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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: War & Peace
- Published: 05/21/2014
''Dying for Respect''
Born 1957, M, from Belfast, United Kingdom''Dying for Respect''
It was the summer of 1917 when I first got my call up papers, the hostility in Europe had been going on for three long years. News reports since January had talked about how some in our Government were looking to take a more active role in the war, though most were still opposed to it, even the president himself, Woodrow Wilson, declared that "We Americans are to proud to fight" in his speech to congress after the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915. But as time moved on it became more obvious that we would be dragged into the conflict. For a while Germany upheld their agreement to cease any more attacks on passenger ships, but all that ended with the Zimmerman Telegraph to Mexico inviting them to become allies of Germany in return for finance to fight their own war against the United States. The communication was intercepted by the British and released to the public by Wilson. Zimmerman had promised help in the re-acquisition of their lost territories, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. He proclaimed this act as casus belli- "A cause for war". by April America had began hostilities with Germany.
Daddy had sat glued to his radio broadcast doing nothing more than shakin his head and puffin hard on his clay pipe. He kept mumbling something under his breath every time Woodrow paused. Momma just rolled her eyes's at him and hoped he wouldn’t cuss in front of my young sister Abigail. I do believe he wore away an inch of wood off his rocking chair that evening.
"Are you listening to this boy!" he said to me pointing his pipe end at the wireless.
"You mark my words Samuel, we's gonna be in this god forsakin war soon son, never mind what they sayin."
''Hush now Daddy'' Momma shouted at him. ''They aint gonna ask young Negro boy's to fight.''
I allowed my self a smile after Momma winked across at me, it wasn't often she stood up to Daddy, but I wasn’t sure that maybe she was right about what she had just said, that kinda took the edge off the humor she intended. I felt a nervous energy come over me as I listened to the rest of the Presidents speech, it stayed with me all night.
Daddy rocked back and forth something fierce on the porch until the sun went down, I think he was sittin broodin in his chair at Mommas chastisement. Even his favorite country blues channel did nothin to relax him any. Momma was cuttin apples to make cider on the kitchen table when I came in, she caught my eye and smiled at me as I shuffled my way past into the living room. ''Are you Okay Jnr'' she asked me quietly, pausing her peeling. ''I dunno,-maybe!'' I replied, I could see her waiting for more. ''I heard rumors Momma.''
''You bin talkin to Toby Jones again?''
I shrugged my shoulders knowing full well she was gonna grill me some on the subject.
''He says they ar-'' she cuts me off sharp clicking her tongue, ''I'm surprised at you Samuel White, listening to that dumb boy who can barely write his name.'' I watch her wave that peelin knife around as she gets more and more agitated. ''He don’t know diddly!''
''Your Momma's Right son'' I heard Daddy say as he stood in the doorway cuttin out the light of the dying sun that was bleeding yellow into the kitchen. He wiped his pen knife off his worn denim trouser leg and then blew hard into his empty pipe, as he passed me by he smelt of burnt tobacco and cider wine. A big man pushed into an off white collarless shirt at least one size too small. Most likely A throw away Momma had acquired from her cleaning work for Ben Maidstone, the main employer of most of the Negro men in the town.
His wife liked to call her ''Pearly'' on account of her smile, I reckon, so it sorta stuck. Ben ran and owned one of the biggest cotton farms in Oklahoma.
''What is this you say about rumors?'' Daddy asked jerkin his gaze between Momma and me. ''Well?''
Momma just rolled her eye's again and decided to go back to her apple peelin, I don't think she wanted to get into any more upsets with Daddy before bedtime, I guess she figured once was enough. That left me to speak up.
''Like I tried to say before, Toby heard that the Government was gettin real nervous about what was happening oversea's and maybe both black and white men is gonna go fight there'.'
Daddy let out a real loud belly laugh that shook the light fitting on the ceiling, then he leaned over and slapped his leg like I had told him a real funny joke or somethin.
''There! Pearly, wasn’t I right all along, didn't I say we's be in this war soon'' before he could finish he took a fit a coughin cos he was laughin so much.
'Momma looked at him all confused, ''Why is you all hysterical Sam White'' she asked, ''what do you find so funny?''
''You was right'' he choked back. ''Toby Jones sure is dumb if he thinks he is gonna be fightin along side some white boy, lord, more like's he'd be polishin his boots.''
Daddy's laughter hung in the room as an echo long after he left and headed into bed. Momma carried on with her cider makin, puttin all her skinned apples into a big steel bucket that was boiling over the stove.
''Hand me the sugar, Jnr'' she said pointing at the large brown bag on the counter. I seen her look at me sideways. ''Doesn’t Toby's father work for Governor Bailey?''
''I guess so'' I replied ''Kinda like a butler, or servant. I'm not sure.''
''Well perhaps Toby ain’t so stupid after all, I reckon that maybe his Daddy has overheard him talkin at one of his fancy dinners he throws for them rich folk. Why I even know myself that Ben and Martha were up at his mansion suppin wine with a bonafide General by the name a Charles C Ballou last month.'' Momma nodded a informed look at me while she poured in her sugar, it made the water turn white and hiss. ''You know Tommy Maidstone don’t you son?''
''I know him'' I answered still watchin the sugar melt into the boiling froth.
''He's about your age, ain’t he?''
I sighed and let my shoulders drop, it sounded like Momma was gonna give me some long winded story about how this may be a good thing, or that maybe we could get a lot of respect if we got to fight along side white people. Most likely she'd been hearin this put around the segregated coffee rooms in town. I had heard that same thing from Toby. But I was wrong, all she done was turn around and give me the tightest hug I can ever remember getting.
''Me and your Daddy love you so much Sam.''
''Are you cryin Momma?'' I asked her when she pulled away.
''No'' she croaked pullin a rag from her pocket ''It's just the steam off'a this here bucket is makin my eye's water, now git to bed'' she shushed at me. ''Go on!''
Daddy was already snoring, I could hear him through my wall as I lay down on my pillow, too much cider wine I expected.
Now Momma may be a small woman but she sure is big when it comes to makin noise in the mornings. Daddy starts at dawn workin on Maidstones farm, he's the overseer of all twenty men including my friend Toby who picks the cotton. She likes to get up and make Daddy's sourdough bread and cheese sandwiches.
Once he's gone she takes coffee on the porch before she gets ready for work herself. Weather permitting of course. I didn’t sleep well last night, that nervous energy I got took a long time to settle down, so Momma's fussin seems louder than usual. Most days somewhere around seven or so she knocks on my door. Today I'm roused and dressed long before she has finished. ''You're up early'' she smiles at me as I meander towards the porch. it is a fine sunny morning and the smell of newly made coffee coming from the stove hangs in the air.
''I heard you being restless again Jnr, you O.K?'' she asks me quietly, and I see the look of worry form into a frown upon her tired looking face.
''Sometimes I feel scared Momma'' I reply.
''I know son'' is all she says, then she runs her fingers through my hair just like she did when I was a young kid.
''Get yourself off to work Samuel and quit your worryin, you ain’t even nineteen yet'' she smiles again, ''lord you got your whole life ahead of you.''
What was left over from Daddy's sandwiches Momma has packed into my leather lunch pail along with an apple, she cups my face in her hands and kisses me tenderly on both cheeks ''You take care now Jnr'' she says ''And don't you be late for supper mind!''
Tomorrow is Sunday, Toby and I usually go fishin at Maidstone's lake each spring as soon as the May flies are hatched, so we agreed to meet up after church. Toby ain’t as bright as he should be for his age, Momma says that's on account of him being so sizable when he was born. ''Ella is such a tiny woman, it's a wonder she managed to push him out at all'' I heard her gossip once, she means no disrespect of course, Momma and Ella have been good friends since she settled here. I sort'a look after him much like a big brother, and he's a good man to have around when them white boy's feel like a fight on a Saturday night in town. He don't say much mostly, but he don't need to.
My day at Langston lumber yard feels like two rolled into one, most likely on account of my restless night I imagine. My boss man Joe must'a noticed my lack of enthusiasm mind cos he went and sent me home early, told me to come back Monday with a clear head ready for work. I sure hope he don’t say anything to Momma, she'd be real upset that I was slack'in in my employment.
At church the reverend talks about the war in Europe, praise'n the lord that we are still not involved. mind you the Hallelujahs he calls for are less than bountiful. I guess the rumors are getting around the congregation.
By the time I get to the lake I can see Toby is already there. His back is to me as I approach, he's sittin real still with his fishin pole between his legs, watchin the afternoon sun reflecting off the crisp still water. It Sparkles like fancy expensive diamonds being brokin only by the rippling rings of feeding fish. He doesn’t hear me coming.
''Are you okay man?'' I ask when I'm just behind him. The shock of what I see when he turns takes my breath away. His left eye is completely closed and swollen red with blood, yellow bruises are beginning to form below his recently cut cheek bone's. Fist marks are still clearly evident on his face where he has been beaten repeatedly. He pulls away in pain as I touch his left shoulder and is reluctant to let me lift his shirt so as I can look. Finally he agrees. what I see brings tears rushing to my eyes. Thick raised welts criss cross his back still bloody and sore, marks that could only be made by a leather whip.
''Who did this Toby?'' I ask him. His eye's wont look at me, then slowly he whispers.
''Tommy''
''Tommy Maidstone?'' I say.
Toby just nods and looks back at the water.
''When Toby?''
''Saturday afternoon, on my way home from work, him and his friends done it.''
''Why?''
Toby just shrugs his shoulders.
''Didn’t your Daddy say something?''
''He's too afraid a losin his job I reckon.''
I help him to his feet. ''That son of a bitch is gonna pay for this Toby''
''Please Sam, no!'' he begins to cry ''It was all my fault, All I said was that we was gonna fight in the war together, but Tommy he got real mad and said he would never serve with no dumb Nigger boy.''
''That ain’t no cause to hurt you like he did.''
''Please Sam!'' he begged ''I cant lose my job.''
The thought of him smirkin and getting away with this made me sick to my stomach, but Toby was my best friend so I promised him we would speak no more of it.
''Let's get you home'' I said. ''The fish ain’t goin no-where’s.''
Toby got his papers a day or two after mine. we were ordered to report to Langston Court house, along with most of the other young black men in town. When we arrived we were ushered into a small room at the back, well away from the white draftees. Toby's Momma Ella was there fussin and cryin at the officer in charge statin how her son wasn’t able to fight in no war cos he was ''simple minded''. It did no good, so far as he was concerned Toby was drafted and that was that. ''Don’t worry'' I told her, when Momma had taken her to the side to quieten her down. ''I'll Look after him.'' She looked at me with a heartache so big she was shakin. ''You're a good Boy Samuel White'' she said, ''God bless you.''
After about two hours or so of sitting around we were herded out the back to waitin buses. I made Toby follow me closely telling him to be sure he had a good hold of his suitcase. Men and boy's were pushin and shoving, some shoutin, others just movin along with the crowd like dumb cow's in a cattle market. When we got outside military police were keepin back the crowds of wives, sisters, mothers and Fathers, most holdin out their hands for one last touch. I could see Ella, Momma and Abigail standin close to the end of the crowd just before the buses door. Slowly the line got on, there wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit so I pushed Toby into the only seat I could find and stored our bags in the head rack. Up and down the aisle a nervous buzz of men talkin was fillin the stale air, some were lighting cigarettes and sneakin little sips of moonshine outta hip flasks. Suddenly the activity was silenced when a man in uniform at the top of the bus made his presence known. by his stripes I could see he was a Corporal, underneath his arm he carried a leather horse whip. ''Pay attention you mother's'' he screamed, ''You have been assigned to the 93rd Division.'' somethin made me sit up and take heed real quick when he spoke, then our eye's met.
''I am Corporal Thomas Maidstone, your commanding officer'' he said smiling over at me. ''And your black asses are mine now.''
I watched as he made his way down the bus looking from side to side at each of us in turn, the air of arrogance followed behind him like a bad smell.
Unsurprisingly he stopped in the aisle beside Toby and I, he bent down real slow like till his mouth was close to my ear. his breath smelt of cigars and whiskey. ''Make sure you take real good care of your friend Samuel, war is a dangerous place'' he whispered, ''People get killed.'' I looked at him sideways outta the corner of my eye, but never gave him the pleasure of turnin my head. Poor Toby just couldn’t hold hisself still, his nervousness was makin him fidget and squirm. The next I know Tommy swung that whip of his hard across Toby's face, the sound of it made me feel stricken with hate. The worst was he was fixin to do it again, that was until I grabbed his hand 'fore he could strike. I squeezed his wrist so tight just like I was ringin a chickens neck for supper. I could see his face turn into a portrait of pain, he began to moan and cry like a baby. I was aiming to snap that bone like a dry twig. But a shout with the sound of authority stopped me short. ''What the hell is going on!?'' it bellowed from the front of the bus. It was General Charles C Ballou, I recognized him from the pictures I'd seen in the papers. I let Tommy's hand go right away thinkin for sure I was done for. But I guess he musta knew what Tommy had done, conciderin blood was pourin out of Toby's cheek...
''Get the bus moving Corporal'' was all he said. ''Now, god damn it!''
The rage in Tommy's eye's was apparent. ''I'm gonna kill you boy!'' he choked quietly. ''Both of you!''
He got off the bus beatin his whip off'a the side of his leg in anger.
It would be three months before our paths would cross again. After a short bit of training we were shipped across to France. The journey was long and tiresome by ship. Needless to say Toby was sick most of the way, he found his only release from throw'in up was when he was sleeping up on deck. By the time we embarked he had lost about six pounds and I had to put another hole in his trouser belt so as to stop them fall'in down. All the way there I thought about killin. we had practised on stuffed dummy’s made up to look like German soldiers during training, stickin our bayonets into their straw belly's and screamin out loud. But I was scared of doin it for real. I felt sick at the whole idea. When we arrived in the port city of Brest, Toby and I along with most of our company were assigned to the 369th infantry. But we never seen any fightin right away, instead we was put to work with the Supply Services. it seems Momma was right, the war is just as segregated as the places back home. we eat on our own and even here we have our own latrines. But Shit is shit, that's what I say.
From sunrise to sunset we just load up trucks with food and ammunition headed for the front lines. we don't get much sleep with the noise of the artillery in the distance and the god damn constant rain. my feet aint been dry since I landed here. But truly, I thank God that this is all me and Toby have to worry about. But it didn’t last, it wasn’t long before we heard that things weren’t goin well, rumours were spreadin that thousands of men were dying and that soon we would be expected to fight. Each day we waited for the news. meanwhile my stomach was rememberin that nervous energy I had that night when I lay awake. it makes me think of Momma and Daddy and my little sister Abigail. It makes me smile to myself when I remember she wouldn’t let go of me when I was tryin to get on the bus.
After about ten weeks of mud, rain and diggin holes the telegram filtered down the line, we had received our orders to join up with the French 16th Division.
Foret d'Argonne is over eight hundred kilometres from Port Brest, ten canvas covered trucks with over three hundred men trundle along at a slow pace moving through green lush country side unblemished by war. I look out in awe at its beauty, parts of it remind me of home. We pass streams and rivers, tall forests and abandoned farms. I cannot understand why all this is happenin on such a fine day, for once the rain has stopped. What I notice most of all is there are no birds in the trees, it seems they are the only one's wise enough to stay away. Frightened by the sounds of cannon fire and screams of the dying, I reckon, sounds that are getting evermore closer the more miles we travel.
When we finally reach Givet the chaos of men running with stretchers towards the trenches is overwhelming, for everyone that passes empty, two return with bodies mutilated and bloody. The mud is a sickening red color, horse's, men and mules carrying munitions are struggling to move in the thickness of it. If anyone could paint a picture of hell this would surely be it. The sweet sickly stench of death hangs heavy in the air as we pass by white blood stained tents where the dying and the wounded are being cared for. Men with wheel barrows push their way through the sodden earth, with blood dripping onto wooden spoked wheels. We watch as they tip their load of amputated legs and arms into a newly dug hole. Not far away are rows and rows of graves, some already filled, others waitin ready for their next occupants. The sound of cannon and rifle fire echoes all around us. Then we stop.
A French speaking officer orders us down from the truck in broken English. ''Vite! Vite!'' he shouts waving his arm in a circular motion while pointing at a dugout made up of mud and sandbags.
''Assemble there, Allez, qui''
''Stay with me'' I say to Toby ''You keep close now, you hear.'' He nods back nervously. ''Good''
About twenty meters beyond the graves a few shattered trees mark the middle of no mans land, a stretch of ground between us and the German forces. They have allowed a pause in the fightin so each can recover their dead.
''Ve hav only 20 minutes left'' the French officer tells our small group. ''You must pair up and get a stretcher, you two'' he points at me and Toby. ''Vite!''
The rest do likewise in a fit of disorganized panic, then the officer leads us out into the battlefield, his sidearm is drawn and ready to fire. As we slowly move near to the shattered trees it is impossible to count the number of bodies strewn around, some are headless, armless, and others cut in half. The officer points quietly to those he wishes to be recovered, all the while keeping his gun raised. I soon realize there is no way we can get to them all in the time we have left. ''Only the wounded'' he calls out. Toby and I pass by a young white boy who is lying on his back. he is tryin hard to keep his guts inside his belly with his two hands. Tears are streamin down his face and he is screamin for his Momma. ''Help me please'' he asks as we stop beside him. Mud specks litter his face and his uniform is torn and bloody, his right foot is missing at the ankle. ''Looks like he done step on a mine'' Toby says to me. Then my eye's begin to narrow, I try to see through the dirt and the blood. ''I know you'' I say out loud. Toby looks at me and then to the white boy with his face screwed up as if I've lost my mind. I quietly point to the ground a'fore jerkin my eye's around to see where the officer is. The realization of what I'm showin him opens Toby's mouth into a gawp, layin just aside his arm is a leather horse whip. ''It's Tommy'' he finally whispers back to me. ''What should we do Samuel?''
I kneel down beside him and rest my arm on my leg. ''Hello Tommy'' I say. I watch his eye's widen when he hears my voice. I figure he now knows who we are. ''I bet you're feelin real cold layin in that wet ground, Huh, Tommy?''
He nods without speakin. ''Don’t you remember what you said to me Tommy?, war is a dangerous place - people get killed.''
A'fore I can say more the French officer calls out in our direction, ''Is he wounded?''
I look at Toby who is standin, shakin with fright, then to Tommy.
''No sir'' I shout back. ''This one, He's dead'' I smile down at him. He looks up at me real scared, his face begins a silent scream as I swing my rifle round off'a my shoulder then take one more look in the officers direction a'fore I push my bayonet slowly into his chest. Blood and air bubble out of the hole I leave behind. ''Is respect worth dyin for Tommy?'' I ask him. his eyes are blank and unforgiving as he slips away. ''I guess it is'' is all I say.
In the weeks and months that followed Toby and I fought in Aisne-Marne, the Battle of Belleau Wood and the Argonne Forest. Hell, our unit even got decorated the French Croix de Guerre for gallantry.
But I couldn’t keep my promise I made to Ella that day we were leavin. It was during the capture of Monthois that Toby was cut down by a snipers bullet on the 9th of November 1918. I buried him myself where he fell.
We did gain some regard during our time on the battlefield, mostly by the French soldiers, but that was short lived. things never really changed back home.
Copyright of Will Neill, 2014. No undernourished use is allowed.
''Dying for Respect''(Will Neill)
''Dying for Respect''
It was the summer of 1917 when I first got my call up papers, the hostility in Europe had been going on for three long years. News reports since January had talked about how some in our Government were looking to take a more active role in the war, though most were still opposed to it, even the president himself, Woodrow Wilson, declared that "We Americans are to proud to fight" in his speech to congress after the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915. But as time moved on it became more obvious that we would be dragged into the conflict. For a while Germany upheld their agreement to cease any more attacks on passenger ships, but all that ended with the Zimmerman Telegraph to Mexico inviting them to become allies of Germany in return for finance to fight their own war against the United States. The communication was intercepted by the British and released to the public by Wilson. Zimmerman had promised help in the re-acquisition of their lost territories, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. He proclaimed this act as casus belli- "A cause for war". by April America had began hostilities with Germany.
Daddy had sat glued to his radio broadcast doing nothing more than shakin his head and puffin hard on his clay pipe. He kept mumbling something under his breath every time Woodrow paused. Momma just rolled her eyes's at him and hoped he wouldn’t cuss in front of my young sister Abigail. I do believe he wore away an inch of wood off his rocking chair that evening.
"Are you listening to this boy!" he said to me pointing his pipe end at the wireless.
"You mark my words Samuel, we's gonna be in this god forsakin war soon son, never mind what they sayin."
''Hush now Daddy'' Momma shouted at him. ''They aint gonna ask young Negro boy's to fight.''
I allowed my self a smile after Momma winked across at me, it wasn't often she stood up to Daddy, but I wasn’t sure that maybe she was right about what she had just said, that kinda took the edge off the humor she intended. I felt a nervous energy come over me as I listened to the rest of the Presidents speech, it stayed with me all night.
Daddy rocked back and forth something fierce on the porch until the sun went down, I think he was sittin broodin in his chair at Mommas chastisement. Even his favorite country blues channel did nothin to relax him any. Momma was cuttin apples to make cider on the kitchen table when I came in, she caught my eye and smiled at me as I shuffled my way past into the living room. ''Are you Okay Jnr'' she asked me quietly, pausing her peeling. ''I dunno,-maybe!'' I replied, I could see her waiting for more. ''I heard rumors Momma.''
''You bin talkin to Toby Jones again?''
I shrugged my shoulders knowing full well she was gonna grill me some on the subject.
''He says they ar-'' she cuts me off sharp clicking her tongue, ''I'm surprised at you Samuel White, listening to that dumb boy who can barely write his name.'' I watch her wave that peelin knife around as she gets more and more agitated. ''He don’t know diddly!''
''Your Momma's Right son'' I heard Daddy say as he stood in the doorway cuttin out the light of the dying sun that was bleeding yellow into the kitchen. He wiped his pen knife off his worn denim trouser leg and then blew hard into his empty pipe, as he passed me by he smelt of burnt tobacco and cider wine. A big man pushed into an off white collarless shirt at least one size too small. Most likely A throw away Momma had acquired from her cleaning work for Ben Maidstone, the main employer of most of the Negro men in the town.
His wife liked to call her ''Pearly'' on account of her smile, I reckon, so it sorta stuck. Ben ran and owned one of the biggest cotton farms in Oklahoma.
''What is this you say about rumors?'' Daddy asked jerkin his gaze between Momma and me. ''Well?''
Momma just rolled her eye's again and decided to go back to her apple peelin, I don't think she wanted to get into any more upsets with Daddy before bedtime, I guess she figured once was enough. That left me to speak up.
''Like I tried to say before, Toby heard that the Government was gettin real nervous about what was happening oversea's and maybe both black and white men is gonna go fight there'.'
Daddy let out a real loud belly laugh that shook the light fitting on the ceiling, then he leaned over and slapped his leg like I had told him a real funny joke or somethin.
''There! Pearly, wasn’t I right all along, didn't I say we's be in this war soon'' before he could finish he took a fit a coughin cos he was laughin so much.
'Momma looked at him all confused, ''Why is you all hysterical Sam White'' she asked, ''what do you find so funny?''
''You was right'' he choked back. ''Toby Jones sure is dumb if he thinks he is gonna be fightin along side some white boy, lord, more like's he'd be polishin his boots.''
Daddy's laughter hung in the room as an echo long after he left and headed into bed. Momma carried on with her cider makin, puttin all her skinned apples into a big steel bucket that was boiling over the stove.
''Hand me the sugar, Jnr'' she said pointing at the large brown bag on the counter. I seen her look at me sideways. ''Doesn’t Toby's father work for Governor Bailey?''
''I guess so'' I replied ''Kinda like a butler, or servant. I'm not sure.''
''Well perhaps Toby ain’t so stupid after all, I reckon that maybe his Daddy has overheard him talkin at one of his fancy dinners he throws for them rich folk. Why I even know myself that Ben and Martha were up at his mansion suppin wine with a bonafide General by the name a Charles C Ballou last month.'' Momma nodded a informed look at me while she poured in her sugar, it made the water turn white and hiss. ''You know Tommy Maidstone don’t you son?''
''I know him'' I answered still watchin the sugar melt into the boiling froth.
''He's about your age, ain’t he?''
I sighed and let my shoulders drop, it sounded like Momma was gonna give me some long winded story about how this may be a good thing, or that maybe we could get a lot of respect if we got to fight along side white people. Most likely she'd been hearin this put around the segregated coffee rooms in town. I had heard that same thing from Toby. But I was wrong, all she done was turn around and give me the tightest hug I can ever remember getting.
''Me and your Daddy love you so much Sam.''
''Are you cryin Momma?'' I asked her when she pulled away.
''No'' she croaked pullin a rag from her pocket ''It's just the steam off'a this here bucket is makin my eye's water, now git to bed'' she shushed at me. ''Go on!''
Daddy was already snoring, I could hear him through my wall as I lay down on my pillow, too much cider wine I expected.
Now Momma may be a small woman but she sure is big when it comes to makin noise in the mornings. Daddy starts at dawn workin on Maidstones farm, he's the overseer of all twenty men including my friend Toby who picks the cotton. She likes to get up and make Daddy's sourdough bread and cheese sandwiches.
Once he's gone she takes coffee on the porch before she gets ready for work herself. Weather permitting of course. I didn’t sleep well last night, that nervous energy I got took a long time to settle down, so Momma's fussin seems louder than usual. Most days somewhere around seven or so she knocks on my door. Today I'm roused and dressed long before she has finished. ''You're up early'' she smiles at me as I meander towards the porch. it is a fine sunny morning and the smell of newly made coffee coming from the stove hangs in the air.
''I heard you being restless again Jnr, you O.K?'' she asks me quietly, and I see the look of worry form into a frown upon her tired looking face.
''Sometimes I feel scared Momma'' I reply.
''I know son'' is all she says, then she runs her fingers through my hair just like she did when I was a young kid.
''Get yourself off to work Samuel and quit your worryin, you ain’t even nineteen yet'' she smiles again, ''lord you got your whole life ahead of you.''
What was left over from Daddy's sandwiches Momma has packed into my leather lunch pail along with an apple, she cups my face in her hands and kisses me tenderly on both cheeks ''You take care now Jnr'' she says ''And don't you be late for supper mind!''
Tomorrow is Sunday, Toby and I usually go fishin at Maidstone's lake each spring as soon as the May flies are hatched, so we agreed to meet up after church. Toby ain’t as bright as he should be for his age, Momma says that's on account of him being so sizable when he was born. ''Ella is such a tiny woman, it's a wonder she managed to push him out at all'' I heard her gossip once, she means no disrespect of course, Momma and Ella have been good friends since she settled here. I sort'a look after him much like a big brother, and he's a good man to have around when them white boy's feel like a fight on a Saturday night in town. He don't say much mostly, but he don't need to.
My day at Langston lumber yard feels like two rolled into one, most likely on account of my restless night I imagine. My boss man Joe must'a noticed my lack of enthusiasm mind cos he went and sent me home early, told me to come back Monday with a clear head ready for work. I sure hope he don’t say anything to Momma, she'd be real upset that I was slack'in in my employment.
At church the reverend talks about the war in Europe, praise'n the lord that we are still not involved. mind you the Hallelujahs he calls for are less than bountiful. I guess the rumors are getting around the congregation.
By the time I get to the lake I can see Toby is already there. His back is to me as I approach, he's sittin real still with his fishin pole between his legs, watchin the afternoon sun reflecting off the crisp still water. It Sparkles like fancy expensive diamonds being brokin only by the rippling rings of feeding fish. He doesn’t hear me coming.
''Are you okay man?'' I ask when I'm just behind him. The shock of what I see when he turns takes my breath away. His left eye is completely closed and swollen red with blood, yellow bruises are beginning to form below his recently cut cheek bone's. Fist marks are still clearly evident on his face where he has been beaten repeatedly. He pulls away in pain as I touch his left shoulder and is reluctant to let me lift his shirt so as I can look. Finally he agrees. what I see brings tears rushing to my eyes. Thick raised welts criss cross his back still bloody and sore, marks that could only be made by a leather whip.
''Who did this Toby?'' I ask him. His eye's wont look at me, then slowly he whispers.
''Tommy''
''Tommy Maidstone?'' I say.
Toby just nods and looks back at the water.
''When Toby?''
''Saturday afternoon, on my way home from work, him and his friends done it.''
''Why?''
Toby just shrugs his shoulders.
''Didn’t your Daddy say something?''
''He's too afraid a losin his job I reckon.''
I help him to his feet. ''That son of a bitch is gonna pay for this Toby''
''Please Sam, no!'' he begins to cry ''It was all my fault, All I said was that we was gonna fight in the war together, but Tommy he got real mad and said he would never serve with no dumb Nigger boy.''
''That ain’t no cause to hurt you like he did.''
''Please Sam!'' he begged ''I cant lose my job.''
The thought of him smirkin and getting away with this made me sick to my stomach, but Toby was my best friend so I promised him we would speak no more of it.
''Let's get you home'' I said. ''The fish ain’t goin no-where’s.''
Toby got his papers a day or two after mine. we were ordered to report to Langston Court house, along with most of the other young black men in town. When we arrived we were ushered into a small room at the back, well away from the white draftees. Toby's Momma Ella was there fussin and cryin at the officer in charge statin how her son wasn’t able to fight in no war cos he was ''simple minded''. It did no good, so far as he was concerned Toby was drafted and that was that. ''Don’t worry'' I told her, when Momma had taken her to the side to quieten her down. ''I'll Look after him.'' She looked at me with a heartache so big she was shakin. ''You're a good Boy Samuel White'' she said, ''God bless you.''
After about two hours or so of sitting around we were herded out the back to waitin buses. I made Toby follow me closely telling him to be sure he had a good hold of his suitcase. Men and boy's were pushin and shoving, some shoutin, others just movin along with the crowd like dumb cow's in a cattle market. When we got outside military police were keepin back the crowds of wives, sisters, mothers and Fathers, most holdin out their hands for one last touch. I could see Ella, Momma and Abigail standin close to the end of the crowd just before the buses door. Slowly the line got on, there wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit so I pushed Toby into the only seat I could find and stored our bags in the head rack. Up and down the aisle a nervous buzz of men talkin was fillin the stale air, some were lighting cigarettes and sneakin little sips of moonshine outta hip flasks. Suddenly the activity was silenced when a man in uniform at the top of the bus made his presence known. by his stripes I could see he was a Corporal, underneath his arm he carried a leather horse whip. ''Pay attention you mother's'' he screamed, ''You have been assigned to the 93rd Division.'' somethin made me sit up and take heed real quick when he spoke, then our eye's met.
''I am Corporal Thomas Maidstone, your commanding officer'' he said smiling over at me. ''And your black asses are mine now.''
I watched as he made his way down the bus looking from side to side at each of us in turn, the air of arrogance followed behind him like a bad smell.
Unsurprisingly he stopped in the aisle beside Toby and I, he bent down real slow like till his mouth was close to my ear. his breath smelt of cigars and whiskey. ''Make sure you take real good care of your friend Samuel, war is a dangerous place'' he whispered, ''People get killed.'' I looked at him sideways outta the corner of my eye, but never gave him the pleasure of turnin my head. Poor Toby just couldn’t hold hisself still, his nervousness was makin him fidget and squirm. The next I know Tommy swung that whip of his hard across Toby's face, the sound of it made me feel stricken with hate. The worst was he was fixin to do it again, that was until I grabbed his hand 'fore he could strike. I squeezed his wrist so tight just like I was ringin a chickens neck for supper. I could see his face turn into a portrait of pain, he began to moan and cry like a baby. I was aiming to snap that bone like a dry twig. But a shout with the sound of authority stopped me short. ''What the hell is going on!?'' it bellowed from the front of the bus. It was General Charles C Ballou, I recognized him from the pictures I'd seen in the papers. I let Tommy's hand go right away thinkin for sure I was done for. But I guess he musta knew what Tommy had done, conciderin blood was pourin out of Toby's cheek...
''Get the bus moving Corporal'' was all he said. ''Now, god damn it!''
The rage in Tommy's eye's was apparent. ''I'm gonna kill you boy!'' he choked quietly. ''Both of you!''
He got off the bus beatin his whip off'a the side of his leg in anger.
It would be three months before our paths would cross again. After a short bit of training we were shipped across to France. The journey was long and tiresome by ship. Needless to say Toby was sick most of the way, he found his only release from throw'in up was when he was sleeping up on deck. By the time we embarked he had lost about six pounds and I had to put another hole in his trouser belt so as to stop them fall'in down. All the way there I thought about killin. we had practised on stuffed dummy’s made up to look like German soldiers during training, stickin our bayonets into their straw belly's and screamin out loud. But I was scared of doin it for real. I felt sick at the whole idea. When we arrived in the port city of Brest, Toby and I along with most of our company were assigned to the 369th infantry. But we never seen any fightin right away, instead we was put to work with the Supply Services. it seems Momma was right, the war is just as segregated as the places back home. we eat on our own and even here we have our own latrines. But Shit is shit, that's what I say.
From sunrise to sunset we just load up trucks with food and ammunition headed for the front lines. we don't get much sleep with the noise of the artillery in the distance and the god damn constant rain. my feet aint been dry since I landed here. But truly, I thank God that this is all me and Toby have to worry about. But it didn’t last, it wasn’t long before we heard that things weren’t goin well, rumours were spreadin that thousands of men were dying and that soon we would be expected to fight. Each day we waited for the news. meanwhile my stomach was rememberin that nervous energy I had that night when I lay awake. it makes me think of Momma and Daddy and my little sister Abigail. It makes me smile to myself when I remember she wouldn’t let go of me when I was tryin to get on the bus.
After about ten weeks of mud, rain and diggin holes the telegram filtered down the line, we had received our orders to join up with the French 16th Division.
Foret d'Argonne is over eight hundred kilometres from Port Brest, ten canvas covered trucks with over three hundred men trundle along at a slow pace moving through green lush country side unblemished by war. I look out in awe at its beauty, parts of it remind me of home. We pass streams and rivers, tall forests and abandoned farms. I cannot understand why all this is happenin on such a fine day, for once the rain has stopped. What I notice most of all is there are no birds in the trees, it seems they are the only one's wise enough to stay away. Frightened by the sounds of cannon fire and screams of the dying, I reckon, sounds that are getting evermore closer the more miles we travel.
When we finally reach Givet the chaos of men running with stretchers towards the trenches is overwhelming, for everyone that passes empty, two return with bodies mutilated and bloody. The mud is a sickening red color, horse's, men and mules carrying munitions are struggling to move in the thickness of it. If anyone could paint a picture of hell this would surely be it. The sweet sickly stench of death hangs heavy in the air as we pass by white blood stained tents where the dying and the wounded are being cared for. Men with wheel barrows push their way through the sodden earth, with blood dripping onto wooden spoked wheels. We watch as they tip their load of amputated legs and arms into a newly dug hole. Not far away are rows and rows of graves, some already filled, others waitin ready for their next occupants. The sound of cannon and rifle fire echoes all around us. Then we stop.
A French speaking officer orders us down from the truck in broken English. ''Vite! Vite!'' he shouts waving his arm in a circular motion while pointing at a dugout made up of mud and sandbags.
''Assemble there, Allez, qui''
''Stay with me'' I say to Toby ''You keep close now, you hear.'' He nods back nervously. ''Good''
About twenty meters beyond the graves a few shattered trees mark the middle of no mans land, a stretch of ground between us and the German forces. They have allowed a pause in the fightin so each can recover their dead.
''Ve hav only 20 minutes left'' the French officer tells our small group. ''You must pair up and get a stretcher, you two'' he points at me and Toby. ''Vite!''
The rest do likewise in a fit of disorganized panic, then the officer leads us out into the battlefield, his sidearm is drawn and ready to fire. As we slowly move near to the shattered trees it is impossible to count the number of bodies strewn around, some are headless, armless, and others cut in half. The officer points quietly to those he wishes to be recovered, all the while keeping his gun raised. I soon realize there is no way we can get to them all in the time we have left. ''Only the wounded'' he calls out. Toby and I pass by a young white boy who is lying on his back. he is tryin hard to keep his guts inside his belly with his two hands. Tears are streamin down his face and he is screamin for his Momma. ''Help me please'' he asks as we stop beside him. Mud specks litter his face and his uniform is torn and bloody, his right foot is missing at the ankle. ''Looks like he done step on a mine'' Toby says to me. Then my eye's begin to narrow, I try to see through the dirt and the blood. ''I know you'' I say out loud. Toby looks at me and then to the white boy with his face screwed up as if I've lost my mind. I quietly point to the ground a'fore jerkin my eye's around to see where the officer is. The realization of what I'm showin him opens Toby's mouth into a gawp, layin just aside his arm is a leather horse whip. ''It's Tommy'' he finally whispers back to me. ''What should we do Samuel?''
I kneel down beside him and rest my arm on my leg. ''Hello Tommy'' I say. I watch his eye's widen when he hears my voice. I figure he now knows who we are. ''I bet you're feelin real cold layin in that wet ground, Huh, Tommy?''
He nods without speakin. ''Don’t you remember what you said to me Tommy?, war is a dangerous place - people get killed.''
A'fore I can say more the French officer calls out in our direction, ''Is he wounded?''
I look at Toby who is standin, shakin with fright, then to Tommy.
''No sir'' I shout back. ''This one, He's dead'' I smile down at him. He looks up at me real scared, his face begins a silent scream as I swing my rifle round off'a my shoulder then take one more look in the officers direction a'fore I push my bayonet slowly into his chest. Blood and air bubble out of the hole I leave behind. ''Is respect worth dyin for Tommy?'' I ask him. his eyes are blank and unforgiving as he slips away. ''I guess it is'' is all I say.
In the weeks and months that followed Toby and I fought in Aisne-Marne, the Battle of Belleau Wood and the Argonne Forest. Hell, our unit even got decorated the French Croix de Guerre for gallantry.
But I couldn’t keep my promise I made to Ella that day we were leavin. It was during the capture of Monthois that Toby was cut down by a snipers bullet on the 9th of November 1918. I buried him myself where he fell.
We did gain some regard during our time on the battlefield, mostly by the French soldiers, but that was short lived. things never really changed back home.
Copyright of Will Neill, 2014. No undernourished use is allowed.
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