(8)
— Originally published in the Antietam Review (Spring, 1999)
Continued from page (7)
Griffin shifted in his chair.
“What’s wrong?” Carver asked.
Griffin began pushing the palm of his hand hard against his hair. Kerney
had never seen him do that before.
“Griffin,” Carver said, “is there any reason why you shouldn’t want to
make this girl Xuan your mistress?” Revulsion crawled over Carver’s face. He
repeated the question.
“I don’t want to cheat on my wife, sir.”
“Any other reason?”
“Sir?”
Kerney ground his teeth. You stupid bastard, tell him about Anita.
“Frankly, Griffin,” Carver said, “your argument does not sound altogether
convincing.”
“Yes, sir, I know,” Griffin said, glancing at Kerney.
“Griffin,” Carver began after a pause, “I’m asking you as your
commanding officer to go through with this thing despite your—what shall I
say—other inclinations?” Griffin blinked. “I cannot and will not command you
to do it, and I will try to understand if you refuse. Meanwhile, we don’t want
to rush things and risk tipping her off. So, even though this matter has come
up, I do not plan to cancel the TDY trip to Bo Duc for you, Riley, and Kerney.
Think it over while you’re gone, and let me know.”
On patrol in the jungles around Bo Duc, on detail, even during chow,
Griffin was silent. Sometimes he sat alone, looked up at the lowest canopy of
black leaves, and pushed the palm of his hand against his hair. He drank
more beer than he used to, and sometimes he would lurch when he went off
to the tent at night. Sometimes when Riley talked to him, he stared into
Riley’s eyes and then looked off into space again.
Late one dry, hot April afternoon, as Kerney stood guard in his steel pot
and flack jacket, he watched Griffin bathe by the stream. Orange sun slanted
through the trees and flecked Griffin’s tan muscles. Kerney imagined his
bayonet piercing Griffin’s flat stomach, warm blood discoloring the fine, thick
hair.
TOM'S TALES