‘It wasn’t too bad at first. I’d brought a pound of Buddha weed in on the chop – fifty Yankee dollars on any street corner in Saigon – and that cut us some slack between the shit-rain and fire-fights. Everybody on base knew our bunker was Boogie City. Black dude I booted with, name was Donnell Foxworth – Arson, we called him, ’cause he said he specialized in burning pussies to the ground – Arson had two ammo boxes full of primo sounds. Motown, Hendrix, the Doors, Dylan, Stones, you name it. Between the Buddha weed and the music, the troops stayed loose.
‘And man, we needed some serious morale boosting, because the gooks had the high ground, their mortars and light artillery locked down on us dead zero, like frogs in a tub. Whenever they took the notion, day or night, for two minutes or twenty hours, they sent down a shit-rain of fire. You never been there, man, you just can’t know what it’s like to hear incoming, incoming, incoming till that shrill death whine has your blood howling like a gut-shot dog; your whole fucking body peeled back to bare nerves; your asshole puckered so tight that when it finally relaxes you crap your chaps; Dylan turned up loud on the deck, screaming in your ear, ‘Well HOW does it FEEL! to be on YOUR OWN!’ – I tell you true, if a round didn’t blow you away, the rest of it did. I don’t give a fuck if you had all the weed in ’Nam and a sound system that’d cave in your skull – all the smack; all the pussy in the world. Just no way you could keep it from getting too real. Constant sickening fear.
‘About the third week, they really started pounding it in, and the perimeter turned into Sapper City. Try sleeping when them mortars are walking the dog all over you, when you know there’s someone outside who’d love to slit your throat. I was holding on to myself in a muddy trench, literally had my arms wrapped around me, curled against the dirt wall, down with some killer gook dysentery, gagging on the smell of my own fear, shit pants, powder, smoke, exploded earth and bodies, when we took one inside, about half a football field down from where I was hunkered. Concussion fucking near blew my brains out my ears. I pushed myself up on my knees and looked up into the rain and the night, stunned so fucking bad I was wondering if I could see way up there the actual point where the rain started to fall. I was looking hard when a white square came fluttering down beside me. The second I touched it I knew what it was. Though I would have given anything not to look, this was something I was supposed to see. A guy in our outfit, Billy Hines, young guy from Missouri, real quiet, kinda bashful, was married to some seventeen-year-old sweetheart named Ginnilee whose first letter to him in-country said she was pregnant from his last leave. She’d sent a picture her mother had taken of her standing on the front lawn, the small house in the background out of focus. Written on the back, it said, “Wife with child. Never forget I love you. Ginnilee.” And her face … oh man, so young and hopeful and brave, the sweetest little strawberry-blond with freckles, man, fucking freckles, and all you had to do was see the light around her face to know she was pregnant. Chester wore it on his helmet. One time I asked why he didn’t tuck it away where a pretty lady like that wouldn’t get so jungle-scuzzed and rained on, and he said’ – Kenny’s voice began to quaver – ‘he said, “She’s my good-luck charm. She’s gonna shine me right on through all this shit, home to her and the baby.” And man, when I picked her picture up out of the mud and saw her, man, saw her all the way to my soul, I vanished somewhere inside myself. You know what I mean, man? Left the premises. Stepped out.’
In the headlight glare of an oncoming semi, Daniel caught the wet flash of tears on Kenny’s cheeks. He wiped at his own. Nothing he could have said seemed adequate.
Kenny glanced at him, then back to the road. ‘The doctors told me I was gone about three weeks, but that don’t count the one it took before they got me out of Khe Sanh on a chop that was crazy enough to come in. “Shell shock,” some of the docs called it, or “catatonic shock.” I didn’t bother to tell ’em I’d been all right until I looked into her face. But I don’t give a fuck what the doctors want to call it, I know what it was. It was a limbo trance. Until my spirit could get itself together again, heal itself, the rest of me was not real, and my ass was up for grabs.
‘And that’s when Death snagged me for his personal chauffeur, dressed me in a white satin suit and put me behind the wheel of his black, ultra-swank seventy Caddy limo.’ Kenny paused and glanced at Daniel again. ‘You following this shit?’
‘So far,’ Daniel said.
‘I don’t see Death, right? He always rides in the back, behind a smoked-glass partition with this tiny little slot just over my right shoulder. He’d get in, I’d start the limo, he’d slip a stiff white card through the slot with a name on it – no address, just the name – and I’d go find the person. Don’t ask me how ’cause I have no fucking idea. Just knew. I’d find the person, park, Death would get out and be gone a minute, then he’d get back in and slip another name through the slot. No food, water, sleep, piss, shit – one name after another.
‘At first, when I was still on the fire base, I knew some of the names, guys in my outfit. And there were some Vietnamese names, too. After a while I didn’t know any of the names. But I fucking always knew where to find them.
‘Then one night driving along there’s a huge flash of light behind us, like an ammo dump getting off, and when I glance back the light’s just right somehow so I can see through the partition into the backseat, see Death. He’s a skeleton all right, man, with this mad, hungry, lonely grin, but forget the Grim Reaper shit,’ cause he’s wearing a business suit, one of them sharp, pinstriped jobs, and his finger bones, every one of them, is crusted with diamond rings.
‘The next card comes through the slot, I don’t even have to look to know my name’s on it. When you see Death, Death looks back, and there’s millions of fucked-up people to chauffeur him around.
‘I didn’t think twice – if I was going down, I was gonna take that motherfucker with me. So I stood on the gas until we were howling through the dark and then I jerked the wheel hard right and hit the door rolling.
‘But I didn’t get him. He’s got some kind of dual controls in the backseat there, and I hear the brakes lock before I clear the car. Now feature this, man: I don’t hit the road, the bushes, nothing – I’m just falling through space. All I can concentrate on is the image of Ginnilee’s face. I look into it, into her eyes and her smile and her dreams and the life inside her, and I don’t know whether I’m imagining, remembering, or actually seeing her, because when I stop falling and open my eyes, I’m looking at this ugly old nurse who growls, “About time, soldier. There’s a war on.” But they sent me home to the VA.