by Matthew Nuth
“ . . . and we all hate him for it!” piped in Grey, smiling as he eagerly put the glass to his lips.
It did not take long for the six hard men to finish off the first and make a significant dent in the second bottle of Dickel. Soon speech was slurred and the men had degraded to poor jokes and slapping each other on the back as congratulations for their witticisms.
Grey pulled himself from the stool. “I have to piss like a race horse. I’ll be right back.” He drifted toward the door, lightly bouncing off the next table, a couple stools, and finally the door jamb that had been plugged into the tent opening.
Paul noticed Halsey and Knight smiling broadly as Grey exited. “What’s up with you two? You look as though you have stolen the cookies and gotten away with the crime.”
At that second Grey yelled, “Get down, grenade!” and a grenade careened off the bar and settled next to their table. Paul lit off his stool and dove over the bar with Henry hitting the ground with the bartender, just hoping that somehow the cheap wooden bar would provide some protection. Knight and Halsey leapt to the door and dove to the ground rolling out of sight. Everything was quiet.
After several seconds, which seemed like minutes, Grey popped through the door smiling and laughing with Knight and Halsey. “Got you fucks. It’s a joke!”
Paul, Henry, and the bartender slowly pulled themselves up from behind the bar. “What the hell, Grey. You are more of an ass than I thought.” Looking over the bar, “Where’s Jackson?”
They all heard him, breathing loud and whispering “God help me, God help me . . . .” Jackson lay on the floor, face down, with his arms bent to bring his clutched fists to just below his cheeks. His eyes were closed. It was obvious he had not heard Grey’s admission of the sick joke and he was not hearing anything now.
Paul and Henry walked out from behind the bar. Paul knelt down beside Jackson.
While Paul tended to Jackson, Henry alternatively proceeded directly to Grey, knocking him to the ground with a right and then kicking him in the side with his size 10 infantry boot. He then dropped to the floor with his back against the bar. Knight and Halsey had obviously known of the joke, but now saw there was no humor in what Grey had perpetrated. Grey was a sick fuck.
Paul gently rolled Jackson over by the shoulder. “Jackson. Jackson. Johnny, it’s okay. It was a joke, man. You’re okay.” Paul looked to where Jackson had been laying and saw that he had proven that he was the only man among them. The hand grenade, just a small, shiny green pineapple-looking, oblong steel ball, still lay on the ground where Jackson had fallen. Instead of jumping to safety, Jackson had jumped on the grenade to ensure the safety of his friends.
In that split second, something had slipped in Jackson’s mind and he was now caught in a loop; not realizing the emergency was over, not realizing it was a joke, not realizing he was not going to die now. He was still stuck in a world where a grenade pushed into his gut was going to take his life and he could not break out.
* * *
The night’s antics would delay Paul’s return home by a day. After hearing of the story of the hand grenade hoax, the captain had met with Camp Castle’s commander to discuss what disciplinary actions, if any, would be taken. Even though Paul, Jackson, and Henry had been cleared of any wrong doing, the commander was debating what to do with Halsey, Knight, and Grey. For the Captain, his career was likely over. For the three sergeants, there was no doubt. For them, the only remaining question was if and how long they would spend in the brig.
For Jackson, the issue was more concerning. His mind had not recovered and had spent the balance of the night and all of today in the infirmary sitting in a chair, rocking rhythmically forward and backward almost as if he was listening to a moving piece of music. Paul believed Jackson was still caught in his prayer for salvation. The Commander was sure of only one thing: what Jackson needed was not likely to be found in Camp Castle in the middle of war. His staff was now working through the mechanics and bureaucracy to have Jackson return stateside as soon as possible. Tomorrow, Jackson would begin his journey home with Paul, but his return would be interrupted by a stay in Osaka, Japan at the army’s 279th General Hospital. They would have to figure out the best disposition for Jackson’s care.
As Paul hopped into the jeep to leave camp, he scanned the hillside one last time. He saw Seo-Young standing alone by the mess hall, looking at Paul with tear-filled eyes. Paul had never followed up on the question of adoption, choosing instead to ignore and defer. He never intended to hurt Seo-Young, but how could he possibly take her home. He turned his eyes to road ahead of the jeep as it lurched to motion.
Seo-Young was killed the following year by the NKPA, a full two weeks after the armistice was signed with North Korea. Apparently, Kim Il-Sung was not concerned for the 12-year-old either.
Chapter 12
My coffee had grown cold; probably for the best. The caffeine would just ensure I would not be sleeping tonight. I pushed back in my chair and pulled my hands up behind my head to stretch. I had been sitting here entirely too long. There was a slight stirring noise coming from beyond the living room, Dad’s last bedroom.
I flipped off the lights in the kitchen and felt my way through the dining room and living room in the dark, not wanting to wake Uncle Bill. A feeble light had been left on in Dad’s room, and I could see the nurse’s back as he hovered over Dad. I thought I remembered Mom introducing him as Jenkins. “Hi, Nurse Jenkins,” I whispered, not wanting to shock him. Dad’s nurse broke two of my mental models for the profession. First, he was a guy and I had been conditioned to think of the field as primarily staffed by females. Secondly, the guy looked to be more at home as a bar bouncer than a nurse. Mom was adamant she wanted to hire a male nurse believing a man could more easily handle Dad’s size to care for him. At 230 pounds, Dad represented a pretty significant mass to maneuver.
“Oh, hi, Randall. Hey just call me Bob.” Bob pulled his stethoscope from his ears and draped it around his neck. As he moved to the other side of the bed, he said, “I hope I didn’t wake you, but it is time to do a little clean up and give your Dad a little pain medication to allow him to sleep. If you want, you can help me change his diaper. We need to keep him clean to make sure we do not complicate his condition”
“‘Complicate his condition’! Fuck! He is dying!” is all I could think. Instead, I said “Sure.” Cleaning my Dad of his excrement was not what I had planned for tonight. I had half wished I had just stayed in the kitchen to allow the very competent Nurse Jenkins do his job.
I think Bob saw the anxiety in my face. He said, “Look, let me give him a drop of the morphine sulfate before we try to roll him on his side. He gets pretty uncomfortable when he is moved. You know you really don’t need to help, but . . . I think you might not mind it as much as you think.”
“No really, I’m okay,” Hell, what else could I say? I did not want to come across as the selfish, prudish, and shallow person I really was.
Dad then surprised us both. Quietly, “Randall, how long have you been there? I have so much to tell you.” For the first time today his eyes had cleared. It is tough to describe the look, but they were alive now, kind of like the difference in water between stagnant pond and that of a fresh stream. Yes, they were both water, but the stream was clean, fresh, and inviting; whereas the pond looked drab and dead in comparison. Dad’s eyes had just become the stream.
Bob, looked to me and then pantomimed, “This can wait; you talk with your Dad. I can come back later,” and he quietly slipped out of the room.
“Dad, I just got here. What can I get for you?” My eyes were starting to puddle. God knows why. You see I never cry, but just seeing Dad was kind of overwhelming me.
“Just a sip of water, OK? My mouth is so dry it is hard to talk.”
I turned to the night stand and poured him a little water. I was unsure how to do this. I had no idea if he would have p
roblems swallowing. As I put the glass to his lips and tilted, his right arm moved up to the cup and pushed my hand to greedily tilt it faster.
“A little more, son, please,” and I refilled the glass and put it to his lips to allow him to quench his thirst. After finishing the second cup, he smiled and then said, “Now at least I might be able to piss.”
“Dad, are you hurting? Do you need some of your medicine?”
“Not yet, Johnny just told me to back off it if I could. He said it was fogging my mind and making me slur. Hell, he hasn’t been able to put two words together for years, and now he is lecturing me about speech.”
“Dad? What are you talking about? Who is Johnny?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“Johnny tells me you’ve been looking at my book. You’ve been learning a little about your good ole’ Dad. At least that’s what Johnny said.”
How could Dad know I had been looking at his book and who the hell was Johnny? The only Johnny I had known passed away years ago and would rarely talk.
“That’s what I want to talk with you about, Randall. I was just talking with some of my friends. I haven’t seen them for so long.” Dad started to cry. Then his eyes started to glaze over again.
* * *
After being away for almost two years, Paul was expecting to feel out of place and outdated. He had no idea how to plug back into the family, and he had begun to doubt he still held value for the business. He was wrong. It seemed as though time had stood still while he was gone. He would fit back in as easily as a hand in a well-worn glove. Sure, there had been some change; William had finally graduated and now was a full-fledged engineer and Dad and Mom were looking older, but in general things had not changed much.
The company had yet to break ground on the housing development project, but thankfully, it had not been put on ice completely. Paul had fretted during his deployment that any delay would require aggressive cost cutting in the business, laying off Arlin and likely scuttling the business relation they had put together with Joseph Klein and Company. Either of these actions would likely have put a death nail in the project. It would be devastating to the business.
Even more of concern to Paul was the fate of his brother. Between his Dad, Virginia, and Lyle, William really did not have a champion. Hell, it would be hard for even Paul to come up with a business reason for keeping William over either Arlin of Joe Klein.
Dad had been unwilling to discuss the business in his letters to Paul and Paul had taken this as a bad omen . . . a very bad omen. He had convinced himself the business was struggling and he expected the worst. The 50’s were going to be a boom time for Fort Collins and Simmons & Sons could ill afford to miss out on the opportunity. Paul was convinced that during this decade, the town would double in population as the war veterans returned to the states and moved west in search of the American Dream.
Fortunately, most of his worries had been unfounded. Dad, Virginia, and Lyle had seen the same potential for the business and their pending housing development. They were committed to doing whatever possible to keep the company, the WHOLE company, together until they could start generating some cash flow. Once again, Virginia, and Lyle had surprised him at their selflessness and loyalty to his Dad and the family. Virginia had actually taken a night job and sacrificed her salary from the company until they could get their financial footing re-established. Lyle took over all project management until William could join, full-time. In addition to Virginia and Lyle’s contribution, Arlin had elected to take a pay cut and had moved into Paul’s old room, at Dad’s insistence, to make ends meet. Even William was showing signs of maturity and commitment to the business. His weekends were no longer filled with coeds; instead they were consumed with manual work. He now served as a laborer under Lyle’s tutelage, learning how to actually be a builder along with being an engineer. Dad and Mom eked by on their savings.
Joe Klein had been a huge asset to the team during Paul’s absence. He and Virginia had begun to tag-team their efforts with the City Council to negotiate the almost endless set of infrastructure requirements required for the development. At first the challenges seemed insurmountable as the two sides debated timing, costs, and the sizing of the investments. The issues under discussion included road access, schools, signal lights, additional police and fire department staffing and hookups for electrical, natural gas, water, and sewer. The only area related to infrastructure that did not seem problematic was telephone service. AT&T was just happy to have an excuse to expand their service and revenue base and had agreed to fund the installation of phone lines at no additional cost to the development. They had alternated between negotiating the increased size of governmental services that would need to be created, led by Joe, while Virginia argued the cost assumptions supporting these services. One thing had become clear: the town was going to get Simmons & Sons to fund as much of the infrastructure as possible up front.
After two full years of negotiation, it now appeared the two sides had achieved some breakthroughs and had progressed to the point that breaking ground was imminent. The majority of investments would be funded via an increase in property taxes for those living in the development. Simmons & Sons had agreed to fund the installation of two traffic lights; one each on the main roads bordering the north and west sides of the development. In addition, they had agreed to restructure the development layout to provide for a separate access road to minimize congestion on Fort Collins’s main north/south road, College Boulevard. This represented a major concession on behalf of Simmons & Sons in that it meant they would need to reallocate a chunk of land to the street rather than homes. Ultimately, William and Arlin revised the development site layout plan to accommodate the additional street, resulting in the loss 8 of the original 110 home lots. The development would ultimately be 102 homes.
Paul came home to a family waiting to welcome him back once again and a business ready to make it’s biggest move yet. He could not be happier, that was until he walked into the kitchen for his first dinner after returning home. He was shocked by the hustle and bustle; he had expected to have a quiet evening with Mom and Dad, but instead the house was the home to an extended “family” reunion. Arlin, Virginia, and Dad were engrossed in a set of blue prints spread out on the kitchen table. William and Lyle were setting the table in the dining room. Joe Klein had donned an apron over his white shirt and tie and was fretting over something cooking on the stove. His son, Joe, Jr., was washing pans in the sink. Paul’s Mom’s back was to him as she and another young woman were slicing bread and tearing a salad. Paul’s heart felt as though it had skipped a beat and all of a sudden, he was anxious. The woman, Samantha, was the woman his brother had been dating when Paul left for Korea. She was also the only woman Paul had ever fallen in love with, head over heels in love with her.
Paul pulled William into the living room. “William, I didn’t know you were still dating that girl. Samantha, right?”
“Not even sly, Paul. We haven’t dated in years. She fell for you the first time she saw you at that dinner when you announced your free, all expense-paid vacation to Korea and you damn well knew it.
“Not that I mind, you know. The world would not want me to waste these good looks on just one woman. I mean I have to stay free, even it is just for the benefit of our fairer sex.” Paul smiled, “She’s been asking Mom about you since the day you left. She eats dinner with us a couple times a week, and I suspect Mom invited her. You upset?”
“Heck, no! Can you reintroduce us? You know, so I don’t come across as presumptuous; you know, expecting something?”
“Big brother, why not? You steal her from me and now you are asking me to be complicit in the theft?” He shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands then smiled and said “Follow me. She has been waiting to see you for two years and now she’s pretending she didn’t notice you came in. I guess if I don’t provide a little push, you love birds might never talk. That would be
real awkward”
“Sam, could you come on in here? You’ve got to see your bashful knight in shining armor” he yelled and then laughed.
Paul was mortified. He debated punching William, running, or? And then Sam walked through the door and he knew exactly what to do. He gave her a hug and kiss, shocking even himself. He would forever be grateful to William.
* * *
Marriage looked good on Paul and Sam. It had been a whirlwind from first date to wedding in a matter of eight weeks. For Paul and Sam even the abbreviated engagement had been too long. They could not imagine ever being apart.
The wedding was small; only including Paul’s and Sam’s direct families. For Sam, this meant her Mother and Father had driven up from Denver the previous day and had stayed in a small motor inn just south of down-town. In Paul’s case the “direct” family included the entire Simmons & Sons team. Sam had actually suggested inviting the extended Simmons “family.” She had become part of this family over the past two years and could not imagine getting married without them and their support.
After the wedding, Mom had pulled together an informal feast at the house for the two families. Dinner had been moved into the backyard to make room for everyone. William and Arlin had pulled the dining room and kitchen tables outside and were now across town putting the finishing touches on a small apartment that would be home for Paul and Sam. Both families had pitched in to furnish and pay the first month’s rent. The place was small, but they were sure it would feel like heaven for the newlyweds. Paul had been stuck in a barracks for two years only to return home finding he was now sharing his room with Arlin. Sam had shared her room at the campus with a roommate for years. They now had room for themselves.
The newlyweds pulled up to the house in a lightly used Ford sedan Paul had purchased when he first got home. He had figured it was about time he owned a car. Driving around town in the old company truck or borrowing Dad and Mom’s car just wasn’t right for a 27-year old part owner of the towns largest real estate developer to be, that is. Pulling in right in front of them came William and Arlin in the company truck. He yanked open the rear doors revealing a large steel tub filled with ice and cold Budweiser beers. William had already started celebrating. He had barely let the truck stop before popping open his door and hopping out. He was holding up a beer as if in toast to the bride and groom, but Paul assumed he had been drinking while driving and was merely trying to keep the beer foam from spilling on his new suit. Arlin also had a beer in hand as he got out of the passenger side, but had obviously not finished as many as William.
