THE SOLDIER: A Vietnam War Era Novel

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  “My great-aunt was supposedly doing work in the area of war’s impact on soldier’s mental balance,” Rachel said. “I have stacks of old papers of hers. Perhaps they might be relevant to your research”

  “Beyond anything you can imagine, I’d love to review them.”

  Rachel smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

  A hand pounded the table. “I am sick and tired of war stories,” Shira said. “Can’t you people talk about anything else?”

  “Sorry, Shira,” Arnie said in a quiet voice then turned to his fellow Vet. “Sad to hear about Andrea.”

  “Nearly lost it, but time spent with this guy kept me from going over the edge.”

  “Does he attend day care?” Rachel asked, while slicing carrots for Seth.

  “Yes, but since Andrea’s death, the four, ten-hour days I work are difficult for the little guy. The other three days we do everything together. And I mean everything. He becomes anxious if I’m more than a few feet away. The days I’m home, he naps on the couch in my den while I fill out reports and such for work. I believe he does that so he sees me when he wakes up. I do a little research some evenings after he sleeps, but I’m mostly busy doing his clothes, cleaning, and meal prep.”

  “Poor fellow, he must miss his Mom.” Rachel patted Seth then turned to Brian. “You’re a good dad.”

  “Doubt it,” Brian mumbled, but again, he found it difficult to look away from her deep brown eyes.

  After the meal, they moved to her living room. Rachel suggested, “How about I play with Seth?”

  Brian said, “You can try but he doesn’t do well with strangers.”

  With a warm smile, she said, “Let me try.”

  Seth was riveted to his father’s side as they sat on a couch.

  Rachel left the room briefly then returned with a carton. “Through the years, if I saw toys that I believed my children would enjoy, I bought and stored them. I’m childless so it warms me to watch other’s children enjoy these.”

  Out of the box, tumbled toy animals, cars, trucks, buildings and blocks of various colors, sizes, and shapes. Brian noted the carton was labeled, “Boys: pre-school.”

  Rachel sat crossed-legged on the floor, invited Seth to join her.

  He looked up at his Dad who said, “Go.”

  The little one slid off his father’s lap then kneeled at Rachel’s side. He peered at the pile then began pulling little trucks out. Seth turned to his father and held up a small black pickup.

  “Yes. Like our truck in Celina,” Brian said.

  “He has great manual dexterity,” Rachel said. She left the room briefly then returned with a package of interlocking logs.

  “A new toy?” Brian said. “He has plenty with what you’ve brought out.”

  Sitting on the floor again, she tore open the wrapping. Rachel gave Brian a disarmingly warm smile. “If he’ll enjoy them, why not?”

  Seth became fascinated as Rachel stacked a few logs. “Would you like to help me, Seth?” she asked.

  Even when the toddler couldn’t get the placement perfect and became frustrated, her patient demeanor and soft-spoken voice encouraged him to keep trying until four walls were complete and a plastic roof installed. Rachel congratulated him; Seth all smiles.

  Rachel opened a board game called Chutes and Ladders. Within minutes, she had the three-year-old counting, and most pleased with, each of his moves around the board.

  “It’s his nap time,” Brian said.

  “You visit with Arnie. I’ll get him ready for bed.”

  Surprised, he replied, “His things are in the little airline bag with the blue plastic on the handle.”

  Rachel chattered like a bird in spring time while taking care of Seth, which the little one adored.

  Just when Brian was thinking it was taking too long, she returned, her expression one of satisfaction.

  “Seth?”

  “Asleep.”

  “You didn’t have to…”

  “Taught him a song then read a story and he was out like a light,” she said with a pleased smile.

  “Thank you for…”

  Shaking her head and joining him on the couch, she interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “No. Thank you for letting me.”

  “No problem,” he said, getting lost in those eyes again. Shira handed mugs of tea to each.

  “Rachel,” Brian said, then paused to sip his tea, “you mentioned your great-aunt’s research.”

  “It’s scattered among my and my parent’s belongings, much of it in storage. We can, if you like, retrieve them and at least organize her work.”

  Following the meal, Brian sat on the couch in Rachel’s study adjacent to the kitchen. He noticed a historical novel concerning a female doctor and medicine during the Civil War. He leafed through it. Shira and Rachel worked in the kitchen preparing dinner. Brian overheard Shira saying to Rachel, “You were raised Orthodox…there are a world of Orthodox men around you…you’re flirting with him? He’s not observant like your husband or Samuel.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “You do?”

  “He makes me feel like…a pretty lady.”

  “A what? Pretty lady? He said he’s never been to New York.”

  “Brian was kind to me and kept me going through lots of difficult times.”

  “She remembers!” Brian thought.

  Shira’s voice incredulous, she said, “What are you talking about? You said you hadn’t met. Rachel, are you losing your mind?”

  “He’s a good man,” Rachel said. She paused for a bit then added, “I owe him, big time. As far as Orthodox, I married an Orthodox man, kept a kosher kitchen and all the rest, but that was just too please Dov. I didn’t do it for me.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Not everyone who does those things for their husband feels as I did but, for many reasons, I felt constrained and diminished.”

  * * *

  Six-o’clock Thursday morning, Brian and Seth arrived at Rachel’s home so the surgeon and Arnie could attend morning service. Seth was still wearing pajamas and asleep in his father’s arms. Rachel put the little one on a couch, covered him with a brightly colored blanket. She turned to Brian while the former soldier was waiting for Arnie.

  “Your prayer shawl?” she asked.

  “I was so busy with Seth and thinking about packing his clothes. I forgot it at home.”

  She left the room briefly.

  Upon return, Rachel said, “Take this.” She handed Brian a pouch containing a prayer shawl. “It belonged to my father.”

  He held up a hand, palm out. “I couldn’t,” Brian said. “Please. It would be an honor.”

  He accepted then opened the pouch and placed the prayer shawl over his shoulders. “Look okay?” Brian asked.

  Wearing a broad smile, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  “Thank you,” Brian said, as he repacked the shawl. Arnie appeared and they headed out the door.

  He and Arnie drove a few blocks then returned a couple hours later. They found Rachel dressing Seth and telling him about a Thanksgiving project they would create.

  “Project for Thanksgiving…” he said, pulling up his pants then slipping his arms into the shirt she held for him. He turned to his father wearing a broad smile. “Seth and Rachel do Thanksgiving project.”

  “Excellent!” Brian said then thought, “My son is in good hands. Seth reacts to Rachel like he did to his mother. Watching them interact, dare I say, warms me.”

  Brian kept smiling during his and Arnie’s workout at the gym each time he remembered Seth’s expression while the little one dressed. Following the workout and back at Rachel’s condo, they all gathered for lunch. Brian told them the story of the lady from Oz, her coming to Texas so he would take care of Seth, and ending her life.

  “So sad,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “But, bless the Lord, Andrea had you for a support system at the end. Certainly, that was comforting for her.”


  Brian stared at Rachel and thought, “This little lady is sharp as hell.”

  “Sad she passed but a blessing you were there for her,” Arnie said. “That was good of you.”

  “Thanks,” Brian said.

  Arnie thought for a while and said, “I’m not sure Brian was a support system.”

  “Arnie,” Rachel asked, “How would you describe it?”

  “It was just Brian. How can one person be a support system?”

  “Not sure.” Rachel turned to Brian then asked, “Did you have problems when you came home? Did you have anything which felt like a support system?”

  Shira slammed the table. “More war stories. Do you ever move on?” Without waiting for a response, she left the room shaking her head.

  Arnie shrugged. “She refuses to acknowledge the suffering.”

  “I experienced a couple nightmares,” Brian said. “It was…nothing major. Once back home in Texas, I went for bike rides and fishing with my dad plus many hours with him while painting his home. We spent endless hours discussing military life and combat. He was a crew chief on a B-26 based in North Africa. My mom contributed her memories of World War II on the home front. So yes. I had a support system when I arrived home.”

  “Anything else?” Rachel asked.

  “I spent a lot of, one-on-one time talking to my Uncle Mike. He was a 101st Airborne and Battle of the Bulge veteran. We exchanged stories only a few people outside of combat veterans would understand. Lots of identical horrors and suffering.” Brian thought of some of the stories and shivered.

  “Those discussions give credence to Rachel’s idea of a support system,” Arnie said.

  “When you came home?” Brian asked Arnie.

  “As for me,” Arnie said, “I’m thankful I’m alive…and mostly intact. While in rehab, I had lots of Vets around me. What else would we talk about? Our war experiences. We also encouraged each other. Pushed each other to set goals. If someone was sad or down, someone put an arm around him or,” Arnie laughed, “if he wasn’t too bad, we’d joke with him until he smiled. We didn’t think of them as a support system, just buddies with a common experience, and the common goal of adjusting to our disabilities.” He stared out a window. “We did have group talks with counselors but for most of us, we grunts talked to each other about our concerns on how we’d reenter society. When Shira visited me at the rehab center, she refused to talk about what happened. In truth, never asked. She didn’t want to know.” Arnie’s eyes now teary, he continued, “The feeling I got from her…like, this might sound crazy but…her behavior made me think she was jealous that I suffered and garnered attention for that.” He shook his head. “Every day, I wake to a wounded body which reminds me of my military service. I’m thankful to those I served with, especially the ones who performed the medical treatment in the field and medivac station.” He nodded at Brian.

  “It was an honor,” Brian said.

  “And, I remember those we lost.” He looked down, shook his head. “But my wife acts like the war was something I should somehow magically forget. Without doubt, my Vietnam experience is written in my mind with indelible ink. I believe my involvement in the war defines, to a large degree, who I am.” He shrugged. “At least my mental state is balanced. Other guys I’ve met, not so much. Full of anger or depression, reliving horrors, and having trouble with relationships, not able to get a decent night’s sleep.” Arnie sighed. “Thank the Lord, none of that for me.”

  Silence enveloped the room and for a number of minutes, each person was lost in their own thoughts.

  Brian sighed. “Both my uncle and my dad returned to the States in ships with the men they trained and served with. Took two weeks.”

  “Two weeks to begin rationalizing what happened,” Rachel said.

  Silence again filled the room.

  Brian asked, “You think soldiers rationalize killing?”

  “No way,” Arnie said.

  “Let me think about it,” Rachel said. “Don’t know of another mechanism.”

  Brian couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Incredulity in his voice, Brian said, “Your idea of a support system. After World War II, coming home for two weeks talking to the guys in your unit, then parades in your honor, an entire nation overflowing with gratitude for your sacrifice. Those events, perhaps, told the soldiers whatever they had to do or endure to win the war, was acceptable. Like me talking to my dad and uncle, but is rationalizing what happened?”

  “More like a purification right…” she mumbled. Brian’s jaw dropped. He stared at the petite lady.

  “Out of the question,” Arnie said. “Killing someone is a terrible, life altering event. No one rationalizes away life altering events, a support system or otherwise.”

  “Not sure,” Brian said in a quiet voice, stroking his chin, eyes riveted on the petite lady. “Rachel may be on to…amazing insight lady…”

  “Doesn’t make sense. Not logical,” Arnie insisted while shaking his head.

  Brian finally turned away from Rachel and addressed Arnie.

  “Is your loss of ability to play sports painful?”

  He shrugged. “It hurts. A part of my life gone forever, but I don’t dwell on it. I teach weight training at the YMCA and I do my own workouts each morning.” He laughed. “Lots of guys figure if a cripple like me can work hard, so can they.”

  “Religiously, he works out each morning,” Rachel said. Arnie held up a hand, “Except on the Sabbath.”

  The other two laughed.

  “I think,” Arnie said, “it would have bothered me more but I was so glad to be alive…I thanked the Lord for saving me and asked what I can do for Him.”

  “I remember our talk in the recovery area after your surgery. Your positive attitude…don’t have research to show it, but in my experience, patients seem to heal faster with an upbeat attitude like yours, also those with a purpose or goal to achieve recover quicker. Logo Therapy, I believe it’s called. Read a book by Viktor Frankl who developed the concept. He observed people in the concentration camps and determined those with a reason to stay alive, who had goals and future plans to achieve, managed the horrors better than those who didn’t. He discussed a man whose goal was to continue some research he was working on. Ironic because all the work he completed before the war was, unknown to him, destroyed.”

  “My great-aunt,” Rachel said, “in one of her papers, she mentioned attitude and its effect on healing.”

  “Where are those papers?” Brian said. “I’d love to read them.”

  “In boxes, in a storage unit I rent on the second floor.” “Oh, my Lord,” Brian said. “Her work could be invaluable to my project. With your permission, let’s spend Friday finding and organizing her research.”

  “Love to,” Rachel said.

  “I’ll help,” Arnie volunteered.

  * * *

  Following lunch, they worked in the kitchen while preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Rachel stood at the sink washing celery. Next to her, Brian cubed parsnips. She inadvertently bumped against him. He then purposely bumped her with his hips. She burst out laughing, then returned his action in kind. Brian wanted to ask a question about her great-aunt’s papers but with Shira also in the kitchen decided not to.

  They gathered at the Thanksgiving dinner table. It was laden with the results of multiple day’s preparation and many hours of cooking.

  Rachel, sitting at Brian’s side, used both hands to straighten out his collar.

  “Thank you,” he said, amazed at the warmth he experienced from her simple gesture.

  The assembled closed their eyes and bowed their heads as Arnie intoned, “We thank you Lord for allowing us to reach this day of Thanksgiving and the bounty before us. Please Lord, in your infinite mercy, see to it those still fighting in Vietnam come home safe and without injury. And those who’ve come home can heal and find peace within themselves” He looked up at Shira who was glaring at him. “An
d that this is the last year of the war.”

  In unison, they said, “Amen.”

  “Did you celebrate any holidays in Vietnam?” Rachel asked.

  “Arnie and I attended Passover in Da Nang,” Brian said. “I never liked gefilte fish but it was such a pleasant reminder of home, I ate extra.”

  “Could we have one meal without war stories?” Shira pleaded.

  After a few minute’s silence, Rachel said to Brian, “Arnie said you live on a ranch. Please tell me about it?”

  * * *

  Friday morning found Brian, Arnie, and Rachel working in Arnie’s office with boxes of her Great-aunt’s papers covering his desk, and couch, and much of the floor. Seth occupied himself in a corner playing with Rachel’s toy collection.

  “Should we organize by date or subject?” Rachel asked. “Not sure. Safest to use date for now.” He gazed at Rachel.

  “What?” she asked.

  He held up a few papers. “I’ve read these. Her intellect must have been up to the sky. And…the way she lays out her own feelings…such compassion. Your aunt, writes with such clarity, I swear she’s in the room talking to me…begging for answers to help soldiers…soldiers of any war… What was her full name?”

  “Abbey Kaplan,” Rachel said. “Doctor Abbey Kaplan.” Brian looked over the treasure trove of papers and letters.

  “If we get them organized by date today, we’ll repack them and I’ll study them at a later date.”

  “Perhaps,” Rachel said, “we could also cross-index them by subject matter. I’ll get file cards.”

  “Great thinking,” Arnie said.

  “Excellent,” Brian said, returning Rachel’s smile.

  Mid-afternoon, still working on Abbey’s papers, Arnie reminded them he invited local family members and community friends over for a Saturday evening gathering.