Carry Me Home (67 page)

“I want you to think about this. I want you to think about
your
views of killing and
your
deeds. Do you view what you did as sinful? And isn’t it that sinfulness that caused you to be guilt-ridden and depressed? Is that the key to your acting out, Tony?”

“Wait one fuckin minute.” Tony slid to the edge of his chair. “That’s not it. You think I shoulda been a scumbag like those bastards who went to Canada or Sweden?”

“I’m not saying that, Tony. But you didn’t see yourself as a murderer before you went to Viet Nam, did you?”

“I didn’t then. I don’t now!”

“Right. You don’t see yourself as a killer now, do you?”

“No I don’t.”

“But by your own accounts you’ve killed a dozen human beings. Maybe more.”

“In combat!”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t justified.”

“That’s right.”

“But you grew up believing it was a sin. See? This is an unresolved conflict in your subconsciousness. You have to be able to come to terms with those traumatic events before those deep-seated feelings of guilt and remorse will stop manifesting themselves in self-destructive behaviors.”

“That’s more fucked up than I am.”

“Is it?”

“You bet your sweet ass. There it is. I’ll tell you what’s fucked up. I’ll tell you what’s sinful. All this amnesty bullshit for draft dodgers.”

“Does that make you angry?”

“It sure does. Did you read the testimonies before that Senate committee?”

“A little ...”

“Kennedy and McGovern, talking like the righteous thing to do was to crawl off to Canada! I’ll tell you, there was that one guy, Kelly, lost a son in the A Shau. He had it right. He said somethin like if Kennedy’s definition of honor, righteousness, and high moral standards was running away, then that was labeling all of us who didn’t run away as immoral and dishonorable.”

“And you feel you did the moral and honorable thing?”

“I know I did. If I hadn’t been there, it would of been worse on those people. I was a god damned good sergeant ...”

“Protected your men?”

“That’s right.”

“But what if no Americans had ever been there? What if there had been no Marines to protect?”

“Then the gooks would have taken over and enslaved the Viet Namese.”

“Really?”

During that spring of 1972 nothing could possibly have been better for Pewel Wapinski than to have a strong, trained paramedic move into Bobby’s old bedroom. Pewel slept on a rented hospital bed in the dining room. His paramedic collected the maple sap, turned the fields, learned not just to plow, fertilize, and plant but how to
plan
the farm. He even built a crude elevator to lift Pewel Wapinski to his barn office.

And Pewel had a highly trained nurse come nearly every day, one who enjoyed his home and farm, who enjoyed cooking, didn’t mind cleaning, who loved him as if he were her own grandfather; and he had Gina and Michelle—Rascal and Timidthia as he called them—growing, bright, babbling and cute in the way of precious and precocious two-year-olds, astounding him with their feats of physical flexibility as he himself became more mobile.

On the girls’ second birthday they had a party in the kitchen at High Meadow. “You can have cake after lunch,” Linda said.

“Why not now?” Tony asked.

“You’re worse than the girls.” Linda was happy and it showed. “You too!” She admonished Pewel as he picked a stray blob of frosting from the edge of the cake plate.

“I wanna come you,” Gina said to Tony.

“Come on then,” Tony said. He held out his hands.

“Wash your hands first,” Linda ordered. Gina and Tony looked at her. “Yes, both of you.”

Tony winked at Gina, lifted her to the sink. His relationship with her was better than ever. Michelle still would not sit with him. “What’s for lunch?” he asked. He put Gina down.

“Hangerber,” Gina squealed.

“Huggerber,” Michelle said from her mother’s side.

“Hangerber or huggerber?” Tony chuckled.

“Ham-burg-ers,” Linda corrected.

Gina giggled. Then, “I wanna pick you up.”

“Pick me up?” Tony looked at her. “I too big.”

“I pick you up,” Gina giggled again.

“She means she wants you to pick her up,” Linda said to Tony. “Bring her to the table, okay?”

As they ate lunch Tony spoke to Pewel about new strawberry fields. He wanted to turn and plant one row at a time. “... eventually put in enough ... We can’t make any money on grain. Strawberries are a cash crop. Enough for Morris’, the IGA, and the 7-Eleven. Maybe the stores in Rock Ridge, too. Even RRVMC. They’ve got a big mess hall there ...”

Pewel agreed but his focus was on the little girls, and soon Tony dropped the topic though it spun and whirled in his mind as he mentally calculated planting schedules, maturity, how many years it would take to have established beds that he could trust, and could guarantee the stores and hospital a fresh in-season supply. In his head he knew exactly what was needed, knew too exactly how different this crop was from syrup—this fragile time-essential crop. He could commit the fields. Could he commit himself?

“So Tony, how’s it going today?”

“Good.”

“The farm survive hurricane Agnes?”

“Yeah. Pretty much so. Except remember I was putting in those new beds ...?”

“Strawberries?”

“Yeah. That pretty much got washed out.”

“Oh.” Binford sighed, rocked his head empathetically. They were now into the fourth month of therapy. Tony had come to view him as a friend, perhaps as a bit weird, ignorant about the realities of combat, but still as a friend. “And how are things between you and Linda?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“You know.”

“No,” Binford said, “I don’t.”

“Not being with her ... you know. I’m still living with Mr. Wapinski. I see her every day. And the girls. But ... really ... I mean it hurts like hell knowing what I did to em and knowing that I can’t live with em. Linda’d let me come back. She wants to help me. You know how she is. But ... well, she’s under a lot of pressure and Mr. Wapinski, my agreement with him was for six months.”

“What kind of pressure?”

“Oh, mostly from her folks. Her mother calls all the time and tells her to dump me. Her old man hates my guts.”

“Some reasons there?”

“You know. I told you about the shotgun. She told her sister and she told their father.”

“Um-hum.”

“Mr. Wapinski says that if you hurt someone, that hurts you inside. He says it causes internal battles and that the toll on you is worse than the toll on the one you hurt because you hurting them is external. To them. Their outsides heal. But for you, it detracts from who you are and takes a lot longer to rebuild.”

“Let’s go back over that incident with the shotgun. Putting it in your mouth. Pulling the trigger. What were you thinking? Do you remember what you were thinking?”

“About Nam. Fuckin around. Didn’t care who was around me, you know, was just goin back to it.”

“Do you remember what Linda did?”

“Yeah. Started cryin and shit. Screamin. ‘Don’t do it.’ Came over and put her arm around me. And, ah, I knew I—I couldn’t do that to em no more.”

“Do you ever think you maybe did that because you were looking ... subconsciously ... for hugs from your mother?”

“No way. Not at all. Nowhere near that. Geez. We’ve been here a hundred times. I told you about my cousin ... About getting thrashed out west?” Tony paused. “You think I should have gone back, huh?”

“Do you?”

“I think of it all the time. If I hadn’t met Linda I probably would of. I still could.”

“Um.”

“I could go back. If I could go back for just one day. One hour. Just smell the air, feel the ground, see the people again. There’s like this part a me that needs to go back. Like I left part of me there. Like there’s another Anthony F. Pisano fuckin still there. You understand? It’s like only ... like only his shadow came back. Like he hasn’t caught up to me yet. Like it’ll never fuckin happen. There’s still an Anthony Pisano ... shit! I even saw his footlocker on Okie! I just remembered that. He’s still in Nam Bo somewhere. I’m just this fuckin shadow that can’t see nothin. That’s in this fog. Shadows can’t function in a fog.”

“Like you lost your soul over there? Only your physical being came back?”

“Yeah. What came back is proud, but it’s only part of me. And I’m tired of livin here and there. I’m not responsible for that shit. That suffering. I can’t be held responsible for that. Damn it! I was good. Everybody said so. Everybody recognized it until ...”

“Until?”

“Until I came back.” Tony snorted, turned sideways to Binford.

“Did you ever see any atrocities over there?”

“Yeah. You know. I guess ... Usually they talk about that being like burning a ville or raping or killing women or children. I heard of some of that. That happened ... ah, in Delta Company. Before I got there. They had one particular guy who was notorious for ah ... he was always on point. Big guy. He’d go forward with a fire team—very far ahead of the company. And ah, evidently he raped a village woman and held a gun to her head and said, ‘When the rest of the company gets here, if you say anything, I’ll blow yer brains out.’ And the guys in the fire team knew he’d done it but they weren’t about to say anything cause their heads would a got blown off. That’s the story, anyway. That’s something.”

“And the time, ah, tell me again about the woman and children killed at ... that you saw killed. The soldier with the belt that you think you should have killed first.”

“Aw, Man. Again?”

“Please.”

Now Tony retold the story in detail. He told the therapist about seeing the man with the belt, the firefight that ensued, the human shield tactic used by the NVA. “I cried that day, Man. I remember thinking if Pop saw me crying he’d be disappointed, but I cried that day.”

“One more month, eh?”

“One more.”

“You talk with Linda yet?”

“No. I ... We’re getting along pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Don’t matter what I think.”

“But Gran ... ah, Mr. Wapinski ...”

“You can call me Granpa. I like it.”

“Grandpa. If she lets me move back ...”

“I’ll be fine. Doin pretty good, see? I don’t need to go upstairs.”

“I don’t wanta feel like I’m runnin out on you.”

“Yep. Caused ya enough problems, runnin out, already.”

“Um-hmm. Really has. As long as I’ve got my three-a-days, I’m pretty good. She’ll let me come back, don’t you—”

“Ask her.”

“Yeah. I will. Tonight. At her place, tonight.”

“Here, Tony. I got a little something for you.” Pewel Wapinski handed Tony a piece of paper.

“What’s ...”

“It’s a prayer. Nothin fancy. I say it in the mornin an at night. Keeps the crops growing.”

Tony looked at the sheet. “Dear Lord,” it began, “Please bless us and watch over us; Deliver us from evil ...”

“When you understand it,” Pewel said, “not just readin words, but understandin it, things fall into place.”

Tony continued to read. “‘Forgive us our trespasses; And give us the strength and guts to try hard and to never give up.’”

It was difficult for the four of them to be alone in the kitchen of the Creek’s Bend apartment; difficult for Tony who had frightened them here, in this apartment, difficult too for Linda, because of the hurt, the loss of trust, loss of love associated with these rooms, and because of the joys she’d shared with Gina and Michelle, alone, the hard work she’d invested in rebuilding their lives, twice.

Forgive us our trespasses, Tony thought. “Here, let me do that.”

“I’ve got it.” Linda lifted the large pot from the stove, brought it to the sink, dumped the boiling water and shells into the colander. Mist enveloped her, then vanished.

“What can I do?” Tony asked.

“See if the girls want milk or juice, okay?”

“Sure.” Tony went to the back porch where Gina and Michelle were playing. The railings had been “fenced” with chicken wire so the girls couldn’t slip through, and a latchable gate had been installed at the top of the stairs.

“Papa, know what?” Gina grabbed his pant leg.

“What?” Tony smiled. Gina was so open to him, Michelle so closed. Try hard, he thought.

“Deedee, deedee deedee,” Gina squealed, let him go, ran to Michelle.

“Deedee, deedee deedee?” Tony laughed. Both girls, their heads together, laughed too. Tony laughed more. “Do you two want milk or juice with dinner?”

“Papa, you come inside, okay?”

Tony pointed to himself. “Go inside? First tell me, juice or milk?”

“Papa angry at Gina,” Gina said to him. Then to Michelle she said, “Gina a bad girl. Papa angry.” Then quickly, looking, acting sad, “I sorry, Papa.”

“No. No, Gina. Papa’s not angry.” Tony knelt near the twins. “Gina’s a good girl. And Michelle is too. Michelle’s a good girl. I love you both very much. I just want to know if you want milk or juice with dinner.”

“Papa angry,” Gina whispered to Michelle. “Papa very angry.”

“No I’m not!” Tony said emphatically. “Really.” He stood. “I’m going inside. I love you.”

The girls put their foreheads together, giggled again.

Inside Linda had set the table. In the middle was the large bowl of shells. Separately, so Gina and Michelle could have their pasta plain, was a gravy boat with tomato sauce and a small bowl of grated cheese. On Tony’s plate was a baked breaded chicken breast. On Linda’s, half a breast, the other half diced and split between the girls’ plates. And there was corn on the cob, steamed zucchini and a fresh tomato salad with olive oil and oregano.

“That’s beautiful, Babe,” Tony said. He wanted to hug her. It had been so long! “Shoo!” He flitted his hand over the pasta chasing away a fly.

“Oh, I can’t keep them out of here,” Linda said. “The girls are forever going in and out.”

“I could screen the porch for you.”

“That’d be great.”

“Who did the chicken wire?”

“One of the guys from Steve’s Lumber. When I bought it and told him I lived here, he said, ‘You mean right up the hill?’ I said yes. I was going to buy those U-shaped nails. He said he could let me use a staple gun. I didn’t know what that was and he just said he’d do it during his lunch break.”