Disclaimer: Read the other chapter disclaimers.
Comments: Ok *sighs* I finally got this chapter done. It kinda took a bit out of me. I think you'll see why, and if not then maybe I was just sleep deprived. Hehe. I hope you enjoy it. I mean... what would be the point of my writing it if you didn't? Or something like that. And thank you, Koneko Bombay, for pointing out my logistical time line error in the last chapter about when Omi was leaving. I went back and fixed it. It should be him leaving in three weeks. *whew* And that was really important too, you'll see why... *cackles* Anyway, please review when you are done, if you don't I'll be sad. *sniffles*. Read on.
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That first day away from base, alone with Ran in that stifling, unventilated room with strained foreign, uncomprehending faces staring blandly back at me, was longer than I ever could have imagined. We left base around six o'clock. It took us a lot longer to get to Sang Cho-na in the transport than it had that night we stole the Lt. Commander's Jeep. The memory still made me cringe. It just so happened that day was an official leave day, so the transport was already crammed full even so early in the morning. It made sense, I guess. The boys had a lot of abstinence to make up for. But knowing why the back of the transport was crammed and unbearably stuffy didn't make it any easier to stand. At least Ran and I got to sit by the opening, we were first out after all. We were official. That's almost laughable.
We were dumped on the side of the road that ran along the river. It had been raining the night before and the dirt road was churned to a thick mud which sucked at the bottom of our military issue boots. We each carried a pack full of 'teaching materials' left behind by the Takatori Communications crowd. We watched as the transport truck pulled up the road, splattering mud on a few lone pedestrians. They hardly seemed to notice. I remember reflecting for a moment on the dispositions of these people. I would notice later through the eyes of my pupils what a weary, dejected people they were. To us, the American soldiers, Vietnam was just a place where we fought a war. To the people who lived there it was their home. I could walk away from Nam, win or lose, but they were there forever to live with the outcome. Nagi would teach me that.
When the truck was out of sight Fujimiya and I turned without a word and stepped off the road, cutting down a steep slope towards the foot path that led to the house by the river. As we walked he lit a cigarette, letting it hang delicately between his long fingers. There was something about Ran's hands that fascinated me. I don't know if it was their flawless appearance or the fact that every time I saw them I thought of their gentle pressure on my spine or their strong reassurance as they held me up, but I was in love with Ran Fujimiya's hands. Hell, I was beginning to think I might be in love with Ran Fujimiya.
I had sighed then, annoyed and frustrated by my mind's tendency to return to tired topics. Tired to me at least who lived with them day in and day out. He looked at me sharply and raised one thin eyebrow.
"Not looking forward to this, huh?" he said quietly.
I shrugged, let him believe what he wanted to. "Sure," I agreed quietly.
"Hn." He took a drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke into the gray morning sky.
Class commenced at eight o'clock. We, as the teachers were expected to be there by seven in order to have some 'prep time'. I wasn't exactly sure what Fujimiya and I were going to have to prep, hell I wasn't even sure if we had a game plan. I guess that's what the first hour was for. The Class would run until noon, four hours, and then there was the post hour that Ran and I had to stick around for to answer questions and. stare at the walls. After that we were to contact base, there was a two way radio jammed into the corner of the tiny room, to find out where and when our ride was coming. Any extra time was ours, I guess. Funny, it didn't seem all that bad when it got spelled out like that.
I dropped my pack by the cracked chalkboard and looked around the filthy room despondently. I could already tell that the clouds were going to burn off, which meant it was going to be sweltering in here by noon. Ran dropped his bag next to mine and finished off his cigarette before flicking the butt into the far corner and fixing me with his eyes. I looked up to meet them and then looked away again. His eyes always made me gun-shy.
"So, now what?" I asked under my breath.
I sensed more that saw him shrug. He grumbled something that I didn't catch so I turned my head. He was peering at the far door, attention fixed on some point.
"What are you looking at?" I asked coming to stand beside him.
He shrugged. "Someone just walked behind that shrub."
"Just some farmer taking a piss," I answered, squinting.
"Maybe. Go check it out."
I stared at him incredulously. "Why me?" I scoffed.
He looked at me sharply and this time I could not pull my eyes away. "Would you rather I go and leave you to make up a lesson plan?"
I narrowed my eyes and grumbled. "Fine. I'll go look."
It was actually a bit of a relief to get out of that grubby little lean to. The air was clean from the past night's rain and that early in the morning it was still cool enough to be pleasant. So I left Ran to do the planning and jogged down the slope towards the river and the shrub where 'somebody' had walked. I remember thinking that Ran was an idiot for caring that there was somebody there. It was probably one of the students who got there early and was too shy, or too afraid, to face us alone so early before class. Oh well, might as well humor him. Like I said, it got me out of that room.
As I rounded the corner of the bush there was a startled scrambling and a muffled cry as I nearly stepped on the small form squatting in the damp grass. A pair of huge, frightened brown eyes looked up at me, choppy dark hair falling erratically before them. I realized in an instant that I knew this boy, even though the last time I had seen him it was close to pitch black. I recognized those dazed eyes as the same ones I had seen caught in the headlights of the Commander's Jeep.
As I stood there looking down at him, he seemed to swallow half his tongue and started to scramble away from me, trying to crabwalk across the slippery grass. He failed and fell back onto his elbows still staring up at me. Caught off guard, I just stood there staring at him staring at me. I remember Nagi, seeing him for the first time in daylight, as being a rather scrawny, sickly looking Vietnamese kid. His eyes were too large for his face, making him appear perversely innocent, and terminally startled. His hair was dark and fell into his eyes, making him appear even more cowed. He kept his eyes turned away from people unless addressed specifically. He seemed haunted. And I knew that there were things Nagi had seen that no child should have to see. If I had to guess I would have said he was fifteen or sixteen, but it was hard to tell.
When my wits finally returned I flashed him a friendly smile and hunkered down beside him. I held out my hand, leaning forward slightly. As I did so my dog tags swung out from the open front of my jacket and clinked together. His eyes unconsciously swiveled, fixed upon the glinting metal. He stared at them with wide, fascinated eyes until I finally drew him back.
"Nagi?" I said softly. "That's you name, right?" His head snapped up, and he stared at me intently. I smiled again and pushed my hand forward, reasserting its intent. He nodded dully, casting his eyes down, looking away from me. "I'm Ken. I won't bite, take my hand."
He shied away a little more and then tentatively reached across his body to take my hand. His grip was limp and clammy. He seemed nervous, not that I could blame him. He probably didn't remember me from Schuldich. Or from a hole in the ground for that matter.
"Do you remember me?" I asked slowly.
He had looked at me blankly for a few moments, his dark eyes reflecting the light. He pulled his hand away from mind before he finally spoke. "Yes. I kicked your face... you.....," here he paused as if searching for a word, "lifted me. Yes, I think so."
I chuckled. "'Carried' is what you wanted to say. 'Lifted' works, but.....," I shook my head. He nodded and looked away again. He glanced at the river and then to the far side of the hedge row we were squatting behind. I wondered what he was looking for. Maybe just trying to avoid seeing me.
"How is your shoulder?" I asked, touching his arm gently.
This time he did not bother to look up again. "It heals. The... American doctors were kind."
I sat down beside him and sighed. He was surprised by my movement, flashing me with those malnutritioned eyes again. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you. Those soldiers had no excuse for what they did. They were... drunk, but that's still no excuse. I hope you realize that not all GIs are like them."
"It does not matter what 'all GIs' are like. Perhaps you are not evil people... but together... you destroy everything. Vietnam is a country, it is not a war. But... it is a truth of all people... when they are all at once there is no conscience. Between them what is of more strength is correct," he said quietly, still looking away. I could hear the anger in his voice.
I looked down towards the river. "'Might makes right.' That's what you are trying to say. I guess when we get together it's easiest to just go with the flow."
He nodded. "Hmm. You... acted apart for my goodness. So I will thank you."
I chuckled. He had just contradicted himself, I think. Or maybe I just wasn't understanding his point in the first place. "You don't make much sense, kid."
"Nothing does."
I laughed and got up, brushing at my pants. I turned and held my hand out to him again to help him up. He looked at me quizzically. "Are you coming to class? That's why you're here right?"
He blinked. "Class..?"
"The English class. One of my colleagues and I are teaching it. Aren't you down here to come? You should, I think we could use the help from someone who knows both languages already," I laughed, smiling at him.
He took my hand and I pulled him up. I was surprised at how short he was. He seemed taller that he actually was, but that was probably due to the thinness of his frame. He tried to pull his hand away but I held it firmly in my grasp. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Just come for today at least."
He looked like he was going to panic. He looked around worriedly as if someone might be watching. He struck me as odd. "Bu-but... I have to... I have things I should be doing."
"Like sitting behind a bush? Why are you down here if not to come to the class?" I asked in all innocence.
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. After a moment he looked down and his shoulders slumped, sagging as if under a great weight. "Alright," he said softly, "I will come. You are right, that must be why I am here."
He really didn't make any sense.
I led him up the hill. He lagged along behind me, arms across his chest, head down.
"Look who I found," I called to Ran as we entered the building. He was sitting at the small, makeshift desk shoved against the front wall. He looked up with bland eyes and fixed them on Nagi.
"Isn't that the Gook brat Schuldich shot?" he said bluntly.
"Your powers of tact and grace never cease to amaze me Fujimiya," I sighed sarcastically.
"Well, isn't it?"
"In a word, yes. Nagi, remember?"
Ran nodded and then peered intently at the young Vietnamese boy. "Are you coming to the class?"
Nagi did not meet his eyes, only stared at his hands. "Ken has asked me to."
"It was him behind the bush," I interjected.
"Obviously," Ran replied.
So the morning went. Slowly as it drew closer to eight o'clock more tentative and in some cases ragged individuals shuffled down the dirt path to the makeshift school house. I noted that several of them were prostitutes, they probably figured that being able to say more than 'me love you long time' would boost business. Personally I don't think the soldiers gave a damn. As they entered some of them threw wary glances at Ran and me, and they all talked and whispered amongst themselves. Some greeted Nagi as they came in and talked to him behind their hands. I wondered why they bothered since they knew perfectly well that neither Ran nor I could understand Vietnamese. Then again... maybe the didn't know this. Maybe they assumed that the army would have been smart enough to assign teachers who at least have some understanding of their language. I found that the army was often given more credit that it deserved.
With the help of Nagi we managed to muddle through that first morning. I tried to scribble down bastardized English versions of everyone's names as we went around the room. I would later find this to be of little use since the attendance varied so much the class was hardly ever the exact same group of people. I divided the class into two sections: those who could speak no English and those who could speak at least some English. For the first few weeks we asked the speakers to help us get the non speakers caught up. Well... this is what I was doing. Ran was grunting and scrawling the alphabet in ugly block letters on the cracked black board. I paused and asked him if he thought it was necessary to do so. An argument about whether or not we were actually supposed to be teaching them to read and write as well or just to speak ensued. Ran said that reading and writing was imperative and I argued that conversational English was the only really important matter at the time.
The entire class seemed amazed by our sudden outburst and watched us with fascinated expressions and we spat back and forth. Finally Nagi tugged at my sleeve and pointed out that class was going nowhere. I sheepishly apologized, breaking off the argument. Ran on the other hand grumbled and went back to scrawling.
By the end of the day I felt as if I had accomplished nothing. Blank faces and confusion were all that met my attempts to communicate and convey any knowledge. I was beginning to wonder if I should have actually paid attention to the Takatoris.
When the room had emptied out just shortly after noon, no one except a couple prostitutes had bothered to hang around to ask question, and their questions hadn't been about English. I noticed that Nagi was lingering near the desk where Ran was making notes to himself. What ever happened to his 'lesson plan' anyway? Sighing I walked up beside the small boy and leaned against the desk. "Thanks for your help."
He nodded his head slowly and then opened his mouth, "It was not any bother."
"Will you be back again on Wednesday?" I asked hopefully.
He looked at me and then bit his lip. "Perhaps. I will see."
"We'd really appreciate it, Nagi," I said. "It's like trying to herd cats in here."
He stifled a giggle. "I think you are not used to teaching. It will get easier, I think."
"I hope so," I sighed. "Hey, Ran, call base and see what time the transport is coming tonight."
He looked up. "It won't be until late. It's a leave day, so the boys will want to be out for as long as possible."
"Well call anyway. I mean what are we going to do until then? Just spend the day in town?"
He shrugged. "I guess. Or stay here. Pick your poison."
I grumbled. "Town. At least we can get something to drink."
I remember Nagi's head whipping around as I said this. His eyes looked panicked and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He took a few quavering breathes and then looked away again. I looked at him curiously.
"What was that about?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Nothing... only... maybe you should just stay here. What if one of the students comes back and has a question?"
Ran snorted. "That's not our problem anymore. Class is over."
Callous as it may seem I tended to agree. I told Nagi as much. He sighed and shrugged.
Ran got up and went to call the base, turning the dials on the two way radio until he got a clear signal. I remember wondering at how intently Nagi watched him, his large eyes darting and catching every movement Ran made. There was something about the kid... he was odd.
"They aren't coming until nine," Ran reported after he's clicked off the radio. "We'll have to wait around until then."
I sighed. Staying in this hole was not my idea of a good time, neither was drinking and whoring for that matter, which seriously limited my recreational opportunities in Sang Cho-na. "Well, let's head towards town, this place is too depressing. And too hot," I added trying to fan myself with my hand.
Nagi twitched slightly and looked at me with those eyes of his. I looked back and smiled, a thought occurring to me. "Hey, kiddo, what do you say you come with us and we buy you a drink? Just to thank you for helping us out even after all the shit we've caused you."
He blanched, but then something flashed through his eyes and he took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Yes. I will do this."
I smiled. Ran grunted. We got our packs together, leaving most of the books behind, and left the tiny room.
It was about a quarter of a mile from the school post to the main part of the grubby little town. I spent most of the time trying to engage Nagi in conversation, asking him about his family, how he had learned English, etc... But he was distracted and only answered in short little sentences. He kept asking me what time it was. I told him that maybe a watch would be a better thank you gift than a drink. He didn't laugh. Ran spent the time smoking and doing a really wonderful job of not talking to anyone. Unfortunately I had been right about the clouds burning off. As we walked the high afternoon sun started frying brains. It was times like these that I cursed my dark haired ancestors.
"Which way is it, Fujimiya?" I asked as we paused at the crossing of two dirty streets. I was amazed by the jumble of people making their way around the city. I couldn't think of anything that these people could be doing in the town. Bicyclists sped their way up the streets, tall women in wide brimmed hats and traditional Vietnamese dress made their way between the buildings, groups of filthy children ran to and fro shouting to each other, and here and there were enlisted me making their way through the crowds, trying to enjoy their day off duty. It was a zoo. The heat, combined with all the pushing, shoving, sweating bodies created a rather unlovely smell. Oh, Vietnam, how lovely were thy shores.
"Which way is what?"
"Willy Ng's," I snapped. "Where else are we supposed to get a drink in this god forsaken place?"
"It's up that way. I'll lead."
And he did. Nagi and I followed behind him and I realized as we pushed through a crowd of people that he had grabbed a fistful of my jacket and was holding on as if for dear life. I looked down at him. "What are you doing?"
"Too many people. I don't want to have a separation occur," he cried above the noise of the street. I guess that made sense. Looking forward into the crowd I suddenly realized that I was in danger of getting separated from Ran. His red head bobbed conspicuously above the crowd of dark hair, but it seemed as if the crowd was intent on filling up the gap between us, closing us off from each other.
And then, as Nagi tugged sharply on my jacket, crying, "This way, Ken," I lost sight of him all together.
"But Ran didn't turn this way!" I shouted back.
"We will catch up, I want to show you something!" he cried. At this point he was dragging me against the flow of people down a very narrow street.
"I don't want to lose him!" I cried, trying to pull away, but it was as if he had planted his feet.
"No, just come this way for a moment," he answered rather breathlessly. I wouldn't let him pull me any farther and he wouldn't let me pull him back the way we came so we stood there in a stale mate. The sea of people parted and flowed around us. All of a sudden there was a touch on my shoulder. I turned and there was Ran, looking at me curiously.
"What are you doing?"
"He pulled me this way," I said pointing at Nagi.
The young man scowled at Ran and tugged sharply on my sleeve. "I wanted to show -him- something. You can go ahead, we will catch up," he said in a very hard sounding voice.
Ran narrowed his eyes at the boy and shook his head. "Not a chance. I go where he goes."
I smiled. For some reason just hearing Ran say that was both funny and... meaningful.
Nagi grimaced but gave in. "I don't care. Only come on... what time is it?!" he asked suddenly, and then as if in answer the one o'clock bell chimed out from the mission tower. The soft, deep sound of the bell rang out over the mindless droning of the crowd, it felt golden, it was a pleasant sound.
Then suddenly, as if in answer to the pure tone, a ripping, shattering boom broke the air. It was the sound of an explosion, like a shell going off or a grenade. It seemed as if the earth shook with its impact and suddenly the street was a sea of confusion and fear as dust and debris began to float over from the next block. Shaking Nagi from my jacket Ran and I, without hesitation, turned and sped through the crowd towards the source of the explosion. The locals seemed to make way for us, letting the GIs through. Letting us do the dirty work.
As we rounded the corner of the block we were both choked by the dust in the air. It was so thick that we could barely see anything but somehow we both knew.
"It's Willy's," Ran grated as we made our way through the unnatural haze. Just hearing him say it made my heart sink. My stomach twisted with sick anticipation and anger. If he was right, and I knew he was, US soldiers would have been in the explosion. There was no way it could have been a coincidence that today was leave day and that the explosion had occurred in an establishment that would have occupied by mainly American GIs.
We were halfway down the street and just coming into earshot of all the shouts of anger and screams of pain when the second explosion went off.
* * * * * *
This is where things get a little hazy in my memory. This is the jumping off point. If I go there, if I remember Willy Ng's that day, then there will be nothing left to keep me from remembering everything else. It wasn't so bad. The first part of Nam. There were just those moments, those defining memories that made the not so bad times as bad as the rest.
I stand up abruptly, and teeter as blood rushes to my brain. No, I'm not going to go there. Not now, not ever. I need to get back to work, I need to stop this stupid train of thought. It won't do me any good. I check the bandage on my hand one more time before I push out of the tiny employee bathroom and back into the store's back room. Banzai lifts his head and whimpers inquisitively as I walk past him and out into the store proper. The swinging door makes a whooshing sound as I step out into the fluorescent lit grocery store. The white tiles reflect the light. They're always so clean.
My shoes make a soft tapping sound on their polished surfaces as I walk as steadily as I can towards my counter. I check the till before flipping on the light above the register to let customers know I'm open. What customers? The store is a dead zone, there doesn't seem to be a single soul in sight. The soft, jazz music that Mary keeps on in the background fills my ears, its lilting, uneven rhythms doing nothing to soothe my aching head. Crap I hate this place.
"Hey, Ken, you want some gum?"
I turn towards the voice. I hadn't even realized that I took the register next to Pat's. She smiles at me in a way that I'm sure she believes is charming. It just creeps me out. I shake my head. "Naw, I'm fine, Patricia."
I turn my back on her and try to concentrate on making my mind a complete blank. Staring at the Pez dispensers seems to do the trick. If I just keep on staring...
"Hey, Ken?" the voice is softer, but no less irritating. I whirl around realizing that it is closer than it was before. Patricia is leaning on the end of my counter, where the groceries are supposed to be bagged. She seems to be doing her best to squash all of her cleavage up and into my line of sight. I close my eyes and sigh.
"What now?" I snap half heartedly.
"You don't like me very much, huh?" she says, trying to cram as much despondency into her voice as she can.
I roll my eyes and turn away a little. Before I can say anything she decided to go on.
"I'm not pretty enough, am I?"
Oh God. Women. "Pat," I snap, my patience running out, "I'm sure that you are very pretty. Look, you're very sweet and I like you just fine as a person. But you're not my type, not in that way. I'm sorry, I'm just not interested."
She stands up straight and rolls her eyes. "I don't get men at all. I swear you all just piss us off on purpose. The ones you don't want are all over you and the ones you do couldn't care less. I mean, 'not your type?' Oh c'mon, that is such a lame excuse. So what is your type then, Ken?" she snaps huffily.
"I like redheads," I say before I even know what I'm doing. As soon as I've said it I bite my own tongue. Why did I say that? I'll start thinking about him again.
She stands there and looks at me and then gives a huffy little laugh. "Redheads?! Oh, that is so ghosh," she fumes and then stomps back to her counter. I hear her slam the till shut. I really don't think throwing temper tantrums at work is acceptable. I keep this thought to myself.
But she goes on. "Speaking of ghosh, there was a drifter in town today, I passed him on my way to work. I think he was a vet. I don't understand why so many Vietnam veterans are bums! They creep me out, especially the drifters. It's like, Jesus, just get a fucking job! They just wander around, they don't bathe, with their packs and their old army coats and their sewn on American flags. I hope he gets picked up and tossed in jail or escorted out of town. I hate them! They should all just be rounded up and... I don't know forced to get jobs or something. Put on work farms."
I've never had the impulse to rip someone's voice box out before. It's kind of a rush. I turn my head to glare at her over my shoulder. "Shut up, you stupid bitch," I growled. "You have no idea what you are talking about."
Patricia looks startled and then covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh, I didn't mean you, Ken. No way, I mean you've made something of your life after the war. You have a job and a house and stuff. I just mean the bums who don't move on. Don't people realize they can't live in the past forever. You're not like them."
My eyes narrow. "I'm just lucky. Try being addicted to morphine that was fed to you by your own nation, try being hated and protested by the very people you went though hell to protect, and try suffering through a montage of memories and disorders you'd rather be able to leave behind every day and then tell me how much you feel like being a productive member of society," I growl.
She narrows her eyes and flips her deathly straight hair, turning back to her cash register. "I was just saying. You don't have to jump down my throat."
I snort and turn away. I notice a customer making his way towards me. He has only one thing in his hand. I don't pay much attention to it until he plops it down on the counter with a rather squishy splatting sound.
The package of hamburger makes it's way down the conveyor belt, and as it draws nearer my eyes become fixated. Little rivulets of blood seep through the sides of the packaging, creating small pools. The chunk of destroyed flesh just sits there, stewing in its own juices. It is horrifying, just the sight of it. It threatens to pull me back, to suck me back into the void.
"Are you going to ring me up or just stare at my hamburger?" the old man asks, pulling me out of my consuming funk.
Shaking my head I look up and smile at him as best I can. "Sorry, sir. Would you like a bag?"
"Plastic is fine," he grunts.
I open the bag and reach for the package of hamburger. I'm going to have to clean that mess up... As my fingers close around the plastic wrapped meat I can feel the cold rivulets of juice run slowly onto my hand and down my wrist. My fingers squish against the forgiving flesh and the sensation sends a wave of horrid nausea through my body. My head swims, I wish to God that I had another pill with me. I can feel my chest begin to constrict and I drop the package, the squelching sound it makes and the small splatter of liquid it causes send me over the edge.
-Momma... Ken, I.. I wanna go home...-
Clutching my stomach and covering my mouth I fight back the overwhelming urge I have to vomit I fall back, sinking down behind the counter. The customer is forgotten, but even so I can hear voices calling to me, reprimanding me, questioning. I can't respond. I'm going under again. No... I don't need this!
* * * * * *
My world turned into a blur of screaming, sweating, running people. The entire front of the bar had been blown out, tables and chairs lay broken in the street, the force of the explosions throwing them from the bar. Shattered glass littered the ground, and one man ran frantically before me, screaming as a large sliver of wood stuck out from his arm. The air was thick with dust and dirt and choked my lungs as I ran forward. Everywhere there were people lying, bleeding, screaming, crying. It was worse than my first out. Everything was hazy, I couldn't focus. Nonetheless I found that I had thrown myself into the remains of the building and my world became a blur of bloody faces and bodies passing through my hand as I became entangled in the impromptu rescue efforts.
I was aware of the fact that Ran was working beside me, yelling, barking at other soldiers, helping to carry the bloodied out into the light. Sweat slid from my brow, blinding me. At one point I remember scrubbing at my face to try and clear my vision, and saw that my hands were covered in blood. Now my face was too. I could smell it on me, feel it drying to my skin in sticky streaks. I didn't care. I just went on, looking for more people, trying to calm them, stepping over the pieces of bodies that no longer were worth my time. I remember seeing legs, arms, pieces of hands, gore, blood, everything strew around. At the time it didn't faze me. I wouldn't think of it until later, and when it all finally sunk in I woke at night, screaming. I still do.
As I helped an unknown soldier carry a Vietnamese man who's arm was missing out into the street, where medics has finally started to gather and the dull thwacking of chopper lifts could finally be heard, I caught sight of Ran trying to comfort another soldier. It was Swanny. He was sobbing hysterically, clutching his arm. There was a huge gash on his forehead, blood streaking his face. I ran to them, wanting to help my friend.
Swanny was trying to say something to Ran, he pointed, hand shaking back into the debris. "We... we were in the back... he was... I don't know... The second explosion... I - we were... Oh God! There are pieces of him on me! He's in my hair! Ahhh!!" he screamed hugging himself and clawing at his head. Swanny would enter intensive therapy after trying to commit suicide less than a month later. He was eventually discharged, gone section eight.
I looked at Ran. He stared at me, his eyes wide and sad, painful.
"What? What's he talking about? Who was he with, where were they in the bar?" I asked quickly.
"Ken..." Ran said slowly.
"What? Swanny tell me!" I shouted. I wasn't going to leave anyone in there. Not if there was a chance they were still alive.
"Ken, stay here with Swanny, I'll go in," Ran said quietly.
"What? Why?" I demanded.
"Just do what I say, I don't want-" but he never got to tell me what he didn't want.
"Omi..." Swanny moaned quietly.
"Omi?! Omi was in there?!" I screamed, tearing away from them and vaulting back into the debris.
"Ken!" Ran called after me, but I paid him no attention. I headed for the back of the bar. If I had understood Swanny's words correctly that's where they had been. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! My head was buzzing; my heart was racing, panic threatening to overtake me. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.
I called the kid's name. "Omi!? Tsukiyono, answer me!" I cried. I thought I would scream until my voice left me. I pushed aside broken tables, and chairs, stepped over people who reached for me. I had to find him. I would not let myself entertain the thought that... No. I wouldn't even think it.
Finally, as I rounded the end of the bar and called his name again I heard an answer. It was very quiet. Just my name called in the all the choking dust. It was all I needed. There, almost under the stairs I could see something. I ran to him, nearly tripping over all the wreckage. I came up short upon seeing him, sighing in relief. He stared up at me blandly from the floor and even smiled weakly. His arm was draped across his abdomen, clutching it tightly.
"Omi," I breathed and fell to his side. I was so relieved to see him that I didn't even notice that his leg had been ripped to shreds again. Less than shreds. Bloody strips. "Let's get you out of here," I breathed, reaching for him. I tried to wrap my arms around his body and lift him, but he shrieked in pain and for the first time I noticed the puddle of coagulating blood and gore that encircled his small form.
He choked on his pain and then managed a thin chuckle. "I don't think... you should move me. I'll fall apart if you do."
"What...?" I asked slowly, my eyes filling with fear.
Slowly and with obvious effort he moved his arm away from his abdomen. I was almost sick right then and there. I gasped and nearly screamed, covering my mouth with my hand. He was holding himself together. He was right, if I moved him he would most likely no longer be one piece. I choked and started to cry, cradling my head.
"Ken... don't," he whispered. "Will you... hold me?"
I nodded dully, barely able to see, tears streaking down my face, a heartbreaking wail escaping my lips. I took his head and put it in my lap, kneeling beside him, running my hand through his hair. I sat there and cried, my tears falling onto his pale, cold face.
"Ken, I'm sorry... I wanted to tell you... that... that I-," he forced the words to come and I shook my head begging him to be silent. "I never got to hear..."
Then suddenly his eyes fixed on me with such fear and understanding that I felt myself suck back my own tears. "I wanna go home..." he whispered. Then he sobbed, crying because he knew he was never going to go home again. He was afraid to die, and I didn't blame him. I was afraid to let him die. I didn't know what would happen. His tears came fast and left smeary streams through the blood on his face. "Ken. please... I just wanna go home.. Take me home... momma where are you?"
The last cry was frantic and strained and it sent shivers up my spine. Omi was only a boy, just a child, some mother's son. We were all still children. We had no business here. No business at war.
"Momma... please... I wanna go home," he whispered once again and then he choked and spasmed in my arms. His eyes grew wide with terror and a burbling sound came from his throat. He jerked and spasmed one last time and then vomited up what seemed to be all the blood left in his body. It bubbled out of his throat and overflowed like a black flood. Horror filled my body at the sight; it was all I could do to keep myself from screaming and leaving him there to die alone. I closed my eyes and felt the remnants of the blood wash over my hands and arms. When I opened them again he was gone, his eyes empty and staring into space.
My tears returned and I screamed his name, calling to him, shaking him, begging him to come back. Of course he would not. I clutched his blood soaked body to mine, sobbing hysterically, shaking, cursing.
"No! Omi, God no! Don't leave me in this hell hole all alone! You're supposed to go home in a few days, you can't do this!" I cried, rocking his body back and forth. Again and again I had to reaffirm my grip on him as the blood slickened and thickened in the air.
At some point Ran came to me, calling my name, and knelt beside me. I couldn't look at him, I hated myself, I hated him, I hated everything. I could only cry and call for Omi. He reached out and touched my arm.
"Ken... please don't do this," he called. "Don't lose yourself here."
I ignored him. I clutched the swiftly cooling body of the only friend I had left in the world, the only person who still cared to love me, and wished I could just go with him.
Ran stayed beside me, speaking to me, but I didn't hear his words. He touched me gently, trying to get me to leave Omi's side. I didn't. I waited. Eventually more men came. They were taking all the bodies away. They wanted to take Omi, but I wasn't ready to let him go. They tried to pry my arms away, grumbling and cursing, hissing about 'section eight.' Finally Ran looped his arms under mine and pulled me away as the other men took Omi's body. It did fall apart and I cried out, pulling against Ran, but he was too strong. He held my back against his body. I struggled in vain until the soldier who took Omi away disappeared with his body, and then with nothing left to fight for all my strength drained away and I sank towards the floor with a heartbroken wail.
Ran let me slip to the floor and I knelt there, shaking, crying in silence, my head and shoulders collapsed inward. He came to kneel before me and lifted my blood and tear stained face. "Ken, please, don't let this destroy you," he hissed. The pain and sadness in his eyes tore me even more apart and the only thing I could do was collapse. And so I did. With a final sob I fell forward and he caught me, holding me against his warm body, not caring if I covered him with my tears or Omi's blood. I clutched at him and let my heart break again and again as he held me in his arms. At the time I did not think that his warmth could comfort me. But now I can only wonder what I would have been like if he had not been there, if he had not cared for me. His arms tightened around me and he let my grief take me away. He whispered to me, but I never knew what he said. It was the first time Ran ever held me like that. And in the times to come, the warm circle of his arms was perhaps the only thing that saved me.
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Afterthoughts: Oh my God! I killed Omi! I'm such a bastard! Eh. hehehe. Sorry for any now weeping Omi fans, I know it sucks to kill a main character, but it was necessary. At least in my mind it was. I hope the scene was adequately moving, I tried. You may hate me know... but I promise you'll love me soon!
Speaking of which... about this no more NC-17 stories thing. Yeah. I signed the petition, but who the hell knows what's gonna happen? I was thinking about editing my two NC-17 ('Unfortunate Events' and 'Saga Begins') stories so they could stay up, but Lilas told me not to do that. But I dunno, I think I still might. If I decide to and anybody wants an -unedited- copy (or just a copy of anything in general) let me know. I'll be happy to send them out. Am I being too egotistical by assuming anybody cares? Well let me know what you think... or even if you care at all.
Marty };P
Comments: Ok *sighs* I finally got this chapter done. It kinda took a bit out of me. I think you'll see why, and if not then maybe I was just sleep deprived. Hehe. I hope you enjoy it. I mean... what would be the point of my writing it if you didn't? Or something like that. And thank you, Koneko Bombay, for pointing out my logistical time line error in the last chapter about when Omi was leaving. I went back and fixed it. It should be him leaving in three weeks. *whew* And that was really important too, you'll see why... *cackles* Anyway, please review when you are done, if you don't I'll be sad. *sniffles*. Read on.
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That first day away from base, alone with Ran in that stifling, unventilated room with strained foreign, uncomprehending faces staring blandly back at me, was longer than I ever could have imagined. We left base around six o'clock. It took us a lot longer to get to Sang Cho-na in the transport than it had that night we stole the Lt. Commander's Jeep. The memory still made me cringe. It just so happened that day was an official leave day, so the transport was already crammed full even so early in the morning. It made sense, I guess. The boys had a lot of abstinence to make up for. But knowing why the back of the transport was crammed and unbearably stuffy didn't make it any easier to stand. At least Ran and I got to sit by the opening, we were first out after all. We were official. That's almost laughable.
We were dumped on the side of the road that ran along the river. It had been raining the night before and the dirt road was churned to a thick mud which sucked at the bottom of our military issue boots. We each carried a pack full of 'teaching materials' left behind by the Takatori Communications crowd. We watched as the transport truck pulled up the road, splattering mud on a few lone pedestrians. They hardly seemed to notice. I remember reflecting for a moment on the dispositions of these people. I would notice later through the eyes of my pupils what a weary, dejected people they were. To us, the American soldiers, Vietnam was just a place where we fought a war. To the people who lived there it was their home. I could walk away from Nam, win or lose, but they were there forever to live with the outcome. Nagi would teach me that.
When the truck was out of sight Fujimiya and I turned without a word and stepped off the road, cutting down a steep slope towards the foot path that led to the house by the river. As we walked he lit a cigarette, letting it hang delicately between his long fingers. There was something about Ran's hands that fascinated me. I don't know if it was their flawless appearance or the fact that every time I saw them I thought of their gentle pressure on my spine or their strong reassurance as they held me up, but I was in love with Ran Fujimiya's hands. Hell, I was beginning to think I might be in love with Ran Fujimiya.
I had sighed then, annoyed and frustrated by my mind's tendency to return to tired topics. Tired to me at least who lived with them day in and day out. He looked at me sharply and raised one thin eyebrow.
"Not looking forward to this, huh?" he said quietly.
I shrugged, let him believe what he wanted to. "Sure," I agreed quietly.
"Hn." He took a drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke into the gray morning sky.
Class commenced at eight o'clock. We, as the teachers were expected to be there by seven in order to have some 'prep time'. I wasn't exactly sure what Fujimiya and I were going to have to prep, hell I wasn't even sure if we had a game plan. I guess that's what the first hour was for. The Class would run until noon, four hours, and then there was the post hour that Ran and I had to stick around for to answer questions and. stare at the walls. After that we were to contact base, there was a two way radio jammed into the corner of the tiny room, to find out where and when our ride was coming. Any extra time was ours, I guess. Funny, it didn't seem all that bad when it got spelled out like that.
I dropped my pack by the cracked chalkboard and looked around the filthy room despondently. I could already tell that the clouds were going to burn off, which meant it was going to be sweltering in here by noon. Ran dropped his bag next to mine and finished off his cigarette before flicking the butt into the far corner and fixing me with his eyes. I looked up to meet them and then looked away again. His eyes always made me gun-shy.
"So, now what?" I asked under my breath.
I sensed more that saw him shrug. He grumbled something that I didn't catch so I turned my head. He was peering at the far door, attention fixed on some point.
"What are you looking at?" I asked coming to stand beside him.
He shrugged. "Someone just walked behind that shrub."
"Just some farmer taking a piss," I answered, squinting.
"Maybe. Go check it out."
I stared at him incredulously. "Why me?" I scoffed.
He looked at me sharply and this time I could not pull my eyes away. "Would you rather I go and leave you to make up a lesson plan?"
I narrowed my eyes and grumbled. "Fine. I'll go look."
It was actually a bit of a relief to get out of that grubby little lean to. The air was clean from the past night's rain and that early in the morning it was still cool enough to be pleasant. So I left Ran to do the planning and jogged down the slope towards the river and the shrub where 'somebody' had walked. I remember thinking that Ran was an idiot for caring that there was somebody there. It was probably one of the students who got there early and was too shy, or too afraid, to face us alone so early before class. Oh well, might as well humor him. Like I said, it got me out of that room.
As I rounded the corner of the bush there was a startled scrambling and a muffled cry as I nearly stepped on the small form squatting in the damp grass. A pair of huge, frightened brown eyes looked up at me, choppy dark hair falling erratically before them. I realized in an instant that I knew this boy, even though the last time I had seen him it was close to pitch black. I recognized those dazed eyes as the same ones I had seen caught in the headlights of the Commander's Jeep.
As I stood there looking down at him, he seemed to swallow half his tongue and started to scramble away from me, trying to crabwalk across the slippery grass. He failed and fell back onto his elbows still staring up at me. Caught off guard, I just stood there staring at him staring at me. I remember Nagi, seeing him for the first time in daylight, as being a rather scrawny, sickly looking Vietnamese kid. His eyes were too large for his face, making him appear perversely innocent, and terminally startled. His hair was dark and fell into his eyes, making him appear even more cowed. He kept his eyes turned away from people unless addressed specifically. He seemed haunted. And I knew that there were things Nagi had seen that no child should have to see. If I had to guess I would have said he was fifteen or sixteen, but it was hard to tell.
When my wits finally returned I flashed him a friendly smile and hunkered down beside him. I held out my hand, leaning forward slightly. As I did so my dog tags swung out from the open front of my jacket and clinked together. His eyes unconsciously swiveled, fixed upon the glinting metal. He stared at them with wide, fascinated eyes until I finally drew him back.
"Nagi?" I said softly. "That's you name, right?" His head snapped up, and he stared at me intently. I smiled again and pushed my hand forward, reasserting its intent. He nodded dully, casting his eyes down, looking away from me. "I'm Ken. I won't bite, take my hand."
He shied away a little more and then tentatively reached across his body to take my hand. His grip was limp and clammy. He seemed nervous, not that I could blame him. He probably didn't remember me from Schuldich. Or from a hole in the ground for that matter.
"Do you remember me?" I asked slowly.
He had looked at me blankly for a few moments, his dark eyes reflecting the light. He pulled his hand away from mind before he finally spoke. "Yes. I kicked your face... you.....," here he paused as if searching for a word, "lifted me. Yes, I think so."
I chuckled. "'Carried' is what you wanted to say. 'Lifted' works, but.....," I shook my head. He nodded and looked away again. He glanced at the river and then to the far side of the hedge row we were squatting behind. I wondered what he was looking for. Maybe just trying to avoid seeing me.
"How is your shoulder?" I asked, touching his arm gently.
This time he did not bother to look up again. "It heals. The... American doctors were kind."
I sat down beside him and sighed. He was surprised by my movement, flashing me with those malnutritioned eyes again. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you. Those soldiers had no excuse for what they did. They were... drunk, but that's still no excuse. I hope you realize that not all GIs are like them."
"It does not matter what 'all GIs' are like. Perhaps you are not evil people... but together... you destroy everything. Vietnam is a country, it is not a war. But... it is a truth of all people... when they are all at once there is no conscience. Between them what is of more strength is correct," he said quietly, still looking away. I could hear the anger in his voice.
I looked down towards the river. "'Might makes right.' That's what you are trying to say. I guess when we get together it's easiest to just go with the flow."
He nodded. "Hmm. You... acted apart for my goodness. So I will thank you."
I chuckled. He had just contradicted himself, I think. Or maybe I just wasn't understanding his point in the first place. "You don't make much sense, kid."
"Nothing does."
I laughed and got up, brushing at my pants. I turned and held my hand out to him again to help him up. He looked at me quizzically. "Are you coming to class? That's why you're here right?"
He blinked. "Class..?"
"The English class. One of my colleagues and I are teaching it. Aren't you down here to come? You should, I think we could use the help from someone who knows both languages already," I laughed, smiling at him.
He took my hand and I pulled him up. I was surprised at how short he was. He seemed taller that he actually was, but that was probably due to the thinness of his frame. He tried to pull his hand away but I held it firmly in my grasp. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Just come for today at least."
He looked like he was going to panic. He looked around worriedly as if someone might be watching. He struck me as odd. "Bu-but... I have to... I have things I should be doing."
"Like sitting behind a bush? Why are you down here if not to come to the class?" I asked in all innocence.
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. After a moment he looked down and his shoulders slumped, sagging as if under a great weight. "Alright," he said softly, "I will come. You are right, that must be why I am here."
He really didn't make any sense.
I led him up the hill. He lagged along behind me, arms across his chest, head down.
"Look who I found," I called to Ran as we entered the building. He was sitting at the small, makeshift desk shoved against the front wall. He looked up with bland eyes and fixed them on Nagi.
"Isn't that the Gook brat Schuldich shot?" he said bluntly.
"Your powers of tact and grace never cease to amaze me Fujimiya," I sighed sarcastically.
"Well, isn't it?"
"In a word, yes. Nagi, remember?"
Ran nodded and then peered intently at the young Vietnamese boy. "Are you coming to the class?"
Nagi did not meet his eyes, only stared at his hands. "Ken has asked me to."
"It was him behind the bush," I interjected.
"Obviously," Ran replied.
So the morning went. Slowly as it drew closer to eight o'clock more tentative and in some cases ragged individuals shuffled down the dirt path to the makeshift school house. I noted that several of them were prostitutes, they probably figured that being able to say more than 'me love you long time' would boost business. Personally I don't think the soldiers gave a damn. As they entered some of them threw wary glances at Ran and me, and they all talked and whispered amongst themselves. Some greeted Nagi as they came in and talked to him behind their hands. I wondered why they bothered since they knew perfectly well that neither Ran nor I could understand Vietnamese. Then again... maybe the didn't know this. Maybe they assumed that the army would have been smart enough to assign teachers who at least have some understanding of their language. I found that the army was often given more credit that it deserved.
With the help of Nagi we managed to muddle through that first morning. I tried to scribble down bastardized English versions of everyone's names as we went around the room. I would later find this to be of little use since the attendance varied so much the class was hardly ever the exact same group of people. I divided the class into two sections: those who could speak no English and those who could speak at least some English. For the first few weeks we asked the speakers to help us get the non speakers caught up. Well... this is what I was doing. Ran was grunting and scrawling the alphabet in ugly block letters on the cracked black board. I paused and asked him if he thought it was necessary to do so. An argument about whether or not we were actually supposed to be teaching them to read and write as well or just to speak ensued. Ran said that reading and writing was imperative and I argued that conversational English was the only really important matter at the time.
The entire class seemed amazed by our sudden outburst and watched us with fascinated expressions and we spat back and forth. Finally Nagi tugged at my sleeve and pointed out that class was going nowhere. I sheepishly apologized, breaking off the argument. Ran on the other hand grumbled and went back to scrawling.
By the end of the day I felt as if I had accomplished nothing. Blank faces and confusion were all that met my attempts to communicate and convey any knowledge. I was beginning to wonder if I should have actually paid attention to the Takatoris.
When the room had emptied out just shortly after noon, no one except a couple prostitutes had bothered to hang around to ask question, and their questions hadn't been about English. I noticed that Nagi was lingering near the desk where Ran was making notes to himself. What ever happened to his 'lesson plan' anyway? Sighing I walked up beside the small boy and leaned against the desk. "Thanks for your help."
He nodded his head slowly and then opened his mouth, "It was not any bother."
"Will you be back again on Wednesday?" I asked hopefully.
He looked at me and then bit his lip. "Perhaps. I will see."
"We'd really appreciate it, Nagi," I said. "It's like trying to herd cats in here."
He stifled a giggle. "I think you are not used to teaching. It will get easier, I think."
"I hope so," I sighed. "Hey, Ran, call base and see what time the transport is coming tonight."
He looked up. "It won't be until late. It's a leave day, so the boys will want to be out for as long as possible."
"Well call anyway. I mean what are we going to do until then? Just spend the day in town?"
He shrugged. "I guess. Or stay here. Pick your poison."
I grumbled. "Town. At least we can get something to drink."
I remember Nagi's head whipping around as I said this. His eyes looked panicked and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He took a few quavering breathes and then looked away again. I looked at him curiously.
"What was that about?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Nothing... only... maybe you should just stay here. What if one of the students comes back and has a question?"
Ran snorted. "That's not our problem anymore. Class is over."
Callous as it may seem I tended to agree. I told Nagi as much. He sighed and shrugged.
Ran got up and went to call the base, turning the dials on the two way radio until he got a clear signal. I remember wondering at how intently Nagi watched him, his large eyes darting and catching every movement Ran made. There was something about the kid... he was odd.
"They aren't coming until nine," Ran reported after he's clicked off the radio. "We'll have to wait around until then."
I sighed. Staying in this hole was not my idea of a good time, neither was drinking and whoring for that matter, which seriously limited my recreational opportunities in Sang Cho-na. "Well, let's head towards town, this place is too depressing. And too hot," I added trying to fan myself with my hand.
Nagi twitched slightly and looked at me with those eyes of his. I looked back and smiled, a thought occurring to me. "Hey, kiddo, what do you say you come with us and we buy you a drink? Just to thank you for helping us out even after all the shit we've caused you."
He blanched, but then something flashed through his eyes and he took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Yes. I will do this."
I smiled. Ran grunted. We got our packs together, leaving most of the books behind, and left the tiny room.
It was about a quarter of a mile from the school post to the main part of the grubby little town. I spent most of the time trying to engage Nagi in conversation, asking him about his family, how he had learned English, etc... But he was distracted and only answered in short little sentences. He kept asking me what time it was. I told him that maybe a watch would be a better thank you gift than a drink. He didn't laugh. Ran spent the time smoking and doing a really wonderful job of not talking to anyone. Unfortunately I had been right about the clouds burning off. As we walked the high afternoon sun started frying brains. It was times like these that I cursed my dark haired ancestors.
"Which way is it, Fujimiya?" I asked as we paused at the crossing of two dirty streets. I was amazed by the jumble of people making their way around the city. I couldn't think of anything that these people could be doing in the town. Bicyclists sped their way up the streets, tall women in wide brimmed hats and traditional Vietnamese dress made their way between the buildings, groups of filthy children ran to and fro shouting to each other, and here and there were enlisted me making their way through the crowds, trying to enjoy their day off duty. It was a zoo. The heat, combined with all the pushing, shoving, sweating bodies created a rather unlovely smell. Oh, Vietnam, how lovely were thy shores.
"Which way is what?"
"Willy Ng's," I snapped. "Where else are we supposed to get a drink in this god forsaken place?"
"It's up that way. I'll lead."
And he did. Nagi and I followed behind him and I realized as we pushed through a crowd of people that he had grabbed a fistful of my jacket and was holding on as if for dear life. I looked down at him. "What are you doing?"
"Too many people. I don't want to have a separation occur," he cried above the noise of the street. I guess that made sense. Looking forward into the crowd I suddenly realized that I was in danger of getting separated from Ran. His red head bobbed conspicuously above the crowd of dark hair, but it seemed as if the crowd was intent on filling up the gap between us, closing us off from each other.
And then, as Nagi tugged sharply on my jacket, crying, "This way, Ken," I lost sight of him all together.
"But Ran didn't turn this way!" I shouted back.
"We will catch up, I want to show you something!" he cried. At this point he was dragging me against the flow of people down a very narrow street.
"I don't want to lose him!" I cried, trying to pull away, but it was as if he had planted his feet.
"No, just come this way for a moment," he answered rather breathlessly. I wouldn't let him pull me any farther and he wouldn't let me pull him back the way we came so we stood there in a stale mate. The sea of people parted and flowed around us. All of a sudden there was a touch on my shoulder. I turned and there was Ran, looking at me curiously.
"What are you doing?"
"He pulled me this way," I said pointing at Nagi.
The young man scowled at Ran and tugged sharply on my sleeve. "I wanted to show -him- something. You can go ahead, we will catch up," he said in a very hard sounding voice.
Ran narrowed his eyes at the boy and shook his head. "Not a chance. I go where he goes."
I smiled. For some reason just hearing Ran say that was both funny and... meaningful.
Nagi grimaced but gave in. "I don't care. Only come on... what time is it?!" he asked suddenly, and then as if in answer the one o'clock bell chimed out from the mission tower. The soft, deep sound of the bell rang out over the mindless droning of the crowd, it felt golden, it was a pleasant sound.
Then suddenly, as if in answer to the pure tone, a ripping, shattering boom broke the air. It was the sound of an explosion, like a shell going off or a grenade. It seemed as if the earth shook with its impact and suddenly the street was a sea of confusion and fear as dust and debris began to float over from the next block. Shaking Nagi from my jacket Ran and I, without hesitation, turned and sped through the crowd towards the source of the explosion. The locals seemed to make way for us, letting the GIs through. Letting us do the dirty work.
As we rounded the corner of the block we were both choked by the dust in the air. It was so thick that we could barely see anything but somehow we both knew.
"It's Willy's," Ran grated as we made our way through the unnatural haze. Just hearing him say it made my heart sink. My stomach twisted with sick anticipation and anger. If he was right, and I knew he was, US soldiers would have been in the explosion. There was no way it could have been a coincidence that today was leave day and that the explosion had occurred in an establishment that would have occupied by mainly American GIs.
We were halfway down the street and just coming into earshot of all the shouts of anger and screams of pain when the second explosion went off.
* * * * * *
This is where things get a little hazy in my memory. This is the jumping off point. If I go there, if I remember Willy Ng's that day, then there will be nothing left to keep me from remembering everything else. It wasn't so bad. The first part of Nam. There were just those moments, those defining memories that made the not so bad times as bad as the rest.
I stand up abruptly, and teeter as blood rushes to my brain. No, I'm not going to go there. Not now, not ever. I need to get back to work, I need to stop this stupid train of thought. It won't do me any good. I check the bandage on my hand one more time before I push out of the tiny employee bathroom and back into the store's back room. Banzai lifts his head and whimpers inquisitively as I walk past him and out into the store proper. The swinging door makes a whooshing sound as I step out into the fluorescent lit grocery store. The white tiles reflect the light. They're always so clean.
My shoes make a soft tapping sound on their polished surfaces as I walk as steadily as I can towards my counter. I check the till before flipping on the light above the register to let customers know I'm open. What customers? The store is a dead zone, there doesn't seem to be a single soul in sight. The soft, jazz music that Mary keeps on in the background fills my ears, its lilting, uneven rhythms doing nothing to soothe my aching head. Crap I hate this place.
"Hey, Ken, you want some gum?"
I turn towards the voice. I hadn't even realized that I took the register next to Pat's. She smiles at me in a way that I'm sure she believes is charming. It just creeps me out. I shake my head. "Naw, I'm fine, Patricia."
I turn my back on her and try to concentrate on making my mind a complete blank. Staring at the Pez dispensers seems to do the trick. If I just keep on staring...
"Hey, Ken?" the voice is softer, but no less irritating. I whirl around realizing that it is closer than it was before. Patricia is leaning on the end of my counter, where the groceries are supposed to be bagged. She seems to be doing her best to squash all of her cleavage up and into my line of sight. I close my eyes and sigh.
"What now?" I snap half heartedly.
"You don't like me very much, huh?" she says, trying to cram as much despondency into her voice as she can.
I roll my eyes and turn away a little. Before I can say anything she decided to go on.
"I'm not pretty enough, am I?"
Oh God. Women. "Pat," I snap, my patience running out, "I'm sure that you are very pretty. Look, you're very sweet and I like you just fine as a person. But you're not my type, not in that way. I'm sorry, I'm just not interested."
She stands up straight and rolls her eyes. "I don't get men at all. I swear you all just piss us off on purpose. The ones you don't want are all over you and the ones you do couldn't care less. I mean, 'not your type?' Oh c'mon, that is such a lame excuse. So what is your type then, Ken?" she snaps huffily.
"I like redheads," I say before I even know what I'm doing. As soon as I've said it I bite my own tongue. Why did I say that? I'll start thinking about him again.
She stands there and looks at me and then gives a huffy little laugh. "Redheads?! Oh, that is so ghosh," she fumes and then stomps back to her counter. I hear her slam the till shut. I really don't think throwing temper tantrums at work is acceptable. I keep this thought to myself.
But she goes on. "Speaking of ghosh, there was a drifter in town today, I passed him on my way to work. I think he was a vet. I don't understand why so many Vietnam veterans are bums! They creep me out, especially the drifters. It's like, Jesus, just get a fucking job! They just wander around, they don't bathe, with their packs and their old army coats and their sewn on American flags. I hope he gets picked up and tossed in jail or escorted out of town. I hate them! They should all just be rounded up and... I don't know forced to get jobs or something. Put on work farms."
I've never had the impulse to rip someone's voice box out before. It's kind of a rush. I turn my head to glare at her over my shoulder. "Shut up, you stupid bitch," I growled. "You have no idea what you are talking about."
Patricia looks startled and then covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh, I didn't mean you, Ken. No way, I mean you've made something of your life after the war. You have a job and a house and stuff. I just mean the bums who don't move on. Don't people realize they can't live in the past forever. You're not like them."
My eyes narrow. "I'm just lucky. Try being addicted to morphine that was fed to you by your own nation, try being hated and protested by the very people you went though hell to protect, and try suffering through a montage of memories and disorders you'd rather be able to leave behind every day and then tell me how much you feel like being a productive member of society," I growl.
She narrows her eyes and flips her deathly straight hair, turning back to her cash register. "I was just saying. You don't have to jump down my throat."
I snort and turn away. I notice a customer making his way towards me. He has only one thing in his hand. I don't pay much attention to it until he plops it down on the counter with a rather squishy splatting sound.
The package of hamburger makes it's way down the conveyor belt, and as it draws nearer my eyes become fixated. Little rivulets of blood seep through the sides of the packaging, creating small pools. The chunk of destroyed flesh just sits there, stewing in its own juices. It is horrifying, just the sight of it. It threatens to pull me back, to suck me back into the void.
"Are you going to ring me up or just stare at my hamburger?" the old man asks, pulling me out of my consuming funk.
Shaking my head I look up and smile at him as best I can. "Sorry, sir. Would you like a bag?"
"Plastic is fine," he grunts.
I open the bag and reach for the package of hamburger. I'm going to have to clean that mess up... As my fingers close around the plastic wrapped meat I can feel the cold rivulets of juice run slowly onto my hand and down my wrist. My fingers squish against the forgiving flesh and the sensation sends a wave of horrid nausea through my body. My head swims, I wish to God that I had another pill with me. I can feel my chest begin to constrict and I drop the package, the squelching sound it makes and the small splatter of liquid it causes send me over the edge.
-Momma... Ken, I.. I wanna go home...-
Clutching my stomach and covering my mouth I fight back the overwhelming urge I have to vomit I fall back, sinking down behind the counter. The customer is forgotten, but even so I can hear voices calling to me, reprimanding me, questioning. I can't respond. I'm going under again. No... I don't need this!
* * * * * *
My world turned into a blur of screaming, sweating, running people. The entire front of the bar had been blown out, tables and chairs lay broken in the street, the force of the explosions throwing them from the bar. Shattered glass littered the ground, and one man ran frantically before me, screaming as a large sliver of wood stuck out from his arm. The air was thick with dust and dirt and choked my lungs as I ran forward. Everywhere there were people lying, bleeding, screaming, crying. It was worse than my first out. Everything was hazy, I couldn't focus. Nonetheless I found that I had thrown myself into the remains of the building and my world became a blur of bloody faces and bodies passing through my hand as I became entangled in the impromptu rescue efforts.
I was aware of the fact that Ran was working beside me, yelling, barking at other soldiers, helping to carry the bloodied out into the light. Sweat slid from my brow, blinding me. At one point I remember scrubbing at my face to try and clear my vision, and saw that my hands were covered in blood. Now my face was too. I could smell it on me, feel it drying to my skin in sticky streaks. I didn't care. I just went on, looking for more people, trying to calm them, stepping over the pieces of bodies that no longer were worth my time. I remember seeing legs, arms, pieces of hands, gore, blood, everything strew around. At the time it didn't faze me. I wouldn't think of it until later, and when it all finally sunk in I woke at night, screaming. I still do.
As I helped an unknown soldier carry a Vietnamese man who's arm was missing out into the street, where medics has finally started to gather and the dull thwacking of chopper lifts could finally be heard, I caught sight of Ran trying to comfort another soldier. It was Swanny. He was sobbing hysterically, clutching his arm. There was a huge gash on his forehead, blood streaking his face. I ran to them, wanting to help my friend.
Swanny was trying to say something to Ran, he pointed, hand shaking back into the debris. "We... we were in the back... he was... I don't know... The second explosion... I - we were... Oh God! There are pieces of him on me! He's in my hair! Ahhh!!" he screamed hugging himself and clawing at his head. Swanny would enter intensive therapy after trying to commit suicide less than a month later. He was eventually discharged, gone section eight.
I looked at Ran. He stared at me, his eyes wide and sad, painful.
"What? What's he talking about? Who was he with, where were they in the bar?" I asked quickly.
"Ken..." Ran said slowly.
"What? Swanny tell me!" I shouted. I wasn't going to leave anyone in there. Not if there was a chance they were still alive.
"Ken, stay here with Swanny, I'll go in," Ran said quietly.
"What? Why?" I demanded.
"Just do what I say, I don't want-" but he never got to tell me what he didn't want.
"Omi..." Swanny moaned quietly.
"Omi?! Omi was in there?!" I screamed, tearing away from them and vaulting back into the debris.
"Ken!" Ran called after me, but I paid him no attention. I headed for the back of the bar. If I had understood Swanny's words correctly that's where they had been. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! My head was buzzing; my heart was racing, panic threatening to overtake me. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.
I called the kid's name. "Omi!? Tsukiyono, answer me!" I cried. I thought I would scream until my voice left me. I pushed aside broken tables, and chairs, stepped over people who reached for me. I had to find him. I would not let myself entertain the thought that... No. I wouldn't even think it.
Finally, as I rounded the end of the bar and called his name again I heard an answer. It was very quiet. Just my name called in the all the choking dust. It was all I needed. There, almost under the stairs I could see something. I ran to him, nearly tripping over all the wreckage. I came up short upon seeing him, sighing in relief. He stared up at me blandly from the floor and even smiled weakly. His arm was draped across his abdomen, clutching it tightly.
"Omi," I breathed and fell to his side. I was so relieved to see him that I didn't even notice that his leg had been ripped to shreds again. Less than shreds. Bloody strips. "Let's get you out of here," I breathed, reaching for him. I tried to wrap my arms around his body and lift him, but he shrieked in pain and for the first time I noticed the puddle of coagulating blood and gore that encircled his small form.
He choked on his pain and then managed a thin chuckle. "I don't think... you should move me. I'll fall apart if you do."
"What...?" I asked slowly, my eyes filling with fear.
Slowly and with obvious effort he moved his arm away from his abdomen. I was almost sick right then and there. I gasped and nearly screamed, covering my mouth with my hand. He was holding himself together. He was right, if I moved him he would most likely no longer be one piece. I choked and started to cry, cradling my head.
"Ken... don't," he whispered. "Will you... hold me?"
I nodded dully, barely able to see, tears streaking down my face, a heartbreaking wail escaping my lips. I took his head and put it in my lap, kneeling beside him, running my hand through his hair. I sat there and cried, my tears falling onto his pale, cold face.
"Ken, I'm sorry... I wanted to tell you... that... that I-," he forced the words to come and I shook my head begging him to be silent. "I never got to hear..."
Then suddenly his eyes fixed on me with such fear and understanding that I felt myself suck back my own tears. "I wanna go home..." he whispered. Then he sobbed, crying because he knew he was never going to go home again. He was afraid to die, and I didn't blame him. I was afraid to let him die. I didn't know what would happen. His tears came fast and left smeary streams through the blood on his face. "Ken. please... I just wanna go home.. Take me home... momma where are you?"
The last cry was frantic and strained and it sent shivers up my spine. Omi was only a boy, just a child, some mother's son. We were all still children. We had no business here. No business at war.
"Momma... please... I wanna go home," he whispered once again and then he choked and spasmed in my arms. His eyes grew wide with terror and a burbling sound came from his throat. He jerked and spasmed one last time and then vomited up what seemed to be all the blood left in his body. It bubbled out of his throat and overflowed like a black flood. Horror filled my body at the sight; it was all I could do to keep myself from screaming and leaving him there to die alone. I closed my eyes and felt the remnants of the blood wash over my hands and arms. When I opened them again he was gone, his eyes empty and staring into space.
My tears returned and I screamed his name, calling to him, shaking him, begging him to come back. Of course he would not. I clutched his blood soaked body to mine, sobbing hysterically, shaking, cursing.
"No! Omi, God no! Don't leave me in this hell hole all alone! You're supposed to go home in a few days, you can't do this!" I cried, rocking his body back and forth. Again and again I had to reaffirm my grip on him as the blood slickened and thickened in the air.
At some point Ran came to me, calling my name, and knelt beside me. I couldn't look at him, I hated myself, I hated him, I hated everything. I could only cry and call for Omi. He reached out and touched my arm.
"Ken... please don't do this," he called. "Don't lose yourself here."
I ignored him. I clutched the swiftly cooling body of the only friend I had left in the world, the only person who still cared to love me, and wished I could just go with him.
Ran stayed beside me, speaking to me, but I didn't hear his words. He touched me gently, trying to get me to leave Omi's side. I didn't. I waited. Eventually more men came. They were taking all the bodies away. They wanted to take Omi, but I wasn't ready to let him go. They tried to pry my arms away, grumbling and cursing, hissing about 'section eight.' Finally Ran looped his arms under mine and pulled me away as the other men took Omi's body. It did fall apart and I cried out, pulling against Ran, but he was too strong. He held my back against his body. I struggled in vain until the soldier who took Omi away disappeared with his body, and then with nothing left to fight for all my strength drained away and I sank towards the floor with a heartbroken wail.
Ran let me slip to the floor and I knelt there, shaking, crying in silence, my head and shoulders collapsed inward. He came to kneel before me and lifted my blood and tear stained face. "Ken, please, don't let this destroy you," he hissed. The pain and sadness in his eyes tore me even more apart and the only thing I could do was collapse. And so I did. With a final sob I fell forward and he caught me, holding me against his warm body, not caring if I covered him with my tears or Omi's blood. I clutched at him and let my heart break again and again as he held me in his arms. At the time I did not think that his warmth could comfort me. But now I can only wonder what I would have been like if he had not been there, if he had not cared for me. His arms tightened around me and he let my grief take me away. He whispered to me, but I never knew what he said. It was the first time Ran ever held me like that. And in the times to come, the warm circle of his arms was perhaps the only thing that saved me.
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Afterthoughts: Oh my God! I killed Omi! I'm such a bastard! Eh. hehehe. Sorry for any now weeping Omi fans, I know it sucks to kill a main character, but it was necessary. At least in my mind it was. I hope the scene was adequately moving, I tried. You may hate me know... but I promise you'll love me soon!
Speaking of which... about this no more NC-17 stories thing. Yeah. I signed the petition, but who the hell knows what's gonna happen? I was thinking about editing my two NC-17 ('Unfortunate Events' and 'Saga Begins') stories so they could stay up, but Lilas told me not to do that. But I dunno, I think I still might. If I decide to and anybody wants an -unedited- copy (or just a copy of anything in general) let me know. I'll be happy to send them out. Am I being too egotistical by assuming anybody cares? Well let me know what you think... or even if you care at all.
Marty };P