Milk and Honey (32 page)

“Oh God, please help me,” Rina sobbed.

“Last chance, Rina,” Abel said calmly.

Then, at once, he lunged at her. A second later, her hands were empty. Abel stood six inches in front of her, the gun resting in his hands. He smiled at her, shook his head sadly.

“You blew it, kid,” Abel said. He twirled the gun like a slinger in an old Western. “If I were a rapist, you’d not only be up shit’s creek without a paddle, you wouldn’t even have a boat.” He pointed the gun to her temple.

All Rina could see was the faces of her sons. She whispered, “I have children.”

Abel said, “If I were a murderer, I’d say something like…you should have thought about them a second ago.” He traced her jaw outline with the barrel of the snub nose. With his free hand, he pulled off her kerchief and loosened her hair. “You’re a beautiful woman, know that?”

Rina didn’t answer. Her boys. Orphans. Peter had no chance of getting them…. Her parents would fight for them…. Dear God, if not for her, for
them
. She began to recite the
Shema
to herself.

Abel moved the gun closer until the muzzle touched her forehead, held it that way for a moment, then let the trigger guard rotate around his finger until the barrel pointed downward. He stood that way for a second, two seconds, then three and four, until Rina finally realized he was offering the gun back to her. Slowly, her hand began to rise, until her fingertips touched the chamber. It was then that her feet gave way. She slid, back snaking down the wall, until she collapsed onto the floor and wept. Abel sat beside her, opened her purse, and slipped the gun inside.

“Shouldn’t carry a gun unless you’re prepared to use it, Rina,” Abel said. “It’s easy to kill a target, even fire off a couple of rounds at someone fleeing in the woods at night…”

Fleeing. Peter must have told him how she’d tried to shoot the rapist. Why would he have done that? To warn Abel off? It hadn’t worked. She hated Peter for bringing this pervert into their lives.

“Yeah,” Abel went on, “it’s easy to shoot when you’re not looking someone in the eye. Not too many people shoot face-to-face. Some can. Your husband-to-be can. But obviously you can’t.”

Rina couldn’t answer. She was shaking too hard.

“Do yourself a favor,” Abel said. “Toss the gun.”

Whispering, Rina said, “You did this…to teach me a lesson?”

Staring straight ahead, Abel didn’t answer her. Neither one spoke for a minute or so. Rina felt her strength returning. Anger began to smother the fear that had paralyzed her. When she spoke, her voice burned with hatred. “You sadistic bastard!”

Abel turned to her and smiled. But his eyes were disturbed. “You still have the gun, Rina. Maybe you’d like to use it now, eh?”

“You
wanted
me to kill you!” Rina cried out.

“No,” Abel said. “No, I didn’t want you to kill me. I really didn’t. But I wouldn’t have cared if you did.” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “When I was recovering in the VA on the amputee ward, we used to sneak guns in and play Russian roulette. Actually, they say there were some who played roulette in Nam. Like in the movie
Deer Hunter
—”

“I don’t go to movies,” Rina said. Then wondered why in the world she was answering this creep. She should bolt up and run away. But fright or its aftermath kept her rooted to the ground.

Abel went on, “Well, I never did see any grunts spin the gun while in Nam. Pete didn’t, either. But I did do it on the ward. Few guys blew their brains out. But that was no big deal. Staff chalked it up to despondency—suicidal depression.”

“It was suicide,” Rina said. “It—” She stopped talking.

Abel waited for more, and when it didn’t come, he said, “Yeah, I guess looking at it now, it was.” He took a drag on his smoke. “But then, I never thought of it like that. Just something to do to feel your heart pumping. It’s like this. You lose a leg, an arm…” A lover, he thought. “You lose something that was part of you, you go numb. And I wasn’t the worst off, by any means. At least I was still a man, if you know what I mean. Others…” Abel felt perspiration drenching his sweatband. “Others weren’t that lucky. So you’re lying there trying to readjust, not doing it very well, you do anything to feel, even if the feeling’s fear.”

Rina said nothing.

He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly understand—”

“What I can’t understand was how you could do such a horrible…cruel…monstrous thing to
me
!” Rina blurted out.

“I’m sorry—”

“Especially since I’m your best friend’s fiancée.”

Abel didn’t respond. And in that moment of silence, Abel had said it all.

“It wasn’t me personally, was it?” Rina said. “You like me.”

“Honey, I more than like you.”

“But you hate Peter more than you like me.”

Abel laughed too loudly. “You are one bright lady.”

Rina brushed away tears and said softly, “I was so
nice
to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Abel said. He realized how banal his apology was, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You set me up,” Rina continued. “A payback for something Peter did to you. You
son
of a bitch!”

Abel nodded his head in agreement.

Rina tried to speak, but her voice was choked. She buried her head in her hands and wept.

“Know the worst part about it?” she finally said. “Peter must have told you what happened to me two years ago. About the attempted rape. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made that comment about me shooting at things fleeing in the woods.”

“He did,” Abel said.

“How could you do that to me—to anyone—knowing what I’d been through?” Rina dried her eyes on her shirtsleeve. “What was Peter’s crime? Surviving the war in one piece?”

“Saving my life,” Abel said.

“Dear God…” Rina said a silent prayer, then ran her hands through her hair. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

“I’m more than sick, Rina,” Abel said. “For all intents and purposes, I’m dead. I died the day I lost my leg.” He turned and faced her. “The key was quarter-turned in the ignition when I heard Pete screaming to get out of the Jeep. Didn’t quite make it all the way out.”

“And this is how you pay him back?”

“He should have let me die,” Abel said. “My fiancée died that day. And
that
kinda left me addled. She was lovely, Rina, half Korean, half Vietnamese. A thoroughly beautiful woman, not unlike yourself. Her name was Song Duc Lu. Ask Pete about her. He knew her well, though not as well as he thought…” He looked down.

With shaky hands, Rina drew her purse onto her lap. She felt safe in an odd sort of way. He’d had his opportunity and didn’t take it. Primitive thinking, but she held on to her logic as tightly as she clutched her purse.

“So you’re angry at Peter for saving your life,” Rina said. “For your girlfriend’s death. You’re crazy, Abel. You’re crazy and you’re right! Peter
should
have let you die.”

Abel broke into a slow smile that spoke of his tortured soul. Rina was suddenly ashamed of herself. She stared at him, at this shell of a man consumed by the poison of un
timely loss. Rina knew the feeling well. Once, she’d been as bitter as he. But time and God had calmed her soul. She knew some people who’d returned to God during troubled periods, but most did not find their ultimate salvation in religion. Time was a different animal. Most raging souls were soothed by the passing of years. Abel had been one of the exceptions, his war experience turning him into a ghost. There had to be more to his story, but she didn’t want to engage him in any more conversation. Suddenly, the prospect of returning to New York didn’t seem nearly as gloomy.

“Look,” she said. “I…I’m sorry your fiancée died. But
I
didn’t kill her.”

Abel let out a bitter laugh. “True enough.”

His presence was suffocating. She had to get out of there. She tried to stand, but didn’t have the strength. In a clear voice, she said, “I’m a little shaky, Abel. Help me up.”

Abel regarded her face for a moment. Full of anger, yet he knew she’d forgive him. She was that type of person, the exact opposite of himself. Even after all he had done to her, she couldn’t sustain her hatred. He thought of her eyes as he’d threatened her. He’d known she couldn’t pull the trigger.

He stood up, offered her his hand, then pulled her up, holding her hand a little longer than he should have. And she knew it, too. But she seemed too weary to pull away. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips several times.

“You didn’t do it, did you?” Rina said.

“No.” Abel dropped her hand. “No, I didn’t. I’ve got lots of bad qualities. You’ve just seen one of them, Rina—I can’t let go of anything. But I don’t hurt women—ever.”

Don’t hurt them physically, Rina thought. She turned on her heels and ran into the house without looking back. Ten minutes later, she heard the roar of the motorcycle’s ignition. It spat and hissed, then faded until it dissipated into the hot summer air.

Cool and calm.

Decker had learned a lot over the years, two decades of police work had been an extended training course in control. Dispassionate inwardly, compassionate outwardly. Don’t get overinvolved.

Except the bastard had put a gun to her head. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

He parked the unmarked on a side street connecting Sunset and Hollywood—equidistant from the teenage prostitutes and the chickenhawks. The harsh noonday sun highlighted the ugliness. All around, neglected apartments. Buildings gray with grime and smog. Bungalows with rotted porches and rusted siding.

Abel lived in a two-story decaying structure called the Aloha. Its exterior was pink, but once it had been colored aqua, the old paint surfacing through in inkblot patterns. Decker jogged up a metal staircase coated with grit and walked down an outside hallway, heading toward the back. Abel’s bachelor pad overlooked a pay parking lot. His door was open. Decker stepped inside.

The place was bare bones. Plaster walls painted yellow, a worn brown carpet as flat as packed dirt. His sofa had been gold and red brocade, but the fabric had thinned to surgical
gauze. In front of the couch was a wood-grained Formica table resting on spindly black legs. A matching square table was shoved into the windowed corner, two orange plastic chairs pushed against it. The top was clean and clear except for a gooseneck lamp and an old toaster. A kitchenette was squeezed into a closet—a two-burner hot plate, a bar-sized fridge, and a small porcelain sink, its surface polished sparkling white. The room was stuffy and, as always, reeked with the smell of ammonia, bug spray, and disinfectant.

Abel was looking out the window, his hands resting on the sill, his shoulders hunched. His feet cleared the floor by six inches. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of gray shorts and a black-and-white checkered sweatband. His beard had been neatly trimmed, his hair washed and braided, the plait grazing the middle of his back.

“Ever think of hanging up a picture?” Decker said.

“There’s beauty in simplicity,” Abel answered.

Decker walked over to him, pushed him down until his feet touched the carpet. Abel turned to face him.

“Okay, buddy,” Decker said. “Spit it out.”

Abel didn’t answer.

“Say it.” Decker gave him a shove. “Say it! Say it, goddammit, say it!”

Decker pushed him backward. Abel stumbled but regained his balance by grabbing a kitchen chair. He said nothing.

Decker grabbed his shoulders, pulled him forward, and said, “She was
Cong
, you jerk! VC! Charlie! The enemy! The one who tried to blow your
balls
off, but had to settle for your leg!”

“I knew she was VC,” Abel whispered.

“You
knew
she was VC?”

“She told me.”

Decker felt his heart pounding. “You
knew
she was VC, and you went with her anyway?”

“She was being duped by her husband….”

“You
knew
she was married?” Decker yelled. He let go of Abel with a shove and began to pace. “You took up with a married woman who you knew was enemy. I don’t believe…You play with Charlie, you know what I say to you, buddy? You got everything you deserved!”

“You want to rant, or you want to listen?” Abel said.

Again, Decker grabbed his shoulders, but this time he shook him. “What I want to do is break your fucking neck for what you did to Rina! You got a beef with
me
, you don’t go taking it out on
her
!”

“You’re right….”

“Friggin’ maniac!” He pushed Abel away.

“I snapped, all right!” Abel said. “Man, I just…snapped. I saw Rina and she reminded me of Song—”

“Don’t you ever mention Rina and that piece of shit in the same sentence!” Decker said.

Abel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you ever call Song a piece of shit!” He took a deep breath. “I
knew
she was Charlie, I
knew
she had a Charlie husband. I also knew that she was being beaten by the bastard, being pimped by him in Hanoi, then he took her down south as pussybait for us GI Joes—”

“And you never said a word of this to me or anyone.”

“I
loved
her, Decker! And she loved me! You think she confessed to me for the hell of it? She trusted me! They would have
killed
her if they knew, because her husband was Cong.”

“
She
was Cong!”

“She was
sixteen years old
, for chrissakes! Orphaned! Didn’t know what the hell was going down, just did what she was told to do. Man, she never
killed
anyone. And she wasn’t trying to waste me. It was a setup by her old man. He’d found out about us—”

“Bullshit!” Decker interrupted. “You jerk, if li’l Song was so innocent, why wasn’t she in the Jeep with you when it blew up? Ever have the courage to ask yourself that?”

“She went back to get a necklace I gave her.”

“You just don’t see it, do you?” Decker said. “That’s what they
do
, Atwater. They say, ‘Let’s go out for a ride, honey, and boom-boom in the jungle.’ Then, as you get in the car, she says, ‘Oops, forgot something. I’ll be right back.’ Second later, you’re hamburger.”

“No,
you
don’t see it,” Abel answered. “When Stiller dragged her out, she was wearing
my
necklace, Decker. You mean to say she went back into the hut, put on my necklace, and came back outside to watch me blow up?” There were tears in his eyes. His voice cracked. “Didn’t you see the look of
horror
on her face!”

“That was
fear
, man!”

“You had a
gun
to her head!” Abel screamed. “How else should she feel!”

“What?” Decker said. “You want me to apologize for wasting her? Fuck you! I’d do the same thing all over, because if I didn’t, she’d just go on and find another dumb sucker to off. And man, we were losing enough of us as it was. I saw it more than you, ’cause I was the jerk they’d call in to repair the damage.”

There was a moment of stillness, the screams reverberating in the silence. Abel started to speak, but stopped himself. He limped over to the couch and sank into a lumpy cushion, running his hands over his face.

Finally, he said, “You never gave her—or me—a chance to explain.” He wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hands. “I
begged
you not to, Pete. Through the morphine, the shock, through it
all
, I saw what was gonna go down, and I fucking
begged
you not to do it.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Know what it’s like…to see someone you love…explode?” Abel said.

Softly, Decker said, “All I saw was
you
exploding.” He shook his head and tried to ward off demons. Felt a
headache coming on. One that aspirin couldn’t handle. “I lied a moment ago. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have done it.”

He exhaled forcibly, then sat beside Abel.

“But back then I…I don’t know…I didn’t have the presence of mind…the experience…I was just a stupid kid, Abe.”

Abel threw up his hands. “We were all stupid…God were we
stupid
…I just wish…” He let his voice trail off.

Decker said, “You put a gun to Rina’s head because…because you wanted to know what it felt like. You could have asked me directly, Atwater.” His voice cracked. “Want me to tell you what it felt like? It felt like your worst friggin’ nightmare. Think I don’t remember her brains splattering my clothes, her blood spraying in my eyes—”

“Oh God!” Abel held back a dry heave.

“Everything…” Decker shook his head. “It just happened so goddam quickly. My first concern was you. It…I…” He tried to find his words. “I screamed to you about the booby trap—”

“I heard you,” Abel said. “At least, I heard you screaming.”

“Yeah,” Decker said. “You looked up, came halfway out of the Jeep…Then it all came down. Boom! Chaos! I jumped out of the Jeep…Stiller, the Bagman, and DeMarcos had come with me…Stiller was driving…I rushed over to you…”

Decker stopped a moment, stared at his lap, and shook his head.

“God, it was a friggin’ mess! So much smoke…my eyes were tearing like crazy, my nose was clogged from the stench of burning…rubber.”

“Flesh,” Abel said.

“Man, that, too…Your stump…gushing buckets…and you’d been diced by flying pieces of metal. Just…bleeding all over the place.

“I treated you while the others…Fuck, I don’t know
what
the others were doing…I remember DeMarcos wanting to level the village. Man, I was tending to you and trying to prevent DeMarcos from making another My Lai. The village was supposed to be one full of friendlies…who the fuck knew…then Stiller came out of the blue, dragging out Song…talking about raping her—”

“I didn’t hear that,” Abel said.

“Man, you were so doped up, you didn’t know what was flying. I must have shot you with…God, must have been three ampules of morph. A wonder you didn’t OD on the spot…I was so friggin’ scared. Your face, Abe…gone. Gray and cold. That look when you know they’re one step away from the other side. I managed to control the bleeding, but shock had set in….”

Decker pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. He felt sweat running down his neck and back; his body was hot and sticky.

“Stiller began yanking off Song’s clothes. I told him don’t…or stop. He started screaming at me, calling me…I don’t know…a nip lover
or something like that…saying I was as bad as you…just mouthing off garbage. Meanwhile, DeMarcos must have shoved a magazine into his sixteen.
He
started busting some caps…peeling off shots at the huts. Then Stiller…he must have dragged Song over to you and me. He put a Magnum to her head.

“God’s honest truth, next thing I know the Magnum’s in my hand…I remember feeling cold steel…I looked down…” Decker stared at his right hand as if he’d never seen it before. “I’m holding the fucking gun! Must have been the Bagman…must have been.
He
must have taken it out of Stiller’s hand and put it in mine, ’cause as God is my witness, I didn’t grab it or take it or anything like that. Then the Bagman…he says, ‘You do it. Abe was your best buddy, man.’ Past tense. They’re talking about you like you’re dead.”

Decker stuffed the cigarette into his mouth and sucked on it so hard, the smoke singed his throat.

“By then I’m pumped up, completely wired. She’s crying…pleading with me in Pidgin English, in Vietnamese. You’re moaning like the wind. Abe, you may have thought you were screaming at me to save her. But I swear to God, you were just moaning—”

“You saying you didn’t
hear
me begging?”

“I’m saying I saw a dying boy spitting up blood…babbling something I couldn’t understand or didn’t want to understand.” Decker swallowed dryly. “Man, I looked Song squarely in the eye, and at that moment, I just saw…enemy. So, I plugged her. I…plugged her.”

Decker covered his mouth with his fist. He felt winded, as if sucker-punched. Twenty years of repression surfacing as hideously as a bloated body. The heat of the room had become oppressive. He went over to the window, threw it open, and stuck his head outside. Street sounds filled his ears, obliterating the repulsive cries of memory.

But not totally. Decker had shocked himself. The clarity of the images, the details. A camera rolling at high speed but still capturing every moment. His brain wanting to forget,
begging
to forget an amoebic splotch of exploding flesh. But his memory was unforgiving. He gazed out the window for redemption, but all he saw was his guilt.

Five minutes later, he heard Abel hobble up behind him.

“Wanna beer?” Abel asked.

“Yeah.”

Abel popped open two cans of Bud and placed them on his kitchen table. Decker sat down and emptied the can in four gulps. Abel gave him another, then joined him, sipping suds off the surface of the can.

“You didn’t like her, did you?” he said.

“Wasn’t her personally,” Decker said. “I mean, she was nice enough. And she was beautiful. But she was a gook. Atwater, they were all gooks to me—the friendlies as well
as the Cong. I couldn’t get past the slanted eyes, not because I was prejudiced, but because out there I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad.”

“I always thought you were jealous.”

“Jealous of her, not you.” Decker gained enough courage to look Abel in the eyes. “We were tight, then you met her and went all moony-eyed. That was bad enough—me being crapped out in paddyland and you walking on cloud nine. Then you stopped doing stuff for the kids. Well, who am I to talk, I never did a damn thing for any of them. So I kept my opinions to myself. What really got me and everyone else pissed as hell was your sudden conscientious-objector attitude. I remember once Tony the Wolf talking about gooks, saying something nasty, I don’t recall his exact words. Then you piped in, ‘You know the Vietnamese are people, too,’ and stalked out of the hooch. Man, Tony was ready to waste you on the spot. I remember
physically
holding him back, and that was no easy task, ’cause Tony was built.

“I mean, we didn’t have enough trouble from King Cong Janie telling us to put down our weapons, from people back home calling us baby-killers, from reporters asking us if we ever considered the moral consequences of our actions. Now, you’re telling us that the enemy is human. Talk about demoralizing the troops. She was
getting
to you, Abel.”

“We never talked politics.”

“Bullshit!” Decker said. “You knew she was orphaned, you knew her husband pimped her. She told you something about her personal life. Something to evoke
pity
in you. To see the other side as ‘people, too.’ And they are people. But you can’t think about that when you’re shooting at them. Otherwise, you can’t live with yourself.”

Silence. Finally, Abel said, “Could be.”

He finished his beer and squashed the can, thinking about Decker’s words, about all the times he and Song had made love. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, her hair
streaming in his face, in his eyes and mouth. Had her smooth limbs, her velvet tresses, been snares? Their loving had seemed so pure, felt so holy. But back then, Abel now knew, his soul had been starved, willing to accept any morsel. Her love. Had it been nothing more than poisonous bait? He knew Decker was right about one thing. VC had been indistinguishable from the friendlies.