The Lonely War (12 page)

Andrew nodded. Minuscule particles charged the humid air. Andrew watched them dance through the space between him and the officer. Moyer leaned across the table.

Andrew froze, somewhat startled by the ensign’s gesture. He felt a buzz at his temples where his pulse seemed to throb stronger than normal. He had an overpowering urge to place his palm on Moyer’s forehead and push him against his seatback.

“There’s a woman at home, Sara Walker,” Moyer said, “who helps people living on the poor side of the tracks. She has a close relationship with God. It is obvious from her willingness to suffer so many hardships to help others, yet, she is forever cheerful and always sees the good in everybody. But she has never once worshipped our Lord in church or even bowed her head in prayer.” He inhaled a deep breath. “I asked her why she never attended church. She told me that after the death of her child, she spent what she called ‘a night of nothingness’. After that, she lost faith with all traditional beliefs and developed a personal relationship with God.”

“And you envy her?”

The ensign nodded. “She is with him always, while I have been abandoned. You know, people assume that the holiest people, the saints, exist in continual divine ecstasy, but that’s simply not so. Many saints have been keenly aware of God’s absence. There’s even a name for it. It’s called the Phenomenon of Darkness. Don’t confuse this affliction with loss of faith. It’s more like an empty feeling of unknowing. With me, this emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. I want God with every fiber of my being, yet, between us there is an appalling separation. At times I feel a terrible loss, that God doesn’t want me. At other times there is a worse feeling, that he doesn’t exist at all.” Moyer cocked his head. “In your religion, do you ever have such doubts?”

“For Buddhists, God is not some separate being existing some place far away called heaven. We see the universe as one living force, made up of all the trillions upon trillions of life forms, of which you and I are a part. If you want to call this life force ‘God’, I have no issue with that. That means, of course, that we are all God, that collectively we create God, like the cells of our body combine to create us.”

Moyer swallowed and nodded.

“Anytime I wish to view God, I see all the various forms of life around me all melding together. If I wish to understand God, I look within my own heart, because I, too, am a manifestation of this life force. For a Buddhist, to understand one’s self is to understand the whole of God.”

Andrew paused, because Moyer was simply staring at him in a daze. Andrew reached across the table and gave Moyer’s hand a gentle squeeze. “This Christian idea that God is separate from all other life seems very sad. I understand why you have these feelings of abandonment and doubt.”

Moyer bowed his head, as if to hide the emotions boiling up from his heart.

Andrew lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “My master told me that we all have demons, fears inside our heads. These fears cause anger, hatred, greed, and envy. They in turn cause all our pain and sorrow. Overcoming these demons is the most important task a man can undertake.”

Moyer raised his head and smiled sadly. “I understand. Thank you.  By the way, I give services every Sunday morning on the fantail. Will you come and hear God’s word?”

“No, thank you, sir. You’ve told me everything I need to know about your God.”

A
NDREW
decided to take a leisurely SSS (shit, shower, and shave) while the ship was deserted and before starting dinner. He plodded to his locker and stripped to his skivvies, grabbing his cake of soap, shaving cream, razor, and a terrycloth towel.

Assuming that he would have the head to himself, he was disappointed when he heard a shower spraying full force and a drain sucking water. He inched closer with timid steps, checking to see who was there. To his surprise, Grady stood under a showerhead, his member standing full and thick, and Grady was fisting it with a look of delirium on his face.

Andrew wanted to back away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his naked friend. His gaze wandered over the smooth, dark body until it found that patch of black brush above the swollen member and those hanging balls. The sheer size of that dick was inspiring—alarmingly big, its head a lovely plum color.

Andrew’s own sex stirred and his pulse beat like a jackhammer. He turned and crept to the line of sinks before someone caught him with tented skivvies while ogling his sexy friend.

Staring into the stainless steel mirror, he gripped the sink with both hands and forced himself into thinking about the dinner menu—corn chowder, stir-fried vegetables with shrimp, steamed rice, some kind of pudding—until his member softened and his pulse relaxed. He turned on the faucet, tested the water temperature, and lathered his face. He took his razor and scraped away the foam from under his nose. He had no hair on his face, but he liked to go through the ritual anyway.

The hissing shower stopped and he heard Grady drying himself. Silence. The sound of the razor scraping skin seemed loud in his ears.

Suddenly, he saw Grady’s face next to his own in the mirror. Arms wrapped around Andrew’s waist and hugged him from behind. He gasped, feeling hot breath on his neck. His body jerked forward and back. The feel of Grady’s bare skin was instantly galvanizing.

“Baby, if God ever made beautiful, he done made it with you,” Grady crooned. His fingers followed the contours of Andrew’s bare chest and he gently squeezed Andrew’s BB-sized nipple. Grady’s other hand slid into the loose fly of Andrew’s skivvies and took hold of Andrew’s growing shaft. His touch felt like melting wax on Andrew’s tender skin.

Andrew panicked.

“Relax Andy-boy. Juss relax and lemme make you feel good.”

With his heart thumping, Andrew gripped the sink with both hands to steady himself. He involuntarily leaned into Grady’s nakedness, feeling himself melt into that sumptuous skin. Grady’s erection poked at his backside through his thin cotton skivvies, worming its way between his legs.

Andrew’s mind froze, partly from the excitement but mostly from fear of being caught. He managed a hoarse whisper, “Please don’t.” His voice sounded tentative, vulnerable. He couldn’t stand the sound of it.

Grady gently kneaded Andrew’s genitals. “I see the way you look at Mitchell. Everybody’s talkin’ about how you been eyein’ him and what it means.”

Grady began rocking his hips with tantalizing slowness, his erection berthed between Andrew’s legs. Andrew’s entire body quivered, his cock poked straight up through his fly. Every spot that Grady’s satiny skin touched ignited in fiery sensations.

“Someone will see us.” Andrew was desperate, pleading.

“Everybody’s gone ashore or standing watch. It’s just you and me, pretty boy.” Grady’s fingers stroked Andrew’s torso. He hooked both thumbs into the waistband of Andrew’s skivvies and peeled them down until they dropped to the deck. Now Andrew felt Grady’s hot flesh sliding between the silken cleavage of his naked thighs. Grady’s hand playfully teased Andrew’s cock and his lips caressed Andrew’s neck.

Andrew’s knees weakened as he imagined that it was Mitchell driving him into delirium. He arched his head, resting it on Grady’s shoulder, moaning as he surrendered to the delicious rush of pleasure.

Grady’s hips ground against Andrew’s backside more needfully. Fingers gently pulled Andrew’s chin sideways until Grady’s lips brushed against Andrew’s. They kissed, working their passion toward a delicious pinnacle. Andrew could taste him, like warm blood or hot metal, and now that he had tasted him, it was not enough. He wanted more, needed it even though he knew it would ruin him.

Grady’s tongue explored and conquered Andrew’s mouth while his hips bucked.

Andrew’s breath came in gasps. His body contracted. He felt a sensation starting in his testicles that burst upwards. He moaned into Grady’s open mouth. They were nailed together, naked, shivering. Grady’s hand cupped Andrew’s hairless balls as a stream of thick semen spattered the stainless steel mirror above the sink. Andrew jerked violently and Grady rode him like a bronco, their mouths locked in a continuous kiss.

“What the hell is going on?”

Mitchell stood at the hatchway, his uniform starched and crisp, his hands fisted on his hips. Veins bulged out of his neck with the same fiery color as his face. “I want you men in uniform and standing in my office in five minutes.”

Andrew was paralyzed, stricken, not yet fully comprehending this abrupt change in circumstances.

“Is that clear?” the lieutenant barked.

“Aye, aye, sir!” they said in breathless tandem.

T
HEY
stood at attention beside Mitchell’s desk.

“I talked with Chaplain Moyer at lunch today,” Mitchell told Andrew. “He said the poop is, you’re a homosexual. Apparently, everybody is trying to figure out if it’s true, and what I saw is pretty convincing evidence.”

“I don’t know if it’s true or not, sir.”

“How can you not know? Do you like girls or men?”

“Sir, I’ve had no experience with girls. Raised in a boy’s school, a monastery, and now the Navy, I’ve always been surrounded by boys, never girls. I’ve lived a celibate life. But in my boarding school, there was an English boy, Clifford. We were inseparable. We never had sex, but I can tell you dead-on that I love him. We slept in the same dorm room, and after the monks extinguished the lamps, he would slip into bed with me and we cuddled together. No sex, only sleeping in each other’s arms.”

Andrew paused. There was no trace of embarrassment in his confession. “When we were older, he showed me how to masturbate and we did that all the time, though never to each other. You see, Lieutenant, waking up with Clifford, feeling his body, and smelling his boyish scent was the most loving experience of my life. Sometimes he’s all I think about, my time with him. I often think that he and I were all that ever mattered. So if loving another boy makes me a homosexual, then I guess I am.”

Mitchell pictured the two lads curled together in adolescent love. A taste of envy softened his anger. “Did you ever want to have sex with Clifford?”

“If he had asked me, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for him, but it never crossed our minds.”

Mitchell nodded; his eyes encouraged Andrew to say more.

“I don’t want to be a homosexual, but I have to admit, I found it thrilling when Grady was stroking me. And when he kissed me, an explosion went off inside my chest and I couldn’t breathe. I was so scared and excited and confused, but it wasn’t like being with Clifford. Clifford was tender and loving. Grady made a volcano erupt inside of me.” He paused, as if searching for something to add. “Now you know as much as I do, sir.”

Mitchell turned to Grady. “What do you have to say for yourself, sailor?”

“Suh, I don’t know what came over me. I knows Andy is a little fruity because of the way he looks at you with those needful eyes. And being stuck on board while everybody’s ashore poundin’ pussy, I thought I could slip it to him, shoot my load, and no harm done.”

A thunderbolt struck Mitchell. Grady’s suggestion that Andrew was sexually interested in him made him realize that the energy hovering between him and Andrew was some form of sexual intimacy. Mitchell stayed obdurately silent, remembering their conversations, those cherished moments on the midnight-to-four watches and the friendly conversations in the galley. He finally turned to Andrew, but he couldn’t look in the sailor in the eyes.

“I’ll file a report that states Washington seduced you and that you wanted no part in it. You’ll both sign it. It means prison time and a dishonorable discharge for Washington, but he should have thought of that beforehand.”

Andrew shook his head. “You’ll ruin his life. He deserves another chance.”

Mitchell momentarily reconsidered his decision, but said, “You like Shakespeare, don’t you, Andy,
Henry V
? Isn’t there a line that says: ‘Sir, you show great mercy if you give him life, after the taste of much correction’?”

“Yes, sir, but Henry replies, ‘Alas, your too much love and care of me are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye when capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d and digested, appear before us?’”

“Nevertheless, I’ve made up my mind.”

“If you bust Grady, sir, you’ll have to bust me too. As soon as he touched me, I wanted him as much as he wanted me, maybe more so.”

“Don’t be stupid. This means brig time at Pendleton.”

“I could have stopped it, but didn’t. I am every bit as guilty.”

Mitchell felt a new level of respect creep into his steeling gaze. He knew his duty, knew exactly what must be done, but a switch turned in his head and he made an uncomfortable decision.

“We’ll play it your way. I won’t report what I’ve seen, but I’m transferring Washington off this ship at the earliest opportunity. It will take a week to process the paperwork. Meantime, I’ll be watching both of you like a hawk. Is that clear?”

“Sir, perhaps you should transfer me instead,” Andrew suggested.

“Negative!” Mitchell felt a stab of panic in his chest. “You’re too valuable to this ship.”

After dismissing the sailors, Mitchell sat at his desk, staring at a stack of communications that he should have been filing. He felt defeated and confused and haunted by the certainty that he had done the wrong thing, but the mere thought of Andrew doing brig time, that beautifully unique spirit locked in a dark cell, sent shivers up his spine.

Chapter Twelve

April 24, 1942—1400 hours

O
N
THE
southern outskirts of town, a secluded stretch of yellow beach scorched under the tropical sun. Cocoa settled himself on the sand under a curving palm tree. He pulled off his shoes and socks and leaned against the tree trunk, enjoying the breeze on his face, the sun on his toes.

From here he could see the town and the gray warships in the harbor: a cruiser, two destroyers, four troop transports and one dilapidated tanker. He reached into the paper sack next to him and pulled out an icy can of beer. He grabbed the opener hanging with his dog tags on the chain around his neck and punched two triangular holes in the top of the can. Foam oozed over his fingers. He drew the can to his lips and knocked his head back. The beer, purchased twenty minutes earlier, was still cold enough to make his chest hurt. He drained the can, let go with a drawn-out burp, and tossed the empty onto the sand.