Pieces of You (7 page)
Authors: J F Elferdink
Once again, the whir of rotor blades resounded low in the afternoon sky, a blanket of blue stretched loosely enough over the battleground to let the helicopter plunge through.
As the helicopter rose and flew over the ridge, separating them from the remains of their brother of the past sixteen months, the two men observing its ascent were unable to look at each other.
When the craft was no more than a tiny dot in the sky, each left the site alone, walking mechanically into the underbrush.
‘What am I doing here?’ Mark thought, as he plodded through an alien world where all natural light was filtered through the grimmest shade of gray.
A hand seemed to reach into his chest, compressing his heart so that he could hardly breathe
,
and every thought tightened its grip. If only this creature which had him in its clutches could have squeezed him into oblivion, he would have been overwhelmed with gratitude.
‘Bob, where are you? I need you man; you’re the brother I always wanted. How could a merciful God allow you to die in the prime of life and in this desolate place? Why wasn’t it me instead?’
Mercifully, a numbing weariness spread through Mark’s mind. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he could hear Bob calling to him.
***
When he opened his eyes, Mark could hear birds singing and leaves rustling, not the usual strange stillness of interludes in a war zone. Zachri and Bob were there, pulling him to his feet.
“Was I dreaming? I thought I was seeing you blown apart in front of me all over again.
“
No; I remember the details too vividly, including the helicopter crew lifting you gently into a body bag. Am I dead, too?”
Zachri answered.
“Your body is still in the Swiss clinic, temporarily separated from your spirit. It would be extraneous luggage for this journey.”
Mark was
bewildered.
“Let’s see if I have this straight: My buddy, who died forty years ago, is on leave from his just reward to help me make a few modifications to our collective memories?
“
Don’t think I don’t love having Bob whole and walking this earth with me, but if this is real, then all of my previous life has been illusion. Now that’s a chilling thought!”
Zachri replied.
“Although in your worldview there are no parallel universes
,
quantum physicists have begun to support the theory of their existence. At some future date, your scientists will have proof that spirits like Bob and I exist. You already have that proof; you can look at us, experience us, and touch us.”
“Come on! You’re making it sound like I’ve entered a science fiction story.
“
Am I in a scene where a black hole opens up and transports me back to the worst time of my life?
“
Or maybe I’m to believe that there really are Worm Cams, like those described by Arthur C. Clarke! Are we using a wormhole link to look back in time?
“
But Worm Cams were just for viewing, not for changing history. Isn’t your purpose to alter what I went through?”
As he spoke, Mark felt something brush lightly against his upper arm and, looking up, saw a butterfly alighting there.
***
As Martin touched his father’s arm, hoping desperately for a response that had not yet come from any form of stimulus, his dad seemed to visibly relax. Martin thought he detected a tiny inclination of his dad’s head toward him.
“Dad, please wake up!” he begged, trying to wipe away his tears.
Mark’s eyes followed Martin’s movement to the button connected to the nurse’s station
,
but that was the only sign of awareness. Almost immediately, two nurses were in the room, setting a tray loaded with medical paraphernalia on the bedside table.
“Please help him! His head moved; I think he’s making an effort to come to.”
Poking, pleading; cradling his head in the curve of her forearm, the older and normally stern-faced nurse was crying too. Her companion checked Mark’s vital signs and swiftly scribbled notes on her pad.
“Do something for my dad, now!” Turning back to the figure in the bed, Martin shouted.
“Dad, can you hear me? Show me you can. Please! I can’t bear your helplessness another minute. You’ve gotta wake up!”
Martin saw emotions ranging from compassion to sorrow cross the faces of the nurses but there was no sign of the one thing he wanted to see; hope.
Rocking back and forth with his forehead braced in his hands, he sobbed bitterly. When he left the hospital, a little later, he walked as though in a trance.
Once home, he turned on his computer and sent a short e-mail to Janine, informing her that his Dad’s condition was unchanged.
JANINE’S JOURNAL
After receiving Martin’s message, I called my Episcopalian priest. I hated to admit a lack of faith, but I wanted some assurance, the kind I hoped Father John would be able to give.
When he arrived, I served coffee and the cookies I’d just taken from the oven. Making a batch of chocolate chip cookies hadn’t really taken my mind off Mark, even though that was my purpose. It just made me wish I’d baked some when he was here to enjoy them.
Before
Father
John had finished his first cookie, I rushed into my story.
“I feel so helpless, but I can’t afford to fly to Switzerland. What do I do? I’ve been reluctant to tell my close friends, even my family. I’m sure they won’t believe I’m in love with Mark. They’ll say four months is too soon to feel that. But I do!”
Instead of pressing me to talk to my family, Father John suggested ‘pouring my thoughts into a journal.’
As soon as the priest had left, I sat down with a blank notebook. Instead of venting my fears I started to write about the changes that Mark’s presence had made in my life.
A few pounds and a few years have taken a toll on my confidence, even though I am told I look younger than my age.
I can’t explain why but, when Mark tells me I am one of the more intelligent women he has known, the words seem to strangle some of my self-doubt.
When he tells me that I am a beautiful and intensely sensual woman, I actually believe him. It’s as if his words unlock qualities I’ve denied for much of my life.
In a recent e-mail, Mark jokingly asked me to reciprocate the topless photos he had sent of himself in his sailboat. Although not willing to go quite that far, I wanted to do something to indulge him. So I dressed in a clingy nightshirt and used the self-timer to take some pictures. While modeling and thinking of him, something totally unforeseen occurred—my body flooded with sensual sensations. I couldn’t have told him about that! Having added a filter to blur the image, I attached the picture to my next email. The response was a rave review.
I love our conversations even more than his compliments. Even when our beliefs differ, he always conveys respect for my ideas and opinions. Through our sometimes intense discussions on controversial topics, I am learning to think more critically. Mark does not concede unless I prove my point of view; he is too conscientious for that. He supports his opinions and expects the same from me.
Mark is a man whose strength of character is clear and yet he’s not afraid to show a softer side, one that can accept a woman’s power along with her love. He’s the closest I’ve ever found to my ideal.
FROM A
WAR ZONE
TO PEACE TALKS
Feeling Bob’s touch, Mark‘s fists involuntarily moved to form a shield against the intrusion into his personal space.
“I don’t understand how I can feel your touch, Bob. You’re not here in the way I knew you.”
“I now live in a way that I can only describe as somewhat like reading a novel. You can flip through chapters and pick out characters at different points in the story or go back and reread any particular scene.” Bob went on.
“In a well-written book, you can find yourself feeling like you have become one of the characters, yet your existence has not changed at all. The spiritual realm allows the same kind of adaptability and travel through time. Does that help?”
“Well, it makes a little more sense; it also brings up another question: I’m seeing you just as you looked in your early twenties; an exact replica of the photo your parents gave me. How do I look to you, Bob? Do you see the older or the younger me?”
“Both simultaneously; I see you as you look in the hospital bed - you look ‘peaked’ as they used to say in my hometown. On another level, I see you as a young naval officer, proud and ready to prove yourself in battle. It’s all there. I also see the inner you; the caring, courageous leader I grew to respect and love as a brother.” Bob continued:
“What I also see, that you can’t, is the bio-magnetic energy connecting you to everyone your life has touched. Understanding its impact may help you decide your future.”
“What in the world are you suggesting?” Where did you get the idea that I’m connected by energy to everyone I’ve ever touched? Come on, now!”
“Mark; discoveries by biologists and physicists have already proven that energy therapies aren’t voodoo. They have measured magnetic fields in the space around human bodies.
“
Why is it so hard to believe that the field around you and the fields around people near you make contact and cause changes where they touch?”
Mark was adamant.
“Well, how could that insight, true or otherwise, decide my future? What is there to decide?
“
I’ve already decided. I want to be healthy again. I want to marry Janie and I want to be a doting grandfather when Martin’s child is born. ”
“Mark, I’m here to help you make peace with your past, especially the searing moments burned into your soul and your senses, so that you can embrace what is to come.”
“Well, I have to admit that I was bitter for a while after Vietnam and again for a period after my divorce. Then I redefined what was important in my life: raising my son and making money.
“
Lately, I’ve begun to wonder if I missed out something important. Maybe I should’ve been more religious.”
Bob’s reply was firm but kind.
“Maybe you should let go of the guilt you’ve been carrying ever since the war. You suppress memories of what you call your ‘failures’.
“
That mental load is affecting your health and vitality. We aren’t here to change what happened.
“
I’m asking you to face the past, examine it and admit your part in it. I challenge you to take another look.”
“I’ll try, Bob. But why didn’t you confront me with this sooner. Like when you pulled me out of that replay of your body being hauled into the helicopter?”
It was Zachri who responded:
“You needed to hear what Bob just said about why we are here. While your attention was engaged elsewhere, he and I adjusted the coordinates of our journey to expand your awareness of what happened.
“
This is not only about what happened to you.
“
Seeing the bigger picture will help to put your own experience in the context of war’s dark side. What we are about to observe is so evil it has to have originated outside the human mind.”
***
The three walked unseen through the heat of a war zone. The whole world seemed to be caving in, as rocks and dirt sprayed into the atmosphere and marked out the boundaries of this sector. Pink-tinted light flashing; gray-tipped yellow clouds billowing and deafening noise made for a fireworks display more awesome and terrible than any 4th of July celebration.
Streaks of light racing skyward illuminated an overwhelming, awe-inspiring vision of hell. Dirt exploding all around them left holes deep enough to collect stacks of falling bodies and jettisoned parts. As bombs displaced entire hills and pulverized the vegetation, the scattering soil came to rest over some of the bodies, mercifully hiding them from comrades but not from the eyes of the all-seeing trio.
A strange force clutched at his heart, threatening to drown Mark in waves of rage and compassion. The strength of those conflicting feelings quickly became intolerable. Mark felt himself recoiling, mentally and emotionally. He knew the signs. Turning to his companions, Mark noticed that, like him, both men were automatically making the sign of a cross across their chests
—a
s do many people, regardless of their current spiritual beliefs, at the sight of death and destruction.
The emotions passed but the war scene remained. Mark understood the modus operandi of the key player, Napalm-B. He had attended a briefing with a physician friend in the Navy Medical Service Corps on how that weapon affects its victims.
The trainer had described how the bomb explodes into a stringy, sticky mixture which adheres easily to skin, killing by both immolation and asphyxiation.
A victim of slight splashing with the substance receives second degree burns, suffering severe pain and hideous scarring as a result.
In a victim doused with the liquid there is less agony but a rapid loss of blood pressure and unconsciousness; death occurs within minutes.
Mark, unable to contain his anguish, cried out.
“How could we unleash this weapon on other human beings? The ranks of the U.S. Military are not filled with monsters!”
“You and I were not engaged in this battle, but our unit was,” Bob said.
“It was in May of 1969 when 446 Americans died in the A Shau valley. The military never disclosed the number of Vietnamese casualties.
“
You weren’t told much about this incident because you were waging a life-and-death battle with your own wounds at the time.”
“I remember reading something in the hospital, but I was told it was merely propaganda; lies circulated by the North Vietnamese Army.” Mark recalled.
“Tell me; what really took place in that valley?”
Bob looked over at Zachri and he nodded.
“Just after our guys took this hill, they were ordered to abandon it, leaving the blood-soaked
location site
to revert to the control of the NVA, as we used to call the Vietnam People’s Army. Magazine photos of the young U.S. soldiers whose lives were lost in that engagement enraged the youth of America.”
Mark remembered his own feelings at that time.
“When I was sent home, I didn’t even try to describe what it was like, even when friends asked.
“
I think you’d agree that only those who were there could possibly understand the horror; the fear, the adrenaline surges and the unlikely friendships.”
Bob understood entirely.
“If I had lived, I’m pretty sure I would have done what you did; worked very hard to put it behind me. When I first crossed over, I participated in some incredible discussions with former vets and activists.
“
We actually had fun debating ‘
j
ust
w
ar
’
vs. passive resistance. You wouldn’t believe how the inability to lie and
the
enhanced capacity for love changes your thinking!”
Catching what sounded like a chuckle, Mark looked over at Zachri, wondering whether this was a sign that there was a lighter side to his angelic guide. As the image of a chorus of angelic hippies and war vets stomping to the tune of
“
Kumbaya
”
whil
e
chanting peace slogans flashed before Mark’s eyes, he laughed aloud.
Immediately, the most outlandish thing happened; these spirit beings come to Earth to help Mark deal with some very serious issues, laughed too. When their mirth subsided, Bob gave Mark a brief version of their stance on violence.
“We are not to ignore evil acts or allow them to continue unchecked but must use our innate wisdom and courage to oppose brutality peacefully.”
Bob went on.
“It’s difficult for a great many people to condemn war when the media is constantly justifying militarism, cloaking acts of violence by using vagueness and euphemisms; words which ‘name things without calling up mental pictures of them.’ as 20th century British author, George Orwell, put it.”
“I don’t understand how we can overcome violence if we don’t fight back with all that we have. Are we expected to roll over and play dead when we’re attacked? Maybe you can explain that, Zachri?”
“Our liberation comes only through solidarity with others who have recaptured the innocence of children.
“
As Jürgen Moltmann put it, in ‘The Disarming Child’, with wisdom, we can: ‘become as children: disarmingly defenseless, disarming through their defenselessness and making others defenseless because they themselves are so disarming.’”
Mark thought about this for a moment before he responded.
“That rings true but, where I live, the innocence of childhood is lost very young. Our children see lots of violence each day. The media is full of it. Janie told me about talking to kids in Detroit who’d seen friends and family murdered, sometimes over a pair of athletics shoes or a harsh word. I don’t see how their innocence can be restored.”
Zachri replied.
“
Young c
hildren don’t automatically think of strangers as the enemy or instinctively require expensive possessions; they are taught to hate others and to crave non-essentials.”
“I get it. Adults have to set a better example but how would this stop wars?”
“You know, Mark. You’d heard of resolving conflicts through interaction, forgiveness and maybe even sharing; things that children pick up more easily than adults. You weren’t ready for that; you weighed the risks and decided against peaceable responses to offensives.”
“O.K., I get it now. Could we finish my conversion quickly? I promised Janie I would celebrate Thanksgiving with her and my flight arrangements must be finalized by now.”
