Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (31 page)

“What are you saying, Paul?”

“I’m saying that Negroes, even though you’ll never get them to admit it, blame God for their condition now and in the past. When a person blames their present condition on the past, they won’t be able see a future because they’re constantly looking over their shoulders.”

Laughing, she said, “No, we don’t, Paul. We don’t blame God. We blame crackers! They did it, not God.”

Laughing with her, he said, “I know Negroes blame us for their condition on the surface, but in places they don’t want to look, dare I say examine closely, they blame God because He could’ve stopped it before it happened, and He didn’t. And He let it go on for three hundred years. Even now Negroes unwittingly blame God because crackers, as you call us, can do irreparable harm to Negroes or even kill them, and it appears that God doesn’t lift a finger to stop it. White men rape black women and don’t even bother concealing their identities because they know the law won’t do anything about it. White men destroy Negro families with their philandering, and then blame the Negro for why he has a splintered family. And again, it appears that God does nothing about this gross injustice. The Negro helped build this great nation, and he gets next to no credit for his substantial contributions, and again, it appears that God does nothing about this. Now . . . are you going to sit there and tell me that Negroes don’t blame God, if for no other reason, doing nothing to alleviate your suffering as a race?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I do blame Him for it all. I just didn’t realize it.”

“You also don’t realize you blame Him for what your mother and Earl Shamus did to you, but listen, it’s not God’s fault. None of it. Again, there is a war going on that you can’t see. And in any war, there are always casualties. We all wound and get wounded during the bloody mêlée even though it’s an invisible battle.”

“Can I be honest with you now, Paul?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Forgive me for being honest, but it looks like God is losing. I mean, I know He’s not, but it sure looks like it. I don’t mean to be gross, but there are places that I can’t even use the bathroom and might end up soiling myself because crackers aren’t decent enough to let me use their toilet. And you’re right, Paul. God does nothing about it. And you said it yourself, God’s church is being infiltrated by Sodomites.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong, Johnnie. God is doing something even though it doesn’t look like it. Otherwise, the invisible war would not be raging as it does. The problem is that His people are disobedient. Do you think I’m the only white preacher who sees these injustices?”

“No. The other white preachers see it, too. They just don’t care. And if they do care, only God knows they do, because I certainly don’t see them doing anything about it.”

Chapter 58

“
On your feet, recruit! And you better not fall outta line again!”

L
ucas Matthews and his fellow recruits had marched from the barracks to the Mess Hall. After eating a less than delicious breakfast—SOS being the main course, they marched to the processing center where they verified the identity of each recruit and started a history of paperwork that would follow them throughout their military careers, and made sure each recruit had a service number so they could collect their pay and any other benefits servicemen were entitled to. Then, they marched over to the quartermaster’s office and picked up their uniforms. After that, they marched over to the Post Exchange, where they bought their toiletries and shoeshine kits. If a single individual was making all those stops, they could have gotten it all done in about an hour and a half, but there were no less than five platoons processing in at the same time, which made each stop take much longer.

Now they were on their way over to the hospital to get a battery of vaccination shots, marching at Sergeant Cornsilk’s command in a cadence he set, their feet landing and rising together like they had been in the platoon for a few weeks instead of a few hours. It seemed like they had been marching forever since they now had their duffle bags slung over their shoulders with all their uniforms, an assortment of overcoats, hats and three pairs of footgear inside them. The duffle bags had gotten heavy for most of the recruits. But Lucas was in excellent shape because he worked out, doing two hundred push-ups a day and running two miles afterward while he was in Angola Prison. He smiled when he heard the men groaning as the pain in their shoulders and backs increased.

“Quit your belly achin’,” Sergeant Cornsilk called out. “We’re just getting started. We got four months of this. This is nuthin’. As a matter of fact, since you sissies keep moanin’ and groanin’ like a couple of French whores plying their trade, we’re gonna pick up the pace. Double time . . . march!”

It had been like that all day long—running and then marching, running and then marching, with little to no rest to catch their breaths. It seemed like every few miles, someone would fall behind and incur the wrath of Sergeant Cornsilk, who ran along with them, but was breathing normally, like he was walking instead of running. He stopped the platoon several times just so he could yell at whoever fell behind. But Lucas was enjoying the marching and the running according to Cornsilk’s cadence.

“Hut two, three, four—hut two, three, four . . . about face . . . to the rear march . . . parade rest . . . atten-hut!” Cornsilk commanded.

Lucas had no idea how much he was going to enjoy basic combat training. He thought it would be harder, but it was a breeze for him and everyone noticed. He loved being the barracks chief, and it was only his first day.

“Pla-toon . . . halt!” Cornsilk barked.

Someone had fallen out of line again, probably because they couldn’t take another step due to exhaustion. There was a collective sigh of relief when Sergeant Cornsilk stopped the platoon and screamed at the man who couldn’t keep up. Lucas laughed, albeit quietly. He loved when Cornsilk ripped into someone, and he had been ripping into recruits all morning for the least little infraction. The thing that seemed to drive Cornsilk insane was the fact that a few of the recruits couldn’t seem to remember their left from their right. Cornsilk made a couple of guys pick up a rock and keep it in their right hands, so they could distinguish one from the other, saying to them, “You’re dumb as a rock. Might as well hold one for the duration.”

“You think you’re tired now,” Cornsilk yelled, “but you’re not. Being weak . . . being physically unfit . . . will get you killed on the field of battle. You may hate me for it, but you’re going to be fit to fight by the time I’m through. The alternative is too frightening to contemplate. If you don’t learn what I’m teaching you today, and for the rest of your training, not only are you going to die, but you’re going to get your buddies killed, too. Why? Because you couldn’t march a single mile, let alone run one. You weaklings need to ask yourself one question. Am I going to get my buddies killed because I can’t keep up? Am I going to get captured because I’m out of shape and end up telling our enemies our positions and strategies?”

Cornsilk bent over and yelled in his ear, “You’re pathetic! You know that?” He snatched the recruit to his feet. Then he put his fists on his hips, and addressed the platoon. “Your lives are in each others hands! Don’t forget that! You’re only as strong as your weakest link! Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Double time . . . march!” Cornsilk commanded.

Chapter 59

“
Do you have a problem with that, soldier?”

T
he platoon hadn’t even gotten a half a block away when several more recruits fell out of formation. One particular recruit not only fell out of formation, but fell down and vomited, too. “Pla-toon . . . halt!” Sergeant Cornsilk commanded. “At ease!”

The platoon did as they were ordered, dropping their heavy duffle bags to the ground, bending over, placing their hands on their knees, breathing heavily, glad to get another break, even if it was only for a few minutes.

“Salt Lake City here can’t seem to stay in formation. If he falls out of formation again, if he vomits one more time, it’s your ass! You read me, soldier?”

“You just bought yourself some remedial running, son,” San Francisco warned. “I’m gonna run you like you’ve never been run until you lose a hundred pounds. You understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You’re not going to embarrass me, your barracks chief, this platoon or our drill sergeant,” San Francisco yelled. “Now get your fat candy bar eatin’ ass up! Let’s go.”

“You’re fired,” Cornsilk said. “You’ve just been demoted, but you’re still responsible for keeping the whites in line. Fail, and you’ll spend two weeks in the infirmary. Understand?”

Cornsilk called the platoon to attention, and they marched another mile or so to the hospital. “Pla-toon—halt!” He walked to the back of the platoon to talk to Lucas. He looked at Lucas and said, “New Orleans, you and San Francisco take Salt Lake City to the infirmary. He might be dehydrated. I’ve never lost a recruit before, and I don’t plan on losing one now. Stay with him until the platoon comes in.”

“Yes, sir!” Lucas said.

Chapter 60

“
I could really like you, you know that?”

L
ucas and Nicolas stood next to Thomas Shaw, lifted his arms over their shoulders, and walked him past five other platoons, waiting to get their vaccination shots, and then into the hospital, where they were met by several nurses, who quickly got Thomas into an empty bed and began treating him.

“So did you get your SOS today, recruit?” Lieutenant Perry said.

Lucas turned around. He saw the lieutenant standing in the doorway, looking good in her white uniform. He looked at Nicolas and said, “Stay with him. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”