Both of them totally misunderstood the conversation.
TWO WEEKS LATER, across the front page of Stars and Stripes blazed a banner headline that read: ARMY HOSTS FOURTH OF JULY PICNIC IN DA NANG. It was a tongue-in-cheek article that claimed the host or hostess of the infamous party was a phantom whose guest list included two hundred marines. The article went on to describe the tons of American food, the fireworks, and the man who thanked everyone in the President’s name. The phantom, it read, wore bush shorts, sandals, a flowered shirt and straw hat, the same attire worn by all the guests except the marines, who were in full battle dress.
It was the end of September before Mac received a copy of the article from Phil Benedict, who said in his note: “Your old man called me personally to ask me if you were the phantom. I said, with respect, sir, I work at the Pentagon, how would I know? He said, and this is no joke, that you were making a laughingstock out of him. Not true, old buddy, I heard via the grapevine that the Joint Chiefs thought it was a hell of a feat and they toasted the phantom over drinks the day the paper came out. Onward and upward, old buddy. Stay well.”
Mac passed the article around. It was found in December, in the pocket of a dead soldier, tattered and torn, along with his picture of a pretty nurse on his arm, taken at the picnic.
In the real world, December ushered in yuletide festivities the men in Vietnam could only dream about. Another year was drawing to a close, and Americans, if they weren’t too busy with holiday shopping, took precious minutes out of their busy schedules to reflect on the year’s events. They mourned the death of Louis Washkansky, the world’s first heart transplant, paid their respects at St. Patrick’s to Cardinal Spellman, and then rushed out to buy the newest appliance called a microwave oven, after which they clucked their tongues in collective approval when the church banned the movie Barbarella, starring Jane Fonda.
On December 23, two days before Christmas, the commander-in-chief, Lyndon Johnson, set down at the largest base in Vietnam to confer with, console, and wish the troops a Merry Christmas. Mac stood on the sidelines waiting for a chopper to take him to his appointment in Saigon, where he was to meet and spend the holidays with Casey. He expected to hear the President say he was ordering a lull in the bombing, but instead he said the Viet Cong had met their match and the United States would not “shimmy” in its resolve. He spoke about protesters back home, and assured the troops that slogans and signs could not diminish the pride Americans felt in their fighting men. The applause was restrained. Mac stood, stone-faced, his hands jammed into his pockets.
The death count in the month of December was 365 Viet Cong in the Mekong Delta. Four days later the United States ended its biggest airlift, landing 6500 men in Vietnam. With so many new bodies coming in, Mac and his men could be granted five-day passes for the Christmas holiday.
“Fifteen thousand of our men are dead, with over one hundred thousand wounded,” Mac muttered to an enlisted man standing next to him.
“I hear you, sir,” the man said quietly. “We’re doing our best.”
Mac looked at him. Christ, he was so young. He’d probably never shaved yet. Mac felt old and tired by comparison. “I know you are, son. Every man over here has given a hundred and ten percent.” He touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to write home, soldier,” he said quietly.
“I won’t, sir. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Mac said softly. He ran then. He was in a frenzy to reach Saigon so he could find a church to pray in.
Saigon looked the same, Mac decided, when he checked into the Princess Hotel. This time he took a suite of rooms. He had the better part of eight hours before Casey arrived. Time to go to church, eat, and do his Christmas shopping. And if it was the last thing he did, he was going to find a Christmas tree so he and Casey could decorate it. This was a Christmas he wanted to remember all his life.
Mac’s first stop was the small orphanage there run by French nuns. They escorted him to their chapel, where they told him he could stay as long as he wanted. Nothing, Mac decided, was ever more peaceful than this tiny chapel. He prayed for his men, for all the American men and women in Vietnam. He prayed for Casey, and then he prayed again, asking for guidance in telling her about Alice and the baby. He knew now he must tell her, for he was certain he wouldn’t see her again before both of them were rotated back to the States.
“Please help her to understand. Help me to do the right thing,” he pleaded in a voice choked with emotion.
He shopped then, going from one store to the next, buying whatever caught his eye. Twice he returned to the hotel with purchases. On his last trip he carried a scrubby pine and a bag of colored tissue paper. He was so proud of himself that he started to whistle as he set the pine in a metal wastebasket he’d filled with water. This was going to be the best Christmas of his life.
He had it all planned. Tomorrow evening, Christmas Eve, he and Casey would go to the orphanage chapel. If there was a service, they would attend; if there was not, they would join the nuns in prayer. Christmas morning they’d share a wonderful breakfast and then go to Lily’s apartment to drop off their gifts. Casey, he thought, was as anxious to see Lily as she was to see him. She wanted to see Lily’s baby. The thought that Lily might need something prodded him to go out again. According to Casey, Lily was working in the hospital and a mama-san was taking care of the infant, the infant her parents wouldn’t acknowledge because he was Amerasian. His own guilt demanded he seek out Lily and hear her story for himself. Casey had been sketchy at best, giving him only the highlights of Lily’s sad departure.
He got lost twice before he found the shabby building Lily lived in. He knocked and knocked again. Lily opened the door. She had the infant in her arms. She looked so pretty holding the baby. Mac’s throat constricted. “May I come in, Lily?”
“Of course. I’m sorry, my manners are . . . I was just surprised to see you. Is Casey with you?” she asked hopefully.
“No. She should arrive early this evening. Lily, is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, Mac, thank you for asking though. I have my job at the hospital. I can pay my mama-san for taking care of the baby while I work. We have enough food. There is nothing else I need. I appreciate your concern,” she said wanly. “Would you care for some tea? It is fresh. I just made it.”
“If it’s no trouble.”
“It is never trouble to fix tea for a friend. Would you like to hold the baby?”
He didn’t want to hold the infant, didn’t want to know what it felt like to hold a baby in his arms.
“Of course,” he said, holding the baby so gingerly that Lily laughed.
“He won’t break. He’s quite strong actually, and he is a little glutton. He weighed eight pounds at birth,” she said proudly.
“He’s pretty,” Mac said, feeling out of his depth.
Lily laughed again when she set the tea things down on a scarred wooden table. “Girls are pretty, baby boys are handsome.”
“I stand corrected. He’s a handsome little fellow.”
“He looks like his father. Of course, he has my hair color, but his eyes are definitely those of his father.”
“Lily, please tell me about it. Perhaps I can help.”
Lily looked surprised. “Casey hasn’t told you?”
“A little. She’s your friend, Lily. She wouldn’t think of interfering in your life.”
“Casey is the best friend I ever had. I feel like I deserted her,” Lily said, wiping at the corners of her eyes.
“Casey doesn’t feel that way at all. She wants what’s best for you.” This, he knew, was going to play a big part in Casey’s decision when he told her about Alice and the baby.
“I was pregnant before the picnic. I was going to tell Eric that day, but I didn’t want to spoil things. I thought I would have more time before he left. He was gone two weeks later. I never got to wear the blue dress,” she said sadly. “I did my best to hide my pregnancy from Casey. She did com
ment a time or two about my weight gain. She didn’t pick up on my bouts of nausea either. As soon as I had the baby I wrote and told her.”
“If you give me his name and outfit, I can get word to him.” He pretended not to see the tears in Lily’s eyes. She was so proud he didn’t want to offend her.
“He’s a doctor and he’s married. I knew that in the beginning. We were honest with one another. He already has children. This baby won’t make a bit of difference. I know this in here,” she said, touching her chest. “I wanted him to love me, and he said he did. For a while I believe he did, when he first arrived. The other nurses told me he was a playboy. But by then it was too late for me, I was in love with him. My parents . . . objected strongly. They love me, but have forbidden me and the child in their home. It is our way, and I understand this. I have disgraced them.” Lily cried softly. “My child will suffer all his life for my mistake, and nothing I do can change things.”
“Maybe I can change them for you. Maybe I can get you out of here. If I can, will you leave?”
“Oh, yes, yes, Mac, I will leave. This is possible? You could do this?”
“I can try like hell. It may take a while. I rotate out of here in February, so does Casey. If you’re willing, so am I. What about your parents?”
“I must do what I must do for my son. Someday my parents will understand this. Now, enjoy your tea and tell me what you and Casey have planned for your holiday.”
They talked quietly, so as not to awaken the sleeping infant, until it was time for Mac to return to the hotel to wait for Casey. At the door Lily smiled. “Thank you so much for coming by, Mac. It has been a wonderful visit. I’ll look forward to spending Christmas Day with both of you.”
It was raining, though the dry season had begun, a steady, gray drizzle that was cold and left Mac feeling raw and half angry. He tried to understand his feelings as he made his way back to the hotel. By the time he reached his hotel he felt chilly, with goose bumps dotting his arms. It was the first time since he’d arrived in Vietnam that he felt anything but hot and sweaty.
He shed his clothes for dry ones before heading for the bar to wait for Casey. His heart was pumping furiously, his adrenaline at an all-time high. Soon he would see the girl he would love into eternity.
OUTSIDE HER TENT the rain fell in torrents, dampening what should have been Casey’s exultant mood. She was edgy, overtired, with a headache that wouldn’t let up. She’d swallowed eight aspirin in as many hours, with no relief. Her head felt thick, and from time to time she shivered. It never occurred to her that she might be getting sick. She’d been here for twenty-two months and had suffered nothing more than heat rashes. She wouldn’t allow herself to get sick, not now, when she would leave within the hour to keep her appointment in Saigon with Mac. In her mind she blamed her overtiredness on five straight days of working eighteen-hour shifts. She was exhausted, but she could sleep on the various hops that would take her to Saigon.
A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her when the chief nurse walked through the open flap of the tent. She shook water from her poncho before she cursed the weather, the VC, and the medical supplies that were already three days overdue. “You still look peaked to me, Casey,” Major Hagen said, full of concern. “And you’re shivering.”
“It’s nothing,” Casey lied. “I think it’s that time of the month, arriving a little ahead of schedule.”
“Oh, okay.” The relief in Maureen Hagen’s voice was so pronounced, Casey had to smile. Hagen inevitably fell apart whenever one of her nurses got sick. She could handle anything else: a soldier’s guts steaming in an open wound, amputations, death and more death, but she turned green then white when one of her nurses complained of anything worse than a headache. No one as yet had been able to explain the woman’s anxieties.
“I know this isn’t the time to speak with you, but I want you to think about what I’m going to ask while you’re in Saigon. You’ll be rotating pretty soon. I’d like you to think about extending for another six months. The army will send you anywhere in the world for thirty days of leave if you do. You’re the best nurse I’ve ever seen. I honest to God don’t know how we’re going to get along without you. The doctors came to me and asked me to . . . what they said was you were the finest operating room nurse they ever worked with. So, I’m asking.”
Casey pulled on a sweater. “I’ll give it serious thought, Major.”
“It’s all I can ask. Listen, Casey, have a nice Christmas, and say a little prayer if you attend midnight mass.”
“I’ll do that, Major, and you have a Merry Christmas yourself. Is there anything you want me to bring back from Saigon?”
“A white knight. Barring that, a box of caramels will do nicely.”
Casey’s face was too white, Hagen thought. And she looked weak slogging through the mud to the chopper pad. Hagen realized she hadn’t taken Casey’s temperature. What in the hell kind of nurse was she? She’d meant to, intended to. She’d even brought a thermometer with her. But nurses didn’t get sick. Nurses cared for the sick. That’s all there was to it. “Watch out for her,” she whispered in a little prayer.
The first leg of Casey’s trip ended in Tuy Hoa, where she boarded a second chopper along with two corporals heading for Cam Ranh Bay. The moment the young men leaped to the ground, the chopper was airborne, its rotors fighting the sluicing rain. When she transferred to yet another chopper in Long Binh, she knew she was sick. She swallowed three aspirins. When she reached Saigon she was so feverish and weak she could barely make it into the airport.
“I’m laying over until tomorrow. I’ll help you,” the pilot said gently. “Just tell me where you want to go.”
Casey debated a moment. Should she go to the hotel or to Lily’s apartment? She didn’t want Mac to see her like this, and if she went to Lily’s, the baby might pick up her germs. “The Princess Hotel,” she croaked. She coughed, her slim body shaking so badly that the pilot held her close.
“I think I should take you to headquarters so a doctor can take a look at you.”
Casey shook her head. “This is just a bad cold. Once I get warm I’ll be okay. I’ve been taking aspirins all day. I’ll get some fresh juice and some toast and by tomorrow I’ll be fine. If I’m not, I’ll see a doctor.”
“As long as you’re sure,” the pilot said dubiously.
Casey went through another bout of coughing. Holding her erect, the pilot led her to a waiting taxi and gently helped her into a corner so she wouldn’t slip off the seat.
She slept on the short ride. She struggled to wakefulness when the pilot opened the door for her. She tried to get out of the cab, tried to stand on her feet, but her knees buckled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. What was Mac going to think?
Mac stopped pacing long enough to look toward the hotel entrance. A guy carrying a girl. So what. Then he saw the golden head and the Mickey Mouse satchel.
He’d never seen sickness before—death, yes, but not sickness. He saw the tears, heard the apology before he took her in his arms. His eyes questioned the pilot. He was scared witless.
“I wanted to take her to a doctor,” the pilot said, “but she said no. She needs a doctor, sir.”
“I’ll take over, Captain. Thanks for . . . for bringing her here.”
“I just need to get warm, Mac. It’s a cold. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t . . . I just had this headache when I left . . . the rain . . . I’m so cold. I’m so sorry.” She was crying and coughing. Mac felt frightened all over again when he felt the way she was shaking in his arms. “Please,” she begged, “don’t take me to the hospital. Call Lily, ask her if she’ll come over. She might have some antibiotics. I’m out of aspirins. Mac, please.”
He could deny her nothing. “Okay,” he whispered. In the space of five minutes he’d stripped off her clothing and wrapped her in thick bathroom towels like a mummy. He piled every cover and bedspread he could find in the hotel room on top of her. He turned off the air condi
tioner and the room started to grow warm almost immediately.
“Do you have any aspirins, Mac?” Casey whispered.
He poured four from the bottle he kept in his shaving kit, then propped her up so she could swallow them with water. His heart fluttered wildly when he smoothed the wispy blond curls back from her forehead. She was burning up. “I have to get you a doctor, Casey. I’ll call down to the desk, and then I’ll go and fetch Lily.”
She knew she was being foolish, stupid even, but she didn’t want a doctor, didn’t want to be put in the hospital, not on Christmas, not when Mac was here. “No. Just get Lily. Promise me, Mac. If I’m not better tomorrow, we’ll call a doctor. This is just a . . . cold that got out of hand. I’ve spoiled everything, haven’t I?” She was crying again, unable to stop.
“Shhh, it’s all right. You haven’t spoiled anything. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do whatever you want. Juice, you said you wanted juice. I’ll get juice. Yes, orange juice, whatever kind you want. A toddy. You know, tea and whiskey with butter. Or is that rum? I’ll get one of those too. That smelly stuff they put on your chest. Some kind of plaster. Vicks salve, Musterol. My mother used to grease me up like a pig when I was little and got sick. I’ll do that . . . okay?” he asked anxiously.
“Fine. Yesss,” Casey said, drifting into a feverish sleep.
Mac sat next to the bed, Casey’s hot hand in his. She looked so sick. God, what if she died? He felt himself growing light-headed. He shook his head and bit down on his lower lip.
He couldn’t let anything happen to her. She was part of him now, the reason for his future. If he had to go against her wishes, he would do it and deal with her reaction later. When she was well, she would understand. But first he had to fetch Lily. Lily would know what to do.
He returned to the hotel room with Lily in tow, and she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes became fearful when she looked at the thermometer. There was no way she could hide her concern from Mac, so she didn’t try. Instead she sent him to the drugstore for homemade remedies she knew wouldn’t work.
For All Their Lives Page 23
