Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 2

  Welky stumbled out the door and pulled his flask from his back pocket and twisted off the cap. He whipped back his head, swallowing deeply, quenching his thirst like a dying man. The timorous light gleamed off the silver flask while his throat gurgled as he gulped down the spirits. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and as if he were a toddler, he wobbled down the cobble street. "Get some sleep. If you can!" His grave laughing words stretched down the long street.

  Henry stood shaking and lonesome in his wet and blood-stained fatigues as he looked down at himself. He was cast in crimson where the blood had started to crust on his olive drab uniform. He skirted around the bodies and over to an open cot in the corner under the shallow light that almost dared not creep into the dark room. He tried to rest on the cot and make his muscles relax. He arched his back and it cracked. Finally, he pulled the cleanest of the dirty sheets over his body and forced himself to close his eyes. His skin curled as he slowly drifted off and reluctantly succumbed to a shuddering sleep. But all he could see was the staring of those very dead eyes.

  3

  Dawn came early the next morn for Henry since he had hardly slept more than a few minutes here and there. That old building moaned and groaned all night long as the wind whistled through the drafty barren halls and it sounded like a caisson of Death itself marching on the ceiling above. He had the covers pulled up tight under his chin so only the tips of his fingers stuck out from under the dingy white sheet. Like swinging pendulums, his eyes darted from side to side all night long.

  It was a welcome sight to see the fuzzy orange glow of morning shifting across the crumbling plaster ceiling, but it was a disingenuous blessing. It was another day, but it was also another day.

  "Get up, boy." Sergeant Welky made a rather unceremonious entrance, pulling his pants up from his ankles and kicking off his boots at the door. They landed harshly across the room, coming to rest next to a few bodies. The humid morning heat brought another musty rank smell which had actually drifted away in the night with the cool breezes of the sea.

  "Morning," Henry muttered.

  "Another day in paradise," Welky sneered. He wiped his hand across his slobbering mouth. "Another day, another dollar," he said meanly. "Whoever said that was a dumb ass!"

  "I think it might have been Franklin," Henry said dryly and then realized that he should have kept his mouth shut.

  "You think you’re smarter than me, don’t you, Country!" Welky blurted. He stopped banging around the room and turned to glare at Henry.

  "Oh, no, Sir," Henry said most graciously, even though he did think he was smarter.

  "Good, because you’re not!" Welky charged. Henry got off his cot and walked humbly across the room, trying his best to be as silent as a mouse. "By the way, what is your name, boy? And I don’t mean your pretty little Hank or Harold or whatever you said yesterday?"

  "Schott, Sir." Henry forgot not to call him Sir.

  "There you go with that Sir crap, again. Boy, if I told you once, and I know I did, I told you a thousand times. Call me, Sergeant," Welky started and Henry interrupted.

  "Sergeant Welky, I know," Henry nodded.

  "Schott . . . Schott," Welky thought to himself as he rummaged through some papers on his makeshift desk. "Are you a Kraut symp?" he said hatefully.

  "No. My parents went to America a long time ago." Henry felt a little scared for a second.

  "Are you sure? I think you’re one of them." Sergeant Welky started to walk towards Henry with flat menacing steps.

  "I’m sure," Henry raised his chin and said boldly, looking Welky right in the eye.

  "Okay. I don’t want to work with no Kraut sympathizer. Got it?" Welky bellowed. He got close enough to Henry that he could smell whiskey on Welky’s breath as he leaned towards him. "Got it?" He poked Henry in the chest with his stiff meaty finger.

  "Got it," Henry reassured Welky.

  "Good!" Welky stormed back across the room.

  "You know," Henry started, "my name isn’t even Henry. My parents thought it would be a good idea to try and make our family sound as American as possible. You know, so we would fit in." Henry tried to smile.

  "Yeah, sure," Sergeant Welky snorted.

  "My actual name is Heinrich," Henry said.

  "My, how interesting," Sergeant Welky smirked sardonically. He looked up and his wandering eye was staring out to the side of his head.

  "Yes, really." Henry’s boyish innocence had mistaken Sergeant Welky’s heavy dosage of sarcasm for genuine interest. "Back home they actually shortened my name and they called me Heiny," Henry chuckled with a wry grin. His charms could usually disarm people of their anger, but not Sergeant Welky.

  "Isn’t that wonderful!" Welky yelled across the room. "Didn’t you hear me say the other day I don’t care about you and your lily-livered love affair with being a nice little kid? Boy, haven’t you ever spent any time in the army? Or did they send me a truly green recruit?" He scowled around the room collecting more black bags, returning to his side of the morgue.

  "Yes." Henry finally realized that Welky was just being childishly obnoxious about his interest in him. "I was stationed in Alaska," he added.

  "Alaska?" Welky damned. "What kind of combat did you see in Alaska?"

  "Not much," Henry said shamefully, "I mostly trained bears."

  "Bears? You mean like big hairy women folk?" A devilish look came over Welky’s eyes as he actually started to listen. If it didn’t have to deal with women or booze, Sergeant Welky was just an aggravated bystander.

  "No, like actual bears. They were mostly black bears. They were all over the mountains. Our camp was on the side of a mountain. That way we could get a better view of the land. They were afraid that people were going to come across the Bering Strait, I guess?"

  "You trained bears?" Welky spouted with doubt.

  "Yes." Henry riffled through his pants pockets, pulling out his billfold with several pictures in it. "Look." Henry started to march across the room with a black-and-white snapshot clutched in his fist.

  "Jesus, boy," Welky snorted. "This ain’t no show-and-tell for the first grade, nor is it a family reunion. Don’t be bringing out pictures of things around here. You ain’t no proud papa or nothin’," Welky’s voice started to rise.

  "No, look, it’s kinda neat," Henry said humbly. He pushed the picture into Sergeant Welky’s face.

  "Stop it." Welky tried to look away but glanced at the picture out of the side of his good eye. He slowly turned his face and looked at the picture.

  "It is neat, isn’t it?" Henry said.

  "Yeah, yeah it is," Welky admitted. He swiped the picture from Henry’s hand and a cruel somber smile broke across Welky’s face. The white tips of the towering mountains framed the background of the picture. Henry was amidst a dense forest of evergreens and sat on a log that was turned on its top with several long chains in his hands. A group of black bears sat quietly, almost patiently, as the picture was snapped.

  "What do you think?" Henry saw a distant sorrowful gaze in Welky’s hurtful eyes.

  "I think that’s okay," Welky said. "Real okay," he sniffled. His head turned and he clenched his jaw tight. "I think that’s rotten, just plain rotten. You’re off in the mountains playing with the three bears. Meanwhile, I’m over here in the junk--the very pit of the stomach--cleaning up after the remains of dead boys." Sergeant Welky stood up and started to tear the picture.

  "Hey!" Henry bolted. "Don’t!" Henry snatched the photo from Welky’s heavy mitts. "You don’t need to do that!" Henry just got out of his mouth as a large explosion crashed down outside.

  The beams of the building began to shift. Dust, plaster, and dirt started to sprinkle down from the ceiling like the hazy sheets of a light rain. Henry dropped to the floor and scrambled under his cot. He shook like a child as he rolled into a fetal position and wrapped his arms around his head.

  Another explosion slammed into the earth and the foundation of the building shook. Sergeant Welky lau
ghed defiantly and staggered through the sea of bodies towards the door and swung open the door. He filled the doorway as the mild yellow sunlight fell around him, leaving him as a black silhouette against the grainy sky. Then he raised his arms and shook his fist at the world. He was laughing hysterically. His loud booming cackles sounded like the devil himself calling the world home.

  "Get down, you fool!" Henry yelled.

  "I’m no fool," Welky cried. "They’re the fools!" His words rang loudly, just above the roar of the planes and thunderous explosions.

  Henry could see fire leaping from the buildings across the street and hear the timbers of the structures cracking as the fires started to eat through the walls. He rolled out from under his bunk and crawled across the floor. Shards of broken glass cut sharply through the tender skin of his forearms, and tiny splinters dug into his thighs as he pulled himself across the floor.

  "Get down!" he yelped. He clawed up the wall to wrestle Sergeant Welky from the doorway. Henry got to his feet and was able to look Welky in the eyes, and his eyes were glowing with madness. Still, he roped his

  arms around Welky’s barrel chest and struggled to get him to the ground. Welky’s mug was chiseled with a sad dying smile and his eyes were filled with a crazy dazzling spark.

  "Don’t you ever touch me!" Welky screamed. They hit the ground hard and Welky spun and twirled away from Henry’s grasp like a shark in a net. Henry brought his head up as another fog of sandy debris fell upon his head. He looked up into Welky’s face and saw a mean hateful stare. Welky narrowed his eyes, looking at Henry as if he was squinting from the sun, but with a loathing ferocity. "Don’t ever touch me," he growled through his grinding teeth.

  Just as suddenly as the barrage had started, it stopped. The noise from the haunting air raid siren swung in from the distant hills. A child was crying and its muffled screams could be heard drifting on the wind. Several dogs were yelping as if they were in pain. Welky stood up and dusted himself off and wandered out the door. He stopped when his feet hit the street and he spun around, wobbling like a buoy. He was glaring at Henry. The eyelid of his wandering eye was fluttering uncontrollably. Then he lumbered off down the street.

  Henry rolled onto his back, propping himself onto his elbows. He stared out into the street. The building across the street was ablaze and several little men were tossing buckets of water onto the fire. Henry leaped up and ran for the other room in the back of the morgue. Swiftly but carefully, he emerged outside with buckets in either hand, trying not to spill a drop of water.

  He strode out into the street and sat the buckets down at the feet of the little men. They turned with frightened reproachful eyes and then looked down at the buckets. They nodded with scared but thankful faces. Their eyes were bulging and their pencil-thin moustaches were twitching as they heaved the water onto the glowing fire. Over and over, Henry hustled back inside and returned with more buckets.

  The fire was still burning but seemed to be shrinking. Sergeant Welky stood down the street leaning on a building. Hanging out of the bottom of his shirt was his flabby white stomach.

  He was smiling delightfully, as if it was Christmas morning for him.

  4

  The slow meshing of the metal teeth melting together as Henry zipped up another body bag sounded like a huge set of hands clapping thunderously in Henry’s head. He couldn’t stay in this room anymore or in this building any longer. I have to get out, if just for a little walk, he thought to himself. He looked over and Sergeant Welky was fast asleep with a sinister grin across his face. He was curled into a ball hugging his flask, which was wedged into his steely grip.

  Henry walked out onto the stoop and arched his back as he stretched his sore muscles. He had been standing over that table for an eternity, which made the sun feel extra good against his gritty face. Now, the fresh smell of burning wood was the only thing left in the air. He looked across the way at the two small men who now sat on their stoop. Their home had been burned to a crisp. The building was black and heavy with ash as the silt crumbled and fell into piles of cinder around the base.

  Henry nodded strongly in their direction and they acknowledged him with a pleasant yet sorrowful smirk. Acceptance of anything is the hardest thing in life, were the thoughts that drifted scornfully through Henry’s beleaguered mind. He stepped off the stoop and started walking down the long line of buildings. He could feel the two men watching him as he walked.

  The buildings on his left were smoldering and light gray streams of smoke were escaping out of the burnt rooftops. The buildings on the right were whole and sturdy. Oddly, the bombing had come through like a tornado, dropping down and destroying the structures randomly, taking off a rooftop here, blasting in the side of a wall there, causing and creating destruction like drops of rain.

  Henry came to the rotary of the town. A shepherd was herding a flock of sheep while another little fellow was pulling his goods on a small cart. He sat aloft in the cart, gently patting, almost nudging his large draft horse on the side like an old friend, coaxing him through the soft turns of the rotary. The delightful chattering of little girls dashing around the streets wound through the center of town. With a crestfallen befuddlement, Henry shook his head at both the resilience and obstinacy of the townspeople.

  The thick heavy smell of fresh coffee wafted on the breeze. It drew Henry into a small café that sat on the corner of the rotary so he stepped inside. The solid stone of the floor felt good and strong under his feet. A few tables sat in the corners of the cozy room.

  He pulled a chair up to one of the tables and sat looking out the window. Through the cracked panes of glass on the side of the building he could see the canal. Its waters were undisturbed. They were dark and calm like the creeks he remembered from home. Stones from the buildings had tumbled down the slight slope and gathered like logs of a damn. Smoke still billowed from the side of the street and cast a hazy black cloud over the canal, temporarily smudging out the pearly sky. A few clusters of flowers still grew on the sides. They looked like bright eyes under the cold dark face of the smoke.

  "Can I be help to you?" a voice sang out in the shadowy hovel.

  "Yes," Henry blurted. He turned around and saw a pair of thin blue eyes surrounded by a sea of dark hair.

  "You want . . . drink?" she stumbled through her speech. Her dark hair fell like a waterfall over her dainty golden shoulders.

  "Coffee, please," Henry said rather shyly. He couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes. It was too enchanting, especially in a place like this.

  "Cof-fee?" she muttered in a question. "Café au lait?" she nodded and rushed off.

  "No," Henry reached for her arm. He lightly held her wrist in the cusp of his hand and she looked at him with fear and revulsion. He loosened his easy grip and let his fingers lightly rub across the tender softness of her palm. "Cof-fee," he said slowly again. He took a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs, hoping she would realize what he was trying to say.

  "Cof-fee?" She took in a deep breath with a puzzled look on her face, and then she smelled the aroma. "Ah, coffee!" A small grin slipped over soft features. "Coffee." She drew her hand away and slowly mimicked sipping from a cup.

  "Yes," Henry nodded with enthusiasm. She spun away quickly and her dress wrapped around her. He watched her tight slender calves flex as she walked away. The lone beam of light that filtered through the window fell across her tanned calves and shimmered. I wonder how old she is. I wonder if she has a boyfriend or husband. I wonder what she smells like.

  A torrent of thoughts suddenly clogged his mind. It felt good to have normal thoughts--not about death, body bags, and sleepless nights. If he never saw her brilliant face again, he would sleep tonight. He knew he would. He stared back out the window and the smoky cloud was beginning to float down the horizon, clearing the red rooftops and becoming a spot off in the distance. For the first time in days the sky was actually blue--a high mighty blue.

  "Coffee!" the girl bea
med. She was proud of herself.

  "Thank you," Henry said. The girl smiled pleasantly, maybe even with a hint of nervous embarrassment, the kind Henry saw when boys weren’t strange and awkward anymore, but rather, handsome and gallant. She started to walk away. Henry had to act fast.

  "Excuse me," he called out. She did not quit moving away. "Stop," he tried softly. She still walked away. "Halt!" he shouted suddenly. Then she froze in her tracks and stood perfectly still, looking away from him.

  He saw her start to fidget. "I’m sorry." He quickly lightened his voice, trying to speak more sincerely to her. She slowly turned around. Henry had his hands in the air and he was waving a white napkin that had been on a neighboring table. "I come in peace," he said with a broad disarming smile.

  She grinned and strolled back to the table. Then she placed her hands on the table and looked deeply and seductively into his eyes. "Excuse, please?" she mouthed.

  "Would you like to take a walk?" Henry said as he gulped down a giddy breath.

  "A walk?" She narrowed her eyes with question but a sparkle lit up in her eye.

  "Sure." Henry sat up in his chair. He took his two fingers, his middle and index, and made them march across the table. Then he took his other hand and did likewise. Both sets of fingers were walking together across the table. "A walk," he uttered. He tapped his chest. "Me." Then he lightly pointed to her with his index finger, "and you," he said playfully. Then he started dancing the two sets of his fingers across the table. "Maybe . . . dancing? If you don’t mind a couple broken toes," he joked and he lost her with his latter statement.

  "Bro-ken toes?" she said slowly. She crinkled her face into a quandary.

  "Never mind the toes," Henry conceded. He took his fingers and trotted them across the table. "A walk?" his voice rose in question as he grinned hopefully.

  "A . . . walk," she nodded as the side of her mouth crested with a smile and she winked at him jovially.