by J. R. Ayers
“I don’t know about that. I’ve never loved a woman.”
“What about your mother?”
“Mothers and sisters don’t count, Jack.”
He stood to his feet and capped the brandy flask. “I have to go. Lot’s of wounded to call on.”
“Thank you for the brandy. And the conversation,” Jack said.
“I’ll say prayers for you at evening Mass.”
“Good. I certainly need them.”
Chapter 9
Marie Hayes arrived a short time later with clean water, fresh bandages, and a warm smile. “You’re burning up,” she said touching Jack’s forehand with the back of her hand. “I’d go crazy lying around in heat like this.”
“You’re already crazy.”
“I can leave you know. There are plenty of sick men who would love my company right about now.”
“Oops.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like anybody shot through the shoulder feels.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No. Not since yesterday evening.”
“They’re making quail soup down at the mess tent. Should I fetch you some?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll walk down later. I need to stretch my legs.”
“You’re in rather bad shape to be walking.”
“Nothing wrong with my legs.”
“I was referring to your head. You may become dizzy. Maybe fall, and injure yourself further.”
“We can’t have that now, can we?”
She worked in silence replacing his bandages, deftly deflecting the hand that strayed to her face a couple of times.
“Your wound’s infected,” she said smelling the bloody bandage she removed from his shoulder. “You need to go to the infirmary.”
“Are they going to put me under a tree again?” She frowned fussing with his new bandage.
“Of course not. Most of the severely wounded have been treated. There’s room in the infirmary.”
“Good. I prefer my bunk to a tree root.”
“I saw your friend Corporal Campbell this afternoon,” she said.
“How was he?”
“He’s quite uncomfortable. His speech is slurred and he has trouble swallowing. He asked about you.”
“Did you tell him I was spry as a spud?”
“I told him the truth. I saw the priest too. He said he was to tell me that you love me. You shouldn’t have done that Jack.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
She sat back in the chair and smoothed her apron. She was wearing a clean blue dress and her hair was fashioned in a bun and covered with a white kerchief. She was a spot of beauty in the midst of so much ugliness. “We have to get something straight mister Saylor,” she said firmly. “If we’re to remain cordial you must stop saying that you love me. Anyone with any sense at all knows a person doesn’t fall in love with another person in less than a week. You hardly know me, Jack. You don’t know a thing about me or my family or my background. I might as well be a stranger for all you know about me. I’m not a fool, Jack. I know what you want from me. So does everyone else who sees how you behave around me. It’s embarrassing and it’s disrespectful and it needs to stop.”
“Since when does telling someone you love them disrespectful?”
“When you don’t mean it, that’s when.”
Jack was beginning to become angry and he checked himself before he said something he would later regret. “When can I go to the infirmary?” he asked.
“Anytime you like. Stop by the mess tent first; you need to get some nourishment in your stomach if you want to get well.” She turned to leave and Jack put his hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said. “I won’t do it again, I promise.” She seemed poised to speak but instead she turned quickly and left the room leaving behind the scent of lilacs.
Jack dressed in the clean clothes and walked to the mess tent and sat with the priest while they ate soup and bread. “Good thing I’m right handed Jack said.
“How is the shoulder?”
“Stiff. Sore. Marie says it’s septic. I’m headed over to the infirmary after I choke down some of this dish water.”
“We should be thankful for whatever the Lord gives us to eat,” the priest said.
“Another sermon?”
“We Catholics call them homilies. But no, I’m not here to preach to you. I am concerned about Corporal Campbell, though.”
“His soul?”
“Of course. But also his outlook. He’s seems very depressed over his injuries.”
“Wouldn’t you be? I mean, did you see his face?”
“I did. Very debilitating injury. But the doctor says he can live a normal life, with some adjustments.”
“Normal? I’m not sure what term you can use to describe Carl’s life now but normal would not be on my short list.”
“There’s more to life than physical appearance, Jack.”
“Maybe. But I want to see where Carl is five years from now. I know you’re not a betting man, Padre, but I’ll lay long odds on him being unmarried, unemployed, and addicted to whiskey. You disagree with any of that?”
“I guess I’m a little more optimistic than you,” the priest said. “I can see Corporal Campbell serving the Church in some future capacity. He would be an excellent example of a man overcoming great odds and personal affliction.”
“You mean a priest?”
“Not necessarily. But a lay person in some capacity.”
“Would that come with pay?”
“The church would see to his needs.”
Jack dropped his spoon on the table and stood to leave. “You’re a wise man, Padre,” he said. “Though you have a very naïve attitude about life.”
“Pray that I mature then.”
“I’ll do that. But it won’t do any good.”
The major in charge of the infirmary asked Jack how he felt after applying a treatment of potassium iodine to the shoulder wound.
“Awful,” Jack replied.
“I’m recommending you be transferred to Corpus Christie,” the major said. “They have a hospital there and better medicine and much better surgeons.”
“Corpus Christi?”
“Yes. I think you should leave at once. I’ll have to do the paperwork and of course your regimental commander will have to approve it, but it’s my professional opinion that you could very well suffer septic shock if that infection isn’t taken care of.”
So jack went outside and sat on the bench and waited for the surgeon to draw up the paperwork and Marie Hayes came out to join him and he said, “They’re sending me to Corpus Christie. They want to ship me out early in the morning. He said I would be better off getting there before the infection got any worse.”
Marie was quiet for a few moments and when she spoke her tone was soft and subdued. “I shall miss you Jack Saylor.”
“Are you sure? I won’t be around to embarrass you anymore.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“So you want me to embarrass you?”
“I want you to be discreet Jack. You don’t understand. You’re not a woman. People talk. Men talk; and they can be very cruel.”
“Come on Marie, they know the difference between a lady like you and a cantina tramp.”
“Do they? I see how they look at me.”
“I can assure you the men of my regiment have nothing but utter respect for you,” Jack said. “They’re jealous of me because you pay attention to me. I know it’s because I’m so handsome and witty and charming, but they think you pity me because I’m dense and unattractive.” Marie smiled and her cheeks colored and she said,
“You are rather dense.”
“But I’m very handsome, right?”
“Yes Jack.”
“And witty?”
“I suppose.”
“And charming?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
The surgeon brought
the documents and handed Jack a small green bottle and a roll of cotton cloth. “You need to replace that bandage twice daily until you arrive in Corpus Christi,” he said. “The bottle contains potassium iodine. Use it liberally. Good luck to you son, and God’s speed.”
Chapter 10
The wagon carrying Jack Saylor and two other men was ready to roll an hour before dawn. Miss Hayes met him at the infirmary and gave him a peck on the cheek when the other men looked away out of respect. She cried a few tears and he promised to look her up when he could and she said she would be waiting. The young priest stopped by to say goodbye and to say a blessing over the men.
“I will miss you, Padre,” Jack said.
“And I you as well. Take care of Corporal Campbell for me.” Campbell poked his head out of the wagon window and said,
“I’m in serious trouble if Jack Saylor has to look out for me.” He spoke as if his mouth was full and spittle leaked from the corner of his lips. A large bloody bandage covered both sides of his face from eyelid to chin.
The wagon set out heading for the rail head at Laredo with a four man escort comprised of mounted Calvary accompanying them. Jack stretched out on the floor of the wagon and Campbell and the other man a private named Baker sat on side benches and complained about the rough road and the lack of padding on the seats. “These ambulances were built for short distances,” the driver explained. “I’ll do my best to navigate the deeper ruts for you but I fear it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“How far is it?” Campbell asked.
“Around fifty miles.”
“Damn.”
As they passed the northern edge of town Jack looked out the back of the ambulance and saw the new graves in a garden west of the river. An old black civilian sat near the adobe wall making crosses out of cedar planks while a woman wrote on the completed ones the names, rank, and regiment of the dead men.
“Wish we was going to Corsicana instead of Corpus Christi,” Campbell was saying. “I got kin up there, we could stop by for a home cooked meal and sit under a shade tree for a while and breathe some air that ain’t tainted with gunpowder and yellow dust.” Jack tucked his right hand behind his head and said,
“I only understood about half of that. How are you feeling, Carl?”
“Not bad for a man with half his face missing. Does it look bad?” He lifted the bandages and leaned in close. Jack made a show of peering intently at Campbell’s face then shook his head.
“You never was very pretty, Carl, I don’t see as how that little scratch has downgraded your overall appearance any.”
“Don’t make fun, Saylor, it hurts to laugh.”
It was hot in the wagon and dusty and smelled like iodine and sweat with a subtle undertone of death. The flatbed wagon was constructed of oak planks secured to an iron frame sitting on tandem axles made of cold rolled steel and brass. There was a door in the back and two windows on the side and one smaller window in the front that opened to the driver’s seat. The driver was a civilian contractor named Collins, a large man with a long red beard and eyes the same color as the two mules pulling the wagon.
“You’re going to have to grow a beard now, Carl,” Jack said. “There’s no way you’re going to get a razor around those holes in your face.”
“If a man wants to grow a beard then I figure he can,” Campbell said. “Why don’t you grow a beard, Jack? Might cover up some of that ugliness.”
“I’m not old enough to grow a beard.”
“Bull, you’re thirty if you’re a day.” It sounded to Jack like,
“Bah, you’re burbee if you’re a bay.”
“The girls don’t like beards,” Jack said.
“You mean Miss Hayes?”
“I mean any woman.”
“So, how many women have you kissed?”
Campbell was beginning to drool and Jack could tell by the pain in his eyes he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable moving his jaw. Jack figured talking was good for him, though. Conversing made him feel normal, almost as if the terrible wound had never happened.
“More than I can count,” Jack said. “So, tell me more about this kin folk up in Corsicana.”
They chatted for a while then Campbell stretched out on the bench and drifted off to sleep and Jack looked out the window and thought about Marie Hayes.
Two days later they arrived in Laredo late in the morning and went directly to the Texas Central rail yard. It was a bad trip most of the way with a two hour layover in Edinburg due to a broken wagon spoke. Collins paid for the repair declaring that someone in power had, “damn sure better reimburse me, post haste.” Campbell got sick at one point and threw up on the floor but it hardly mattered because Baker had been sick on the floor on several earlier occasions.
They unloaded at the rail office and sat on benches in front of the office and the escort said goodbye and headed back to Brownsville and Collins drove off in search of a provost officer in hopes of collecting twenty-three dollars and twelve cents for the wagon wheel he’d purchased in Edinburg.
A young boy and his even younger sister walked by with their mother and stopped to gawk at the bandaged soldiers for a while. The little girl wore blonde ringlets and a cotton dress that made her look like the doll Jack had seen in a curio shop in San Antonio in the Spring of sixty-one. The mother was young and quite stout with pale eyes that regarded the soldiers with mild amusement.
“Mornin’ ma’am,” Campbell said. Jack doffed his cap and said,
“Don’t mind his garbled speech, ma’am, he received a wound the other day fighting to defend our glorious State.” The woman drew her children closer to her skirts and smiled politely and moved out across the ramp toward the rail office.
“Guess she has trouble speaking too,” Jack said. Campbell adjusted his bandages and said,
“She might have spoken if you hadn’t scared her off.”
“How’s that?”
“That, fighting to defend the State, nonsense.”
“Just trying to make you look good.” Campbell spat out a wad of bloody drool.
“Good luck with that,” he said.
A soldier walked by with a canteen on his belt and Jack asked if Campbell might have a drink and the soldier stood patiently by while Campbell slurped down the water spilling most of it on his blood stained shirt. They thanked the man and Campbell offered him a dime and the soldier said it wasn’t necessary and went on his way.
The day grew hot and the men began to wonder if they were to sit in the heat all day waiting for someone to collect them. Finally a squat fat man accompanied by a rail thin nurse carrying a large satchel approached the men and introduced themselves. “I’m Jenks,” the fat man said. “This is Nurse Lisette Babeneaux. She’ll be attending to your wounds during the journey to Corpus Christi.”
Nurse Lisette was a gaunt woman with brown hair and mismatched eyes. The left iris was amber colored with black striations and the right was as blue as the sky above her head. Her nurse uniform was of a dark gray with a white collar that was loose fitting and her black shoes were a maze of silver buttons extending up her ankles to disappear under the dusty hem of her dress. She had a tiny nose and large pale lips and virtually no breasts. Jack thought her generally an unfortunate looking woman but she had a confident air about her that was somehow vaguely appealing.
She nodded curtly to the men and Jenks said, “Our transport will be here directly. In the meantime I suggest Nurse Lisette replace your bandages.”
Campbell wasn’t keen on the idea so the other men went first then finally Campbell who ooohed and awwwed when she pushed the new bandages in place. “You’re not going to be a baby are you?” she asked. She had a strange accent that Jack couldn’t identify. She wore an alabaster carving around her neck depicting some obscure French big shot. “Louis Pasteur,” she explained when she saw Jack looking.
“So you’re French?” he asked.
“French Creole. I hail from Beauregard Parish, not far from the
Texas border.”
“Interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know a nurse called Marie Hayes would you?”
“No, sorry, I have not heard of her.”
“Charlotte Mason?”
“Oh yes, Charlotte and I went to university together. Do you know her?”
“I know of her. Pity you never met Miss Hayes. I know her much better.”
“She is your wife, no?”
“No.”
“Your sweetheart then?”
Campbell spoke up and said, “It’s a one way thing. He’s sweet on her and she’s just sweet.”
“I’ll handle my own conversations, thank you,” Jack said curtly.
Nurse Lisette went about packing up her medical supplies and the men ate a lunch of collard greens and salt pork and cornbread and the afternoon advanced into early evening and finally the troop train bound for Corpus Christi pulled into the station. The men found seats near the mail car and Jenks filled out government forms and the nurse sat calmly reading a worn copy of the King James Bible. Campbell sat across from her and clutched his coat in his lap and leaned forward in his seat and said, “I hope you like train rides, Miss Lisette.”
Chapter 11
They rolled into Corpus Christi early on the third day and unloaded in the rail yard. An ambulance took them through town to a hospital on Morgan Street. The ambulance was much more comfortable than the Brownsville model and Jack found himself actually enjoying the short ride.
As they drove along Jack saw a fruit and vegetable market and an open air meat market and dress shops and mercantile stores and open lots stacked with bales of cotton and stacks of tobacco on wooden pallets marked with shipping banners bound for the nearby sea port. The hospital loomed in the distance, a four story brown brick structure with a dozen chimneys extending from the top floor and all along the front facade myriad of windows of chamfered glass reflecting the sun like a giant prism. Someone had watered the streets to combat the dust and the air smelled clean and fresh and free of the sulfur-like stench of gun powder so prevalent back in Brownsville.
