Читать книгу Red Snow - Sean Ryan Stuart - Страница 11
ОглавлениеBack in Afghanistan, on a high desert plateau, Khalil listened intently for several hours without saying a word. He finally grabbed Jeremy’s hand and shook it.
“You have had an interesting life, Jeremy. It’s too bad you are not a Muslim, I would let you marry my sister,” stated Khalil with emphasis.
“Please tell me more. You are a very good storyteller, please continue,” asked Khalil.
Jeremy looked at his friend, and nodded.
“However, you must tell me about your experiences in America someday, too. I am sure you also had many interesting adventures in Sacramento,” said Jeremy.
“You are right, my friend, but we must save those stories for another day. Right now we are all interested in what happened to your love, Loretta,” replied Khalil, in a somewhat rude manner.
Jeremy continued telling his story to Khalil, however Jeremy noticed that now there were several other men in his tent listening to his tale. Unknowingly the crowd had grown to more than a dozen listeners. Khalil was trying his best to translate as fast as Jeremy was speaking. Jeremy went on with renewed gusto.
“Well Khalil, I spotted a liquor store, directly across the street from the west gate. I got out of my car and walked into the store. A young, friendly clerk greeted me,” continued Jeremy, now feeling somewhat self-conscious of his large crowd.
“What can I do for you, sir?” asked the young man.
“Where is your booze?” Jeremy growled back at the youth.
“Well, that depends on what you want. Hard stuff is on the left aisle, wine in the middle aisle and beer on the right,” answered the young clerk, his voice less friendly now.
“You got any Chivas?” Jeremy asked, slowly regaining his composure.
“Sure do, and as a matter of fact it’s on sale today, $5.95 plus tax. I am also running a special on Miller beer, $2.79 a twelve-pack, plus tax,” answered the clerk, his voice once again friendly and cooperative.
“You got yourself a sale, young man, a bottle of Chivas and a twelve-pack of beer. That should do the trick,” Jeremy answered, murmuring to himself.
Jeremy grabbed the bag, left a twenty dollar-bill and hurriedly left the store. The young clerk yelled at him, “Hey, buddy, you forgot your change, hey, hey.”
Jeremy was so preoccupied with himself, he didn’t even notice the clerk chasing after him. The short drive to the motel was a kaleidoscope of color and sensations. He felt that the whole world was in slow motion and he was the comic book hero, the “Flash,” whizzing by at the speed of light. His only thought was of getting back to the comfort of his room and drinking from that bottle. He pulled up to the spot in front of his room and got out of the car. He hurriedly ran up the stairs and went inside his room. He then realized that he had forgotten the most important ingredient, ice. Shit, he thought. I’ll go downstairs and ask the manager for some ice.
As he approached the sliding glass door to the motel office, he noticed the manager sitting in his living room watching television.
“Excuse me, sir, I hate to disturb you, but would you have some ice for me?” Jeremy asked, his voice betraying his agitated state of mind.
“Sure, sonny, but you are the last person I expected to see tonight. I thought you were going to Vietnam tonight. Miss your plane? Not A.W.O.L. (Absent Without Official Leave), I hope. I sure would hate to see a nice young fellow like you get in trouble,” said the old man with a questioning look in his eye.
“You got it all wrong, sir. My wife, uh, uh, girlfriend is just about ready to take off for Vietnam and I am confused as hell. She doesn’t want me to be there when she leaves, and I don’t know if she’ll be coming back. Believe me when I say, I know what it’s like. I spent nearly two years there; three months as a P.O.W. I could not possibly think of a worse place to send your girlfriend,” Jeremy answered, his voice still shaking with emotion.
“Well, son, it sure sounds like you have a problem. Maybe an old man like me can point you in the right direction. Why don’t you come in and sit down; we’ll talk about it.”
“What do you have in that bag?” asked the old man.
“A bottle of Chivas, and some Miller beer. I fully intend to get drunk tonight and dream away my sorrows,” Jeremy answered.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll put the “NO VACANCY” sign up and I’ll join you in a drink or two,” the manager answered.
“That is, if you don’t mind? I know I am being a little presumptuous, but I know from personal experience that company can sometimes help fight the blues. I am also going through a personal tragedy at this time, and I sure could use the companionship. You see, my wife of thirty years, Regina, just passed away last week, and I miss her so much.” The old man looked up at Jeremy, tears running down his face.
“Well, it will be a pleasure. I couldn’t think of a nicer person to spend the night with, sharing my bottle and my sorrows. I am truly sorry about your wife; I am sure she was a wonderful lady. I must excuse myself, I am Jeremy, Jeremy Grant, Captain, United States Army, on extended convalescence leave prior to discharge.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure, Jeremy. Braxton, Gilbert, Colonel, retired USAF at your service. I flew twenty-eight missions in WWII and seventy-eight more in Korea, having the honor to be the first aviator in Korea to fly fifty missions!” he said with emphasis.
“B-26s and A-20s, A-26s, B-47s, and even some B-52s. You know the drill,” Gilbert answered proudly, as he pointed to the wall full of aviator photos, old planes and lost memories.
“Well, hot damn, Colonel, I kind of knew you had to be a military man; you have that bearing and look of a soldier,” Jeremy shot back as he walked into the tidy living room. You have any glasses and ice?” Jeremy asked.
“Sure do, I’ll be right back. Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Gilbert yelled as he walked into the kitchen.
Jeremy picked a large and well-used stuffed chair to sit down in. His whole body sank into the comfortable chair.
“Hey, I bet this thing has seen a lot of use,” Jeremy quipped, as Gilbert walked back in the living room carrying a large bucket of ice, two whiskey glasses and a can opener for the beer.
“Sure has, it was my Regina’s favorite easy chair. She used to sit there, hour after hour, watching her soap operas,” Gilbert answered, his voice quivering with emotion.
“Well, let’s get down to some serious drinking, old buddy, and let’s drink to our favorite ladies,” Jeremy answered, pouring both of them a healthy triple shot of Chivas on the rocks, and popping open a couple of beers.
The conversation lasted all night. Both men reminisced about their lost loves and later drifted into war stories. Jeremy finally crawled to his room around sunrise; leaving Gilbert sound asleep on his sofa, a picture of his dead wife in one hand and the empty Chivas bottle in the other. At ten-thirty the next morning, Jeremy opened his left eye first. His head was pounding and his right eye refused to work. He finally forced it open and realized he couldn’t focus very well. Last night had been a total blank. Jeremy’s mind couldn’t concentrate on anything. He finally realized that he had consumed almost the entire bottle of Chivas himself and drank a majority of the beer as well.
Gilbert was nowhere to be seen. He found a note on the chair saying, “Morning Jeremy, I’ve gone to the store for some groceries and I’ll be right back.”
Jeremy, feeling relieved that Gilbert had survived the night, rushed out of the living room and walked unsteadily back to his own room. A hot shower, change of clothes, and a cup of hot coffee would do him good. Thirty minutes later, Jeremy was ready to check out of the motel. He walked downstairs and turned in his key.
“Hey, young fellow, what’s the hurry? I’ve prepared breakfast for us, come and join me.” Jeremy, realizing it would be impolite to refuse, reluctantly accepted Gilbert’s invitation.
“I am terribly sorry, Colonel, I guess I really needed to do that, but now I feel like shit! “Jeremy answered, slowly stroking his pounding head.
Jeremy ate his breakfast in silence, purposely and politely evading Gilbert’s questions.
“I think it’s time for me to go now, and I sincerely want to thank you for your hospitality and friendship,” Jeremy said, as he got up to leave.
“Well, you are welcome, young man, and I hope that someday you’ll come back and spend another night here with your wife, uh, girlfriend, when she returns from Vietnam,” Gilbert stated as he was extending his hand across the counter. Jeremy shook it firmly and walked out into the bright California sunlight.
Jeremy’s drive back to the Presidio seemed to take forever. Traffic wasn’t that bad, but his mind seemed to be in a coma and refused to work. It seemed like an eternity before he drove back through the main gate off Lombard Street. Nothing had changed, except that his Loretta was now en route to Vietnam and he was stuck here. He filled his time with endless trips to the “O” Club at night, and long walks along the seashore during the day. His feelings were in turmoil and he was happy for the solitude that the Presidio afforded him. On one such long stroll he bumped into an old friend whom he could barely recognized, CPT Justin Neal Brown, soon to be retired.
“Excuse me, sir,” asked the ex-Air Force helicopter pilot.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere? You are an awfully large individual to forget, and that streak of white hair. Bingo! I pulled your skinny ass out of the jungle! Right?” stammered Justin excitedly.
“Well, I’ll be, it’s my savior, the greatest helicopter pilot in the world. Yeah, you sure did. What are you doing on this Army installation?” blurted out Jeremy, too excited to speak clearly.
“Well, a few days after I rescued you, I was shot down and crashed near Da Nang. My left arm was severely injured, and some great Army specialist is supposed to make it better. The Air Force said there was this Army surgeon who could repair the damage. Anyway, I hope so! I am left handed, and it’s very difficult to wipe your ass with your right hand,” CPT Brown answered.
“I expect it is, but I still owe you that drink, and I am sure going to show my gratitude. What are you doing tonight?” asked Jeremy.
“Well hell, nothing but get drunk with you, buddy. It’s not very often I get to meet someone whose life I’ve saved. Okay, let’s meet at the “O” club at seventeen hundred. By the way, my name is Justin, but all my friends call me Neal, “answered CPT Brown with a grin on his face.”
“Roger that, Neal. See you there,” answered Jeremy.
Jeremy was surprised how eager he was to meet up with Neal again. It somehow brought back memories of Vietnam, and reconnected him to Loretta. He wondered how she was doing, and when he would receive the first letter from her.
At seventeen hundred hours sharp, Jeremy walked in to the officers club, and saw that Neal was already there, and had a head start on him. His old friend Lt./Col Anthony “Glorious” Barnum was also there, and as usual he was showing his photo with John Wayne.
“Oh, come on, “Glorious,” if John Wayne knew that you were freeloading off these disabled veterans, he would kick your ass. Besides, that good old boy there is the pilot who rescued my scrawny ass out of the jungle, and if anyone is going to buy drinks tonight it’s going to be me,” Jeremy stated with authority, so much so, that the whole bar turned and shouted a loud,” ‘Yes, sir.”
Jeremy spent the next five hours with old friends. They told one lie bigger and more incredible than next. Jeremy and Neal spent a lot of time together over the next couple of weeks and it helped him get over his loss. Neal’s operation was successful, and he was transferred to the David S. Grant Hospital at Travis AFB. The last Jeremy heard of Neal, he had retired from the Air Force, and now worked for the United States Customs Service in San Francisco.
A few weeks later, Jeremy received his long-awaited honorable discharge and medical separation, and he headed back East to see his parents. He was determined to start a new life, and leave all of this behind him for now.
Back in Afghanistan, Jeremy stood up and told his friends that the story was over for now, and they should now leave his tent, as he wanted some private time. Khalil approached him and said, “Jeremy, it was a very honorable thing for you to do. We mujahidins would never have revealed so much personal information about ourselves.
But you Americans are different, so open and free,” stated Khalil as he walked out of the tent.
“Yes we are, and perhaps that’s what makes us such a great country,” answered Jeremy.
Jeremy sat back down and wondered if it was a mistake to reveal to the mujahidin so much about himself. However, he knew his time was limited there, and he hoped that his transfer would come through in the next few months. He also hoped that this “confession” of sorts would allow him to sleep better at night. Although these dreams had awakened long buried and forgotten memories, Jeremy continued to think about his past, and decided he would not reveal anymore information to anyone else. His memories and thoughts were for him alone from now on.
Flashbacks of a little red Mustang and a long trip home crowded his thoughts for the rest of the evening. His mind continued to focus on those long-lost events of twenty years earlier.
