Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 8

  He raised the blade to the base of his neck and evil vicious thoughts entered his head. A sneer came over his jaw. He curled his lip hatefully and stared deeply into his own dead eyes. His hand started to twitch. When he nicked his throat, a trickle of blood mixed with the white cream and oozed like sap from a tree. Suddenly, he stopped and lurched over the sink. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. What am I doing?, he thought to himself

  He walked back into the other room and picked up the flask that was near his cot. He lifted it to his baited mouth, stopping himself as it touched his lips. He pulled it away and looked into the openness of the opening where a dab of shaving cream was smeared around the top. The liquor was sloshing around inside. As he stared into the abyss that was the harsh reality of the flask, he could still vaguely hear the water running in the bathroom, the amiable laughter of the children playing in the street, and the melody of the chirping sparrows on the sill. He heard life and he wanted his back. He turned and hurled the flask across the room where it clattered and spun to a stop, teetering like an old rocking chair.

  Henry huffed back into the bathroom and stood vehemently in front of the sink. He raised the blade to his neck again, steadying his hand as best he could. He took one long stroke up his throat and he could hear the bristles of his neck being shaved off. Then he took one more stroke, and another. With each pass his hands trembled less and his shattered nerves that hung by a string were starting to feel whole. When all the white cream was off his face, he splashed a bit of cold water across his taut skin, wiping away the small bits hiding in the crevasses of his face. He hadn’t conquered the world, just the small part he lived in.

  He strode towards the door and almost skipped off the front stoop. The two neighbor men were bent over in front of the building pulling weeds from the cracks in the cobblestones. Henry nodded graciously, smiling at them. They smiled in return with gruff untrusting glares that made their mustaches twitch a bit.

  Henry chuckled under his breath and dug his hands into his pockets contently. He actually felt good. For the first time in weeks, maybe even months, he felt like himself. There was no fuzzy haze that lurked in his thoughts. He didn’t need to squint like a hermit at the brightness of the sky.

  The little girls were skipping and giggling in the street as Henry neared. Their skirts were being fluffed by the warm wind until they saw him coming. They scattered immediately, clinging to the walls of their houses. Scared petrified looks were etched across their faces. They weren’t sure which Henry was coming.

  He felt sadness in his heart as he watched them cower from him as if he was a monster. So he began whistling a silly tune as he went, tipping his head back. He even skipped. He stopped right in front of them and twirled on his heels and continued on skipping gaily down the street. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two girls laugh--which made him smile widely.

  "Marie?" Henry beckoned. He peaked in the front door of the café. "Marie?" he called, again.

  "Henry," Marie said, surprised. She poked her head out from the kitchen. The awkwardness of her face slowly disappeared like dandelion seeds in the breeze. A warm joyous smile came over her tender face as she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  "Well," he chuckled, "I’m happy to see you, too."

  "Henry!" Marie said. She pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. The redness was drifting away and the wholesome loving glint in his eye was returning. The rough pungent smell of booze no longer lingered on him. She hugged him again and squeezed tightly around his neck.

  "Careful," Henry mused, "no need to choke me."

  Marie pulled her head back and kissed him deeply. His eyes were open and he could see the smile on her face as she planted her lips across his. He just grinned and pulled her closer.

  "How about a picnic?" Henry gasped. He struggled to pry Marie from his face as she continued to rambunctiously peck at his lips and cheeks.

  "Okay." She finally let go of him. A white sparkle was back in her eye, the one that had been hidden for several weeks. She turned and tried to dash off to the kitchen. Henry lightly grabbed her arm.

  "Marie," Henry started, "I’m sorry. Truly, I am." The smile had left his face and tears glazed over his soft eyes.

  "It’s okay," Marie grinned. "Everyone has problems. You had yours and now you're over them." She touched his cheek with the satiny palm of her hand. He closed his eyes and let his face rest in the heavenly touch of her hand. "It’s nice to have you back," she said, bending down to kiss him on the lips. "I love you," he heard her say wistfully, and he felt his heart lighten as if it had wings.

  "I love you, too," floated from his quivering lips. He opened his eyes and saw her run for the kitchen. Her dress flowed in the timid draft as she scurried away. Inside, he could hear glasses clinking around, plates clattering, and paper being wrapped around food. "Henry?" she called out.

  "Yes," he answered. Henry was roaming around the café. He wiped his finger along one of the tables and grinned joyfully.

  "I think I left the blanket over at your place. Could you run and get it?" Marie asked. She peeked her head out the kitchen doorway and smiled. Her face was glowing.

  "Sure. I’ll be right back," Henry said with glee. He tossed open the door and sprung into the street. He walked quickly and purposefully through the plaza. The fountain was actually working and the water danced in the sunlight, trickling and jumping over itself. Large drops of water shot into the air, plopped back down, and blended into the crystal clear water. A slight bit of water splashed over the round full limestone, squirming and winding through the gaps in the cobblestones. Henry kicked through the water with his shoes and jumped into a shallow puddle that was forming just as a roar sounded from over the rooftops and an explosion shook the town like an earthquake.

  Dust, smoke, and debris were flying through the air. Henry was knocked to the ground. He crawled across the plaza and huddled near the foundation of a building. He coughed and choked as the smoke clogged his throat. Feeling blood oozing from his calf, he reached for his leg. He looked down and there was a big slice in his pant leg with gushing blood coming from it.

  Muffled screams could be heard through the barrage of terror. The ground shook as another bomb hit the ground! Planes surged by overhead! Each pass came with the scream of a siren as the planes neared and then shot away. Each bomb could be heard almost hissing as it dropped, spiraling towards the earth and then exploding!

  Henry curled into a ball and could feel rubble gathering around him. Rocks, wooden planks, and chunks of stone were flying. A bit of wind blew through the plaza, causing the smoke to clear momentarily. When he looked up, he saw the twisted bodies of the little girls lying face down in the street, their blood pooling together and indistinguishable from each other’s.

  Another bomb crashed! Henry blinked his eyes. He couldn’t look away from the two tiny misshapen bodies but knew there was nothing he could do to comfort them. The smoldering smell of burning wood was clogging the air. The sounds of a raging fire lurked in the midst of the gray sinister churning smoke that dug into Henry’s heart as the blaze swarmed even faster.

  Then the roar of the planes was gone and the smoke started to sift apart overhead. Henry picked up his head and tried to squint through the flames. His eyes were burning, his mouth was dry, and his throat was raw, like sandpaper. The black clouds drifted apart. Then Henry saw a pile of broken rubble where the café once stood. Charred timber beams jutted from the massive hunks of stone which were still falling over one another. Henry felt his heart stop beating as he quickly shuffled to his feet and sprinted across the plaza.

  He looked down at the far end of the plaza. The bridge had been destroyed and stone crumbled and rolled into the canal, damming the water. Small specs of yellow were scattered across the edges of the rocks, and as Henry looked closer, he saw the ducks. They had been crushed by the rolling boulders and lay flattened across the faces of the harsh gray stones.

  He
ran now toward the carnage that was the remnants of the café. He stood looking over the mound of stone and smoldering wood. Pulling rock after rock from the pile, he furiously started searching through the debris. Down near the bottom he saw the soft, olive-colored skin of a woman’s hand. Grunting and growling as he worked, he feverishly tossed the rocks out of the way. Finally, the last of the rocks tumbled to the side to reveal Marie’s mangled body. She was motionless against a rock. Her body was fractured and bent sideways, molded to the rock like clay. Henry reached out to touch her cheek with his fingertips. They were still full and warm, but her eyes were open and stared blankly up at the sky. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of her mouth and over her chin.

  Henry felt his eyes getting misty. He reached over and ran his fingertips over her eyelids. Then he shimmied down into the crease between the rocks and lay down beside her. He lifted her head and let it rest on his shoulder. He patted her head, combing the pebbles from her hair. He gazed into the heavens where a few wispy white clouds drifted by, gliding effortlessly across the sky. The billowing smoke made a hazy ridge across the horizon, like moving mountaintops floating off to another world. Henry started to whistle a tune as he lay there without a thought in his crazy cursed mind.

  "Take me out to the ball-game . . . take me out to the crowd . . . ," Henry began, singing with a shattered voice, his words barely eking out from his lonesome hellish soul. The water from his eyes crested over his eyelids and cascaded down his cheeks and jaw and stained Marie’s dusty dress.

  Overhead, the clouds just kept drifting carelessly, making their way to the next tumultuous little hamlet.

  15

  In the placid light of day just before the fireflies danced across the darkness, when the dust settled across the dry plains and the shadows grew long, the leaves of the trees stopped fluttering in the warm breezes. Henry stood stone-faced. His mouth was a meager thin line across his face as he curled his lips together. He stared down at the small mound of fresh soil that rested humbly under the great tree near the soothing sounds of the trickling brook.

  Two pieces of splintered wood were tied together with string and stood powerfully at the head of the grave. The setting sunlight lay flat across it and the dark outline of the crucifix stretched away from the mound, reaching towards the closing purple haze of darkness.

  "I thought this was a nice place," Henry started. His voice cracked and he sniffled as he felt tightness in his chest. He rolled his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "This war . . . this war has destroyed good men, murdered children," Henry started to say angrily, "and taken you from me. There surely is no justice. I was lucky to know you as long as I did, but because we met . . . you died. If I never would have come to this place, you would probably still be alive, living your life with laughter and kindness as you did before this war started. I know in my heart that I didn’t kill you, but in some sad way, I know I did. Forgive me. I truly loved you. I honestly did."

  Henry felt a growing hollowness in his chest as he spoke. He felt disgraced and loathsome. "I hope you are happy now, and your world is a giant picnic. My life is emptier now that you are gone. I will never forget you."

  Henry paused for several minutes and then turned and lumbered away, back up the hill. He stared down at his feet as he trudged along. The sun was gliding down the sky, burning into the horizon and shedding a pinkish-orange glow across the sky as if the whole world was on fire and the flames were climbing up and over everything.

  As Henry walked slowly past the stone wall that was at the base of the hill near the church cemetery, he saw the black silhouette of an old man, tall and thin, cut sharply against the skyline. He held two flowers in his hand as he bent over two small gravesites. He was plucking the petals from the flowers and letting them float down onto the fresh dirt. They fluttered softly to the ground and rested pleasantly, dotting the brown soil with the pureness of white and the innocence of the beautiful fallen children. Henry could hear the desperate gasping of the grieving man. Dropping his bald head into his hands, he crumbled to the ground on his knees and shuddered as he sobbed.

  Henry walked the rest of the way up the hill. His legs were numb and his head was spinning as a deafening roar of silence was thumping against his eardrums. He walked into the morgue and sat stiffly on his cot. Twilight was creeping into the room. Then he walked across the room and fished through the pile of junk in the corner looking for the length of rope Welky had used to hang himself. He ran his hands over the thick lumpy rope. The cords were wrapped tight like a long braid scarred with fine brown spots of blood. It felt coarse and strong and heavy in Henry’s hands.

  Gazing methodically into the other room, his mind revolved back to the grisly scene of Welky’s rotating body dangling from the beams of the ceiling. His eyes were adjusting to the purple light of day, and the corners of the walls and the floor were already dipped in dark blurry shadows. The lone chair still stood ominously where Welky had nudged it when he jumped to his death.

  In the nether regions of Henry’s mind, he could hear the legs of the chair scraping as Welky kicked it away and then the horrible violent snapping of his neck as the noose caught, ending his pained and tormented life. Henry unknowingly caressed the rope as he stared into the other room. He felt the prickly stubble of the tattered strands and the contours of the wound cords. He felt the harsh unforgiving strength of it as he pulled it tight between his hands. He started to walk across the room as the front door of the morgue creaked open.

  "Hey, kid!" Ernie charged. His voice was high and shrill and broke the tension of the impending moment. The beams of the bus’s headlights broke through the darkness and shed a bit of light into the room.

  "Hey, Ernie," Henry muttered indifferently.

  "I got something here. For . . . you!" Ernie's voice became slow as he walked towards Henry, realizing what was in his hand and seeing the deranged sickly look on Henry’s face. "What are you doin’, kid?"

  "Nothing," Henry mumbled. He gazed coldly into the other room. He barely acknowledged Ernie’s presence in the room.

  "I’ll trade ya," Ernie said. He carefully reached for the rope like it was a loaded gun and stuck a piece of paper into his hand. Henry noticed the difference in textures in his hand and looked down into his palm, which was still frozen in a claw-like grip.

  "What’s this?" Henry stammered. The darkness of his face was beginning to clear. He turned and looked at Ernie. The lights of the bus fell across his face and Henry blinked as if waking from a deep sleep.

  "It’s your orders, kid. You’re going home! This outpost has been closed. They destroyed the bridge the other day and now the city is obsolete, I guess. The fighting has moved and there won’t be any more dead here. They closed the morgue as of today," Ernie chattered.

  "Really?" A hundred images ran through Henry’s mind. "The damn bridge," he cursed, "all of this over a damn bridge."

  "I guess," Ernie chuckled. "I’ll wait for you, kid. Pack your stuff," Ernie added slyly. The rope clattered around the garbage as he tossed it back into the dark corner.

  "Okay," Henry said deliriously. He turned around and walked to his cot. He stuffed a few things in a bag. Ernie walked towards the door in the shallow light and Henry followed slowly behind him. He couldn’t remember his life before this tiny little hell of a room, and now he was leaving. The things he saw and witnessed in this room had changed his life and he couldn’t believe it would be for the better.

  The young soldier strolled to the door, hoping he hadn’t forgotten anything. Then with a remorseful and dank sense of reality, he contemplated that anything he wanted to keep from that god-awful place was either dead or gone. Ernie hustled out to the bus, running around the rear of the behemoth.

  Henry looked back and in the midst of the darkness saw a slight flicker on the floor. He darted back into the room and bent down to pick up the flask. Cocking his head to the side, he looked into the other room and his eyes clouded over with a vision of Welky swinging
from the rafters.

  He weighed the flask in his hand and then knelt down again and placed it back on the ground. He turned quickly and marched for the door. He grabbed the handle behind himself and started to close the door, but he took one last look at the room as the door swung shut. He knew he would never see this place again, except in his dreams--and regretfully, in his nightmares.

  Sarah

  1

  The dull plink of the marbles was drowned out by the venomous screams and thrashing yells from the other room. Sarah smiled mildly at her younger siblings who shuddered with each rumbling of the tirade. Jovially, she tried her best to draw their attention but their lips quivered and their faces winced with each shrill.

  "It’s your turn, Clarene," Sarah coaxed. She feigned a gentle smile and winked at the children. Sarah’s soft ways and congenial face was no match for the young girl’s imagination as they stared apprehensively at the closed door of their parents’ bedroom. Clarene ran to the shabby davenport, pulled the white afghan off the backrest, and then curled herself into a ball. She whimpered under the ivory cloak. A smack rang through the humble home . . . and then another. The two girls ran to Sarah’s side and clutched her neck, shaking beyond control. They burrowed into her arms and cried mightily.

  "It’s okay," Sarah managed to say. Her heart was racing also, but she had to be strong. Just then the door whined on its rusty hinges, cracking open just enough for their mother to stick her face out.

  "Sarah," her mother said boldly as she stiffened her upper lip, "why don’t you take your sisters outside to play?" Large red blotches smudged her face and her bottom lip looked swollen.