The Heart You Carry Home (24 page)

Reno let out a deep-bellied laugh. “You are, kid. See out there?” Reno pointed to the fog. “That's heaven.”

I pulled a couple of branches off Lai's shelter. It was empty. “Willy, you were supposed to wake me for the next watch!” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't your fault. I should have stayed awake. It wasn't the kind of mistake I'd ever made, and I burned with shame.

“She probably went to get her gook friends,” Reno spat. “Wanted 'em to slit our throats while we slept.”

“She didn't go to get anybody,” you whimpered. “She's alone out here. Her village is gone.”

“We're moving out,” I said. “To hell with this mission.”

“She's all alone out here,” you repeated. “We can't just leave her.”

“Come on, Willy,” King said. “It's okay.”

King, the squad mother. I knew it wasn't a role he wanted to play, but he couldn't help it. He was just too decent a person.

“Hey!” Reno shouted and we all turned. Lai stood at the edge of the tree line, maybe fifteen yards away. She held something in her hands. Reno cocked his gun.

“Don't shoot her!” you yelled.

King and I jumped to attention and scanned the wall of jungle. There was a dead stillness. Not even the wind rustled the leaves.

“What's she got there?” Reno said. “Ask her, Willy.”

You moved forward, speaking to Lai. She rattled back a response, her strange language grating against our ears. I moved up behind you, motioning for Reno and King to follow.

“She's scared,” Willy hissed. “You're scaring her.”

“That's a grenade,” Reno said from my left.

“No!” you pleaded. “She says it's a bowl with more medicine.”

“My ass it is.”

“She'll show you, Reno.” You spoke quickly to Lai and she began to raise her arm.

“No, Willy—” King started to protest.

And then Lai was gone. Vanished into thin air. But it wasn't magic. She'd merely fallen to the ground. You looked at Reno, your face wrenched in shock. But it wasn't Reno who'd fired the shot. It was me.

King and Reno just stood there, staring at Lai's body. Then you realized what had happened. “No!” you screamed and ran to her. “You killed her!” you cried. You moved your hands over her body, searching for something—some switch—that might let her get up again. “She wasn't going to hurt us!” You were sobbing.

“She had a grenade,” Reno said. “Why don't you bring it over for show-and-tell?”

“She wasn't going to hurt us.” You kicked the object that had fallen from Lai's hands. It rolled over to me and stopped just shy of my boots: a metal bowl filled with a foul-smelling paste. Medicine.

Reno spat and turned away. King sighed. “Come on, Willy,” he said. “Let's go.”

But you seemed not to hear. You were looking up at me, your eyes glazed, almost like Lai's eyes had been. Then you pulled a knife from your belt and pushed up Lai's shirt. In my head, I was screaming at you to stop, but the words wouldn't come out. King and Reno shouted your name. But it was too late. You'd pushed the knife into Lai's belly and, in one quick motion, sliced her open.

We gaped in disbelief as you tossed the bloodied knife aside and pushed your hand into the seam. You got your fingers in good, moving them around like you were mixing batter with your hand. Blood ran out of the gash and down the sides of Lai's body. You released a whooping cry. “I told you it was real!” You pulled your hand, red and glistening, from the gash and held it in the air. You seemed to be holding something, but we were too far away to see it clearly. “It's real.” You cackled, pulling your fist to your chest and cradling it there. “You didn't believe her, but it's real.”

I turned away. After all these bloody months, seeing a woman mutilated was something I still couldn't stomach. But I also knew that approaching you now would be like triggering a mine. I'd seen men go berserk before; I worried that what you'd done to Lai was only the beginning.

“I'm taking the heart now,” you announced. “Do you hear me, Proudfoot? I'm going to carry it. You felt it. But you were afraid. You were afraid of the heart, so you killed her.” You stood up and walked a few steps forward. Blood ran down your arm in long streaks. “I'm the Carrier from now on. I'm not afraid of anything.” You held up your fist. Your hands had stopped shaking.

Reno chuckled. “Looks like he's been washed in the blood of the Lai.”

“Jesus Christ, Reno,” I snapped. And without another look at the village of Li Sing or Lai's body, I hoisted my pack and marched into the jungle. King and Reno followed, and behind us all, walking steady at last, you.

Back at the CIDG camp, I gave my report to the major. I said the village was bombed out and deserted. I said we'd encountered no one.

“Anything happen to Private McKenzie out there?” the major asked. “He looks a little bit off in the eyes.”

“He's not fit for this,” I said.

“He says he wants to stay,” the major said. “After the mess HQ made, I don't really know why. But his skills could come in useful. And your squad's short a few men.”

For the next couple of weeks, Willy, you kept to yourself. You ate alone. Mornings, you were up early, helping the villagers haul water from the well. You learned your way around the tools fast and took over construction of the local school. You'd changed. Everyone could see it. Your pale skin burned, then peeled, then tanned. You were still skinny, but you looked stronger now, your arms less spindly. Even your acne started to clear up. And you'd hung a drawstring pouch from your neck like a piece of jewelry. You never took it off; not in the afternoons, when the soggy heat forced us out of our shirts, not in the shower, not even to sleep. At night you tucked the pouch into your armpit for extra protection. A couple of times Reno tried to steal it, to see what you were carrying around with you—because it wasn't actually a heart. We all knew that much.

Everyone whispered about the pouch. They called you Pretty Willy. When they passed you in the camp, they asked if you had lipstick and a compact in your little purse and whether you could recommend any nice Vietnamese boys from the village. Reno was the worst offender—
faggot
this,
poof
that—and I got sick of it. I didn't like to hear them talk that way. So I told Reno, “You better let him be and tell everybody I said so.”

Later, I heard Reno grumbling to King about how I must have felt guilty for killing that woman and that maybe I was going soft.

“Proudfoot knows he did the right thing,” King said.

“So then why's he protecting Willy's faggy ass? The kid's not one of us, King. And he's crazy. I'm telling you, one day I'm going to rip that little purse off his neck.”

“Willy's pulling his weight,” King said. “Just leave him alone.”

I, on the other hand, was not pulling my weight. I didn't let on, of course. But ever since Li Sing, I'd had this recurring nightmare in which our planes were dropping bombs on the ancient village, the rounds falling over the huts, showering Durga like hail. When the smoke cleared, I saw Lai standing amid the destruction. Blood gushed like a fountain from her belly, ran down her legs, and seeped into the ground. And that's when the truly scary part of the dream started. Because when the blood hit the ground, it burst into flame and shot off in a straight line, like fire following a gasoline trail. I watched this trail of fire rush through the jungle, over mountains and hills, heading for our camp. I saw it snake toward our barracks. And just before the fire was about to burst upon me, I'd wake up. The dream was like a plague—like a punishment. The remains of Li Sing were out there. Lai's body was out there. We hadn't buried her. We'd left plenty of people on the ground like that, but we should have buried her. That stupid bowl looked like a grenade. I didn't have a choice. But she'd helped Reno. She deserved a grave, at least.

A couple of weeks later, we started training for a new mission. We ran drills, studied maps, learned each other's signals. It was now expected that you'd eat with us. And because you ate with us, it was expected that you'd drink with us. Nobody mentioned the pouch anymore. And then one day, you left the first hundred pages of
The Iliad
on my cot.

“I don't want this,” I said.

“It'll help you with the nightmares,” you said. I wondered how you knew, but by that point, I was so desperate, I'd try anything. Soon enough, you and I started getting into these long discussions about the meddling Greek gods and whether the Trojan War had been worth fighting. Reno looked askance when he saw us debating the motives of Thetis and the defilement of Hector's body. I paid him no mind. Every day, I couldn't wait to get through the training so I could get back to the book—and to our discussions. I hated the fact that I liked talking to you so much. But I couldn't help myself. I needed your approval. I needed to know that you believed in me. Because of what I'd done. Because of what I'd felt beating beneath Lai's skin.

Currahee!

CO Proudfoot

T
HE TALE EMERGED
from Reno like an endless string of scarves yanked from a magician's mouth. Every time he seemed ready to wrap things up, another impossible detail flew out. Never had Becca heard a story more riveting, more bizarre, or more bogus. And yet, it explained the origin of King's tattoo. It explained this CO Proudfoot they were all going to see. But it explained nothing about Kleos or what kind of danger her father was facing.

“Story's not over yet,” Reno said. He wheezed like a runner whose lungs were on the verge of collapse.

“We can take a break,” Becca offered. But he only shook his head. He needed to power through.

“Our next mission, again in Cambodia, was to surveil a North Vietnamese army weapons supply. We were supposed to assess the size and strength of the outfit and make a report about whether to send in the big guns. But everything was different now. Willy walked like an Indian. He didn't make so much as a peep. There was no sign of Charlie on the first day. But that night, something strange happened.

“See, Willy and the CO had been spending a lot of time together, always involved in these intense conversations about one of Willy's books. It bothered me, you know, 'cause the CO was a no-bullshit guy. And Willy was nutty, wearing that so-called heart in a sack around his neck. I was starting to question whether the CO was really in
his
right mind, whether killing that woman had caused him to snap. But after they thought King and I were asleep, I overheard the two of them talking. My ears really pricked up when I heard Willy say that he never wanted to go home again, because of course, that's
all
we wanted. To get the fuck out of the jungle. The CO asked Willy how Vietnam was in any way preferable to his cushy university. And Willy told this story about how he'd fallen in love with somebody back at school and gotten caught and
that's
why the university had been so happy to get rid of him when the army came calling.”

“You mean he slept with a teacher?” Becca asked.

“That's what the CO wanted to know.”

“And what did Willy say?”

“He made advances toward his adviser.” Reno raised his eyebrows at her. “His male adviser.”

“Oh,” she said.

“So then Willy said, ‘I don't think I ever felt like myself until I came here. For the first time in my life, I have a purpose.'

“‘But even if that thing in the pouch is what you say it is, Willy,' the CO said, ‘Durga's not your god. And Li Sing wasn't your village.'

“‘They are now. Proudfoot, life back home—it was intolerable. It wasn't really life at all. But here! This is the only place that I've ever felt true to myself. That trouble with my adviser—'

“‘Don't tell me about that, Willy,' the CO said. ‘I don't want to hear about it.'

“‘But you're—'

“‘I'm a soldier! I'm the leader of this squad. I'm responsible for completing the mission and getting us home. That's who I am.'

“And then things turned strange,” Reno said. “I couldn't see either of them, but I could feel the awkwardness, thick and sticky-like.

“‘Why is it, Proudfoot,' asked Willy, ‘that you and I never talk about Achilles and Patroclus?'

“‘We talk about them,' said the CO.

“‘Their relationship,' Willy said. ‘That part of it, we don't discuss.'

“‘You want to talk about them? Fine. They were like brothers to each other.'

“‘Brothers?' Willy repeated.

“‘What do you want from me, Willy?' the CO asked.