Chapter Nine - Hemingway
Kylen sat with her feet resting on an open drawer of the nightstand. She again found herself counting McQueen's respirations. "We've got to stop meeting like this," she thought. It was a poor joke.
She had learned over the past year to lie, to steal, to swear like a longshoreman. She could lurk, hide and blend. Kylen could help devise and use secret codes and hand signals for The Group. She could run mining equipment. She could sleep on stone, cold and wet. She could survive. She could feel brief moments of laughter but she wasn't sure that she could ever be joyful again. Kylen was now more than a little sardonic. She had learned that "heartache" was not just a term but an actually feeling of cold and heaviness in her chest. It was indeed physically felt and it was one step away from despair. She had lived with this pain in her body and her spirit for over a year. She had lost all innocence. Would she ever again be able to describe herself as lighthearted? The pain; the weight never really went away. It waxed and waned but it was always with her. Kylen closed her eyes and quoted to herself: "The first and the final thing you have to do in this world is to last in it, and not be smashed by it."
Witnessing McQueen's frustration and desperation had brought all the pain back to the forefront. It almost hurt to think. Part of her wanted to run screaming from the room but Kylen realized that it was too late. The damage had already been done. If she went back to her bunk she might feel less pain... But only slightly and she would feel lonely inside that mass of displaced people. It might feel worse on one hand to stay where she was - but here, at least, she didn't feel alone and there was now peace and quiet. She could breathe here. She could think. Kylen realized that this time she had built the bubble around McQueen... Or at least had helped. It made her feel accomplished and mature. She opened her eyes and found that McQueen was watching her.
"You are going to need a new IV, " she said reasonably.
"Later," he replied wearily.
"I could probably do it." She saw the question in his face. "All of the colonists had to have a secondary skill. Mine was medical. I'm a paramedic and med tech. The AI's were funny about that. Sometimes they would give us medical supplies and let me work. Then they would take the stuff away. It had nothing to do with infractions or rewards. Just random messing with our minds, I guess"
"Tell Major Howard," McQueen prompted softly.
"I will. I've talked to him already this morning. I'll see him again tomorrow. Colonel, I think that he may be the one.... The one to tell."
"Me too," he agreed simply.
Kylen pulled out her notebook and wrote "IV" on the first page to jog her memory. She crossed to the door, leaned out and asked for IV supplies. McQueen couldn't see around the door but he did see a uniformed arm give her a basket full of the equipment. She returned and proceeded to restart his IV. McQueen felt a little unsure but he trusted Kylen and her interest in him more than he trusted the nurses who might be better at the task.
Truth be told, Kylen was sweating bullets. It had been months since she had started an IV and she simultaneously cursed her promise to get it started and prayed for the skill to get the job done. "This will catch up with me if I don't change my ways."
Kylen bent her head to the task. McQueen watched her work for a minute or two then spoke softly. "You haven't locked my heels yet."
Without looking up she answered. " Well, McQueen, I have no idea what that means but I can guess. Hold still, here comes the pinch." She did not look up from her work. " What you did.... I have to admit; it's something that I've wanted to do more than once recently.... Though I doubt that I could be so.... Spectacular," she smirked. "Besides, 'it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.' "
McQueen held his breath until he saw the flash. She was pretty good after all. She started to tape in the IV.
"That was Hemingway wasn't it? " he asked.
"I thought you might like him" Kylen quipped. "He is a 'masculine' author."
"Masculine?" He asked.
"Don't you think so?" she encouraged. "Very male. Lots of testosterone. An author for men."
McQueen had no concept of how to frame a response. " She is a clever girl. The IV is in and taped. She kept me occupied while she did it."
Kylen adjusted the drip and finally looked up at McQueen. She met him eye to eye. "Colonel, 'The world breaks everyone and many are stronger at the broken places.'"
McQueen wished that he had been able to think faster; that he would have been able to give that quote to her. He found her earnestness, her determination compelling.
As she put the equipment away, Kylen formed her next words carefully. If she were to ask McQueen if he wanted her to stay he would probably say 'no,' as a point of pride. And if she were to ask him if he wanted her to leave he would think that she wanted to go. She finally decided not to ask a question at all.
"Tell me when you want me to leave. I can stay as long as you like."
McQueen felt a little discomforted by her remark. It was rare for someone to treat him with such courtesy. Military courtesy, yes, he had earned that and expected it, but rarely personal courtesy.
"Can I get you anything, Colonel? Maybe something from your bag?" she asked.
"What bag?" he asked. McQueen thought that all his belongings were probably packed, in storage and waiting for room on a transport off the Saratoga. The way these things worked it would probably be months before his stuff caught up with him.
"Your carry-on," Kylen said as she started looking through cabinets.
"Carry-on? What are you talking about?"
"This," she said as she turned to him with a triumphant look. "The Black officer gave it to the corpsman. It has your name on it."
"Glen," he whispered. His friend, Commodore Ross, had thought to send along a few things. He recognized the writing. Only Glen would think to do that.
As Kylen handed it to him, McQueen automatically corrected her: "It's a musette bag not a carry-on."
"Musette," she repeated.
He began to go through the contents, removing the items and placing them on the bed. A beret, and a cap.
"Hats?" Kylen questioned.
"In the corps they are referred to as "Covers," he corrected.
"Covers," she parroted.
McQueen shot her an unpleasant look.
Kylen tried to defend herself against 'The Look.' "I'm not being smart. I just realized that I better start to learn all this stuff since Nathan is in the Marines."
"Right," McQueen tentatively accepted her explanation.
"Colonel, how long will Nathan be in?" she asked, her voice small and oddly childlike at that moment.
Before he could temper his response, McQueen heard himself recite by rote: "Duration plus six months."
Kylen was visibly moved by this remark. McQueen felt rotten having said it, but it was the truth and there was little he could do to ease let alone change the facts.
"Kylen, I'm sorry."
"I understand," she responded in the same small voice.
He pulled out a couple books, reading their spines before placing them on his lap. Ross had thrown in the wedding photograph, which McQueen placed, to the side. A deck of cards. His butterfly knife. There was a picture of Glen's kids with an address and phone number on the back. "Of course you jerk, I'll call your kids," he laughed to himself. His first purple heart and finally a few of his brushes, which were, unfortunately, the worse for the wear.
"Sumi-e or watercolor?" Kylen asked genuinely surprised. The sight of the brushes had succeeded in breaking into her private thoughts.
McQueen felt inexplicably embarrassed but thoughtful that she would know the differences between the disciplines, let alone the name of the form. "Sumi-e... Mostly," he offered rather shy at having admitted his avocation.
"These are the real thing. Not synthetic. I'm impressed," Kylen said honestly.
Sumi-e - Calligraphy - This expression of self was a very personal thing to McQueen. He read her face looking for any traces of sarcasm. There weren't any. She was being truthful.
"I tried but I didn't have the self-discipline for it, I guess," she offered. "It's the process, isn't it? ... Not just the end result. The doing is what brings the satisfaction. At least it works that way for me. Its something that you have to get out. Doing the work is what brings the release. I believe that people make art because they have to...not because they want to. No one puts themselves through it if they have a choice." She was rapidly becoming embarrassed by her self-revelation. "Let me take those brushes. These are rare and really valuable. I'll shape them up again before they get ruined. I'll see if I can find something to protect them later." "He's an artist. Well, General Sherman was supposedly a fair painter. But I didn't expect this to be behind 'Door Number Four''."
She took the brushes to the sink, happy to be doing something. This whole thing was more than slightly surreal after the virtual warfare that had taken place in the room a while earlier. It was almost like the prison camp. Surreal. "Alice through the looking glass all over again." Kylen wet the brushes and started to shape them.
McQueen had been surprised - again. Very few people caught him off guard and Kylen had this odd capacity to keep surprising him. He had never heard anyone explain the satisfaction of making art and the inner drive of the process as well as she just had. He hadn't ever heard that term either - making art - and he liked it greatly.
He watched her working on the brushes. The work was more than serviceable. She did a pretty good job. Not as he would do it but it seemed ungracious to make a complaint.
As if sensing his observation she looked up. "I'm sorry, these are yours. Here, you better finish this up. Do 'em how you like 'em. I know how artists can be about their brushes." McQueen tilted his head in the way of a question.
"I used paint, " she said sadly. "Gave it up to go to Tellus. No room for the stuff on the flight there. Maybe I can start again now." McQueen nodded. He had always found civilians to be confusing. He was never sure what they were looking for and he again couldn't think of an adequate response.
McQueen took the brushes she was handing him and did a quick touch up on a couple of them. He then stuck one in his mouth, pulling it through his lips to get the shape he wanted. He gave Kylen a guilty look. She laughed openly.
" Tsk... Tsk... Tsk," she admonished. " You should see the look on your face," she laughed. "You raise seven sheets of hell with the nurses and then look guilty because you get caught with a brush in your mouth. Don't worry. McQueen, I've pulled a few brushes that way myself. I know that we aren't supposed to do it but I don't know of an artist who doesn't on occasion. " She laughed again, shaking her head. "OK, pick out a book and I'll get this all packed back up for you."
Kylen began to repack the bag. She picked up the photograph. "And what have we here? Well, hello, behind door number five.... A wife. McQueen, aren't you a cool drink of water?" She stuffed the frame into the bag. She then picked up the knife. She couldn't remember when she had seen one before but she did know what it was. She fingered it with what could almost be described as longing. It was cool, efficient and dispassionate and she wanted one like it for herself. She never wanted to feel defenseless again. "I wonder if I can get him to teach me how to use this?"
McQueen had to admit to himself that he was enjoying her company. He was tired but welcomed the distraction. He really didn't want to see any more Nordic warriors in his dreams. He hoped to avoid the issue of sleep for a while longer.
"Poker?" he asked holding up the deck.
"Don't know how," she replied. "Beside I think you should rest and be quiet for a while. Tell me, is poker a Marine thing that I need to learn?"
"Not particularly, but it is a 5-8 thing. Either learn it or get used to it," he warned only half joking.
"Yes, Sir."
"Kylen, Have Nathan explain the difference between "Yes, Sir " and "Aye, aye, Sir." He handed her one of the books and the two settled in to read what was at hand.
*******
Howard had spent his afternoon reading the reports on the debriefings and was spending his evening with a bourbon mulling over what he had seen pass between Celina, Kylen and Lt. Colonel McQueen, T.C. When he had checked in to see McQueen before dinner, Howard had found the two of them sleeping peacefully with books open on their laps. He had greeted Kylen in the passageway that evening. Her hair had been wet again from another shower.
It had been Howard's observation that most people actually really did have surprising depths - strengths only hinted at. Depths, which rarely had to be called into service, and also dark places that were better left hidden. These two, however, lived in the deep end of the pool. They were part of that rare class of individuals whose fullness of character spilled over. They walked in the depths. These two each had their own underground source to draw from.
Well, he would see them tomorrow. He had good news for McQueen. Plus, Howard thought, if McQueen was up for it that they would continue Kylen's debriefing in McQueen's quarters. Howard was privy to McQueen's bombing mission and thought that the Colonel would probably be interested in Kazbek. There was the additional bonus that Kylen might give more information if she felt secure. She obviously felt secure with McQueen and drew strength from him. She was not intimidated by the man, which was a rarity, and a question that Howard had yet to answer for himself.
Howard wished that his wife could meet Celina, Kylen and McQueen, Lt. Col. T.C. She would like them very much. He had to admit that bourbon threw a light on the sentimental side of his nature.
End Chapter Nine
Literary Giants M.Wheels
