The Temple of Gold (17 page)

The days went by and as they went I kept thinking about all the people I’d known in my life and where was the good I’d done any of them. The more I thought the more I kept ringing up a zero. So I was Desdemona now, and there wasn’t any Othello around to do the job for me. And when you’re a boy, and you get to thinking that you’re Desdemona, you’re in pretty bad shape.

Which I was, really bad, on the Sunday of our fourth week of basic. For the first time, the company was given passes and they all took off, most of them heading for Hastingsville, a typical Army town a couple miles from post, full of military stores, churches, and saloons.

I didn’t go, but rather stayed by myself in the barracks, sweating from the heat, over 100°. I was all alone that afternoon, lying naked, my eyes closed. I kept staring up, seeing Zock’s ugly face, hearing his voice, trying to figure out what he meant by the temple of gold.

Which is what he said to me just before he died, as we roared down the highway, out of control, Half Day Bridge looming just ahead, big as death, getting bigger all the time. And I know there’s a lot of crap gets thrown around about what people say before they die. Such as: “I’ve got the answer, has anybody got the question?” Or stuffy Lord Chesterfield muttering: “Give the gentleman a seat.” Because people don’t like to admit they might die groaning, or just quiet, in their sleep. And you can’t blame them for that; everyone would like to end his life with a punch line.

But what Zock said, he said. I was there. I heard him. Just before we smashed into Half Day Bridge; just before he died with his red bones jutting through his white shirt, he turned to me, frightened I suppose, and he whispered: “The temple of gold, Euripides. The temple of gold.”

I heard someone on the stairs, but I don’t think a ringside seat to the Second Coming could have roused me then, so I didn’t move until the footsteps got closer and closer, stopping at the foot of my bed.

“Trevitt,” somebody whispered.

I snuck one eye open and saw Kelly standing there in his underwear shorts, the flab of his belly hanging over. I closed my eye and tried a few snores, not very original, but it threw him for a while. Finally he said my name again, and then a third time, and then he shook me.

“Trevitt,” he said. “Are you asleep?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Me. Kelly.”

“Never heard of you,” I said. “Anyway, Trevitt’s gone AWOL. I’m only covering for him.”

“C’mon,” he said, excited. “Quit kidding around.” He shook me again. Harder.

“You know, it’s funny,” I said, looking at him, “but I could have sworn I was trying to get some sleep.” He didn’t say anything. “I understand your old man won the Silver Star on D-Day,” I went on. “Is that right? That’s a story I’d really like to hear. You bet. A story like that is worth waking a man up for.”

He was shaking, so I stopped, waiting for him to say something. He did.

“I’m going to kill myself,” he whispered.

“You go do that, Kelly,” I told him. “You couldn’t have picked a nicer day.” I shut my eyes again.

“I’m not kidding, Trevitt. I’m going to kill myself.”

I sat up. “Well, what are you telling me for? I’m sure not going to stop you.”

He swallowed hard. “I wanted company.”

“Sunday is God’s day,” I said. “Leave me alone.”

“I want somebody to talk to while I do it,” he went on. “I don’t want to die by myself.”

I stared at him awhile. “O.K., Ulysses,” I said finally. “I’m your boy. Go kill yourself. But do it here,” and I pointed to the next bed. “Because I’m not moving.”

“Then it’s settled,” he muttered. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“How you going to do it?” I yelled after him.

“I’m going to cut my wrists with my bayonet,” he answered.

“Attago, Ulysses,” I said. “That’s a swell way.” I lay down again, waiting. Not long after he clomped up the stairs and came over, sitting on the next bed. He held out his bayonet.

“Like a razor,” he said. “I spent all morning sharpening it.”

“Fine,” I told him. “You do nice work.”

“Here,” he said. “Feel.”

“I believe you,” I said, but he kept holding it out so I did what he wanted. It was sharp.

“How about that, Trevitt? Isn’t it like a razor?”

“Kelly,” I said, closing my eyes, “I just paid for the main event. Wake me when the preliminaries are over.”

“You better watch,” he said. “ ’Cause here I go.”

He took the bayonet and very slowly, very carefully, he brought it down until the tip rested on the blue veins in his wrist. I waited. He began to exert a little pressure and the flesh of his wrist dimpled.

Then he looked at me. “I bet you wonder why I’m doing this, don’t you?”

“No, Kelly,” I said. “Can’t say as I do.”

“It’s on account of my father,” he began. “On account of all my life I’ve been filled full up to here with crap about the Army. I’m going to have to be an officer. Because he’s going to make me. I got to be a career man. A career man in the Army like my father. And as far as I’m concerned, you can take the Army, fold it three ways, and...”

“Shove it,” I finished. “O.K. You told me. Now do it.”

“He even named me after a soldier, for chrissakes. Ulysses S. Grant.”

“Be happy,” I said. “He could have picked Pilsudski.”

“What does your father do, Trevitt?”

“He’s a Greek teacher.”

“There,” Kelly said, pointing the bayonet at me. “See?” I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. “So I got a no-good bastard for a father. What can I do about it? I’d rather be dead than spend my life in the Army, so what’s there to do? But this?” He gestured with the bayonet. “You tell me, Trevitt. What’s the point of going on?”

I thought for a long time. “I don’t know,” I said, finally.

“Well then,” he said. “This is it.” He began pushing the bayonet down again. I watched his face. He closed his eyes. I waited.

Then he opened his eyes. “I mean, what’s the point of living? You tell me, Trevitt. You’re a smart guy. Go on. Tell me.”

“Jesus Christ, Kelly!” I exploded. “Are you going to kill yourself or aren’t you?”

“O.K.,” he muttered. “This is really it. So long, Trevitt.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes tight. It was stifling hot in the barracks right then. My bed was soaked with perspiration and as Kelly grabbed hard onto his bayonet, sweat ran across his knuckles. He pushed down on his wrist, farther and farther down.

Then he screamed “OWWW!!!,” dropped the bayonet, and began to swear. “Goddammit! Goddammit! It hurts!”

I started laughing, kicking my feet in the air. “What did you expect, Ulysses?”

He stood up, bleeding a little at the wrist. “I’ll bleed to death,” he said. “Trevitt. What’ll I do?”

“See the Chaplain,” I told him. “Last rites only cost a quarter.” He was licking at the cut with his tongue, making faces.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, kicking the bayonet across the floor. And with that he took off down the stairs, and I heard water running in the sink. I stretched out, trying to think of Zock again, but the sight of Kelly yelling, “OWWW!!!” kept getting in the way and I couldn’t help laughing.

Then he was back, walking stiff, looking determined as hell.

“Hi, Kelly,” I said. “What’s new?” He didn’t answer. “You got any more games we can play?” I asked.

“Same one,” he answered, more serious than ever. “I’m going to swallow a bedspring.”

“I don’t know,” I said, scratching my head. “But I swear it sounded like you said you were going to swallow a bedspring.”

He brought one out from behind his back. “I said it and I meant it.”

“God damn, Ulysses,” I said. “You pick the nicest ways. Did you ever think of roasting yourself over a spit?”

He looked at me. Then he started whispering. “I’m going to tell you something, Trevitt. Something I never told anyone else.” He paused, looking around. Finally, he said it. “I’m going to die a virgin.”

I shook my head. “Well, you can’t blame the old man for that, Ulysses. It’s nobody’s fault but your own. Because there’s a billion women in this world, Ulysses.” I started drawing numbers in the air. “One-nine-zeros-billion. And out of all of them the law of averages says there’s got to be one would do the trick for you.”

“Well,” he said, staring at the bedspring, “I never found her.”

“First you got to look, Ulysses.”

“It’s too late now,” he said, and with that, he stuck the bed spring in his mouth.

I won’t describe what happened next in too much detail, seeing as it gets a little messy, even though it was pretty funny at the time. Kelly’s face turned different colors, most of them green, and his eyes started watering, and then the bedspring hit the floor, quickly followed by his breakfast and lunch.

After it was over, we stared at each other. Then he broke out crying, turned, and tore away. I could hear him blubbering in the latrine, all the faucets going full, trying to blot out the sound.

I went to the head of the stairs. “Hey, Kelly,” I yelled down. “Best you come back here and clean this. Because I’m sure not going to.”

Then I sacked out again, waiting. Awhile later he appeared, carrying a mop and a bucket of water.

“Clean it up good,” I told him. “All of it.” He didn’t answer so I just stared at the ceiling and listened to the mop make swishing sounds along the floor. “You know,” I said, after a couple of minutes, “if you want a woman, I’ll do what I can for you.” He still didn’t answer. “Goddammit, Ulysses. If you want to get laid, I’ll see you get laid. Now don’t say you were never asked.” I could hear his brain working.

“How you going to do it, Trevitt?”

“I’m magic,” was all I said.

“How you going to do it, Trevitt? How? You really going to do it? Naw. You’re just kidding. You’re not really going to do it. I know you’re not.”

“O.K.,” I said. “I guess I’m not.”

He grabbed me by the arm. “How? Go on. Tell me. How?”

“Get your clothes on and we’ll go into Hastingsville and find somebody.”

“Who?”

“How do I know who? Somebody. Just get your clothes on.”

“O.K., Trevitt,” he said, patting me. “O.K. Great.” He was jumping around like a Mexican bean. “Terrific.” He headed for the stairs. Then he stopped. “You mean with a whore?”

“I sort of had that in mind,” I said.

“I don’t know,” he began. “What if I catch something?”

“Look, Kelly,” I said. “Please. Make up your mind. You’re not going to hurt my feelings, so don’t worry about that. But please. One way or the other. Make up your mind.”

“But what if I catch something?” he said again.

“If you do,” I whispered, “we won’t tell a soul. And we won’t go to the doctors. And you’ll get so sick you’ll die. Then all your troubles will be over. See?”

“Sure, Trevitt,” he nodded. “I get you.”

So off we went.

The bus ride to Hastingsville took fifteen minutes and Kelly didn’t say one word all the way. He just shook. Which is catching, because by the time we got there, I was a little tense myself. As soon as we left the bus his questions started again, faster than ever.

“Where is she, Trevitt? Where is she?”

“I don’t know, Ulysses. We got to look.”

“Maybe she’s not here, Trevitt. What about that?”

“Kelly,” I said. “If there’s a God in Heaven, there’s a whore in Hastingsville.” And with that, I started looking, moving from one bar to the next, Kelly always waiting for me on the sidewalk. Each time I came out, he bombarded me with questions, more and more of them as the afternoon went by.

Then, finally, in about the tenth bar I tried, I found her. She was sitting alone, sipping a beer, so I sat down beside. Her name, unfortunately, was Irma, and she was no beauty, being big and fat. But she laughed a lot as we chatted, haggling over this and that, mainly money. When she was done with her beer, we went outside.

Which was when Kelly started walking away.

“Hey!” I shouted. He stopped, his back to us. We walked around him. “Ulysses,” I said. “Meet Irma. Irma, this here is Ulysses and he’s virgin, so go easy.”

Irma laughed.

Ulysses pulled me over. “She’s not very pretty,” he whispered.

“You’re right,” I said.

“Tell him he’s no Adonis,” Irma said.

“She says you’re no Adonis,” I told him.

“I heard,” Ulysses muttered. “I heard.”

“Let’s get going,” Irma said.

“What if I catch something?” he whispered to me.

“I’m clean,” Irma said. “Tell him I’m clean.”

“Ulysses,” I said, “if you want to whisper, whisper.”

“I can’t,” Ulysses said.

“Let’s get going,” Irma said again.

We started to walk.

Irma put her arm around Ulysses. “Quit shaking,” she said.

“I’m not shaking,” Ulysses said, sneaking away, putting me in the middle as we moved along. We got to Irma’s apartment.

Irma stopped.

“This is it,” she said, walking inside.

“I’ll wait on the sidewalk, Ulysses,” I told him.

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, starting to push him.

Irma stuck her head out the door. “Come on,” she said. “I ain’t got all day.”

“What’ll I do, Trevitt?” Ulysses whispered. “What do I do?”

“Figure it out,” I said, shoving harder.

“I can’t do it, Trevitt,” he pleaded. “Let’s go back.”

“Grab him, Irma,” I said. “He’s all yours.”

She grabbed him.

I waited on the sidewalk. About ten minutes later, Kelly came out.

“Hi, Ulysses,” I said. “What’s new?”

“Not much,” he answered, trying to be casual. He made it for about ten seconds, after which he began jumping around, whooping it up, throwing his arms around me, laughing like crazy. “Trevitt,” he yelled. “Trevitt, hey Trevitt. I feel great!”

I pushed him away and started laughing too. “I feel pretty good myself,” I said.

From then on, we were buddies.

Now, I’m not trying to say that sex is the elixir of life or anything like that. I’m not knocking it either, but it isn’t the handle, not even close, because if it was, people like Irma would be running this country, and then where would we be?

In Kelly’s case though, it worked miracles.

Mainly, I think, because it was the first time anyone had done anything nice for him. He didn’t have many friends, either in the Army or out. But I had done the favor and afterward, I couldn’t get rid of him. At breakfast, he ate next to me. The same at lunch. And supper. When he had any free time, he spent it with me. Wherever I went, there he’d come, a pace or so behind. None of which I minded, for he really wasn’t so bad; just an overgrown lapdog, and there’s a place for them in this world too, like everything else.