Weird Beard

Juan sat in his tiny motel room, a beer and a pistol on the table.  The screaming in his head was as loud as ever.  This time he would do it.  He started with BRASS the way he learned in boot camp at the firing range.

“B is for breathe.”

He took a deep breath.  Grocery bags filled with empty beer cans cluttered the apartment.  The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer was nauseating.

“R is for relax.”

He dangled his arms at his side and relaxed his body.  The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back.

“A is for aim.”

He pressed the end of the barrel to his head above his right ear.  In the distance he heard a man and woman yelling at each other.

“S is for slack.”

He slowly squeezed the trigger until it started to resist.  He thought about the young Vietnamese prisoner the Korean Marines captured that day.  Juan had gone to the tent out of curiosity.  He hadn’t been in Viet Nam very long so he hadn’t seen the enemy up close.  He was surprised by the size - so small.  The prisoner was squatted in the corner, his hands tied together with wire.  A Vietnamese interpreter walked in and started yelling at the prisoner.  He got no reaction.  One of the Korean officers yelled an order to two men.  They ran outside and in a few minutes Juan heard the generator start.  One of the men walked back in holding a wire in each hand.  The interpreter yelled at the prisoner again and showed him the two wires.  Juan realized what was happening.  The two wires led to the generator.  They were going to provide an electric shock if the prisoner didn’t start talking.  The interpreter yelled at the prisoner again.  He still got no reaction.  The prisoner never looked up.   

“Can they do this?” Juan wondered. “Hadn’t they been taught that torturing prisoners was not allowed?”

Everyone looked at each other as the prisoner let out a piercing scream.  This did not sound like a man.  The Korean officer knocked the prisoner on his back and tore the black pajamas at the crotch.  The officer looked back and smiled.  The prisoner was a woman.  She continued to scream in the most horrible pain.  Juan saw her face for the first time.  It was covered with sand.  Her tears had cleaned streaks on her face.  He wanted to go to her and hold her, but he didn’t.  The officer raped her.  Juan stood and watched.  He did nothing.  After all, she was the enemy.  She fought and screamed and hit, but she never stood a chance against so many men.  As she lay in her nakedness and humiliation and pain, she looked back and for a second their eyes met.  He should have done something. 

“S is for shoot.”

The hammer started to go back.  Is this how it‘s going to end?  The last thing in his brain at the last moment of his existence is going to be her screams.  The tears welled in his eyes.  He should have done something.  If done properly he wouldn’t know when it was going to go off.  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze . . .

KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK!

He jumped.  His heart pounded.  He debated whether to find out who was knocking or finish taking care of business.  Maybe it’s a sign from God.  He slid the pistol under his pillow and opened the door.

“Is Ivan here?” she asked.

“There is no Ivan here,” was Juan’s reply.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Ivan was living here last week.”

She looked to the left then to the right as she thought.  Juan took the opportunity to take a better look.  Her tight jeans and loose blouse looked very good on her.  Her Afro completed the picture.  He wondered if she would be willing to sit down and talk.  He needed someone to talk to.

“I wish I were Ivan,” Juan said.

She smiled.

“He owes me some money.  You don’t happen to have five dollars I could borrow, do you?  I live right there.”

She pointed to the right.

“What do you need five dollars for?”

“Groceries.”

“Yeah? 

“It’s for my little boy.  He needs some cereals for in the morning.”

“Yeah?  Tell you what I’ll do.  I don’t mind helping out a person who’s a little down on their luck.  I’ve been there.  I’ll lend you the five dollars but I want to make sure you’re not lying to me.  I’ll go to the store with you.  Deal?”

She looked to the left and then to the right again.

“There’s an all night store right around the corner,” he baited her.

“All right.  It’s a deal,” she finally said.

“Cool.  Come on in while I get my shoes on.”

“That’s OK.  I’ll wait out here, but could you kinda hurry?  I left my son by himself sleeping.”

Neither one said a word as they walked through the parking lot.  He could never think of anything to say to women.  When they walked into the store he went to the left.  He knew where the beer was kept.  She went to the right.

“The brew is this way, girl”

I know,” was the reply.

“Are you really getting cereal?  Are you doing this just to make me say I was wrong?”

She put the cereal in a bag and as she walked out she pointed to Juan and told the cashier, “He’s paying.”

“Hey!  Wait for me,” Juan yelled as he counted out the money.

“Pay ya back on Friday,” she said over her shoulder.

By the time he got outside she was gone.

“Oh, well.  It only cost me a few dollars.  It could’ve been worse.”

As he got into bed he felt the lump under his pillow.  He forgot to get her name.  She sure was pretty.  He needed to sharpen his people skills.  He thought about how lonely he was.  He thought about how he had messed up his chance with Cissy.  She started writing him while he was in Viet Nam.  They both looked forward to getting to know each other when he got home. After their first meeting he knew it could never work between them.  She was beautiful and everything any guy could want.  He was a drunk with no future.  He planned to call her after she got out of work one day but he passed out.  What could he say to her?  “Is it OK if I go by to see you on Saturday but if I’m not there it’s because I killed myself.”  He realized how little it would take to make him want to keep living.  He put the pistol under the bed.

The next morning he went to the manager’s office hoping to get some information about the girl from last night. The chimes alerted the manager in the back room when someone entered her turf. The wooden floor trembled. Out of the back room waddled the biggest woman he had ever seen.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

She was frightening.

“Yea. I’m looking for a black girl. She’s about this tall. Lives here somewhere."

“That’s the only color they is in this neighborhood, mister.”

“This one has a little son.”

“Must be fifteen of them living here.”

“This one isn’t married.”

“Mister, that could be anybody.  I ain‘t got the time,” she said impatiently.

“OK. Thanks for the help. I get the message.”

Juan heard her laughing as he walked out.

“Fool! she said.

It was 10 A.M. and time for a cold beer. She had gone straight to the cereal.  She already knew where they were.  Maybe she did tell the truth.  Maybe she did have a little boy who ate cereal in the morning.  Walking to his apartment with the usual brown paper bag he thought about Sgt. Mike, the one who had introduced him to smoking pot.  Mike knew a Vietnamese man at the bottom of the hill who had some really good stuff.  He saw her  waiting for a bus.

“Hi,” he said as he walked up to her.

“Hello. I’ll have your five dollars this evening. I get paid today.”

“Tell you what.  I’ll trade you that five dollars for a meal. I am so sick of eating potato chips. I sure could use some regular food. You would be doing me a big favor.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “I don’t even know you.”

“You took my five dollars,” he said.

“I was desperate, but I guess I do owe you something.”

“What time?”

She hesitated.

“How about 6:30? We live in number 12,” she finally said.

“And your name is what?”

She smiled. 

“It’s Denise.”

When he arrived at his room he found a note tacked to the door. The note from the water buffalo gave him three days to pay the rent or get out. The sound of a helicopter flying above caught his attention. His body froze. He thought about his first ride on a chopper. The chopper had stayed on the ground long enough for him to run out. Bullets zinged by his head as he ran for the sandbag wall. 

That night he had the midnight watch.  It had to be the darkest night of the year.  Thirty more minutes and his relief would arrive and he could go to bed.  Tin cans hanging on  coils of barbed wire served as the first line of defense. The silence was broken by a soft, single clunk.  Someone was out there.

“Bravo-1, this is Bravo-7.  I have movement in front of me.  Request illumination.“

“Roger, Bravo-7.  It’s on the way.“

His ears became sonar.  He strained his eyes looking for any movement in the blackness in front of him.  He heard another soft clunk.  Where are the flares?  What are they waiting for?  Pop! Pop! Finally!  As he looked ahead waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light he saw a solid shadow to his left. He spun and fired. Pop!  Pop!  The man’s face exploded.

Denise would help him get those pictures out of his head.  At 6:30 that night he knocked on her door. He smelled the delicious food. He also heard a little kid yelling. There really was a little kid in the picture. When she opened the door her son came running to the door to see who it was.

“Who’s this?” Juan asked.

“This is Jerome,” she said.

“How’s it going, Jerome?”

Jerome hid behind his mother.

“My name is Juan, Jerome.”

Juan held up a brown paper bag.

“I don’t drink,” she said.

Juan opened the first can and put the rest in the refrigerator.

“Supper’s just about ready.”

“Good. All that sizzling in the pan is making me hungry.”

As she put the finishing touches on their supper Denise asked about Juan’s job, where he was from, where he was going in life. He was a little embarrassed because he didn’t have a job. It was finally Juan’s turn to ask questions.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I work at a dry cleaners. It’s hard work but it supports me and Jerome.”

“Feeds you pretty good, too. That smells great.  You married?”

“I don’t know where Jerome’s father is,” she said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Mommy, is it almost time to eat?” The voice came from down below.

She moved around her kitchen like a concert pianist. She didn’t waste a movement. Juan wondered what she was doing in this low class dump. She seemed out of place.  She turned and saw him watching her.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

Juan smiled.

“Mommy, are you going to help me with my arithmetic?”

“Yes, I’m going to help you.  Do you want to eat or do homework?”

“What kind of arithmetic you got?” Juan asked Jerome.

Jerome retreated to his hiding place behind his mother.

Juan picked up the deck of cards on the table. 

“I used to do flash cards too when I was a kid.  Used to be pretty good.  Let’s see what you got here, Jerome.  Is this addition?  Maybe I can help you out, my man.”

Juan looked through the cards going into deep thought as he looked at each one.

“Here’s one,” he finally said.  “One plus one is equal to three.”

Jerome looked up at his mother.  Which one of them should tell this grown man that he wrong about one plus one?

“I don’t know, Juan,” Denise said.  “That doesn’t sound right to me.  Does that sound right to you, Jerome?”

A small thin arm came out from behind Denise.  The little hand held up two fingers. 

“No way, Jerome.  Here, let me try another one.”

After a few more minutes of this game Jerome found the courage to come out from behind his mother to help this grown man who was so pathetic at doing pluses.  A few more minutes and Jerome climbed up on Juan’s lap so he could see the cards better.

“You’re pretty good with kids,” Denise said as she returned to her cooking.

“It’s a curse I have with kids and animals.  My mother calls me a kid magnet.”

Juan spread out the flash cards on the table face down and randomly chose one to hold up to Jerome.  He studied Jerome’s hair and ears and eyes. He slowly put his arm around Jerome’s small shoulders.  How wonderful innocence must be.  He thought about the little body they found during a patrol.  He looked at Denise.  She was watching. 

As they ate they talked about Jerome and his school and how he fit in so well. It was such a relief to Denise that Jerome didn’t give her a hard time about going to school. She needed the time to work. Juan finished his third can of beer with his dessert.

“It’s time for you to go to bed, little man,” she reminded Jerome.

“Already?”

“Yes, already. You have school tomorrow.”

Juan waited for Denise on the couch. She sat down with a big sigh. Juan took her hand and gently held it in his.

“Mommy, can I have some water?”

“Listen, Juan” she began when she got back. “There’s something you need to know."

“Mommy?“

“Jerome,“ Juan said.  “If you go to sleep and do good on your pluses tomorrow I’ll buy you an ice cream."

“Good night, Mommy.  Good night, Juan.  Thank you for helping me with my pluses,  Juan.”

“You’re welcome, Jerome."

“Jerome and I can’t get involved. My ex-husband is looking for us. If he finds us I’m afraid he’s going to kill me. You don’t know him. He’s crazy. He’d come home drunk and beat whichever one of us happened to be the closest. I don’t need all that drama.”

Juan got the message loud and clear. Not getting involved included him.

“The next man I get involved with I have to be sure he’ll be good to me and Jerome. I owe him that.”

“I see.”

After a few minutes of talk Juan decided it was time for him to leave.  He walked over to the store and bought himself some beer.

The next day a tapping at the door woke him from his afternoon nap.  He struggled to keep his eyes open in the bright sunlight.

“Hi, Jerome.” 

“Did I wake you up?  I can come back later.”

“No.  I was awake.  I was taking a dump.”

“A dump?”

“That means I was sitting on the toilet.  You never heard of a dump?”

“No.”

“There’s different kinds of dumps.  Did you know that?”

“Wow,” said Jerome in amazement.

“There’s your regular dump and there’s what you call a major dump.  There’s others but I’ll tell you about them later.”

“Wow,” said Jerome again.

“So what have you been up too?” 

Jerome put a sheet of paper in front of his face.  At the very top of the paper was a big, red “A”.

“Is that your arithmetic test?”

Jerome nodded.

“Wow, Jerome.  You did it.  I knew you could.  You’re my main man.  I guess I owe you an ice cream.”

Jerome nodded.

“Come on in while I put my shoes on.”

“Juan.”

“Yes, Jerome.”

“If my room looked like your room my mommy would kill me.”

“Well, let’s not tell Mommy about my room.  You see, this is a big man’s room.  Your mommy wouldn’t understand a man’s room.  Only another man like you would understand.  Know what I mean?”

“It sure is smelly in here, Juan.”

“Are you ready for your ice cream?”

Jerome nodded.

Jerome held Juan’s hand as they walked across the parking lot.  It felt so small.  One day he would have a family and a little boy. 

Juan and Jerome sat on the steps of Denise’s apartment talking about school, baseball, airplanes and anything else that crossed Jerome’s mind. 

“I guess ya’ll don’t want this since you already ate ice cream.“

They both looked up.  It was Denise holding a white, greasy bag.

“Hamburgers?  My favorite.”  Jerome grabbed the bag and ran inside.

“You wanna stay, Juan?”

“No, I better get going.  I was just keeping my word to Jerome.  He got an A on his math test.”

“We can still be friends,” she said.

“Mom,” Jerome said from inside.  “Before we eat I gotta take a major dump.”

Denise looked at Juan.  Juan looked away.

“I really need to get back and clean up my place.  It’s getting really bad.  See ya.”

He looked at his apartment.  Jerome was right.  It was dirty and smelly.  He opened a beer and sat at his little table.  He sure needed to clean up this place.
                        -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The far away sound of someone beating on a door woke him.  He heard a man’s voice yelling and cursing.  He heard a child’s piercing screams.

“Oh, my God!  It’s Jerome!”

It took all his strength to get his head up and sit on the edge of the bed.  His head went forward towards the floor.  Fortunately, his face broke his fall.  He needed his pistol.  He slid his hand under the pillow.  It wasn’t there.  He stood but he fell back on the bed.  In the background he heard sirens.  He lay drunk and useless watching the red lights run across the walls of his room.  His eyes closed.

The sunlight blinded him the next afternoon when he stepped outside.  He went to see if Denise and Jerome were OK.  There was no answer.  Where did they go?  How would he ever find their new hiding place?

“Hey, fool.  What you doing over there?”

It was the water buffalo.

“Where’s Denise?”

“Where were you? Didn’t you hear all the noise last night?”

“Yeah, I heard it.  Where is she?”

“She dead.  The ex-husband showed up last night and killed ‘em both.  How could you not hear?  The police took him away.”

“What?” Juan gasped for air.

“If you ain’t got your rent today I want you out, fool.”

Choking back his tears Juan packed his belongings.  The tightness in his throat would suffocate him if he didn’t get it out.  He ran for miles.  Tears blurred his vision.  Down a ditch and into a drainage tunnel he ran.  The screams and tears he controlled during a year and a half in Viet Nam came out.  They were deafening.  His pain echoed through the tunnel and the cement walls absorbed it.  For hours he sat in his cold, dark tunnel sobbing and whimpering.  Finally, his eyes closed.  The sound of running water woke him.  A trickle of water ran under him.  In the distance he saw an opening, a small circle of light.  He staggered outside into what he thought was a forest.  Birds filled the air with singing.  Squirrels hopped among the trees.

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

He crawled up the side of the ditch.  Right above the tunnel was a tree nursery.  The seeds fell into the ditch and grew.  In the distance he heard hammering.  A new subdivision was sprouting.  People with a future would soon be moving in.  That night, with the help of a grocery cart someone had stolen and abandoned, he went to the subdivision and returned with a pallet and a piece of plywood.  He laid the pallet on the floor and put the plywood on top of it.  Now he could lie on the plywood as the water trickled under him.  This may be the best place for him to spend the rest of his life. 

                        ------------------

The weatherman called it the hottest day of the year. In his head Juan sang the Marine Corp Hymn in rhythm with the thumping of the wheels of his grocery cart as he pushed it down the street.  He barely lifted his feet.  It was almost a shuffle.  The weight of defeat caused his shoulders to slump.  Juan’s long beard dangled in several sections.  Each section went through a metal ring.  If anyone got close enough they could smell the vomit on his breath.

Across the street two boys pointed at him.

“That’s Weird Beard,” people said.  “He came back crazy from the war.  They say those rings on his beard are real pins from grenades.”

Juan looked at the setting sun as he walked along the top of the ditch.  It had been a peaceful day.  He looked down to the entrance of his tunnel with anticipation.  He looked forward to getting to bed early after a good supper.  Looking up at him were the two boys he had seen pointing at him earlier that day. 

“What are you doing there?” he yelled.

They ran into his tunnel. He abandoned his grocery cart and gave chase stopping to see if they had taken anything from his home.  He listened but there was no sound.  He strained to see into the blackness of the tunnel. 

“They will have to come back this way,” he reasoned.  “There is no way they can keep going without light.”

Then he saw it - a pale light.  They were lighting a candle.

“You two are dead meat!”

The boys screamed.  From the sound of their screams Juan began to think that maybe they were girls and not boys as he had thought.  When they got to the end of the tunnel Juan was so close they didn’t stop for their bikes.  He laughed as he watched them scramble up the side of the ditch still screaming. 

Weird Beard was extremely tired when he got home.  Sitting in his cool, dark cement home he wondered what became of the girls who worked at the Enlisted Men’s Club.  He wondered if they were killed after the North Vietnamese took control of the country.  Had they gotten sick and died?  Had they been executed?  Their laughter and the music of the USO shows echoed in the tunnel as he remembered.  He smiled.  He needed to go back and make sure they were OK. 

The food he found in the dumpsters and the carrots he picked from his garden completed his feast for the night.  It felt good to be home.  His hand felt a wet spot on his sleeping bag.  Trespassers!

Early the next morning Juan was awakened by what sounded like a little girl’s voice.   

“Mr. Weird Beard!“

Juan tried to ignore the noise until he heard someone outside his tunnel. 

“What do you want?” he asked the intruder.

The little boy spun around to see where the voice came from.  His mouth fell open.   

“What do you want? Juan asked again.

“My . . . my . . . my . . . bike.”

“Why should I give it you?  How would you like it if I came to your room and walked all over your bed with my wet shoes?”

“I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry.  I won’t do it again.  Could I have my bike back, please?”

“Well of course you can have your little bike, you little puke.  It’s up there,” he said pointing up.

The little boy followed the finger.  The two bicycles dangled from the top of the tallest tree.

“I can’t get up there,” the boy said with teary eyes.

“If I get it down for you will you stay away, you little maggot?”

“O.K.”

Minutes later the bicycle hit the ground with a clatter.

“Go on.  You got your bike.  Get outta here.“

The small boy struggled to get his bicycle up the side of the ditch.  Juan turned to walk into his tunnel.

“You could help me if . . . ,“ he heard the boy say.

The next day Juan saw the same little boy standing at the top of the ditch.  The little boy turned when the sound of a grocery cart reached his ears.

“What are you doing back here, you little weenie?” Weird Beard asked.  He looked at the greasy paper bag.

“I brought you to eat.”

“What is it?”

“Hamburgers and French fries.”

“Don’t you know that stuff is poison?  It’s got fat, it’s greasy, cholesterol."

“If it’s poison how come it tastes so good?”

“That’s the way most poisons in life are, kid.  They come disguised.”

“What do you usually eat?”

Weird Beard took him into the trees to his garden.

“I eat veggies.  What are you doing here?  You said you wouldn‘t come back if I gave you your bike.”

“I know but I need Hank’s bike too.  We can’t go anywhere with one bike.”

“So that’s why you brought the food?  To bribe me?  Why didn’t your yellow bellied friend come back for his own bike?“

“He’s scared of you like most people around here.“ 

“How come you ain’t scared?  What’s your name?“

“It’s Joey and I am scared.”

“Tell your chicken friend I’m going to make it easy on him.  Tell him he can come back tonight for it.  It’ll be at the other end of the tunnel.  Tell him to watch out for the bats.”

“There’s bats?”

“You didn’t know?  They’re the size of pigeons.  They latch on to your hair and they’ll rip your scalp off.  Tell him to come back for his bike in the evening, just when it’s starting to get dark.  That’s the only time the bats are gone looking for food.  I’ve seen those giant bats coming back with cats.”

That night Juan stood in the tunnel watching the boys as they approached. He found matches and burned out candles all over the floor.  The boys had been coming here for quite a while.

“It’s your fault,”  Hank accused Joey.

“Why is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t gotten on my nerves about wanting to go to the other end of the tunnel we’d still have our bikes.”

“I have my bike,” Joey said.  “Why don’t you go up to him like I did?  You scared?”

“Shut up.”

“You’d rather get eaten by giant bats?”

“Shut up.”

Juan smiled.  They were wearing hard hats like they wear on construction jobs in case some of the bats were still in the tunnel.  As they approached the entrance they both began to walk slower hoping the other one would go in first.  To their surprise Hank’s bicycle was lying just inside.  They didn’t have to go through the man-eating bats to get to it.  From the bowels of the tunnel there was the faint sound of a grocery cart. 

                                --------------------------------------------

“So do you have a family or anything like that, Joey?  Any brothers and sisters?” Weird Beard asked as they sat under the trees one day watching the squirrels running around.

“Yeah, I have one freaky sister.”

There was a pause.  Joey didn’t volunteer any more information.

“You two live by yourselves?”

“We live with my mom.”

There was another pause.

“What does your dad do?”

“I don’t have a dad.”

There was another pause.

“I guess I better get home.  It’s getting late.”

“Sorry.  We don’t have to talk about your dad.”

“My dad killed himself.  I was too little to remember but Mom says that’s what happened.  After he came back from the war he drank a lot.  Even his friends that used to drink with him quit hanging around with him because he always overdid it.  He was always sad.  He didn’t laugh anymore.  Mom says that one day she was in the kitchen feeding me when she heard a shot from the bedroom.  She ran in and saw him lying on the bed with a gun next to him.”

“I’m really sorry, kid.”

“That’s OK.  I didn’t even know him.  I was too young.  What about your parents?  Where do they live?”

Juan thought for a while.

“They live here in town,” he finally said.

Joey looked puzzle.

“So why do you live here instead of with them?”

“That’s kinda hard to explain.  I guess it’s because I came back from the war messed up too.”

“Don’t you ever want to see them again?”

“I just didn’t fit in anymore.  It was better that I didn’t live with them anymore.”

“Do you ever think about just driving by your house to see what it looks like?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“We could do it.  We could go on my bike.  We could just drive by.  We don’t have to stop.  You want to?”

As they drove down the street the wind blowing through Juan’s beard made a clinking sound as all the grenade pins in his beard hit together.  He thought about that day he was riding in the back of a truck and the truck ahead of them hit a land mine and he thought about the body parts.  When they got about a block from the house he asked Joey to wait there.  Juan walked to the house and stood in front of it trying not to look like he was looking at it.  The front door opened.  It was his father.  He looked at Juan and then looked away.  Juan watched him drive away.  He wondered what his family thinks happened to him.  After all, he just disappeared.  Did they call the police?  They never found his body.  It appeared that life went on for his family, but his life stopped.  He was a wounded animal waiting to be put out of its misery.  He tried to remember what he did with the pistol.
On the way home Juan thought about his father.

“Want a hamburger?” Joey asked.

“Where do you get your money?”

“I’ve got a job.”

“Oh, yeah.  Where?"

“I throw newspapers.  So do you want a hamburger?”

“I’m getting tired of you always buying me stuff.”

“I don’t mind,” Joey said.

“I do.”

“Why don’t you get you a job?”

“Who would hire me?”

“I would and I just got an idea.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you help me with my paper route?”

“Me?  A paper boy?”

“Yeah.  You could peddle and I could sit in the back like we’re doing now.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I get tired of peddling.  Two hundred papers are too heavy for me.  I have to do two trips.  With you it would take one trip.  I’ll be done earlier.”

The only sound heard as Juan thought about the new deal was the jingling of grenade pins blowing in the wind.

“What’s that smell?” Joey asked.

“It’s that cheap beer I’ve been drinking.  Sometimes I drive myself out of my own tunnel.”

“You farted?”

Joey leaned back as far as he could.  Juan thought it would be good to have some money in his pocket.  He could fix up his tunnel.  If he wanted he could catch a bus to a new future and start over somewhere.  He needed to start over - to leave the past behind him.

“All right,” he finally said.  “I’ll try it.”

“Great!  We’re partners.”

“Partners?”

“Let’s pull over and get us a hamburger to celebrate.  I’ll buy,” Joey offered.

Juan didn’t talk much the rest of the way home.

“Thanks for the ride,” he told Joey as he got off the bike.

“I hope you go back and see your dad,” Joey told him.

All night Juan thought about his parents.  Six months made his father look much older. He stooped a little when he walked.  Should he let them know he was alive?  What would they think if they saw him like this?  How would he explain why he didn’t let them know where he was - that he was OK?  As he lay in his cold, dark, wet tunnel he thought about Denise.  Perhaps it was better if he stayed gone. He was beginning to doze off when he heard Joey calling him.  It was time to throw their paper route.  They worked well as a team.

“Cheese Louise!”  Joey yelled.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that smell again!  Can’t you put a cork in it?”

“If I did I’d blow up.  Can you imagine the aroma that would make?”

Weird Beard bought a barbeque pit with some of his money.  Every Saturday he and Joey sat in the shade cooking a piece of meat and talking.  The squirrels ran around them waiting for the next snack.

“What do you think about having a squirrel sandwich?” Juan asked him one day as they ate.

“Where are you planning to get a squirrel?”

Juan looked around as if looking for the fattest one.

“Don’t even think about it.  I could never eat one of these.  I’ll never eat here again unless I see it before you cook it.”

“I was just kidding.  I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

There was a long pause.  He regretted making such a joke.  Joey wasn’t sure if he could trust a man who could kill a squirrel.

“What’s your name?” Joey finally said.

“It’s Juan.  Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.  All the kids call you Weird Beard.”

“Where did they get a stupid name like that?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“I hadn’t thought about how I look.  I really haven’t cared to tell you the truth.”

There was a long pause.

“Juan?”

“What?”

“Do you ever miss your dad?”

Juan thought a minute before he answered.

“Sometimes.”

“I miss mine a lot.  I feel like I was cheated.  Why did he have to die?”

“I don’t know, kid.  I’m still trying to figure out why he lets anyone die.  I had a friend once.  He was the nicest guy.  We went to high school together.  His cousin was my high school sweetheart.”

“You had a sweetheart?  Did you ever kiss her?  Never mind.  Don’t tell me.  That’s too nasty for me.”

Juan paused as pictures of high school and happy times went through his head.

“My friend enlisted in the Marine Corps right after we graduated.  My mother talked me into doing a year of college.  I hated every minute of it.  When I finally was ready to go over there I came home on leave.  My friend had gotten home the day before except he came home in a box.  I couldn’t figure out why he had died.  I was the bad person.  It should’ve been me that died, not him.  He had a girl waiting to marry him when he got home.  I had no one.  It left a big hole inside of me.  Why did your father have to die?  Why does he let anyone die?  I don’t know.”

“Why does who let anyone die?”

“God.”

“God let my father die?”

“Never mind.  This is getting too deep for you.  Ask your mother about it.”

Another pause.

“Juan?”

“What?”

“Your dad is still alive and you still don’t have a dad.  Is that God’s fault too?”

“Why don’t you get out of here, kid?  Go home to your mother.  I don’t need all the extra problems.”

“I didn’t know I was being a problem,” Joey said softly.

Juan didn’t answer.  Joey waited for him to say he wasn’t being a problem.  He waited for him to say that he liked him and he wanted to be his friend.  Joey needed to hear this from someone even if it was a weird looking drunk.  Joey heard nothing.  He got up and slowly walked away.  Juan watched him climb up the side of the ditch and disappear from sight.  What did a little kid know about death and how there is nothing you can do to change things?  All you can do is hide and hope the shrapnel from life doesn’t hit you.

The days passed slowly for Juan.  Once again he was alone.  He got all his money together and went to the liquor store for a fifth of Johnny Walker Red.  He didn’t have time for beer.  He needed to get to where beer took him but he needed to get there faster.    As he went off to that place he saw the red lights flashing and he heard screaming - always that screaming.
He woke up with a big headache.  As he regained consciousness he heard the sound of the water trickling down the tunnel.  He didn’t want to do this anymore.  He thought  how he would never have children or a wife to love.  Maybe he should go home.  He thought about talking to Joey about what he was thinking, but then he remembered he ended their friendship. Maybe he could go to his house and get his opinion, but he didn’t know where Joey lived.

The next morning Juan got up extra early and went to the lamp post on the corner of Kendalia and Commercial.  He knew Joey would be going by there throwing his newspapers.  Minutes later he heard the thump of a newspaper landing on a sidewalk.  He stepped out in front of Joey and his bicycle.  To Juan’s surprise Joey expertly drove around Juan and kept on going.  Juan watched Joey’s back in amazement.  He couldn’t believe Joey didn’t stop.  Juan was not going to give up so easily.  He started to run after Joey.  Joey started to peddle faster.  The load of the newspapers made it difficult to gain any speed.  Juan caught up and grabbed the back of the bicycle. 

“Let me go!” Joey yelled.

“Let me talk to you a minute.”

“Let go!”

“Joey, let me talk to you a minute.  I’m sorry about what I said.  I didn’t mean it.”

“Why did you say it?”

Joey was getting exhausted from peddling and getting nowhere.

“Haven’t you ever said something you wish you hadn’t said?”

Joey looked straight ahead.

“I don’t see how you can go without your father.  I wish I had one and you have one and you don’t do anything about it.”

“You’re right.  You’re right.  I need to do something about it.  I just don’t know how.  What will I tell them?  How do I explain not going to see them for so long? We used to be such a happy family till I came back.  I don’t fit anymore.  I was just causing a lot of problems for them.  There’s nothing I can say to make them feel better. I’ve just been waiting around to get the nerve to do what I should’ve done a long time ago in a motel room.  I’m not a very happy person.”

Tears streamed down Joey’s face as he listened. 

“I’m sorry,” Juan said again.  “I’m not very good at having friends.  Give me another chance, kid.”

Joey was silent. 

With tears flowing down his cheeks he asked, “Want your job back?”

“I would love my job back.  Being your helper is the best job in the world.”

The two rode away as friends and in the dark of the early morning a boy‘s voice could be heard.

“Good night!  We need to change your diet.  That one really smelled.”

                    -------------------------------------

Juan’s legs shook as he knocked on the door of his parents’ house.  When his father opened the door he just stood there.

“Hi,” Juan began.

“So you finally decided to come back?”

This was not the tone of voice Juan expected.  He thought about just turning around and going back to his tunnel.

“I’m sorry I did this.  I know it wasn’t easy for you and Mom.”

“You can tell your mother that yourself.  She’s at the cemetery where we buried her.  We didn’t know where to get a hold of you to tell you.”

Juan felt nothing when he heard those words.  He was numb inside.  He was immune to the feelings that come with getting people killed.  It was like in the war.  You went numb to survive.

“She kept thinking you would come back to see her.  The last thing she talked about was you.  It wasn’t me or your brothers and sister.  You have no idea what she went through while you were over there.  She died everyday when she’d hear the evening news and see all the bodies.  She was so afraid you’d be in one of those bags.  She didn’t deserve what you did to her.  You didn’t have to go over there.  Then you come back to disappear?  I’m surprised you finally got the guts to come back.  I saw you that day.  I knew it was you.  All dirty like some bum.  Look at you.  I’m glad she didn’t see you like this.”

“I guess I made a big mistake coming back.  I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.”

Juan turned and walked away.  He didn’t come out of the tunnel for days.  He sat in the dark and thought how he got some one killed again.  This time it was his mother.  Who was left to kill?  He reached in his bag for the picture of his mother he carried in Viet Nam.  The pistol his father gave him fell out.  The screams of the Vietnamese girl echoed through the tunnel.  He should have done something.  He figured God was punishing him.  That’s why he ended up a drunk living in a drain tunnel.  That’s why he got Denise killed.  God wanted to remind him his punishment wasn’t over.  It would never be over.  He should have done something.  That’s why his best friend died instead of him. He should have died instead of his friend, but his punishment wasn’t over.

“B is for breathe.”  He took a deep breath.  Sometimes you can’t wait for God to forgive you.  He may never forgive you.

“R is for relax.”  He took a deep sigh as he leaned back against the cold cement.  Hopeless tears blurred his vision.

“A is for aim.”  Lightening didn’t come out of the sky as a sign from above that he should stop.  He put the end of the barrel to his head.

“S is for slack.”

“I’m sorry, Mama!”  He closed his eyes.

“S is for shoot.”