The Vietnam Reader (12 page)

“I could’ve guessed”
I says, “that a Communist
Would have but three teeth
Three is a number
I never liked”

And the captain
Explains to me
That the thing
Was part of

A larger bone
Containing more
Than three teeth

The LZ Gator Body Collector

See
Her back is arched
Like something’s under it
That’s why I thought
It was booby trapped
But it’s not
It just must have been
Over this rock here
And somebody moved it
After corpus morta stiffened it
I didn’t know it was
A woman at first
I couldn’t tell
But then I grabbed
Down there
It’s a woman or was
It’s all right
I didn’t mind
I had gloves on then

Learning

I like learning useless things Like Latin
I really enjoyed Latin
Caesar and the Gallic Wars
Enjoyed his fighting
The Helvetians and Germans
And Gauls
I enjoyed Vietnamese too
The language
Its five intonations
Its no conjugations
A good language to learn
Vietnam is divided in
Three parts too
It makes me wonder
Who will write their book

Sticks and Bones
D
AVID
R
ABE
1969

[FROM ACT ONE:]

RICK. Somebody knockin’.

OZZIE. Knockin’?

RICK. The door, Dad.

OZZIE. Oh.

RICK. You want me to get it?

OZZIE. No, no. It’s just so late.
(He moves for the door.)

RICK. That’s all right.

OZZIE. Sure.
He opens the door just a crack, as if to stick his head around. But the door is thrust open and a man enters abruptly. He is black or of Spanish descent, and is dressed in the uniform of a sergeant major and wearing many campaign ribbons.

SGT. MAJOR. Excuse me. Listen to me. I’d like to speak to the father here. I’d like to know who … is the father? Could … you tell me the address?

OZZIE. May I ask who’s asking?

SGT. MAJOR. I am. I’m asking. What’s the address of this house?

OZZIE. But I mean, who is it that wants to know?

SGT. MAJOR. We called; we spoke. Is this seven-seventeen Dunbar?

OZZIE. Yes.

SGT. MAJOR. What’s wrong with you?

OZZIE. Don’t you worry about me.

SGT. MAJOR. I have your son.

OZZIE. What?

SGT. MAJOR. Your son.

OZZIE. No.

SGT. MAJOR. But he is. I have papers, pictures, prints. I know your blood and his. This is the right address. Please. Excuse me.
(He pivots, reaches out into the dark.)
I am very busy. I have your father, David.
He draws David in—a tall, thin boy, blond and, in the shadows, wearing sunglasses and a uniform of dress greens. In his right hand is a long, white, red-tipped cane. He moves, probing the air, as the sergeant major moves him past Ozzie toward the couch, where he will sit the boy down like a parcel.

OZZIE. Dave? …

SGT. MAJOR. He’s blind.

OZZIE. What?

SGT. MAJOR. Blind.

OZZIE. I don’t … understand.

SGT. MAJOR. We’re very sorry.

OZZIE,
realizing.
Ohhhhhh. Yes. Ohhhhh. I see … sure. I mean, we didn’t know. Nobody said it. I mean, sure, Dave, sure; it’s all right—don’t you worry. Rick’s here, too, Dave—Rick, your brother, tell him hello.

RICK. Hi, Dave.

DAVID,
worried.
You said … “father.”

OZZIE. Well … there’s two of us, Dave; two.

DAVID. Sergeant, you said “home.” I don’t think so.

OZZIE. Dave, sure.

DAVID. It doesn’t feel right.

OZZIE. But it is, Dave —me and Rick—Dad and Rick. Harriet!
(Calling up the stairs)
Harriet!

DAVID. Let me touch their faces.… I can’t see.
(Rising, his fear increasing)
Let me put my fingers on their faces.

OZZIE,
hurt, startled.
What? Do what?

SGT. MAJOR. Will that be all right if he does that?

OZZIE. Sure.… Sure.… Fine.

SGT. MAJOR,
helping David to Ozzie.
It will take him time.

OZZIE. That’s normal and to be expected. I’m not surprised. Not at all. We figured on this. Sure, we did. Didn’t we, Rick?

RICK,
occupied with his camera, an Instamatic.
I wanna take some pictures, okay? How are you, Dave?

DAVID. What room is this?

OZZIE. Middle room, Dave. TV room. TV’s in—

HARRIET,
on the stairs.
David! … Oh, David! … David …
And Ozzie, leaving David, hurries toward the stairs and looks up at her as she falters, stops, stares. Rick, moving near, snaps a picture of her.

OZZIE. Harriet … don’t be upset … They say … Harriet, Harriet, … he can’t see! … Harriet … they say—he—can’t … see. That man.

HARRIET,
standing very still.
Can’t see? What do you mean?

SGT. MAJOR. He’s blind.

HARRIET. No. Who says? No, no.

OZZIE. Look at him. He looks so old. But it’s nothing, Harriet, I’m sure.

SGT. MAJOR. I hope you people understand.

OZZIE. It’s probably just how he’s tired from his long trip.

HARRIET,
moving toward him.
Oh, you’re home now, David.

SGT. MAJOR,
with a large sheet of paper waving in his hand.
Who’s gonna sign this for me, Mister? It’s a shipping receipt. I got to have somebody’s signature to show you got him. I got to have somebody’s name on the paper.

OZZIE. Let me. All right?

SGT. MAJOR. just here and here, you see? Your name or mark three times.
As they move toward a table and away from Harriet, who is near David.

OZZIE. Fine, listen, would you like some refreshments?

SGT. MAJOR. No.

OZZIE. I mean while I do this. Cake and coffee. Of course, you do.

SGT. MAJOR. No

OZZIE. Sure.

SGT. MAJOR. No, I haven’t time. I’ve got to get going. I’ve got trucks out there backed up for blocks. Other boys. I got to get on to Chicago, and some of them to Denver and Cleveland, Reno, New Orleans, Boston, Trenton, Watts, Atlanta. And when I get back they’ll be layin’ all over the grass; layin’ there in pieces all over the grass, their backs been broken, their brains jellied, their insides turned into garbage. One-legged boys and no-legged boys. I’m due in Harlem; I got to get to the Bronx and Queens, Cincinnati, Saint Louis, Reading. I don’t have time for coffee. I got deliveries to make all across this country.

DAVID,
with Harriet, his hands on her face, a kind of realization.
Nooooooo … Sergeant … nooo; there’s something wrong; it all feels wrong. Where are you? Are you here? I don’t know these people!

SGT. MAJOR. That’s natural, Soldier; it’s natural for you to feel that way.

DAVID. Nooooo.

HARRIET,
attempting to guide him back to a chair.
David, just sit, be still.

DAVID. Don’t you hear me?

OZZIE. Harriet, calm him.

DAVID. The air is wrong; the smells and sounds, the wind.

HARRIET. David, please, please. What is it? Be still. Please …

DAVID. Goddamn you, Sergeant, I am lonely here! I am lonely!

SGT. MAJOR. I got to go.
(And he pivots to leave.)

DAVID,
following the sound of the sergeant major’s voice.
Sergeant!

SGT. MAJOR.
whirling, bellowing.
You shut up. You piss-ass soldier, you shut the fuck up!

OZZIE,
walking to the sergeant major, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder.
Listen, let me walk you to the door. All right? I’d like to take a look at that truck of yours. All right?

SGT. MAJOR. There’s more than one.

OZZIE. Fine.

SGT. MAJOR. It’s a convoy.

OZZIE. Good.
They exit, slamming the door, and Rick, running close behind them, pops it open, leaps out He calls from off.

RICK. Sure are lots of trucks, Mom!

HARRIET,
as he re-enters.
Are there?

RICK. Oh, yeah. Gonna rain some more too.
(And turning, he runs up the stairs.)
See you in the morning. Night, Dave.

HARRIET. It’s so good to have you here again; so good to see you. You look … just …
(Ozzie has slipped back into the room behind her, he stands, looking.)
fine. You look—
(She senses Ozzie’s presence, turns, immediately, speaking.)
He bewilders you, doesn’t he?
(And Ozzie, jauntily, heads for the stairs.)
Where are you going?
(He stops; he doesn’t know. And she is happily sad now as she speaks—sad for poor Ozzie and David, they are whimsical, so childlike.)
You thought you knew what was right, all those years, teaching him sports and fighting. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? A mother knows
things
… a father cannot ever know them. The measles, smallpox, cuts and bruises. Never have you come upon him in the night as he lay awake and staring … praying.

OZZIE. I saw him put a knife through the skin of a cat. I saw him cut the belly open.

DAVID. Noooo.…

HARRIET,
moving toward him in response.
David, David …

DAVID. Ricky!
(There is a kind of accusation in this as if he were saying Ricky did the killing of the cat. He says it loudly and directly into her face.)

HARRIET. He’s gone to bed.

DAVID. I want to leave.

There is furniture around him; he is caged. He pokes with his cane.

HARRIET. What is it?

DAVID. Help me.
(He crashes.)