Читать книгу Mr. Fish & Other Fantasy Tales - David Ph.D Dicaire - Страница 4

It was a cold, overcast day at the soldier’s monument. Mr. Cluster’s high school history class stood in the frigid temperatures probably thinking of other things rather than the ceremony that was taking place right before them. It was Remembrance Day in Canada and Veteran’s Day in America. The teacher had taken his class to witness the placement of the wreaths and to understand the sacrifice that the men and women made for the sake of freedom.

In a precautionary move, the wise instructor had confiscated all cell phone devices so not to be embarrassed like he had been a couple of years ago when a student had been texting something during a veteran’s moving speech. Although he had spent some time in class preparing the students for the seriousness of the event, there was no way that he could watch over all of them.

Eric Sanderson stood with the rest of his classmates and shifted back and forth to regain feeling in his feet. He kept making fists exercising his fingers to keep them warm. He wore a poppy that was sloppily hooked to his jacket. He seemed anxious as one of the veterans, Blair McCaffey, who had served in the Navy, spoke of his experiences from a wheelchair.

“The waters were infested with Japanese subs, but we had to get the supplies to our men because they were so desperately needed.”

Boring! Boring! Boring! Shut up you old bastard and let’s go back in the bus.

“It was the most important mission that I had ever been on and a turning point in my life.”

And you kicked the crap out of a bunch of Japs and got a medal. You’re a hero. Now shut up and let’s go.

“I won’t keep you much longer. But I was proud to serve my country and someday you might get the chance to do the same. Savor every minute of it. Thank you.”

Someone wheeled McCaffey away. The students and everyone else applauded; Eric clapped a little harder.

Finally he shut up. You thought he was running for President or something.

“And now we will hear from George McRea.”

The decorated veteran shuffled forward in his walker and it seemed to take forever for him to make it to the microphone. He only had one arm.

Oh, God, not another dribbling old geezer.

McCrea made it to the microphone and smiled. His old man’s smile warmed a few hearts. “I’ll keep this simple and short. I served in the War and saw my friends die. I hope that none of you ever have to do the same. Thank you.”

He shuffled away to thunderous applause.

“And now we will lay a wreath.”

Eric leaned forward like he was going to fall over but straightened out. In the process his poppy fell off his coat; he didn’t notice.

“We are going to ask a couple of students from the high school to assist us.”

Before he knew what was going on, a finger was pointed at him and Eric was forced to step forward. He stepped on the poppy and moved up with Donna Pullford, a nice looking girl who had cried during the veteran’s stories.

Oh God, why do I have to this with Eric?

Eric smirked as he walked up to put the wreath on the stand. He was holding everything back not to laugh out loud.

Who gives a shit about a wreath? What a bunch of crap. Instead they should save their money and give the old geezers some Ben Gay.

The thought generated a large laugh bubble that was impossible for him to hold in. At the most crucial moment he burst out laughing and fell over on the stand nearly crushing it. Donna stood there frozen not sure what to do or say. Mr. Cluster was stunned beyond words.

Everyone stared at Eric who laughed so hard that he nearly peed his pants. His eyes were red and he wiped tears from them. He looked up and just one glimpse at the teacher’s face made him realize that this was not a good thing. He straightened up and pulled up the stand.

Although he wasn’t a large boy, the force of him falling on the stand had bent it way out of shape. This brought another round of laughter that nearly toppled him over again. He managed to hang onto Donna who was not impressed with his immature behavior.

The hostess of the ceremony moved forward and began to try and straighten out the stand. She pulled on it hard trying to bend the wire but it seemed impossible. It took a minute, but Donna bent down and helped her out. Eric stood there with his hands in his pockets looking at the two women and smirked like an idiot.

When the hostess fell over and landed on her backside with her legs spread open and pointing sharply in two different directions, Eric burst out laughing again. He laughed so hard that he fell down to his knees.

2

It was a long bus ride to the school. He sat next to Mr. Cluster who didn’t say a word to him. When the bus arrived at school, Mr. Cluster stood up and turned around.

“Go and have your lunch.”

The big doors were opened and Mr. Cluster grabbed Eric by the collar and marched him off the bus like he was a prisoner of war. But before they could disembark, the bus driver snatched Eric’s arm.

“My grandfather died in the war.” He snarled at Eric who didn’t seem to have any reaction.

Eric sat in Ms. Notthingham’s office for an hour while his stomach grumbled hard.

“How could you do such a thing? Do you think we take you to these ceremonies so you can besmirch the name of this school? Do you realize the sacrifices that those people made for you? Well do you have anything to say?”

“No ma’am.”

No, but what I really want to say is that you’re looking pretty hot today. How about you and that Donna slut and me do a threesome? What do you say Ms. Hot Stuff?

“Then what the hell is so damn funny?”

Mr. Cluster looked away in fear that he would lunge at the boy and slap him hard.

“Nothing.”

“Then wipe that damn smirk off your face. You are suspended and when you come back you have detention for the next two months.”

Mr. Cluster brought out the squashed poppy. Ms. Nottingham looked at it and she almost went berserk again. She picked it up and nearly washed Eric’s face with it.

“My grandfather sacrificed his life so little snots like you can play video games and criticize everything with your kindergarten remarks. You’re going to go home and write a five thousand-page essay on the importance of the poppy. I want it on my desk by Monday morning.”

He opened his mouth to protest but knew better.

“Get out of my office.”

“Your father should be here to pick you up in a few minutes. I’ll wait with you.” Mr. Cluster didn’t look at Eric. They walked out of the office together.

3

It was a long ride home and his father didn’t say a word. Suddenly, they turned down a different road.

“This isn’t the way home.”

His father remained silent until they pulled up to the cemetery. “Since you didn’t act properly during the first ceremony then you’ll behave right the second time around.”

They walked out of the car and Eric followed his father who knew exactly where he was going. They arrived at a neat, well-kept tombstone.

“Read the name.”

Eric appeared puzzled. “Alfred Sanderson. What gives?”

“He was my great uncle. He was in World War II and came back damaged goods. He lived in the hospital for a few months before he took his life to get away from the enemy.”

“I had no idea.”

“Now you do. Come on, let’s go.”

They started to walk and nearly ran over the old woman. She was dressed in an army uniform and smiled at both of them.

“Isn’t that nice a father teaching his son an important life lesson?”

“Good day.”

“But you don’t have a poppy young man.” The old woman reached in her pocket and pulled out a poppy. She pinned it to Eric’s jacket before he knew what was happening. “There you go.”

Eric’s father shoved him.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Eric and his dad left.

4

It was late at night and the light on Eric’s desk was on. He sat in front of the computer staring at the screen.

“How the fuck am I supposed to write five thousand words about a poppy?”

He looked at the three words on the screen: The poppy is…..

There was a soft knock on the door.

“It’s open.”

His father walked in. “Lights out in a few minutes. How’s the essay coming?”

“I’m having a hard time getting started.”

“Just put your heart into it.”

“Sure.”

That’s easy for you to say cause you don’t have to write five thousand words.

“Good night son. I hope that you learned a lesson today.” His father left.

Eric looked at the poppy that the elderly woman had given him and shrugged his shoulders. A few minutes later he shut the light off and got ready for bed.

He was in bed when he got out and went over to the desk and picked up the poppy. Before he knew what he had done, he pinned it to the sweatshirt that acted as his pajama top. He went back to bed.

5

Eric was standing in a field and all around him there were thousands of poppies. The wind blew through his hair and moved the poppies back and forth like weepy, silent mourners at a military funeral.

Suddenly, a bomb went off not so far away. He looked around and there were soldiers running past him carrying very large guns. There was a siren and suddenly a bunch of planes came rumbling overhead.

“Get down you fool.” A hand dragged him down to the ground.

Eric looked up and saw some guy that was vaguely familiar.

“Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. We can do instructions later on. If you don’t move your ass, you’re going to get killed. Come on.”

All the other men ducked and started to shoot at the planes.

“Damn bastards,” growled Uncle Alfred. “Well don’t just sit there shoot at ‘em.”

Eric looked in his hands and he possessed a gun. “But I don’t know how to.”

Uncle Alfred, frustrated, took the gun a quick second and shook his head. “Just aim and fire.” He threw it back at Eric.

The planes were much louder and Eric aimed and pulled the trigger. A bomb whistled by them and then the explosives started to rain down like crazy.

“We can’t stay here. Come on, lad.”

Eric followed his uncle and the other men as they scrambled for cover.

A man was cut in half right in front of him and his blood and guts splattered all over Eric. He stopped to barf but his Uncle pulled him along.

“You can do that later. And keep low.”

They moved along, crouched as the enemy planes continued their bombardment.

“This is crazy.”

“War is crazy,” shouted his uncle.

Eric watched another soldier be decapitated.

He stopped to gawk and another man that was behind him almost ran him over.

“Get out of my way.”

Eric fell and watched as everyone ran past him.

Suddenly George McRea, now a young man, yanked him off his seat.

“No time for a nap boy.”

Uncle Alfred had stopped and was looking for Eric.

“Come on.”

Suddenly, there was more rumbling and a squadron of planes from behind them roared onto the scene.

“The good guys,” Alfred smiled.

The two flying armies squared off in the sky while the men below scrambled to find shelter.

A bomb dropped and part of the troop was instantly gone like someone had hit the delete button on a keyboard.

The remaining few soldiers scrambled up the hill with guns blazing. Eric tried to keep pace but fell down in the mud. Uncle Alfred picked him up and George McCrea helped.

They arrived at the top of the hill and turned around to watch the dog war in the sky take place.

“Look out!”

One of the enemy planes had been hit. It was smoking and on fire heading right at them. Eric was stunned and couldn’t move; his muscles were tight like wires.

Uncle Alfred pulled him away at the last second as the plane crashed into the ground and burst into flames.

“At least it’s not one of ours.”

“Look out, the tanks are coming.”

From the right flank the enemy tanks rolled toward the small group of men with guns blazing.

George’s arm was sheered right off. He fell down in obvious pain.

“Help me.”

Uncle Alfred and Eric picked George up and moved him along.

The tank attack was merciless.

George fell down again.

“Pick him up and I’ll stall them.”

Eric picked up George like a bag of wheat and threw him over his shoulder before he ran off. The shells exploded to his right and to his left as he carried the rather large man as best as he could without falling.

Uncle Alfred turned around and shot at the tanks, as did the handful of other men.

Suddenly a plane flew over and bombed a couple of the tanks. One was flipped over its back like a turtle. A second later it burst into flames.

“There’s protection over there.”

The small company of men headed for the line of trees.

“But the tanks.”

Uncle Alfred unleashed a grenade at one of the remaining tanks. It exploded but did very little damage.

Eric still carried George but was exhausted.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

“It’s only a little further” encouraged Uncle Alfred.

Eric found a new energy and was about a hundred feet from getting an unconscious George to the foxhole.

“We can’t stay here long,” warned Uncle Alfred.

Two of the Allied planes moved across and bombed the advancing tanks with a barrage of artillery that shook the ground so hard it toppled Eric.

He stood up and tank fire grazed his leg. He fell down again and was almost afraid to look down.

“You’re okay.”

Eric’s left leg was bleeding but it was still intact. He picked up George and renewed the mission.

They were just at the foxhole when a new group of tanks moved across the field.

“More tanks!”

“Don’t worry, boy, they’re the good guys.”

The friendly tanks engaged the enemy tanks in a head to head battle that didn’t last very long. By the time it was over the few men in Uncle Alfred’s company who had survived the vicious onslaught were safe in the foxhole.

“You did real good boy.”

“Thanks. Is he going to be okay?”

“Well, we’ve stopped the bleeding. We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. But we have to wait until the enemy is finished off.”

Another plane flew by and took out the last tank.

“They got ‘em,” screamed Eric.

“They did. We might be in a war and have to defeat the enemy, but someone’s husband, father, brother, uncle, cousin and friend was just killed. There’s no joy in that boy.”

Eric looked down and realized that his Uncle was right.

Suddenly, one of the tank personnel emerged from their damaged vehicle and rushed toward the foxhole with guns blazing.

Uncle Alfred shot and killed the guy but not before receiving a bullet in the neck.

“Oh, no. You can’t die.”

Uncle Alfred looked at him and smiled. “I’m not going to die boy but if I do can you tell my family that I died a hero?”

“What is your name?” Eric realized that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“My name is Private Alfred Sanderson.”

“Uncle Alfred.”

“I’m not your uncle boy. But thanks for thinking that way.

Suddenly, a German soldier jumped in the foxhole and Eric scrambled for his gun.

6

Eric woke up with a scream ready to explode from his lips. It took a few seconds before he realized that he was at home safe and sound in his warm, cozy bed. Suddenly, he felt the tears stream down his cheeks and wiped them.

“I’m so sorry.”

He sat up and watched the moon cross the night sky for a few minutes before he went to the computer.

The next morning, he was still typing furiously on the keyboard barely able to keep up with his thoughts. Suddenly, he felt an itch on his left leg. He looked down and noticed a scar that had never been there before.

He stared at the dark, overcast sky for a second and then resumed typing.