Bit by bit, the chips and flakes of the defective hand grenade were picked from Mellass eye. Then the surgeon put two stitches in the eyelid.
Youre incredibly lucky, Lieutenant, the doctor said. He was already pulling off his mask. Two of those slivers were just microns from severing the optic nerve. Youd have lost your eye. He pushed the machine back. You wont see normally for a week or so. Keep a patch on it for a while, but youll be able to return to your unit in about a week. He turned and began washing his hands. Mellas felt as if hed just been notified of his own hanging.
He was wheeled back and he slept.
When Mellas awoke he climbed out of the stiff sheets and hobbled to the passageway. The cold steel beneath his feet vibrated from the ships engines. He hailed a passing corpsman and asked where the enlisted men were. He was pointed in the right direction and limped off. He found Jackson in a ward with about a dozen other wounded Marines, all hooked up to IV bottles. Jackson was awake, staring at the wall, propped up against the headboard with a blanket over his legs. There were no bumps at the end of the blanket.
Mellas suddenly didnt want Jackson to see him. He wanted to walk away and blot Jackson from his mind.
A corpsman came up to Mellas. Can I help you, uh . . .
Lieutenant, Mellas finished for him. Id like to see one of my men.
Sir, were not supposed to have visitors except between fourteen and sixteen hundred hours. These guys are still pretty critical.
Mellas looked at the corpsman. Doc, he was my radioman.
If one of the fucking nurses comes in, I aint covering for you, the man said and stepped aside.
Mellas approached the bed. Jackson turned his head slightly, then looked away.
Hi, Jackson. How you doing?
How the fuck you think?
Mellas took a breath and nodded his head. He didnt know what to say. It was clear that Jackson didnt want to see him.
Look, Lieutenant, just get the fuck out of here.
Other Marines, whod been half-listening from nearby beds, went back to reading or fiddling with the tie strings on their light blue pajamas.
Mellas, also in pajamas, standing alone, felt suddenly naked. He seemed to be a petitioner at Jacksons stumps. Jackson?
Jackson turned his head again, looking coolly at Mellas.
Jackson, I . . . Mellas tried to keep some dignity, not wanting to break down in front of everyone. Jackson, Im sorry it happened to you.
Jackson turned back to the bulkhead. Then his lips started to quiver. I lost my legs, he said, his voice shaking. He started to moan. I lost my legs. He turned to Mellas. Whos going to fuck someone with no legs? His voice rose and he broke down completely. Whos going to fuck a goddamned watermelon?
Mellas backed away a couple of steps, shaking his head, feeling hed done something wrong for still being whole, for having collapsed, for letting Jackson do the hole-checks. He wanted forgiveness, but there was none. Jackson was now thrashing back and forth, shouting. Corpsmen rushed to hold him down, and one shot a needle into his thigh. You better get out of here, Lieutenant, the corpsman said.
Mellas limped into the passageway. He listened to Jacksons muffled screaming until the drug took effect; then he walked slowly back to the officers ward.
He slept and slept, waking up only for meals. When he finally had enough courage to visit Jackson again, he found someone else in the bed. Jackson had been flown to Japan.
Between bandage changes Mellas took long showers, ignoring the Navys plea to take short ones. Then he slept some more. He occasionally saw the nurse from triage. They studiously avoided each other. He also saw the red-haired nurse coming into and out of the ward. He couldnt help watching her. To his displeasure, she seemed to be on good terms with the triage nurse.
He tried to engage the red-haired nurse in conversation, but it was clear that she was on duty and had little time for it. She was polite and would occasionally give him a warm smile after checking on his eye. Soon they were having short conversations. He found out she, too, was from a small town, but in New Hampshire, and that they both used to like to pick blackberries. Although he was grateful for the brief conversations, what he wanted was to have her enfold him in her arms and hold him so tightly that it would be as if they had crawled inside each other. It wasnt to be.
Within a couple of days his wounds were no longer bleeding and he was asked if he wanted to eat his meals in the officers mess. He accepted.
He walked hesitantly into the polished wooden interior wearing his old boots, fresh jungle utilities, and a gold second lieutenants bar on one collar. Filipino mess men were putting the final touches on tablecloths. The tables were set with gleaming silver and white china. Mellas looked down at his scarred boots against the carpeted deck. One of the Filipinos motioned him toward a table for eight with four lighted candles as a centerpiece. He sat down. The chairs around the table filled with nurses, seven in all.
Mellass heart hammered with joy at sitting next to these women. He tried to contain his excitement by rubbing his hands over the tablecloth. Several of the nurses tried to talk with him, but he couldnt respond intelligently. He was struck dumb. All he could do was stuff food in his mouth, look at them, and laugh. They were talking about commissaries in Manila and Sasebo, and about leaves in Taipei or Kuala Lumpur. Some made innuendos about male officers while the others giggled.
Mellas wanted to touch them. He wanted to reach out across the table and put his hand over their hearts and on their breasts. He wanted to put his head on their shoulders, smell their skin, and absorb their femininity.
But they were older than he was, and they outranked him. They were also uncomfortable, assuming that he was horny. This was true, but it was not the whole story. Eventually their talk among themselves became less awkward, eddying around and over him, ignoring the problems and opportunities caused by the fact that they were women and he was a man. Finally they made their excuses and left Mellas alone. The Filipino stewards cleared the tables. One brought him fresh coffee.
He saw someone getting up from a chair across the room. It was the red-haired nurse. She seemed to hesitate, then walked over to Mellass table.
Mind if I sit down? she asked.
Please do, Mellas answered. He tried to think of a joke about the empty chairs around him but couldnt.
Hows the eye? She sat down and leaned closer to him, inspecting the bandage.
OK.
You like coffee, huh? she asked. She smiled warmly. She had let down her hair from where it usually sat on the top of her head. It reached almost to her shoulders.
Mellas opened up like a flower. He found himself telling her every detail of how to make coffee with C-4 explosives. They both talked about home, about growing up in small towns. She kidded him about paraphrasing Eliot just before the eye operation, but then she said, Somehow I felt that I was the shadow.
Mellas cleared his throat and scraped his boots on the rug beneath his chair. Well, not exactly. I mean you were part of it. You really want to know?
Sure. She smiled as if to say, Were all grown-ups here.
Out in the bush, he said, its first the bang and then the whimper. Then you end up here and its all whimper and no bang. He immediately regretted this attempt at being clever.
Not so funny, she said.
Youre right, Mellas said. Sorry. He paused. I just get tired of being politely treated like a sex offender.
You think we dont get tired of every kid that comes mooning in here out of the jungle, desperate for it?
It being sex.
I didnt think it was necessary for me to spell it out for you.
No, I can spell real good. Listen. S-E-X. Right?
She smiled sarcastically. Clever.
Yeah. Clever. He looked at h
is coffee mug. Its what every red-blooded American tiger wants, isnt it? He cocked his head, looking at her. He saw Williams, slung from a pole. Its only natural, right?
Sure, the nurse said, not unkindly.
The calm, kind way she said sure made Mellas realize he was talking with an actual human being who cared. It defused his anger at being perceived as a threat and at his own failure to tell her that he just wanted to make friends. He stared at his mug.
She sat back and looked at him somewhat quizzically.
They know they cant have s-e-x because enlisted men dont fuck officers, Mellas said. Maybe all they want is someone to be a woman around them instead of fake men with fake-men talk. They just want a real woman to smile at them and talk to them as though they were real people instead of animals.
Youd see it differently if you were in our shoes, she said.
And youd see it differently if you were in ours, Mellas replied.
There it is, she said. She looked him in the eye and smiled warmly. Look, I wasnt trying to be prissy. He noticed that her own eyes were green.
Mellas could see that she was trying to connect with him. He melted and smiled back.
Youve got to understand what we do here, she said. She started to reach her hand toward him on the table, but checked it and put both hands on her coffee cup instead. We fix weapons. She shrugged. Right now youre a broken guidance system for forty rifles, three machine guns, a bunch of mortars, several artillery batteries, three calibers of naval guns, and four kinds of attack aircraft. Our job is to get you fixed and back in action as fast as we can.
I know. I just dont feel very much like a weapon right now.
How often do you think I feel like a mechanic? she shot back. Then she softened. Its not why I became a nurse. She put her palms to the sides of her forehead and rested her elbows on the table. I do get so tired of it all. She looked up at him, no longer a Navy nurse, just an exhausted young woman. Theres too many kids coming on board, she finally said. Theyre lonesome. Theyre in pain. Theyre scared of dying. She paused. We can only patch the bodies. For all the othershe searched for a wordstuff, well, we try to keep our distance. It isnt easy.
There it is, Mellas said. She was stirring up all the feelings hed had when the meal started. He was afraid hed say something wrong and she would leave, so he said nothing.
She broke the silence. Theyre sending you back to the bush, arent they?
Mellas nodded.
She sighed. Its like I do my job well, and the result is sending you back to combat.
Kind of a bind.
Nothing like going back to the bush.
Mellas smiled at her again. He felt understood. He felt that he could talk with her.
Its different this time, he said. I know what Im in for. He swallowed, looked up, and then exhaled briefly. Im afraid to go back. He looked at her, worried that he may have overstepped a boundary, revealed too much. He ran his open palm over his unbandaged eye, shutting out the soft light of the wardroom. Images flooded in: stiff twisted bodies, the terror on Jacobss face, a leg pumping blood.
Remember that feeling you got picking blackberries? he asked. You know, with friends, and maybe somebodys grandmother whos come along and shes going to make pie when you get home, and the airs so warm its like Mother Nature is baking bread.
She nodded, smiling. I remember.
There used to be a great patch, Mellas continued, near the garbage dump of this little logging town where I grew up. He smoothed the tablecloth. She waited for him to continue. Its like a car suddenly roars down on you with six beefy guys in it. You stand there next to this old kind woman with your berry bucket in your hand and youre suddenly a little scared. All the guys have been drinking. Their faces are covered with masks. They have rifles. One takes the berry buckets and throws them down on the side of the road. They shove you around. Then they take you to the dump, laughing a little, as if theyre expecting some fun. Youre instructed that youre all going to play a game. Heres the rules. Mellas carefully pressed a butter knife into the white tablecloth. The men, that is the boys, have to crawl through the dump from one end to the other. Whenever we come across a can whose lid we cannot see, we must pick it up and show it to the men with the rifles. If the can turns out to be empty, we can continue. If it turns up unopened, then we get killed. We get down in the garbage. The dump always has a fire smoldering. The smoke makes you puke and cough. The old grandmas job consists of bringing water to any of us who come up with a pleasing or clever way of revealing the can. We even get ribbons if were particularly clever. Of course, if we refuse to pick up any cans, then we have to stay crawling in the garbage forever, or at least until the strange men get tired of their fucking game.
Mellas had to force the last sentences out between clenched teeth. He was bending the butter knife against the table, his knuckles white. And one by fucking onethe knife bent slowlythe guys you picked berries with get killed. And you just keep being clever. He rocked forward with each word. And the game goes on and on and on.
He looked up at her, the knife in his hand. The same rage that had caused him to whip out his K-bar and slash plants rose inside him. He wanted to lash out and cause pain. He pushed the knifes point into the tablecloth and with both hands bent the blade ninety degrees.
This clearly scared her. She rose. Im sorry, Lieutenant, she said. Maybe I She started to say something more, but stopped.
Mellas was bewildered at what had just happened. Im the one who should say sorry, he said. He nervously placed the bent knife next to a plate, wanting it out of his hand. It looked very odd there. It just spills out. I feel really stupid.
She reached across the table and put her hand on his. Dont be hard on yourself. It might be what gets you through. She pressed his hand quickly a couple of times. God knows we all need something. She looked at him for a moment. You take care of yourself out there. Then she walked rapidly through the hatch.
Mellas was alone with his pounding heart and his inexplicable rage. He knew that hed destroyed the one chance he had to talk with the one woman whod offered him what all the others were afraid to give. He wanted to run to her, grab her, talk with her about love and friendship. Instead he grabbed a handful of the polished silverware from the white tablecloth and hurled it against one of the plushly upholstered couches that lined the bulkhead. A Filipino mess man stuck his head out from the swinging doors of the galley. Seeing Mellas standing there, fighting for control, he quickly pulled back inside.
Mellas finished his coffee in silence. He could see his reflection in the polished wood paneling. It was obscure, a little distorted, but it was him, as he was now, alone.
Mellas wanted off the hospital ship.
Mellas was afraid to go back to the bush.
Mellas had no place to go.
His orders arrived in the morning. He was to return to his unit by 2000 hours the next day. So, with the arrival of this mimeographed sheet with his name on it, his feet had touched the ground. Time flooded back into his life like an unexpected but inevitable tide. Hed been on the ship five days.
He set out to get back his rifle and Vancouvers sword.
The sailor at the weapons locker looked bored. His weapon? His M-16? It must have been sent on to Fifth Marine Division. Here it is on the list. A sword? No idea. They dont do swords here. Theyre not considered weapons.
Mellas raged. The sailor sympathized. Mellas demanded to see someone. The sailor turned him over to the chief. The chief turned him over to the supply officer. The supply officer called up the records from the files. The records showed no sword. Dont worry, its probably gone to Fifth Marine Division with the rifles. Did he have a receipt? Here, fill in this missing equipment form. After all, it is a wea
pon.
Mellas returned to the ward dejected, feeling powerless.
At dinner that night he was subdued. Everyone at the table knew he was going back to the bush the next morning. He would soon cease to be a problem. Everyone was polite. The red-haired nurse wasnt there.
Around midnight Mellas gingerly pulled his clothes on over the bandages and went to look for her. He stepped into the faintly trembling steel passageway. The gradual swell of the South China Sea, along with the vibration of the engines, came up through the soles of his boots. He headed into the interior of the ship, through a labyrinth of passageways, down ladders that led to unknown spaces.
During the past few days, just as hed watched girls disappear down strange streets and into unknown houses in high school, hed watched where the nurses disappeared to when they went off duty. Also he remembered that the red-haired nurse was Lieutenant K. E. Elsked.
Matterhorn: a novel of the Vietnam War Page 60
