester, or Chet, or whatever your name is, do you understand!!! I’ll declare you the loser, if you cheat. Understand?” The audience, was quiet, except for those who ordered more drinks from Amber, the new waitress. “Yessuh, Mr Rusty.” asserted Chet. “Ah kin beat him reg’lar anyhow. Watch me, y’all!” He started in again, with renewed energy. Chet’s face had clenched lips and cheeks, a hideous, tense stare of angry revenge, and I sensed it went deeper than this bout. I saw through his eyes the beatings he’d received from his dad, again and again. The pressure was getting to me. I felt he could beat me, if this kept up. He had much more brawn than I did, more powerful shoulders. “Chet’s got Im’ now! they mumbled, buzz-buzzing, bees in a swarm. I decided to distract him, if I could. To me, he was like a bull. Once angered, he would keep charging, straight ahead, again and again. So, I thought I would turn him, get him interested in something else. “So, Chet, why didn’t you the army? We could use strong men like you.” Chet turned his stare from our grips to my face. He studied me a second, to see if I was mocking him. His eyes blinked, and his lips tightened. He pushed harder. I responded with a thrust myself. “I’m serious, Chet. You’d make a good soldier, you know.” I said this louder to be heard by everyone. Some in the audience, made shushing noises.

We kept struggling. “’Cause they turned me down, is why!” he almost whispered. He pulled harder, his face bitter. I could see he didn’t want anyone else to hear it. “Really? Well, I could talk to someone. I know the general, you know.” He looked at me big-eyed. He let up a bit. Then he decided I was taunting him, and had renewed energy. He pushed me down, about 5 inches from the table. Defeat was near! But I decided I couldn’t lose! Losing would gain me nothing. I didn’t care if I lost, because I would lose nothing, really, but by winning, I could convince Chet that the war inside his head was over. I closed my eyes and started mumbling to myself. There is, inside all of us, a force that we can call on in certain situations. I knew also, I could cheat, but I wanted him to think I was calling on some magical powers. So I let my mumbles sound like a prayer, looking upward, so that few could see that my right shoulder gradually moved forward, and my hand and arm seemed to gain strength, and inched their way upward I continued mumbling, louder, and our mitts rose, almost like a magician raising a body under a sheet! “Look, look, y’all!” some exclaimed from the tables around us. “What in hell’s he doin’?” Then I went for it. The last time I lost intentionally, after proving that I could win if I wanted to. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that here. I went on, using my shoulder, subtly, gradually forcing him down. He delivered more force this time, in spite of my cheating, but I saw his elbow raising from the table and warned, “No cheating, Chet!” nice and loud. “Look at his hand!! all while keeping the attention away from my shoulder. My opponent grinned, his crooked yellow teeth, revealing what I assumed was his background of squalor and bitterness. “Ah would’n yer chickenshit army no how!” Chet put his elbow down, but started a new maneuver. He was squeezing, crushing my hand. That changed everything. He had a powerful grip, which was so painful I knew he could break by hand! That changed the game. It seemed to turn a switch in my brain, a near panic, but also a flame of anger.

“A new game, Chester? Squeezing? What do you think, Lieutenant? Sergeant?” Chet looked over at them. Many in the audience did also. That’s when I made my move. Shoulder forward! My forearm was unstoppable, a giant oak felled by an axe, down, down, and “wham!” Chet knuckles slammed on the table. Cheers and boos rose from the viewers. Then hands clapped. Then “I kin do that, y’all!” “So kin ah! Rusty?” Others mumbled they could handle such as show of strength as well. Rusty announced, “Ted, you’re the winner. You too, good match, Chet!” My booth friends cheered. Jules clapped his hands gently. Rusty yelled, “Down! Teddy wins! Chet yelled, “Again! Ah kin take you! Ah’ll take y’all raght’ now, you an’ them pansies in that booth yonder!” Tuppence came up to me, pawed my leg, and gruffed, in congratulations, I assumed. “Settle down! Or I’ll have you locked up, Chester! Guess I shouldn’t have let a trouble-maker like you in here in the first place! Now some of you help me put the chairs and tables back, will you? Unless there are two more of you willing to indian wrestle!” Back at our table, I finished my beer, while the others congratulated me.

98 A BITTER PEACE

Rusty declared, “May be we can have another match in a week or two. Anybody interested!” Several men raised their arms. “Hell, yes, y’all! Ah could’ve mangled that kid!” Others agreed with him. Mumbles followed, with some men flexing their muscles. Rusty shouted, “Okay, as long as it doesn’t turn into something violent. Each wrestler has to agree that it’s settled on the table, not with fists or guns. Agreed?” “Hell, yeah, Rusty, hell, yeah!” I gazed over at Sarge and the lieutenant, and they nodded. Sarge gave me a thumb’s up. I heard a laugh-cackle above the mumbles and noise like a gentle crow, and knew immediately it was old Billie, sounding the way he did when we first met him outside his “Everything Hardware.” He waved and slipped out the exit, sheepishly, probably the same way he’d be when his wife greeted him with a broom. What I heard next was, “Watch it, Ted!” from my table. What I didn’t expect, but should have, was Chester coming around the table toward me, his face red, probably with shame over his defeat. And with anger. So I let him come. What I didn’t see, was the weapon in his hand. “No, Chet!,” yelled Choogah, and he leaped in front of me. Tuppence, yipped and growled and sprang toward us. He knew in his dog wisdom the danger that about to take place.

The blood was dripping before I expected it! Chet was coming for me and Choogah caught the forward thrust of Chet, who pulled the dripping object out, a 3 inch knife! When Chester Colton realized what he’d done, to his best and only friend, he stared at the knife as if he wasn’t aware of where he’d found it, and how it ended up in his possession. He looked at Choogah, who was holding his stomach, then dropped the knife as though it was a hot plate he’d picked up and was scalded. “No, no, Choo, ah’m so, so, sorry, Choogah. Don’cha die, heah’ me, good buddy?” Ya cain’t dah on me. No, no, no!” He started bawling, holding his head, covering his face. I held Choogah up, but blood was dripping faster through my hand that I was using to plug the opening. I cradled him down to the floor. Sergeant Scrofura pushed his way through, with lieutenant Smithson right behind him. “Call an ambulance, Rusty, quickly! Someone hold the perpetrator, until the police come!” Rusty quickly, yelled, “No police! You hear that Lieutenant? No police, I’ll vouch for young Chester. He meant no harm, did you, Chet?” Chet was on his knees, touching Choogah, bawling, rocking back and forth. “No, nevah! Ah nevah wanted ta harm mah friend, mah only buddy. So sorry, Choo, ah din’t mean it!” Choogah put his bloody hand on Chet’s shoulder. “Ah know Chet. Ah know.” Rusty saw that, and said, “Hear that, everyone? No police. The ambulance is coming. Don’t forget, everyone. It was an accident. You agree, Choogah?” “Ah do, Rusty, but maybe someone can help me to the door, for when that ambulance comes. They ain’t so speedy, y’know!” He grinned, then cringed. We heard the siren cry of an ambulance, and I held Choogah’s left side while Sarge held the other as we made our way toward the door. Choogah held a napkin over his stomach. The blood flow had slowed. Chester followed, “Ah’m sorry, ah’m so sorry Choo.” spilling out of his crestfallen mug.

Jules and the others waited to open the door for us. Behind us, Rusty had the waitress and some customers, quickly putting the tables and chairs in their normal places. All would soon look as though nothing had interrupted their normal evenings. Peace would soon reign in Rusty’s kingdom. Behind us, we could hear that he’d plugged the juke box in again, which came alive as though the singers were waiting backstage, eager to perform. The ambulance cruised up to us, one man dressed all in whites, spilled out the back door, observed our crowd, and said, “Stand back ever’one,” He saw Choogah and grumbled, “Knifed, huh? Belly? Ah got ’im!” The driver came around and took an arm, and they each were guiding him up into the ambulance, when Chet declared, “A’ve got to go with ’im. He’s mah brothah! Ah did this to ’im!” Choogah, still holding his belly, looking pale, said, “Thas’ raght, y’all! He’s mah brotha’! He’s got ta go with us!” The medics, after settling Choogah, let Chester ride with him. Rusty came out and conversed quietly with them, and the ambulance, led by their siren, took off into the night. Then Rusty offered me a beer, as the winner. I hesitated. All of our group was outside. Squeezing out the door of the bar was, “I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink,” a Hank Williams “classic” he told me. Sarge and the lieutenant came out, patted me on the shoulder, and walked away. I saluted, but they hadn’t seen my sign of respect. They were in perfect military step, as they faded into the night. I thanked Rusty, and apologized about the outcome of our match. Just then Tuppence squeezed his way out, and walked up to the two of us. I scratched his neck. “Thanks for everything, Tuppence, my buddy. You are the perfect protector.” He wagged his tale and lifted his paw, to shake. I stuck out my paw and shook his.

I asked Rusty for a rain check, and he, looking quite worried, said, “What? Oh, okay, Ted. Sorry about everything. Gotta go!” He and Tuppence scurried back into the bar, melting into Hank Williams lament.

99 NEW PRIEST, NEW WORLD

I awoke early that Sunday morning, my mind still fogged with last night’s wrestle and stabbing. I prayed none of it would affect Rusty’s business, and that Choogah would be okay. I had little hope for Chet. Maybe he’d cling to his bitterness, like a drug, as though it was the only thing which gave his life meaning. Then worrying about the mass with a new priest made me apprehensive. So far, he was a puzzle, like a cloud, unformed. But he would need my help, finding where things were, and needing an altar server, an altar boy like me. I hustled through my personal ablutions, shower, shave, shine my jump boots, and dress in my cleaned and pressed Class A uniform. I waited for Jules and Brian to get ready for breakfast, so we could go to mass together. As usual, Brian needed Jules to tie his tie for him. We were all fascinated how is hands seemed to swish around like a magician and, Presto, a charming result under Brian’s chin. After chow, I hustled ahead of them, so I could be ready for the new priest, Father Horrigan, and prepare for the 0900 mass. “Oh, let him be normal, Lord,” I found myself praying. In church, the floor was clean, the pews were dusted, and I thanked the janitor, Leroy Riverton in my mind, for his faithful service. I hadn’t seen him in quite some time. I would have to visit him, and see how he was, especially after the “accident” of Father Roland. At least, there wouldn’t be any more homosexual trysts occurring behind locked doors in the church. His voice, while singing, still echoes in my mind with great pleasure. I entered the sacristy, and a slender person was just putting on his vestments. He had short grey hair. I said, “Father Horrigan?”

He turned, and the chasuble spread like wings under his arms. He looked surprised. “Yes? May I help you?” His smile was disarming. His greying hair was trimmed short, his face thin, almost gaunt, but with a square chin, and I said to myself, quite a handsome man. “I’m Pfc Theodore Byrum, sir. I’m your secretary in the office, and your altar boy in church, if you approve, sir, um, sorry, Father.” He walked forward, and shook my hand. “Well, I’m glad to know you, Theodore, or would you rather be called Ted? Or Teddy, like Teddy Roosevelt? You know, the president of this country?” “Yes, sir, Teddy is fine. And I know he was our president, Sir, uh, Father.” He laughed. Such a hearty laugh, the type that would shake clouds away from a rainy day. “Just call me Father, son. And the holy ghost will reward you.” He snickered at that. His eyes were a clear blue, as though they were taken from the sky. That was what Father Roland had said and laughed at, but I wouldn’t have said that to Father. It must have been a joke in the seminary. Father seemed, not quite shy, but the word that best described him would be, ‘humble,’ I thought. He acted quite sure of himself, but I doubt he’d ever raised his voice. Still, he had an imposing presence. “Well, please fill me in a bit about what happened here, so I don’t say anything that would bring the wrath of God and the people in the pews down at me. Was it an accident or suicide, son?” “Oh, I’m pretty sure it was suicide, Father. He was up in the loft when he yelled, ‘Requiescat in pace’ just before he leaped. Then his flight down was like a lightning flash, into the pews with a great thunderous crash. It sure seemed like suicide to me. I should inform you that a Father Rafferty held Mass the day after Father Roland’s death. He spoke a bit about suicide, also. “Thank you, Teddy. So this won’t be a new subject to them. I’ll just try to reinforce his words, then. Apparently I’ll be the permanent priest here for the foreseeable future.” Father Horrigan gave a big sigh, a tired wind from years of duty.

He continued, “I assume he liked young boys. I checked his record in California. Must have been tough for you.” He paused. “He never tried anything with you, did he?” “No, Father. He must have sensed I wouldn’t have encouraged him in that way, I guess. I don’t understand how a person like that thinks. But he did take advantage of a weakness in young Francis. And perhaps others. I’ll tell you about him later, if you wish. I see it’s time for mass.” I went out to the altar first, and lit the candles. When Father came out, I was kneeling at the stairs before the altar. Father bowed with me, and began, “Introibo ad altare’ dei” (‘I will go to the altar of God’) I gave the Latin responses, which I’d memorized without understanding when I was 14 years old. Following that, Father commenced with the mass. Strange, he said all the same words as many other priests, and made mostly the same movements, but somehow, he said and did them all differently. He spoke as if talking to someone. He was more devout. He paused more, and looked above more often, as though he said and did everything with more meaning, more belief. It was then that I realized, so many priests I’d seen or served before, were doing it all from rote. I understood, because they used the same words thousands of times. But Father Horrigan said and seemed to mean each word! It was as if he’d just invented all these prayers as they came to him in true devotion! I could picture him floating down from the heavens. Then came the liturgy of the “Word,” which included a bible reading. I paid attention to none of it. My mind had traveled back to the visit by Sister Vickie and Mother Superior. And how superior they seemed to be! They seemed to know so much that went on at the base. They were pretty omniscient, I thought, and tried to avoid my feelings for Sister Vickie. It was time for Father Horrigan to give his sermon. I knew it would be a difficult one for him, because he was new, and the subject matter of suicide waited for him like a life sentence. Father read the bible quote regarding our lives, and the judgment on the final

day. He paused and surveyed the people in the pews, as though examining the thoughts and feelings of all. I spied Jules and Brian in the last pew. Sergeant Scrofula and Lieutenant Smithson sat on the right side, about 10 pews back from the altar. I knew they could catch the Catholic Mass in Fayetteville, but assumed they needed to hear about anything related to the suicide. Then, several rows back was General Thompson next to a woman about his age, his wife I assumed. I’d never viewed him as a married man. I assumed he was married to the army. I supposed he had grown up children also. The general stared at the priest with great interest, I believed, because it affected the thoughts and emotions of the people on his post. So he came, hungry to consume every word coming down from the mountain of the pulpit. The church was packed with soldiers and civilians filling up the pews like bees on a hive. They mumbled among themselves, until they realized father Horrigan was waiting for silence. “My name is Father Thomas Horrigan, from the Stigmatine Fathers order in Massachusetts. I will be your permanent priest, or chaplain, for the Catholics on this base. I trust I will not disappoint you. Please be patient with me as you become accustomed to my strange way of speaking with a New England accent, and I will do the same as I learn yours, y’all.” He paused. A few laughed, as they caught his attempt at humor. He smiled, paused. “I understand that you had a recent death, here. Also, that Father Roland Carpenter fell from the choir loft onto the pews.” He paused, studying the audience. “I see General Thompson is here with his dear wife. I’m sure, sir, you are interested in this subject as well. I know the subject of suicide has come up. My altar boy here,” he pointed toward me, “though he is no boy, assures me it was intentional on Father Roland’s part. That is enough proof for me. I’m also sure there is an investigation on-going, as is required. So, I will say no more about it, except that I know Father shouted from the loft just before he descended, ‘requiescat in pace!’ I assumed he meant his peace after his death. I pray that may be the case!” Father paused. “I know Father Rafferty referred to suicide in his sermon a week or so ago, so I will not dwell on the subject. But, just as a ball player cannot resist swinging at a fast one down the middle, I will attempt to take a cut at it. I

don’t expect I’ll hit a home run on the subject, but I would like to get a single, or who knows, maybe even a double.” I saw General Thompson lean forward. He caught me staring at him, and smiled. Father went on. “Sorry if the baseball metaphor bothers any of you, but I’m sure you’ll understand. I grew up playing ball, and watching the Red Sox when I could.” He paused. Father shyly gave the audience a grin, almost sheepish, childish. Then he put on a serious face, as if the teacher just came into the room. It seemed this priest could wear several masks. He went on. “I’m sure all of us have contemplated death at some time or another. We have also considered living! They are the two sides of us. If you consider a playing card with a picture of Death on one side, and on the other a picture perhaps of a baby just being born, then you have the two sides. “Who are these two mysterious people? What is life but some natural combination of a male and female producing a smaller image of themselves? And this small being breathes and grows and learns to be like the grown-ups of his species. And he lives and grows and becomes an adult person continuing his kind. Yes, he lives, and then something happens. He sees death! As a child, when he has a pet, a dog for example. He see them, enjoys their youth, but after a few years, it seems, they slow down, can’t walk very well. Then they can’t eat. Then Death comes and floats in!” He paused. “The poor child, his tears flow small rivers. Sometimes it is quiet, peaceful. But other times he’s really sick, and it is violent, horrible, and if he is unfortunate enough, close enough, he will smell the disgustingly sweet decay of flesh! “The General has experienced this countless times, I’m sure, during the war.” Most looked at him. The general nodded. “But that’s where we’re all going. We will all die! This is no secret, of course. but the Lord will take us, we can be sure of that. As to what happens after death, we trust there will be a reward for the paths we chose in these few innings we have in our lifetime.

“To put it another way, if we practiced as much as we could, then played the game as well as we could, it doesn’t matter if we hit home runs or singles, pitched the ball with fast balls or knucklers, snared ground balls or fly balls close to the fence, were we the best players we could be? Then we should be rewarded! “What Father Roland Carpenter, God rest his soul, did, in the total of his life, not one of us can say! So we should not condemn anyone when we did not see the whole of the games he’s played. Can we say he should be doomed to what we call Hell because he committed suicide, even when we’re not sure he committed that act? “Then there is the question of how he lived his life! What happened to him when he was a child? Was he mistreated? By his father? Some uncle? Who might have led him down such an evil, addictive path? We don’t know. But we should not be too quick to condemn a fellow human being with such knowledge, should we? “You might have heard rumors of his proclivities. And so have I! For me, the question would be, has he caused others to sin? Now, that is an act worth condemning!” He paused, looked around slowly at all in the pews, then at the stained glass windows. He stared at one in particular, the one of the Christ on the cross. He continued, “Please , that Jesus Christ was condemned to death for what was deemed a crime. Should we all become Pontius Pilate? I say, leave him alone. He is gone. He played the game. Now he’s retired. “Now you can pick on me. I promise I will always play the best I can. I will throw fast balls, but not too fast. But they will alway be straight down the middle. And I will try to field all the balls you throw at me, or hit to me. You will find that I will try to field everything you throw or bat at me. God bless you, and God bless us all.” Long, almost palpable silence from the pew, Shortly after that we had communion, and I stayed next to the Father, holding the little gold plate under each chin. I was impressed by Father Horrigan, and had great anticipation for the future.

100 GENERAL’S FINAL MEETING

Monday morning, I was typing the morning report, and answering inquiries when the phone jangled my nerves. I sensed who was calling. The general’s office. I answered, and good old Corporal Randy Williams said, “Hey, Teddy, General Thompson wants you for a meeting at 1000 sharp. Can you make it?” “I sure will, Randy. Is this going to be about, you know, Mile 21, and all things related to it?” He chortled. “You guessed it! Should be the end of it all. Good thing, I say, because the general will be leaving us soon!” “Really? What’s that all about?” “I’ll leave that part up to him!” He laughed a hearty “Haw!” See you then!” His receiver banged a period to our conversation. At 1000, Randy answered at my first knock. “Enter, Private Byrum!” He waved his left hand as if I were someone of importance. He pointed to the conference room, so I headed that way. On the way past General Thompson’s office I heard him answer with military respect, “Yessir! I appreciate that! Yes, sir! Good bye, Mr. President!” I peeked in the door, and saw that he was standing at attention. Wow! I was impressed! In the conferenceroom, already seated, but talking quietly to each other, were, Lieutenant Smithson, and, of course, Sergeant Scrofura, who was unusually dressed in a neat fatigue outfit. The two were together so often, I wondered about them. Of course, I ed they were living together in downtown Fayetteville in the military housing. Also, I was greeted by Lieutenant Clint Grayson. I ed how helpful he was during the excitement in all of the meetings at The Wild Thang. He was like

an iron fist when he ed us in that hot room of rebels. “Hey, young Ted, good to see you!” I hesitated, not knowing whether to salute or shake his hand. “G,g, good to see you, sir!” He grinned, and patted me on the shoulder. We sat down at the conference table. I could see the walls were empty of any pictures or emblems. So I could see the general must be packing for his departure. I would miss him. He became like a father figure for me. I ed the time when I taught him to pitch the baseball. They’d be like highlight films in my memories. On the table were glasses and pitchers of water. Next to them were cups and a thermos of coffee. Some of the officers helped themselves. I was thirsty, but chose not to ask for anything as though the act were punishable with KP. Of course I was timid among all that brass. Seated across from me were Lieutenant Robson, who tapped his fingers on the table nervously. His index and middle fingers were stained yellow, which was obvious to me, that he was a heavy smoker. He waved to me. I waved back, “Sir!” I said. I could hear what sounded like phlegm rattling around in his throat like a little animal growling. He was talking to his “boss,” Colonel Dempsey, Chief of Secret Service, the tall, thin, stick of a man. His face was skeletal, but sort of handsome in an eerie way. His hair was in the stage of balding, but he combed it across his dome to hide it. He stood up and announced, “Ten-hut!” Randy had opened the door for the general, who was entering the room, so we all stood up and saluted. Randy, who looked neat and tense, took a seat at the end, by the door, looking alert, ready for action. General Thompson declared, “At ease, men, at ease!” as he gave us a short salute, that almost looked like he was waving at a fly in front of his face. His wavy white hair, was cut short. He seemed to have had a recent haircut. He was clean shaven. The general looked as if he was satisfied and excited, as though he’d just put another notch on his belt. “Let’s all be seated, gentlemen, so we can get down to business. I know you have duties to perform, so I don’t plan on keeping you very long. And I plan on finishing packing and preparing this post for the next fortunate general to take over.” He looked around slowly, at each of us, as though he had a mental camera, snapping memories.

“I assume you’ve heard already, men, that I’ll be leaving soon, almost immediately, because it seems I’m needed in Korea. It seems they need some help in mopping up some sensitive problems there. I just had the honor of talking to our president, Eisenhower, whom I’d known for years., so when he requests, I comply. “I must say I’m grateful to all of you for your help in straightening out the problem we had with the civilians. It was an awkward situation, and it became dangerous for a short time.” He looked at me. “Thank you, young Ted, for alerting us to this dilemma, starting at, what you called it, ‘Mile 21.’ By alerting us, we were able to stifle their plans in the hive stage before they grew into major numbers buzzing around our base and countless other bases around the country. We could have been stung quite significantly. “It was a challenge to face a no-win situation. If we destroy them, we lose the respect and of the country. And, of course, there was no way we could allow them to destroy us. “Any questions?” “Sir!” came from Lieutenant Robson. “We just won a war in Japan with the atomic bombs. Is there any talk of using another one in North Korea?” The general stared at the ceiling for a long moment. No one moved. We were wax figures, waiting, expectant. “No, Lieutenant, there was no mention of it. And from what I hear, the devastation was mammoth, and the death count was in the thousands. God forbid such a weapon will ever be used again. I understand President Truman was sick about it for days. Just imagine, being responsible for such a decision! Even though the Japanese soldiers were guilty of such inhuman cruelties, such unforgivable tortures that people should never be allowed to wreak on each other, the bombs destroyed cities, and innocent people women, children, for God sake!” He stared at the blank wall. “No, Lieutenant, I pray we humans never wreak such unimaginable horror upon each other again!” No one moved. I wanted to clear my throat, but I wouldn’t allow myself to do it. I would rather have drowned than make a sound. I had no idea anything like the

atomic bomb could have such power. Just imagining its power, destroying whole cities, took on gigantic proportions such as the gods of mythology possessed. The general poured coffee into his cup. “ it around, men, and water, too.” We relaxed. I cleared my throat, sipped some nice cool water, and leaned back in my chair. I hadn’t realized I was so tense I was sitting like a fly trapped in his web of words. “Oh, and Pfc Ted, I was so sorry to hear about your mother’s dying. That’s why you went on leave, right?” I looked at Randy. “Yes, sir, but my mother got better, then my father ed away.” “Eh? What was that all about?” I fought the moisture that started its engine behind my eyes, and the tightening encroachment in my throat. “He shot himself, because he thought my mom was going to die.” The rain started betraying me. The general stared. All at the table stared, speechless, their tongues tied. Randy entered through the wall of silence, red-faced. “I’m sorry, General, I should have told you.” That broke through the glass wall of silence. “Well,” the general uttered. “I am sorry, and I’m sure everyone here feels your pain. Such an act must have been so, so devastating! It’s a wonder you returned. Are you all right, son?” “Yes, sir. I think the army business and staying busy were just what I needed!” “Good, good, good. By the way, gentlemen,” he looked around the table and smiled smugly, “Ted here is an excellent teacher. He taught this old guy, to throw a curve ball, and a knuckle ball, in case you’re in need of such instruction.” He paused. “Now, does anyone have any suggestions of how to interact with the citizens in our community so that such misunderstandings don’t occur again?”

Silence. The conference table was busy with people looking around, sipping their coffee as if hiding behind their cups. Then Randy broke the silence like a hammer on glass, with his, “I’ve got it, sir!” We set down our coffee or water, and waited. The general turned toward Randy, expecting. “Go on, Randy.” Randy offered, “We could have ball games, you know, teams, and play baseball. And if some of them don’t know how to play, Ted, here, or any of us who played the game can give lessons! And, and,” he was excited now, that he had hold of the idea, and wanted to grab it and stretch it for all its potential. “And we can go beyond baseball, and have picnics, entertainment from some from the base, and anyone else in the community with talents of any kind!” We all started to mutter to each other about what a great idea that was. The idea took hold of us and carried us in many directions of what we could do to include the people in the cities and towns around us! General Thompson stood up, walked over, and patted Randy on the back. “Now this is such a great idea, I’m going to promote you to sergeant immediately, as soon as we can put the paperwork through! What do you think, gentlemen?” Colonel Dempsey offered, “The idea is so brilliant, sir, that it’s a wonder we haven’t thought of it years ago.” Lieutenant Smithson added, “I agree, sir! Sergeant Scrofula and I have been living in Fayetteville for a few years, and we know many in the community. I’m sure we could get some people, and their children involved!” General Thompson stood up before us and pronounced, “Now, I feel I can leave this post, feeling gratified that this army and the communities around us will become much closer and involved. We can also invite certain leading citizens like Mr. Harley Sterling to advise us in how, or when, to include them in some of our decisions! Bravo, Randy! And Bravo, Teddy!” Following this, the general concluded the meeting, and many shook his hand, wishing him the best in his future commands.

I was the last to shake his hand. “Thank you, sir!” “And I thank you, Ted Byrum, and I want to follow your career, so send me messages or letters whenever you can, will you?” “I certainly will, sir, and thank you!” Near tears glossed my eyes, shamelessly.

101 LETTERS HOME

My brain was scrambled like eggs with everything that happened in and around my life recently. At night, when trying to sleep, images kept spinning like a tornado in my tired brain. Visions of my dad blasting a bullet into his head, with the blood and brains spilling onto Mom’s bed spread. The indian-wrestling with Chet, who then stabbed Choogah, who actually saved me from a blood letting or worse! They just spun round and round. Then, the general leaving for Korea, where he could get killed, even though some sort of peace was declared, put a scare in me. He became more than a friendly superior officer. He actually became a sort of military father figure to me. And the one image that’s repeatedly been haunting me, as though she’s been hiding behind a screen, and appears unexpectedly in the deep darkness of the night, is, sorry, Lord, and sorry, Paula, my affection for Sister Vickie. The image, no the feel of that time when we hugged will last my lifetime, I fear. Possibly because of the sin of it, the idea that nuns mustn’t do that, mustn’t have feelings, must not succumb to temptation, and possibly, because there might have been love between us, true love. No, I must not let myself dream that far! So, with those thoughts and many others, I decided some simple letters to my loved ones would help to clarify, and un-spin those images, help to establish some calm normalcy in my mind

My first was a love-letter to my Mother.

Dear Mom, May, 1954

Sorry I haven’t written in a few weeks, but I haven’t forgotten about you and the family. I confess to you that I was afraid to write right away, because, although Dad’s death was a shock to you, I know, it was also a shock to me. And a disappointment. Yes! I’ve been letting his death, and suicide, penetrate my thick head, because at first I couldn’t accept it. Yes, I know he tried to shoot himself before, but I always assumed it was mostly because of his pain. You know, the pain from the accident in Jeff’s car years ago. I thought I understood that, although it’s tough to think of ending it that way. And I have to it it must take courage to pull that trigger. But this last shot, especially in front of you and me and Jeff, I don’t know. All I can conclude is the fact that he loved you, Mom, loved you more than you realized, and he couldn’t face living without you, because he was so sure you were about to die at the time. Also, I know Dad wasn’t much of a Christian, that is a go-to-church every Sunday, sort of believer. But I do believe deep down in his heart, he was a good, loving person. I guess that’s why I ired him most of my growing-up years. He was a good man, and also a man’s man. Yes, he could fight. But he could also build a porch, a chicken coop, a coal bin, and many other things I can’t even . That reminds me, Mom, take whatever you hid in the coal bin, and spend it on yourself. You deserve it. So, back to Dad, I’m sure you pray for the best care of his soul. And I do also. He’s still with me even now. As to what is going on now, we’ve solved the citizen uprising for the most part. We’ve decided to include them in our activities, and in many decisions that affected them. But the most important news to me, now, is the fact that we’ll be losing the general of our post, General Dennis Thompson. Yes. He is a war hero, but the President of the US asked him to help out in North Korea, so he will be leaving almost immediately. I will miss him.

I trust that Anthony and Franklin and Gloria are well. No announcements from Gloria about future little people to be crawling around the house soon? Say hello to them for me, please, and tell them I miss them, especially Anthony.

All my love, Mom and family, Your Teddy

Dearest Pauley, May 1954

I know it seems like quite a while since I wrote to you, but I haven’t heard from you either. However, I understand. We get wrapped up in our lives, and before we know it, another day has flown by without our penning the letter we promised to write. I forgive you if you can forgive me. I confess I worried a bit about your friend trying to kiss you again. But I will remain faithful in the trust of your love. I am also really sorry I have not written more often, but it is tough to do, I promise. Yes, you’re waiting, but so am I. I miss mail call without one of your letters for me. But I have faith in our love, regardless of the miles that cruelly keep us apart. I know you are aware that my father’s suicide was a shock to me, especially with his doing it right in front of me and Mom. I still feel the jolt to my heart at the explosion and then the sight of my strong, tough dad, with life oozing out of him. I still think he did it to my mom, because she seemed to be knocking at Death’s door herself. But I thank the Lord He saved my mom! Because she, in her quiet, humble way, was actually the strength of the family. She’s the one who was home with us while we grew up. She patched our cuts and encouraged us in whatever we

attempted. She insisted we go to church and made sure we attended school. She actually made most of the decisions! And all the while she made sure to give my father the credit! And of course, she attends church every day, limping there each morning, rain or sun. She is a true believer. To most of us, we are trapped in our senses. We keep getting interruped by things we see, or hear, but Mom! I’m sure she conquers our senses with her belief! I’m sorry to make this a letter mostly about my mother, but I’m sure you’ll understand. In a way, I guess, I’m hinting at an ideal model for any woman, perhaps even you, if you should choose that path. Now about two lovers, two ideal people who seemed by fate to have been put together. Maybe this poem will make up for our long absences.

Long Absences

It’s been such a dry desert without the oasis of you, my love, and all I do sinks me deeper in dunes away from you, and windstorms blow, striving to bury the memory of your hair, your cheeks, your lips.

But even though wicked time fences us, chains us apart, and evil spirits tempt me with doubts, perjuring you, I will,

like Christ, sustain my faith and adoration, and return to you, my religion, my life, to drink again the holiness of us.

Humble as it is, my sweetheart, it does suggest how much I love you. and adore you, my Paula. Teddy

102 FRANCIS’ FAREWELL

Monday evening I enticed Jules to me while I visited Francis in the hospital. I was fairly certain the military wouldn’t allow him to remain in the army. Even though he did manage to jump school, I was certainly surprised he accomplished it. As effeminate as he was, he had a surprising amount of courage. “Were you surprised to hear that Francis received his airborne wings?” I asked Jules as we trod our way to the hospital. The evening sun was playing hide and seek behind the fast moving clouds, lighting, then darkening our way. Jules paused, then answered in a voice of suspicion, “I suppose you mean because Francis is a bit effeminate?” I felt awkward. “Well, yes, but I meant nothing derogatory.” He smiled. “I understand, Teddy. That’s something you never said about me, even though I know I’m somewhat gentle in my speech. I always ired you for that, my friend. Yes, Francis is sort of limp-wristed, you might say, and I know he’s weak, but I’ve never been vulnerable to sexual advances of males. A few have made advances toward me in the past, but I shot them down immediately! Such an approach just strikes me as an affront to humanity, to nature, but I never condemn others for their proclivities.” I was astounded by this open, honest exchange. “I did notice a certain gentleness in you, Jules, but I really never thought of you as homosexual.” Jules put his hand on my shoulder. “I sensed that right away, Teddy. That’s why I considered you my friend immediately. Now, in Francis’ case, I could tell he was abused somehow when young. And he seemed to have that label of ‘victim’ stamped on his body. This made him very vulnerable, I’m afraid. And I’m not sure we can help him. All we can do is try.”

The sun made one more swipe at us as we neared the entrance, before the clouds took over the sky for the night. In the hospital, we stopped at the usual desk, where a corporal gave us es to the 5th floor, which is just for patients who must be in a “lock-down,” situation, because most of them are not suited to be on their own in society of any kind. This means they might be dangerous to others or to themselves. The elevator whirred as we rose. Scenes appeared through the window, of the encroaching darkness invading the post. All seemed to swish by too quickly. Suddenly we were showing our es to the guard, who opened the door to the floor. We advanced until we spied Francis sitting in his chair, next to his bed, his hand holding a glass on the little table, staring, as usual, out the window. He seemed to be mumbling to himself. “Hey, Francis, how are you, my friend?” I asked. He looked up. “Hello, Ted. I’ve been hoping you’d visit. You seem to be the only one interested.” Jules added, “Well, since I met you, I’ve been interested in seeing you also, Francis. me? I’m Jules. Francis turned and stared at Jules. “I’m not interested in another lover, Teddy!” I said, “Jules is my friend, Francis, did you hear that? A friend! Not a lover! So please do not make the mistake of seeing in others what happened to you! Do you understand that? He’s a friend. A true companion who happens to be much smarter than you and me put together, so let’s get that straight!” Francis stared at Jules, then stared out the window. He turned, sipped a glass of water, then let tears flow onto his pajama top, which I noticed was quite moist already. He sobbed, “Oh damn, damn, damn, I am so lost, and I don’t know where to turn.” “We have a new priest now. He seems pretty good.” “No more priests! I don’t care if he just came from the Pope! I don’t believe in a god, or Satan, or anything religious! No god could create a world like this! It’s

muck! That’s what it is. It’s filthy, shitty Muck!” Jules put his hand on my arm and whispered, facing away from Francis. “Just let him go on. He needs to let it out!” So we stayed there, while Francis sobbed and hit his forehead with the heels of hands, again and again, while he sobbed. Then he went the longest time without breathing. But we waited. Finally, as though coming up from the bottom of a lake, his head rose and inhaled deeply! Jules held his bed sheet up and whispered, “Lie down now. Try to sleep. We’ll be here waiting for you.” Francis obeyed. He lifted up then lay on the bed, still sobbing, quietly. Then he stopped, and turned sideways. Jules covered him up, and rubbed his back slowly. “Sleep, now, sleep. We’ll be right here.” We waited, sitting on two hard brown metal chairs. Papers on the wall, introduced the nurse and his hours. An hour ed. Jules whispered to me, “He’s still in a dangerous situation. If they send him home, it won’t be a healthy situation, from what I hear. His mother won’t be a help. What do you think?” I was stuck. I didn’t have a suggestion. “I don’t know where else he could go.” Francis sobbed again . His head rose. His world seemed to be collapsing. “Are you sure Father Roland is gone? Is he dead?” “Yes, he’s dead, Francis,” I answered. “There’s no doubt about that.” Francis rose, “Is it possible to love a man and despise him at the same time? I wish I could kiss him and kill him at the same time. I would push him off the choir loft myself. Maybe then I could get some, what’s it called? Closure?” His voice turned to snake-like whisper. “I hate what he did to me! Hate, hate, hate him!” We sat, quietly, like two flies on the wall. After a long pause, Francis seemed to conclude something in his mind. “You two

can leave now. Thank you for coming. You were a big help. I’ll be okay now.” He grinned. “Are you sure, Francis? We can stay, if you want.” “No. Go, now, please!” We looked at each other, got up and walked slowly out the door. Jules and I walked away, slowly, half expecting to be called back. We were nearing the elevator, but no voice called out. At that moment I felt we’d never see Francis Plustoni from Susquehanna, Pennsylvania again. What would happen to him? What would his cruel world do to him?

103 SURPRISE AWARD

Monday morning, after I ate breakfast chow with Jules, Bobby and Brian, a corporal informed me that our company commander required my presence in his office. I made sure my uniform and tie were situated neatly, waved to the guys, and marched to his office. As the sun fought the clouds in the east, peeking now and then through an opening, then losing each time, I wondered what Captain Parnell could want with me. Emergency at home? Something about s? After my shy knock at his door, I was ordered to “Enter!” I did so, and saluted, “Pfc Theodore Byrum here, sir, at your command!” Captain Parnell sat behind his big desk, tossing an off-handed salute back at me without even looking past his thick eyebrows. “So! What’s going on with you, Private Byrum? What have you been up to, browning your nose at the back side of some officers?” I stood there, still at attention, suddenly uneasy, wondering what crime I’d committed. “No sir. I don’t understand, sir. Have I done something wrong?” “I don’t know what in hell you did, soldier! You were just promoted to Pfc a few days ago, it seems, and now this?” “Now this, sir?” He held a paper out toward me. “Yes, this! At ease! Read this order!” I came forward, ready to read a death sentence. I took the paper, and as I opened it, I saw it was a military order. The most important part stated, “Pfc Theodore Byrum is promoted to the rank of Corporal in the United States Army.” I was shocked! Dizzy! The news brought a hammer with it which knocked me dizzy. Never did I think I deserved a promotion! Especially this soon! I looked again, and it was ordered by General Dennis T. Thompson. “For actions beyond

the scope of his regular duties.” Captain Parnell came around the table, his cheeks red as ripe apples, and threw his hand forward at me, offering congratulatory kudos. A large grin appeared, followed by a guffaw. “Haw, haw, young man. I’ve been informed about your contribution, and Mile 21. Well done! The military can use men like you!” I left, dizzy with success, wondering where to get corporal stripes.

104 BIG DECISION

I bought some corporal stripes at the Post Exchange, that same day, and decided to try to remove the Pfc stripes, carefully with a razor. So, in the chaplain’s office, sitting at the chaplain’s desk, I committed the surgery. This, before the new chaplain arrived. Then I tried to sew the stripes on, slowly, carefully. Of course, Father Horrigan, entered, while I was attempting this maneuver at turtle speed, and he laughed out loud. I rose from his seat quickly. “Sorry!” he said, while he chuckled more. “I couldn’t help myself. Do you always work with your tongue sticking out like a cat licking its milky lips?” I immediately retracted my guilty offender. “You caught me, sir. I was trying to show off my new promotion. I really should have depended upon the people who know how to do this at the tailor’s. They’ll have to do all my uniforms, anyway.” Father put his hand on my shoulder and declared, “I heard some fine things about you, young man, and you can be proud of the stripes, because I believe you earned them. Here, I’ve had some experience at needlecraft in my days, so let me relieve you of your misery.” He sat in his chair, took my shirt and needle and worked with such ease, in, then out, and again, all while conversing with me. “So do you have any plans? Will you be staying with me as my assistant, and altar boy?” While I watched him work, I replied, “It will be my honor, Father, sir, but I may wish to be transferred to Japan shortly.” I didn’t know where that came from! Was it because I was ordered there before? I didn’t realize I was disappointed that my orders were changed from the original. Georgy was in Japan. I’d get to see him again. I felt my face turning flush at this discovery. Father stopped sewing and looked up at me. “You look as if you just had an epiphany! Was your Japan declaration a surprise to you as well as to me?”

“Yes, Father, it was! My friend has been shipped to Japan, and I volunteered for Korea, so I’ll take either one. But maybe Japan, then Korea. I think! I guess. But I think I need a change, sir. I feel like I’ve been put through a war. With civilians, that’s true, but somehow I feel I’ve been in a strange sort of combat.” “I understand, Ted. Here.” He handed the shirt with sergeant stripes on the sleeves. Pretty neat, also. “Thanks, Father. It looks great! Much better than I could ever do.” “I’ll try to find someone to take your place. Any recommendations?” I thought for a moment. “Brian Steelson, might be just the one, sir. He might need a bit of help in the office and altar-boying, but I’ll bet he’d do well.” Father started looking at the mail on his desk. “Okay. I’ll see if he’s willing and available. Thanks.” I felt like I’d committed myself, before I was even ready for that decision. But then, I’d made it, and I would follow through with it. I started typing a request for transfer. Later, after we finished the mail, and I showed Father where everything was, and how I filled out the morning reports, and all the significant numbers, and who were the important s, I stressed Randy’s number, as a key to the general. “Randy was an altar boy, also, Father, in case of an emergency.” “I’ll that.” “Oh, and one other person you might like to meet, sir. His name is Leroy Riverton, a black janitor, with the most beautiful baritone voice! It might be nice to have him sing at some Sunday mass, if he’d agree to it, Father. “I see, Ted. Thank you for the suggestion. We should have some singing on Sundays, if we can arrange it.” Father Horrigan worked out so well! My work seemed much easier after that. There was no tension. Father talked often to Randy and the general, so

communication was smooth. Before the next Sunday mass, from behind a curtain, I pointed out some of the key people in the pews, like neat Lieutenant Smithson, and pock-faced Sergeant Scafura, This was not to insult Sarge, but just as a tag to him. General Thompson was there, of course, alert as ever, in his uniform and his short, wavy white hair. He would be leaving in the morning, I’d heard. I was also surprised to see Regis Litburn, in uniform with his large winglike ears. Good for him, i thought. He was ing the rest of us “normal” people. In my mind, I wished him well. Then I said “There’s Randy, Father! We could even invite him up to serve mass with me, if you’d like.” “Okay, son, if you’d like to go invite him.” I did so. Of course, in the back pew, was Jules, sitting ever-watchful and curious. Also, next to him were Brian, in his fatigues, and even Bobby, who tried to look neat in his uniform, but somehow never managed to achieve that state, with wild tufts of hair sticking up. There remained something hillbillyish about him always. And yet, he was so likable, accent and all. Then, to my great surprise, entered tall, thin Abe! It felt great to see him ing us! Randy and I served mass, and even though he was a bit rusty, we both did well. Father gave a positive sermon, but then announced my intent to leave for Japan or Korea, wherever I was sent. The General clapped his hands in applause, and many others in the pews ed in. I could feel my cheeks blush as though I’d just grown strawberries there. Yet, with all of this, I still felt a longing for one particular woman, whom I’d most likely never have the chance to see again. Beneath my joyful anticipation of new travels, part of me felt there was part of my body being amputated, an arm, perhaps, I’d never, ever be able to use again, and all thoughts in that direction, were banned.

105 A LOVE TRIP?

Three weeks ed. In the office, I was working on the morning report and other mail, most of it personal letters for Father Horrigan. But one of them was in a military envelope addressed to me, Corporal Theodore Byrum. My transfer to Japan was approved! Part of me welcomed the change in my life, but another part accused me of abandonment. What the hell. I was to report to Fort Lewis, in 3 weeks, then take a ship out of the state of Washington heading for Japan. I suddenly panicked about my rash decision. My head was a swirling dark cloud, promising heavy rains of regrets. I left the office at my first chance, and headed right for the motor pool. What was I doing? What the hell? I requested a vehicle for a trip to the Sisters of Charity in Mt. Pleasant. The sergeant in charge asked, “More to do with the nuns and church, I guess!” “That’s true, Sarge! Kind of urgent, I guess.” I waited anxiously, until a blue Ford was brought to me. I signed for it, and said, “Thanks, Sarge. I’ll bring it back safely.” I drove off, my mind still wondering what I was doing. Is this some kind of insanity? But I couldn’t help it. The first thing I thought of, was Sister Vickie! I hadn’t realized how much I liked her. How much I wanted to be with her. Yet, I knew that all of it was just childish, but I felt such an unfathomable ion for her. And I didn’t know it! Not until I had the thought of never seeing her again! As I drove, I knew I’d be rejected by Sister Victoria, the nun, the forbidden fruit. What was wrong with me? “Turn around, fool!” I hollered at myself. And yet, I kept the car moving for Mt. Pleasant! I hardly even noticed Mile 21, until I ed it. I doubt I even glanced that way. I felt as if I was going through some kind of insanity, like a homing pigeon flying to a home, that was no longer my home. I kept picturing Sister Vickie in her habit, and my embracing her, feeling her warm body through the cloth. But no! I smacked myself symbolically for my evil thoughts and desires. I even wanted her to slap me, hard! I needed to be

punished! I pulled over, parked. When I looked up, I was surprised to see I was right in front of Woods Hole. I got out, and walked toward the little path and the opening into the woods, the same one that Sister Victoria and I had taken when training Satan. I needed a walk, I guessed, something that would help me achieve sanity. I found an old log that had timbered itself over years before, an oak, I believed. I ed that the old drunk that was thrown out of The Wild Thang was in there. I also could picture again Sister and I, alone with Satan, and felt my desire for her the whole time. And I was sure she desired me as well, even as saintly as she was, or was trying to be, she felt much the same way. I was right, wasn’t I? Damn! I found myself stumbling down the hill toward Woods Hole. There in front of me was the dark jungle of evil that Ms Cates in the library had warned me about. Suddenly a spasm of laughter spewed from my mouth. I ed the heavenly Sister Victoria walking into hell with Satan. The irony brought a paroxysm of opposites. And who in hell did I think I was? I walked back to the log and sat, feeling my nerves lose tension. Suddenly I knew what to do. A mental cloud opened to a clear sky. I felt I’d aged several years. Back in the car I drove, headed for the nun’s quarters, intent on doing this. When I reached the entrance I announced I was there to see Sister Victoria, “on urgent matters.” The gate opened and I drove slowly, calmly up the hill. I parked the car and waited, and waited. Finally, after about 15 minutes, Mother Superior appeared, her tunic sweeping the ground. Satan followed her. I opened the door and Satan greeted me with his paw on my knee. I shook it and scratched his neck while his tail announced his welcome. “Hello, Theodore!” she offered. “You weren’t scheduled to appear here, were you? Catechism classes are over. I thought you knew that.” “Yes, Mother Superior. I knew that. Can we sit in the car a moment? I have a little humorous tale to tell you.” “Yes, of course. Satan, stay!” I held the door for her, and she eased her way to the enger seat, gracefully as always.

Then, when I ed her in the car, from the driver side, I chuckled. “I bet you guessed why I suddenly appeared, Mother Superior.” “Oh, yes, young man. I expected this. And soon I’ll allow you to see Sister Victoria so you can make your plea. You wish to tell her how desperately you love her. Am I right?” “Yes, ma’am. That was my intent until I stopped at Woods Hole and thought about it all.” “What happened?” She smiled, amused, with white teeth that protruded a bit from her mouth. A touch of grey curl peeked out of her white veil. She was so beautiful for an older woman. “Well, you’re probably not aware, but my friends in the barrack and I, have been studying vocabulary occasionally, and I think I have just the right word for what happened to me in Woods Hole. “Is it something pertaining to Sister Mary Victoria, young man?” “Yes, Sister. Thank you for being patient with me. It struck me as humorous that when I was with Sister Vickie, if you don’t mind my calling her that.” She waited. “Well, there I was, with an angel of a woman, a saint-like person, with Satan. That’s when I laughed, you see. Heaven and hell. Sister and Satan. That’s when I wondered what kind of insanity I was going through, and I had, what I thought was an, an, an epiphany!” “Ah, yes, that’s what I thought you were going to say. I’m proud of you, Ted! Now what was your epiphany?” “That’s when I realized that I might have fallen for a woman, but really, she is more than that. She is a holy person, dedicated to the Lord, the one I served for years as an altar boy, and the one I intend to serve the rest of my life. I am so, so sorry if I caused you any concern, Mother Superior. And I certainly don’t wish to hurt Sister Vick, er, Sister Mary Victoria. I do think that we became friends, though, and since I will be shipping out to Japan and maybe Korea, I’d like to say goodbye to her, with your permission.” “Permission granted, Theodore. I am very pleased that you had that epiphany, also. You realize, of course, that the word epiphany is celebrated as the

revelation of God the son as Jesus Christ. But I’m pleased at the worldly definition of the word as a sudden insight or understanding. Especially in this context.” She opened the door, and Satan rose, wagging his tale. “I’ll send Sister, uh, Vickie out to you, Theodore. Watch Satan, all right?” She smiled, reached in, and shook my hand. “Bless you, young man, and may the Lord protect you in your journeys. You’re a good man. Goodbye!” “Goodbye, Mother Superior. And thank you for your understanding and blessing.” I patted and rubbed Satan, while waiting for Sister Vickie. Suddenly I felt holy, clean. I was ready to say goodbye. Sister Vickie came out and said, “Hello, Ted, so you had a nice talk with Mother Superior?” She smiled, revealing a wide smile, beaming. Her crooked nose just seemed to add to her beauty. She patted Satan, then rested her hand on the car fender. “Yes, I did, Sister. I told her I was in love with you!” “So I hear. And you also had an epiphany?” “Yes, I did. I came out here to tell you I loved you.” “And I love you, also, Ted! But, of course it’s not the same kind of love you were seeking. I felt attracted to you at first, Ted, but I realized that was an old, sort of animal magnetism, that I once had for my, uh, boyfriend many centuries ago, it seems. But I have gone beyond that type of love now. Actually, above it. I willingly gave up all desire for physical, sexual activities. As long as you understand that, then we can part friends, and I hope we will remain that way, staying in . But, if not, we can keep each other’s memories safe, and holy in our souls and memories.” “That’s exactly what I wanted to say to you, Sister. I’ve come to love, you, but at first I didn’t understand it. Then in Woods Hole I had that epiphany and realized that I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you, I feel blessed that you were in my life.” Tears appeared on Sister’s cheeks, which started a switch in my emotional gears, and my eyes watered. Satan whimpered, not understanding our silence.

I held my hand out to Sister, and she took mine. Then we were in a deep hug. It felt so warm, so loving, so pure. After a moment she said, “Farewell, Ted. Try to write if you ever get a chance. I will read it lovingly. And I will always answer.” She took out of her pocket, the little cricket I’d given her. “And I will always keep little Jiminy Cricket to keep me out of trouble!” she smiled. Then she wiped away a tear. I did the same. She turned and walked away with Satan. I watched. She waved at the door. I waved back, suddenly feeling I lost something important and beautiful in my life.

106 LETTERS FROM HOME

At mail call, I didn’t expect any letters, but was surprised to receive two of them. Back at my bunk, I opened Pauley’s letter first, saving Mom’s for last.

My dearest Ted, June, 1954

Thank you, my darling, for your letter. And thank you for the beautiful poem. I showed it to my friends, and they said it sounds professional! I’m not making this up. I was surprised that it didn’t rhyme, but that didn’t seem to matter. Once in a while when I try to write a poem of my own, I get stuck with trying to rhyme, with the same number of syllables and stanzas, so I give up and read Keats or Shelley or Robert Frost. Sorry, I guess I’m just not a poet, but I do love it, and love when you write one to me. Never stop! I’m working now at A&P as a clerk typist in the office. I left my other job, because I saw it was going no where, and this one seems to have potential for advancement. Who knows? But what am I trying to prove? I’m really just existing until you come home to me. Since we met and fell in love, it’s like I really fell, into deep well, and the pail for water will not be sent down to me until you return. I am content, my love, I will wait until you return and raise me back into the world, so you can drink from me. Drink my love, my darling. I have so much for you, you’ll be able to swim in me! Sorry, love. I must have been reading too much poetry. That’s what I do each night, when I re-read your letters. I pray for you, and I read the poems of the greats. By the way, have you read any poems from e. e. cummings? It’s crazy and daring and good. Maybe you didn’t read him yet. You’ll love him! Here are

a few lines:

I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive

Sorry. Those are just a few lines. I love his works. I don’t understand them all, but enjoy the courage of his images. Enough of that. I was so excited to hear that you’re being transferred to Japan! Georgy will be pleased, I think. He hasn’t been writing very much to me. I guess he’s like you. Sometimes he gets involved in matters and doesn’t have much time. I understand. I will be patient. I’ve also been reading “Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger. I like it because it’s about modern kids of the day. The language is also gutsy, just like Cummings. I guess I just enjoy writings that are not just ordinary. Strange, I read their works and just know that we’d have so much fun discussing them. I know I’ve never mentioned this to you, my love, and told myself I wouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I know what you do can be dangerous and I’m so afraid of what could happen, when you jump out of an airplane, or have to handle those weapons! I know anything can happen, and I try not to let my mind picture what could happen, but I can’t help myself! God, what would I do without you? Sorry, my sweetheart. It just spilled out like red ink from my heart. Enough of that! Oh, my sweetheart, I do look forward to a life with you. There’s no doubt in my mind that we will love each other to the end. I guess that’s enough now. I’ve been encouraging Georgy to write to you, but I doubt he will.

So long, my love. me each night as you look at the sky.

Love you always, Your Pauley

Letter from Mom and family.

Dear Teddy, June 1954

Hello, son, we decided it might be nice to hear from of the Byrum family, so, my son, this is Mom, as you can probably tell from my handwriting. I’ve been recovering steadily since the operation, and the of the family have been visiting regularly. Anthony and I appreciate it. Except, of course, when he decides to hide in the attic or the cellar. I guess I should be used to it, but it still disturbs me. Sometimes he’s like a ghost wandering the rooms of this big house, day and night. God forbid him if he walks out at night. He could get lost or killed, just crossing a street. I guess I must leave him in the hands of the Lord. I refuse to restrain him in any way. His life, and his eyes are doing enough of that to him. I sometimes think that his unfortunate birth was payment for my sins. If so, it’s such a cruel punishment! But I will not lose my faith in the Lord! He’s also taken away my husband, perhaps for my sins as well. I accept, Lord, just as you did, carrying that heavy cross that they then nailed you to. My pains are nothing to yours, my Lord! Sorry, son, but sometimes I must express what I feel deeply. And you’re the one I always seem to confess to. It may be that you’re the only one I write to. This sheet will remain secret from the others. I’ll just be glueing their notes to this letter.

Oh, and I also had a letter from your Pauley. She’s such a nice, caring girl. You’re lucky you met her. Oh, and Anthony says, “Hello, Teddy, and don’t get killed!” That’s all my darling son. Stay safe and well. Love, Mom and Anthony Dear brother, Teddy, It’s so nice that I can “talk” to you. We’re all proud of you, you know. I’m engaged now, and will probably be married before you’re discharged. I’m still working at the telephone company in Springfield, close to where I live. I miss being home with the family, but that’s what happens to us all, I guess. We all must move out eventually, and start families of our own. You’ll be doing that with your Pauley, I’ll bet. That’s all for now, my brother. I miss you and love you, and come home safe! All our love, Gloria Dear kid brother, Teddy, It’s me, Franklin, or as some call me, Frankie. I imagine most things are different from when I was in the army, uniforms and everything. But I bet there’s still a lot of chicken shit, when the sergeants or officers pull their tricks on you. Oh, well, I survived, and so will you. I’m just glad you didn’t have to go to the war, like I did. One thing, though, you will get the GI Bill when you’re discharged. Use it, Teddy! Get an education! I wish I had that chance. Maybe you’re smarter than I am, I don’t know. Just don’t go wasting it! Hey, gotta go.

I’m still working two jobs, mailman and electric shop. Gotta make a living, you knowLove you, you know. Make us proud!

Be good! Frankie

107 A FAREWELL PARTY

Back at the barrack, I started sorting my clothes, which uniforms and other clothing I would be packing in the duffle bag, and which I would wear in the next few days before taking the bus back to Massachusetts. It was always awkward because this time I would take all my belongings, uniforms, shoes, and boots. The boots were the most difficult. They all be could be forced in, but heavy. I was used to it. I decided to give a few of my fatigues away, and a pair of my boots. The barrack was almost full, with many getting ready to go to the mess hall. The usual music was flowing from a radio, and I know it was Brian’s radio. He gave up trying for music from “up north,” meaning Michigan in this case, so he contented himself listening for music with words that made sense. This one was “Tennessee Waltz,” which I liked also. Brian swayed his way to my bunk next to Bobby, who was leaning against the wooden pole next to the butt can. Bobby offered, “Ah sho would be pleased ta take them jumpin’ boots from ya, Teddy. Ah mean, jest ta save yer totin’ em all the way home.” I laughed. “Well, I’ll be mighty obliged, Bobby. Here, take ’em. It will help me out, and save me from getting back spasms.” His eyes grew wide as an owl’s. “Thanks, ma friend! Ah hate ta see ya go, ye know.” “Thanks, Bobby!” Somehow I ended up thanking him for my gift. Jules who was sitting on his bunk, offered, “Well, Teddy, I do think we should have a party in honor of your leaving, don’t you?” I hesitated “I don’t know. I never thought about it. I guess it would be okay. How do we go about doing that?” I held some fatigues out, blouse and pants to Brian. They still had the pfc stripes on them.

“Thanks, Teddy.” Meanwhile, Jules offered. “Just leave that up to me. Brian will help, won’t you?” Brian answered with a grin, “Sure thing! Just tell me what to do?” “Well,” said Jules, “We can set it up for Saturday. Does that sound okay, Teddy?” “Sure!” I had thoughts of Brian or Bobby getting drunk, but thought I’d better not say anything. I wasn’t planning it. “Okay!” Jules started getting excited. He took out his hanky and wiped his forehead, which wasn’t sweating. “We’ll make it for Saturday in Fayetteville, at Rusty’s Waterhole. I’ll warn Rusty in advance.” Jules was getting excited. The hanky got to work again. “And, and, we can even invite people from the tattoo parlor, if they’ll come!” I thought about it, and realized this was my last weekend here at Fort Bragg. Last weekend in North Carolina!. “I’ve got an idea, Jules, and guys!” They waited. “How about making it a traveling party? I’ve heard about such things! But if we started early enough, we could travel to McCain also!” They stared at me. Brian was shaking his head, as if I’d been sniffing too much incense at church. I was excited. “I mean, why not? We had some memorable experiences in Mt. Pleasant also. And it would be fun to visit Beau, in The Bamboo Lounge, then The Wild Thang!” Now that would be a farewell party! That’s one I’d never forget!” Bobby raved, “Now that’s the wildest dang party ah evah heard-tell of!” He danced a bit of a jig. Brian, timidly, “Wonder how drunk we can be without bein’ arrested.” Jules, pointed his hanky at them, and offered, “Some people might get a little too drunk to handle all that, Teddy. I don’t know.” “That’s the answer! The two of us will stay sober, and we can hit both places!

We’ll just drop off Brian and Bobby at the base on the way!” “But what about Randy and Willy?” Jules asked, staring at me, gripping his hanky as though it was gavel. “We’ll ask them if they can stay somewhat manageable. You know, enough to travel to the other city. They can make up their minds on the way past the base. That would be an experience of a lifetime, Jules!” Jules looked at me, then the others, then me, and flung his hanky on my footlocker, and said “It would be my pleasure to be involved in such an exciting, but dangerous adventure.” “Thanks, Jules!” I replied. “And now that I think of it, it might be somewhat perilous. How’s that for another word? But, I guess anything can happen, especially when alcohol is involved, so we’ll have to be on the alert, won’t we? And, I it, the danger, and the not-knowing does make it enticing. So let’s do it!”

108 MY FAYETTEVILLE PARTY

The week scampered by quickly, with me cleaning up my work in the chaplain’s office, and helping Father Horrigan get accustomed to my routines, and the paper work he had to face. I also made sure to call and remind Randy of the party on Saturday. I made a trip to the church late Friday night, to say goodbye to Leroy Riverton, who was doing his usual cleaning, and singing. I asked him if he would sing “Amazing Grace,” and he starting sweeping and singing. I sat and listened as he groomed his way down the aisle toward the altar. His hair was halfway bald, showing a large forehead, he was easily 6 feet tall, with a powerful chest. When he sang, he was lost in the lines. “’Twas grace that taught mah hart to feah, ’N grace mah feahs relieved; How precious d’ that grace ’pear, The hour Ah first believed” He was apparently too shy to face me, but I didn’t mind. The most powerful, and beguiling baritone voice echoed through the church. But he muted it in the higher notes, so he would not attract attention in the outside surroundings, I guessed. I felt special because I was his only audience then. After that performance, I thanked him and said goodbye to him, and wished him the best in his life. He thanked me, shyly, and started wiping all the pews. I could tell he was pleased. He had a smile that exposed his pleasure. As I was nearing the exit, he exclaimed, “Ah’ll nevah forgit’ what y’all did with mah ‘plaints bout the priest, suh!”

I waved and left, not ready to take credit for such a disaster. Friday night, after all were asleep, I stood at the window by my bunk, and observed the clouds rushing past the moon, stealing part of its gold to tint their snowiness in wealth. I whispered to my Pauley about my feelings then, how I would miss this phase of my life, and somehow felt she understood. I felt excited about my future, but also feared the trip on the ocean all the way to Japan. And I feared the unknown. The people who spoke a different language, with different values. And then, the fact that I volunteered for Korea, was brave, certainly, but done with no thought of the dangers that might be involved. Sometimes, I felt like such a fool, sticking my chest out with such bravado, when inside I was trembling. Enough of that. But that was how I felt. And yet, it was sure to be an exciting new chapter in the book of my life. So for now, my love, I said to myself, I will be patient. I’ll see you soon. The moon fought its way through the moon, and took back its wealth. Saturday, although the minutes and hours sped along at the same speed as they always do, I was sure, they seemed to be in a hurry on that day. I guessed it was because part of me had such trepidations of the actions of certain individuals, mostly, Bobby, and Willy, whenever alcohol is dancing around, tempting them. So there we were, after a quick chow, it was 1700 hours, time to squeeze into Jules’ car. Jules drove, Brian and I were engers in front, a little tight, but not too bad. In the back were Bobby, Willy and Randy. So there we were, six soldiers, about to advance toward Rusty’s Waterhole to celebrate farewells in a friendly, sober manner. As we rode along, each of us wearing fatigues, except for Jules, of course, who was always in his class A’s. Willy slowly started a song, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and the others ed in. I just smiled and listened. Then they repeated the tune, and repeated it, as it got louder and louder, until I couldn’t take any more. “All right, all right! Quit now! You sound like dying crows!” I laughed. “Thanks, guys, but I’m a bit worried about this night, because we’ll be near liquor, and some of you can’t handle it!” They all lied, except for Jules, of course, “There won’t be any troubles!” but I knew there’d be some trickery afoot.

When we entered Fayetteville, and parked close to Rusty’s Waterhole, we all stumbled out. “Phew! Who farted? Ah’ll kill im’!” blurted Bobby. It was pretty bad. More like an animal died and left a gift, sweet and rotten. Then I exclaimed, “Hey, I’d like to look in on the tattoo parlor. Anyone care to me?” “Not me, no way!” Randy said. I ed what a bad night that was for him, when he kept teasing Willy until violence broke out. Randy was in pain from his girlfriend’s death, so he teased until Willy started pounding him. Not a good night! Willy answered, “Sure, let’s go, Teddy!” “See you guys in Rusty’s, in a few, okay?” I waved to them. Jules frowned. “You’re not going to get another tattoo, are you?” “No. I’m just kind of saying goodbye to many of the people I was involved with, Jules. I guess I’m sort of trying to significant moments of my life.” “Why?” asked Randy. “You plan on writing a book of your life?” I thought about that. I knew I never would, but I said, “Sure, maybe. Yeah, maybe I will.” They laughed. I smiled about such an impossibility. Willy and I pulled the door open and entered the tattoo parlor. We were attacked by smoke so thick, at first we couldn’t see. My eyes burned. There was the same man, to greet us. He blew a smoke ring, then said, after coughing, “Welcome! Tattoo?” I answered, “No, sir! I just wanted to say thanks for the tattoo I received here a few months ago.” “Anything wrong with them? They’re pretty painful to take off!” “No, sir!” I answered. Hey, is Jerry here?”

Jerry peeked out of his station. His blond hair was almost all grey, and so was his beard. “Pretty busy here, now. Hey! I you. Ted, wasn’t it? No uniform tonight?” I answered, “No. I just thought I’d stop and say hello. I’m leaving for overseas, and wanted to say thanks. The tattoo will be with me for the rest of my life, you know. So I appreciate what you did for me.” Jerry peeked in his door for a moment, then limped over to me and shook my hand. “Show me my tattoo, will ya?” I unbuttoned and pulled my tee shirt down. “It turned out pretty good, didn’t it?” He ran his fingers over the wings with the parachute down the middle. “S’one of my masterpieces!” “It is. I like it, Jerry. Thanks!” “First time anyone ever came back and thanked me! You’re very welcome, young man. And come back safely, will you. They play for real over there, you know!” “I will, Jerry. Thanks again.” He patted me on the shoulder. “God speed!” and hustled back to his customer. When we walked toward Rusty’s, Willy grumbled, “Nobody was interested in my tattoo!” He trod along, heavily, his broad shoulders forward, his head tucked down, like a turtle. I ed, “It was a chute with a rifle through it, wasn’t it?” “Yup. But I think I like yours better! But I don’t want any more! One’s enough!” “Yours wasn’t so bad, though.” When we entered Rusty’s Waterhole, the first place I looked at was the booth where Sgt Scrofula, and Lieutenant Smithson often sat. And there they were! They both waved. I looked to the right, and saw our group. “Willy, why don’t you our group? I’m going over there to say hello to some old friends.” I

walked toward the two who were munching burgers. I smiled at my calling them ‘friends.’ Such a name I’d never say to their faces! But, in a strange way, somehow they were, in my mind. Maybe I adopted them, I chuckled to myself. When I walked by some table, mostly empty because it was so early, I wondered that Lieutenant Smithson and Sergeant Scrofura were at Rusty’s so often. I’ll bet it was because neither one of them cooked. I saluted the lieutenant, and he snapped one back. I uttered shyly, “Hello, sir, and sarge. I just wanted to make sure I said goodbye to you, because I’ll be shipping out to Japan. Then Korea, perhaps. I leave Monday.” Lieutenant Smithson, announced, “That’s interesting, Private Byrum! And quite a coincidence! Ah’m shipping out this week. I requested South Korea, and that’s when Ah’ll be travelin’ also. Ah’ll have some leave-tame, then fly ta Oregon ta board a ship fer’ th’ Orient.” Sarge added, “Yep. We been much too long tendin’ to you raw recruits! Time to head for greener pastures! I’m headin’ that direction too.” “Wow!” I exclaimed. “I guess you two are just trying to keep taking care of me! By the way, I never mentioned this, but I appreciated the fact that you were in on the whole planning sessions with the general. I felt safer with your being there. You knew me!” Sarge grinned. “Yeah, an’ we also knew you could be a real pain!” “Thanks, Sarge! Well, this is sort of a farewell party for me. If I don’t see you again, Sarge, and Sir! It was a pleasure, maybe not all of it, but mostly, a pleasure knowing you. And thanks for all you taught me! Lieutenant Smithson stood up next to his table and saluted. Sarge stood up and ed in the salute. I saluted them both back, feeling comforted. There’s something special about saluting. It, to me, was a sign of something heart-felt, especially when it is in a farewell! I walked away. Some customers were entering. I stopped by the bar to say hello to Rusty. But first, Tuppence wagged his tail, and greeted me with a pleasant gruff. I leaned over and scratched his neck and back. “I wish I could take you home with me, Tuppence. You’d be the perfect friend, I know. And you’d like

my brother, Anthony. He’d love you! I know that. I will miss you.” Tuppence perked up his ears as if he understood. He gave a friendly whine. Rusty came to my side. His red (rusty) hair was showing more grey, it seemed to me. But he still had that wide-opened stare as if expecting something to happen. And with his usual smile, he said, “Good to see you, Teddy! What’s new?” “I’m shipping out Monday. I’ll take a few weeks leave, then head for Japan. I volunteered for South Korea, but my orders are for the island of Kyushu, Japan.” I didn’t know why I gave him so much information, but it just blurted out of me. Maybe it’s because I liked him so much. I added, “You are one person I will miss, Rusty. I believe we could have been good friends, if we had the opportunity.” “Well,” he answered. “It still can happen. I would like that, too. Maybe I’ll kick your butt in indian wrestling when we’re friends” He offered his hand. “You know my address!” “Sure thing,” I said. “You’ll be hearing from me!” We shook hands, firmly and warmly. “Wait! Take this! On the house.” He presented a stein of beer. I walked away with the beer, but feeling as though I’d just found a rare coin, a friend. On the way to our booth, which was disappearing in the cigarette smoke, I ed Amber, the waitress, and she said, “God bless you, Teddy!” At the table were Jules, sipping lemonade, while Randy, Bobby, Willy and Brian had beers in front of them. But on the empty place for me, was a glass that looked like water. I suspected something, but I didn’t want to ruin their prank. It reminded me of the time in high school when I returned from the pencil sharpener, I espied a thumb tack on my seat, the pointed edge sticking up, waiting for my butt. But I fooled them all. I noticed several staring at me in anticipation. So I sat, but I made sure the tack missed my butt, and went up my crack. So the tack found nothing but butt space. I looked around at faces filled with expectations of my screaming. But nothing! I sat there until the end of class period. When I got up to leave, there was the unsuccessful weapon, a poor failure.

So when I sat at the table, I set my stein down, but without looking, my elbow hit the glass. Oops! Over went the potent potable. I caught the glass before it hit the floor, but the odor of whiskey and strong alcohol lingered in the air. Jules said “There! I told you it wouldn’t work! Phew!” The grins on their faces turned grim as I stared at them. “Thanks, guys. Trying to get me sick, or arrested on my last weekend here?” Randy offered, “I wouldn’t have let you drink it, Teddy. We just thought a sip or two would get the party going!” I paused. “I just want to say to you guys, that it’s been a great pleasure knowing you! I know some guys say things like staying in , but I mean it. I want all of your addresses so I can stay in touch.” I paused, looked at each of them. “And I mean it! I will stay in with all of you, if you’ll let me!” The looked at each other. “Don’t take this wrong, guys, but I haven’t even had a drink yet, and I just want to say, I love you all.” I held my stein in the air toward them. They did the same. We clinked, and drank. “And we love you, Teddy!” said Jules. They all ed in, “Yeah! Here, Here! Here’s to Teddy!” We drank. I sipped. The night went well. The Waterhole filled up, and so did the dance floor. Once when the music stopped, Rusty used his microphone and announced. “Hey, y’all customers and friends! Let’s give a goodbye whoop to Pfc Teddy Byrum, who’ll be shipping out for Japan and maybe Korea on Monday! So, ready? So long and good luck, Teddy. Ready? One, Two Three WHOOPAH! WHOOPAH! WHOOPA! Good journey, Teddy!” Jules, smiled, rocked back and forth. I could tell he was enjoying being our conscience. Some of us tried to dance, but weren’t doing very well at it. Willy was moving a little unsteadily, as though his ship was listing. Bobby was bouncing and turning actively, with no partner. but he held her as though she was Betty Grable. Amber, who’d taken off her apron asked me to dance. I looked over at Rusty, who gave me a thumb’s up. So I tried, I really did, but couldn’t quite get the

rhythm. It was a slows one, a song, “Oh My Papa” by Eddie Fisher, that I was sure Rusty selected. So I looked at my feet and tried to follow her movements. I whispered, “I’m not drunk! I’m just having trouble getting it.” Amber just leaned in and said, “Hush! Just y’all follow me. And don’t look down!” Her body was so close, when she moved, I moved with it. I peeked to see if there was an angry husband watching, but there were mostly smiles, or most were just unconcerned. It felt so good to have this gorgeous woman’s body up against mine. So I just enjoyed the ride, until I actually found myself dancing, swinging her around, all to the rhythm. “Hey, I can do this!” I said. When the music was over, I returned to my table and looked at my watch. It was 1930 hours. I said, “Hey, guys, we have to leave! If we’re going McCain tonight also!” Willy, said, “I guess I’ll stay here, Teddy, okay?” He seemed not too drunk. “Anyone else? You, Bobby?” “Ah reckon ah bettah’ stay wi’ good ole Willy!” “Okay, you know how to catch the bus back, right?” I asked. They nodded their heads, either to say yes, or just to keep the rhythm going on, on the floor. I waved through the cigarette smoke to Rusty. The lieutenant and Sarge had already left. Rusty waved. “Safe journey!” And we, Jules, Randy, Brian and I, were out the door, ready to travel to the second part of my going away party. Brian was just a bit unsteady, but the rest of us were sober, and in good moods. On the radio Jules found a northern station, so we heard some modern songs. One I liked was “Little Things Mean a Lot,” by Kitty Kallen. We sang along the way, not very well, but loudly. If anyone had heard us, I’m sure they’d call an ambulance.

109 MY MT. PLEASANT “PARTY”

On our Journey, we tired of singing, so we started telling jokes. Some were so funny, we laughed long and hard. After a pause we even repeated the punch lines, and roared all over again. If the Military Police had heard us then, they’d have put us in the hoosegow. Even Jules caught himself snickering, which is his equivalent of laughter. Then, after several minutes of silence, I said, “It’s kind of sad, that on Monday I’ll be gone. We’ll probably never see each other again.” Jules, while he drove, slowly and carefully, as usual, offered, with emotion, “It doesn’t have to be that way, Teddy. We can stay in touch, if you’d like that.” Randy said, “That’s a great idea! I’d like to write to you, too, Ted. I don’t do much of it, specially since I don’t have a girl anymore, but if you’re willing, I’d like that!” Before I could respond, Brian jumped in, “You know I didn’t graduate from high school, ’cause I didn’t do too good in English, but I’d like to try, too, if it’s okay with you, Teddy?” “Course it’s okay with me. I’m no English teacher! You know how they are. They think they’re the grammar police! I don’t think they’d last a second in the paratroopers, do you? As soon as they hear someone talking like Bobby, or half of the people in the South, they’d throw their dictionaries at them!” We all laughed. We tried to imagine the miserable lives English teachers must have. And their spouses. And their poor children! Phew! Brian said, “I know a school joke! A student called school and said, ‘My son has a bad cold and can’t be at school today.’ The secretary asked, ‘Who is this?’ The student said, ‘This is my father speaking!’”

We all laughed at that one, heartily! We drove the road past the barrack buildings. I gulped. Even though I hadn’t lived there very long, it was like a home for me. Since I’d left home, I thought, my life sure seemed unsettled. “So long Able company,” I said to myself. “One more day!” Jules drove along, past the parade grounds, onto the desert-like barren part, that was used for bivouacs for the newbies. Strange, I was not in the army a whole year yet, and I felt like such a veteran. But I knew there was so much more to learn and experience. Before I knew it, we’d ed Mile 21. I glanced backwards, and saw no tents or fires or cars there. I guessed that chapter was over. I hoped. At last, we were in Mt. Pleasant. I shouted, “Hey! Why not stop here?” They all questioned, “Why for God sake?” “This is Woods Hole! Just once I’d like to see Eustice! He’s a veteran that’s not doing so well. Someone said he’s living there.” “Really? Maybe we can help somehow!” offered Jules. He pulled over. We got out. I led them down the path. It was getting pretty dark by then, so I called out, “Eustice? Hey, Eustice! If you’re in there, we just want to say hello and give you something!” Silence. We waited. The mosquitoes started circling. At last, I heard some crackling of wood. Just over a hill, I saw a flickering light. “See it?” I asked. “There’s his fire.” “Who in hell’s callin’? Ah don’ need nobody, heah?” I hollered, “Well I’m on the path, halfway down the hill, and I’m going to leave some money under this rock!” “Me too!” hollered Jules. He took a 20 out of his wallet. “Me too!” yelled Brian and Willy.

“Why y’all doin’ that?” I yelled out, “Because you been getting a bad deal by everyone. You can’t live on booze alone, Eustice! But God bless you!” We walked away slowly. Silence. Then from behind us came a wild “Yelp! Wahoo! Thank y’all!” We walked back to the car. I don’t know what will happen to Eustice, but I felt good about doing something for him, little as it was. We continued into downtown Mt Pleasant. While we drove along, I realized I’d been trying to revisit many of the places where I’d been since my arrival. It was sort of a goodbye to that phase of my life. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if I’d write a book about it, or anything. But I was trying to it all, anyway. Good old Jules parked the car on the street between The Bamboo Lounge and The Wild Thang. We climbed out. I said, “Thanks for doing all the driving, Jules, and letting us ride in your car all these times. You’re just super!” Jules answered, “I guess you didn’t know, Teddy, but it’s been my pleasure to have such friends. I’ve never really been popular, so this has been an exciting experience for me. So I thank you!” I put my arm around him. “I’m just a lucky guy to have you as a friend!” “Hey, enough of that lovey stuff back there!” came from Randy. The Wild Thang was loud as usual, with music and light blasting out the door like a hurricane. But first, we walked into The Bamboo Lounge, which was much calmer. It was half-filled, but the people were more gentle, making just civilized conversations. I could tell this was a slightly older crowd, mid-twenties on into the thirties, I guessed. Some into their forties, maybe. Some were soldiers, and farmers or store workers. Some were in uniforms, mostly green fatigues. Many wore overalls with straps to hold them up. But women’s bodies sported short skirts and designer tops. Many of them wore white or aqua boots, good for stomping while dancing.

Cigarette smoke swirled around and rose until flirting with the lights. The guys settled into a booth, and I did my usual by walking up to the bar to say hello to the bartender. This time, of course, it was Gunny Beau Carey. He was busy behind the bar, wiping away, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked up and put it down in an ash tray, leaving it to smoke up the bar by itself. I sat at a tall seat, and leaned in, touching a bamboo plant sitting on the bar, as if it stood guard. He said, “Don’t tell me, it’s… it’s, oh, yeah, it’s Teddy, right?” “Great memory, Gunny! Just thought we’d visit before I leave. I’m shipping out for Japan and maybe Korea on Monday.” “Really? God, I wish I could go back! I loved that country, and the people.” Then he looked up, and all of his attention was on the entrance. I saw a woman, very attractive, wearing a soft blue dress that seemed to cling in all the right places. Why, it was our librarian, Ms. Alma Cates! All eyes were on her as she walked toward us. The women, with their boots, looked enviously at her, though some seemed to resent her out-dressing them. As she neared us, she accused Gunny, “Still smoking, Beau? You know it will kill you, don’t you?” Beau put the butt out, looking a bit red-faced. “And hello, Ted, I heard something about your leaving us, it that right?” “Yes, ma’am, I guess word spreads as though the whole base were like a pail full of leaks. I wonder if we can ever have secrets in the military.” She smiled and put her hand on my shoulder as she slid onto the seat next to me. “Don’t worry. When the general wants something kept secret, no word will get out to anyone. Oh, and Beau, please don’t let me nag you. I know you’re trying to quit. Smoke whenever you want to, please.” I thought how lucky Beau was to have a friend like Ms. Cates. Not only was she bright, but she was quite attractive! I ired her light, almost tan hair, with some grey blended in. I ed that she was from the south and once spoke

with the southern drawl. But she apparently spent time in a university up north, because she could shed the accent like a snake skin. Beau grinned, and said, “Grace is good for me. I’ve been trying to quit for months, and she’s giving me the boost I need.” “Good for you, Gunny. I quit a while back. I just went to bed one night and told myself to slam the door in my mind to quit, and in the morning, I knew I’d meant it that time. I almost heard the door slam! So that was it. I’ll never smoke again!” “Good for you, Ted!” Ms. Cates patted me on the back. “And throw away the key!” Beau exclaimed, “That’s what I’ll do, too! Tonight I’m going to slam that door! Thanks, Teddy! And be safe out in the Orient. It can be dangerous! Don’t ever walk the streets alone!” He held his hand out, and we shook hands. Ms. Cates hugged me and whispered, “Don’t ever stop studying. Become prolific! Fill your brain with words and ideas.” “I will! I promise!” Back at the table with the guys, I asked, “What’s prolific, Jules?” He looked up from his soft drink, and said, “Why, that’s you, Teddy. You’re full of friends! You seem to have them hanging from the trees. Prolific means having plenty, plenty of children, or even a tree can have plenty of apples. That’s prolific.” All of us listened. Jules, once again, was our teacher, our professor, our master of English. There was a beer waiting for me, so I sipped it. Randy lifted his glass and toasted, “Here’s to a good man! We’ve only known each other a short time, but I guarantee our friendship will endure all of our lifetimes, no matter what hardships we go through!” We clinked mugs. “Here! here!” I felt that old swelling in the throat, which warned of rain coming from my eyes.

“Amen, I said, as long as we keep up our correspondence. And something tells me we’ll do just that. What a great idea!” We finished our beers, and at the door, we all waved to Gunny and Ms. Cates. They waved back. Then Beau hurried past the tables and said, “Be safe! And if you get to Beppu, where the army has a post, say hello to my brother who is airborne over there. He decided against the Marines. Junior’s a sergeant there now, I think. Anyway, say hey if you can. Listen. Learn the language as soon as you can! And stay alive. That’s an order!” He grinned. We shook hands, and he saluted me as his muscular arms flexed. I snapped to attention and saluted back. There we were, heading for The Wild Thang, the last stage our orgy. We were fairly sober at that time of night. We were all proud of the fact that we were still in command of our faculties. We each, except for Jules, had maybe a total of 3 beers, which was not too bad, over about 3 1/2 hours. But it was getting a bit late, close to 1030 hours. So we followed the trail of the noise blasting, and the bright lights, and made our way into The Wild Thang. It felt like we were on the entrance to hell. And it turned out, we were. There was Horace, appearing through the smoke. I looked at him as a gentle giant. I knew he recognized me from the meetings I’d attended. We had to look up, then up higher as he greeted us with, “Evenin’ gen’men, table?” We nodded. “Hey, it’s Teddy, ain’t it?” “Yes, howdy, Horace!” He held out his giant hand, which was twice of mine, and was an extension of his mammoth arms. The pressure was painful, as if a truck parked on it. “Ow!” “Sorry! Ah try to nevah’ hurt nobody. ’nless I’m ordered to. Follow me.” It was then I noticed the juke box, which had just started again, and the floor filled with dancers, hopping, in anticipation of the loud drums and acoustic guitar. The men and women had their boots, ready for stomping. We made our way past some tables, and were grateful for a booth. We all

mumbled, “Thanks, Horace.” He grinned and stepped lightly, as if he knew he’d be followed by a tiny person. And he was. After staring skyward, I felt relief to be able to be greeted by a shorter, a much lower person. “Hyacinth!” I greeted. There she was, a gorgeous, tiny package, which could almost have been wrapped in a Christmas gift. Her hair was blonde this time, with hints of pink. Her wide blue eyes could still melt a potential lover. “Hey! Ah recall y’all, so don’t get so’s, ah hav’ ta sic ol’ Horace on y’all.” She winked. We ordered, and turned to the dancers, not trying to talk over the loud drums and stomping boots. I looked at the door where they used to call the meetings of rebellion, thankful that part was over, I hoped. We sipped our drinks slowly. I looked at each of the guys, smiling. They noticed. I was thinking how I’d miss them already. I knew about Randy’s troubles with his ex-girl friend. I knew a little about Jules, but not enough. And I knew some of Brian’s background. Somehow I’d have to discover more before I left. Then, the infamous “meeting door” opened, and who should appear, but Chet, stomping out, yelling “Ah gotta have somethin’ dammit! Choogah’s gone t’ college, dammit. “N’ ah got no one, an’ nothin’!” Harley Sterling, appeared and insisted, “Ah cain’t hep y’all, Chestah Colton. Go home t’yall’s mammy.” “She’s gone! Moved away! Won’t have me!” Deep emotions rumbled in his voice, like storm clouds rumbling. Then he turned away. He recognized me! “You! Y’all’s th’ one started all this!” He lifted a chair and scuffled slowly toward me, around a table. I knew there was no explaining anything to him. He was too desperate! So I stood up, moved away from the booth, and moved behind a table which had a foursome. “Better move, people! This guy’s a bit crazy.!” They moved away. Randy yelled, “Horace! Help!’” Horace was coming this way, but it was a slow trek, with the crowd engrossed in the music.

I was watching Chet, inching his way. I lifted a chair also, but mostly for defensive purposes. Part of me felt sorry for him, because life gave him a bad deal. Choogah was his only friend, but then he was gone. “I lifted my voice, “Go away, Chet! You’ll only get yourself hurt!” “Ah don’ care ’bout that, ’slong as ah take y’all with me.” Jules moved in front of me, just standing there, without even lifting his hands in defense. I pushed him away. He fell to the floor, with his class A’s. Brian came holding a chair and stood next to me. Chet was upon us. He shoved the chair at us, and pushed, forcing us both back toward the booth. I couldn’t help it, I lost balance and fell to a sitting position on the bench in the booth, my elbow spilling my beer. Randy had fallen on the other side. “Now ah’ve gotya!” Chet was coming at me, his knife in the attack mode. I lifted my foot and shoved him in the chest. Chet fell back, and was caught by the giant Horace. Then, all was a blur. Horace grabbed Chet’s arm, but Chet swung his knife, which sliced the big man’s forearm. Blood spurted a red river down his arm. Horace yelled, “Why y’all cut me!” He lifted Chet and heaved him over us all, where he slammed against the wall and landed on our table, the knife in his eye, deep! We gawked at the blood trickling past his nose, onto our bench. Jules screamed! The music stopped. Someone had pulled the plug. People started moving toward us. Horace, holding his arm, bellowed “Back y’all! Someone call th’ police!” Hyacinth saw Horace’s arm, and ran behind the bar and came out with a cloth and tape. “Ah called them already! Hold still!” She wrapped his arm, tight. “Somebody ring an ambulance! Now!” she ordered. We sat in a different booth and waited for the police and ambulance. The others had left, but we knew we had to stay. We saw it all. Beside, we were involved. In a ive way. But we were part of the scene. I covered Chet’s face with a few

napkins. I thought it would give him a modicum of dignity. Harley Sterling stood there, staring, and said, as if to himself, “So that’s what can come from all that ah stahted. Ah shoulda’ done somepin’ fo’ him. Poor kid! He nevah had a chance.” This was not a good way to end a farewell party.

110 ALTAR-BOYING

By the time we got back to the barrack, it was 0230. All was quiet, except for the usual snoring and occasional explosion of gas. I stared out the window at the dark cloud, which covered any view of the moon or stars. I wished it would rain, pour even, with angry thunder, and dangerous bolts of lightning! If only the image of Chet with the knife in his eye could be washed or burned away! “Lord, please forgive any guilt I have in his death!” Why did I suggest to extend the party? Was I that egotistical to think everyone I was slightly acquainted with was eager to wish me farewell? Well, since I wanted to brand some final memories in my brain, I got my wish. I’ll never be able to un-brand this one! I finally went to sleep for a few hours. But I was up early, before the reveille bugle, showered, dressed in my formal uniform and shiny boots, freshly ragrubbed to mirror-like glow, and waiting for the others to me at breakfast chow. I waited patiently for Jules to slide out of bed, then went down to pat Brian’s shoulder until he peeked up, and rose, saying, “I don’t know about this altar boy stuff, Ted.” “Well, try it, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to, you know. There are probably others willing to try. They’d probably consider it a privilege, an honor.” “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try. Boy, would my mother be amazed at that!” After chow, we walked to church, reviewing the Latin prayers. “They’re all there in the missal, Brian. Even though you won’t understand them, you can say them. Just wait for your cue. For example, when you hear Father Horrigan say ‘introibo ad altar dei,’ which means I enter the altar of God, you answer with that response, see it? ‘Ad deum qui laetificat juven tutum meam.’ That means, ‘To God, who gives joy to my youth.’ And from there you follow the prayers,

answering him each time he pauses. It will be easy after a while.” So Jules, Brian and I went to church. Jules took his usual pew in back, while Brian and I entered the sacristy. Father Horrigan greeted us with a warm smile, and he told Brian not to worry at all. He would help whenever he saw the need. Meanwhile, I assured Father I’d serve this mass with Brian, to help him get some experience on the altar. When it was time, we went ahead of Father, to the altar and lit a few candles, then knelt at the altar. Father Horrigan came out, bowed before the altar, and began. “In nomine patri, et filie’e et spiritu sancte,” and we were into the mass. Brian did well following my leads, and sometimes Father’s nod. When it came time for his sermon, I saw, in the pews, Randy and Willy. I nodded to them. The mass went quickly. Father Horrigan’s sermon was inspiring, and uplifting. Then he ended by saying, right after, “The mass is ended, go in peace. Please me in saying farewell to young Ted Byrum, who will leave tomorrow morning for Massachusetts, then Japan, and perhaps Korea. God bless you, young man, and may the Lord travel with you and protect you in your journey.” There was applause, louder than I’d expected, or deserved. Even Brian clapped. I thanked them by bowing, and bowed to Father Horrigan. It was at that time when my throat felt crowded, and my tears began to form. I was relieved to leave the altar. That was my last mass on the base. I felt a relaxation as we left church, similar to none I’d ever had. Tension left my body that I wasn’t aware I’d had. That strait jacket fell off, and I walked away as though on airplane wings, with a clear blue sky ahead of me.

111 A FINAL? FAREWELL

Sunday night, I was tired but sleep was stubborn, and teased me, but would not come soon enough to close my eyes, and turn off my mind. So I stood at the window while others snored away in a broken symphony. This was farewell to a strange adventure, with all that was involved — a chaplain with a fatal addiction, rebel civilians, two young men lost in confusing worlds walking down paths of their own destruction. The moon was near full, and shined brightly on me and my bunk with the loaded duffle bag right next to it. But also, I grew wealthy with friendships that could last a lifetime. I told myself that I learned and grew from experiencing both. Most of all, my darling Paula, I will have a chance to see you. I will confess to you, the temptation I had with a wonderful nun, but resisted, and remained true to you, my love. Then, inspired by the sad, but joyous, feelings swirling around my heart, I put my hands together, and whispered, “Dear Lord, I thank you for my life, protect me and my friends, if it is your will, because, I have learned to be thankful for the gifts you’ve given me. I pray you will be merciful to the souls of Francis, and Chet, who seemed to have been dealt some unlucky cards in their lives. And whatever you have planned for me in my future I will accept, willingly and humbly. Amen” At last I slept. Monday morning’s bugle reveille awakened me with, as I ed the words, “I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up this morning.” I arose groggily to find Jules all dressed neatly. He smiled. “Time to get up, my friend. Go shower and shave. I’ll get the rest of your gear ready.”

I thanked him groggily and hustled to the latrine, where Brian and Bobby were already shaving. “Morning, sleepy!” laughed Brian. “Yessuh!” came from Bobby. I said, “I’m sure going to miss you guys!” Then I jumped in the shower. When we were ready, we went to the mess hall together. At the line for chow, I filled my trays with a plate of eggs, toast, potatoes. Then, I took a cup of hot, black coffee.

112 AH, FRANCIS, AH LOVE

Later that morning, as I was packing, Brian tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered quietly to me, “Father Horrigan wants you in the church right awayl” I asked, “What’s that about?” “Something about Francis, I think.” “Uh, oh!” I said to myself. “A jeep is waiting outsied now! He ordered it, and I picked it up.” “Okay, let’s go!” I jammed on my hat and ran after Brian. He drove. I asked him how he liked Father Horrigan. “I tell you, Ted, he’s the coolest, kindest person I’ve ever met. He prays often and his eyes are so sincere, almost as if he’s fighting tears. “Don’t laugh, but I swear he’s like a saint, Ted! I’m not kiddin!’” “That’s great! He’s a big difference from Father Roland!” Then as we rode along, I worried about what Francis was up to. I knew he was going through a dangerous period. We stepped out of the jeep at the front steps of the church. Father Horrigan was pacing, fingering his beads when we halted, half-screened by dust. He waved it from his eyes. I hurried to him. “What’s Francis doing now, Father? Is he safe?” Father said, as though he’d just witnessed a violent airplane crash, “I’ve never

seen such a sight. This Francis boy, has lost his senses. He’s running up and down the stairs to the choir loft, mumbling and cursing!” Father shook his head. He said he wanted to talk to you, ‘to the evil Satan of a private named Ted Byrum.’ What kind of evil Satan are you?” He stared at me with an accusing glare. “Father,” I replied, “All I tried to do is help Francis, protect him, and if that made me a Satan in your eyes, then you should nail me to a cross. Or, you can believe me, that I did what little I could against a priest, Father Roland Carpenter, a Satanic man, who was taking advantage of a mixed up kid.” Father put his beads in his pocket. “Sorry, Ted, but hurry now, see if you can help him. I’ll stay by the door. Tell me if you need me! By the way, isn’t that where Father Carpenter propelled himself in his suicide?” “Yes, it is, Father. I’d better hurry!” Inside, I heard Francis mumbling frantically, something about “sex and pain, hate and love! Hah!” “Francis!” I shouted. Then softer, I asked, “Is that you up in the loft, Franny?” I looked up, and saw him lean over the railing, “Who said you could call me Franny? Only my mother….” Then from the doorway came a forceful voice, “Franny? Are you in here!” It was more of a harsh, demanding tone. She saw me and stared. “Who in hell are you, soldier?” “I’m Corporal Theodore Byrum, ma’am, trying to help!” “Just stay the hell outta my way. I’ll deal with Franny!” I stood aside, away from the stairway.” She was a tall, thin woman, in a dress that looked like one bought in a rummage sale. Her black, smudged shoes had one inch heels which clunked as she walked. “Frannie? Where are you?”

Silence. “Are you up there? Don’t make me climb these stairs to fetch you!” Her voice was harsh, demanding. “Yeah, Mom! I’m up here, close to the heavens. But I know a quick way to descend to hell! Want me to perform for you? Why are you here, anyway? Isn’t this where you wanted me to be? Where I could be out of your hair? Well, isn’t it?” She whispered to me, “Keep talkin’ to him, while I go up the stairs. Will ya do that for me, soldier? I’m pretty worried.” I nodded. “Yes, ma’am!” I responded quietly. “Well, isn’t it? Momsy? How many boyfriends did you entertain, while I was gone? Did you go through all the eligible men along the Susquehanna?” I panicked, wondering what to say. Then I blurted, “You hurt her feelings Francis. She’s holding her head, crying into her handkerchief now.” “Really?” his voice rose. I saw his mother rising slowly up the stairs. She shushed me with her finger across her lips. “Mom? Can you talk: Did I hurt your feelings?” Silence. “But this is all your fault, you know! Why did you send me away? Oh, God, God.” Silence. After a long pause, “This is where he killed himself, you know. The priest! Just tossed himself over the railing here. I hated him, Mom! But I also liked it! Was it love, Mom?” He looked over the edge, so I could see his head. “Teddy? What was it? Was it love?” His voice changed to a growl. “Or was it rape? It did hurt! But then it felt good! Was it love? God, God, please tell me! What was it? I began creeping up the stairs, slowly, worried about what he might do to his mother. Then I heard, “Franny, come over here and greet your mother!” she demanded.

I thought that might just be the kind of voice that would drive him over the railing. Then she changed. Her voice was almost singing. “Come to me, my beautiful boy, and let me cuddle you and rub your back the way I did so often to help you sleep. Come on, Franny. I’ll wait right here on this chair. Come! Come, my son. All will be the same again, my special son. I’ll take you home. I’ll give you all you need, in our special way. It’ll be just you and I again. Then she sang, “Nice kitty, soft kitty, Little ball of fur.” She continued, “Sleep, kitty, sleep kitty, purr, purr, purr.” I stopped at the top of the stairs, and watched. “Come on, Franny boy.” She held her arms out to him. “That’s it. All it takes is that first step. The next one is easier. Then the next. Come to me.” Francis was crouched between two seats, gripping one as if to throw it. But then he released his grip, and took two steps toward his mother. But then he stopped. “You don’t understand, Mumsy! How I was treated here. Then what I did with Father Roland! And what he made me do! I should jump, too!” “No you shouldn’t! That’s one way, sure! But then what about me? What will I do without you? Wait right there, silly boy! Wait for me, and I’ll jump with you!” She started to rise. This scared me! What should I do? Intervene? Or let this play out? She took a step toward Francis. “No, no, Mommy, stop! I’m coming to you, okay? I’ll come home with you.” He fell to his knees. Then got up. “Yes! Take me away from here, please!” He cried as he walked blindly to his mom, bumping into choir chairs. When he reached her, he put his head on her lap and bawled, letting it all out. She held him. “That’s my Franny.” She ran her hand over his head and down his back, again and again. Then, in a lilting voice, sang, “Come home, come home, my charming angel, with a brain the world needs. Come home, where it’s safe, and you’ll never have to fly away again. Come home to your mom who needs you. Come home, my angel, and she’ll never make you fly away again.”

s kept his arms around her, clinging like a five year old.

113 HOMEWARD AND A NEW ADVENTURE

I was up early on my last day, and so were Jules, Brian and good ol’ boy, Bobby. I suspected Jules had something to do with their early presence. They were up before reveille, so I had to hasten through my shower, and shave. We had permission to drive off the base right after breakfast chow. Brian said, “Old rosy cheeked Captain Parnell said to say ‘Good luck, be careful over there, and try to make our country proud.!” “I’ll certainly try, Brian. Thanks.” After roll call, we lined up to fill our empty echoing stomachs. I dressed in my class A’s and at breakfast chow I made sure to say so long to the cook. At our table, Jules insisted on our giving thanks. “Let’s all hold hands.” We hesitated. Willy and Randy came to our table. Randy turned and, very loud, announced, “Your attention, please! Our friend, Corporal Theodore Byrum, here, or, as you know him, ‘Ted,’ is here for his last meal on this base. Please us in this blessing for him, and for all of us. Will you do that?” Silence. “Go ahead, Jules!” Jules stood. We all stood with him. We bowed our heads. I know my face was tomato red because of how embarrassed I felt. I could tell Jules was nervous also, by the way he began, as though his voice needed fuel to get it going. Jules commenced, “Bless us all, heavenly father, and protect us as we prepare to betake of this meal, please send our friend, Teddy Byrum safely half-way around this earth. Let him provide friendship and leadership as he has with us. Amen.”

Most of the soldiers said, in unison, “Amen!” Of course, I was embarrassed, but, with head down, mumbled, “Thank you, everyone.” Then I sat and buried my face about two inches from the scrambled eggs. As we left, I made sure to shake Cookie’s hand. He squeezed it back, saying “Watch your back, always, son!” After chow, we went back to the barrack and retrieved my belongings, most of which were buried in my duffle bag. I was glad that the four of us were going to the train station together. As we drove, Jules asked, “Ever hear the word, ‘poignant’ Teddy?” I thought, then answered, “I don’t think so, Jules. What secret thing could it stand for?” Jules, driving carefully as usual, answered, “It means having a deep sense of sadness or regret. And that’s what I’m feeling right now. Poignant!” He forced the word out, as though holding back the emotion behind the word. He held the steering wheel as if he could bend it. “Thanks for that, Jules. Now I’m feeling poignant also, I will miss you guys and your friendship.” Willy added, “Me too! I feel that deep sadness also. I feel poignant!” The others nodded, “Yeah, poignant.” In Fayetteville, Jules pulled into the train station. We all exited, and I went in and procured a ticket for Hartford, with a transfer to Springfield, Massachusetts at the window. The others stood and looked out the window, avoiding me. I was glad of that, so there would be no spilling of emotions on the floor. Especially mine. I approached them, and said, “This is no big deal. You guys are great, and I know we’ll be writing to each other, telling jokes, and laughing at whatever humorous thing happens to us in the crazy world of the army. And it’s sure been crazy these past few months, right?”

“Right!” they said in tandem. I said, “Actually, this is ridiculous, spilling our emotions like this. Enough of that crap, I say! I love you guys, but let’s not make it into more than it is. I’m just a guy, a kid, really, leaving to go to another base. So let’s shake hands and be on our ways. Okay?” “Okay!” they said. “So let’s say ‘so long’ right here. I’ll write to you! Okay?” “Okay, you’re right!” answered Randy. “Let’s go you guys.” We shook hands briefly and they were out the door. I watched them jump into the car, and I waved at them. There, they were gone. Good! It was silly, a bunch of grown men, letting the girly side of us out, spilling emotions all over the floor. I sat at a bench, the duffle bag at my feet, and waited, thinking of nothing but the ride home. My eyes closed, and I slept, until I heard, “Last call, soldier. Y’all gettin’ in er not?” I leaped up and hustled for the train. I put my bag in the compartment above my seat. I found a seat by the window on the left side, and watched as we left Fayetteville. I thought about Rusty and his Waterhole, and Sarge, who usually sat with the Lieutenant as though they were attached. Homosexuals? I didn’t care, one way or the other, but I knew deep down they weren’t. Then the word, ‘poignant,’ entered my mind. Did Jules plant it in my mind like a seed?Well, it was growing then. I was feeling a deep sadness then. I felt I’d left part of me behind. I had experienced a bucket full of emotions, I know. I felt sad for Francis, who was in such misery. Would he commit suicide? I was sure I’d find out from one of my friends, but perhaps his mom would keep him safe. I also heard again in my mind the loud crash of Father Roland falling onto the

pews. What a sad way to go, but probably appropriate for him to escape his addiction! It seemed to him, I’m sure, there was no other way out. And poor, lost Chet, so lonely, and needy. And once Choogah was gone, nothing seemed left for him. I will pray for him, and all of those people I met. Enough poignancy! It was growing like a poison! Poisoned poignancy. Ha! It was time to think about going home to Paula, my love. Suddenly the image of Sister Vickie came to me. I certainly started to fall for her! I was like an innocent kid, falling for the first female that pays attention to him. And I thought that was love. What did I know of love? Wow, I told myself to stop thinking. It just proved what an innocent kid I was who knew little of the world or my own feelings. It certainly felt like I’d just drunk a gallon of poignancy! But I knew I would cure those negative feelings in a few weeks home with my beautiful Pauley, then a trip to the Far East for all new adventures! That’ll be dangerous, but it’s guaranteed to be exciting I’m sure. From then on, I decided to take life ebulliently!