Where To From Here?

by Ursula Paul

  Joe waited for him to continue but Hugh remained tight-lipped.

  Several minutes later he smiled at Joe, “Joe, I have done all the talking. Now, what about you? Are you married? Family?” Joe’s heart almost missed a beat. Married – if only!

  “No,” Joe answered. “I’m a Catholic priest. We don’t marry.”

  “Sorry!”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s a natural question. “I’m the youngest of four boys…”

  Joe continued, briefly giving snippets of his family background and some of the experiences as CYMS chaplain.

  Hugh answered quickly, “You know Joe, I think you will be one of the best things Vietnam has seen in many year.” He stopped momentarily as Joe remonstrated. “No. I mean it,” Hugh continued. “I think you have care and purpose. Heaven knows how our boys need some of that!”

  Both men eventually drifted into a light sleep, often waking to the reality of the present, only to be lulled into a dream of hopes for the future.

  A moment of panic seized Joe as the plane jolted to a stop. But it was dismissed almost as soon as it appeared.

  “Okay, God,” Joe’s silent prayer. “Guide me! I’m in Your hands!”

  “Make sure you have your papers ready,” Hugh advised. “You’ll see just how important it is if you mislay any,” he added.

  As a big brother shepherding his young sibling on the youngster’s first day at school, Hugh guided Joe through all the check-points until together they had boarded the truck that would take them to the main camp at Saigon.

  How could war be waging here, Joe thought, as they passed through lush, eye-catching countryside. The words of one of the songs of his early school days briefly came to mind, “All things bright and beautiful…” If only, he thought.

  Soon they reached camp.

  “Sorry we have to part here. The guards will direct you. Great to meet you, Joe. I’ll make sure I catch up with you later.” Hugh’s handshake was strong.

  “Thanks Hugh.”

  Well, here we go, thought Joe as he turned in the other direction.

  Chapter Four

  Joe settled in faster than he had anticipated. He had barely found his way to his quarters when he was summoned by a sentry to the make-shift hospital at the Base.

  “Sorry sir, but they need you at the hospital. Some of the wounded are being shipped home and a few have asked for a padre.”

  “Sure thing! Show me the way,” Joe answered.

  The drive to the hospital, through a ploughed field, was short and bouncy. He was immediately shown into a large room – more like a hangar. Perhaps once was a hangar, Joe’s sudden thought. Beds lined each side of the building and in each bed lay an occupant – or the major part of an occupant, as first glance showed the horror results of war. Nurses were busily attending their patients.

  “They leave in an hour. All severe surgical cases! Will be flown to Australia for specialist help – if anything can help these poor kids!”

  An hour! One of the nurses was allocated to assist him.

  The first patient still owned two legs, but his right arm was amputated at the elbow. He smiled wanly at Joe.

  “Hi padre! I’m going home. One of the lucky ones. Yeah, your blessing won’t hurt.”

  Joe gave blessing and absolution to all. For some it was received with a broken smile, for others it was with a frown and shake of the head, while for others again, it meant nothing – their minds were beyond reason. Within the hour they were all wheeled out and boarded the plane that would take them home – home to the best treatment possible. After that – who knows, thought Joe. He had been inwardly and outwardly shocked by the state of these young men.

  He was driven back to his quarters by another sentry.

  Exhausted in mind and body, he fell onto the bunk, as he prayed for all those maimed young men flying home. Deep sleep hit him like a hammer.

  Chapter Five

  It was still dark when he awoke next morning. His watch showed shortly after 5.00 am. – too late to attempt further sleep. Once showered and dressed, he began his office – mechanically, while his mind darted in many directions. After some minutes he closed his breviary. “Later Lord,” he promised. “First we need to talk.” In both anger and sadness he continued. “How can You let this happen!” Yesterday’s group flashed before his eyes. “I know – You’ve given us free will and all that stuff. And I know the other side may have similar horrific wounds that we have caused. So, how can we stop this horror?”

  He was still wrestling with this mental riddle when the gong sounded for breakfast, after which he was to receive directions for the day.

  Leaving the canteen he almost collided with Hugh. “Glad to see you again, Joe,” the older man began. Then added, almost surprising himself, “I think we both have a few minutes to spare. Come into my office.” Together they covered the short distance to office.

  “Sit down, Joe. By the look on your face, you have already faced the horror of war!”

  “Yeah,” Joe nodded quietly.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I suppose my head knew I would be witnessing horror. But my heart wasn’t ready for yesterday.”

  “Yes. I can understand that. If it gets too much for you, we can send you home – it can be pretty hard for padres. I’m not a religious person so I don’t have the religious questions you have. Power and property are the main ingredients of the beginning of war. Sometimes each side will have varying ideas of right and wrong. Sometimes, one side will press on for more power and sovereignty at the expense of ignoring any aspects of right and wrong. Sometimes views on right and wrong become quite muddled.”

  Hugh gulped a large mouthful of water, then continued, “Like many of those here, I was conscripted. But I did believe in what we were fighting for. No doubt the other side believes the same – most of them anyway. War is not a lily that can be gilded!”

  “Thanks, Hugh,” Joe whispered.

  “I also must admit, most of the conscripts now are not happy about being here. But, for the sake of their country they give it their best shot. Shamefully, there is a minority – a very small one – who have performed atrocities. It is shameful, but something we have to accept!”

  “Thanks, Hugh,” Joe whispered again. “Life has always been rather black and white for me. I will try to adapt to the shades of grey of war.” They parted with a firm handshake.

  Joe soon found the small room that was to be his office for the next two years.

  Chapter Six

  Days turned to weeks and weeks to months, sometimes racing, sometimes dragging.

  Joe’s office soon became a popular spot on the camp. His open, friendly personality welcomed all who knocked on his door. For some it was a request for Reconciliation, but, for the majority it was to unburden fears of battle, to share a prayer or just to talk to a friend.

  Each Sunday after breakfast Joe celebrated the Eucharist in the mess hall. He endeavoured to make these liturgies happy and hope-filled to a usually well filled hall. At the conclusion, anecdotes of a past life were shared.

  Constantly he visited the make-shift hospital, administering the sacraments, sometimes the last rites. Occasionally he advanced with troops close to the firing line. He felt no fear, rather gratitude to be among the men he had learned to know and admire. Yet he was never able to answer the ‘why?’ completely. The importance of these times was in being a friend and supporter when needed. When requested he ministered to Viet Cong prisoners. Perhaps he would never find an answer to his ‘why?’ !

  Letters from home were constant and so very welcome. His mother and father had now retired from running the farm – very ably taken over by his brothers – and were living in a small newly built cottage on the property.

  Letters from Julian and Eddie were also constant and also very welcome. Julian, Uni. student once again, and Eddie, new parish priest in Bourke, both miles away in distance were always close in friendship and support. Naomi�
��s letters, although short, were full of love and support.

  He had been in Vietnam almost nine months when he opened Naomi’s letter that had arrived that morning. The joy he always felt on opening her letters faded and he froze as as he read,

  My dear Joe, this is not a letter I wish to write. There is something that I must tell you now – I have left it until almost the end. I am dying Joe. I have known for almost a year now that I have terminal cervical cancer. I was told not long before our last time together. But I did not want to spoil that special time for either of us. I am now hospitalized, with only weeks – perhaps days – left. I do not fear death. I know the God I believe in will welcome me. Do not be angry, my darling Joe. I will be close. I love you. Nae.

  How long he stood, frozen, holding her letter, Joe had no idea. At first deep, burning anger consumed him. He threw pencils, paper, cushions, anything within reach at the wall. He cleared paper work, books, anything on his desk with a sweep of his hand. He raised both fists above his head, “And You’re supposed to be a God of love! What a joke! You…”

  As quickly as it had come, his anger turned to grief he had never experienced before.

  “No! no!” he sobbed as he slumped to the floor. His whole body shook as the intense grief completely overcame him. “Nae, Nae”, he whispered between sobs.

  Much later he picked himself up from the floor as he began to think coherently. He must return to Australia immediately! To his great relief, he found Hugh alone in his office.

  “Joe! Whatever is wrong!” Hugh exclaimed as Joe entered.

  “Oh!” It only dawned on Joe then how dishevelled he must look.

  “Sorry to butt in like this,” Joe began. “I need to return home immediately. A very dear friend… of the family,” he added, “is dying. I need to see her before…” He faltered.

  Hugh, sensing most of the truth without being told, quietly answered, “Of course Joe. Go back and get together anything you need to take and I’ll arrange official leave.”

  Within hours Joe was in the air on his way back to Australia. He was met at the airport by Julian.

  “How did you know?” Joe asked, surprised.

  “Some guy called Captain Brown phoned and suggested that I meet you. What is it, mate?”

  Fighting back tears, Joe told him. Without a word, Julian’s arm was around his friend’s shoulder. They walked to the car in silence. As they did, Julian was tossing over in his mind the best way to help his friend.

  “I’m taking you to my flat for the night,” he began as he negotiated several curving avenues of the parking station. “And I’ll fly with you to Melbourne in the morning.”

  Joe marvelled at the way Julian, in taking over arrangements, had them booked on a plane the next morning and booked into a motel close to the hospital. Before they boarded, Julian had also contacted the hospital. He was rather taken aback by the blunt announcement from the Sister in charge of the ward, “Naomi is fading fast – probably only a day or two.”

  This he did not relay to Joe.

  Chapter Seven

  She’s as beautiful as ever, Joe thought as he looked down on the sleeping Naomi. How peaceful she looks! He took her hand and stroked it gently. She goes into these deep sleeps – almost pre-coma – he was advised, and may not awake until the next morning. He sat with her for some hours until Julian arrived.

  “We’ll come back early in the morning,” Julian promised.

  To Joe’s relief, Naomi was awake when he returned the next morning. She’s too weak to talk, he was advised. But when she saw him, Naomi whispered, “Joe … so good… see you.”

  “Nae.” Words seemed inadequate.

  He sat with her all day, gently holding her hand, sometimes talking to her, sometimes communicating through eye contact, sometimes in silence while gently stroking her hand.

  Early afternoon, she slept. She may not wake for hours but I’ll sit here, Joe decided. But an hour later her eyes opened and she whispered, “Bless… me… Joe.”

  Immediately Joe realized he had not prayed in two days, that, every time the thought of prayer arose, he slid the thought aside for some other time. Looking down on this beautiful fragile lady he loved so deeply, he knew there were some things he would have to work out later. But right now – right here and now – he knew that he and Naomi loved each other deeply, that Naomi was ready to leave for a God she loved and believed in, and he – well, he would try to come back to believing in a God of love.

  As he opened his mouth to word a blessing, he hoped the right words would come.

  “Dear God,” he whispered, “bless Naomi. Thank you for her life and love. Bless her for all she has done in Your name.” He stopped as tears began to fall.

  She squeezed his hand as she whispered, “Bless… Joe.”

  Joe continued, “May she always walk close to You in love and joy. In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” as he made the sign of the Cross over her.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “See you… tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Time to go is it,” he laughed softly.

  “Au revoir,” she whispered.

  “Tomorrow,” he whispered. But tomorrow never came.

  The call came in the early hours of the morning. As Julian took the call, Joe was beside him. But he knew before Julian gave him the news – Naomi had gone.

  Chapter Eight

  The church filled to standing room. Julian had arranged with the parish priest for Joe and Eddie, flying down late the night before, to concelebrate at the Requiem. Now he, part of the large congregation, watched as Joe and Eddie processed with parish priest and curate. Even from a distance he was aware of Joe’s stiffness. Yes, Julian thought, he will get through; his mask is firm.

  There was no doubt, from tributes from teachers, pupils and a State education representative, that Naomi had been not only a popular and caring teacher and principal, but also a deep-thinking teacher with far reaching goals for the future benefits of pupils. Throughout, the Requiem was rich in liturgy and music.

  Naomi was laid to rest in a quiet corner of the suburban cemetery. A gentle breeze had blown up, easing the tall gum trees to sway gently. But Joe did not notice. Mechanically he answered the short prayers at the graveside. As those present began to throw rose petals down on the casket, Eddie took his arm and, joined by Julian, they walked to the car Julian had rented.

  “Thanks, guys,” Joe whispered. The mask cracked as tears began to flow slowly, silently.

  Neither friend spoke. They knew Joe was beginning the journey of working through the stages of grief. And they would help him through.

  Long into the night they talked, always aware of Joe’s needs. Eddie spoke mainly of his new position in Bourke, Julian of studies and professional possibilities for the future. He was tempted to bring up the subject of the new interest in his life, but decided against it. Both Julian and Eddie listened with great interest to some of Joe’s experiences in Vietnam.

  “And you really want to return straight away?” Julian asked.

  “Yeah! I’ll be right.”

  “What about your family?” Eddie asked.

  “I decided not to tell them I was over. They know nothing of Naomi. Better that way – even though they’d try to understand. I’ll be back within the year and spend some time with them then.”

  They flew to Sydney early the next morning. Once again Julian was able to help his two friends on their different flights.

  As Eddie’s flight was called, Joe’s hand touched the arms of two friends. “Not the place for our ‘bear hug’!” he smiled. “I have no words to fully express my gratitude for all your help. I don’t think I could have held the mask in place without you. Thanks!” His eyes filled with tears.

  “Where mates are needed, you know,” smiled Eddie as he ran on the last call for his flight. An hour later, Julian farewelled Joe, as he caught a plane to connect with his army transport.

  Chapter Nine

  So di
fferent this time, Joe thought as he looked around. All on board seemed to bear the stamp of having been this way before. Rumours came and went that the war was coming to an end. He slept spasmodically but was wide awake as they landed. A different driver, he noticed.

  “How’s good old Aussie?” the young man asked.

  “As great as ever!” Joe answered. How these young men must yearn for home, he thought.

  Back at base, he was soon meeting Hugh in his office. At first their communication was as friend to friend. After the initial greeting, Hugh asked, “How are you really feeling, Joe?”

  “Still in a bit of an unreal world,” Joe answered.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “I think so, Hugh.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Joe. You know this traumatic experience is not a twenty-four hour phenomenon. Losing a close friend can be mighty hard.”

  “I know, Hugh.” He knew no one, except his two friends, could hope to understand how he felt. They alone knew that this was an extension of what he had lived through in the past couple of years. And they alone knew the depth of the friendship and love he and Naomi had shared.

  “Okay. If you feel up to it. We certainly are grateful for your return. But feel free to ask for time out if you need it.”

  “Thanks, Hugh.”

  “So – now to work. You’ll find things on the Base similar to before. Too many casualties! Too many young lives taken or maimed for life. Too many! It’s coming to an end. At best it will be a ‘no win’ on both sides. At worst – who knows!”

  “Nearly time for mess call. Time to unpack and freshen up. The boys will be pleased to see you back.”