Alex Cathcart had had a hard day protesting. What better cause than ending the war?
Like many of his friends, he had sung the tune about supporting the troops - by bringing them home. In his heart, though, he believed everything his father told him. Soldiers love war, as it gives them better pay, promotion, status. Citizens take their ribbons more seriously, and become less inclined to differentiate between ones awarded for ‘valor’ and ones handed out for time-serving, making the right connections, or being in the right place at the right time. ‘Support’ had turned into somewhat of a code word, mostly relating to who paid taxes and who found what taxing.
His sleep was groggy, which confirmed his impression that his day had been hard. He and his group had done a lot of bending. It had been much easier in the halcyon days of the Vietnam War, Alex believed. He did not know how difficult it had been before “Stop The War” had become popular. Had it been pointed out to him that it was much easier for his crowd than it had been in 1966, he wouldn’t have believed it.
The heavy but comfortable feeling made awareness come slowly. At first, he thought that the cloaked figure in front of his bed was a compadre. His roomie was still asleep on the other end of the residence room, adding credence to his impression.
“Hey,” he said thickly. “Demo’s over, man. I got class tomorrow.” Alex had a major that was generally seen as an easy ride, but it was hard for some. You had to be convinced before it became easy.
“How’d you slip –“ and then his voice stopped as comprehension clicked in.
Whoever he was, he was big. Well over six feet. Cloaked, with no visible features except for a bulby kind of nose. No eyes to see, but eyes there were. Alex could feel them, and he didn’t like what he felt.
“Wait a minute. Who are you and how’d you get in here?” His voice was now cracking slightly.
The answering voice did nothing to defuse his jumpiness; it sounded something like Darth Vader. “I am the figure you know as Death.”
Death? The Grim Reaper?
“Stand up and I will tell you what I have come to offer.”
“Like hell I will! Who are you and why are you bothering me?”
The voice continued. “If your fear of me outweighs your desire to learn the year of your death, then I will go. You will not encounter me again until your own time is due.”
For the first time, it had occurred to Alex that he himself might be dead – after Death had assured him that he wasn’t. “What makes you think I should be seeing you at all? I got a right here, and –“
“Then you refuse,” the hooded creature concluded.
“No – wait.” Now, Alex did get up. He was thin, and fairly tall – but Death was taller. Alex’s eyes came up to about where Death’s chin would be. “What did you say?”
“I want your assistance in transferring a life to the afterlife. Should you complete this task, I will tell you the year of your death. Look behind you.”
Obediently, Alex did so. He saw a murky outline of himself, under somewhat messed-up covers. Then, he turned his gaze to his roommate and saw sleep there too.
His gumption came back. “How could you pull me out of my own body? More to the point, how do I know you’re not –“
“Lying? I do not lie.”
Yeah, well it’s easy for you to say it… The thought died.
“So that’s all I have to do. Just tell the fellow, make him ready and get you here.” Alex’s tone said, it’d better be. Death merely nodded. They were in a deserty place, one Alex had never seen. At least it was daylight.
“The man you are here to welcome is a warmonger. He asked for combat, and enjoyed killing his fellow human beings. For years prior to his enlistment, he dreamed of shooting those that he considered enemies. You may find it an easy task.”
Alex’s head bobbed up, down and around. This Death guy was pretty cool now.
But his head-bouncing stopped when Death’s now-exposed arm pointed to the corpse…which started another kind of bouncing, in his stomach.
It took a while to take in what he saw. A military Hummer – some kind of troop transport – lay smoking and wrecked in front of them. Entangled in the mess was a mess of a body. His legs were gone, and his arms were bent in a way that Alex had never seen before. Charred flesh etched out the lower part of the body. Alex found himself starting to gag.
When his stomach finally quelled, he looked for Death; the creature was gone. Alex was on his own now.
Hesitantly, he called out to the wrecked body. “Uh…guy?”
“Yessir!” Amazed, Alex saw a second body of the same man emerge from the corpse. He hadn’t seen the legs form, but they were there now. The man in front of him stood easy. “Private first class Guadaglioni.”
They were the same height, but Guadaglioni was obviously beefier. Alex’s face tightened up a little.
But he had a job to do, so he did it. “I’ve got some news for you. You see – you’re dead.”
Guadaglioni blinked. “Dead? But I feel fine.”
Alex mutely pointed over to the wreck transport, as he had nothing to say to Guadaglioni’s remark. Privately, he was hoping that the big lug would get himself prepped so Alex could go back to his home. The soldier looked over and added another remark. “That guy really took it. Must have been an IED. Poor fellow; I thought the area had been –“
Then, the PFC himself went mute, for a few seconds. “Holy God…that’s…”
“Yep, it’s you,” Alex filled in. He had intended to sound casual, but it had come out breezy. “The war’s over for you.”
That got Guadaglioni looking back at him. “It isn’t for the rest of us. Is there any way I can warn them?”
“Uh…no. I don’t think so.” Once again, Alex’s voice didn’t quite sound like what he had intended. “It’s over; you’ve passed away. Kicked the bucket. Met the –“
“Hold on here,” Guadaglioni slipped back. “Grim Reaper? You mean you’re him?” He was smiling now. “No offense, but you’re not really that scary. I mean, I always knew that God was a – peace lover, but…”
But Alex was left indifferent to Guadaglioni’s bonhomie; all it said to him was ‘jarhead’. “I’m not, not exactly; I’m his stand-in.”
“Well, what do you know. The Reaper has hired help. Hey kid” – Alex felt himself getting colder, as they were the same age – “do you think you can fix it so that I become a ghost? I don’t mind being tied to this place, but I think it would be right if I could have a chance to warn my unit about what happened. This area was supposed to be cleared, and I assumed so. That’s why I’m here with you now. I know they’ll find me and send me home, but I’d be happy to haunt around here as a reminder to –“
“I can’t do it,” Alex said firmly while wondering if he had to bark his way through the rest of the job. “Reaper says you’re dead; you go with him.”
“Oh – is he around? Can I talk with him?”
Alex shook his head. Now, he saw why Death had asked him to take over the job. Part of him was wondering if he should just throw the thing and let the jarhead bend the Reaper’s ear instead. His curiosity won out. “No. I’m supposed to deliver you to him and you’re supposed to go.”
“Hey kid” – there it was again – “don’t you think that the set-up here is kind-of, well, bureaucratic? I mean, it would do a lot of good for me to stay here and I won’t mind. It’s really no skin off Death’s nose and I’d make for quite a tourist attraction. Be harder for the insurgents to keep murdering if I was…”
“Nope; no chance.”
“Bureaucracy...” Guadaglioni was now looking down at his boots. His brow wrinkled, but the accompanying frown was soon replaced with a smile.
“Hey look at this! I’m floating here!” He was; Alex now had to look up at him. “Who would have thought I could it?”
Alex sighed, feeling a headache coming on. It was going to be a long one…
It was. Alex had spent more than a half-hour cajoling, arguing, even barking at the guy before he finally summoned Death. As he had been told, a mental summons was all that it took. Several times, Alex wished to throw it early; each time was quelled by reminding himself how much he had already invested in the deal. It was like waiting at a streetlight to get from one side of the street to the other. You could pick one of several, by walking further towards your destination, but you’re at the one you picked and the more you waited the nearer the change was. Too much time was sunk in to move.
Death had only been a short time whisking the PFC away, and returned to briskly whisk Alex back to his own room. When there, Alex remembered that he had forgotten to remember what Death’s arm had looked like. White flesh, or something…perhaps…
“So…. That was a hard one. You glad it’s over?”
Alex was trying to be chummy, but the lock that Death’s hidden eyes had placed upon his own made it clear that the creature didn’t see it that way. “All the dead are the same to me. Rest assured that, when your time has come, I will be as detached when describing you to another.” That shut Alex right up.
“As to your own: you have fulfilled your part of the bargain. Your death will take place in the Christian year 2071.”
“Uh – wait,” Alex blurted out. “Can I – like, have the day? It was a kind of hard job, so I thought that – you know, a bonus would be in order?”
In response, his vision started tilting and his body re-arranged. It sunk until it reached familiar ground, when he woke up.
Habitually quiet, out of concern for his roommate, he stirred over what he had experienced. He had faced down Death himself and had gotten what he wanted. The jarhead had been a pain, all right, but the fellow wasn’t what Alex had expected. Gawd, had he been an earbender! The mission – the mission – the mission – the yada, yada, the yawna. Cripes, he was single-minded! Gotta do this; gotta warn them; gotta, gotta, gotta. Alex sure had a few tales to tell his buds the next rally. Only…
One of his friends was in jail. The coordinator said that she was unjustly grabbed, but that was all. What would a man like Guadaglioni have done?
Alex had to concede that the guy was incredibly loyal. A warmonger, yes. A brute, almost certainly. An overgrown child, call that ‘probable’. But still, there he was yakking about becoming a ghost for his unit when it didn’t matter a damn what he did. No: it was more than mouth, he had really meant it.
My opinions haven’t changed one damned bit. But Alex did start to wonder about what his friends meant by ‘support the troops’. The soldier’s motives were hard to pin down; that was for sure. Nothing he had heard from his father sufficed, and his friends’ remarks didn’t seem to do either. Nor did his girlfriend’s, come to think of it.
Did soldier boy have one? He might have…
As sleep came to him, Alex was mulling over whether to sign up for a creative writing course.
