Burden

He walks with that military bearing, shoulders squared, head thrown proudly back. He walks straight and stiff, indomitable and resolute.

Strange, though, that his back remains tall, his shoulders level; he bears so much weight, she thinks. Foolishness, she believes, unseemly hubris.

There is no need, she wants to tell him. There is no need.

I can see it, she wants to say. I see the pain you carry.

ooooo

Hawkeye, he begins. He is, she instantly realizes, a little drunk.

Yes, sir.

I've always wanted to ask: Why did you join the military?

Sir?

I mean, what's the reason? Why become a dog? Like me? He chuckles a little, knocks back some whisky from his glass.

She takes her own glass and sets it carefully on the shining ring on the wooden counter. The bartender did not give her a coaster. I'm not sure, she answers.

Not sure? That's stupid, Hawkeye, he snaps. And you're not a stupid person. You must have a reason. He spins his glass around and around, lets the whisky slosh onto the bar as he waits for her reply.

I did have a reason, once, she answers finally. But I can't remember it. I was young, you see.

And so in your ripe old age, you've forgotten it, he sneers.

Yes, she says.

He laughs. You're always so honest, Hawkeye.

But, she thinks, as she picks up her glass, I've found another one.

ooooo

He curls in on it, the way a ball of paper curls into ash in the flame. It is, she knows, deep within him, too deep for anyone to extract it.

She wants to take it away from him anyway, though. She wants to peel away his grief, his guilt, his loneliness. But she knows better.

For what will be left, she wonders. What will be left?

She doesn't know.

ooooo

He lifts up his hand for another round. You want another one? he offers, pointing to her empty glass.

No, thank you, sir, she says.

He grins. You're probably thinking you need to stay sober to help me home, right?

Yes.

He roars again. That honesty again, Hawkeye. He slaps the countertop, makes the ice rattle. But, he says, you don't need to worry about me. He seizes his full glass, swallows. I'll be fine. I'll be just fine.

She doesn't answer. She picks up her tumbler and takes a sip of water.

ooooo

Take away his pain, take away his purpose. Take away his purpose, take away his life. Hughes, she acknowledges, knew this.

So, Hughes, she thinks, to keep him alive, you let him keep it. To keep him whole, you let him bear it. And not alone, she knows, not alone. Hughes, in his way, held him up.

But now that you're gone, she thinks, I'll help him. So that he will not bear it alone.

For, she recognizes, he is only human.

ooooo

Hawkeye, he mumbles. You don't need to do this. He slurs the last syllable.

I do, sir, she retorts, hefting him up. She shrugs his arm around her shoulder, wraps her arm around his waist.

I can get home on my own, he grunts.

I don't think so, sir, she mutters as they start down the midnight street.

I'm too heavy for you, he protests blearily. Too heavy for a girl like you. He assays to push himself off, to release himself from her grip.

No, you're not, sir, she rejoins, tightening her grasp. I can bear your weight.

ooooo

Sometimes, she feels, the weight is too great. So great, she aches from it. To hold all of this sorrow inside alone. It's too much, she believes, for one person.

But he will not allow anyone to share it.

She can't decide whether he is the noblest or the most selfish man she has ever met.

Perhaps, she thinks, he is both.

ooooo

Thanks, lieutenant, he mutters as she eases him onto his bed.

It's no trouble, sir, she answers. She tugs on his boot, pulls it free.

No, it's a lot of trouble, he argues weakly. A lot of trouble. And, he adds, it's embarrassing.

She yanks off the other boot. Don't worry, sir, I won't tell. She pulls up the blanket around him.

Lieutenant. He grabs her arm, draws her close. She smells his sour breath, feels his raspy chin.

Thank you, he murmurs against her cheek. Thanks for helping me.

You're welcome, sir, she replies.