THE SOLDIER: A Vietnam War Era Novel

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  * * *

  “Hey,” three-year-old Vera said to Andrea. “You talk Australian like my mom.”

  “Yea, she does,” her twin sister Karen said.

  They gathered around the dining room table at Mary and Michael’s Boston home while Seth ran off to the play room with the twin girls.

  “Back in Oz,” Andrea asked, “you mentioned a brother.”

  “My folks,” Michael said while shaking his head, “knew my brother drank himself to death. They learned a few days before I left for Nam. They worried about how I’d react so they didn’t tell me. I found out when I came home. I was a basket case for a number of days but imagine how relived my folks were when I came home, well, came home in good shape.”

  “No problems?” Brian asked.

  Michael thought for a while, then said, “You remember, I was a combat medic?”

  Brian nodded.

  “I had this nightmare, just after I came home and then a few months later. First dream, I was at the scene of a plane wreck. Lots of injured but I didn’t know enough to help them. Second dream nearly identical but two buses collided resulting in many casualties. Same feeling of not knowing.”

  “Ever experience that feeling in Vietnam?”

  “Heck yes. The whole damn year.”

  The two men walked to the family room bar to prepare drinks.

  The men returned and each handed a drink to their partner. Mary turned to Andrea. “I owe you a lifetime of happiness,” she said. “If you hadn’t come with me to the dance club, I wouldn’t have met Michael. We’re madly in love, and work together like a bow and fiddle.”

  Andrea smiled. “I’m so happy for you…for the four of you.” She hugged her friend. “You’ve been a good and faithful friend since childhood.”

  “Do you see a future with Brian?”

  Although listening to Michael, Brian was surprised to hear Andrea reply, “Not now. I’ll tell you later.”

  When they said goodbye to their Boston friends, Mary seemed distraught at a level which surprised Brian.

  * * *

  Upon returning to Celina, and standing in his office, Brian noted Andrea seemed sullen, almost morose. “Andrea, we seem to be spending less time talking. It should be the opposite.” They wrapped their arms around each other but then she pushed him away. She went to the guest room then returned carrying three expanding folders, laden with papers. With tears welling up, she stood in front of him while he sat at his desk. She told him, “Brian, you suffered, and indeed still suffer, from your time as a soldier. You don’t know how difficult it is to bring more pain into your life. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here. Some months ago, I was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. I haven’t got long to live. Like I feared in Oz…” Andrea stared at the floor then sighed, looked at him then continued, “My body could detect the end of the road approaching but my mind could only sense…not fully comprehend…our time would be limited.”

  His jaw dropped. “Andrea…”

  Brian took a moment to compose himself, cleared his throat and said, “We have amazing specialists in Dallas and Houston.”

  “These are my records and scans. As it happens, I’m losing my fine motor skills and feel numbness at times, sharp pain at others.” She handed him the folders, then plopped down on a couch.

  He looked through them. “I’ll make some calls. If nothing else, could be we can slow things down.”

  “No.”

  “Won’t hurt to see if some medication or procedure…”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll go into hospice care. The thought of you having to feed me like a baby, change my diapers. Unacceptable.”

  “Andrea…”

  The Aussie lady shook her head, said with determination, “Don’t want you, or Seth, to remember me like that.”

  “As you wish.” After spending the next hour reviewing her records, and finding it difficult to remain composed, he said, “I’d like you to see a friend of mine. I want him to review all this.”

  She nodded. “At the back of the third folder is a manila envelope. “It contains my will and Seth’s birth certificate. You’re listed as his father.”

  He moved to the couch and tried to hold her. Andrea pushed him away at first then threw her arms around him and sobbed.

  An hour later, Andrea yawned and said, “I’ve loved sleeping with you but I prefer to sleep in Seth’s room tonight.”

  “No problem,” he said.

  * * *

  Up at five to prepare for work, Brian was dressing when he began reviewing what Andrea said during the last few weeks.

  “I’m here to find some peace.”

  He buttoned his shirt, lifted the collar preparatory to putting on a tie.

  “At a minimum to provide Seth with a father…”

  He wrapped the tie around his neck, knotted and centered it.

  “Seth feels secure with you. You’ll be a rock for him.”

  While placing a tie clip, he remembered his attempts to hold her. Even after he held her the night before, she insisted on sleeping near Seth.

  He slipped into his shoes, tied them.

  “The thought of you having to feed me and change my diapers…unacceptable.”

  His jaw dropped. Apprehension filled his mind.

  Brian ran to Seth’s room. She wasn’t there. He noticed a hand-written note on Seth’s dresser.

  Heart pounding, Brian read:

  Dearest Brian,

  The pain is overwhelming and my motor skills are deserting me. I don’t want you and Seth watching me die. Rather do it on my terms.

  You and he have been the jewels of my life. I know you’ll take care of him. One day, explain what happened to his mother and how much I love him and his blessed father.

  If it suits you, please scatter my ashes on your ranch – within earshot of our wind chimes.

  The Lord bless you both.

  All my love, Andrea

  Brian raced out of the house. As he neared the garage, he heard the engine of his antique pickup. He rotated the switch which opened the twelve-foot tall door installed for the motor home. When it had lifted a foot, he dropped to the ground and rolled under it. He tried to block the idea out of his mind but knew. He saw the old two-door pickup, a hose running from the exhaust to the interior, each end duct taped in place.

  “No!” he screamed, ripping out the hose and yanking the door open, he pulled her to the garage floor. Andrea’s skin cherry red, indicative of carbon monoxide poisoning. No breathing. No pulse. Eyes dilated and unresponsive to light. He crushed her lifeless boy against him. Sobbed for a while, laid her down then staggered out of the garage.

  Seth, in his pajamas, appeared at the open kitchen door, paused briefly, yelled, “Daddy,” and then began running to Brian. His father ran toward him and picked him up then held the young one in a way which prevented Seth from viewing the garage. He carried the little one into the house and placed him at the kitchen table, pouring cereal and milk for him.

  “Stay here,” Brian said.

  “You crying,” Seth said, then pointed at his father’s tears. He nodded, gave the little one a smile, squeezed his shoulder then, his body trembling, he walked to the phone in his office. Brian explained who he was, then asked that an ambulance be sent to his home to pick up a deceased woman located in the large garage beyond the house and would they please not use a siren.

  Naturally, as night follows day, the wailing of the ambulance’s siren along with that of the accompanying police car, signaled their impending arrival from miles away.

  He waited inside, tried to hide what was happening from Seth until the ambulance raced out of the driveway. A policeman knocked at his front door.

  Brian answered then asked if they could talk on his porch to avoid alarming Seth. The officer agreed then took notes as Brian explained Andrea’s physical condition and anguished mental state.

  “Just yesterday she gave me her medical records to revie
w. Her motor skills were deserting her and she was in tremendous pain. She left a note.” His legs getting weak, the policeman threw an arm around him and helped Brian to one of the rockers.

  “Dr. Levin, did you think she was suicidal?”

  Brian shook his head. Tears ran down his cheeks. “Yesterday, she’d agreed to see a friend. Thought we…had a plan.” He put his face in his hands, cried quietly then wiped his eyes, took a deep breath and turned to the policeman. “Apparently she was the one with the plan.”

  “I’m sorry Doc. If I have more questions they can wait. Uh, you might want to check on the little guy, he’s watching us.”

  Brian sat up straight, thanked the officer, and wiped his eyes. He walked to the front door, the wind chimes silent.

  “Mommy?” Seth asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Mommy come home?”

  Brian shook his head. “No.”

  “You bring Mommy home. This house.”

  Brian scooped him up as the little one screamed.

  * * *

  Brian called Andrea’s father. Andrea’s brother answered in an anger filled voice. “So she offed herself. The bitch knew father died. Heart attack killed him a few days before she left. She talked some shit about finding peace.”

  “She suffered from a brain tumor.”

  “Don’t send her back. Don’t want any evidence she ever existed.”

  “I won’t but, I’m taking care of Seth. One day he should meet the rest of his family.”

  “He’s yours. You keep the little bastard and don’t you dare bring him back here. It would remind me how much I hate his mother for killing my wife and son. No telling what I’d do to him.”

  “The sheep station…”

  “I have no use for it. I’m selling it. Never liked sheep. Dad left money in his will for me, Seth and Andrea. Won’t be much but a solicitor will send what’s yours. I’ll give him your number.”

  “I’ll put the money away for the little one’s education.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Never want to hear from you again, or that damn kid.”

  * * *

  Mary, Michael and their daughters attended Andrea’s funeral on a cool day in late December.

  She stayed after her family headed home, sorting through her best friend’s possessions, and setting aside most to give to charity. Brian assisted. Mary found a box of photos labeled for Seth and Brian; it contained photos of Seth, Andrea, Charles, the sheep station plus she and Brian during his R&R.

  Seth was horrified when he realized evidence of Andrea was disappearing into boxes. Brian consoled the little one then helped him choose photos which he made into a collage of Andrea, Charles, himself, and Seth. He mounted it on the wall in the toddler’s room. Seth was all smiles when he viewed it, the little one became subdued then sniffed twice and began to cry. Brian held his son then put him down for a nap.

  Mary said, “Andrea was my best friend over the years. I’d like to stay in touch with you, get together sometimes, watch Andrea’s son grow.”

  “Of course. I’d love that. You’ll tell him of your childhood adventures with his mother. I’m certain Seth will appreciate your visits, as will I.”

  Brian and Seth struggled to adjust to life without Andrea. On the first sunny day following the funeral, the teary-eyed surgeon scattered Andrea’s ashes on the broad lawn in front of the porch which supported the two sets of wind chimes. A gentle breeze spread the ashes and made the wind chimes sound as if they were in mourning.

  Seth would appear fine then start crying and ask for his mother. This occurred while at home and at daycare. If Brian was nearby, he was the only one who could console him. Each day he seemed terrified when Brian left him at the door to his daycare classroom. Seth’s teacher, Chana Goldberg, an attractive woman in her late-twenties, tried to placate the toddler with little success. His only smile occurred when his dad picked him up at the end of the day.

  At daycare, a father, in discussion with his wife, made a disparaging remark about those, “dumb enough to become soldiers.” Seth’s father erupted in a verbal explosion of condemnation, thoroughly laced with profanity, which was heard in every corner of the building. Chana, seemed to want to befriend Brian. She stood near him during the initial part of his tirade. The tall women cringed at the volume and intensity of his anger, not to mention, the crudeness of his language. She crossed to the farthest corner of the classroom. It took four weeks before she again attempted to befriend Brian. She invited Seth and him for a Sunday afternoon walk followed by dinner at her home.

  He replied, “Thanks, Chana, but Seth takes all my time when I’m not working, plus my head isn’t in a good place. Little things upset me and, unless it’s Seth, I take it out on whoever’s closest. Really not in an emotional state to have someone else in my life.” Brian sighed. “I no longer have time for my research.”

  “I understand,” Chana said.

  “Actually, I know you have your own life but, I could use help with him when I’m called out on medical emergencies…”

  She smiled. “I’m just a phone call and a short drive away.”

  V

  PART FIVE: RACHEL

  Chapter 14

  “The soldier above all other people, prays for peace, for they must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”

  Douglas MacArthur

  A year passed with little change in Brian and Seth’s routine when Arnie Zalman called to invite Brian to join him and his wife Shira, at a Thanksgiving celebration. They were meeting in Dallas, at the home of Arnie’s widowed cousin. The Levins arrived at the seventh-floor condo in time for lunch on Wednesday.

  “Here he is,” Arnie said with a broad grin while slapping his Army buddy on the back and introducing Shira. “How’s the drive?”

  “Less traffic then I expected so we’re early. But Seth and I can walk around the block for a few minutes, if you’d prefer.”

  Through his laughter, Arnie said, “You’re right on time for lunch.”

  Arnie’s cousin entered the room carrying two tall glasses of iced tea. With a slim build and a height of four-foot-nine inches, the twenty-four-year-old was the definition of petite. Her medium length, raven black hair unkempt, she wore an oversized black sweatshirt, torn jeans and thick lensed, horn- rimmed glasses.

  “Rachel, our guests have arrived. I want you to meet my Vietnam buddy, Brian Levin, and his son Seth. Brian, this is Rachel Moskowitz.”

  One glance at Brian, who was putting Seth on a booster- seat, and Rachel’s eyes went wide, she gasped and brought a hand up to cover her mouth; in the process dropping one of the teas. Her cheeks blushing, she began apologizing as she ran out of the room.

  “Sorry,” Arnie said to his Army buddy, “she doesn’t usually act like that when she meets my friends.”

  To the laughter of Arnie and his wife, Brian said, “Some soldiers have that effect on women.” He then asked Arnie, “How are the injuries?”

  “All healed but, as you predicted, have limited use of my right arm and leg.”

  “That’s rough.”

  He shrugged. “I’m alive. More than many can say.”

  Rachel returned with a towel, broom and dust pan. Her hair brushed and no longer wearing her glasses.

  “Let me help you with that,” Brian said then began picking up the broken glass.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said, not looking at him, her voice sounding shaky.

  “Have we met?” Brian asked, “Your voice…”

  “I was raised and lived most of my life in Brooklyn. Moved here a couple years ago to run a pre-school program.” She finally raised her face and looked at him.

  The Texan found himself gazing into deep brown eyes which were so familiar it startled him. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve only lived here two years, and don’t think we’ve met,” Rachel said. She hurried away.

  “Rachel’s lived here,” Arnie said, “si
nce her husband was shot during a home invasion while we were in Vietnam. About the time you were on R&R. A long story but, you should know; she also experienced a miscarriage the same night.”

  “How far along?”

  “Four weeks.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  “She used to have this effervescent personality which could illuminate the sky at midnight. We don’t see it anymore.”

  A short time later, Rachel reappeared wearing black slacks, the horn-rimmed glasses replaced by contacts, and wearing a tight fitting, bright shirt covered with splashes of pastel color; the combination emphasizing her substantial bust.

  Both Arnie and his wife did double-takes at their now, neatly dressed, make-up, and lipstick-wearing cousin.

  During lunch, Rachel sat next to Seth, Brian on the other side of him. Without being asked, she served the little one, cut his food into small pieces, and much to his father’s amazement, made him laugh and giggle, plus wiped his hands and chin when necessary.

  Rachel cleared her throat and asked, “So, Arnie said you were a soldier in Vietnam. Both infantry and as a surgeon.”

  Brian replied, “Primarily infantry, few months as a surgeon.”

  “My great-aunt, was a surgeon in the Civil War. I have some of her letters and papers.”

  The doctor was surprised and stared at her for a moment, jaw dropped. “Please. We need to talk about her sometime.”

  Rachel smiled and nodded.

  “How’s the research for your book?” Arnie asked then turned to the others. “Brian was gathering information to write a book about combat and infantry, while we were in Vietnam.”

  “Little work since Andrea died,” Brian said. “Work and Seth take up most of my time, although I’ve decided, the home-front Vietnam vets returned to, needs to be researched and analyzed as we’re coming home to an environment different from any other war. As a result, my book has changed into a research project on the psychological impact of war on combatants both during the war and afterward.”