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Sunday, September 15, 2013

(“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due. When it is in your power to do it”…) Proverbs 3:27

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc
my inspiration


"THE MIGRANT"
Chapter Thirteen


San Francisco, California...10 December, 1968

KC Littleton stared at the cup of yogurt in front of her and then glanced over to her neighbor’s desk and studied the corned beef on rye and two dill pickle spears, fresh from the ‘Brooklyn Deli’ over in North Beach. She was three weeks into a do or die diet, determined to be ready for the paper’s New Years Eve party this year! She had already bought the perfect black sequined gown from Sac’s Fifth Avenue and the cutest shoes ever, so she just had to be strong. Visibly shuddering she reached for the yogurt and started stirring the fruit up from the bottom of the cup. Oh well she thought, it was strawberry, her favorite right? KC lifted a spoonful to her face then took one more sideways peek at the sandwich.

“Oh what the hell,” she said under her breath, and scooted over to Jordan Chen’s desk on her four-wheeled wooden chair. Looking around guiltily, she lifted the top slice of the sandwich and removed a generous helping of corned beef and stuffed it into her yogurt cup. Then after licking the mustard off of her fingers, she hastily reassembled the huge sandwich, mashing the pieces together and gently patting the top as if to say, ‘hey, thanks a lot!’ She then rolled quietly back to her desk, using her spoon to fold the meat in with her dairy lunch as nonchalantly as possible. Gross you say, maybe, but to someone who hadn’t eaten a regular meal in weeks, it was five star baby! KC scooped a spoonful into her mouth and closed her eyes, a look of shear ecstasy spreading across her face.

“Oh God, this is sooooo good, almost better than, now what was that called again, oh yeah, sex,” she muttered softly.

It was totally unladylike, but she didn’t care, she just chewed the corned beef slowly, savoring each and every morsel. Actually, it had been a tad longer than her current diet since she had experienced that little bit of human distraction. Alright, alright, it had been much longer. OK, OK, OK, maybe it had been a whole YEAR longer! Who had time for boyfriends and relationships with this job anyways? And forget about one night stands, not to brag or anything, but she was really good, and men were like puppies once she took them home. The only way to get rid of them was to stop feeding the poor babies and then change her telephone number and the locks on her doors. What a ‘catch 22’ situation, by New Years Eve she would be the perfect bait weight, but she’d only be trolling for nibbles, life really sucked! She took another spoonful of her odd concoction and pushed off from her desk with her right foot, spinning the chair in a series of 360-degree turns.

“WEEEEE,” she squealed, this weird mixture was actually pretty good, and she was already fantasizing about how to market the stuff. Now, what could she call it?

“OOOH I know,” she whispered to herself.

“Fruit Crème a la Boeuf,” she said in her most flagrant French accent. Isn’t it queer she thought, how even the most disgusting phrase can sound positively regal en Francias?

“Enjoying yourself KC,” asked Jordan Chen, leaning back against the side of his desk, arms folded in front of him? She stuck out her leg and stopped her spin in mid revolution, her back to him and the spoon still in her mouth. She started to mumble a response and bit down on the spoon, which flipped the handle up into her face, causing a decent amount of pain when her teeth slipped from the spoon to her tongue.

“OWWW, shit Jordan, don’t sneak up on me like that, you know I hate when you do that!”

“Sorry shrimp, guess I should have known better than to leave all that temptation on my desk while I washed up for lunch,” Jordan said, sitting down and examining his significantly smaller ‘Mile High’ from the deli.

“Hey I told you to stop calling me that too! For Christ’s sake Jordan, I’m three inches taller than you Kato, and that’s without the heels!”

“OK, OK, truce, no more ribbing about your name Miss LITTLEton and no more quips about the Green Hornet’s driver, deal?”

“DEAL, now hurry up and cut that sandwich in half, I’m starving over here,” KC said finishing her yogurt concoction as fast as she could.

“My God KC, how can someone so beautiful be such an oinker when it comes to food?”

“No wonder it’s been so long between dates for you!”

“Oh, and by the way, I don’t look anything like Bruce Lee so stop stereotyping me and my people! Didn’t they teach you any social skills at Radcliffe,” he asked, handing her half of his sandwich, stopping to count his fingers, making sure that he got them all back!

KC grunted a response as she took a healthy bite, savoring the experience like it would be her last. Watching her eat was more like reading a romance novel; she didn’t consume her food so much as she actually seemed to make love to it. Jordan marveled at the way she would chew and then sensually lick the Russian dressing that ran down her arm from the palm of her hand. Breaking his trance, he closed is mouth and cleared his throat, getting back to his lunch and sorting through the papers on his desk.

“So what’s got you so cranky today KC, you nearly snapped my head off before I left for lunch!” Taking a sip of her diet cola she spun her chair in his direction and answered him.

“I don’t know Jordan, do I really need an excuse to abuse you darling?”

Slowly crossing her legs, she made sure to bat her eyelashes that cute and coy way that he liked so much. Then she placed her chin onto her laced together fingers and stared at him until he was obviously uncomfortable. To be honest, this was really unfair. It was a near lethal dose of sex appeal, especially where Jordan was concerned. The tossed hair, her cute freckled face resting daintily on her delicate hands, her arms raised and tucked in close to her body, causing the maximum amount of cleavage to be revealed through her sheer cream blouse. Oh my gosh she thought, this might actually kill him, huh, he should be so lucky! The two of them had dated early in her career at the Daily News, and it had gotten pretty serious she had thought. But proving true to his gender, he was really only interested in an open relationship, a fact he revealed one night about a year ago when she ran into he and a friend at her favorite Italian restaurant in North Beach’s Little Italy. After introducing her as a colleague from the paper to his friend, she decided to totally swear off men, for a little while anyway!

“Come on KC, I thought we were past all of that,” Jordan said, involuntarily watching her pose for him, twitching the ankle of her crossed leg steadily and rhythmically.

“Yeah, well I am, but I can see that you’re not,” she said sarcastically, sitting straight up in her chair and turning back to her desk. She started humming ‘Just You Wait Henry Higgins’ from ‘My Fair Lady’ and turned a page in the newspaper that she was studying. She had been reading up on a series of stories from a local paper in Bakersfield about the capture of a serial rapist. There had been some rather odd circumstances surrounding the event. It was some sort of religious phenomenon, something to that effect. Jordan interrupted her concentration when he tossed his table scraps into the waste bin and opened his can of soda with a loud pop.

“Do you mind,” she snapped, giving the paper a good shake as she leaned back in her chair using it as a shield between the two of them. She continued to read when she saw a pencil appear at the top of the paper. Jordan slowly scrunched the newspaper down and looked at her from over the top.

“Come on Kathy (KC was short for Katherine Charlotte), be nice, what has the boss man got you working on anyway?”

KC lowered the paper into her lap and stared at him for a moment, God he was cute she thought. Shaking herself back into reality she turned the paper to page eight and folded it in half. She pointed to the piece about the serial rapist and tapped it with her index finger.

“That’s it right there, no big deal, just a follow up on some dirt bag that got cuffed and scuffed down in Fresno,” she said matter of fact like. He walked over to her desk and stood behind her. KC turned quickly and socked him in the arm, hard enough to make him flinch.

“And I told you not to call me that, we’re not that close anymore, get it,” she snapped, spinning back to face her desk.

“Ouch, you’re a real piece of work KC, a real piece of work, you know that,” he snapped back, rubbing his arm where she had made contact with her bony little fist. Jordan read over her shoulder for a second or two and then returned to his desk.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why do you have to make such a drama out of everything KC, I mean really, it’s getting to be a drag you know?”

She ignored him and went back to reading the story. She smiled to herself and secretly thanked him for just being himself, reminding her how lucky she was to have broken free of his spell before any real damage could have been done to her heart. KC was one of those people that protected themselves with a hard shell, one that shielded her softer, truer, secret self from the big bad world.

“Hmmmm,” she uttered softly, “This Murray Katz guy had quite a little racket going,” she continued talking to herself.

“You say something,” Jordan asked?

“No, just thinking out loud.”

KC read on and circled the paragraph about the fire and the arrest. There were no photos of the guy in bandages at his arraignment; he looked pretty normal to her? But the story said that one of his victims had been arrested for setting him and the clinic on fire, what gives, she thought. KC read the article a third time looking for facts that she may have missed, she hadn't missed anything. She opened the Fresno newspaper and read the related articles there as well, none of them seemed to touch on this anomaly, and she wondered why. She unhooked the handset from her telephone and dialed extension 51 and waited.

“Mr. Williams office,” a cheery voice answered.

“Hi Connie, its KC, is Brian in?”

“Sure, he just got out of a meeting, let me check and see if he’s free, hold on.”

KC drummed her fingers on the photo of Murray Katz in the Bakersfield newspaper.

“What’s your story morning glory,” she whispered to herself.

“KC, I’ll connect you now,” Connie said into her ear.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah KC, what do you need,” her editor said, sounding busy and tired.

“Hi Boss, I know you’re busy, this won’t take a minute.”

“Come on KC, get to the point, I’m actually busy this morning.”

“OK, listen, I’ve been researching that piece you asked me to look into on the serial rapist in Fresno.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well, I think I have found something inconsistent here. I’m not exactly sure what, but my gut is telling me that something is pretty hinky about the facts, something nice and juicy!” she said enthusiastically.

“Really, like what? Whatever it is you better be darn sure about it. I just don’t have the budget to let you chase after butterflies every time your stomach turns!”

“NO, it’s not like that boss, I really think that there is a story there, gimme a day or two to check things out, OK?” There was an uncomfortably long silence before she heard her editor answer.

“You’re really sure about this hunch of yours?”

“Yeah Brian, I really am!”

“OK, take a couple days and run this down. But no airfare, drive down there and stay in a cheap motel this time KC, not the Ritz Carlton like your last assignment!” As if there actually was a Ritz Carlton in Fresno California, what a nerd!

“Don’t worry chief, I’ll stick to the Holiday Inn’s of the world this trip.”

“Do you need a photographer for the piece,” he asked?

She thought about it a minute, not likely she thought, but then her instincts corrected her snap decision.

“Yeah, I think that might be a good idea, who’s available?”

“Take Jay with you, I think he just finished his assignment with your pal Saundra on the Wine Country.”

Saundra Callaway was no friend of hers, she was in fact the queen bitch of San Francisco journalism, but Jay was a pretty cool guy and fun to travel with, so this was a good teaming she thought.

“Great, I’ll give him a call and make the travel plans, I’ll have the itinerary on Connie’s desk in half an hour, thanks a lot Brian.”

“Good hunting girl, bring me back a winner, we could use a check in the win column right about now, and be careful,” he said, the line disconnecting.

KC scribbled a quick note onto a scrap piece of paper and turned in her chair to get up. She stuck her tongue out at Jordan and went off to find her photographer Jay Namura. A transplanted Hawaiian, Jay was a fish out of water wherever he went. Now he wasn’t gay, not in the least, but if she ever needed to send someone into that world undercover for a story, he would be the first one she recruited. The man was fussy about his attire, was eclectic in his taste toward food, wine and décor, and had the most beautiful posture she had ever come across. Hell, if she were a man, she was pretty sure that she would be gay on him. At least then she would always know which wine to order with the entree. But all of that aside, he was a really cool guy to hang with. He knew just enough facts about just enough topics to be engaging and fun in most conversations, which was perfect given that they would be trapped in her close quartered VW van for about four hours on the way to Fresno.

KC squinted in the sunlight as she tried to scan the road map lying across the wheel that she was also trying to steer with. She adjusted her sunglasses by wrinkling her nose and worked one arm over the left side of the map. Her eyes darting from the road to the map about fifty times she finally ascertained that they were about seventy miles from Fresno on Interstate 15, at least she was pretty sure. Her traveling companion had talked himself to sleep about an hour ago and was resting peacefully with his head rhythmically bouncing on the window to his right. KC wadded up the open map and tossed it into the back of the van before it flew into her face and caused an accident. She pulled her knees up and steered with them for a second while she peeled off her jacket, it was getting warm now that the sun was full up and they were out of the gloomy overcast skies of the Bay Area. The van swerved a little towards the shoulder and KC grabbed the wheel and quickly compensated, causing Jay’s head to smack the window hard enough to wake him.

“Hey, watch the road speedy,” he said rubbing his noggin and looking at her from under his arm!

“Sorry, I was a little hot in that jacket,” she said apologizing.

“We almost there,” Jay asked?

“Yeah, we’re close, about an hour or so by my calculations.”

“What’s the plan when we hit town anyway?”

“I want to stop by the District Attorney’s office and ask about the status of the case. Find out who is representing Mr. Katz, and then go by the lock up and see if I can interview the arresting officer.”

“WHOA, WHOA, when were you planning to feed me anyway? You know I can’t create my special magic on an empty stomach!”

“Give me a break Jay, I only need you to shoot pictures of the dirt bag himself, not for any of these yokels. I’ll drop you at the hotel and you can check us in and run up a tab with room service, OK?”

“Alright, but you’re going to have to upgrade us from the Holiday Inn sweetheart, I am not going to subject my delicate palate to their sort of low brow cuisine, I mean really!”

“Oh man Jay, you know Brian has us on a shoestring budget this trip!”

“Look KC, we always produce beautiful work together, always right? I’m sure that he’ll look the other way after we bring home the winner he’s hoping for.”

“Yeah but Jay, it’s my ass, beauty or no beauty, a budget’s a budget!”

“Awww, come on KC, it’s only money, small price to pay for beauty,” he said, winking at her and putting on his designer shades. KC hung her head in submission and shook it slowly.

“This better be one hell of a hunch KC girl,” she murmured, straightening up and grasping the wheel firmly, her knuckles turning white with the tension.


Fresno, California

After she dropped off Jay along with the bags and equipment at the local Sheraton (oh God), KC skillfully wove the VW through the mid-week traffic towards the downtown section of the small city, located in the heart of California’s agricultural district. Straining her eyes trying to read the street addresses on the buildings, while carefully trying to avoid a fender bender in the process, she finally came upon her destination, 13374 Broadway, the Superior Court building which housed the offices of the District Attorney. She pulled into the driveway and took the ticket from the machine, which prompted the mechanical arm to raise and allow her entry. She exited her vehicle and locked the door behind her, a girl couldn’t be too careful, right? Entering from the street side of the building she felt the rush of cool air as the large glass door closed behind her. She walked towards the reception counter manned by uniformed Marshals, and inquired as to the floor of the District Attorney’s office.

“That would be the third floor ma’am, you can get the room number from the directory on the wall next to the elevator,” the Marshal said politely.

That pleasant exchange put her in a better frame of mind and her kinder instincts took over, guaranteeing that the next person she ran into would be met a big beautiful smile. She scanned the directory, found the room number, and pushed the arrow pointing up and waited for the next car. The bell rang and the doors opened in front of her, and she stepped aside as a group people wearing jurors badges exited, no doubt heading for the cafeteria for a coffee break. She got in and pressed the big number three on the panel and watched her reflection appear in the shiny stainless steel doors as soon as they closed shut. She adjusted her skirt after giving her pantyhose a tug or two and then fine-tuned her short-cropped hair. The bell rang again, announcing her arrival, and KC exited the elevator. She walked right up to the reception desk and introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m KC Littleton from the San Francisco Daily News, I believe I have a 10:30 appointment with a Mr. Jeffery,” she said with a great big smile.

“Hello, yes, well let me check with his secretary, please have a seat while I announce you,” the pretty young woman said as she directed KC with her hand toward the set of rather large leather Queen Ann chairs stationed against the wall across from the mahogany counter. She walked over and sat down, sitting toward the front of the chair and not leaning back, she didn’t expect to be waiting long. KC watched the receptionist dialing on the PBX and smiled at her again when they made eye contact. She looked around the lobby and nodded her head approvingly, nice set up she thought, top cabin all the way.

“Miss Littleton, I’m afraid that Mr. Jeffery is tied up in conference at the moment, would you like to wait or re-schedule?”

“Oh, I really do need to speak with him today, this morning actually, I have several other stops to make and I will only be in town for a couple of days. May I ask how long he might be tied up, maybe I could come back this afternoon?”

“Let me check with his office, one moment please,” the receptionist said, her tone and demeanor changing slightly, and her cheerful smile was absent this time.

“OK, thank you so much,” KC replied, wrinkling her nose suspiciously, watching the young woman sit back down and disappear behind the large countertop.

“This is bullshit,” she muttered, loud enough to be heard.

“Brian’s office made this appointment yesterday before I even left work for the day, wonder what gives?” she added for good measure.

“I am sorry Miss Littleton, but Mr. Jeffery will be tied up the rest of the day. However his Supervisor will be happy to meet with you in his absence if that will be good enough for you?”

“Oh yes, that would be wonderful, please thank her for me,” KC said, making a mental note to find out why Mr. David Jeffery would be ducking her?

The receptionist returned to her call for a moment and then came from around the counter to escort KC to her revised appointment. They walked through the paneled double doors and entered the inner-sanctum of the halls of justice in Fresno California. It was a maze of hip high cubicles with scads of people smartly dressed running around busy as beavers, filing this and typing that. They turned a corner and passed a water cooler and a small table that contained a percolator full of coffee and some Styrofoam cups. Finally they stopped at a good-sized secretarial desk, complete with a side table where a rather large and new IBM select-writer was perched. The young woman introduced KC and then excused herself, walking back the same way they had just come. KC looked over the woman sitting behind the desk and quickly extended her hand.

“Hello, I’m KC Littleton, I am very grateful for a chance to meet with…?”

“Hi, I’m Lois, and you’ll be meeting with Mrs. Hall, Lou Ann Hall, she is the Supervising ADA (assistant district attorney).

“Let me just tell her that you’re here, I’ll just be a sec,” Lois said, knocking lightly on the door and disappearing into the office behind her. She reappeared instantly and motioned for KC to go on inside.

“Thanks,” KC said as she passed her and walked into the ADA’s office.

“Hello Miss Littleton, please have a seat, I am Lou Ann Hall, what can we do for you today?”

KC walked over to one of the two chairs in front of the woman’s desk and sat down. She suddenly wished she had buttoned the top button of her blouse before she had entered, that information-coaxing tactic wouldn’t be very effective now.

“Hi, Mrs. Hall, thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

The woman leaned forward in her seat, placed her elbows on her desktop, laced her fingers together slowly and rested her chin on the knuckles of her folded hands.

“Now, what has brought someone from the great San Francisco Daily News all the way to the sticks today?” KC snickered nervously under the woman’s cool gaze and cleared her throat.

“Um, really Mrs. Hall, we are not out here looking for dirt or anything like that. Actually I am doing some follow up for a piece I am writing about sex offenders, and I wanted to do some research on the case your office is prosecuting against a Dr. Murray Katz.” she explained. KC didn’t like the way the supervising ADA was scowling at her. She waited a reasonable amount of time for a response, and when none came, she continued.

“I would really appreciate any information you could share with me so that I can use it as reference material to profile his crimes and compare them with other cases that I have been researching.” KC knew that she was lying, actually she was a pretty good liar when the need arose, but she wasn’t sure that Mrs. Hall was buying any of it.

“Mrs. Hall, ma’am, have I said anything wrong here,” KC inquired?

“No dear, not at all, but I am afraid that we will not be able to help you, that case is still under investigation.”

“I understand that Mrs. Hall, but are you sure that I couldn’t just tag along with the detectives that are working the case, just be a fly on the wall so to speak?”

“Young lady, we do not try our cases in the newspapers around here!”

“This isn’t San Francisco! We’re not as liberal with our respect for the constitutional rights of our citizens under the law,” the ADA snapped!

KC looked sheepishly back at the woman and frowned; obviously she had struck a nerve, but why? This was an open and shut case according to the known facts as far as she read them. The guy had been abusing women and girls through his capacity as a doctor in a free clinic, as a trusted member of the community for goodness sake. Why would the District Attorney’s office care if her paper ran a piece about their stoic persecution of such a terrible man? It didn’t make sense to her and that bothered her, and KC Littleton did not like loose ends, they screwed up her nightly hibernation!

“I apologize if I gave you the impression that I would be anything but professional with regard to any reference to your office or its investigation. Nothing could be further from the truth, I am just doing some basic research, and this case has some similarities to others that I have been looking into,” KC said in as soft a tone as she could muster.

“Never the less, as I have said we are not able to share any information with you or any other publication at this time. Perhaps once the case is closed we can send you whatever data you may require,” ADA Hall said, also in a softer tone.

“Look, I apologize for my harsh tone, but you must understand, this particular case has been a personal nightmare for me as well as many others. We're embarrassed, angry and frightened that something like this could happen in our community, this isn’t the big city, we don’t expect that kind of behavior, we’re not used to that kind of evil,” she finished.

“I understand how you feel Lou Ann. You know, we aren’t accustomed to this kind of thing any better in the big city,” KC said, trying to sound consoling and not angry, which is what she was after the woman attacked her sensibilities.

“I guess maybe I should go now. Thank you for seeing me, and again, my apologies.”

KC walked toward the door and then stopped when the ADA called to her.

“Miss Littleton, for what it’s worth, I really would like to help you, but my hands are tied.”

“However, our Police Department did not actually arrest Dr. Katz. He is in the custody of the local Sheriff’s Department.”

“You might try talking to Sheriff Cardwell over in Firebaugh, it’s not far from here, he may be able to fill you in on things that I am not free to talk about.” Lou Ann Hall offered all too sweetly.

KC shot the woman a crooked little smile.

“Thanks,” she said, sourly, getting up slowly to walk out the door. Once out of the room she went quickly to the elevator. As she waited for the elevator to arrive, a hand touched her on the shoulder, startling her. It was Lou Ann Hall.

“One more thing KC, a request really,” she said. Mrs. Hall looked at her for a moment before continuing. The bell rang suddenly and the doors opened to an empty car. KC reached inside with her hand and held the doors open. She ignored the buzzers clambering inside the elevator letting her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t the only person anxious to go up or down.

“Yes,” KC said, looking back at the supervising ADA?

Lou Ann Hall reached out and gently rubbed KC’s arm, smiling at her as she did so.

“I’m sure you are very good at your job, I can see that in your eyes.”

“But I suspect that you’re also kind, and have a conscience. I can see that in your eyes as well. When you finish gathering your information, and you have all the facts that you need, please, leave the child out of your story, there’s no need to include her,” ADA Hall said, her eyes betraying her concern. She didn’t wait for an answer. She just turned and walked away quickly, back toward her office. KC was perplexed and she knew her face probably gave that away easily.

“Hey wait a minute! What child, what’s the deal anyway,” KC called after her.

There was no reply, ADA Hall had already turned the corner and disappeared. The urgent buzzing requests kept coming, and KC finally entered the elevator and watched the stainless steel doors close. She looked back at her reflection and noted the puzzled look on her face. She reached for the cross she wore around her neck, not really knowing why. It was an involuntary reflex she had whenever she was nervous.

“What was all that about,” she wondered out loud. The bell rang and the doors opened, she passed sideways like a crab through the herd of people entering and made her way out of the building. Suddenly this assignment gotten very interesting, this girl loved a good mystery, what reporter didn’t, and she was world class nosy! KC smiled and put on her sunglasses as she exited the building into the bright noonday sun.

“Beautiful day,” she said to a stranger passing her, as she turned right toward the parking lot. Taking out a spiral note pad she jotted down a couple key thoughts, then listened to her stomach growl.

“Hope Jay is still hungry, I’m starved!”







Sunday, September 8, 2013

(“Sittin on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. Sittin on the dock of the bay, wasting time”)…Otis Redding

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc
my inspiration


"THE MIGRANT"
Chapter Twelve


Republic of Viet Nam, 7, December, 1968

1:30am

“I’ll see your half a buck and raise you a fiver, jack, what do you think about that, huh,” said Lance Corporal Larry Polen, slapping a ‘low five’ to his table neighbor, Corpsman Tony Yamamoka. They toasted his bold move by downing jelly-jar shots of JD, Larry managing to spill most of it into his lap. Knowing him, I was inclined to believe that the act was more deliberate than accidental; he really was kind of a weenie [Mental note here, ‘weenie’ as an adjective was not a candidate for ‘the list’, unless of course it was meant as an insult!]. Now five dollars was a pretty hefty bet for this group, it wasn’t like we were the Rockefellers playing at some posh club or anything close to that. No, we were just a rag tag gaggle of bored out of our mind jar-heads killing time, idly filling in the hours before the next bout of insanity.


“What are you so proud of Larry, you got nothing on top and I know you ain’t got nothing underneath. Hell half of Saigon knows that, you know how women talk boy,” snarled Lt. JG Aaron Walker, one of the five Medi-Vac pilots assigned to this FSSB (force service support group) unit. He wasn’t exactly the poster boy example of military esprit de corps. Tall for a chopper pilot, too tall if you stayed close to the rules, always out of uniform, trade mark colored shades, hair over the collar, and an ever-present five o’clock shadow. To say the least he was a tad unconventional, to say the most he was a royal pain in the keester for the CO. He glared at Cpl. Polen from over the top of his rectangle cut, rose colored shades, rocking back and forth on the Coca-Cola crate he was sitting on, watching to see if he flinched. Larry Polen, the polar opposite of the man across from him did not twitch a muscle, barely drew breath from what I could see, drummed the fingers of his right hand on his three down cards.

“You in or out.” He asked cool, calm, and collected?

Now I had seen this act a hundred times since arriving at this duty station a month ago, but I had to admit it never ceased to amaze me how this mouse of a man ALWAYS bested this self-centered lout. Apparently common sense was an option on the Walker model, which came standard with beauty, brawn and bravado.

“Ah man, he’s not bluffing, he has to have trips under there, I’m out,” said Lt. Walker as he shoved his hand towards the center, letting out an audible sigh of frustration. “Your play Ethan, maybe you can pull a couple more hearts from down under to go with the three you have topside and flush this weasel out!”

“Aaron, you folded with a pair of kings and queens showing, Polen doesn’t have squat, are ya completely daft man,” I hollered at the Lieutenant Junior Grade!

“You tell him Irish,” yelled 2nd Lt. Carla Cardinale, one of the surgical nurses and a regular at these card games. “What an ‘maroon’ Walker,” Carla said, borrowing a line from Bugs Bunny.

“And you have the nerve to bag on poor Larry about his tiny stones, gimme a break,” she laughed!

“Up yours dishwater,” LT Walker snapped back, weakly taking aim at her hair color.

“In your dreams buddy, you should be so lucky,” Carla shot back as she peeked at her hole cards one more time.

“Come on Ethan, its your bet, are you in or out,” she said, skillfully shielding her slightly bent hole cards with her right hand?

I stared at the pair of eight’s that I had showing, laying unimpressively next to a duce of hearts, a ten of diamonds, and the ace of clubs. Now I knew that my pair of eight’s had another sibling underneath and that three of a kind was a pretty darn good hand in seven-card stud. But, Cpl. Polen was awfully confident at this wee hour of the morning sitting on such a seemingly cold hand. And I was suddenly feeling very guilty about questioning Aaron Walker’s instincts! I peeked at my hole cards one more time, shielding them nicely, ala nurse Carla. Nope, looked like my silent prayer had gone unanswered, the water had not changed to wine, and neither of my other two cards had changed into an eight. So I decided to use the sense that the good lord had given me.

“I fold,” I said pushing my cards toward the pile of script in the center of the small table.

“Yeah, well if the altar boy here is nervous than so am I, count me out,” said Tony Yamamoka, tossing his cards, out of turn, into the pile as well.

Tony and I had been flying together with this Evac Squadron since the day we arrived in country six weeks ago. He was a good-natured guy, around my age, a foot shorter than I was but built like a power lifter, which came in handy given the duty we had pulled. Hopping off of helicopters and scampering around the countryside hauling wounded and worse back and forth had been a literal baptism of fire. Having someone like Tony around made the task tolerable. He would crack jokes the whole time we were under fire, carrying litters as fast and as gently as we could to the safety of the chopper and then racing back into the insanity to fetch another poor soul. He was able to keep us focused on what was at our fingertips, helped block out whatever was happening around us. In the process, making our entire world about six meters in diameter during the seven or eight, 2 to 3 minute dashes we performed routinely on each rescue mission. It was a gift he had, that was for true, one that I thanked God for each and every day.

“What is up with you guys, did someone hang a sign out front declaring this a ‘testosterone free zone’ or what,” Carla sighed. She looked at her cards again, she knew she had nothing, but she wanted to still be in when that weenie Larry Polen had to fold. And now he was going to take the biggest pot of the night and there was nothing she could do about it! She was pretty sure that his nothing was bigger than her nothing, so she leaned back against the tent support and pushed her cards into the pot with both hands.

“Take it Larry, looks like you’re the only one at the table with testicles tonight, at least I have a natural excuse,” she said looking disgustedly at Tony and me. Lance Cpl. Polen reached across the table and wrapped his two skinny arms around the pile of script, chits, i.o.u.’s, and losing hands. He pulled them into his personal comfort zone, a big triumphant grin spreading across his thin taut face.

“Pleasure doing business with y’all, I think this will be enough to turn in on tonight gents. Oh, and let’s not forget the generous contribution from the fairer sex as well, thank you kindly nurse Carla,” Larry Polen said slow and sweet, like pouring cold molasses from a mason jar.

“That’s Lt. Cardianle to you stumpy, and I hope you choke on it!”

“Now, now, let’s not get catty ‘lieutenant’ nurse Carla,” Cpl. Polen shot back.

Carla scrunched down low in her folding chair, extended her left leg as far as she could and kicked Larry in the balls under the table.

“Oooooooooo, you bitch,” squealed Cpl. Polen frantically reaching for his groin, spilling his treasures all over the tarpon floor and slamming his forehead onto the table.

“Meeeeooowwwww,” she giggled as she got up and walked towards the door.

“See you ladies in the morning, I’m gonna catch some sack time before reveille. Hope I didn’t scramble those eggs Larry, nitey nite sweet pea!” Lt. JG Aaron Walker hopped up on that cue and trotted after Nurse Carla.

“Good night girls, I think my luck is about to change, don’t wait up,” he said confidently as he went out the door into the dank night air.

The rickety wood framed door slammed behind him making a loud slapping noise that woke our newest roommate from his light slumber. Mitchell Rojas had joined the outfit a week before, replacing one of our door gunners, Rollie Lopez, who had been rotated back to the world after fifteen months in Viet Nam. Rollie (his real name was Raul), had been on the ‘short’ list for so long, that he had started to have the local street urchins take the first bite of his candy bars, just in case, what a nerd! Actually it was a well-known fact that the ‘shorter’ you got, the more superstitious you became, it was all relative. That kind of behavior would have really bothered me a lifetime ago, but since my battlefield inauguration, a scant two hours after arriving in country, I had become numb to it all, if not down right callused.

That was a harsh day in my short life to date. Twenty of us, ‘newbies’ they called us, were standing by a transport waiting to board when a loud explosion shook the ground and peppered us with debris and shrapnel. A jeep that was parked across the road from us, jumped straight up into the air, a good fifteen or twenty feet. I had been watching that very jeep the whole time I was standing in line with the others, getting a visual lay of the land so to speak. There had been two soldiers sitting in the front when a kid wearing a Red Sox jacket, a little boy maybe nine or ten years old, walked up to them carrying a puppy dog. I was watching as the driver reached down to pet the animal when the satchel charge strapped to the child went off. It had been concealed under the foul garment. I could remember later thinking callously. I hate the Red Sox! The explosion left a six-foot crater in the ground, the jeep a crumbled mess, and it’s occupants scattered around the perimeter in torn and tattered pieces, the child and puppy vaporized. If that weren’t chaos enough, three of the newbies standing in the very same line as Tony and I had been killed by the shrapnel that sprayed across the road in our direction. They had been in this country for one hundred twenty-seven minutes, just long enough to become a statistic for replay on the six o’clock news back home. My ears rang for days, but I had sustained no other physical injury. But I did learn lesson number one on day number one in country, and that was that nobody was guaranteed a tomorrow! So, as far as Rollie’s superstitions were concerned, I understood all to well.

Mitchell was nothing like his predecessor, he was in fact the exact opposite when it came to personalities. Rollie was robust, full of life, the first in line for whatever the in-crowd was up for, and Mitchell was shy, quiet and unassuming, the kind of guy that wouldn’t say crap if he had a mouthful. At least this was the man that we had come to know over the last eight days. Not exactly what you would expect from someone tasked with blowing the crud out of anything or anyone that got near the Medi-Vac or it’s crew. Now that I think about it, I had wondered right from the start how someone like him drew such hazardous duty. I mean he was not much bigger than the weapon he wielded. And if you added up the stacks of ammo boxes with the 50MM machine gun, the weaponry out weighed him by at least a hundred pounds. If it were not for the fact that he was tied to the airframe when he fired the gun, the chattering weapon would have dragged him around behind it as it recoiled wildly.

“Hey man, what’s with all the noise amigos,” Mitchell asked sleepily, looking in my direction.

“Games just ending Mitch, go back to sleep,” I said.

“Yeah, OK,” he replied, rolling over, turning his back to the room.

“Thanks for the contribution to the Cpl. Polen retirement fund fellow marines,” Larry said while he scooped all of his winnings into his helmet. He tucked the hat under his arm and made his way out of the tent and towards the non-com quarters. Tony threw an open canteen at him, and a stream of water arced across the doorway as the canteen hit the canvas wall.

“EAT ME LARRY,” Tony yelled from his bunk, bending over to unlace his jump boots, getting ready for lights out.

I walked over to my own bunk after I tugged on the chain from the ceiling outlet and cut the juice to the bulb. The new day had officially begun a couple of hours ago, but it sort of ran into the day before, which had sort of run into the week before. Lesson number two in country had come over time, I had discovered during the last six weeks that warfare was ninety-five percent agonizing boredom, accentuated by five percent of sheer terror. Secretly, down deep, I was rooting for boredom to win out over terror in the months to come. I scooted my jump boots underneath my cot, knelt beside it, and genuflected. I prepared to recite the prayer that I had said every night since I was a small boy. My Grandmother had taught it to my mother and she had taught it to Shannon and I. Of course each generation added a little something of their own, but it was basically the same as when Grandmother brought it over from her village in Ireland. I cleared my throat and listened for Tony and Mitchell, they had heard this so often, they had started to whisper along with me a couple of nights ago. I wasn’t sure if they knew that I knew, but no matter, the Lord accepts even the curious converts.


If you hear me Lord, if you have some time
Let me thank you for your blessings so kind
Let me praise you for the grace that you give
Let me share your love wherever I live
God bless Mothers & Fathers & Grandparents too
Aunties and Uncles and friends old and new
Puppy dogs, kitty cats, the whole petting zoo
Father please love us till we come home to you

Amen


I genuflected once more and crawled into my rack.

“Thanks Ethan,” whispered Tony from across the tent.

“Si, gracias ese, gracias la Senor,” yawned a weary Mitchell Rojas.

“No worries bunkies,” I said, pulling the heavy wool blanket up to my chin so I could sweat myself to sleep.


3:30am   WOOSH, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…The tent was suddenly illuminated with brilliant white light as the flares exploded high overhead. We all hit the floor and rolled under our cots, pulling our helmets onto our heads as quickly as we could. Holding our breath we waited for the mortar rounds to start falling in and around the camp. One minute, two minutes, three than five, no sound, the light beginning to fade as the flares burned out. We continued to wait for the all clear signal, you never knew about these things. Sometimes Charlie just likes to mess your our minds. Another few minutes still nothing, finally it was pitch black out and then one by one, lights began to flicker on around the camp. Yep, Mr. Charlie was just messin with us again, but better messed with than messed up I thought. We got back into bed without saying a word to one another, sadly these kinds of shows had become routine.


6:30am

Reveille came a little later here than back at boot camp. There was no rush lately, we hadn’t had any casualties to speak of for a couple of weeks, thank God! Once the PA system finished its announcement I turned onto by back and stared at the ceiling for a second. I had kicked off the wool blanket in my sleep trying to escape the home made sauna and lay there in my government-issue skivvies, bathed in sweat. My tongue felt like it was wrapped in bacon and I made that smacking noise everyone does when they first wake up. Jack Daniel’s was not as smooth as Jameson was, but then good whiskey was always better than fair bourbon Uncle Chuck would say. I swung my legs out over the edge of my cot and let my bare feet come in contact with the canvas floor. Tony and Mitchell were already back from the latrine and showers and were lacing up their boots.

“Get enough rest there buzz,” Tony said sarcastically.

Apparently I may have been snoring ever so slightly, a trait I picked up from my mother oddly enough? My mother loved to sleep, and she could sleep through an earthquake I reckoned. But the woman would snore softly on her back and drool slightly on her stomach. Da used to say he would have to buy stock in Sears Roebuck with all the pillowcases he bought each year. The only way she slept peacefully and without incident was tucked snuggly onto my father’s shoulder. That was the best way to fall asleep with a woman my Da once told me. But sonny he said, after a while the blood settles in your arm and it’s the pins and needle treatment for ye. Oh Ethan, the tingling so intense it could drive a person daft enough to chew his own arm off. Not that I’d ever need the advise personally, but I stored it away to share with others should the opportunity ever present itself!

“Slept like a baby Yama-lama-ding-dong,” I teased back. He wasn’t amused and patted his sidearm to let me know. Sometimes you could joke with Tony and sometimes it was dangerous, he definitely had a chip on his shoulder from way back somewhere in life?

“Chow time homeboys, let’s go see what the mess sergeant backed over for breakfast,” Mitchell said, distracting our tense roommate. Tony smiled at Mitchell’s joke mostly because it was unusual for Mitchell to speak at all.

“OK Mitchy boy, let’s eat,” he replied as he finished tying his bootlace.

“You coming Ethan?”

“I’ll be right along, need to brush this rug off of my tongue and take a cool shower, save me some road kill you guys!”

I grabbed my shaving kit, my towel and some fresh underwear and followed my two friends out of the tent. They went east to the mess tent and I went west to the showers, it was already hot out, this would be my first Christmas away from home, my first Christmas without snow, this whole Viet Nam experience would be a series of firsts and lasts I reckoned.


8:30am

After some fairly decent chow in the breakfast mess, we went about our daily chores. We took about twenty minutes to square away our quarters and then went over to the chopper to check our gear. Tony and I sorted through the first aid kits and took inventory, making sure none of the meds or any other essentials had grown legs in the night and found their way into some junkie’s locker box. Occasionally Mr. Charlie himself would sneak in and walk off with whatever they could, they had people suffering as well, it was hard to blame them. Mitchell uncovered and cleaned his weapon, sitting cross-legged in the chopper; he broke down the gun and cleaned it like he was bathing his child. It always amazed me how beautiful fine machinery could be, and how ugly a purpose it could have. Being an objector I did not carry a weapon, but I understood the necessity for them in man’s world.

“This is one bad ass gun Ethan,” Mitchell said to me as he oiled the barrel of the weapon. “I can grease dozens of dinks with this mutha ese! It’s a beautiful thing man, a beautiful thing.”

“Come on Mitch, you know it bothers me when you talk like that,” I said preaching.

“It’s not really you, those are just words you heard from someone else, I can see it on your face that you’re not comfortable saying them.”

“Leave him be Ethan, we need him sharp and dangerous man, you don’t want to screw up his aim do you,” Tony scolded me!

“That’s not what I meant to do,” I started to reply.

“YEAH, BUT YOU ARE FUCKING WITH HIS HEAD, SO KNOCK IT OFF,” Tony said getting right in my face.

Lesson number three in country, war is war and peace is peace, and never the twain shall meet. I had pushed his fear button and I knew it, so I quietly backed down and continued inventorying the meds bag. Tony stood there watching me, waiting for me to kick this up a notch, I had more sense than that. We needed to be tight as a unit and fighting amongst ourselves wasn’t a good tactic in that regard.

“Sorry guys, I’ll try and leave the preaching for Sunday’s after I get my collar,” I said. “And hopefully before I get my wings,” I added trying to get Tony to ease up a bit.

“Man, how did you end up here anyway,” Tony said disgustedly, shoving me playfully as he walked past me heading aft to check the stokes?

“I was drafted, just like you!”

“Hey Ethan,” Mitchell said in a loud whisper. I looked over his way.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry amigo, but he’s right ya know. I gotta keep my head in the game, for all of us. I want to get home and see my Louisa and my little boy Miguel, ya know?”

“I know Mitch, forgive me, bad habit of mine. I feel like I can read people, it’s weird.

Sometimes I feel as though I can see right into a person’s heart, know just what they are feeling. I don’t know if its intuition or wishful thinking, but whatever it is, it’s very real.” Mitchell nodded and looked out the door to see where Tony was.

“It’s funny Mitchell, I have had this sense all of my life. I knew that my father was going to die, I knew that I would be coming here, and I know that I will be going home. These weren’t hunches, I KNEW THEM, like reading tomorrow’s newspaper?” I looked at my friend and I could see he was looking at me strangely.

“Sorry Mitch, maybe it’s the road kill from breakfast talking, don’t pay any attention to me, I’m just rambling,” I said getting back to my work.

“No ese, I too believe that God works through people, I’ve seen this myself, I have. Madre Dios Ethan, it was a miracle, we all saw it. I watched Him save my Miguel with the heart of another child. I watched while my woman, my Louisa held our dead baby in her arms and sobbed. I watched this tiny nina, maybe only a couple years older than my son, come to her and bring him back with a kiss and a smile. I saw this Ethan, I saw this myself,” he said in a low voice, his eyes moist and glassy. Mitchell sniffled and wiped his eyes and face with his shirtsleeve. He stood up and placed the butt of the big gun on the floor of the chopper and pulled hard on the breech several times quickly, working the oil into the weapon. “I know that story sounds weird, maybe even silly. But its true ese, it really happened to us. One day maybe you’ll come see us after we get back to the world, when you become ‘Father Kelly’ you’ll come and bless my home and my family, OK?”

“Sure Mitch, sure, it’ll be my pleasure buddy,” I replied, watching him re-cover the machine gun and jump out of the aircraft.

“I’m hittin the head homey,” Mitchell said, slapping my shoulder as he passed by. I nodded in acknowledgement and zipped the meds bag closed.

“Let’s go to the drugstore Tony, inventory says that we’re light three morphine set ups and some liquid stitches (super glue).



8, December: 11:45am     I can barely stand the humidity, just breathing starts the sweat glands into overdrive! It would be almost bearable if there were just a hint of a breeze, but no such luck, the air hung dank and dead calm. At least Mr. Charlie had sense enough to stay underground safe in the cool womb of mother earth. While we interlopers’ sweltered topside, the elements working on draining the might from our fight so to speak. Tony was reading a stack of Fantastic Four comics in his underwear on his bunk. He had a green sweat towel over his head under his Orioles baseball cap. Mitchell was lying on his bunk fully dressed, both his arms crossed over his face cat napping. He didn’t look near as uncomfortable as the rest of us, barely sweating at all.

“Hey Mitchell, how do you do that man,” I asked, hoping he was still awake?

“It’s not hard amigo, I learned this as a child working in the lettuce fields. You just wear an undershirt beneath a long sleeved shirt, a bandana around your neck, and keep your head and eyes covered. You will sweat like everyone else, but the layer of clothing underneath stays nice and damp, keeping your body temperature from rising and your energy and strength from escaping into the air.”

“Gracias man!”

“Por nada homey.”

“Chow time boys,” Tony said as he pulled on his pants.

“How can you eat in heat like this,” I asked?

They didn’t call him Tony Baloney for nothing; the man had a stomach made of cast iron! I think that he would have been a fine addition to the eating machines I left back in Albany. I do believe that Paulie and Kenny would have been proud of this character!

“I can eat anything, anywhere, anytime, as long as there is gravy or Tabasco at the table, then whatever they’re serving is one of my favorites!” Tony said with more than a little pride.

Tony slipped on his unlaced boots and grabbed a shirt from the clothesline we had running down the center of the tent. You had to keep the line inside because it rained at least three times a day around here. He gave the shirt a quick sniff. As long as it didn’t smell like vomit, it was wearable. The rules of etiquette were slightly different in the forward areas. Mitch and I trudged slowly after him. I wonder what the mess sergeant had run over for lunch?


2:30pm     “Any mail today Lt. Walker,” Mitchell and I asked in unison as we passed his quarters? Aaron Walker was sitting out front in on a lawn chair in a swimsuit and a surfer tee shirt, you know, the kind the Beach Boys wore, wide red and white horizontal stripes. He looked more like he was on vacation in Malibu then flying Hueys in Viet damn Nam, pardon my French, now there's another entry for the list! I had already added at least five pages since arriving. Why, by the end of my tour there may be multiple volumes! I decided then and there all future entries would be mental only.

“Sorry girls, your momma didn’t send no cookies this week Kelly. Oh yeah, and she didn’t send any tacos either Rojas,” Lt. Walker said acidly! We must have disturbed his beauty nap so we apologized.

“Sorry dude, didn’t mean to frazzle your karma, like wow man,” we chimed in together, running the rest of the way in case Aaron had a rock nearby. We slowed down as we reached the tent and looked back over our shoulders to see if he was following, nope, safe!

“Now what do you want to do, it won’t be suppertime for another couple of hours,” Mitchell asked.

These slow periods between actions were murder, oh not actual murder that came with the actions, but no less deadly to the general morale of the unit. We had finished a days work in about three hours this morning and we didn’t want to get too far ahead or we’d have nothing to do tomorrow. I looked through the screen window over at Tony who was sitting on my locker box.

“Hey, three flies up?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” he replied.

“What’s that,” Mitchell asked?

“Baseball my Spanish friend, that’s baseball!”

“I’m Mexican, and don’t you need bases and a field and a whole bunch of other guys to play this game?”

“Ahhh, that’s the beauty of this game. It’s so simple, you can adjust it to fit any situation. It is quite possibly the most perfect game God ever created, aside from foot races of course, but those are no fun, nothing to swing a bat at,” I explained.

Tony came out of the tent with our gloves (I had two, Da’s and mine), a couple of balls and our only bat, a 34 that I had bought at the PX in Da Nang. We headed toward the other side of the camp just past the mess tent and the post-op area. And as we passed by the nurses quarters Lt. Carla jumped out of her bunk and ran after us.

“I’m playing too,” she yelled.

“Oh wait a sec, lemme get my Dodger cap,” she hollered, stopping quickly to lean back inside of her tent and lift her baseball cap from its perch over the door.

“OK, now I’m ready!”

“You’re killing me Nurse Carla, I mean the Dodgers, really? Oh well, praise God it wasn’t a RedSox cap you went back for, cause then there would be trouble for sure!”

“In your ear Kelly, you Yankee fans are all the same, the Babe’s been dead for years, and Mantle was over rated, ya big Irish goofball,” she taunted back. I ignored her insults and looked over at Mitchell.

“You see Mitchy my boy, only baseball could breathe the life back into a day as dull as this. Stay close to me son, and I’ll be teaching about a whole new world,” I said to him as I put my arm around his shoulder and blathered on about Yogi, DiMaggio and Mantle.

5:00 pm    
   The game had ended in a tie, not because each side had scored an equal number of runs, but because Tony had pulled his .45 automatic and threatened to shoot the next batter that scored during our last inning rally. The game was called in the name of pacifism or sheer cowardice, you choose, never the less nobody was killed so everyone won, seemed like the right call given the circumstances. I guess you could say Tony was a sore loser, a good thing in wartime, a not so good thing in peacetime; hopefully he would outgrow it by the time we rotated home! We tossed all of the gear into the tent as we passed by, and then went to the latrine to wash up for supper. I wonder what the mess sergeant had run over for dinner tonight?


7:30pm


I rolled over onto my stomach in my bunk and continued writing my letter to my little sister.


“So, like I said, I really like the picture of you and mom sitting on the front porch steps at home, thanks for sending it to me. And no, I have not seen any rats the size of small dogs over here. But as long as the subject of dogs has come up. Yes it is true, some of the local people raise dogs for food. I was kind of grossed out by it at first, but then it’s not like there is a supermarket just around the corner over here either. People do what they need to in order to survive and provide for their families. I learned real quickly that families are the same everywhere. They may look different, dress different, talk different, and eat different foods, but they all act the same. The kids all giggle the same way as you and I did, and the parents all smile the same way that Mom and Da do. I mean did, oh, I’m sorry Shannon, sometimes I still think Da is here with us.

Don’t say anything to Mom or Uncle Liam, but sometimes I talk with Da. When its dark and quiet, and I’m pretty sure everyone is sleeping or occupied, I kind of chat with him. I don’t actually hear him answer me at least not with words that I can actually hear, but I swear girl, I can sometimes feel an answer inside of me. I mean I feel all warm and I shudder like someone has walked right through me, and it makes me smile, makes me feel like I’ve just been hugged. I wish I was home with all of you right now, I wish I could hug you and tuck you in like I did before all of this. But don’t worry ye wee chiseller, I’ll be home soon enough and I’ll make up for all of the nights I’ve missed. Keep up with your studies sis, and help Mom as best you can, at least try not to drive her completely mad! Kiss and hug everyone for me, and tell Mom there is a letter for her on the way as well.


Merry Christmas, XOXOXOXO, your loving brother Ethan”


I blew on the ink a little to make sure it was dry enough to fold and place into an envelope. After reading it through once more I folded it neatly as was my custom, and then slipped it into the pre-addressed envelope. I gave the mail a little kiss and then placed it on top of my locker box so I would remember to give it to Cpl. Polen when he came over for the nightly card game. Looking at my watch I saw that the gang would start arriving within the hour, I decided I had time for a short catnap, maybe it would improve my luck.

9:30pm     Sleepily I swiped at my face, something was tickling my nose. I opened my eyes but there was something covering them. Reaching up I pulled off the obstruction, it was one of Tony’s scummy sweat socks, beautiful, I had slept through the start of the game, and been poisoned at the same time! I tossed the sock at Tony who was busy looking at the five cards in his hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Tony said ducking in time for the sock to fly past him and onto Mitchell’s cot.

“Smooth Yamamoka, now I’ve got the tweener seat,” I whined!

“You snooze, you loose, you know the house rules Ethan,” Larry Polen said smugly.

The tweener seat was the chair between Nurse Carla and Aaron Walker.Whoever sat there was subjected to all of his grab ass thrusts and her less than lady like parries. It was a constant battle with them and pointless really, as she always ended up with him at the conclusion of the night. In the mean time I would be pinched and jabbed black and blue, talked through and kissed over the entire game. I looked at Aaron and decided my plea would fall onto deaf ears with him, so, I turned Carla’s way.

“Hey Lieutenant, would you mind changing seats with me tonight? I mean we both know you two are gonna leave here together anyway, can’t we just dispense with the Passion play this once, please,” I begged, wearing my most convincing altar boy expression? She looked at me for a long time, holding up the game.

“Hey Carla, are you in or out,” snapped Cpl. Polen?

She ignored him and continued to look at me, rocking her head from shoulder to shoulder like a puppy. She put her cards down and then placed both her hands on my face and kissed me softly on my mouth.

“Nope,” she said pulling away from me.

“He cheats when I sit next to him. He keeps trying to look at my whole cards while he tries to cop a feel,” she added.

“OK Larrykins, I’m in, whatcha got there sweet pea?” Larry showed his trips and Carla showed him the finger, it was going to be a long night!

11:30pm   The game broke up early tonight, Cpl. Polen’s lucky streak was still on and when three of the four cards he drew were aces to go with the one he was holding, Tony decided he had to be cheating. It didn’t matter that Tony had been dealing, he was sure that Larry was just sneaky enough to pull it off. So before Tony could find his sidearm and permanently even the odds at the game, Nurse Carla, in a rare showing of compassion, leaped across the table and dragged the protesting Corporal out of the tent and off to the safety of anywhere but here! Actually, by the look on Larry’s face, I believe that he may have been more frightened of Lt. Carla than Tony. After all, Tony was mostly talk when it came to idle threats, and Carla, well? Aaron was right behind the two of them, and so the game was officially cancelled, there was no way he and Carla would be leaving her tent before reveille! Tony switched out the light and hopped onto his cot, “Goodnight girls!”

“Night Tony, night Ethan,” Mitchell said pulling his blanket up to his chin.

“G’night all,” I answered.

“Hey Ethan, don’t forget the prayer ese,” Mitchell said in the dark.

“I won’t Mitchy, in a minute OK?”

“OK, hey Ethan, are you really going to be a priest when you get back to the world?”

“Yeah, think so, why do you ask?”

“Well, that’s just it. Why do you want to be one of those guys?” I suddenly realized that nobody had ever asked me that before, “Good question Mitchy, I’ve wondered why myself many times.”

“It sort of comes to this. My whole life I have been taught that God is in my life. As I grew up I began to actually feel that he was, and didn’t need to be told as often. And now, at this point in my life, I can really feel Him here with me.”

“There is a purpose for me, and I can’t say for certain that as a priest it will be revealed, but it’s where my faith seems to be leading me.”

“So to answer your question, yeah, I really am going to be a priest when I get back to the world, when we all get back to the world.”

“Horale Father Kelly, horale.”

“Hey Kelly, you know, I don’t think that you can pitch in the majors if you’re in the clergy, too many Sunday games,” Tony teased.

“You’re right about that Tony, but I didn’t really have a decent curveball anyway.”

“That’s right, and your fastball was weak too ya noodle armed geek,” he said.

“Love you too Tony boy,” I teased back weakly, I thought my fastball was pretty good!

“Ethan, will you add my family to the prayer tonight,” Mitchell asked?

“Sure, you know I will.”

“Hey Mitchell, tell me more about the time your boy was revived?”

“He wasn’t revived ese, he was returned Ethan, returned from the dead, no doctors, no treatment, he was returned to us by la Senor!”

“I felt Him there with us Ethan. Just like you said you could feel him in your life now. He was in that little girl that day, I think that he is still with her.”

I started the nightly prayer and was sure to add a request to bless and keep Mitchell’s family in the Lords good graces. The fellas prayed along with me, reciting the parts that they remembered, and I wondered when we were through about the things that Mitchell had talked about. I made a mental note to find some time tomorrow to chat with him more about it. Like as not, we were in for yet another ho- hum day. I held my arm up to the screened window and squinted trying to make out the time. It was 11:55pm, lights out at the end of this day; I wonder what the mess sergeant will run over for breakfast tomorrow?