Sand in the Wind (38 page)

Childs lay motionless until the girl started moving beneath him. Remembering what was expected of him, he also started to move. Sweat dripped down his forehead onto the lenses of his glasses. When he tried to wipe them, they fell on top of her. Her laughter stopped him from putting them back on.

They began again. After she had to replace him inside herself two more times, Childs decided to let her do most of the work. He soon became a dead weight on top of her. Still struggling beneath him, she finally realized he’d reached a climax and collapsed with a laugh. “You baby,” she giggled as Childs scrambled off her.

Childs dressed hurriedly and walked out of the crib. He was waiting for Hamilton to finish when the prostitute joined him. She tried to suppress a giggle as Childs shifted his glance away from her. Seeing this, he called out in an exasperated tone, “Hamilton, hurry up!”

The sounds from the other side of the partition stopped, and Hamilton asked with disbelief, “You’re done
already?
”

“Yeah,” Childs answered irritably, “why? — I mean I was horny.”

“You
sure
must have been.”

“I was. Now hurry up!”

A few minutes later, Hamilton came walking out with a big grin on his face. “That sure was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

“Sure man, but what’s your hurry?”

“We ain’t gonna be here very long, so we might as well make the most of it.”

“That’s exactly what I was doing,
exactly.
”

They emerged into the street to find it even more crowded than before. The air was tainted with the smells of automobile exhausts, raw sewage, and cooking food. The street seemed to be lined by two endless rows of bordellos, each with a young girl at the entrance beckoning them to enter. On numerous occasions, Childs had to grab Hamilton by the arm and drag him away. Young children continually approached them begging for handouts. A line of slowly moving cars clogged the street, many of them honking their horns. Motorcycles squeezed between and beside the cars, seemingly mocking their impotency. Bicycles were forced to move along the crude paths that served as sidewalks, doing so by weaving between the street vendors’ wares that lined them. These wares ranged from goods stolen from American supplies to exotic-looking vegetables. More than once Hamilton was approached by teenagers offering to sell him
thuoc phim,
the Vietnamese words for marijuana. He’d shake his head and walk by, knowing that Childs had brought plenty. After ten minutes of trying to keep pace with Childs, he grabbed his arm and asked, “Hey,
where
are we going?”

“Let’s see what’s here. Maybe we’ll find a bar.”

“Who needs a bar? You brought some herb, didn’t you? Let’s run one now.”

“Where?”

“Let’s go in one of these whorehouses.”

“We just got laid,” Childs protested.

“So what?
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Well, if you don’t wanna get laid, we can just give them a buck to let us smoke there.”

Hamilton stepped into the next whorehouse, and Childs followed. It was almost a replica of the previous one. The prostitute at the door immediately asked, “You want boom-boom?”

Hamilton pointed to Childs who was pulling a joint from his pocket. After a few seconds of pantomime, the girls accepted a dollar each and led them to one of the cribs. Childs was about to light the joint when he heard someone enter the shack and call out, “Mamasan, it’s the tax collector.” He stashed it just as an MP stuck his head inside the crib. “What the
fuck
you doing here?”

“Just getting laid,” Hamilton answered nervously.

“You know damn well these whorehouses are off limits. Get the fuck out of here, and hurry up before I change my mind.”

Hamilton scrambled to his feet and headed for the door, while Childs casually followed behind him.

“I’m doing you a favor. You might have got the black siff in here.” When they were outside, Hamilton said, “That was close. Those guys are usually real bastards.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? He didn’t impress me as anything
but
a bastard.”

“He could of taken us in.”

“Didn’t you hear that taxman bullshit. He was just in a hurry to get laid.”

Hamilton stopped walking. “Why that sonofabitch! Here he’s got a skating job in Da Nang while we’re busting our asses in the bush, and he can’t even let us get laid.”

“You mean smoke a joint.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it.
  
.
 
.
 
. Let’s go back.”

“Are you crazy? What for?”

“To kick his ass.”

“You sure as hell got fearless all of a sudden.”

Hamilton’s tone became even angrier. “I sure as hell wasn’t scared of that pussy. It was the armband he was wearing.”

“He’s still wearing it.”

“I don’t give a shit. Let’s go back. What can they do — send us to Nam?”

“Guess the brig’s no worse than the Arizona.”

Hamilton headed back towards the whorehouse at a fast walk. Bursting through the entrance, he went directly to the crib with the drawn curtains and flung them open. The startled MP lay naked between the girl’s legs. He started to curse, but seeing the expression on Hamilton’s face, cut himself short.

“You sonofabitch,” Hamilton spit through his teeth.

Hamilton took a step towards him. “You cocksuckin’ sonofabitch.”

Childs restrained him. “Wait, I got a better idea.”

“Nothing could be better than beating him to a pulp.”

The prostitute moved out of the way, and the MP faced Childs and Hamilton in a kneeling position. “Take it easy you guys. I’m just doing my job.”

“Nice job you got there,” Childs sneered. Hamilton began to walk forward. “Wait, I told you I got a better idea. Get his gun.”

The MP reached for the pistol that lay on top of his clothes. Hamilton leaped forward, smashing his heel down on the MP’s hand and picking up the pistol in the same motion. Holding it a few inches from the MP’s face, he asked, “Okay, what’s your idea?”

The MP inched backwards on his knees as Childs spoke. “Let’s take his clothes.”

Hamilton broke into a grin. “Yeah, get ’em.”

As Childs gathered the clothes together, the MP pleaded, “C’mon, you guys. You can’t do that to me.
  
.
 
.
 
. I’m a Marine too.”

Childs replied. “We’re doing you a favor,
Marine.
You could of got the black siff in here.”

“You’re a skatin’, chicken-shit sonofabitch,” Hamilton cursed through his teeth before turning to Childs and saying, “Let’s get out of here.”

When Hamilton turned back towards the MP, he saw him getting to his feet and moving closer. Hamilton viciously kicked him backwards, then stomped on his balls. Incited by the MP’s moans, Hamilton smashed his other foot down on his face, and was about to stomp him again when Childs jerked him away.

They ran down the street, Childs holding the bundle of clothes and Hamilton waving the pistol. Noticing people staring at him, Hamilton shoved the pistol into his belt. Childs began to tire. He spotted a garbage can and stuffed the clothes into it.

As they walked away, Hamilton said, “You know, that should of been funny; but I’m so pissed off at that sonofabitch, it isn’t.”

“I know what you mean. All they’ve got to do is stick an MP armband on those turds, and they’ve got an instant lifer.
  
.
 
.
 
. It’ll get funnier as we think about it.”

It did get funnier. They wandered casually through the streets until the sky began to darken, then decided to look for a bar. They had completely forgotten about the MP when two more MP’s rode by in a jeep. A third American sitting in the back seat wrapped in a kimono began to point wildly at them. The jeep driver attempted a U-turn only to end up stuck between a truck and a car. Hamilton and Childs ran into an alley. As they darted across the street at its opposite end, another jeep made a U-turn and followed them. They dashed down the sidewalk only to be cut off by this same jeep. Hamilton put his hands up, but Childs recognized the driver, a lanky, black Marine. “
Delaney!
”

They dove into the jeep and told him to get moving while explaining that the MP’s were after them. The jeep shot backwards, then tore down the street. After Delaney had taken numerous corners on two wheels, Childs’s nervous pleas finally got him to slow down. Delaney smiled as he said, “I thought it was you guys, especially when I saw you running.”

“How the hell did you recognize us?” Hamilton asked.

“I recognized Childs. He’s the only Marine in Nam that wears portholes for eye glasses.”

“Bullshit,” Childs replied. “What are you doing in Da Nang?”

“This is my job since I got my second Heart. I drive between here and An Hoa every few days — delivering mail, supplies, lifers.”

Hamilton said with surprise, “I thought you got a real skating job.”

“This is!”

“Hell, it may be skating compared to the bush, but traveling between here and An Hoa by jeep ain’t such a sure thing.”

“It is if you do it right. I always put myself one-third the way back from the front of the convoy.”

“Childs picked up his second Heart a few days ago. He’ll be skatin’ the rest of his tour too.”

“Serious?”

“Just a scratch,” Childs answered.

“I almost forgot, what did the pigs want you for?”

By the time Childs finished telling him, Delaney had driven them to a cluster of shantytown bars. He also told them about a nearby Air Force barracks where they’d be able to sleep.

The sun had just gone down and most of the bars were still empty. Childs and Hamilton decided to enter the next bar they came upon, crowded or not. It was dark and empty except for five bar girls. Rhythm and Blues album covers nailed all over the walls did little to lighten the depressing atmosphere. The counter behind the bar had a number of candles on it. Hamilton excitedly read the names on the bottles of American liquor while repeating “Just like back in the world.”

The bar girls seemed to be ignoring them. Childs finally called to one, “Hey Mamasan, you give me rum and Coke.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Hamilton asked. “All this good American liquor and you order rum and Coke?”

“I can’t tell the difference. I just wanna get drunk.”

“Hey man, the reason you can’t tell the difference is because you never
had
good liquor.
  
.
 
.
 
. Mamasan, two Jack Daniels.” The bar girl had ignored Childs, and now she ignored Hamilton. He jokingly banged his fist upon the bar and said, “Hey Mamasan, how ’bout a little service.” She slowly walked over to them. Hamilton pointed to the Jack Daniels. She poured some of it into two large glasses, and was about to add Coke when Hamilton stopped her. “Mamasan! You know you’d get arrested in the States for polluting good liquor like that?” She gave no indication she understood all he had said, but she did bring over the straight liquor and asked for two dollars. Hamilton was practically drooling as she set the glasses down. “Man, this is the finest stuff you’ve ever tasted. Stick with me and you’ll learn something about drinking.”

Childs ran the liquor around the glass while saying, “I’m not used to drinking this stuff straight.”

“Trust me, man, trust me. This stuff is just like honey. Let it glide down your throat
real
slow.”

“I don’t know about this,” Childs said as he lifted the glass.

“Trust me. Just let it go down real slow.”

Childs took the glass to his lips and tilted it hesitantly, finally letting a little of the liquor drip into his mouth. He immediately put the glass down, and his face screwed up in distaste as he shook his head from side to side, finally gasping, “That stuff’s a little rough.”

“What the
fuck
are you talking about? Poor Jack Daniels is probably turning over in his grave. You did it wrong. You gotta let it flow down your throat
real
slow.” Hamilton lifted the glass and gave Childs a self-satisfied grin before slowly pouring the liquor down his throat. When the glass was almost empty, his mouth puffed up in disbelief. He made one final effort to swallow before spewing a mouthful of liquor over the bar. Gagging and gasping, Hamilton squirmed on his barstool trying to evade Childs’s hand as it pounded him on the back. Still not sure he could keep from vomiting or that enough of his throat was left to speak, he finally rasped after a few choked attempts, “Man, I’d like to know how much they pay for those Jack Daniels labels. That’s the raunchiest horse piss I’ve
ever
drunk.”

Trying to keep a straight face, Childs waved off this explanation. “No, no man, you did it wrong. Let it go down
reeeeal
slow, like honey, like honey.”

Hamilton noticed the bar girl looking angrily at them, and he quickly ordered two rum and Cokes. While they were drinking them, three black Marines entered the bar. They stood in the doorway staring at Hamilton and Childs before Hamilton noticed them and gave a friendly nod. It was returned by three unfriendly glares. They sat down at a table as far away from Childs and Hamilton as the room would allow. “What was that all about?” Hamilton asked.

“Hell if I care,” Childs shrugged.

A bar girl immediately went over to the table. Before giving their orders, one of the men asked her a question and she shook her head. Hamilton picked up his drink and walked over to an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the room. When he came back, Childs asked, “What did you play?”

“Nothing. All that thing’s got on it is soul music. I can’t stand that shit.”

More people started coming into the bar, usually in groups, all of them black, and always with hard stares for Childs and Hamilton. Aside from a few remarks such as, “What a friendly bunch of motherfuckers these guys are,” Hamilton and Childs ignored the other men in the bar and simply stared straight ahead over the counter. Someone played the jukebox, and it stayed on continuously. Every few minutes someone else would make it louder until the music became deafening. All the tables filled, and every barstool except those on each side of Childs and Hamilton. Suddenly the plug to the jukebox was pulled. By the time the record wound to a stop, the bar was completely silent. Childs and Hamilton turned to see all the faces in the room focused upon them in hard, threatening stares. Both of them knew that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. They turned back to the bar.