Woke up this morning with cobwebs in my cobwebs. Felt like I was two steps behind myself when moving through camp and falling farther behind. Hardly noticed the rain had stopped. Though my body was awake enough to be heading brushward for relief, my brain was still on the other side in dreamland. Not unusual had this been one of those middle of the night trips. Then I do my best to hold onto my sleep side so as to nod off as soon as my head hits the pillow on my return. But this was different. Sleep was holding onto me, not me it.
Normally there's two worlds - surely there's more than two but I don't want to go there at the moment - in my day, awake and asleep. Either in one or the other. No between. This morning was different if only for a moment. Maybe not even that long. Give me an inch of measure here. I'm not explaining something physical like an igloo. This is more like a feeling, a hint, a breath of fog. Anyhow, when sleep let go I had a flash of passing through something as I rose. Like a thin layer, so thin it's almost not there. Had the feeling it was the course of my life as it was supposed to be lived. Kind of like a river or a strip of movie film. Stood there for a minute watering a patch of gooseberry bushes accompanied by all kinds of philosophical notions about the layer. What my straying from it might mean. Yeah, all kinds of high flying notions about meaning. As I drew my zipper and washed my hands on the big, rain-wet, green leaves I realized what a bunch of hooey my thoughts were. The only truth was that thin layer and I had no idea what it was, only that it was there for a moment. Time to return to earth and my morning's oatmeal.
Everything in camp was sodden. Not an inch of dry as far as the foot could wander except for the few square feet under the tarp. Good job Emil. Above, the clouds were broken and the last few stars faintly peeked through here and there. The air cool enough to send a warming shiver through my body. No ice on the bedewed leaves. Couldn't be colder than thirty-five. Stripped to my waist and washed. Wisps of mist rose and hung over Drumstick. A pair of loons, their checkered mating colors fading, passed, then silently slid below the surface in pursuit of breakfast. Felt good to be cold, felt better with sleep washed from my face and hair, better still covered with three layers of cotton and checkered wool. Best of all knowing I'd travel light today and have no camp to raise on my return. Intended to return by mid-afternoon, hopefully in sunshine.
To this point I'd traveled at my leisure. Stopped to look when there was a vista, rested before I got tired. Ate before I was hungry. Today was a day for miles. Fifteen or so round trip with a light load. Water, rain gear, dirty clothes and snack food. Lunch was waiting, three hours away. The return would be heavier but still no more than thirty pounds. Life was simple on the trail. So were the joys. Bear scat here, wolf there. Evidence of deer and moose. Squirrel-shucked pine cones atop logs and stumps. A few of the stumps spoke of ancient pines reaching the sky. Three or more feet in diameter, mossed and jagged as mountain peaks, grain raised higher than pulp. Done in by old age, disease or lightening? Me, I'm hoping old age'll do me in, though lightening might be a more exciting send off. Occasional large, saucer-shaped cavities in the thin soil spoke of root boles that once were, trees that'd storm toppled and melted to soil. The trail led me on, swam rivers of yellowed hazel brush and waded brooks of scarlet maple seedlings wherever sunlight streamed to the forest floor. Light pack, light mind, the miles peeled away. Clouded thoughts of the darkened morning hours had fizzed away like froth in the bottle of cola waiting on me at lunch. Simple civilized pleasure in a green bottle.
The few thoughts that arose drifted away on the freshening breeze, washed from my brain like the rain cleansed air in my lungs. Damnation I was happy. Thoughts would only cloud things. Best to slap 'em down as they entered and get lost in the song of my footfall. Ain't that poetic?
Used to pray every night when I went to bed. That's the way I was raised. Same as my dozen brothers and sisters. Yeah, we were a baker's dozen. Guess God didn't want my Mom and Dad to feel like they'd been shorted when it came to help in the kitchen or the fields. Hands make a farm work. Probably where they got the phrase farmhand. Every night like clockwork we were taught to say our 'Our Fathers' then proceed down the litany of 'God Blesses' for every soul close to us. Would even've thrown in a Catholic 'Hail Mary' had I heard the an archangel pucker up and blow. I was third in line, so in the beginning there was little challenge in remembering the 'God Blesses'. Then every year and a half another brother or sister would sprout up. Throw in a few uncles, aunts, mutts and friendly barn cats so by the time I was ready to leave home it was a regular recitation of the Encyclopedia of Schonnemanns.
Don't pray as such any more but do spend time in bed thinking over the day. Haven't even given formal praying much thought in the last few years. That it came to mind today might be for a reason. Maybe taking up the 'God Blesses' once again would be a good thing. Run down the list of souls who've meant something to me. There's something of me in each of them and a bit of them in me. We share memories, experience, helped make each other the persons we are. Kind of a chain. Yeah, could be it's a time to pull maintenance on the links before the chain breaks.
Lost in the song of rustling leaves and needles above, I walked past my resupply cairn. Seems it'd been toppled. Bad structure or bad spirit? Didn't matter so long as my food was intact. The Fernberg Road told me I'd gone too far. Also told me to mind my step lest I befoul my shoes with the dust of civilization. Stood in the dappled shade inches from the glare of the gravel. Too bright. Too naked. Over the days my eyes had come to welcome the filters of cloud and tree. Paused for a good minute before retreating to the safety of the forest. Felt like a reprieve from the governor not having to step onto the graded surface. Turned and sought out my cooler.
The single base rock of the cairn remained where I'd set it. As did the marking blaze and cooler. I was set. Double rations and double clothes inside, half for the forsaken hike to and from Ely. Way more than I needed to get me back to the final supply. Nothing to do but strip buck naked and draw on clean. Eat and look like a new man. Like to say I was in no hurry but the wakening skeeters put urgency in my movements. Also got me thinking, 'warm enough for bugs, warm enough for a swim today.' Took an RC Cola length break, filled my shirt pockets and pack with goodies. Ate the rest of my lunch as I strolled. This man had a destiny with cleanliness. No time to lose.
The challenge of a wilderness lake bath is wet feet. Once out of the water they'll attract every pebble, stick, leaf and needle on the beach. 'Less of course you can walk on your hands. Could be the reason man has always wanted to fly. Cruise along, dive in, emerge and air dry. Slick. Sure'd beat having to work the grime from between the toes and off the soles before yanking my socks up. Helped to have a sunlit slab of basalt along the shore. Once dry and dressed, couldn't help but whistle and smile. Smile better than I whistle but that's not sayin' much. Still had better than two hours of sun. Went to work on dinner.
Skeeters sacked out before I did the same. Fine with me. Few things louder than a loan mosquito in the dark. Those who don't know the sound figure it to be annoying. Those who do, know it to be violently maddening. Idiot beast won't leave me alone even though it surely knows it's courting death. Not tonight though. Blessed peace once again. And a few minutes to prop my head and flashlight another letter:
Dear Uncle Emil,
We had a serious water problem a few days ago. And that led to a different water problem which put me where I am at the moment. I don't know about the rest of the country but we get our water flown out to us around lunchtime each day. It's the rainy season and there's no choice. Whether from a river or moat the water here is basically thin mud. Don't know how we could drink it no matter the number of iodine tablets thrown into a canteen. Until a week ago the water we'd been given was decent. Then, somehow, someway, the formula for treating the water changed and it became chemically foul. We had no choice but to gag it down. The only solution was to do with less. Not good when it's a hundred above.
We were out on patrol two days ago when a canteen was passed forward. I was told it was flavored with a root beer fizzie. In case you haven't had one, a fizzie is like a koolaid tablet with bicarb in it for effervescence. Regardless of the flavor, they're all foul tasting. But I was thirsty and figured a sip couldn't be all that bad. At the moment I didn't know it was dipped from a Vietnamese rain barrel. When I found out I drank no more. At least that's how I recall it. At the moment my brain is a little deprived of anything provided by digestion.
Mid-afternoon found me squatting, butt to the wind, over the edge of a rice paddy dike. The rice is real pretty now. Like four foot high, jade colored grass. Didn't interest me as I squatted. The monsoon is now in full swing so we set up at night on high ground, usually around a farm yard. It's a lot like we're taking hostages with the idea being the VC won't mortar a farm. Long story short, me and three other men spent our night crapping our brains out. As the night passed each of my trips to the paddies got harder and shorter. My last was on my knees. Come morning the four of us were medivaced out. I didn't like it but loading up a sixty pound pack seemed an impossibility.
So here I sit. Either on my bunk in the barracks or over in the outhouse. Doesn't matter what I put in me, lately it's been nothing but water, it explodes on through in the length of time it takes me to get to the crapper. Seems like I could move into that little house as I've come to feel at home there.
Outside of that it looks like we're definitely leaving country. The division is starting to shuffle troops around filling up companies into those that are leaving for the World and those staying in country. Don't know my fate yet but it looks good.
As always but now a little thinner,
Archie
I started the letter at night and finished it in the morning. Slept with it on my chest. Power of the letter's suggestion had my oatmeal going down uneasy. My experience in the war told me Archie probably had a dose of dysentery. Saw it many times. Not usually fatal unless you blow out your sphincter and turn inside out from downward pressure. That's much funnier than the reality. Yeah, he should be right slim after it's all said and done.
Another good morning. Blue sky, awakening breeze. Maybe something coming. Being on the return side has me itchy to be done but'll make an effort to not push it. Hard to relax and take it easy when you're trying hard to relax and take it easy.
No comments:
Post a Comment