December 10th- Between This Breath and the One That Follows Part 3 by brianna441

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Click here for Part 2

“Joey! Leave your sister alone!”

The mother’s shout brought Dave’s thoughts back to the present. With a smile at the antics of little boys, he put out his cigarette, the butt going into his jacket pocket.

He looked at his watch again, checking the time.

Damn it, he thought when he realized the time on his watch hadn’t changed since he last looked. One of these days, I’m gonna get a good watch, a really good watch, the Rolls Royce of watches. He shook his wrist, trying to get the watch working again. Piece of crap!

With a sigh, he looked around. Not seeing his friend, he pulled another cigarette from his jacket and returned to his thoughts.

Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie were really happy to see me when I got back. Picked me up at the airport, took me back home, even had my old room ready and waiting.

His eyes did a slow scan of the area again.

They’ve been really good to me, Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie. Took me in when I was ten, put up with me through all that ‘teen years’ shit. But I was startin’ to go crazy and I just didn’t know who to talk to…

Southern California, October, 1967

He’d been back in Los Angeles, at his uncle and aunt’s house, the place that had been his home, for two days. His trip to New York had not turned out the way he’d planned. His visit with Ma and Nicky had been great. But his search for a place to belong had failed. Now, standing outside on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, he felt restless and unsettled.

He glanced over to the next house and spotted John sitting on his back porch and he smiled. This was the first he’d seen John since his return.

John Blaine was a police officer, a detective, and had taken the then cocky, ten-year-old New York transplant under his wing. John had been like a second father to him, closer than even his Uncle Al. Seeing him now brought a smile to Dave’s face.

“John!” he shouted, waving his arm.

John saw him and stood up. “David? C’mon over here!”

He stubbed out his cigarette and stuck the butt in his pocket as he jumped off the porch. He hopped the fence that separated the two houses and climbed the porch steps. Now he stood in front of John, hands stuck in his pockets, suddenly nervous. “Hey, John.”

“Hey, yourself,” John replied, pulling him into a bear hug. After a moment, John stepped back, still holding on to Dave’s arms. “Let me look at you,” he said as he ran his eyes over his body. John laughed as he pulled the ever-present knit cap from Dave’s head, running his hand over the barely-there hair. “You’re looking good, David. Really good.” John laughed as Dave smiled. “Hey, how about a beer?”

“That…that would be great.” Dave stuttered around his face-splitting smile. As John went into the house, Dave bounced on his toes, feeling lighter and happier than he’d felt in ages.

John returned and handed a bottle to Dave, then sat on the porch steps. Dave sat down next to him and took a drink.

“So, David…how are you?” John’s eyes searched his and Dave felt like the man was seeing into his soul. He knew he couldn’t hold back the truth if he tried.

“I’m good, John. Really.” He saw the doubt in John’s eyes. “It’s just…”

John put his arm around Dave’s shoulder. “Talk to me, son. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

So Dave did just that.

Now, an hour, four cigarettes and two bottles of beer later, David ran out of words. He pulled another cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it, waiting for John’s response to his tale.

“You’re searching, David. You’re looking for your place.”

“I know,” Dave replied, exasperated. “But why can’t I find it? Not here, not in New York. I don’t understand it, John. It’s like…like everything’s changed.”

John slowly shook his head. “Everything hasn’t changed, David. As a matter of fact, everything is pretty much the same. It’s you that has changed.”

Dave looked hard at John, surprised by his comment. “What? What do you mean?”

“Look at you, David. You left New York a ten-year-old boy, full of hurt and anger. You left here an eighteen-year-old young man, full of dreams. Now…you’re not that little boy anymore. And you’re not that naïve young man, either.

“You’ve changed. You’ve been to war. You’ve seen things, and probably done things, that no person should have to see or do. You’ve experienced the worst of man’s nature, the futility of war. Now you come back here and wonder why things don’t feel the same?”

“Yeah,” Dave responded slowly. “How did you know?”

“I felt the same way when I returned from Korea.”

“Korea? I didn’t know you were over there! Why don’t I know this about you?”

“Do you want to discuss your time in ‘Nam with anyone?”

Dave shook his head.

“Neither did I,” John continued. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even want to remember it. But it changed me, changed who I was. And it took me a while to figure out what I was going to do and who I was going to be.” He patted Dave on the back. “And you, David, you have to give yourself the chance to do the same thing. You have to accept the fact that your old life is over. Now you have to decide what you’re going to do with the rest of this new one.”

“Yeah.” Dave chuckled. “I’m just not sure I’ll know it when I see it, ya know?” At John’s smile, he continued. “Ma says I’ll know…when I find my place, where I belong. She says I’ll know it in my heart and in my soul.”

“I never met your mother, David. But I think I love her.”

Both men laughed then sat quietly for a few minutes, Dave finishing his cigarette and sticking the butt into his jacket pocket. “And how do I explain this to Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie? How do I tell them that the home they’ve given me all these years just doesn’t fit me anymore?”

“Al will understand,” John assured him. When Dave looked up, he smiled. “World War Two.”

Dave nodded. He remembered hearing that his Uncle Al had been in that war but it just hadn’t clicked until now.

“Now Rosie, she probably won’t understand. She’ll cry.” John smiled. “But she loves you more than life itself, so she’ll be fine.” They sat in silence for a few minutes before John continued, asking, “So, do you have any idea what you want to do, where you’ll start looking?”

“Yeah,” Dave said slowly. “Yeah, I think I know what I want to do first.” He turned to sit with his back against the post, facing John, then continued. “There was this guy in my unit, Francisco Del la Cruz. All the guys called him ‘Chico’ but to me, he was always ‘Frankie’.“

He paused in thought, turning the silver ring on his left pinkie, then continued. “Frankie was a great kid. He was my best friend, John. We looked out for each other, watched each other’s backs. And he was funny, always playing jokes. He was never mean or nothin’. Just always keepin’ the guys in stitches, ya know?”

John nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Now Frankie and his brothers, they grew up in East LA. His family came in from Mexico just before he was born. They became citizens and were proud to be called Americans. Then his father was killed in a construction accident and, a month later, Frankie got his notice. As soon as Frankie left, his mother took his brothers and moved back to Mexico, where she had family. He said she didn’t want the Army to take any more of her sons.” Dave was quiet for a few minutes, just turning the ring, before John spoke.

“He didn’t come back, did he?”

Dave slowly shook his head. “We were out on patrol. Sniper got him. Bullet right to the head. He never knew what hit him.”

“Was that his ring?” John asked.

“Yeah. His mother gave it to him. I…I just needed something to remember.” Dave pulled out another cigarette and lit it before he continued. “I brought back some of his things, ya know. The things the Army wouldn’t think of returning to his family. I think I’d like to go down there and return them myself. I think Frankie would want me to do that.”

John stood, signaling that their conversation was coming to a close. He waited until Dave stood before he spoke. “I think Frankie would appreciate that, David.” He watched as Dave hung his head, as if embarrassed. He placed a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, David. And a good friend. You go down to Mexico and do what you have to do. And while you’re traveling, you look around, think about what you want to do. And if you find it, great! And if you don’t, you just come back here and we’ll see, Al and I, if we can help you find it.”

Dave nodded then held out his hand for John to shake. John took his hand then pulled him into another hug. They parted, John watching as Dave walked slowly back to his uncle’s house.

After his discussion with John, he talked to his aunt and uncle, trying to explain where his mind was and what his plans were. John had been right, Uncle Al understood. Aunt Rosie cried but just a little. Then she made him promise to write at least once a week.

As the discussion ended, Al stood to face Dave, placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, boy. And if you don’t, you come back here and we’ll figure it out together, okay?” As Dave nodded, Al pulled him into a firm hug. “You’re a good boy, David. I would be proud to call you my son.”

A few more tears and hugs, then Dave started making plans.

Mexico, November, 1967

It took a few trains and a couple of buses but, as the month turned to November, he was in Guadalajara, Mexico.

He spent a few days enjoying the sights and sounds of the city, the mariachi music and, of course, the tequila. And there may have been one or two lovely ladies that were happy to welcome the young foreigner.

But he realized that he was only delaying the inevitable so he set out to find Frankie’s family.

He knew that they lived in a small town north of the city and, after a couple of hours walking, found it with relative ease. It took him a little while to locate the home but, when he did, he knocked on the door and told the woman who answered who he was, that he’d been a friend of Frankie’s.

He was nervous and unsure of his welcome but those feeling were quickly dismissed when he was pulled into a fierce hug, engulfed in tears and laughter, as if he were Frankie himself returning.

He spent some time alone with Frankie’s mother, Maria, telling her of Frankie’s friendship, his days in camp and, eventually, his death. He gave her the mementoes that he’d carried home from Southeast Asia. She quietly asked questions and cried silent tears.

She recognized the ring on Dave’s finger and when he offered to return it to her, she patted his hand, telling him that Frankie would want him to have it, that the ring was right where it belonged. She thanked him for bringing her son’s things home and for being Frankie’s friend. He found himself drained by the experience and accepted her offer of a place to wash up and rest.

By evening, the quiet house had turned into a party. People had been arriving all day, everyone bringing various foods and drinks, all coming to welcome ‘Frankie’s friend’. It was almost a fiesta.

Surrounded by Frankie’s mother and brothers, along with various aunts, uncles, and cousins, he answered their questions and told tales of his and Frankie’s exploits, some only slightly exaggerated.

He spent the next few days working with the uncles in the fields, playing with the brothers and cousins but, by the end of the week, he knew he couldn’t stay. The family treated him as one of their own but the memories of Frankie and his time in Vietnam, memories that he’d been trying so hard to forget, stayed forefront in his mind. They began to turn his dreams into nightmares again and he knew it would only get worse if he stayed.

So he decided he would set off on his next adventure.

On his plane trip from New York to Los Angeles he’d read an article in Time magazine about the Huichol Indians and was mesmerized by their amazing artwork. While in Guadalajara, he heard of a Huichol village about two days walk east of the city. He decided that he would visit and, hopefully, get to know the people. Frankie’s family sent him on his way with love, loaded down with more food and drink then he thought he would need.

Now, two days into his trek through the jungle, he was reconsidering his decision. As he hacked his way through the undergrowth, he was on high alert, his eyes continually scanning the trees. His memories of hidden snipers and of buried explosives kept him vigilant. He was constantly on watch for snakes and spiders, animals that, in Vietnam, could kill you in seconds. And the heat. My god, the heat. He’d somehow forgotten the smothering heat and the oppressive humidity of the jungle.

Pausing for a moment, he wiped the sweat from his face.

“God, I hate the jungle,” he said aloud. He dropped his duffle to the ground then lowered his shaking body down to sit on it, taking a sip of water from his canteen. “What the hell was I thinking?”

He shivered as a sudden chill swept over his body. He started feeling the chill last night, after he’d bunked down in a clearing. All day his body ached and seemed to alternate between the chill and the heat. There were moments when he swore he saw things or people in the trees, only to find that nothing was there. He felt exhausted, drained of energy, more than he expected the trek warranted.

Maybe I just need a little rest, he thought.

From his seat atop the duffle, he slid to the ground, dropping his canteen. In seconds his awareness of the jungle and all the threats it contained were lost in unconsciousness.

His next awareness was of a voice, quiet murmurs, and coolness moving across his face. He tried but failed to make out the words as his consciousness faded away. His mind returned to nightmares of being surrounded by jungle, of being attacked by animals and by enemies in the trees. When he thought he’d lose his mind from the fear, the torments faded, returning again to the cool on his face.

He struggled to open his eyes. His blurred vision slowly focused in on the face of a young boy who was wiping a damp rag over his face. They locked gazes for a second then the boy dropped the rag and ran. He watched the boy leave through a covered doorway then spent an unknown length of time cataloging his surroundings.

He was inside somewhere, maybe a tent or a hut, lying on a pallet on the floor. The darkness was almost complete, the only light filtering in around the edges of the cloth that covered the doorway. Suddenly, the cloth was moved aside and light filled the room. He clamped his eyes shut at the blinding brightness.

He felt the cool rag pressed once again to his face and another voice, lightly accented but different from the first, spoke softly.

“Well, Javi tells me you are back with the living, my friend. Is that true?”

He slowly opened his eyes and saw the young boy, a huge smile on his face, kneeling on his left. On his right was a young man, maybe around his own age, also smiling at him. The young man reached away then came back with a cup, placing it to his lips. “This is just water, my friend. Drink a little. It will help.”

He sipped at the water, relishing the feel of the cool smoothness sliding down his dry throat. After a few sips the cup was taken away.

“Now…my name is Miguel and this,” pointing to the young boy, “this is Javi. You are in the village of the Huichol Indians. Javi found you three days ago, lying in the jungle. The men of the village brought you back here. You have been fighting the fever ever since.”

He tried to speak, choking out the first few words. “What…what’s wrong with me?” he finally managed to ask.

He heard Javi laugh, saying what sounded like “pequeno bebe” as he moved away. Miguel chuckled and smiled at Dave. “As I said, you have had a very high fever, a small rash on your body and…other issues. I do not know what the sickness is really called. Here it is just known as The Fever but everyone who lives here gets it. But that usually happens when they are babies.”

“Pequeno bebe?” he managed to ask.

“It means little baby.”

He smiled as Miguel continued. “But now your rash has disappeared, your other issues have ceased to be a problem. We have just been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Well,” he whispered. “It seems that I’ve managed to do that.”

“Yes, yes, you have.” Miguel smiled and nodded. “And now that you have, I will tell you this…go back to sleep. We will talk more when you wake in a while.”

He closed his eyes and fell into a relaxing slumber, free from the nightmares of the jungle.

On his next awakening, Javi and Miguel were again at his side. There was more cool water and, this time, warm broth. After eating and a little more conversation, he fell into a more restful sleep.

Over the next few days, he began to recover. The fever was gone, his strength slowly returning. His pattern of eating and sleeping was modified to include time talking with Miguel and his constant companion, Javi.

The young boy, whom Dave discovered was eight-years-old, was full of tales that sounded exciting but were totally incomprehensible to Dave. When Javi realized that Dave wasn’t understanding, he had a brilliant idea, which he had Miguel explain. Dave would teach Javi English and Javi would teach Dave Spanish. So Dave’s free waking moments became devoted to these language lessons.

Miguel, it turned out, was a university student, here with a group of students and a professor, building more permanent housing for the villagers. He spent most of his free time with Dave, telling him the history of the village and of the improvements they hoped to make.

After a week in what Dave found out was the sick house, he ventured out, moving into the building that housed the student workers. When he voiced his desire for a bath, Javi led him into the jungle.

They walked for a short distance, Javi periodically striking a tree with the large stick he carried, letting out a shout. At Dave’s question of what he was doing and why, Javi explained that it was to scare the animals away. Before Dave could question any further, they arrived at a large pond that was fed by a waterfall. The scene was picturesque.

Without a pause, Javi removed his clothes and began wading into the water.

Dave grab his arm. “We take a bath in here?” he asked cautiously, pointing to himself then at the water.

“Si, bath.” Javi nodded, a smile on his face.

Dave’s mind went back to other times, other jungles and being neck deep in other bodies of water. “What about leeches? Are there leeches in there?”

Javi shook his head, clearly not understanding Dave’s nervousness. Dave looked around, trying to find something to help him explain to the boy. Searching the ground, he found a worm. He picked it up and showed it to Javi then, with the boy watching, he placed the worm on his arm and motioned as if he was trying to pull it off but it was stuck. He repeated this action a few more times, on his legs and on his chest, until Javi’s face lit up in understanding.

“Sanguijuelas?” he shouted. He picked up a small stick and used it to mimic Dave’s motions, showing that he understood.

“Yeah, leeches.” Dave then pointed to the water, his motion asking the question again.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No sanguijuelas.” With that, he dove into the water, coming up a few feet from the edge. He stood and patted his body, turning around to assure Dave that his body had not picked up any of the vile creatures that worried him.

Dave nodded then removed his clothes and cautiously moved into the pond. He tried to enjoy the refreshing feel of the water but his mind kept returning to Javi’s earlier actions to “scare the animals away.” That, and the possibility of other unknown creatures in the water made him unable to relax.

God, I hate the jungle, he thought, not for the last time.

His days fell into a routine, waking early and working with the students in the cooler morning hours. He’d spent a few summers during his high school years working light construction and enjoyed the physical labor.

During the heat of the afternoon he wandered the village, talking with the people and watching the artisans. He was fascinated with the different works, from the beading to the pottery to the blankets and other textiles, each article with a unique design but all in the same vein, making their origins easily recognizable.

Javi was his constant companion, explaining the meanings behind the works and translating the words that Dave hadn’t been able to understand. Javi’s English had improved by leaps and bounds, causing him to become almost fluent in the language. Dave didn’t learn quite so easily and still struggled a bit.

The evenings were spent with various families, with the workers and students, eating and drinking, laughing and singing. Miguel became a good friend and talked about his days at the university and his plans to become an architect. Dave spoke of his time in New York and California and his time in Viet Nam.

And sometimes Dave was able to forget that he was surrounded by the ominous jungle. Sometimes.

It was almost mid-day when Dave heard the commotion outside. They had completed their morning work and Dave was changing his shirt and thinking about what he could grab to eat.

He walked outside to find the village in turmoil. A crowd had gathered in the center of the clearing, surrounding something on the ground. Men were running about, shouting words that Dave didn’t understand, grabbing weapons, heading towards the jungle. Dave didn’t know what was happening but his fear seemed to build as he moved toward the crowd.

Suddenly Miguel was there in front of him, holding him back.

“What’s goin’ on? What’s happened?” Dave asked, pushing against Miguel’s hold, still trying to get to the see what was surrounded by the crowd.

Miguel continued to push back. “No, David. Don’t!”

Dave stopped and finally looked at his friend, seeing the pain and anguish in his eyes. “What happened, Miguel? Tell me.”

Miguel just looked at him for a moment, deciding. “There was an attack, my friend. By the waterfall…a jaguar…it killed…”

Suddenly, Dave’s heart was in his throat. “Who, Miguel? Who was killed?”

But the fear and sadness in Miguel’s eyes told him all he needed to know. He stared at Miguel, waiting for him to say the fateful words.

“It’s Javi, David. The jaguar killed Javi.”

He moved forward, breaking Miguel’s hold on him and pushed his way through the crowd to find Javi’s mother kneeling beside the obviously dead body of her son. Dave went to his knees beside the boy, tears filling his eyes as he took in the bite wounds in the shoulder and the gaping wounds from the cat’s claws across the stomach.

Javi’s face was unmarred and, if you didn’t look at the rest of his body, you would think the young boy was sleeping peacefully.

Dave ran his hand ovger the boy’s dark hair and down the side of his face, knowing the boy was dead but unable to accept the fact. Slowly he looked up at Javi’s mother, into her tear-filled eyes and, suddenly, he couldn’t take it. He had to get away, he had to run.

He stumbled as he pushed his way back through the crowd, angry thoughts racing though his mind.

The fucking jungle! The fucking jungle took another one! I hate the fucking jungle!

He pushed past people, not seeing their faces. He didn’t hear their words. He just had to get away.

He ran without direction, until the vegetation loomed before him. He stumbled to a stop, looking up at the massive wall of trees and foliage.

“You fucking bastard!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face. “You fucking jungle!”

He jumped as he felt a hand on his arm. Turning to confront whoever was intruding on his grief, he found Miguel, saw the same sadness on his face that he felt in his heart and, suddenly, he collapsed into the younger man’s arms.

He didn’t remember how it happened but Dave found himself back in the building that housed the students, sitting on the bunk that he slept on, Miguel handing him a cup of water.

“Drink, my friend. Please.”

Dave took the cup and drained it then let the cup fall to the floor. Finally, he looked at Miguel, searching his eyes. “What happened, Miguel? How? I mean, Javi was always so careful. He knew the dangers. How did this happen to him?”

Miguel shook his head, looking at Dave with saddened eyes. “I don’t know, my friend. Javi, he was alone. Maybe he got distracted; maybe he didn’t see the cat. I don’t know. He was only a little boy. Smart and aware but still, just a little boy.” Miguel hung his head, shaking it in the futility of his explanation, his own grief apparent.

Dave placed his hand on top of the bowed head, offering what little comfort he could. There was no explanation, no reason, no justification. The jungle, and the evil creatures that dwelt there, had taken another of his friends.

Dave knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. He had to leave.

Two days later found Dave making his way through the village for the last time, his duffle bag across his back, a machete in his hand.

He had said his farewells to the students and workers, to the villagers and, finally to Miguel. He gave his friend his uncle’s address and phone number, telling him to contact him if he ever needed anything. Miguel promised that he would but, sadly, both men knew that they would never see each other again.

Coming to the edge of the village, Dave stopped as he saw Javi’s mother walking toward him. As she moved closer, he took both her hands in his, kissing her gently on the cheek. He stood back, still holding her hands but not knowing what to say. What do you say to a woman who just lost her child, her sweet little boy, to such a horrible death? Dave felt the tears begin to catch in his throat.

Javi’s mother took her one hand and placed it aside his face, gently wiping the tears from his eye.

“He loved you, my Javi,” she said in heavily accented English. “You were a…a hero to him.” She stumbled over her words, struggling to let him know how important he had been to her son.

“He was a very special boy. I will never, never forget him,” Dave promised.

She smiled and wrapped both of her hands around his left one, squeezing gently. She looked down at his hand, at the ring on his little finger. Slowly, she reached for her right hand, to the gold band around her own finger. Pulling it off, she slid the ring onto Dave’s little finger, snug against the other.

Patting his hand, she smiled up at him. “Nunca olvides,” she whispered. “Never forget.”

Dave nodded and kissed her cheek again then walked out of the village, into the hated jungle.

To be continued…