Decoration for Valor

by Joe Cassilly

  I went through the dining room into the sun porch, where a hospital bed sat on one side and wicker furniture was crowded on the other side. Curtains had been hung halfway up the long windows. I sat for a moment trying to imagine my father in that bed. Then, I went back to the kitchen to go through the mail. The first couple of letters were from the colleges I had written. I tore open the one from Arizona. They needed my high school records. “Good,” I thought, “an excuse to visit the old school.” One letter invited me to join an association of retired non-commissioned officers. “Great, twenty years old and I’m retired already.”

  The last letter was battered and covered in post office rubber stamps. The first address to Walter Reed had been crossed through and my home address written on it. I started ripping at it when I saw the APO on the return address. Someone from Vietnam had written to me. I fumbled trying to get my fingers under the flap. Finally, I grabbed an end between my teeth and the rest between my palms and ripped it open.

  It was a get-well card with a note inside.

  “Hey 60,

  Greetings from the land of rice paddies and water buffaloes. Hope this letter catches up to you, Jake. In case you hadn’t heard, the company got moved out of Cu Chi in early December.”

  I shook my head. No wonder I had not heard from them. My letters were probably in Tibet by now.

  “Half of us got sent to Long Binh and the rest got sent up north. We heard that one of those teams got the shit kicked out of them, but I still don’t who got it and how bad. Anyway, Long Binh is the pits. They got us doing perimeter guard duty. The regular troops are a bunch of potheads; Charlie could walk right past most of them. The boredom is driving me crazy. You know us, we’d rather be in the field. All they do here is get drunk and plan on coming home. The ARVNs let us go for a parachute jump with them, and even a couple of guys who aren’t airborne went. It was wild. I’m a short timer. I’ll be the hell out of here in a month.” I looked at the date. March 12. By now, the writer was home. “Write if you get a chance. Let us know you’re not dead. I’ll get in touch when I get home. Harry.”

  Harry had been the assistant team leader. He was a good Baptist who would sit around reading the Bible. I wonder if they thought I might have died. I was in bad shape when I left Vietnam. I had not tried to write at first. Why didn’t Harry send his home address? Did the whole team stay down south? Ann touched my shoulder and I jumped.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come down. Are you alright?” She noticed that I had gone pale. She took the letter from my trembling hands and read it quickly. She rubbed my shoulders and slid her hand down my neck inside my shirt collar. It was a different touch than most I had felt over the past six months; it conveyed gentleness, caring, and affection. She ran her fingertips up and down the pale scar on my spine. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah, I just hadn’t thought of what might have happened to those guys and how much they mean to me.”

  She patted my shoulder. She took plates from the dishwasher. “You like tuna casserole?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “It’s a low calorie recipe.”

  “Then I’ll eat twice as much.” She walked around to the oven and pulled on oven mitts. She was wearing a very short dress that came to the top of her thighs. She opened the door, bent forward, and reached into the oven. The dress rode up so that I was looking at her light blue lacey panties. I looked away. I am not supposed to be looking at my mother’s sister’s behind and thinking it was cute and sexy.

  Hold on. Why couldn’t I look? I had been living in a hospital for the last seven months. I had been surrounded by nurses whose bedside manner was as stiff as the starch in their uniforms. I was tired of being a cripple who they ignored at every opportunity. I wanted to be a man. I wanted to look at lacey panties. I looked back at Ann. She was spooning noodles onto the plates. She had long, tanned, muscled legs and the dress clung to all the curves of her body. My eyes were not crippled. Women were one of the things in the plus column about being out of the hospital. It was the first day that I was on my own, not just a few hours and then a retreat to the hospital, but in this place where I could feel safe, have a beer when I wanted, read my mail and look at a pretty woman, sit at a table and have dinner with her. Like guys who did not live in hospitals could do.

  “Can you set the table?” she asked. I looked away. Did she know I was staring at her?

  “As long as you don’t care if the salad and the dessert forks aren’t in the right place.”

  “We’re not having salad or dessert. They’re not on my diet.” I put a tray on my lap, went to the drawer, and took out linen napkins and silverware. I placed them on the linen placemats on the table. Ann came in and set the plates on the table and lit the candles. She pulled the chair at the head of the table away for me.

  “I’m not sitting in my father’s place; I want to sit in my usual place.” I dragged the chair to the right away from the table and pulled in. I hit my knees on the table. I lifted my feet off the footrests and then pulled in.

  “Do you want another beer?” she asked.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Your mother and I are trying wines.”

  “Then I’ll have wine.”

  She took the tray that I had used and returned with ice water and white wine. She slid her plate beside me and sat down. I grabbed my fork but saw that she had folded her hands. I bowed my head and she said grace. “Nobody ever says thanks for hospital food,” I said wryly. I sipped the wine. I did not let her see the face I made. It was too sweet. “Aunt Ann, if you ever have…”

  “Wait a second,” she interrupted, “if we’re going to get along, you may not call me aunt. I was ten when you were born. If anyone asks, you are my younger brother.” She smiled. “But you are not going to make me feel old with this auntie crap.”

  “All right I got it. Ann, if you have any plans for this evening, I’ll be fine.”

  “What makes you think I have plans?”

  “Because you are a pretty, single woman.” I noticed her blush.

  “Thanks for the compliment.” She patted my hand. “But my plans are to do some laundry and do some homework.”

  “What kind of homework?”

  “English and Art History, they are required to get my teaching certificate.” We sat and talked as the room grew dark. She wanted to know about Vietnam. She talked about her plans for her future. I felt comfortable talking with her; it was like having a sister. While she cleared the table, I went to the sun porch. I cranked the hospital bed down so that the mattress was on a level with the cushion to my wheelchair. Ann came in.

  “You need any help?” she asked.

  “I just have to get off my butt and stretch out my back.” I lifted onto the bed. Suddenly, one of my legs straightened out with a strong muscle spasm and shook. Ann stepped back and her eyes grew big. I laughed. “Don’t worry; it’s just a spasm—not a miracle.” I dragged my legs onto the bed.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” offered Ann.

  “Please pull my boots off?”

  She pulled on the boot. It was very hard to get off and when it did slide off, I could see that my foot was very swollen. Before I could tell her not to, she slid up my pants leg and grabbed the top of my sock to pull it off. There was the hose to the leg bag. I felt uncomfortable. “It’s the leg bag I have to wear.”

  “I know,” she said matter of factly. That made me more self-conscious. She could probably see the outline of the bag under my pants or maybe my father had had to use one. She got the sock off and massaged my foot. The pressure of her fingers left deep indentations in the swelling. Then, she pulled off the other boot and worked on my other foot.

  “You don’t have to do all that,” I said.

  “But I like to,” she replied. “Do you want me to bring in the portable TV?”

  I shook my head. “No, I am going to read the rest of the mail and take a nap.”

  “Do you want me to help you
get ready for bed?”

  “No.” I could not explain the discomfort I felt. The house was safe. It had provided a refuge from frustrations, anger, and humiliation. I was not ready to undergo the feelings of helplessness, dependence, and embarrassment. I read through the mail and fell asleep.

  31

  The Body Image

  “Jake, Jake.” Ann was shaking me. I opened my eyes and was confused that this was not the hospital. I looked at my watch. It was after midnight. Ann was wearing a white robe over a blue silk pajama shirt. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my hand. “Let me help you get ready for bed?”

  “No. I’ll do it later.”

  “Jake.” She sat, waiting for me to look at her. “At the hospital, you said you needed help. Why won’t you let me help you?”

  I laid my arm across my eyes. I found it difficult to explain what I thought should be obvious. “You don’t know what it’s like to be ashamed of your body. To be stripped naked and have people treat you like a thing, to have them not care if it hurts, and to have no control of your body.” It was silent. After a minute, she squeezed my hand and pulled my arm away from my eyes.

  “You’re wrong,” she said hoarsely. “Of all the people you could possibly say that to, I understand most of all.” She turned so that she was facing out the window. It was the same as when I covered my eyes. She went on. “If I tell you something, would you promise never to tell anyone else, especially your mother?”

  What could be such a personal secret? “Yeah, I can keep a secret.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of myself when I was a little girl. I was skinny then but I can’t remember that time. Sometime around when I was nine, I started gaining weight. I think your mother leaving for college 173 getting married had something to do with it. My parents always compared me to her but I could not compete. I was so alone and miserable.” She paused and took a deep breath. She had waited a long time to share this burden with someone. “Anyway,” she went on, “I didn’t notice until I went to high school. I began to hear the comments in the hall. I hated gym. I was so embarrassed to change in the locker room, to have the other girls see me. I studied and spent a lot of time alone and it just got worse. By the time I finished high school, I weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. I told you I did not go to college before—it was not because I did not want to, but because I wanted to escape that atmosphere. I became a secretary in a tractor dealership. I gained still more weight, but all I met were farmers.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “All they had to compare me with were Holsteins, so they thought I was thin.” I smiled. She did also.

  “For the next ten years, I never went swimming, never went to the beach.” She started crying. “I never had anyone to give me a hug or a kiss. Do you know what it feels like to never be touched, to be ignored, talked about and treated so cruelly?”

  “Yes, I think I do.” I rubbed her shoulders.

  “I think you do too,” she said. “That’s why I told you this. It’s so much different now. Guys at work, who never noticed me before, are always stopping by my desk. Yesterday while I was running, some guys in a pick-up truck yelled and whistled. They were jerks but it still felt great. You’ve been feeling shame for your body for a few months, I felt it for years.”

  Maybe it would help if I could tell someone what was bothering me. Could I trade secrets with Ann?

  “Would you promise to keep a secret and never tell anyone, especially your sister?” I struggled to sit up. She turned and her face came within inches of mine and she looked into my eyes. She tried to read my face.

  “Yes,” she said. I could feel her breath on my lips.

  “You can’t tell anyone ever,” I repeated.

  “I promise,” she assured me.

  Then, it was my turn to look out of the window. I told her what Lavassuer had done to me. The whole time, I felt my face burning hot, but I was relieved to have told her. I had concentrated so hard on what I was saying that I did not feel her put her arms around me. When I finished, I felt her rocking me gently and saying softly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “He made me hate myself.”

  I laid back down and she lay beside me. I don’t know if I drifted off; my head was crammed with tumbling thoughts, but there was the grandfather clock striking one in the morning.

  “Are you asleep?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered, “it just felt good being with you. I can help you get ready for bed. If it does not make you too uncomfortable.”

  “I’d appreciate that, as long as it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” She helped me off with the camouflage jacket and put it on a hanger on a hook behind the door. “I’ll iron that for you tomorrow.” I took off my shirt. All that was left was my pants. I looked at her. I wished that I did not have to go through this again. She nodded. We got the pants off. I got into the wheelchair and I put a towel in my lap. We went into the bathroom. She faced me and leaned forward to take off the leg bag. I found myself looking down the V-neck of her shirt. She was not wearing anything else but her panties. Her breasts moved as she worked and her nipples were hard. She must have known what I was looking at and I did not make any effort not to look.

  I took the leg bag and rinsed it out in the sink while she prepared the irrigation kit. She moved the towel from my lap and inserted the syringe into the catheter. I did not watch what she doing until she said, “Oh.” I looked down and saw that I had an erection and that only a few inches of the catheter protruded from the end. She was trying to hold the end of the catheter without touching my penis. I saw her blushing.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I don’t have any control over when that happens.”

  “Well from what I know, that isn’t any different from any other man. I mean,” she said, blushing harder, “your father and you are the only naked men I’ve ever seen.”

  “Honey, we gotta get you a man.”

  She finished and covered me with the towel. “You know,” she observed, “you don’t have a bad body. I’d give anything to get that skinny.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Ann, you’re overdoing this getting skinny. It’s plain to see what the guys in the truck were whistling at.” I saw her in the mirror watching me. “Do you think we could figure a way to get me in and out of that bath tub this week? I haven’t been in a bath tub in over a year.”

  “Are you sure you won’t dissolve?”

  “I’m melting, I’m melting!” I cried in a high, squeaky voice. We went back to the sun porch. She hooked the drainage bag on the bed. I climbed under the covers and she connected the hose to the catheter.

  “You know,” she said, “we’re going to have to get you a bathrobe. You can’t push around the house with a washcloth in your lap.”

  I fingered the sleeve of her shirt. “Maybe I could just wear the pants to your pajamas, auntie.” She clutched her hands around my throat and started to shake me. I grabbed around her and pulled her over so that she sat on the edge of the bed. I sat up and put my arms around her and gave her a tight hug. “I wish I had been there for you when you needed a hug all those times.”

  “Actually, you were. When you were a little boy and your parents would bring you to see your grandparents, you would give me a big hug and want me to read you a story.” She moved closer and put her arms around me and put her mouth near my ear. “Thank you for feeling that I was enough of a friend to tell me what happened to you,” she said tenderly. I felt her hands move up my back between my shoulder blades. I leaned to her and kissed her cheek, “Thank you,” I whispered. She drew away very slowly and rubbed her hand down my cheek. “Goodnight.” She walked out and I heard her climb the stairs.

  “Good night,” I called after her.

  32

  Adventures in Wheelchair

  Land

  Sunday morning was filled with bright sunshine and cool temperatures. I woke to the sound of the chimes of the grandfather clock, but I was unable to count the hours. I smelled the coffee an
d heard Ann singing with the radio in the kitchen. I heard the swinging door into the dining room open and she came into the sun porch carrying a tray with mugs of coffee, a vase with a daffodil, and a plate with a donut. I rocked from side to side and sat up.

  “Oh good, you’re up. I was considering a bucket of water.” She handed me a mug. I struggled to get my fingers through the handle without burning myself. “Are you going to church?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we’ve got to get going. It’s after ten. The last Mass is at 11:30. You must have been tired.”

  “I guess the drive took a lot out of me.”

  “I didn’t know whether you brought clothes home, so I went up and looked in your closet. Are these okay?” She held up a blue blazer, blue dress shirt, blue and white paisley silk tie, and khakis.

  “That’s fine.” I thought how if someone had brought those pants to the hospital, I would not have had to put up with that stupid clerk in Richmond. She put her hand on mine. “Tell me what you need me to do.” I had her clamp off the catheter and take the drainage bag and empty it. Meanwhile, I pulled on the knee sock and used my teeth to pull up the support socks. Before she got back, I had a pair of boxers on and the catheter down the leg opening. I talked her through the routine. I got the pants on and put on a pair of loafers. Once in the chair, I sipped coffee while she buttoned the shirt and we tied the tie together.

  Last night had established a friendship that made me comfortable when she helped me. It felt different than in the hospital. She passed me the doughnut. “Aren’t you having a doughnut?” I asked her.