Eventually we land, with the body in Hampton, Virginia near the air force base. We are in trouble. Someone knew we were on that flight. We decide to hole up in a small motel and hope for the best. We need to regroup. Both of us have nerve endings that are completely frayed.
I notice that Sands is not even trying to look sighted. He is letting me guide him. He lets me do the talking as we check in. There are no quips and no opinions. I get a room with twin beds. I don't think our relationship is ready for any assumptions at this point. We shower and change. It's been a long day.
I have a bad feeling when he decides that we should go to the seedy bar that is next to the motel.
"I want a shot of vodka and a beer. I don't care; any beer, any vodka." He takes a trembling drag as the bartender places an ashtray in front of him. Jesus fucking Christ. He's frightened. He's truly scared. He also seems defeated.
I sip slowly on my crappy light beer while he has several shots of vodka and chain smokes. He says nothing.
"Are you ok?" I know the answer already. But he's more descriptive and bitter than I expected.
"Are you shitting me?" "What kind of ridiculous fucking question is that?"
"I'm sorry. Actually, what I meant is 'Is there anything I can do?'"
"Got any spare eyeballs?". He went for the cheap pity shot. "Not only am I sitting here, waiting for the organization to off me, but I'm doing it blind. I have never been so pathetic and helpless in my entire life." He downs his shot and faces away from me. He's actually shaking. I know he's been through hell and that I may have provided some comfort, I didn't change that fact.
"I know. It sucks." I mean, it really does and no Pollyanna type of comment or trite exhortation is going to be helpful.
"What the hell do you know? Really? Do you realize how physical much pain I have had to deal with over the past six weeks? No. Pain is not the right word. Agony is closer, but still doesn't do justice to the experience of having a major body part removed and getting three gunshot wounds. Oh, and the pain isn't the bad part. The real nightmare is the fact that the darkness, or rather lack of light is suffocating and I cannot wake up. I am constantly disoriented. Everything is a goddamn surprise. I can't see anything coming." He grinds his cigarette into ashtray. I can tell that he wants to leave the bar. He's restless but doesn't know where he wants to go and can't really find his way around without a struggle. The entire outburst is incredibly saddening to me. First of all, it disturbs me that he didn't feel like he could vent until now. Secondly, have I been of no comfort? Was what I thought we had absolutely nothing?
"Let's take a walk." I cannot think of anything else to do at this point, We are both restless and on edge. If we stay in the bar we will drink entirely too much. It's unseasonably warm and both of us have been suffocating in the bar. We don't bother with coats.
I feel terrible. I'm not an idiot. Of course, he had to have suffered. I just didn't know how much. Our shoes sink a little into the muddy ground as we take a short cut to the sidewalk. Street lights make it feel as if it isn't night. Shit. They're not going to do much for Jeff. I want to hug him yet I don't want to be presumptuous. Perhaps it would be an intrusion. You would think that I would be physically comfortable after we, well, you know. The sudden outpouring of previously stifled emotions made me feel as if I didn't know him. I was on edge. What do I say?
"Is there anything I can do, Jeff?" "You have never asked for any sympathy or special favors but you know you can."
"I'm sorry about the mini-freakout I just exposed you to. I didn't mean to get all 'woe is me' on your ass." He lights another cigarette. I'm amazed at his rapid physical recovery and apparent health. Usually, smoking impedes the healing process and the more you smoke, the worse it is. He passed one pack per day while ago. "You do realize what being CIA entails. I have to do things that are pretty awful."
"Like what?" What am I, a masochist? Do I really want to know?
"Let's just say I have killed innocent people, and not only accidentally. And I have killed when it wasn't entirely necessary. It gets way too easy after a while." He pauses and inhales deeply as only a real smoker can. As he exhales, smoke streams out of his nostrils. "I've been greedy. I might not have even gotten into the trouble that I did get into if I hadn't planned to take the money and then blabbed to Ajedrez about it, like some proud idiot." He pauses. "God, she must have been laughing at me. It's like I had to pay for being an amoral dolt. The problem is, I don't know if I've changed. A few weeks of pain and an eyeball gouging do not a new man make. How's that for a new aphorism?" He actually smiles for a moment. "I don't think you know the half of what you've gotten yourself into." He sighs." You can run away screaming at any time. It might not be a bad idea. You've gotten me out of that hellhole of a country and nursed, or doctored, me back to a semblance of health. I can't really ask for more."
My stomach is churning. What sort of guy is he? Maybe I don't really know him. Am I standing next to some stranger? Then I last month has not been an illusion. It really happened and I really saw him in a miserable state and as things improved. He is still that man. And as I look at him, the light glaring off of his sunglasses and his hand combing through his scalp in a quick careless masculine movement I realize that I have to hug him I have to touch him and comfort him. As far as I'm concerned, there really is no other option.