Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 6

  She swung harder this time and connected. It splattered all over the ground and chunks of speckled skin and mealy white apple dotted the ground. Marie had swung so hard she almost twisted herself into the ground. She flopped onto the grass with the stick still in her hands. Henry bellowed with laughter. Then he realized she wasn’t moving. Her body lay motionless on the hard ground.

  "Get up, you big faker," Henry bolstered. His words were still loud and jovial.

  Her body was in a heap with the sweep of her hip slightly off the ground. Her body was contorted into a weird position. Her limbs were coiled around her torso like storm-wrenched branches. Henry took two small steps and felt his heart rushing in his chest.

  The next step he took, the blood-soaked image of his brother Elmer’s mangled and shredded body flashed through his mind. He shook his head, but the hideous images were heavy on his distressed mind. He closed his eyes and a river of blood and guts washed over his thoughts. He could feel his hands begin to tremble.

  He could almost smell the fresh hay in the field that dreadful day and hear the screaming of his mother as she darted off the porch, watching the accident unfold in slow motion. He took one more step and fell onto his knees. His breathing was fast and raspy as he struggled to catch his breath.

  His shuddering hand reached for Marie’s fragile shoulder. In his eyes her clean fresh dress was dowsed with blood, darkening with a sappy thick crimson glaze. As the tip of his finger touched her warm soft skin, he shook like the underside of the bridge as the bombs rained down over it, except the siege on his volatile mind wouldn’t stop.

  "Ha-ha!" Marie charged as she rolled over and laughed heartily.

  Henry fell back onto his haunches, and then his backside, and he crawled back away from her. He couldn’t breathe. She had startled him and had unknowingly rolled back the hands of time and brought out his largest fear. His eyes were wide, but dull. His thoughts were inward and he couldn’t hear anything. A dense numbness came over him. His head felt as if a grenade had gone off inside it, and he was momentarily deaf. He sat trembling with his arms wrapped around his legs, chewing on his lip incessantly as he stared at the dry dusty earth.

  Marie calmly slowly crawled across the ground. She delicately laid her hand on his arm and let it rest there for a second. Henry didn’t even move, as if he was oblivious to her presence. His demons were weighing heavily on his conscience and he was a blur.

  She slid closer to him, roping her arms around his narrow shoulders as he was tucking himself into a ball. She clasped her hands together and drew him to her. He fell like a quivering puppy into her arms. She could feel the dampness of his tears rolling down her arm and dropping onto her wrist.

  "Shh, shhhhh," she said. Marie tried to pacify the beast that lived in Henry’s mind, but tranquility was a state that sadly he would never know. They were bunched together under the placid shade of the towering tree.

  The setting sun had fallen below the tree line and glowed a burnt orange that crept up the horizon and melted into the pale blue of the cruel sky. This day seemed not to want to end.

  11

  The sky looked angry as Henry wandered up the slight slope of the street. A misty fog had rolled in and the dry heat had drifted away. A welcome coolness was in the air and felt damp on his skin. Large drops of rain started to fall across the town, like the type of rain you can hear coming in a forest as it plunks off the leaves like children’s feet pattering across stones.

  As the raindrops got heavier and started to pelt the facades of the houses, Henry saw and heard something he hadn’t in quite some time--the jovial laughter of children. He walked up the slope to a point where the grade leveled off and two small girls were splashing in a puddle that was gathering between the cobblestones. They were sisters, maybe even twins. Both wore their hair wrapped into braids on either side of their small heads, and as they jumped, their braids swung like brunette tassels.

  Henry looked over at them as he strode up the street. They stopped momentarily, then turned to one another. They whispered and giggled as they glanced at him and hid their faces with cupped hands. The pounding rain soaked their tattered dresses and the cloth stuck to their skinny frames. Henry chuckled as he walked on. He could hear them laughing behind him and splashing in the puddle.

  Henry walked into the morgue and shivered a little like a wet dog. The rain dripped off his trousers and dotted the floor as he walked towards his bunk. He picked up a towel and ran it over his hair. He looked around the room but Welky wasn’t to be found. He peeked into the back room and saw nothing. The morgue was pretty well empty now; they had worked hard and Ernie had been making more pick-ups than deliveries, which was a good thing for everyone involved.

  Henry had asked Ernie to come around more often and he had obliged. Ernie realized the hell that this job could become and had taken a liking to Henry.

  "You’re a normal sort," he always told Henry, which in a place and time like this was probably not too common.

  The night was beginning to darken. Henry jumped as the door clattered shut from the wind that had started to whip through the streets. He shot a look at the door. It was hard to tell if the night was coming or if the clouds were growing grayer and hovering over the town.

  He shrugged his shoulders and kept drying his hair. He felt a presence in the room and glanced over at the door from under the towel. Welky’s bloated, shaking body filled the doorway. He startled Henry.

  "Jesus, Welky!" Henry shouted. "You shouldn’t sneak up on a guy like that!"

  "Calm down, you Nancy boy," Welky belched, using another feminine moniker to insult Henry.

  He scowled as he slithered into the room. He walked over to his bunk and plopped down. The thin light of day dimly lit the side of his scrubby face. The other half was cast in darkness. He leaned forward and almost fell onto his face but caught himself and rested his elbows across his knees. His flask dangled from his loose grip. His thick fingers looked like sausages trying to hold onto it.

  "I guess we can use the rain," Henry tried to make polite conversation. "I’m sure the farmers are happy." Welky sat silently as if he wasn’t even in the room.

  "Where are all the bodies?" Welky snapped. His beady bloodshot eyes rolled about his head as he looked around the room. His wandering eye never moved.

  "What do you mean?" Henry said with a certain amount of doubtful hesitation.

  "The bodies . . . the bodies, you idiot!" Welky actually seemed upset as if they were misplaced. He staggered to his feet. Wobbling backwards, he caught himself with his arm against the wall. "Where are they? The lieutenant is going to have my head," Welky said softly.

  He trudged over towards Henry with heavy legs as if he was wading through water, each step sliding across the floor. He grabbed Henry by the collar with his gnarled meat-hook hands and pulled Henry close to his face. Henry turned his head away. Welky reeked of the stale stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and filth. He smelled like a trash can.

  "Welky!" Henry tried to pull the dazed sergeant’s hands from his collar but Welky had curled his fist back and had a good grip. "Ernie picked up the last of the bodies two days ago. We haven’t had a delivery since. Trust me, it’s a good thing."

  Henry turned and looked into Welky’s face. His skin was gray and his eyes looked like little black holes in his face. The hatred that usually lived in his face was gone and a sad lonely child was there. It was as if Welky had gone away and only this cruel hapless shell remained.

  "Are you sure? Are you sure, Henry," Welky pleaded. For some ungodly reason he actually used the young soldier’s name, not some mean moniker.

  "Yes. Yes, I’m sure," Henry said. He tried to pull Welky’s hands from his collar and they fell off like wet leaves in autumn and drifted to his sides.

  "Okay," Welky mumbled, "I don’t need the lieutenant on my back." Welky’s voice trailed off as he stumbled towards his bunk. He went crashing to the floor face first, smacking his jaw on the ground.

  "W
elky!" Henry called. He rushed to his side and knelt down next to his crumpled limp body. He rolled Welky over and lightly slapped his chubby cheeks. Welky shook his head slightly and opened his eyes.

  "Help me to bed, Henry," Welky whispered.

  Henry struggled to lift the dead weight of the man’s bloated body but only managed to lug him across the room to his bunk. He dropped him into the waiting arms of the cot and stood over him. Shaking his head with an almost apathetic disgust, Henry turned away.

  "Henry," Welky said softly. Henry turned back to him. "Could you get my medicine for me?" Henry nodded regretfully, bending over and picking up the flask and placing it on Welky’s round stomach. The deranged sergeant’s face cracked into a thin woeful grin. He laid his hands across the flask like a child with a doll and rolled over onto his side and nuzzled up to the wall.

  Henry walked towards the door. Except for the plunking of water dripping off the edges of the roofs and onto the ground, the rain had basically stopped. The coolness was gone and stickiness was in the air. He could still hear the twittering of the children down the street. A man’s voice rang through the streets and the children’s laughter suddenly stopped. They darted across the street, hopped over a few puddles, and disappeared into a house.

  There was no more laughter.

  12

  The heavy hollow thwacking sound of an old woman beating the dust out of her rug from her second-story balcony echoed through the quiet streets in the soft early morning. The noise woke Henry since he never slept very deep anymore.

  He glanced over at Welky’s cot and it was empty. This was not surprising for a Saturday morning. Welky always liked to go down to the cafe and fill his flask like he did every morning. But on Saturdays, he did it extra early, as if the weekend was more of a drain on his mind and thus he needed his fix earlier.

  No matter. Henry stood up and walked to the door. He stretched his arms over his head and felt looseness in his back. He leaned forward, and as he tried to reach his toes, his back cracked and sounded like a piece of paper tearing. He stood up and twisted from side to side. It cracked again.

  He walked back inside and sat on his cot. He started to slip on his shoes. He thought about strolling down to the cafe to see if Marie was awake yet. She always looked lovely in the morning. Henry smiled as he thought about her face.

  Henry pulled the laces tight on his boots and noticed that the door to the other room was closed. He thought he saw a shadow swaying under the crack so he walked to the door. It was only partially closed and he could hear a soft creaking of the wooden ceiling beams.

  As he lightly pushed open the door, the shadow grew and stretched across the floor. A chair lay on its side among metal buckets scattered on the floor and Welky’s feet dangled just above it. He swung like a pendulum as the eerie sound of the rope grinding against the wooden beams cried out. Each time he swung to the bottom of the rope’s arch, his girth caused his feet to come closer to the floor.

  The bright light of the sun shot through the windows and pierced the medals on Welky’s dark brown dress uniform jacket, which was wide open. His tubby stomach stuck out and his tan pants were open and unbuckled, sagging around his hefty waist. His shoes and the buckle of his belt were shined to a high gloss, gleaming white as his bloated lifeless body slowly twirled. His hat lay on the floor beside the chair, face down.

  The sergeant’s head had been violently forced to the side and lay almost completely flat on his shoulder. Welky’s thick tongue hung out of the side of his mouth. The drool had long since dried up, although the wetness remained on the side of his chin. His eyes had rolled back in his head, but the black of his pupils could still be seen, and they were as dull and dark as the waters of the canal.

  For the first time Henry saw Welky’s face clean-shaven and his hair combed. His silver flask sat on the floor almost looking up at its dead friend. A small piece of paper was under the flask. Henry walked over and crouched down and the young soldier looked up remorsefully at the sergeant’s dead body. He moved the flask and picked up the paper and began reading the note.

  Dear Henry,

  Please tell my wife and children I died in action. Tell them I died a brave man, an honorable man. Let them know I loved them. Believe me when I say, I was a good man before I came to this place. What I’ve become sickens me and I can’t live my life like this. Be strong, Henry. Be Strong.

  Sergeant Anthony David Welky, US Army

  Henry took the note and crumpled it in his hand. He looked down at his other hand where the silver of the flask was shining in the sun. Welky’s dead body cast a shadow over Henry as it drifted back and forth, continuing to spin slightly like a heavy bag. Henry stood up and walked from the room. He tucked the flask into his back pocket and strolled out into the street. His feet hit the cobblestones and he tossed the note into a heap of trash and debris. Welky’s body was still hanging in the other room, but Henry never looked back. He sauntered casually down to the café. He swung open the door and walked in carelessly.

  "Good morning!" Marie said with a spark.

  "Morning," Henry said numbly. He took the flask from his back pocket and plopped it down on the bar top. He teetered the barstool on its legs and cocked his head to the side. He looked at the flask as it sat quietly but boldly on the bar. Like a funhouse mirror, the concave surface of the metal gave off a warped reflection of its surroundings. Henry picked it up and felt the weight of it in the webbing of his intertwined fingers. It was empty.

  "Henry . . . ," Marie questioned softly, ". . . are you okay?" Marie tucked her head down slightly and tried to peak into Henry’s line of sight.

  "Oh, oh, sure." Henry picked up his head and smiled strangely. His eyes were wild and his grin was almost hysterical. "I’m fine." His smile grew even wider. "Could you fill this up?" Henry asked as if he had made a decision. He sat the flask down roughly on the bar top.

  "But you don’t really drink, Henry," Marie retorted. Her face was astonished.

  "Oh, just for giggles. How about it?" Henry pushed the flask across the bar top and grimaced like a pouting child.

  "Okay . . . ." Marie took a bottle of caramel-colored bourbon from under the bar and uncorked it. She let the bourbon chug down the neck of the bottle and it dripped slowly like molasses into the flask. Henry gazed crazily at it, like a miner staring at gold sparkling in a creek bed. "Is that enough?" Marie asked with a worried tone in her voice.

  "Why don’t you just fill it up?" Henry answered modestly as his heart raced. Marie let the liquor seep down the bottle and into the mythical confines of the flask. Henry screwed the top back on and put it into his pocket.

  "Are you sure everything is okay?" Marie asked sincerely. She took Henry’s hand in hers and cupped it gently against the side of her face. Her eyes were warm and full.

  "Sure they are," he almost barked. He pulled his hand away and wiped his palms against his pants. "I told you it’s okay!" he charged with a hint of a twitch in his left eye. "Get me something to eat. I’m starving," he mumbled under his breath as Marie scurried away.

  She ducked back into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. She muffled her tears with her apron and dried her eyes. Henry sat muttering to himself, scowling at other patrons. Marie breathed deep to catch her breath over her sobs and put a couple of skillets on the stove. She wondered whether Henry wanted any coffee, but she would wait and ask him in a little while.

  13

  "Henry, Henry," a voice said in a barking whisper. Henry thought he felt a hand shaking his leg and he stirred from his sleep. He looked around the room. The dull drabness of the gray room was now crisp and clean as if the lenses of his eyes had been cleaned. He sat up and wiped the foggy sleep from his eyes.

  "Henry, wake up. You can’t sleep your life away." Henry recognized the voice slightly but he knew he was dreaming. He looked up and shaded his eyes from the bright light that slammed into the room. Welky was standing over him. He was thin and tall with a gallant look upon his fa
ce. He sat down on the edge of Henry’s cot.

  "Welky?" Henry said with a doubtful glint in his eye.

  "Don’t act so surprised," Welky snorted. His face was lean and his square jaw cut a rugged and handsome outline on his tanned face. "No problem buttoning my pants and jacket now," Welky chuckled as he patted his firm chest.

  "What do you want?" Henry said with surprising indifference for talking to a dead man.

  "Don’t let it get to you, Henry," Welky went on with a stern seriousness to his face.

  "What?"

  "This," Welky said. He turned and looked around the room but the room was empty. The walls were painted a calm refreshing blue and the floors glimmered in the sunlight like the dark waters of a deep lake.

  Incredibly, when Welky turned back around, Henry saw Welky’s head starting to split. From the top of his skull, the sergeant’s head started to break apart like a piece of paper being torn. A jagged line cracked down the center of his face, but Welky continued to talk as if nothing was wrong. "Just be careful, Henry," Welky cautioned.

  He narrowed his eyes and they were steeped in seriousness. The crack continued to carve its way down his forehead, separating his eyes. There was no blood--or guts. He now looked like two halves of a dinner plate cracking apart, breaking like a jagged fault line past his nose, through his mouth, and down the edge of his jutting chin.

  "Welky!" Henry snapped. He scooted back away from the sergeant, curling up against the wall.

  "Be careful, Henry. Be careful," Welky’s voice boomed hollowly as if he was yelling out of a cave. He stood up from the bed and started to walk towards the light of the door. The crack was making its way down his neck and between his shoulder blades. He looked back for one moment and grinned. His broken face swayed to either side of the crack.