Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

‘On top of all this, all sides are dropping bombs and dumping defoliants on their paddy fields. It’s a no-win situation for these villagers, and they know it. That’s what we’re fighting. A sick, rotten, mean son-of-a-bitch war.’

A few days later, Sam’s platoon was assigned another mission, to patrol the ‘Fence’, a large minefield which ran from Dat Do to the sea, designed to keep the Vietcong away from the population centres and possible sources of weapons supply. It seemed the minefield had also become the source of mines for the Vietcong. They dug them up and sneaked away with them under cover of darkness.

On his second morning there, just before light, Sam came across Jim again. Both men were at the end of their patrol.

‘Gidday, Kiwi. How goes it?’

‘Fine. And you?’

‘Me, I’m on the countdown to return to Australia. Only a coupla weeks to go and I’m out of here, mate. Back to the missus and the kids.’

Jim’s face wrinkled into a grin. Down by the shore children were playing just beyond the perimeter of the minefield.

‘You’re one of them Horis, aren’t you?’ Jim asked. ‘If I came up on you in the dark, and if you weren’t in uniform, I’d probably mistake you for one of them locals.’

‘How would you know I wasn’t,’ Sam answered. ‘The uniform wouldn’t guarantee you anything, would it.’

‘You have learnt fast. That’s the trouble with this war. You can’t be sure of anything. What the enemy looks like. Who the enemy is —’ Jim took out his cigarettes. ‘As soon as I get home I’m giving these up.’

Suddenly, there was a small scream. One of the children had fallen.

‘Bloody kids! Dong lai! Halt. Get outta here!’

Jim flapped his arms and walked over to where the children were playing. As he approached, they ran away like small black animals scurrying into the dawn. The fallen one remained on the ground, and Sam shouted: ‘Jim, no .’

He saw that the children hadn’t been playing at all. They had been trying to lift mines from the field. One of them, the kid lying on the ground, had messed up.

‘Oh, shit,’ Jim said.

The mine the kid dropped was only seconds away from detonation. There was nothing else to do except get between him and the mine, and hope he survived the blast.

‘There, there, son.’

The mine fragmented, cutting Jim and the kid to shreds.

The senselessness of it all. Jim’s death put Sam into a tailspin. The Aussie veteran was the first soldier Sam had known to die in Vietnam. Now he had dreams about the mine exploding. He had been near enough to see the way in which Jim and the child suddenly disintegrated. One minute they were standing there, silhouetted against the dawn. The next moment they were gone. Chunks of meat and scattered bone on the beach. And he was still standing, in a state of shock, with Jim and the kid’s blood falling like rain on his face. What kind of enemy would send kids out to lift their mines for them?

‘It could have been me instead of Jim,’ Sam realised.

On this occasion death had brushed Sam by. But he had felt the eddy of wind as death passed. The next time he might not be so lucky.

So how did you recover from the death of a friend? You got through it minute by minute, day by day. You tried to put it behind you. You got on with the job. You went forward and before you knew it you were in the clear.

One afternoon, Sam, George and Turei came across some men playing half court basketball at the base: the blond American chopper pilot, his co-pilot and another American airman. The Yanks were making a lot of noise asking for the ball and directing the play, and something about the game made Sam pause — the banter and laughter seemed to come from another world. Just as the three Kiwis were about to pass by, the blond pilot saw Sam, remembered a profile illuminated by tracers and, in a moment of spontaneity, sent the ball spinning over to him. The pilot’s grin was free and as wide as Illinois. Somehow it closed the door on Sam’s sadness.

‘Feel like a game?’ the blond pilot asked.

‘Us against you? Gee, I dunno.’

‘Come on,’ the pilot said, ‘I know you want to say yes. Don’t give me such a hard time. Me, Fox and Seymour could do with some guys to play against.’

Sam pretended to play coy and innocent. In on the pretence, George and Turei tried to keep their faces straight.

‘Isn’t basketball your national game?’ Sam asked, kicking at the dust. ‘We don’t play much basketball where we come from. We’re small town boys and you guys are American city folks.’

‘We’ll make it fair,’ the blond pilot said. ‘How about our putting 10 points on the board for you.’

‘Make it 14.’

‘Twelve.’

‘Done,’ Sam said, spitting on his hands. He took off his shirt and the greenstone pendant he wore around his neck.

The Americans laughed with surprise but winked at each other. This was going to be a massacre. The blond pilot shook Sam’s hand.

‘By the way I’m Cliff Harper.’

‘You can call me Sam.’

Harper gave Sam the ball. Before he could even draw breath Sam spun the ball over to George, George passed to Turei in the D who twisted, jumped and slam dunked the ball through the hoop.

‘What the fuck?’ Harper gasped.

‘Two points to us,’ Sam winked at him. ‘Takes us up to 14. You’re still to score. Your ball.’

Harper looked at Sam, stunned. ‘So you don’t play much basketball where you come from? Who taught you guys?’

‘Mormon elders from Brigham Young University.’

‘And I suppose you small town boys never played professionally?’ Harper asked, getting the picture.

‘Had you asked I would have told you,’ Sam answered. ‘We were in our rep team. Can’t you cut the talk and get on with the game?’

Harper roared with laughter. ‘Oh, you sly piece of shit,’ he said.

The game resumed. Harper passed to Seymour but Turei stole the ball from him. Turei was blocked by Fox who passed to Harper who was, Sam had to concede, not a bad player for a Yankee boy. Harper ran the ball into the D. Sam tried to block, there was some jostling —

‘Aren’t you getting a bit too close and personal?’ Harper teased.

Sam stepped back, startled, and Harper pushed past, lifted, and drifted in the ball without touching the hoop.

‘Nothing but net,’ Harper said to Sam. ‘Fourteen to you, two to us.’

The game began again. Sam signed to George and Turei to go man on man. When they scored the next two points, Harper looked at Sam with delight.

‘Hey, guys,’ he called to his team mates. ‘There is a God. At last worthy competition.’

Harper hunkered down. It was getting hot, so he pulled off his T-shirt. Sweat was pouring across his pectorals. He pointed at Sam.

‘I’m gonna make it rain on you all day. You are my bitch .’

The game got serious and had it not been for Harper’s schedule, Sam guessed his side would eventually have been outclassed by the Americans. The heat was ferocious and Turei fumbled, letting the Americans even the score.

Sam changed the strategy. He had always been good at long shots at the hoop. Instead of going for the D he kept on lifting, sighting the ball from outside the D and lobbing it in.

‘Look at that fucker!’ Harper said to Seymour in admiration.

Twenty minutes later, Sam’s team was only just ahead. Harper looked at his watch. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’ He signalled to Fox and Seymour.

‘We gotta go,’ he said to Sam. ‘I’ll save you for another day. Be very afraid.’

Sam grinned and they joined the others at the tap, splashing the water over their bodies and rinsing out their mouths.