Dawn oozed on hot and humid. The still air hung heavy with the last of the ground fog.  The weather tourists expected for their 4^th of July weekend.  The economy was roaring forward.  Everyone had jobs.  There was plenty of money to spend. Just about everyone was headed to water somewhere.

North the Belgians were having their summer Kermis.  One of the large farmsteads already had the tables set out on the lawn and fire pits prepared for the bratwurst, booyah and fish boil.  At daybreak the sturdy farmwomen were setting out the tablecloths and making sure everything was ready for the large noon crowd.

Vacationers as far away as Minneapolis and St. Paul were packing their cars, closing their windows, locking their doors to head out to find their fun.  Summer had begun.

All but one...

Tony hadn’t slept. He never slept unless he had enough of some magic potion he could find to render himself unconscious.  He fought to stay in a fog.  To stay in that place where thought is impossible and memory does not exist. Last night he fought hard but did not win.  He had tried to drink away the demons but no matter how much he drank waves of terror flashed at him.  He closed his eyes, covered his face, but they could break through.  Nothing kept them out. He screamed at them but nothing drove them off.  After months of agony they had worn him down.  They had him now and they knew it.

Maryann tried when he first came home but now he refused everything.  He went to the Veterans Hospital where they told him he didn’t qualify for treatment. According to their records he was never wounded.“Without a qualifying injury he was ineligible for care.”  In desperation Maryann contacted everyone she could think of to help but it all came to nothing.  He wasn’t wounded he didn’t need treatment.  

Maryann had to leave.  Tony had become dangerous.  He was drunk or stoned all the time.  Maryann couldn’t reach him…he was lost.  No one could help him find the way.  His gentle spirit was gone.  An empty, angry shell remained. 

One night in the coldest time of the year as Tony drove home from his job in a shipping department at a local factory a flashback hit.  It was so sudden, so violent.  He crossed the median into oncoming traffic.  He tried to hit the lights to stop the attack. He hit three cars and truck before his car careened off the road.  His injuries were minor. His car was totaled.

Maryann had enough.  He was trying to kill himself either with drugs or an accident.  She couldn’t watch.  He would not accept help from her.  She had to leave to go on living.  The nights filled with drinking, smoking pot and popping unknown pills, sweating, screaming, the flashbacks out of nowhere, was not a life she could survive. 

After his accident she packed her hopes, dreams and love into her car and left in defeat.  She felt like a widow as she drove back the familiar route to her parent’s home where she had waited for Tony to return from the war.  She had been joyful, filled with hope for their future when he came home. Now she realized he never would come home.

     Tony wandered out into the backyard just as the sun filtered through the trees in the back garden.  The heat and humidity had created an early morning mist, which hung heavy over the lawns and gardens.  It looked tropical and mysterious.  The trees and plants were all wet from the early fog. In the silence you could hear the droplets falling like a gentle rain shower.  Exhausted and hung over Tony rubbed his face.  He had not shaved in weeks.  He didn’t want to grow a beard he just never thought of shaving. His hair was shoulder length.  It was unwashed and uncombed.  He hadn’t had a bath or shower in weeks.  He couldn’t stand the water touching his skin. At first he couldn’t stop scrubbing and now he couldn’t tolerate it.

The rabbits were nibbling on the plants in the garden.  It was so quiet you could hear them tearing little bits of the tender green foliage with their sharp teeth.  The yard was peace and serenity. A cardinal sang in the distance announcing the day.

Tony stood in the back door way.   Suddenly he began to shake and sweat.  He thought he saw a movement in the distance.  He began to scream…” a sniper… GET DOWN! ”   Pop! Pop! Pop! the sound of gunfire echoed in the heavy mist.

“Where is the son of a bitch…did you see where it came from?”

“Naw I can’t get a look from here.  Stay here. I’ll go around. I’ll get him.  Don’t move he’ll find you!”

"Who’s out there?"

"Greg, Smitty and Warton!"

"Geez they’ll get hit for sure!"

Ellis slipped into the jungle.  He was cat like.  He thrived on the hunt.  That gook is as good as dead Tony thought to himself.

Suddenly the ground shook, mines exploded.

Silence!

Another explosion.  This time it sounded like a grenade.  A roar of machinegun fire. The air thicken with burned gun powder.  The sound was deafening. The ground kept shaking. 

Off in the distance a shriek,  “Take that you mother fucker.”

 A roar of machine gun fire.

 Silence.

“WHAHOO!!!   Gottcha!”  A booming voice echoed through the jungle.  Ellis was deadly!

 

********

 

“You boys get in here it ain’t even 8 o’clock yet, you want the neighbors to call the cops.  You got all day to do that.”  The screen door slammed as the boys’ dad retreated back to his comfortable bed…it was a day off, a sleep late day.

“Dad…Dad come here Tony’s screaming again.”  The oldest boy shouted through the screen door loud enough to be heard above the fan running in the hall.   The back porch was littered with paper from dozens of firecrackers and the air hung with the heavy smell of burned black powder.

***

“Bert do you think we’ll need more fire wood?”  Martha called to her husband who was preparing the fires for the fish boil.  “Probably have at least three boils today the crowds coming in are pretty big.”  Martha gave her crisp apron a smoothing pat as she arranged the plates and napkins in neat stacks on the clean tablecloth.

“I’ll get another load just in case.”  Bert pulled off toward the wood yard on his ATV with the little trailer attached.  He enjoyed any task that required him to use his new toy.

Neighbors began to arrive.  They settled on the chore assignments and where to park the cars as they arrived.   Boxes of freshly baked rye bread and buns for the brats were carried into the makeshift kitchen in the old pump house.   The screen door banged as steady stream of hardy, crisp-aproned farmwomen entered and left the building.

A brightly polished old pickup truck pulled in the driveway. 

“Got the pies where do want them?”  Annie shouted to Martha from the truck.

“How many you got…hope it’s enough?

"There’s fifty more coming when they cool."

"That should be enough.  Golly they look good…lots of cherries."

"Won’t be like this next year if the cherry prices keep going up".

The women began to carry the boxes laden with the fresh pies into the milk shed where it was cool. The old stone building was always cool.  The door slammed shut behind them with each trip.

***

"Help, help, doc, anybody…Oh God Oh God help I’ve been hit."  The plaintive cry could be heard across the now quiet opening in the jungle.  It was Greg.  Somewhere in the smoke he was injured. 

Tony strained to see where the sounds were coming from.  His hand tightened on the straps of his bag.  He always checked his bag.  It was the lifeline.  He had to be ready. His mouth felt dry. He had no time to catch a drink from his canteen.  He crouched low and ran toward what looked like a pile of rocks.  As he got closer he saw it was Greg.

"I’m here man. I’m here."  Automatically his hand slid into his bag as he held the wounded man’s head, his finger grabbed a syringe he popped it into his mouth biting down and the cap. With one deft stroke he sunk the needle into the soldier’s flesh releasing the morphine. No time to count as he emptied the contents into his friend.  Greg had already begun to shake violently.  He was sweating, his face was white, his breathing was rapid he was going into shock. 

"Stay with me man!  Greg stay with me!"

 Tony had to stop the bleed.  He shifted his weight on his knees and turned to check where Greg was bleeding.  Both his legs were gone below the knees and the blood was gushing out onto the ground.  Greg was losing conscious.  He was no longer shaking.  Tony reached to undo Greg’s belt to tie off the bleed.  Greg moaned Tony leaned back toward his face.

"Sara Lynn is that you?  God you look good.  Where are the kids…?"  His voice crackled and faded.  The he was unconscious.  

Tony gently started to pull the belt out of the loops.  He spotted something shiny several feet away.  What was it? …Suddenly he knew… a grenade…an unexploded grenade!  He dropped the belt.

Tony was flying.  He could feel the air rushing around him. Then nothing.  Blackness.  The constant ringing sound woke him from a black void. He couldn’t move.  His face was pinned in the muck.  He heard the constant loud ringing but nothing else.  I’m hit!  Oh God I’m dying here!   The weight…I can’t breathe.  He could feel the blood running down his neck onto his chin and dripping into the rotten smelling dirt.  He freed one hand.  The other was pinned under him.  His bare arm was spattered in blood and chunks of flesh.  He managed to move his head slightly.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Greg’s hand the wedding ring glinting in the light.  It hung just inches from Tony’s face.  The hand was limp.  Tony began to shiver.  He started to vomit.  His face was pressed against the ground and the vomit rose up his nose.  He tried again to move his head.  This time the weight shifted.  He could feel the weight sliding off of him.  He could turn his head.  There was Greg inches away staring at him face to face with lifeless eyes.  The chin was gone the neck was gone only the eyes and helmet remained. 

Tony screamed but no sound came.  He screamed and screamed until his body began to shake. He started to vomit again…he couldn’t stop…when the vomiting stopped the screaming began.  He became aware of the smells around him…the burning hair, burning flesh, the stink of human waste the stink of stomach contents the reek of vomit and mold and rot of the muck.  Everything that was once a human now covered him in little bits and pieces… stuck to him with blood, the blood of his best friend now shredded and horrific.

***

The crowd had grown.   The field next to the barn was filling with cars.  An old Ford all polished and sporting its antique license plate lumbered into the driveway.

“Hey Henry wondered where you was at?”   Shouted Bert in greeting as he stacked the last layer of split wood on the fires to be set.  “Five pots in all that should give them a good start on the day.  Why don’t you set up under the apple tree next to the main table?”

Henry waved and nodded.  He pulled his old car around behind the tables and parked in the shade next to the old tree.  His faithful companion an aging collie clambered out of the front seat and picked a soft spot in the cool shade under the tree.  Henry got out his favorite stool and found a level spot near the old dog in the shade.  Then he opened the trunk and pulled out the huge old case containing the accordion he had played since his youth when everyone around would gather to dance on a Saturday night.  He found a ragged towel and stuck it in his pocket.  His favorite ‘sweat mop’ he called it.

Soon the volunteer firemen arrived.  The new truck glowed red in the July sun.  They pulled past Bert and parked in the yard.  The truck was still decked with red, white and blue streamers from the parade in the morning. 

“Got the beer, where do you want it?”  One of the volunteer firemen shouted to Bert as he hoisted the metal barrel on his shoulder. 

“Set it up over by the tables.  Did you bring any ice to keep it cold?” Bert put down the garden hose he was pulling out near the fire area. 

There’s a new trough in the milk house just put the barrels and ice in there, it’ll stay cold.”  Bert loved being the boil-master he tended to all the details with enthusiasm. 

“We got ten cases of soda for the kids and cowards!”  The men all in matching tee shirts with the volunteer fire department logo made a steady stream into the milk shed with ice, soda and barrels of beer.  The clunking of the blocks of the ice and the rattle of the barrels and tin cans could be heard all over the yard.  The friendly sounds of preparation everyone enjoyed.  The milk shed now boasted beer, bread, pies, forty buckets of fresh coleslaw and pounds and pounds of butter.

“Hey ma its eleven thirty do you want me to start the water?”  Bert may have been the boil-master but he looked to Martha for guidance.

“You better start the fires soon, it takes at least an hour for the potatoes and onions. We’ll be ready to serve by one.”  Martha answered as she mopped the sweat beads off her forehead.

Bert took out the quart tin can and carefully poured a can full of kerosene on each of the fires. 

***

“Dad, dad what time is mom coming home?”  The three boys had grown impatient and bored and they were hungry.  “Mom said we could do hamburgers on the grill today.  Can we get the charcoal in the grill?”

“Okay but be careful” a distracted answer came from inside the house. The boys had promised to stay out side so their dad could sleep a little later.  But now it was getting toward lunchtime and they were anxious to have their hamburgers.  Mom had bought the meat and potato salad the night before and she promised to get some corn on the cob on the way home.

Jerry the oldest of the three boys went into the garage and picked up the bag of charcoal.  On his way out the door he spotted the can up on the high shelf ‘charcoal starter’.  He climbed up on the workbench and grabbed the can and jumped down.  He picked up the bag and went out where his two younger brothers were waiting for him next to the grill.  “Take the grill off” Jerry ordered in his big brother commanding way. He opened the bag and dumped half the contents into the barbeque.  Then he picked up the can and began squirting the contents on the charcoal.

“We need matches.”

***

Tony lay in the back lawn writhing in agony.  He had convulsive fits of vomiting follow by shaking and chills.  He would burst out with screams as if some one was trying to attack him.  He would scream, “ Get off, get off I can’t breathe.  Get it off of me. Get it off of me. Its fucking shit…it’s his shit…Oh God get it off me. get it off me!  Where my bag…I need my bag.”  He crawled back to the garage and grabbed the handle of the ‘bag’ and dragged it out into the lawn. The ‘bag’ had gasoline painted on the side.   He began the battle again.  He stayed low to the ground and kept screaming into the ground.  He looked at the can in his hand.  It won’t wash off maybe I can burn it off.   He took the lid off the can and poured the contents over his head and body.

 

He took out a book of matches.  He folded two back and closed the cover. With his thumb he struck them dropping them into the fuel.

 

He took out a book of matches.  He folded two back and closed the cover. With his thumb he struck them dropping them into the fuel.

 

He took out a book of matches.  He folded two back and closed the cover. With his thumb he struck them dropping them into the fuel.

***

 

 

The flames roared up with a plume of thick black smoke.  The crowd cheered and applauded. Henry began to play the favorite old tunes of his childhood, the party had begun.

 

***

The fuel exploded with a roar shaking the barbeque as the plume of black smoke billowed skyward.  The boys were frighten of the size and intensity of the fire they had set.  They ran to the door and shouted for their dad. 

Just as he made it to the back porch, he saw a billow of black smoke from across the fence followed by a chilling scream.  The boys’ mom was just pulling in the driveway when the smoke went up.  She was terrified and ran into the backyard in time to hear the scream”…My boys. My boys.” She shrieked as she ran around the corner of the house.  

“What the hell happened?” dad yelled as he ran out the back door.  He saw the roaring fire in the barbeque but he ran past it to the fence.  He couldn’t see well though the crack so he punched out a board with his fist.  “Jesus, call the fire department!” 

His wife ran into the house and dialed ‘O” the operator answered,  “I need a fire truck at….” she gave the address to the operator. 

“What happened?”  The operator asked.

“I don’t know, my husband said the neighbor is on fire…he went over to try and put it out.”  

“Your neighbor’s house in on fire?”

“No my neighbor is on fire?”

“Oh God!”

She could hear the operator on the radio relying the message to the sheriff’s department. 

Bert was attending the fires with the garden hose, the crackling and hissing of the wood as it heated was loud.  The crowd was laughing and singing along with the old familiar tunes.  Everyone was enjoying the annual party.  Suddenly above the noises Bert heard the radio in the firetruck crackling.  “Hey boys your truck is talking to you.” 

One of the firemen put down his Coke and ran to the truck.  Just as he answered the call a sheriff’s car sped past on the highway with his sirens blaring. The fireman jumped into the truck, turned on the sirens and flashing lights.  The rest of the firemen came running from all directions.  They leaped into the truck and roared out of the yard. 

“Where are we going?”

“Got a call from the sheriff, somebody is on fire back in town.”

“Somebody’s what…house, car…barn, shed…what?”

“They just said somebody.”

The truck roared up to Tony's driveway.  A sheriff’s deputy met them.  “No need to hurry now boys…we were all too late.” 

The neighbor sat cross-legged on the ground with the garden hose still running in his hands.  Tears streaming down his cheeks.  This was the worst thing he had ever witnessed.  He hoped his boys didn’t see what he had seen. 

The firemen rushed into the backyard where they were met with the stench of burned flesh and hair.  I t is a smell that once you have experienced it you will never forget it.   Tony’s body lay on the burned out grass of his own backyard.  He was charred beyond recognition. His face had a menacing grin caused by the fire.  The firemen were all sickened by what they saw.

“Now what the hell would make a man go and do that?”  They just shook their heads in disbelief.  

“Wasn’t he in Nam?”

“Yeah I think so. Never saw much of him after he got back.”

“I remember him from high school…hell of a nice guy.”

“Yeah, wasn’t he the one that wanted to be a doctor?”

“Sure was…one of the smartest guys in high school.”

“Too bad the draft got him.”

On Monday there was a small notice in the obituary column of the local paper.  Anthony Grassel died accidentally in a fire at his home on Friday the 4^th of July. He attended high school and graduated in 1970 with honors.  He served in the army for two years after graduation and is survived by his wife Maryann, a brother and one sister.  Services will be held on Wednesday at Holy Name Catholic Church interment at the church cemetery.  He was twenty-three years old. 

Nothing more.

 

His name would never appear along with his buddies on the granite wall that makes us remember who paid the price of admission.  He was buried in the churchyard because his high school classmates, the volunteer firemen determined it must have been accidental.

 

 

 

Tony never received any recognition of his sacrifice by the government that told him to go.  He went obediently as he had always been taught to do.  With blind faith he followed orders of his officers. Then no one came forward to help him.  No one recognized the extent of his injuries.

***********

“Good God you are a sight for sore eyes. Where have you been?  We thought we had lost you, Doc.”  Greg put his arms around Tony’s shoulders and gave him a big hug.  “If you weren’t such an ugly mutt I’d kiss you.”

Tony just stared.  Then he realized that Watson and Smitty were there too.  “Where’s Ellis? “ 

“Hell if I know.  He wandered off in the jungle one day and never did come back.” 

“Ha! he’s probably running the mob back in Jersey.”

“Naw, not him he was going to law school.”

“The teams back together now.”

“Yup wonder what kind of hell we can raise now?”

 

 

 

CONVERGENCE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

  

 

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