Sand in the Wind (73 page)

And more laughter.

“Did you
see
the look in his eyes?”

Tuyen was kneeling before him, startled by Kramer’s expression. “What happen?”

“I just remembered something.
  
.
 
.
 
. I couldn’t remember before.”

“The booby trap?”

“No, before that
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I just remembered it.”

“You remember what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You are all right?”

“Yes, yes, just wait
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I’ll go with you in a minute.”

Still dazed, Kramer rose to his feet and began walking with her. He searched his memory, making sure he had remembered all of it, sometimes questioning whether it had actually happened, knowing that it had. He walked over a mile without having any idea what was going on around him, his mind completely in the past. Until he saw Tuyen glance at him with a worried look on her face, Kramer wasn’t even conscious that she was there. “I’m all right,” he said, making an effort to smile.

Kramer’s eyes returned to the ground. He saw a single leg between two crutches, then heard a click. A Vietnamese amputee stood before him. As they passed by, he called out, “Marine, you want picture?” Kramer continued walking, but he glanced back and saw the amputee struggling with a camera while balancing himself on the crutches. “
Marine
, you buy picture?” Kramer began to walk faster, but the man on crutches caught up with him. Kramer stared at his face and wanted to escape. “One dollar.” Unsuccessfully trying to avoid the amputee’s stare, Kramer pulled some bills out of his pocket as he walked. The man grabbed them and shoved a picture into his hand. Kramer stuffed the photograph into his pocket without looking at it, still trying to escape the amputee.

Once inside Tuyen’s apartment, he felt more relaxed. He followed her into the kitchen where she poured two glasses of water and they sat down at the table. She still had a worried look on her face, and Kramer was more thankful for it than bothered by it. “I’m all right now.
  
.
 
.
 
. You understand what happened, don’t you?”

“You remember something very bad you have never remember before.”

“You can understand why I acted like that, can’t you?”

“Yes, is a very bad thing you remember.”

“You don’t think I was acting like a little kid, do you?”

“No, I understand.”

“It wasn’t because of anything you said.”

“I believe you.”

“I have to go soon.”

“Because you are late they will do something?”

“No, they can’t do a damn thing to me. They can’t
touch
me.” He noticed that Tuyen was looking at the wilted flowers on the table. “You forgot to buy some.”

“Tomorrow.”

Kramer stood up and reached for her hand. He led her into the living room. Tuyen was hesitant to lie down on the mattress with him, but he coaxed her without words. Her head lay upon his chest, and he stroked her hair as he asked, “You like me, don’t you?”

“I like you very much.”

“When will I see you again?” He waited for an answer, both knowing and fearing what she would say.

“Is better if I never see you again.”

“You said you liked me.”

“Is why is better.”

“Will you think about me?”

“Yes, many times.”

“It’s not because of what happened today?” he asked, knowing that this had nothing to do with it.

Her tone indicated that she was hurt by him even thinking this, “No, is not.”

“What if I can come back?”

This idea scared her. “Is no good.”

“But what if I do?”

“Soon I go back to Hue — four, maybe five days.”

“What if I go to Hue?” Kramer asked, knowing the impossibility of this, and neither surprised by nor ashamed of the supplicating tone of his words.

“Please, is no good.
  
.
 
.
 
. Maybe is better if you go now.”

It was a long few seconds for him before she sat up. He remained lying down, playing with her hair. But when she stood, so did he, admitting to himself that it had ended. It was Kramer who first walked to the door.

“Is very bad time now. Is bad to hope for things. Something can happen, and we are more sad than before.”

Kramer knew he was being lied to, and there was some coldness in his stare as he said, “That’s not why.”

“I like you more than I think I ever like anyone again.”

“Again,” he repeated, almost as a demand, thinking that now she should tell him in her own words what they both already knew.

“Many times I tell you once I was very happy. This can never be taken from me. To lose happiness like this is very bad thing. Once, no more. Never can it be the same.
  
.
 
.
 
. Someday you will understand.”

This Kramer understood now, and had sensed all along. It was with a feeling of some guilt that he asked, “Are you sorry?”

“No. I think I know it would happen. The reason I diddin know, but still I know. This is why I sometimes say things to make you angry.”

Kramer saw no hope in being able to change her mind, but he decided to make one last effort. “Is it better the way things are? Maybe it’s already too late.”

“Many things can happen. For me is better this way. Now you think is too late. Is not. Someday you will see.”

Kramer couldn’t make himself believe this. For once he had found something he’d wanted, and he couldn’t believe it would ever happen again. There were so many reasons why he should leave things as they were, to try and forget; but he couldn’t accept any of them. ‘Have I changed?’ he asked himself sarcastically, finally admitting that he had. ‘But not that much.
  
.
 
.
 
. Besides,
she
changed me.’ He was sure that without her he would be as he was before. Again he decided to make one last effort. “I’ll leave you my address.”

“No,” she almost pleaded.

“You told me how much you liked me. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“This is why you must not leave it.”

“Please, for me.” She made no reply, but her expression begged him not to. There seemed no hope, and Kramer felt that he had to get away from her. He quickly took out a pen and wrote down his address. While he frantically did so, he actually believed that this act would somehow save him. But the look on her face when he handed her the paper told him there was no chance. In a defeated tone, he said, “The top one is my military address. The other one is my home.
Please
keep it.” Her soft stare gave no answer, but it did tell him he would never see her again. He raised his hand to her cheek, touching her face, as if doing so was the only way he could prove to himself that she existed; but he was so confused that he couldn’t. It was impossible to believe that all this had happened, and to him. He knew he had to get away. He wanted to say something, maybe to ask if she would remember him, but no words would come. He slowly lowered his hand from her face, knowing it was for the last time.

2.
An Hoa

Kramer stood waiting for the helicopters as footsteps approached from his rear and a familiar voice said, “I bet they’ll be glad to get back here.” Not sure the remark was intended for him, he hoped it wasn’t and made no attempt to acknowledge it. Chaplain Hindman then put his hand on Kramer’s shoulder. “Heard you had a little trouble with a booby trap.” Kramer gave a slight nod, but otherwise ignored Hindman who was now standing next to him. “They’re a brave bunch of men.
  
.
 
.
 
. Too bad the folks back home don’t appreciate what they’re going through.” This time Kramer didn’t even bother to nod. “Well, I’m glad they’re taking them out of there.” After a few seconds’ silence, Hindman finally took Kramer’s hint and walked away while saying, “See you Sunday, Lieutenant.”

In a few minutes the first helicopter arrived. Kramer watched intently as the men debarked. The faces were unfamiliar, none of them from Hotel Company. Practically every man was either supporting or being supported by someone else. Their steps were slow and deliberate as they moved away from the helicopter. It was a mere thirty yards to the edge of the landing pad, but the first man took almost two minutes to reach it. Some of the men that followed were in worse shape. Kramer watched the pain on their faces each time they would lower a foot to the ground. One or two of them had their boots slung across their shoulders and nothing except bandages on their feet. The last man off the pad was ten yards behind the others. He barely lifted his feet, each slow step covering no more than six inches. Hindman walked out on to the pad to help him.

The helicopters continued to land, and the same scene was repeated again and again. It was over a mile to the battalion area, so trucks had to be called in to carry the men there. They sat waiting in large groups at the edge of the landing pad, their faces turned away from the wind and sand stirred up by the copter blades.

Kramer watched for almost an hour before he finally saw Sugar Bear leading a group of men from one of the helicopters. Hemrick hung awkwardly from his shoulder. A man dropped to his knees, and someone helped him up. As Kramer walked quickly towards his men, he saw Roads and Appleton carrying someone between them, and two other men leaning on their outside shoulders. Hamilton and Forsythe helped Childs, while Chalice followed behind. Most of the men nodded or called out to Kramer as he passed them, precipitating a sense of pride he would have found embarrassing at almost any other time. Ramirez was the last man off the chopper. Pablo stood patiently waiting for him. Ramirez took short, painful steps toward the edge of the LZ, his feet seeming barely to move. Kramer tried to help him, but Ramirez shook his head while shouting over the squall of the copter blades, “I can make it.” He repeated these words again as if to convince himself. Kramer lifted off Ramirez’s pack and followed behind.

When the men of Second Platoon reached their company area, a large tent upon a wooden platform stood waiting for them. They immediately threw off their packs, flak jackets, and helmets; and lay down on the cots inside it. Someone turned on a radio. For the first time since they had gotten off the helicopter, there was some laughing and joking. Word was passed that the doctor was making the rounds of the battalion, and for the men to take off their boots and wait for him.

Childs stared down at his boots. He wanted to be free of them, but dreaded the act of taking them off. Merely leaning forward and reaching for the laces increased the pain. Slowly and carefully, he removed both laces without moving his feet. Childs drew one leg up and placed it across his other knee. He hesitated for a minute, knowing the pain he’d soon be feeling. Finally, he pressed against the heel of the boot. It seemed glued to his foot. He pressed harder, increasing the burning pain on his instep, increasing it until he had to stop, the boot still snugly on his foot.

He looked around the tent. A few of the men already had their boots off, but he knew that other men were in even worse condition than himself. Seeing Chalice remove his socks, Childs called him over. He lifted one of his boots into Chalice’s hands, but pulled it away as soon as Chalice tried to get it off. Instead, he had Chalice hold the boots stationary on the floor as he slowly withdrew his feet. Feeling relief as well as burning pain, Childs quickly sat down. He noticed that a few of the men still hadn’t been able to get their boots off, and again reminded himself that they were in worse condition than he. This thought helped little when he tried to get his socks off. He felt as if he were skinning his own feet, and this was exactly what he was doing. It was no use. As much as he wanted his socks off, he’d have to wait for the scissors.

Childs stared down at his socks. Blood had seeped through the material and dried in large, stiff blotches. Even where there was no blood, the socks felt like burlap against his feet. Finally, the scissors were passed to him. He cut one of his socks from ankle to toe, yet it still stuck to his foot, hanging suspended from his instep. He cut away the free material. As he carefully pulled on the remaining patch, tissue ripped away with it and he felt as if he were pouring hot grease into an open wound. He had to stop for a minute, debating whether to just rip away the material that remained, deciding not to. Now able to see the open flesh, he turned his head away and continued. Finally, the material came free, a square inch of flesh still attached to it. Relieved that he was half finished, Childs stared down at his instep. Blood trickled from a large, rough wound that looked like the work of a fish scaler. ‘At least it’s off,’ he told himself. ‘At least I’m in better shape than a lot of these motherfuckers.’

Some fairly cold beer and soda were brought to the tent. Each man took two cans of whichever he chose. It was three hours before the doctor and four corpsmen reached their hootch. They tried to help the more serious cases first. The doctor had already treated over a hundred men, but his expression still indicated disbelief at what he was seeing. He finally had to send three men back to the LZ to be medivacked to Da Nang, their feet so swollen and infected that it was impossible for them to get their boots back on. He bandaged these men and gave them sandals to wear. Before the doctor left, he told the company master sergeant to get some basins so the men would be able to soak their feet. Those that could walk to the showers were issued clean clothes. Some mail and packages had been waiting for them, and they spent the few hours before dusk reading letters and eating candy.

Kramer sat on the steps of the officers’ hootch drinking a warm beer. He hadn’t seen Milton or Tony 5, and was afraid to ask about them. Not until the previous evening when he arrived at An Hoa did it occur to him that he might have been the one who tripped the booby trap. He could have easily found out at the company office if anyone else had been wounded, but his guilt made him afraid to ask. He decided to wait until his platoon arrived. The faces of his men gave no hint of animosity; but the more he thought about it, the surer he was that it had been his fault. Kramer remembered how dazed he was after the NVA soldier came at him with a knife, and he knew he could have been thinking of nothing else until the booby trap went off. Everytime Kramer had looked at Sugar Bear, he had searched his face for a clue to what had happened. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he found out, Kramer got up and walked towards the platoon hootch. A large figure walked by him in the darkness. Kramer turned around and asked, “Sugar Bear?”