Down and Dirty

by Len Levinson

  “You'd better find someplace to hide,” Frankie told Bannon. “Butsko's gonna kill you when he gets his hands on you.”

  Bannon thought he'd play dumb. “What I do?”

  Frankie glanced at the girl. “You know what you done, and Butsko knows too. You been boffin’ this little girl after he toldja not to.”

  Meanwhile, unknown to all of them, another little village kid had been bribed by Butsko to tell him when Bannon and the girl showed up. This little kid was on his way to Butsko's hut while Bannon and Frankie were talking.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Bannon asked. “Go fucking AWOL?”

  “I think that might be a good idea for you right now,” Frankie said.

  The girl stepped forward and put her foot down. “He not going anywhere! We getting married!”

  Frankie raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

  “That's right,” Bannon said. “We're getting married.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me!”

  “No.”

  Frankie winked at Bannon to indicate he knew that Bannon wasn't really going to many the girl.

  “No,” said Bannon, “I'm really gonna do it.”

  Frankie looked the girl up and down. “Maybe it's not such a bad idea.”

  Suddenly the jungle was rent with a sound that was like a wild bull elephant on the rampage, only there were no wild bull elephants on Guadalcanal. The door in front of Butsko's hut was thrown to the side, and Butsko stood there in his clean uniform, his machete in his hand, lightning bolts shooting out of his eyes.

  “Where is he?” Butsko screamed.

  Bannon turned pale. “I'm getting the fuck out of here!”

  He turned to run, but was barefooted and stubbed his toe on a rock. Shouting in pain, he tripped and fell to the ground, rolling over and holding his big toe in both his hands. The girl knelt beside him, spit on his toe, and rubbed it with her fingers. “Ouch!” screamed Bannon.

  Butsko heard everything and came charging into the jungle, holding his machete high in the air. Frankie La Barbara ran for his life, and Bannon was so scared, he thought his heart would stop beating.

  “If he kill you,” the girl said, “he have to kill me first.”

  Butsko burst into the little clearing and looked down at Bannon on the ground. “So there you are, you fucking hound!” said Butsko.

  Bannon held up the palm of his hand. “Now, Sarge...” Butsko flashed his machete through the air. “You know what I'm gonna do to you!” “But listen...”

  “Listen my fucking ass!”

  The girl threw herself between them. “Leave him alone!” Butsko snarled and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he tested the blade of his machete with his finger. “Out of my way!”

  “No!”

  “I said out of my way!”

  “No!”

  Butsko was so angry, he wanted to tear apart the jungle. If there was anything he couldn't tolerate, it was insubordination. But the girl stood between him and Bannon, and he didn't want to hurt the girl.

  “You're even lower than I thought,” Butsko said to Bannon, “and I always knew you were pretty low! How could you take advantage of a kid like this!”

  Bannon opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so constricted with fear that nothing came out. He coughed, cleared his throat, and said weakly, “We're getting married.”

  “That's right,” said the girl, “we getting married.”

  Butsko wrinkled his nose. “You're getting married?”

  “That's right,” Bannon replied, trying to smile.

  “It true,” the girl added.

  Butsko's face twisted grotesquely and he looked as though he might turn green. “How could you tell such a rotten fuckin’ lie to this kid?”

  “It's not a lie, Sarge,” Bannon said. “I'm gonna marry her. I'm in love.”

  “In love!”

  “That's right. And you can be the best man if you wanna.”

  “Best man!”

  A crowd was gathering, and the natives appeared very worried, because Butsko was obviously on a homicidal rampage.

  Many didn't speak English well and didn't know what they were talking about. Butsko looked like he was going to chop up the chief's daughter and the soldier with his bright, shining machete.

  “You little fuck,” Butsko said, trembling with anger, “you're a private again as of right now!”

  “Why can't you make up your mind, Sarge?”

  “I'll fucking kill you!”

  Butsko charged Bannon and the girl, holding his machete high in the air. At that moment the little old chief showed up with his retinue of armed guards.

  “What is wrong, my friends?” the chief asked.

  Butsko stuttered and got tongue-tied, because he didn't know how to tell the chief that Bannon had been off in the woods, fucking his daughter.

  The girl stood up. “Father,” she said, fluttering her eye-lashes, “I am getting married to this man.”

  The old chief blinked. “You are?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  The old chief looked at his daughter and then at Bannon. A smile creased his face, because his daughter was sixteen and it was time she got married. “Very fine,” he said, “very fine.”

  The girl rushed forward and kissed her father. Bannon still lay on the ground, looking at the machete in Butsko's hand. Butsko lowered the machete and let it hang at his side. Little children jumped on Bannon, slapping and kissing him. Frankie La Barbara had watched everything from his hiding place behind a tree and scratched his head in mystification. The girl turned, took Bannon's hand, helped him up, and led him to her father.

  “Father,” she said, “this is the man I marry. His name Bannon.”

  Her father spoke better English than she did and was more skilled in the ways of foreigners. “How do you do,” the old chief said. “Welcome to the family.” He shook Bannon's hand.

  “I love your daughter, sir,” Bannon said, looking at Butsko out of the comer of his eye, just in case Butsko made a sudden lunge. “I'll try to make her happy.”

  The old chief looked up at the sky. “It is a good day for a wedding. I had been wondering why this was such a good day, and now I know. The gods are smiling on you and my daughter.” He clapped his hands twice. “The wedding will take place this afternoon.”

  Everybody applauded except Bustko and the other men from the recon platoon, who were bewildered by this sudden turn of events. The girl walked up to Bannon and smiled shyly.

  “I not see you again until we're married.”

  “Anything you say,” Bannon replied.

  Butsko finally found his voice. “Hey, listen, we're pulling out of here first thing in the morning, marriage or no marriage!”

  The chief nodded. “I understand, because the war goes on, but one day when the war goes away my son will come back to his village.”

  Frankie La Barbara covered his mouth with his hand. “Sure he will,” he muttered.

  “The preparations for the marriage will begin now!” the chief declared. “The marriage will take place in the middle of the afternoon and will be followed by a feast.” The chief looked at Butsko. “You are the bridegroom's sergeant, which means you are like his father. It is up to you to make sure no harm comes to him before the wedding.”

  Butsko nodded numbly.

  The chief pounded his staff twice in the ground for emphasis, then turned and walked away, followed by his retinue of armed guards. The girl was surrounded by the young maidens of the village, who led her in another direction, followed by a swarm of children. The men from the recon platoon were left alone in the jungle beside the village. Frankie dropped down to the ground and held his stomach as he cackled and laughed madly.

  “Bannon's gettin’ married!” he said “What a fuckin’ joke!”

  Butsko looked at Bannon and pointed his machete at him.

  “You're gonna go through with this, you little fuck, or else!”

  “Don't worry about it, S
arge,” Bannon said. “I wanna go through with it. I love the girl.”

  Butsko spat at the ground. “You don't even know what love is, you fuckin’ jerk-off.”

  George Company made it to the top of a hill shortly after high noon, and Captain Orr told them all to take a cigarette break. Pfc. Nordell, his runner, tried to raise regimental headquarters on the radio and finally got through. He told the radio operator on the other end that Captain Orr would like to speak with Colonel Stockton. The radio operator replied that Colonel Stockton was in the field, but Major Cobb was available.

  Nordell handed the headset to Captain Orr, and a few seconds later the voice of Major Cobb, the regiment's operations officer, came over the airwaves.

  “What is it, Orr?”

  “I just wanted to report we found that plantation house unoccupied except for casualties from the recon platoon. We couldn't make an accurate count because a lot of them were destroyed by grenades. We set fire to the building and tried to contact headquarters but couldn't get through, so we climbed to the top of Hill Eighty-three, where we are now, so we could transmit. What should I do?”

  “Stay where you are and keep your eyes open. If you see anything, report it. If you have any trouble, get the hell out of there. The regiment will probably catch up to you around this time tomorrow. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  Captain Orr handed the headset to Pfc. Nordell and turned to Lieutenant Holt. “Post lookouts and have the men dig in. We're gonna be here for a while.”

  Lieutenant Holt saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  A stream ran by the little native village, and the men from the recon platoon were bathing in it. The chief had sent them a small bar of soap that he'd received with his supplies, and the GIs passed it around, sudsing up and frolicking in the water. The food and rest had caused their strength to return, and even the wounded were able to lie on the bank of the stream and wash themselves.

  Craig Delane, the recon platoon intellectual, was amazed by Bannon's decision to marry the native girl, because he knew all about Bannon's girl friend Ginger Gregg back in Texas. How could a man shift the direction of his love so suddenly? Delane took life seriously, and he knew that he could never do such a thing.

  “Hey, Bannon,” Delane said, “are you going to tell Ginger about this?”

  Bannon shrugged as he rubbed the bar of soap into his armpit. “I dunno. I ain't really thought about it.”

  Frankie La Barbara guffawed. “What's he gonna tell her for? What she don't know won't hurt her.”

  “But aren't you supposed to marry Ginger?” Delane asked.

  “Yup,” said Bannon.

  “Well, you can't marry both of them, can you?”

  “I dunno.”

  Butsko was nearby, the hair on his head, chest, and shoulders covered with soap suds. “He don't wanna know. He don't wanna think about it because he's a fuck-up. He's thinkin’ with his dick instead of his head.”

  “Naw,” said Bannon, “it's not that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I'm gonna marry that girl, that's all I know,” Bannon said. “Why the fuck not?”

  Butsko pinched his nose between his thumb and finger and lowered his head beneath the water. When he came up, all the soap suds were gone. Shaw dived underwater, swam a short distance, and surfaced. Shilansky covered his little finger with soap and inserted it into his ear, trying to clean all the wax out.

  ‘Tell me something,” Delane asked Bannon, “how can you fall in love with somebody you don't even know? I mean, she doesn't even speak much English!”

  “I can't explain it,” Bannon said, splashing water on his face, “but I love her.”

  “What he's trying to say,” Frankie La Barbara declared, “is that he loves to fuck her.”

  Bannon became annoyed. “It's not just that.”

  “Is she a good fuck, Bannon?”

  “Shaddup, Frankie.”

  “Why is everybody always telling me to shut up?”

  “Because you talk too fucking much.”

  “Bannon,” said Delane, who was really trying to understand, “how can you fall in love with somebody you don't even know?”

  “I know her,” Bannon replied.

  “Not very well.”

  “As well as I need to know her.”

  “But you haven't lived with her. You don't know what she's like.”

  “My father never lived with my mother before they got married, and they got along okay.”

  “But they must have known each other for a while.”

  “You can be around somebody your whole life and still not really know them.”

  “I don't know,” Delane said, shaking his head. “I'm confused.”

  “Don't worry about it,” Bannon told him. “Everything's gonna be okay.”

  “Sure,” said Frankie La Barbara. “What the fuck does he care? We're leaving tomorrow morning and he'll never see her again.”

  “I'll come back someday,” Bannon said.

  “Sure you will.”

  “What about Ginger?” Delane asked.

  “I don't know,” Bannon replied, “but it'll all work out somehow.”

  Butsko groaned. “'It'll all work out somehow,’” he said, mimicking Bannon. “What a fucking asshole you turned out to be.”

  “I know what I'm doing,” Bannon said, a note of anger in his voice, “and if anybody here doesn't like it, he can go take a flying fuck at the moon.”

  Colonel Stockton returned to his headquarters at three o'clock in the afternoon, and the first thing he did was go to the tent of Major Cobb to find out what had happened while he was away.

  “Ten-hut!” shouted an officer when Colonel Stockton entered the operations tent.

  “At ease!” said Colonel Stockton. He looked at the officers circling the map table; they had been moving around pieces of wood that indicated the companies in the regiment. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

  Major Cobb stepped forward. “Bad news, sir. It looks like the recon platoon was wiped out.”

  A chasm opened up suddenly inside Colonel Stockton, but he stood erectly and didn't let anything show. “What do you mean?”

  “Captain Orr found them in that old plantation house. They'd been dead for quite a while.”

  “None got away?”

  “Captain Orr said he didn't know. Some of the bodies were blown apart by grenades and shell bursts and nobody could say who was who.”

  “Anything else?”

  Major Cobb pointed to the map and told of the movement of the regiment west across Guadalcanal. “I've told Captain Orr to dig in where he is and that we'd probably catch up with him tomorrow.”

  “Very well. Carry on.”

  “Ten-hut!”

  Colonel Stockton turned and walked out of the tent, crossing the jungle clearing to his own tent. He nodded to Sergeant Major Ramsay at the front desk, then went into his office and sat down heavily behind the desk.

  He'd been hoping that somehow the recon platoon had gotten away, but now he knew there was little to hope for. The recon platoon had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten it.

  He sighed and reached for his pipe, feeling depressed and sick to his stomach. He didn't want to do any work, but his companies were on the attack and he couldn't slack off now. Filling his pipe with tobacco, he turned down the comers of his mouth and shook his head. Then he reached for the communique’ on top of the pile.

  Bannon sat alone under a banana tree, smoking a cigarette. He was bathed and shaved, dressed in his clean uniform, and waiting for somebody to tell him what to do. Occasionally children would approach him, point their fingers, and giggle. He could see activity in the center of the village, girls and old ladies dashing from hut to hut. In another hut some men were chanting. It was pretty weird.

  A few feet away the other survivors from the recon platoon lay around, nursing their wounds. They smoked cigarettes, played poker w
ith dog-eared cards, and talked about women and good times. The Reverend Billie Jones read his Bible.

  “This ain't gonna be a Christian wedding,” he mumbled. “It's gonna be a pagan wedding, and a pagan wedding ain't a real wedding.”

  “Aw, go fuck yourself,” Frankie said, holding a pair of kings and a pair of fives in his hand, wondering how much he should bet on them. None of them had money, and they were using pebbles as poker chips.

  “Yeah, what does it matter?” asked Shaw. “It's just a fuckin’ ceremony. Don't mean nothin’.”

  “What do you mean, it don't mean nothin'?” asked Billie Jones. “There's always a third partner in every wedding, and that's God.”

  Frankie La Barbara snorted derisively. “I don't think God's ever come to Guadalcanal.”

  “Fuck God,” said Jimmy O'Rourke. “I don't believe in all that shit, if He comes down and stands in front of me, then I'll believe in Him.”

  “Someday He might,” Billie Jones said.

  “Bullshit.”

  A group of little children with flowers wrapped around their waists and hanging from their necks approached in a procession, and everybody looked at them. They were trying to be solemn, but smiles and giggles came through. They walked up to Bannon.

  “You come now,” one of them said.

  Bannon put out his cigarette and stood up.

  The children turned to the other GIs. “You too.”

  “You mean we gotta break up the poker game?” Frankie La Barbara asked incredulously.

  “You heard the kid,” Butsko growled. “Let's go to the

  of his love affairs had ever worked out. Bannon might be dead tomorrow, so why not let him get married?

  Butsko wanted to make everything right between him and Bannon before the ceremony, so he pushed his way forward through the GIs until he was at Bannon1 s side.

  “Hey, kid,” Butsko said. “I'm sorry about everything. I hope your marriage works out, and if you don't want to marry her, you can still get out of it. I won't cut your dick off.”