As the early July days came upon us, the Battle for Old Baldy intensified. Because it was so near to the camp, we had to buggy out for a few days, only allowed back when we were told that the area was cleared. By then, Dean and his men had been in and out of the area and the orphans had been resettled south of us. Luckily, there was a set of trucks that were taking civilians out of the area and Sister Theresa managed to bribe them for a ride. So, with all of our love and well wishes (to all of them, including the men from the 43rd), they left.
It was a lonely time and we either had to deal with sheer boredom that dragged on or sessions in the OR that lasted for an eternity. There was no middle ground. It allowed us some pranks, new activities and lots of drinking. At the same time, it gave us new perspectives on everything, from the people who came through to the letters we received from home. Even the ones we wrote back home had a tinge of longing and hysteria in them, begging to come back to them when the war was nothing more than a hideous reminder of death.
To me, the summer reminded me of the last and the one before. The first had been the beginning of this Korean conflict and the one after when I was pregnant with Shannon. There was nothing new except our lives evolved over this primitive place we call home. The peace talks ceased once more and the hostilities continued on as if there was no regard for human life. The bullets grew larger and the wounds deeper, especially our own. Even the reminder of my daughter's upcoming first birthday in September was a way to tell me that I was a worthless mother that could not handle herself and the daughter she left behind.
By then, writing to others had been a way to keep my mind off of things, something that picked up over the past year even though I hated it. While few people had been the brunt of my frustrations and the lies persisted to my mother, it still took me to a place where I could take refuge. Even writing, I could imagine that there was no war and Hawkeye and I lived a peaceful existence that was somewhere far away from Korea. I could pretend that the hospital was a job we had and the people in the camp were our co-workers. Conditions in the camp? It could be chalked up to being forced to make do with the lack of supplies. Most certainly, I had heard of civilian hospitals working without them, although it had been rare and the areas poor.
The illusion got me through quite a few days and died. It ended when things quieted down and life went back to normal, still bouncing between this tedium and business. I put up a mask to make ends meet, coupling with Hawkeye anywhere we had privacy, dancing at Rosie's with whoever was there and matching drinks with the Marines had come by from time to time. Even that last bit reminded me of another punch in the stomach that even burned me.
Mail had been slow as usual, especially when it was between us and the Front and vice versa. Dean's letters to me and everyone else hardly got there and the same happened to us. It made us imagine what it was like for us and home too. I mean, I did not relish my mother's missives full of criticisms, accusations and silly nonsense. However, I still missed Trapper, Lorraine and even Calvin Spaulding. I was sure they were not receiving my letters because a few talked of censures and not seeing anything posted recently.
However, it all came in huge piles the day I spent with the Marines at Rosie's. Hell, it was the best few hours that I had in weeks before news all of all sorts came in. Being the only woman here other than Rosie and her friends made me the best target the Marines had since they came from shooting practice at the North Koreans. I had downed at least three glasses of gin by the time they came in and wanted to go back to camp. On my way out the door, one of them laid a hand on my ass, something I never took lightly.
It was a fair game and an easy agreement once the idiot and his two friends realized who I was and I had Mr. Free Hands by the collar in the nearest corner. Whoever drank the most would pick up the bill for all parties. They could not ravish me out of respect for my engagement and they did not want to handle Hawkeye at his worst and I could not pretend I didn't know any moves that would put them in Post-Op. Simple and polite…and also quite the afternoon when everyone around placed money down on who would win. Not too many people thought I could do it, but I was encouraged by the enlisted men from the 4077th who knew my habits.
Oh, they have not seen a nurse drink. This'll be interesting…
By the time Hawkeye came in an hour later, I was ahead of the three Marines by several shots and a huge tab under the table. Since the deal had been loser pays all, I took my sweet time in getting every drop, remaining functional, albeit buzzed. All of them had taken half of Rosie's supplies and were slowing down. One of them had fallen asleep at the table, the second following closely behind and the last was so drunk that his eyes were completely red and his speech unintelligible.
Hawkeye pushed the crowds away and managed to get a chair next to me as number three plummeted and I was the declared winner. He even kissed me as he dropped a bundle of letters before me. "Mail call, Love."
"About time." I rubbed my tired eyes. "Say, do you know when I'll get the bill?"
Love laughed. "When Rosie calculates it. I'm sure you drank her under the table."
"I think I beat my own record. I can't believe I'm still awake."
"You could always tumble into my bed for some sleep."
"Don't Major Malpractice and Captain Privacy mind?"
"There has been worse."
Then, it was my turn to giggle. Once everyone cleared away and the bets placed had been exchanged, I had to get my mind off of the alcohol and onto home (and possibly picking up the tab since Rosie did not like sleeping drunks in her establishment and would like to be paid up-front). I was so glad to see this pile that I almost jumped for joy. In the meantime, as Rosie and her friends cleared the table and the Marines dragged their three out with promises to later compensate, Hawkeye and I opened the mail. Since mine was mostly misery anyway (from Mom and Aunt Mary), I decided to save the worst for last and open up words from friends who cared.
The first was from Calvin. Immediately, a smaller slip of paper sailed out when I ripped open his sachet. Before it hit the wet floor, I grabbed it, smoothing its rough edges on the table. It was a poem titled "A Whiskey Lullaby". Intrigued, I read it slowly. At first, I couldn't believe it. I browsed it a few more times before I understood what he meant by the words.
She put him out, like the burnin'
End of a midnight cigarette.
She broke his heart.
He spent his whole life
Tryin' to forget.
We watched him drink his pain
Away, a little at a time.
But he never could get drunk
Enough to get her off
His mind until the night…
He put that bottle to his head
And pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory.
Life is short, but this time
It was bigger than the strength
He had to get up off his knees.
We found him with his face
Down in the pillow,
With a note that said
I'll love her 'til I die.
And when we buried beneath
The willow, the angels
Sang a whiskey lullaby.
The rumors flew, but nobody
Knew how much she blamed herself.
For years and years,
She tried to hide the whiskey
On her breath.
She finally drank her pain
Away, a little at a time.
But she couldn't get drunk
Enough to get him off
Her mind until the night…
She put that bottle to her head
And pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory.
Life is short, but this time
It was bigger than the strength
She had to get up off her knees.
We found her with her face
Down in the pillow,
Clinging to his
Picture for dear life.
We laid her next to him
Beneath the willow, while
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby.
"What's that?" Hawkeye was curious when he saw my concentration.
"A poem from Calvin," I replied, handing it to him for scrutiny. "It's pretty dark, even for him."
Love read it. "A whiskey lullaby? What does he mean?"
"Songs he hears when drinking?"
"A heavenly presence that hovers when he's drunk?"
"Yeah, but what does the woman putting him out mean? Does it mean he was burnt by his wife?"
"Wife?" Hawkeye was instantly interested, giving me back the poem. Gossip appealed to him at this boring happy hour. "I didn't know he had a wife."
I felt embarrassed by betraying this detail about Calvin, but let it go as he never sworn me to keep it secret. "He does. They married before he was shipped here."
"Any letter with this?"
"Yes. Let me see what's up."
Hawkeye remained nosy (almost as bad as Margaret and Frank when they were a couple) and continued to badger me about Calvin's message until I picked everything up and went back to the camp. He followed me too, lovingly groping me and begging for a dip in the stream near the minefield. I usually would have been up to the challenge, but I was more focused on Calvin's sentiments and being alone to figure them out. I managed to get into the officers' latrine, a place where I knew I would have some solitude, and locked myself in an almost-full stall. Hawkeye never followed me there. He was cajoling at me to come out nonetheless.
"Leave me in peace, will you?" I yelled back.
"You're doing this on purpose!" Hawkeye was ever on target. "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow this latrine down!"
"So what? Puff and huff all you want."
"You're taking all the fun out of this. So, I'm telling Mother!"
"Oh, go tell BJ you're bored then. I'm sure he has a geography game or a volleyball tournament in the Swamp."
The thought of getting the last word in or even beating his best friend interested Hawkeye. He rushed off immediately. This left me some minutes before someone knocked on the door. Relieved, I took Calvin's missive and unfolded it. It was a short one. Regardless, it packed quite a few punches in so little of a page.
June 29, 1952
Somewhere, Nowhere
Jeanie,
So many words cross my mind, thinking of what to say to you and how. You've been the only true friend that has risen to the challenge of keeping me on my feet and trying to find my place in this civilian world that does not care. Tonight, when I think about when the last concert will be or when I shall ever find a home, I think back to the good times…
And then think about drinking them away. They do not matter to me anymore.
In either case, she'll never and she'll never cared.
She never did anyway.
She betrayed me, slept with another man while I was in Korea. I never did that to her. I liked flirting with the women. I never touched another though, Jeanie. I had respect for Linda, the beautiful fairy that flew into my life and then burnt the wings that I made bigger and brighter. She was my lullaby, the dream I always had when I closed my eyes. She was my living mirage, the disappearing dawn that waved goodbye when I was ready to face reality.
Now, she is gone. And so am I.
Don't mind me please, Jeanie. I am not in my right state of mind. I am somewhere and yet nowhere. I am here and not there. I am dead and alive. I am nothing and somebody.
Forgive, forgive, forgive…
Calvin
By the time I read the scribbled page, I had it crumpled in my hands and had tears streaming down my face. It was not fair. In this game of war, it's always hard to play the losing side. Calvin was a victim, a man who lost his best in his largest bet. I could not blame him for his bitterness and it made my own simmer.
He had to stay alive though. He could not be another statistic, a number chalked up to a forgotten war in a small country in Asia.
Ignoring the rest of my mail, I escaped, a darting nurse entering where I had exited. Immediately, I went to the Swamp, setting my things down in my corner and enjoying the peace that never came when all three men were around. As I sat on my cot hoping for a rest, Margaret came in. She rummaged through Frank's end, scattering his belongings in a fit of annoyance, and even grumbled a few words of utter disgust at the weasel.
"What do you need, Margaret?" I mumbled from my end.
"What business is it of yours?" she volleyed in return. "You can just return to you filth and your degenerate ways."
From there, Margaret went on and on about how horrible I was and wondered out loud why the hell I managed to be her second-in-command. I decided to mark this up as bitch week and call it a day since it had been the same old grind for over two years now. However, when her screams grew louder and the noises crashing over my head, I had to do something. I sat up quickly, rushing over and pulling her away. Whatever she was screeching about, it didn't matter. It was broken up and quite incomprehensible anyway.
"It was valuable!" she sobbed, picking up the fragmented pieces of something even though I had been restraining her from behind. "It had been priceless!"
I couldn't tell what it was since Margaret was practically grinding it in her hands. It could have been one of the multiple items that her parents gave to each other on their wedding night (God knows we heard enough of it from Frank) or something she bought in Tokyo or Seoul for Frank. Whatever it was, she was so upset about it that she had to tell the world about it. Worse, she had to reiterate that Frank Burns was scum.
"Jesus, Margaret, don't you think the camp doesn't know of your torrid romance with Frank?" I yelled, feeling my back hit Hawkeye's cot as she kicked backwards to release me. "He's an asshole. What did you expect?"
The rage continued. I went to get up to contain it again, but Margaret was faster and ran off, most likely for Frank. From there, I debated whether or not it was worth it to chase her. It would save us some whining from Ferret Face and maybe conserve his life. However, it would also allow more patients to live since he would be out of commission. At the very least, it would have given the camp a little entertainment to see him squirm.
I decided against it. Colonel Potter should be able to contain Margaret if someone reported it to him (and it wasn't going to be me this time). I had better things to think about anyway. I went back to my side of the tent and sat down on my cot, pulling the stack of letters closer. I thought about rereading about Calvin's woes, posing my hand above the envelope, and resolved to leave that alone too. There was a lot of raw emotion in there, most of it I could not deal with. I could always write back about it and make it as cheerful and cautious as I could, but that would be for a time I had the power to put the words to paper.
In the distance near the entranceway to the camp, I heard some familiar shouting. It was Dean and his men, back from action from the Front. When I trained my eyes to see the group, I saw him in his glory, taking in the acclaim that the camp managed for him and his unit. While Colonel Coner was not in sight, it was still a wonderful thing to see my brother alive and well. It made me believe that the family curse was nothing more than a pure rumor fueled by coincidence and tragedy. It was only a self-fulfilling prophesy that the twin males unconsciously decided to make sure came true in order to scare the next generation.
Immediately, I got ready. Heading to the still, I pulled out two dirty glasses. I blew out the dust and filled them, finding a seat near Hawkeye's cot and waiting for my brother. News would come soon. I was sure of it.
