Behavior Report 14

Dearest Love,

I am a fool. The Kraut car wouldn’t start when I got back in. I made amazing progress, drove miles and miles without concern, and then I had the bright idea to shut it off to listen if there was danger nearby. Not once did my brain say, “Hey, don’t shut it off because it might not start up again.”

None of the boys appeared to give me grief … or help.

But to accentuate the positive, I did figure out that I should fulfill the promises. I have a purpose instead of an ambiguous idea of just pushing forward. Please don’t misunderstand me. You and Junior have been and will always be a reason for living for me. What I’m writing about is purpose for a man. Every man needs to have some defining … thing … that he does to give value back to the world. Something more than just loving his family.

Selling wholesale women’s clothing to department stores was not my purpose.

The pack filled with letters addressed to their loved ones left behind is.

Finding my best friend is.

Harboring the letters and finding Earl are the most exhilarating and worrisome journey I will likely ever experience. The paper and ink likely add up to only a few ounces of weight, but their meaning bear down upon me like a ton of boulders. The unknown with Earl is like a dark cavern, full of fog, that drops to an interminable depth. Regardless of the unbearable weight of the unknown, I will push forward, full of purpose.

I realized something else while sitting in the dead car with my hands on the wheel.

Life always continues.

My morning was filled with pure evil. Men relentlessly drove around in a massive mechanical beast, firing explosives and doing everything they could to kill me. Somewhere else in the world, other men yelled and screamed and shot at one another. Civilians cried and died and ran from a war that has man pinned against each other. Thousands of people are dying. Yet, even as all of this happens, the sun and the trees and the field of yellow daisy-like flowers surrounding me continue to exist without a care.

None of what we do affects life.

What fools we are to believe that we have control over nature.

In that moment, sitting in the car and staring off into the brush that swayed in a quiet breeze, I wished that I could have one small piece of that confidence … that power … to look beyond all the things that drive us crazy and simply exist.

I decided to make camp in that spot as it was as good as any other place. It was only midday, but I figured that I could read through all the letters and figure out a plan. I made a nest of sorts in the brush by stamping down some of the weaker stalks next to the car and then set out my things. Over a dinner ration of canned pork, crackers, and a biscuit, I pulled out the first letter, George’s, and started reading

I read through the letter once, just to get through it. Then I read it over again once I knew what the promise contained. I carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope and grabbed another. The process repeated over and over until dusk. I wrote down each boy’s name and his promise. The list was rough but gave me a good idea of what I had to do.

Soldier	Promise	To Whom
George Marcucilli	Treasure	Father
Lafe Perry	Tin of Kraut Soil	Mr. Epson
Al Troha	Red scarf and pistol	Mr. John who took him in
Russell Krause	Pens with experience to give to writers	Team of Reporters for Casper Tribune Herald
Dave Surplis	Wood for a bat Baseball for block	Brothers
Quinten Magee	Unmentionables	Friend Hank
Bob Durango	Stories	Gary the Barber
Walt Utley	Flag with friends’ names on it	Father
Emil Obermeier	Marriage Proposal	Margaret Mary Frazier
Roland Lane	Quitting job and starting over	Mother and Father
Lieutenant Talbott	Flying Flag over Germany	Father

I read over the list several times trying to figure out how I could begin to fulfill the promises. Finding a pen was one thing, but quitting a job? More creativity was needed than I originally thought. Thoughts on how I could represent someone quitting their job rolled around in my head like stones in an empty bucket. There was a lot of noise but little to show for it. Then, on top of that, there was the challenge of finding Earl. I still didn’t know if he was alive or dead or even where he was.

My Love, between the promises and Earl, I felt an emptiness inside. Hours before, I had purpose, a plan, something that gave me some sort of motivation. But those same things that motivated me also had the power to make me feel so inadequate, inconsequential, and inept. Shadows grew about me with the fading sunlight. The bird songs that surrounded me throughout the day quieted and were replaced by cricket symphonies. Their masterpieces were drawn out like cellists playing sorrowful sonatas meant only for me and my struggle. I could feel my body shutting down, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I laid down next to my things and kept my rifle by my side. The Kraut car protected my back, and I had a full view of anything that could come in front of me.

‘Find Earl and fulfill the promises.’

The thought repeated over and over until I fell asleep.

At some point during the middle of the night I awoke, sitting up with my legs crossed and arms folded. A tingle pricked the muscles in my feet and hands as the last sensation of feeling left them. I attempted to move, but it was as if my brain couldn’t communicate with my body. Panic embraced me, shocking my heart to beat furiously. I desperately tried to dislodge the shackles of senselessness, but I sat limp and lifeless.

My attention was stolen when I saw before me a smoldering fire. ‘I didn’t light any fires,’ I thought. Ruby colored embers clung like moss to the underside of three burnt pieces of wood. Occasionally, a flame would flicker up illuminating the ground around me only to fade back to ash. 

“Don’t panic,” a voice said.

Its command held the opposite effect on me. I looked all over to find its owner and when nothing presented itself, I fought harder to move.

“Please, Frank, don’t panic.”

“Who’s there?”

The tall brush in front of me started to move and crunch and crinkle under the weight of something. Anxiety crept beside me. The sound grew louder until a shadow of a figure crept through the brush. The obscurity moved slowly, eerily. A pallid orb formed in its center. Every step closer revealed more about the presence. Light from the dying fire gathered onto a helmet as well as a rifle slung over the being’s shoulder.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

An echo in the being’s voice made it difficult to distinguish its bearer.

The fire rose again and illuminated olive colored clothing and two hands holding out a letter with the writing facing me. He took another step, and the fire went ablaze, lighting his face.

“George?”

All his features had been sharpened, hardened as if he were made of stone. His nose and ears came to a point. His eyes reflected the fire and burned with a glow from behind.

“You’re going to fulfill my promise, right?” 

“Don’t let me down either.” Another voice said.

“Me too!”

Roland, Quint, and Surplis all appeared from the darkness holding their letters.

Shortly after, everyone, except Earl, all stepped from the shadows and stood in a half circle around me. All were made of stone like dull unpolished granite. Their letters flickered in the light.

I tried to speak. I tried to move. I could only watch.

Lieutenant Talbott moved closer and said, “You let us all die.”

The others repeated after him, “You let us die!”

Their voices grew louder and louder as they repeated the words. The fire burned brighter each time they said the words. Just when I couldn’t take the sound or light anymore, the fire went out completely.

I screamed and waited for something to strike me.

From the darkness came several small sparks where the letters once were. Miniature flames appeared on the corners of each letter and grew as it crawled up the paper leaving ash in its path. The boys had become statues, like monuments to their lives. The fire blackened their hands. When the last of the letters burned out, the fire returned in the pit in front of me, raging with three-foot-high flames. Wood crackled and snapped louder and louder until the noise became the clicking of a Thompson machine gun firing. Bullets sent dust and chips out of the statues until they eventually crumbled to the ground.

I screamed, “No!”

Everyone was turned into a pile of dust and the gun stopped. I blinked and found myself standing with the Thompson in my hands.

“No.” I said. “No.”

I dropped the machine gun and stepped back. I bumped into something and turned around. The Unforgiveable Savage held up his knife.

“Care if I help you?” He spoke in perfect English.

He pointed to my feet, and I found that I wore his notched boots.

He kneeled and began to add several marks.

“Those should do fine.”

The Unforgiveable Savage stood back up and smiled. Then he held up one finger as if a thought crossed his mind.

“We should add one more.”

“What?”

Before I could react, he lunged at me, plunging the knife into my stomach.

I awoke with jump.

The sun’s morning light was scaring off the shadows in the forest. Millions of droplets of dew covered everything in a cold wet blanket. Bird songs wrapped the forest again in life. My entire body was stiff. A headache raged in my forehead. There was no sign of a fire or even piles of dust. All the letters remained in my pack, dry, and stacked neatly as I had left them. I rubbed dew and sleep from my face and then watched ghostly dew vapors rise off my legs where beams of sunlight rested.

‘What a dream.’ I stood up and picked up my rifle and things. ‘Going to need some water soon.’ My canteen felt light. Then, when I was all ready to go, I checked on the list where I wrote everyone’s promises. ‘Where to start?’

When I stood, I could just see over most of the brush and to the surrounding forest. Turning to different directions, I envisioned paths appearing before me. One path led to the shore and a dead end to my journey. Another path led north and toward the rest of the American army where I would only get in trouble. A southern path appeared with no real destination in sight. Then I looked east.

“Well, Lafe. You promised a tin of Kraut soil, so I guess I go that way. Not much of a plan, really.” I waited for him to appear, but he didn’t. I consulted the list again. I spoke up to the heavens, “Just for the record, Russell with his pens and Dave with his bat wood were thinking properly when we started this process. The rest of you guys sure made this a lot harder than it had to be.”

I took my first step toward the east followed by another and my journey officially began. That’s how the journey continued – one foot followed by another. No amazing or poetic thoughts crossed my mind. I left the brush and sunlight to enter the forest again. The shade freed the ground from undergrowth and each step grew easier. Up above, the leaves moved about from a breeze that only touched the tops of the trees like crashing waves on a shore. Birds continued to surf the branches without care, chirping and whistling and providing me with melodies to pass the time.

Within the first hour, I arrived at a break point where the forest changed from a confusion of oak, maple, and elm trees into perfectly spaced rows of spindly loge pole pine. The difference between the two forests was like walking from a handwritten note to a typed one. The oak, maple, and elm trees grew wherever their seeds took root, like the musings and imperfections of a fountain pen. The pines were purposefully planted, every few feet from one another in a line that didn’t waver, as if stamped from a typewriter hammer where the ribbon was a seed.

My enjoyment of the pine forest didn’t last long as I came up upon a break where sunlight took hold. Tall grasses, about waist high, with white and purple flowers filled the landscape. When I entered the grassy buffer, I reached out my hands on either side, palms down, to drag over the brushy stalks and flowers. A thistle poked my palm and the smallest pinprick of blood appeared. Immediately, my thoughts were sent to the shore where puffs of red clouds appeared all around me. Soldiers fell into the grass and never stood up again. I heard screaming. I heard the mechanical tapping of a Kraut machine gun.

I dropped to the ground.

The machine gun continued to tap for a measure of beats, stopped to cool down, and the picked up again. I was pinned down. I heard cries for “Medic!”

‘There aren’t any medics,’ I thought.

I tried to crawl forward, but as I did, another flurry of tapping began, and I stretched out as low to the ground as possible.

‘There’s no way out of this,’ I thought. ‘I’ve failed before I’ve even started.’

I heard footsteps in the grass. Each step bore closer and closer to me. I took hold of my rifle. The wispy tops of the grass danced without a care to my fears. The crunching footsteps grew louder. My finger wrapped around the trigger ready to pull. From between the grass, I saw a helmet appear, round at the top, but it didn’t flare out like a Kraut’s. The color was wrong, more of an olive drab like an American’s. My finger reduced its pressure on the trigger.

“What the heck’s going on?” Lieutenant Talbott said. “Why are you laying on the ground?”

He eventually walked right up to the end of my rifle, pressed the grass aside and offered a hand to help me up. The mechanical tapping began again, and I refused to get up.

Lieutenant Talbott started laughing. “It’s okay. Get up.”

The tapping continued.

“C’mon, Frank. Get up.”

I waited for a puff of red to shoot out of Lieutenant Talbott. I waited to hear him scream. The tapping echoed between the trees and slithered through the grasses. I wasn’t willing to take the chance of standing up.

“Frank, be serious. You’re wasting time. Get up and let’s keep moving.”

“But the M.G. fire.”

“M.G. fire?” Lieutenant Talbott’s voice was loud and his tone light. “M.G. Fire? I didn’t know woodpeckers used bullets to poke holes into trees for their breakfast.”

“Woodpeckers?” The word left my lips quietly.  

Clarity rushed through my mind like a summer breeze through the leaves on a tree. I dropped my head in embarrassment.

“Ah, don’t kick yourself, just have to listen a little harder next time.” Lieutenant Talbott said. “Let me help you up.”

I took his hand and stood up. He helped me brush the dirt off my chest and legs.

“Atta boy! See, nothing to worry about!” He pressed against my shoulder to urge me forward. “You’re jumpy. I don’t blame you. That Unforgiveable Savage is quite the character and armed to the teeth with a tank at his side.”

All I could muster was, “Yeah.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

Lieutenant Talbott wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me forward through the grass. Off in the distance, I could hear rushing water. Every step forward was like turning the volume up on our radio.

“A river?” I said. “Good, I need to refill my canteen.”

“I think you’ll have a hard time doing that.”

“Why?”

Just then, the brush cleared, and we walked up to a massive canyon several hundred feet deep with a raging river rushing below.  

“Have you ever climbed a cliff before?”