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A Soldier's Thingsa short story by Mike O'DriscollFate is another word for magic. It has the capacity to frighten people,making them unwilling to participate. Sometimes, they wish for things theydon't really want and all that enchantment is wasted. Others, like Joe,even when they run they have no choice, no matter what they wish. I seekthem out and return them to the fold. Call me Ruskin.I had been on Joe's trail for over seven years, trailing him back andforth across the continent, witnessing the chaos his desertion had loosedupon the world. I found him in a bar in Harare, sitting at a tablesurrounded by a crowd of avid listeners who kept a steady stream of boozeflowing in his direction. His white shirt was stained with sweat and beer,dagger and serpent tattoos slid over his lower arms, and his grey chinosseemed to have accumulated a decade's worth of dirt. His artificial legstuck out rigidly beneath the table, and an orange glow from a lamp fellacross his lined and leathered face. His audience were mostly whitetourists, come to hear the storytelling bum whose tall tales of war wereguaranteed to send you away smiling at the gullibility of other, lesscynical men.I circled the fringe of the crowd, watching as he came to the end ofanother tale and then hungrily drank the dregs of another glass. He lit acigarette and let his gaze wander over the faces of those who had come tofeed on his pain. His slitted eyes met mine and just for an instant, I sawa hint of fear behind the wrinkles, lurking there in the livid blue. Thenthe crowd were screaming for another tale and Joe was laughing, milkingthe applause, waiting for another drink to be placed within his reach. Ifound a chair and placed it among the people to his left. I put my case onthe ground and signalled for the young barman to bring me a scotch. Joewiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, sipped a beer and clearedhis throat. He glanced once more in my direction, and then began.1. The Scent of Solitary DreamsMany years ago, three soldiers got left on the wrong side of the Cocoriver with no easy way to get back home. They were part of a unitdesignated as military advisers to the Contras. The mission was to crossinto Nicaragua and wipe out an arms dump in a Sandanista controlledvillage. Someone in Intelligence had messed up though, and the unit wasambushed about fifty clicks into the jungle. Prewitt, Nately and Spigweedwere the only survivors, and Nately was carrying a bullet in his rightshoulder. They escaped the fire-fight and staggered on through the tangledjungle till night fell. Spigweed sat the first watch while his twocomrades slept.Insects chittered and large centipedes scuttled across his legs. He stankof fear and defeat, and the bitterness on his tongue was no more than theaftertaste of a glory that never was. Broiling in his own sweat, hemumbled a prayer to a God he'd long ago abandoned. When the little old manhopped out from behind a tree and said, "Who's there?" Spigweed's terrorflared up for an instant, before he brought it under control.He levelled his rifle at the old man. "Three marines, my friend," he said."Tired and broken and much too far from home.""Well, my worthy," the old man said. "I see your friends dreaming overthere, and I see that they do not ask so much. Take these gifts and usethem as you will." He placed a small beatbox, a blue cowl and a kilo bagof pure cocaine on the ground. "The first has the power to enchant, thesecond to grant wishes, and the third is endless."Spigweed looked at the old man, realising that he spoke in some ancientlanguage he had never heard before. As he tried to figure out how he hadunderstood the words, the old man stepped back into the drippingundergrowth and vanished from his sight. Spigweed stared at the gifts fora long time, convinced that, like his friends, he was dreaming. Perhapsfor a while, he slept.But in the morning the gifts were still there. He woke the others andtogether they examined them. Spigweed sliced open the top of the bag andsniffed the white powder, feeling the rush hit him like an express train.He invited his comrades to join him, and when Prewitt felt the bloodboiling in his veins, he switched on the beatbox. A driving rhythm poundedout of the speakers, and it was soon overlaid with what seemed an ancientyet familiar voice that carried a haunting melody. They understood nowords and yet were entranced. A profound stillness settled on the jungleas birds and insects fell silent, enchanted by the music. Hours, maybeeven days, passed as if in a few, fleeting moments, during which time allmemories of war were erased. As the sun climbed or fell - they knew notwhich - Nately pressed the cowl against his wound. In his heart he wishedthat he was healed, and that he could be with his comrades in a new home,here amidst the quiet and peace.And so it was: before their eyes a beautiful bungalow of white timber,with a wide verandah sprang up out of the jungle. The trees fell back fromits walls, yielding to their dreams.Spigweed, his head reeling but filled now with true belief, lifted Natelyin his arms and carried him inside. "Jesus," he said. "He wasn't lying."And there in the air-conditioned house he told Nately and Prewitt aboutthe old man and what he had said about the three gifts.And perhaps things would have remained happy in the bungalow, had not themusic drawn the natives of Azul to their home. They woke one morning tofind the bungalow surrounded by one hundred or more, mahogany skinned,near-naked tribesmen. Spigweed and the others stepped out onto theverandah.A tall indian at the head of the tribe bowed low and said, "You called tous with the old songs. We have come to acknowledge you as our brothers."Spigweed guessed this was their chief. He surveyed the faces arrayedbehind him, and noticed the beautiful young woman standing at hisshoulder, her head raised in proud defiance. "I appreciate that," Spigweedsaid. "Why don't you sit and eat with us."At this, the chief raised his arms and his people sat on the ground, allexcept the woman. "My daughter," the chief said. "She was our guide toyour kingdom; it was she who first heard and recognised the old songs."The woman's gaze pierced Spigweed's flesh and found his soul. He feltsuddenly powerless, in thrall to her will. In the meantime, Nately wishedup a banquet fit for kings and everyone ate their fill. Afterwards, thechief's daughter performed a dance not seen for a thousand years. Thetruth was, she communed with jungle spirits, and had gained powers andknowledge long lost to her people.Later, when Spigweed's brain burned with the power of the dream, she drewhim away from the bungalow and asked him what he most desired. "I thinkyou know that," he told her."Yes, but what do I get in return?" she asked him, her eyes searing hismind.Spigweed kissed her fiercely on the lips and said, "Whatever you want."So, she fucked him there beside a stream, and afterwards he told her ofthe gifts. At the time, he thought it a fair exchange.The bungalow was a weathered shack, crumbling in the fetid heat, whenSpigweed returned. The gangrene stench from Nately's wound was sweet andsickening, and he mumbled incoherently to himself. Prewitt climbed thetrees and like a madman, he beseeched the cacophonous birds to make thesong return. Their gifts were stolen and the world they had dreamed wasfading like the jungle mist.Slowly, not even realising the truth, each of them began to die in manylittle secret ways.Till, one evening, just as the heavy stormclouds finished pissing on theirforlorn heads, the tiny old man walked into the clearing. "I see thingshaven't gone as well as you expected," he said to Spigweed."We didn't ask for much," Spigweed said, exhausted."But you laid with the woman," the old man said."Was that wrong?""Oldest trick in the book. Still, all is not lost. Go to Azul and thereyou will find her powdering her nose, a habit to which she has become tooaccustomed."Despite his disgust, Spigweed asked how to get there."Follow the song."When the old man had gone, Spigweed consulted with Prewitt. Together, theycarried Nately into the jungle and then strangled him to death. It was,they told themselves, the only humane thing to do. They left his body tobe eaten by the wild and nameless beasts that lurked in the shadows beyondthe edge of their perception. Then, together, they set off to find theland of Azul. They wandered through treacherous swamps and climbed ogrishmountains, catching on the air the distant notes of an ancient song. Aftermany days, they came down out of the mountains into a clear, green valleywhere no wild be... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]