Carry Me Home (16 page)

“I was there, Man. Remember? I was there when we ran out.”

“Well, fuck! So tell these assholes.”

Tony had hung his head. He hated this, hated being there, feared it as if it were contagious. Hated the situation because he didn’t have any more words to say. Hated himself for hating it. Hated that he couldn’t come in and cheer Rick up, cheer up the entire ward, give them back their limbs. He was not a member of
this
club. Not even close. A few pieces of shrapnel, a ripped quadricep, all nice and clean and mostly healed, doesn’t put one in the club with a guy with a shattered spine, no feet, begging to have his legs cut off.

“It’s dead meat.” Rick had looked back at him. “Dead fuckin meat, Pisano.”

“Fuck,” Tony had said. “What am I supposed to say? Hope it don’t rain?”

“Yer not suppose to say nothin,” Rick had said bitterly. “Just tell my fuckin Doc to cut my legs off.”

“You don’t want that, Man—” Pisano had begun.

“Tell im to cut em off here,” Rick screamed. He drew his hand across his throat.

Tony lay in uniform, eyes closed, flat on his back, his pillow on the floor, his hands side-by-side, right on his abdomen, left at the base of his sternum. His pulse beat hard, again, not fast, just hard enough to jolt his rack—DUB DUB DUB—banging steadily, hard, not hard enough to jolt his awareness away from each thought that flitted into his head. Rick, Stacy, Maxene, Annalisa, Lieutenant Mulhaney and his Welcome Back to the World Mickey Mouse horseshit, amputees, burials.

DUB DUB DUB. He tried to clear his head but had little control over thoughts bounding in, jouncing out. She kissed me, he said to himself. He tried to force an image of Stacy into his imagination. He’d thought about her often during the past three weeks, about the kiss. She was beautiful, seemed to like him. He could not explain to himself why he’d fled, why he’d felt so angry at Pellegrino. Perhaps she’s just too much for me, he thought. Too classy for a bastard like me. DUB DUB. There was a village ... south of Dong Ha. Lots of children. A lovely young woman. DUB DUB. I wish I had a woman, he thought to himself. He squeezed his eyes hard, tensed his neck, shoulders, abdominals, let the muscles slowly relax. What’s happenin, Pisano, he thought. You can’t even talk to a guy from 2–4 cause he’s got no legs. Can’t even relate to him. And this burial shit and Mulhaney. I should grease that fucker. I should go back.

Crocco came in from the showers. Tony did not move, did not open his eyes. He knew it was Crocco from his breathing. “Hey,
paesan
, get your ass up.” Crocco banged his wall locker. “Come on. Let me buy ya a beer.”

Pisano remained still.

“Tony,” Crocco put his foot on Tony’s cot, shook it, making the steel legs vibrate on the highly polished tile floor, “what’s going on with you? You’re a good time guy. How come you’re bein so angry? Where’s this all comin from, Man? If it’s Mulhaney, fuck im. He’s an asshole. Don’t let him get to ya.”

Pisano opened his eyes without moving, without allowing any expression to reach his face.

“Hey, it’s your anniversary,” Crocco said. “Come on. I’ll buy. What’d he do now?”

Pisano sat up. “That motherfucker, Chris. He’s been riding my ass since the day I got here. I’m goina waste him.”

“FUCK Mulhaney! Man!” Chris’ arms snapped forward accenting his words. “Ya only go over three once. Don’t let him get to ya. Do I gotta tell ya that ever day?”

“That son of a bitch. You see that candyass’s uniform? One fuckin ribbon. One fuckin firewatch ribbon. He’s never been anywhere, and he aint ever goina make it anywhere. Where’s he get off given me CQ tonight?!”

“Geez Louise! Lambert said he’d take it for ya. Why give a fuck?”

“That’s not the point, Chris. Don’t ya see? He knows it’s my anniversary. He’s just fuckin me over.”

“Here.” Crocco brought his hands to his mouth like a megaphone. “Say this: ‘Mulhaney Is an Asshole. He Is Not Worth My
scoraggiato
.’”

“
Scoraggiato!
” Tony laughed. “Why the hell can’t you say
agita
like every other wop?”

“Come on, Man. We’ll meet some townies.”

“Last thing I need is to chase some chick who’s playin cocktease. This duty ... God damn thankless, gutless ...” Pisano stood. He walked to the window, rested his ass against the black marble sill. “It’s a lousy deal, Chris. Notification’s the easy part. Know what happened today with that asshole?”

“What? What’d he do? He do another one of his famous Mulhaney-isms? I’m glad I don’t do that shit. I think it’d be harder than anything we ever went through across the pond. God! Havin to drive a priest up to somebody’s door! You got picked,
paesan
, cause you look so good in that uniform.”

“I don’t know if I can take another funeral, Chris.”

“Yeah. What happened with that lady, anyway?”

“Shit Man, the bugle was starting, you know, and Mulhaney says to me to help her. I was trying to help her. I thought she was going to collapse. So I grabbed her hand. You know, not grab it, more like cup my hand under her wrist, give her somethin to lean on. And she turns to me and she’s crying and she says, ‘How is it—’ Man, she says it in this eerie voice that’s comin from outer space, she says it real loud, ‘How is it, young man, that you are alive and my son is dead?’ And Mulhaney, he laughs right out loud. Right there. Then that candyass fucker laughed about it all the way back. He repeated it a hundred times.”

“Good,” Crocco said. “Now you got it out. Let’s go celebrate.”

“Dammit, Chris. I’m an action Marine, Man, or I’m no Marine at all. They either transfer me from this Mickey Mouse unit or I’m getting out. And fuck it, I aint goin back to Nam Bo. I’m not goina let im push me into volunteering to go back.”

“That’s what happens to all you good Catholic boys,” Crocco said. “You take this shit seriously and you end up volunteering to go back. Don’t let it get to ya.”

“You know what I could do?” Pisano said. He began to remove his uniform. “I could teach. That’s what I’d like. I used ta think about it in Nam. I’m a good teacher. I am. I’d like to get down to Parris Island and train boots.”

“Now you’re fuckin with yer own head.” Crocco was mostly dressed. “Eat the apple.” He chuckled. “Fuck the Corps. Shit,
paesan
, some beers tonight, then tomorrow or on the weekend—”

Pisano cut in. “I’m serious, Chris. I’m a hell of a teacher. I’d train em so they don’t step on their dicks first day they hit Nam.”

“Screw it,” Crocco said. “This weekend we’ll get a stereo and get some tunes in here. Goddamn it, Man. We’re alive! We made it back. It’s time to start livin.”

“Please come,” Judy Reardon begged.

“I really don’t know why you want me to go along,” Linda Balliett answered. “You’re practically engaged to the guy.”

“I am not.”

“Judy.”

“Well, maybe. But we haven’t been there before and it makes me nervous.”

“I don’t want to go. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“I know. I have this image of a men’s locker room.”

“Yeah.” Linda laughed. “Dirty sweat socks and jocks strewn all over the place. How come he wants to take you there?”

“I think it’s because it’s the end of the month and he’s out of money. You know, sailors only get paid once a month? Paid and laid,” she giggled. “That’s what some of them call it.”

“I could handle that.” Linda ignored the joke. “What I can’t handle is the sweat socks. And Judy, good grief, August isn’t even half over. It’s only the fourteenth.”

“I’ve been spending all his money.” Judy shrugged innocently. “Thank God Tom isn’t planning a career of it. In two months they discharge him and he’s free. Then he can get a real job.”

“That sounds awful. Discharge. Like pus or something. I think I’m going to pass on it. Besides, I’ve got the blood gases test tomorrow and I’m on call tomorrow night.”

“Please, Linda. I already told Tom you were coming. I really want you to meet him. You said you’d come.”

“I said I’d think about it. Why can’t I meet him when you go out to some place normal? Nobody goes to those—what do they call them—clubs.”

“EM Clubs. Or maybe it’s NCO. It means enlisted men’s club or non-committed officer.”

“I don’t know about this. I don’t like the idea of going over there. I can’t imagine.... I think of them as seaweed-covered cretins with wooden legs or as scoundrels with VD and a prostitute in every port.”

“Please. Just come for a little while. Follow me over in your car. Then you can go when you want.”

“Oh brother. Okay. If you can’t get anyone else, I’ll go. But Judy, try to get someone else.”

The club at the naval substation was small, twenty flimsy tables each with four folding chairs, a pool table, a small circular bar, and a dance floor. The music system and dance floor were adequate, as good as many of the night spots in town; the band was fair; the food salty; the drinks cheap.

“I don’t believe I’m doing this,” Linda said as they approached the brick building. In the parking lot, in the light of the early evening, the music seemed somehow incongruous. “I don’t date servicemen. Number one, we couldn’t possibly have any common ground. Number two, it’s like, ‘What’s wrong with you? Weren’t you popular in school?’”

“Linda!
I’m
going with a serviceman.”

“That’s different, Judy. You knew him before he was in the service.”

“Be nice,” Judy said. “Tom said he’d meet us right inside the door.”

“Then the kid says to his dad,” Chris said, “‘you mean, birds and bees do it just like people?’”

“Ha.” Tony laughed. “That’s a good one! Just like people.”

“I gotta piss. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Tony called as Chris left. “Hope it comes out all right.” He signaled the bartender. “Two more.”

“You really go over three today, Sarge?” The bartender brought the beers.

“Three down, one to go,” Tony answered.

“These are on the house, Sarge. Happy Anniversary.”

“Thanks,” Tony said. After the heat of the day the coolness of the club felt refreshing. The first cold beer had seemed to be absorbed by his palate even before it reached his throat. The second just began to quench his thirst. This one he could sip. Tony turned, rested his back against the bar. The club was less than half full and half of those were older petty officers eating dinner. The band finished their warmup and went on break. Chris returned from the head. Tony glanced at him; he began chuckling as he thought of what he was about to do. He poured the rest of his beer from bottle to glass, grabbed the bottle like a microphone, turned back toward Chris and began singing.

Kicked mah ah-ahss in Phu Bai,

Beat mah ahsss in Do-ong Ha Bay

I’ll be there fo’evah,

Aint no one goina get in my way—

Ba-boom—BOOM!

“Hey.” Chris laughed. “That’s all right! Hey, maybe we oughta go into town.”

“Nah,” Tony put the bottle back on the bar. “I feel good right here. I don’t wanta mess with my mood.”

“This is Linda,” Judy said to Tom. “And this is my man,” she said to Linda. She put her arm around Tom’s waist and squeezed herself onto him.

“Nice to meet you,” Tom said. “This is Bill Curney. Why don’t we grab a table and have a drink.”

Oh no, Linda thought. She looked up at the second sailor. He appeared dour beneath a flaccid smile and he towered over her by more than a foot. She followed Judy and Tom to a table by the dance floor. Bill walked behind her. Damn, Linda thought. Judy didn’t mention this. What am I going to do with this creep. Bill pulled the chair out for her. She glanced quickly before she sat, making sure there weren’t any food scraps or maybe a beer puddle on the seat. She gripped the seat as she sat, half expecting Bill to pull it out from her and guffaw as she fell. This is going to be worse than I ever anticipated, she thought. The last thing I need is to ruin my pants. Judy sat. Tom and Bill went to the bar for drinks.

“Judy,” Linda whispered angrily. “Who’s the big jerk? I thought it was going to be just the three of us.”

“I don’t know. Honest. I didn’t. ... Well, but isn’t Tom something. Have you ever seen such a hunk?”

“Beer for me, gin ’n tonic for the dollie,” Bill said serving Linda. Tom moved his chair closer to Judy.

I’m going as soon as I can, Linda thought. The band began playing again. Linda glanced at Bill. He was holding his beer glass with both hands, looking down at the table. Slouched in his chair Bill looked like a child, an enormous, timid child. Creep, she snickered at him in her mind. He did not look at her. She sipped her drink. “Dollie!” she thought. “Dollie and the Creep.” She finished the drink by the start of the second song. She looked over at Judy and Tom, glared at Judy who had made no attempt to include her. Bill still said nothing. Tom and Judy cuddled closer. Linda turned her seat toward the band.

“I’m goina get another beer,” Bill said. “You ready for another gin?”

Linda sighed. “Sure,” she said. The band launched into a rendition of The Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie.” “They’re actually quite good,” Linda began to say as she turned back toward her friend.

“Dance?” Tony Pisano was two steps from her. He had come from the bar without her noticing.

“Excuse m—”

“Dance?” he repeated. He wore his most disarming smile.

“Sure,” Linda rose. Anything, she thought, to split from the creep. “I didn’t see you come over.”

“That’s because I have magic feet.” Tony’s eyes were twinkling. Something about him made her smile.

Linda Balliett was wearing a pair of tan cotton bell-bottoms and a three-quarter sleeve boat-neck blouse. Her hair was bunned at the back of her head with two curled strands falling before her ears. The first thing Tony noticed was that she was three or four inches shorter than he; the second, her neck and ears were lovely, and then, her eyes were different. He could tell they were different but he could not really see them clearly in the low light.

What Linda saw was a clean, handsome young man, slight, wiry, a good dancer if a little stiff in the legs, and a smile that engaged not just his mouth but his entire face.

Tony and Linda danced two songs back-to-back. The music was loud and they weren’t able to talk other than a laconic phrase or two. When the second song was over, Tony escorted Linda to her seat and returned to the bar.