Sergeant Dickinson Read Online Free Page B

crying. I stand up and put my arms around her. Others come in, they are crying too. Then they are laughing and chirping like small birds; they are making fun of me. One points to my armpit, then pinches her nostrils with her thumb and forefinger. The others respond with hilarity, and I laugh, too. There is something between us, something from before I went away, but I don’t remember what it is. And now there is something new between us, a distance, a numbness, which they do not perceive, and which I am only beginning to. I shoo them out of my room and sit down again to pull off my boots. I am still in my socks when one of the maids comes back, she is crying again, and presses my hand with both of hers. She drops it quickly and runs out. Oh God, I think. I, too, am beginning to cry. But I swallow hard and the threat dissipates.
    I undress, wrap a towel around my waist, and start to the latrine. To achieve the latrine I must cross an open flat of about fifty meters; I do this quickly, without running.
    The water pounds my back, hot, hotter still, then cold, then hot again, until I doze on my feet. How odd to be alive: This thought enters my head. It shocks me awake. I feel fear, but fear without relish. I think again with intent: How strange to be alive. As though to rehearse the line.
    I dry myself, sling the towel over my shoulder, shave, brush my teeth, tongue, palate. A girl comes in, sets a pailunder the tap in a utility sink. She smiles and puts her thumb in the air. I wonder who she belongs to, she is too pretty to be free. I wrap myself in the towel and start back to my room. My reflection in the mirror as I turn reveals that my back is covered with yellow-green pustules. I reach over my shoulder and rub my finger across one. It is hard and does not hurt; I continue on to my billet. The oldest of the maids, the one in charge of the others, I remember, is waiting for me. She offers one of the girls to me, I will not have to pay, she says. The one I recognize as the one called the Cambodian is standing behind her. I ask the old woman if she is talking about the Cambodian. No, another one, Mama-san answers. She looks around but the girl she wants to give me is not in sight. I thank her but tell her I want to sleep. “Slip?” “Da phái. Slip.” I bring my palms together and place my cheek against them. Mama-san giggles.
    I lie on my bunk wondering if the boils on my back will break and soil my blanket. My ears and the soft skin inside the bony rims of my eyes still have in them the red Highlands dust. If it were night, tiny gnats would be crawling through the holes of my mosquito bar; a net with holes small enough to prevent the gnats from coming in wouldn’t allow me to breathe. My legs jerk; my feet lie at the same angle as Dale’s but his are dead. I turn on my side. Soon I do not know whether I am sleeping or awake.
    Something is in my room.
    â€œI thought you might be asleep,” Mitch says softly.
    I look for the splayed index and middle fingers on his right hand. They are there; I focus on them. The man is neither an imposter nor a dream impersonation of Mitch. I am awake.
    â€œNo.” I prop myself on my elbow. “What’s been going on?”
    â€œNot much. I just got off shift. Want to get a beer?”
    â€œNot now. Maybe later.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll let you sleep.”
    â€œThanks, Mitch.”
    I do not dare to cry. Things too horrible would be released.
    It is dark. Mitch has returned. Through the darkness, his voice: “Are you awake?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œJust lying here. Watching the lightning out my window.”
    â€œThat’s not lightning. The Air Force is bombing tonight.”
    â€œOh. I thought it was lightning.”
    â€œI was supposed to tell you earlier that you’re on radio shift tomorrow at eight.”
    â€œAll right, Mitch. Thanks.”
    Roy flips on the light.
    â€œAre you