Sand in the Wind

by Robert Roth

  Turning in the doorway, he said, “I’d like to talk to you some time.” She made no reply, nor did her face give any indication that this would be agreeable to her. He stepped out into the quiet deserted street and headed towards the hospital. Her face remained in his thoughts as clearly as if it were before him; and he wondered why. It never occurred to him to wonder why she had spoken to him at all, or about the things she had chosen to tell him. Knowing that he would never see her again and that now she was even more of a mystery, he regretted the entire evening. When he reached the hospital, Kramer was irritated to find himself repeating her name.

  Childs and Hamilton were walking along the orange dirt road back to Ninth Motors. They had spent their second day in Da Nang at Freedom Hill, the huge PX complex wandering through and around it while eating hamburgers, french fries, and carrying Cokes in their hands. That night they had slept at the Marine Air Wing facility, and they were now heading towards the helicopter landing pad to get a ride back to Hill 65. Childs was in an unusually good mood, and he asked Hamilton, “Aren’t you glad I talked you into this?” Hamilton, walking with his head down, made no reply. “What the hell’s wrong with you? This was almost as good as an R and R, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” Hamilton answered sullenly. It wasn’t Da Nang that he was thinking about. Now that they were heading back to Hill 65, Hamilton’s thoughts returned to what had happened under the canopy. All during the time they had been in Da Nang, these memories had been forgotten. Only now did he relive that scene, and he did so with no sense of horror. What had happened did trouble him; but only because he had so easily accepted it, and this seemed vitally wrong. Something told him that he should be horrified by the memories of what had happened; and yet it was merely the absence of this guilt that bothered him. Hamilton kept reminding himself that only Pablo and Tony 5 had refused, but this seemed more a reason for guilt than an excuse against it. He remembered how the men had been purposely avoiding each other’s eyes on Hill 65, and sensed that it was each other’s knowledge of the act that was painful, not the act itself. Only Chalice had been greatly affected, had acted the way it seemed all of them should be acting; but this merely suggested that he was somehow weaker than the rest of them.

  Hamilton now refused to let himself again forget the act. It seemed his responsibility to keep thinking about it until these thoughts brought on a feeling of guilt. Without really being conscious of it, he sensed a deep incongruity in his reaction — either he should feel guilty or he should search out the hidden flaw in his consciousness that misled him into thinking that he should. He was only able to state this idea to himself in the simplest of terms — ‘Something is wrong, fucked up, really fucked up.’ He walked along in silence, pondering the problem without results or even the hope for any, sure that he hadn’t really understood what had happened, that the eating of human flesh must be something more than merely that, something horrible. For the first time he felt a need to talk about it; to have his guilt explained to him. As of yet he had not heard anyone else mention what had happened, and this made him hesitant to do so. He realized that the fact that no one even dared to joke about it was of even greater import. When he finally spoke, Hamilton found no significance in his own choice of words or the guiltless tone that he used. “Childs, do you remember when we ate part of that Gook up on Charlie Rid—”

  “What the fuck do you want to bring that up for?” Childs cut him off angrily. “I’m glad we did! So what?” And Childs believed what he said, or most of it. He was glad. It seemed to prove something, his whole attitude maybe. He wasn’t completely sure what, but it did prove something. Hamilton remained silent, and Childs now became conscious of the angry tone he had used. He wondered how Hamilton could refer to the eating of human flesh, this act which had to be so important in order to prove anything, how he could refer to it as if he were asking, “Do you remember that hamburger we ate at the PX yesterday?” Hamilton’s tone had illustrated with such unequivocal clarity the single aspect of the incident that bothered Childs — the fact that it never would have happened if not for him. It had been his act. He was glad it had happened; but only about the part involving himself. The fact that he had eaten human flesh proved something, but the fact that he had induced others to commit this same act caused him nothing but guilt.

  Childs remembered how he had stood with the knife, determined to go through with it even before the others had realized what he was thinking. It had seemed impossible that anyone else there would also be capable of this same act. He had relished the idea of having the others stand horrified while he ate the flesh, chewed and savored it while smiling at their aghast stares, telling them how good it was. He had been so excited by the thought of it, that his amazement at the reactions of those around him had remained hidden. Childs remembered seeing Kovacs nod for him to go ahead, and how he couldn’t believe that Kovacs — ‘the guardian of the flag’ — actually understood what he was thinking, how he wanted to explain it to him and see the horror on a face seemingly incapable of horror. He remembered Forsythe — ‘of all people’ — saying, “I’m starved,” and Hamilton saying he could eat anything. Then, right then, he wanted to shout, “Idiots! Don’t you realize what this means?” Childs remembered Kramer saying the only thing he was capable of — “It’s up to you” — saying nothing at all. Only Tony 5 had reacted the way Childs had expected — “Are you crazy?” Childs wanted to answer, “No, motherfucker, you are; and I’m gonna prove it!” Pablo had refused, but quietly, knowing. Only Tony 5 — ‘Who would have thought? . . . ’ — had acted the way Childs had anticipated. Still, he was sure that he had proved something, maybe even more than he had imagined possible. Only one thing bothered him. Some of them — ‘Hamilton: “Remember when we ate that Gook?” ’ — did not have the slightest perception of what they were doing. Some of them did know — ‘all the better’ — but some of them had ‘no fucking idea, as if they were at a picnic,’ not realizing that they were eating the ‘filthiest, sickest, most putrid sewage imaginable — human flesh.’

  They continued walking in silence, Hamilton’s presence reminding Childs that through this person’s ‘ignorance or stupidity or innocence’ he had acquired guilt. Hamilton hesitated to speak again, sensing that Childs had mistakenly taken his last question as an accusation. Finally Hamilton did speak, in the same tone as before, to ask about something that he felt bothered him much more than it should. “Remember when we were trying to get Fields’s body?”

  “What the fuck do you want to bring that up for?”

  Hamilton continued as if he hadn’t heard Childs. “Remember all the trouble we went through? Didn’t you feel stupid?”

  “I’ve felt stupid ever since I arrived at Parris Island.”

  “Cut it out, will ya! I mean shouldn’t we have left him in the river?”

  “We didn’t,” Childs answered. “Why the hell are you worrying about it now?”

  “We — I mean, I mean if it was me in the river, I wouldn’t of cared.”

  “You’re damn right you wouldn’t. When you’re dead, you don’t care about nothing.”

  “I mean I would of said, ‘Forget it you guys. I’m dead. Get the hell out of here.’ ”

  Childs was anxious to drop the subject. “Ain’t no way, motherfucker. If you were dead, you wouldn’t a said shit.”

  Hamilton stopped walking and glared angrily at Childs. “You’re pissin’ me off.”

  Childs regretted having made a joke out of it. “Relax, will you.”

  “All I want to know is why we went to all that trouble.”

  “Oh, is that all you want to know?” Childs said sarcastically. “I’ll tell you: It’s a Marine Corps tradition never to leave dead or wounded behind.”

  “I know that, but it seems like it would have been so much simpler to just leave him.”

  “It.”

  “Huh?” Hamilton asked.

  “He was dead. It was a corpse.”

  “Childs, will y
ou cut that shit out.”

  “All right, just relax. It’s a Marine Corps tradition. That means it’s naturally stupid.” Childs realized this explanation was far from adequate, so he added, “I suppose it’s because sometimes you don’t really know if a guy’s dead. This way you go back and find out. Once you’re there, you might as well take the body with you.”

  “But we knew he was dead.”

  “Sonofabitch. . . . I’ll tell you what. Let’s smoke some herb.” As he said this, Childs pulled the last joint out of his pocket. They were walking down the side of a busy road, but when he saw Hamilton’s troubled expression he lit it anyway. Hamilton waved the joint away. Childs kept holding it out until Hamilton finally took it. Before the marijuana could possibly have affected them, their mood lightened and they both began walking with carefree gaits. Childs remarked about how good the hamburgers had tasted, and from then on they traded excited reminiscences about the previous two days.

  As Childs and Hamilton approached Ninth Motors, they noticed a young girl walking in front of them. Her red silk dress ruffled gracefully in the breeze. All they could see was her back, and each knew the other was trying to imagine how beautiful she was. Anxious to see her face, they began to walk faster. Suddenly, she turned — faced them with a single transpiercing eye that erupted from a mass of napalmed flesh. Neither of them could move. Seeing their horror, the girl refused to turn away. First Childs, then Hamilton, burst madly by her. They continued to run at full speed long after they were exhausted, neither one daring to look back.

  Kramer was the last man to board the helicopter to Hill 65. It failed to take off immediately, and he saw a member of the ground crew waving someone else aboard. Hamilton and Childs came running up the loading ramp and collapsed in some seats directly across from him. Kramer knew that he should at least act angry. His mind on other things, it took some effort to face them with an irritated stare. Unaware of Kramer, Childs and Hamilton continually gasped to each other, “What a freak-out!” The helicopter was halfway to Hill 65 before they noticed him. Kramer continued to stare at them coldly. Hamilton gave a nervous nod of recognition and Childs hunched his shoulders as if to ask, “So what?” When the helicopter landed, Childs and Hamilton scurried off without looking back. Kramer was glad to be rid of them, but he realized he’d have to say something and figured now was the time to do so. “Wait a minute!” he called out. As they approached, Hamilton was visibly nervous, while the expression on Childs’s face alternated between insolence and nonchalance. Kramer said calmly, “If anything like this happens again, I’ll screw you to the wall.”

  2. Hill 65

  Kramer found Kovacs in the platoon hootch cleaning his rifle. He knew that Kovacs had only five days left in-country, and was glad he would still be with the platoon for their first three days in the Arizona. Kovacs’s first question was about Harmon. His second was a request to remain behind when the platoon left for the Arizona. Surprised, Kramer asked for the reason.

  There was no hint of pleading in Kovacs’s answer, only a statement of what he considered facts. “I been here thirteen months. And I’ve stuck my neck out a lotta times when I didn’t have to. There ain’t a reason in the world I shouldn’t be dead now. I’ve got three days to spend in the Arizona. I ain’t gonna tell you what it’s like. You’ll have to see for yourself. If I played it safe, I’d make it; but if I get a chance to stick my neck out, I’d probably be stupid enough to do it. I just don’t wanna give my luck a chance to catch up with me.”

  From what he had seen of Kovacs, this argument made sense to Kramer; but he also knew that he’d feel more confident having Kovacs with him, even if it was only for three days. “I don’t blame you, but it’ll be a lot safer for the men with you around. I’ll see you don’t stick your neck out. Besides, Preston got to the rear somehow, and you two are my most experienced men.”

  Kovacs made no effort to hide his irritation as he replied, “Preston never was worth a shit. You’re lucky he’s gone. Now Tony 5 can move right up to platoon sergeant.”

  “What about Valdez?”

  “He’s got the short-timer’s jitters — wants to stay with his squad.”

  “But you’ve had more experience than Tony.”

  “Come off it, Lieutenant. I’ve been here three months longer than Tony. I’m him three months later. You know what the story is: If a man’s worth a shit, he gets better according to how many more lives depend on him.” Kramer remained silent, so Kovacs added harshly, “I don’t beg.”

  Both of them were thinking about the time Kovacs volunteered to stay behind under the canopy; Kovacs with irritation and Kramer with guilt. “All right, I’ll talk to Trippitt.” Although he kept from showing it, this reply incensed Kovacs. He knew that Trippitt would make him stay until the last possible minute. Kovacs had previously reserved judgment on Kramer, but he now looked upon him as gutless and was sorry he had even asked the favor. As Kovacs started to walk out of the hootch, Kramer asked, “What do you think he’ll say?”

  Kovacs realized that Kramer knew exactly what Trippitt would say. He stood staring at Kramer, making no effort to answer. “All right, stick around the hill for three days, then go in to An Hoa on your own.” Kovacs was still irritated at Kramer for not agreeing immediately. He turned his back on him and left without a word. Kramer remained sitting in the hootch, realizing he had made a mistake with someone whose opinion he valued, but thinking, ‘At least he won’t be around to remind me.’

  Kramer sent for Tony 5 and Sugar Bear. While he waited, he tried to think of some words to add when he would tell them they were now the platoon’s sergeant and right guide. After a few sterile minutes, he realized that no pompous words were necessary. When they did arrive, he merely gave them the news and headed for the officers’ hootch.

  Tony 5 and Sugar Bear took their promotions matter-of-factly, as if they had been assigned to a different working party. Tony’s only concern was having to give up his blooker. It was a grenade launcher that looked like a single-barreled, sawed-off shotgun. Each of the three rifle squads in the platoon had a man that carried one, and Tony had been in charge of Alpha’s for the last six months. Now that he was Platoon Sergeant, he would have to leave the blooker with his squad. He found it hard to imagine himself without it. The blooker had become a part of him, not something ignored, but rather something unthinkingly depended upon. He gave it credit for saving his own life twice, and those of his friends many other times. Tony thought about who should receive it in the same manner a person would think about conferring a family heirloom upon someone sure to outlive him. Hamilton would now be Alpha’s squad leader, and was therefore eliminated. Childs had two Purple Hearts and would be sent to the rear in a few days. He didn’t trust Payne; and besides, as long as Payne carried the radio, Hamilton had an excuse to keep him from becoming a fire team leader. Tony felt Roads had been hostile towards him, and he would not consider giving it to anybody but a friend. This left Forsythe who had only a little over four months left in-country, and Chalice who was too inexperienced. He kept thinking he was leaving somebody out until he finally counted these men on his fingers, then added Bolton who was dead, Harmon medivacked, and himself promoted.

  Though he would have liked to assign the blooker to someone with more time left in-country, he finally decided on Forsythe.

  Knowing that Forsythe had probably skated out of his working party, Tony didn’t even bother to go to the S-2 office. Instead he decided to check out the few time-killing haunts available on the hill. The second one he tried was the shack that served as a Vietnamese souvenir store, referred to by the men as the Gook shop; and it was there that he found Forsythe sipping a Coke and talking to the Vietnamese girl who ran it.

  Forsythe objected to the idea of trading his rifle for the blooker. The reason he gave was that he’d been lucky with his M-16 for almost nine months, and he didn’t want to do anything to change his luck. Tony realized how dependent a man could become upon his particular weapon,
and was hesitant about forcing him to switch. Instead, he tried to convince Forsythe by telling him he was the only man in the squad he was sure of. Still reluctant, Forsythe suggested Roads instead. Tony 5 rejected this suggestion without giving the actual reason. Forsythe then suggested Chalice. Tony replied that he wasn’t sure enough of him, but finally agreed to give him a chance.

  Chalice was also hesitant about switching his M-16 for the blooker, but he felt he was in no position to argue. In order for Chalice to get some practice, Tony 5 took him and a sack of ammunition to the area on the hill that served as a dump. He gave Chalice an old oil drum as a target. The first thing Chalice did was raise the blooker to his eye and sight it in. This wasn’t the way Tony wanted Chalice to fire it, but he kept quiet and watched as the round landed within five yards of the oil drum. This impressed Tony. He then explained to Chalice that because the rounds exploded upon impact it was only necessary to come within five yards of a target; and therefore the ability to fire quickly was more advantageous than extreme accuracy. He also explained that he wanted Chalice to shoot from the hip without aiming, and to practice reloading as quickly as possible. Chalice tried this, and the first round landed twenty yards in front of the oil drum. He quickly loaded another round and placed it fifteen yards in back of the target. Tony was impressed by the fact that both shots were directly in line with the oil drum, and he was more impressed when the next three rounds landed within five yards of it.