Denis Johnson - Tree of Smoke

Near closing time he stood on the sidewalk in front of a bar’s open doorway bathed in its warm liquor-breath, the country music from inside getting at him, cutting him. A little man came out swearing and trying to close the gaps torn in his T-shirt by an assailant. A skinny rat, too old to be fighting, with a bleeding mouth and one eye swollen shut. He smiled like a punished child. “This will cure me. This is the end.” Many, many times Bill Houston had promised himself the same.

Captain Galassi expressed concerns about James’s self-esteem, which he pronounced self-steam. He wasn’t a boy-captain, he was the real thing, here since ‘63, field-commissioned and all that, but he’d let himself develop a concern for James’s self-steam, and expressed it, while Sergeant Lorin sat nearby with his fists on his thighs, expressing nothing.

“What’s your first name, Corporal?”

UT 77

James.

“I’m going to call you James instead of Corporal, because you’ll be a civilian here pretty quick. And anyway, in my eyes, you are no soldier. You got anything to say to that?”

“No.” “They beat you up real bad, didn’t they? They fucked you up pretty

good. Do you think you’re gonna get a Purple Heart for that?” “I already got one. And that was bullshit too.” “See, James, those are soldiers. Those are fine men. Matter of fact,

my sister married a Green Beret. They know what they came here to do, and they’re getting it done. They know who the enemy is, and they’re not gonna kill their own people. They’re people who if their own people try to fuck them up, if an American tries to fuck them up, even throws a grenade in their lap, they don’t kill that American, because that American is not their enemy. They just fuck him up some, because that American is a fucking son of a fucking bitch.”

James made no comment. “Beat you like you deserved. Are you still pissing blood?” “No, sir.” “Can you take solid food?” “I don’t require no food.” “Are you gonna tell me you didn’t toss that item?” “I didn’t throw any grenade.” “Fucker just plopped down out of the sky.” “I don’t know fuck-all about no grenade. I’ll tell you this about them

Green Berets: they’d as soon leave their people out in the bush to get killed when people ask can we stay in your perimeter. And one of our

guys did get killed. Did she divorce him?” “Who?” “Your sister.” “That’s none of your business.” “What’s your first name?” “That’s none of your business too.” “Okay, Jack. You ain’t no soldier to me either. Not if you back them

piece-of-shit Special Forces against your own Lurps. Fuck you, Jack.” “You know what I think? I think the sergeant and I are gonna take

you out back and work some shit on you like the Green Berets.” “Some Green-Beret-style shit,” Sergeant Lorin said. “I’d just love it. Let’s go.” “Apologize to the captain.” “I apologize, sir.” “Apology accepted. James, I think you have lost your control and

your ability to reason in this difficult atmosphere of the pressure of war

fare. Don’t you?” “I think that’s real possible.” Captain Galassi lit up a Kool. The Quonset hut’s air conditioner

didn’t filter entirely the smells from outside, good American smells, grease, frying potatoes, frying meat, reasonable-smelling latrines, not latrines full of slopehead dink Gook shit. Captain Galassi exhaled a cloud of smoke and overlaid the smells.

Screwy Loot would have offered him a Kool. James wished himself back in the days of old Screwy Loot, when the officers were the only crazy ones.

“Can I smoke, sir?” “Go ahead.” “I’m fresh out.” “Then I don’t think it’s gonna be possible.” “Then I won’t.” “What twisted you? Did you take a lotta Ell, Ess, Deeeee, boy?” “I don’t use no drugs. ‘Cept as indicated.” “Indicated by who? Your dealer?” “By the requirements of the mission, sir.” “You mean speed.”

“I mean what I said, is all.”

“You mean you’re a little Speedy Gonzales. Are you aware how fucked you are? You have long-range reconned straight out beyond the borders of sanity. You gotta go home.”

“I just signed on another go.” “You won’t be staying. I don’t want you in my war.” James said nothing. “The knees of your pants are a mess.” “I’ve been digging, sir.” “Or knee-walking drunk on Trang Khe Street four nights ago.” “Four nights ago? I do not know, sir.” “How come you don’t go to the Midnight Massage no more with the

guys?” No answer. “You got yourself something steady. Little steady woman on Tranky

Street. Were you on Trang Khe Street four nights ago?” “I think so. I don’t know.” “Were you?” “I think so.” “Or were you on patrol.” “I don’t know.” “What happened.” “When? On Tranky?” “On the patrol where a woman was murdered, you fucking mur

derer.”

James suddenly hated these two sonsofbitches because if they were going to go ahead and do this he should have been given a chair, and a cigarette.

“What happened to that local, James?” “Anybody got wasted they were hostiles, is all.” “Were you on that patrol?” “No.” “Four nights ago?” “No.” “No? Address me as sir.” “Who snitched us?” Sergeant Lorin said, “None of your business.”

“Somebody’s a liar.” “Somebody’s a liar about what?” the sarge said. James waited for the captain to speak. “Did you do this?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know? Goddammit, man, you will address me as sir.” “I don’t know, sir.” “Did you do this, or not?” “I don’t remember which night was what, sir. I think I drank too

much beer last week.” The sarge said, “Had him a wicked jag on.” “Do you like beer, James? Well, there isn’t any beer in Leavenworth.” “Have you been there?” “Don’t sass me.” “I got friends there.” “Don’t sass me.” “Apologize to the captain.” “I apologize, sir.” “What did you do to that woman?” “She was VC.” “Bullshit.” “She was a VC whore.” “Bullshit.” “She’s a whore, and this is a war. Sir.” “Don’t tell me what this is. I know what it is. I think.” “So do I.” “Do you intend to do a fourth tour?” ‘Yes, sir.” “No, sir. No more for you.” “Sir, I’ve got patrol at seventeen hundred.” “Patrol? Jesus Christ. Number one, we don’t send guys with their ribs

taped up and their arm in a cast out on patrol.” “It’s a sling. It ain’t a cast. It comes off.” “Number two: We don’t send civilians out on patrol.” “I ain’t a civilian.” “Well,” the captain said, and such anger gripped him that he slurred

his words, “do you mind if I tell you that if you’re not a civilian you haven’t heard the last of this? I’m gonna take stock of this, I will get back to you, you haven’t heard the last of this. I will get back to you. Maybe a lot of people will be getting back to you. Maybe the whole army will be getting back to you.”

“I don’t think so.” “You don’t think so? Are you being insubordinate?” “I’m just saying something.” “What are you saying?” “I don’t know.” “What are you saying?” “That you think you’re gonna get back to me, but I don’t think

you’re gonna get back to me, because she was a whore, and this is a war. And that’s what happens, because this is a war, because this is not just a war.”

“Well, which is it? Is it a war, or is it not just a war?” “I’m just telling you.” “You little punk. I was in this war before you learned to jerk your

meat. All right?” “All right.” “All right,” said the captain. For thirty seconds they just stood there