Sand Queen

by Helen Benedict

  One hour. Two.

  Another hour. Four.

  Heat. Sweat. Flies. Black bees swirling. Yellow sand, blaring sky, white dust. Unshaven men in shabby clothes wandering around, staring at the ground, staring at the wire, staring at me.

  My Kevlar feels hot and heavy, much more than usual, its four pounds of weight more like forty. A hot cauldron bearing down on my spine. I yank it off and toss it behind me. Let the mortars whistle into my brain. Who the fuck cares.

  But I forgot what the sight of female hair does to those prisoners, ‘specially red hair like mine. They’ve been yelling at me to take off my helmet for months already, so the minute they catch sight of my bare head—mayhem. They cluster around, yelling and hooting. I might as well be treating them to a striptease. The starer comes up close, leering and licking his lips. So does the jerk-off, of course. He walks right up to the wire under my tower, calls out something, pulls out his dick yet again and sets to.

  I raise my rifle and squint down the sights at him. Black bees buzzing.

  He laughs, staring right at me, and keeps going. His dick brown and wormy.

  I flip off the safety.

  He laughs again, pumping away.

  “Last chance, fuckhead,” I whisper. “I’ve been waiting for this.” And I begin to count.

  One.

  He won’t stop, even though I’m pointing my rifle right at his wormy dick.

  Two.

  He still won’t stop.

  Three.

  The asshole still isn’t getting the message.

  Four.

  Okay, baby. You asked for it.

  Fire!

  Red blooms from his groin. He stares down at it. Nobody moves. Not me, not the prisoners. Not even the wind.

  Then he throws back his head and screams.

  I jump up and rush to the edge of the platform, ready to shoot him again, or any other sand jockey who tries anything. They don’t know who they’re messing with—I’m a real robot now. I’d be happy to shoot every one of those fuckers in the prick or the heart—their choice. Who wants to be next, gentlemen?

  But just as I take aim, a wave of dizziness slams into my head like a fist. I sway. Stagger. The bees buzz louder.

  Everything goes blinding white.

  Then everything goes black.

  “CAN I HELP you?” The pretty woman stands in the doorway, sweeping suspicious eyes over the soldier. Her dog, a brown, square-headed mutt, pokes its head around her legs and takes a look too, its long tongue dripping. It isn’t barking anymore but the soldier backs up anyway.

  “Well?” the woman says.

  “Uh, no, it’s okay. I got the wrong house. Sorry to disturb you.” The soldier turns, ready to run.

  “Kate?”

  It’s Jimmy’s voice but she keeps going. She should have left him alone. What a fool.

  “Kate!”

  She walks a few more paces. Then stops. She doesn’t want to but she can’t resist his voice, her need for it. Helplessly, she turns around.

  He’s peering over the woman’s shoulder. Then he pushes past her and comes out on the porch. He looks beautiful. And terrible.

  “You should come in,” he says. “Now that you’re here.”

  His hair is longer now, black and wavy, and he’s wearing a stained gray T-shirt, worn-out jeans and sneakers with no socks, in spite of the cold. He has glasses on, normal ones with thin brown frames. But his eyes are circled with shadows.

  He turns to the woman. “Lock Daisy up, will you?”

  The woman’s face flickers annoyance, but she grabs the dog by its collar and hauls it away.

  Jimmy turns back. “Come in,” he says. “It’s okay. Really.” But his voice doesn’t sound okay. It doesn’t sound soft and welcoming the way it used to. It sounds hard and wary.

  Kate follows him in anyhow. She doesn’t know what else to do.

  The house is a dump inside. Much worse than she expected, even from the flaking paint and mildew. Maybe it’s just that she’s not used to people’s houses anymore, having spent no more than a couple weeks in her own between hospitals, but it looks dark and gloomy, and it’s littered with garbage. Magazines and beer bottles. Overflowing ashtrays. Cartons of leftover Chinese food. And, propped against a dead fireplace, a rifle.

  She drops her pack to the ground and walks over to it. She’s not sure exactly what she’s doing, but she seems to be picking it up and holding it to her chest.

  Jimmy watches her, nodding.

  The pretty woman comes back in, dogless, and looks at her. “Shit,” she says under her breath. Then, more loudly, “You want a beer or something?”

  Kate takes a better look at her. Long bangs falling into sticky black eyes. Big lippy mouth. Low-cut pink T-shirt, tight jeans, high-heeled boots. The woman might be pretty, but she’s a skank.

  Kate nods. “Yeah. Please.” The skank walks out of the room.

  “Sit,” Jimmy says, and hands Kate a pack of smokes. Ignoring the chairs, she settles on the floor with her sore back pressed up against the wall by the fireplace, the rifle across her lap. He leans over to light her cigarette for her. She draws it in deep, the first smoke she’s been allowed for weeks.

  The skank returns with three open bottles of beer and hands them around. “I’m Mandy,” she says.

  “I’m Kate. Thanks.” Kate takes a long swallow. The beer and the cigarette make her dizzy and colder than ever.

  “We were in the war together,” Jimmy says then. And he laughs.

  “Who would’ve thought?” Mandy mutters, dropping onto the newspaper-strewn couch. “You people keep coming around here. It’s like Jimmy’s a magnet for broken-down soldiers. We might as well open a fucking halfway house.”

  “Shut up,” he snaps, and Kate is startled. She’s never heard him talk to anybody like that.

  “Don’t worry,” Kate says quickly, almost sorry for Mandy now. “I’m harmless.”

  Mandy’s eyes drop to the rifle on Kate’s lap, but she doesn’t reply.

  Kate takes a second long swig of beer and stares at the dusty floor in front of her. Now what will she do? She never expected Jimmy to have a woman. She expected him to not want her, to send her away, to be angry and hurt like before. And she hoped she would talk him out of it. But for some dumb reason she never expected this.

  They sit still a while—Kate on the floor, Jimmy nearby in a ratty blue armchair, Mandy on the cluttered orange couch—drinking their beers and smoking in the dim brown light. It’s sunny outside but you’d never know it in there, except for the leaf-shaped shadows on the floor. They don’t say much. They can’t, not with Mandy there. She’s like a blast wall dividing the room and Kate’s on the wrong side. Kate wonders if Jimmy loves Mandy, and where she’ll go if he does.

  “When did you all get back?” she asks him finally. “I haven’t heard from anybody.” It hurts her, that. She thought at least DJ would call to see how she’s doing.

  “Beginning of last month. Rumor is we’ll be redeployed soon.”

  She’s silent, this unwelcome news crowding into her head. But then she asks, “You heard anything about anyone?” even though she’s not sure she wants to know.

  “Some. That fucker Kormick reenlisted.” Jimmy sends her a knowing look. “Boner, too.”

  Kate doesn’t answer. It’s been a long time since she heard those names spoken aloud and it sends her hands trembling worse than ever. Jimmy glances at them and frowns. “You okay?” he murmurs. For a moment he sounds like his old self.

  She picks up the rifle, grips it to steady her hands, and examines it. It’s a mess, all rusted-up. Probably wouldn’t shoot at all.

  “I hope that thing’s not loaded,” Mandy says. “Would you mind putting it down?”

  “Leave her alone,” Jimmy snaps again, then turns back to Kate. “DJ came around the other day. He’s doing good. He and his lady are working on having a third baby.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s nice.” Kate swallows. She’s afraid to
ask the next question, but she needs to know. So she squeezes out the words. “What about Third Eye? You heard anything from her?”

  Jimmy gives her a quick look. Then he gets up and crosses over to Mandy. He leans down, kisses her—it’s like a knife in Kate when he does that—and whispers something. Kate stares at the floor.

  Mandy mumbles a reply, sounding irritated. But then she stands up, tossing back her skanky hair. “I’m going to the store. Either of you want anything?”

  Kate shakes her head.

  “More beer,” Jimmy says. Mandy nods and walks out of the room, her butt swaying. Kate watches her. That’s the walk she can’t do anymore.

  They wait in silence till they hear Mandy drive off. Then Jimmy gets out of his chair, comes over to Kate and sits cross-legged on the floor facing her. He takes off his glasses. She wants so badly to hug him her arms ache.

  “So?” he says, his wonderful blue eyes searching her face. “What’s going on?”

  “Where are your little brothers?” is all she answers. “I wanted to meet them.”

  His gaze skitters. “They’re still with our aunt. I couldn’t… I can’t…” He looks away, his thin face sad.

  “You don’t want me here, do you?” Kate says then. “I didn’t know…” She nods at the door. “I’ll leave.”

  “No. Stay, it’s okay, really.” He runs his eyes over her face. “It’s been bad for you, hasn’t it?” he murmurs.

  She shrugs and looks again at the floor.

  “Does your family know where you are?”

  “Fuck my family.”

  “I take it that means no. What about Tyler?”

  “Same.”

  He pauses.

  “And the hospital—anyone there know where you are?”

  “Nope.”

  “Stay here with me, then. I want you to. I’ll explain it to Mandy. She’ll come around.”

  “You sure?” She looks back up at him.

  “Yeah.” His eyes hold hers. “I’m sure.”

  “Thanks.” She wants to say more, but nothing will come. “You got any other broken soldiers here?” She tries to smile.

  Jimmy leans back on his hands. “One left yesterday. You know him. Creeley.”

  “Button Nose? What’s wrong with him?”

  “He lost a hand. Couple weeks after you left. We were out on the road and a grenade came flying into our Humvee. He was trying to throw it back out when it went off.”

  “Shit. Poor kid.”

  “Yeah, but it could’ve been worse. Got him out of a second tour, at least.” Jimmy rocks forward again and looks at her a moment, his brow creased. “What about you? Can they make you go again?”

  She shakes her head. “Medical.”

  “Thank God.”

  “And you?” Kate says then. “Do you really have to go back?”

  He shrugs, turns his eyes away. “Of course.”

  The words slice into her. She can’t bear it, the thought of him going back there without her, the thought of him getting hurt. But all she can do is nod and stay silent.

  “Come,” Jimmy says then, getting up off the floor. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  He picks up her backpack and climbs the stairs, Kate following him. They walk up to a landing and down a hallway, past a bedroom with its door open. Inside, she glimpses a double bed, its sheets rumpled. She looks away quickly.

  “Here,” he says, pushing open a door and ushering her inside. He turns to her. “It’s good to see you again, Kate.” And, for the first time, he smiles.

  [ KATE ]

  I HAVE NO idea where I am. A tan tent, that much I can tell. A softer bed than usual. Daytime, because the light filtering through the canvas is hot and pale. I try to look around but the minute I move an unbelievable pain shoots through my neck and I hear a shriek. I have an idea it’s mine.

  A man’s face leans into my vision. Sweaty and red and topped by tiny sprigs of wiry ginger hair. “You awake?” it says.

  Is this one of my nightmares? I try to lift my arm to see if there’s any blood but that sends another spasm of pain searing through me. “Shit!” I yelp. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “How you feeling?” the man asks brightly. “Talk to me, soldier. Come on.”

  I blink at him a few moments, trying to figure out if he’s real. “What happened? Where the hell am I?”

  “You had an accident. You’re in the aid station. I’m a medic. Now tell me your name, rank and what year it is.”

  “Why?” I genuinely want to know.

  He looks annoyed. “I don’t have all day, just do what I said.”

  “Where’s Jimmy?”

  “Will you answer me?”

  I try to move, but another unbelievable pain pierces my back. Now I’m scared.

  “Come on,” the medic says wearily. “Name?”

  “Kate Brady. What the fuck’s wrong with my back? Ow! And my arm? What happened to me?”

  “Rank, age, year.”

  “E4. Shit, ow! Twenty. Two thousand three. Christ! I need to see Jimmy.”

  “Well, your brain seems all right. Your right arm’s broken and you wrenched your back, far as we can tell. Nothing too serious, don’t worry. But we’re shipping you to Kuwait for tests.”

  “Kuwait? When?”

  “Today. Medevac’s taking you with a couple other wounded.”

  “But I have to see Jimmy!”

  “Ain’t no Jimmy here. Now quiet down so I can give you a shot.”

  “Jimmy didn’t visit me?”

  “Not yet, soldier. Not yet.” And the man sticks a needle into my thigh.

  Jimmy never does come. Never. But to my surprise Third

  Eye shows up, just before they carry me out.

  “Hey Freckles, aren’t you the lucky camper?” she says.

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. You’re getting out of this craphole, aren’t you? Listen, I’ll look you up when I get home, okay? We’ll get a couple beers together.”

  “Okay,” I say unsteadily. “What the hell happened to me, do you know?”

  “You fell off your tower, you stupid bitch. Blacked out or something and, plop, off you went.”

  “Did I shoot somebody? I think I shot somebody.”

  “Yeah. You’d be in big trouble if you hadn’t got hurt. You didn’t fall off that tower on purpose, did you?”

  I just look at her when she says that.

  “Listen,” she adds after a second. “Teach said to give you this.” She puts a piece of paper in my left hand, the hand that isn’t wrapped in a cast. It’s only an address and phone number, no message, but I read it over and over, like it’s the Bible, a prayer, like it contains the only hope I have left.

  “Why didn’t he come see me?” I say to Third Eye.

  Two medics walk in just then, lift me onto a stretcher, which hurts like fuck, and strap me down while Third Eye stands back, watching. Then they carry me out and lever me into the back of a Black Hawk, along with a couple other soldiers who look much worse off than me.

  “Happy travels,” Third Eye calls just before they close the hatch. “Lucky cunt!”

  After that, it’s a blur of hospitals and drugs and doctors. Kuwait for a few days, X-rays and needles. Germany for a week, more X-rays and needles. Interviews with doctors, interviews with shrinks. Diagnosis: Two cracked vertebrae and a bunch of wrenched muscles from the fall. Spine compressed from the weight I had to carry day and night. Neck fucked from jolting around in the Humvee, banging my head on its goddamn roof. Brain injury from the mortars. Dehydration, malnourishment, hearing loss, depression…

  At least my spine isn’t broken. As for my arm, it’s a clean break, so it mends pretty fast. I’m lucky, they say, that I didn’t fall on my rifle and shoot myself just as I hit the ground. That’s what lucky means in the Army.

  Then they send me home at the end of August with muscle relaxants and painkillers and antidepressants and sleeping pills to medicate myself back i
nto a robot, numb enough to redeploy when they want me. Meanwhile, the medical board gets busy and decides that no, they don’t want me after all. Too trigger-happy, I guess, even for the Army. Either that, or Henley and Kormick made sure to end my career.

  The first day I get back home, I hobble around my parents’ house, desperate for any drop of booze I can find. They aren’t big drinkers, but stuffed in the back of a kitchen cupboard I find the dusty bottles of whiskey and wine that Mom’s been given over the years by drug companies trying to bribe her doctor boss.

  I lock my bedroom door to keep everyone out and spend the next two weeks or so in bed drinking my contraband hooch, taking my pills and longing for Jimmy. Every step I take hurts my back, every thought hurts my heart. I can’t stand the sight of Tyler. Can’t stand Mom or Dad. Can’t stand our house or Willowglen or anyone in it, except April. Can’t sleep or eat either. Can’t even pray or think about God. Blood is in my eyes and my soul. Yvette’s blood, Zaki’s blood, the jerk-off’s blood, the blood of the Iraqi worker I let die in the mortar attack. The blood of that little boy’s donkey. Naema’s dad covered in it as I ground his face into the sand.

  I look in the mirror. Pale skin, empty eyes. Half robot, half fucked-up human being, the two sides fighting to the death. I have no idea which one will win.

  [ PART FOUR ]

  WAR

  [ KATE ]

  THE ROOM JIMMY’S giving me is perfect. Old-fashioned and cozy, with four tall windows and butter-yellow walls. After he shows me in, I stand in the middle of it for a second, just to soak it up. Cream curtains. An old quilt on the bed, embroidered with yellow flowers and pale leaves. The wide floorboards painted dark green, like moss. It makes me feel safer than I’ve felt in months. Or maybe it’s only knowing he’s so close.

  “Is this the house you grew up in?” I ask him after a moment.

  “Yeah, but it’s all mine now. Least till my brothers come back.”

  I don’t want to make him explain why his mom isn’t here. Back in the loony bin, probably. Poor Jimmy.

  He puts my backpack on the bed and turns to me. It’s still overwhelming to see him here, right next to me, alive and solid. He’s the only person I’ve seen since I got back who feels real. It makes me need him so bad I can hardly breathe.