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Willie relaxed on the sidewalk cradling his empty liquor bottle. The frigid November wind gusted through the light weight material of his cotton shirt. Through distorted vision, he observed a young man entering the local tavern. The gentleman appeared later with his arm enfolded around the shoulders of an attractive female.
Recollections from his past agitated his intoxicated mind. A handsome, dark-haired man, muscular shoulders, crystal blue eyes, clad in an American soldier's uniform. His affectionate arms enfolded around her slender waistline. Her moist, crimson lips caressing his in a passionate kiss. The aroma of her enticing perfume lingering in the tranquil morning air.The sensation of her delicate, satiny flesh, as he cleansed the tears from her rose-colored cheeks. The clamor of the Greyhound Bus arriving at the station. The melancholy utterance of her good-bye. A heroic American soldier boarding the bus bound for hell.
The booming noise of a rusty pickup truck backfiring startled Willie, returning him to the battlefields of Vietnam. He was lying on his stomach in the swampland watching for signs of movement. He could sense their presence lurking in the lofty grasses. His anxiety escalating, unaware of the precise moment, they would descend on them like fire ants. He observed the camouflaged enemy advancing from the impenetrable bush. Gunfire blasted in the midnight hour, leaving mutilated corpses to decorate the bloody battlefield. The tormented shrieks of the battle-scarred soldiers vibrated his eardrums.
"Sir, are you all right?" A voice inquired interrupting Willie's reflections. Willie observed the handsome soldier towering over him. He cleansed the moisture from his distorted vision, focusing on the young man's face. Perhaps the alcohol had a greater influence than he realized. The soldier bore a remarkable resemblance to him twenty-five years ago.
"Nothing a few more bottles of vodka could not remedy," replied Willie, exhibiting the empty container. Staggering to his feet, he extended his hand to the younger man, introducing himself," My name is Willie."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance; my friends call my Lewis," said the handsome, dark-haired soldier shaking Willie's outstretched hand. "I know virtually everyone in Newport, Tennessee, but I do not recall seeing you around here before."
"I have not been in this town in twenty-five years," he replied, struggling to maintain his balance, while tossing his empty liquor bottle in the trash container.
"Are you back in Newport, Tennessee visiting family?" Lewis asked, reaching out to stabilize Willie, as he stumbled forward.
"I was just passing through and decided to stop and reacquaint myself with my hometown," answered Willie.
Lewis' interrogation caused the flashbacks to commence. The remembrances returned him to Hoa Lo, referred to by the American soldiers as the Hanoi Hilton, the most tenacious Prisoner of War Camp he had the honor of vacationing in. He was in solitary confinement with his legs shackled to the desert cell, cement block wall. The persistent silence deranged his mind. His stomach was tormented by the absence of adequate nutrition and he experienced the metal rod inflicting excruciating malaise on his exposed flesh. He heard them screaming humiliations at him in their foreign language.
Lewis' natural curiosity was enhanced by the stranger. He had intended to investigate further, but he realized his inquiries were upsetting Willie. Lewis silently acknowledged that Willie had endured some unpleasant experiences in his past, and had no desire to share them. Respecting Willie's right to privacy, he immediately changed the topic of conversation. "You look as if you could use a cup of steaming, black coffee," said Lewis. "Would you care to accompany me to the all night café? This harsh, winter weather has left me quivering internally."
"Sounds entreating," responded Willie. "I would be honored to join you." Willie did not admit the café had been his original destination. He was grateful for the young man's company. He extracted his gold, engraved, railroad watch from the front pocket of his tattered trousers. Comprehending the time, he recalled his friend, Slash, was expecting his return. The dilapidated, old cargo train would be departing at 6:00 a.m. this morning. His visit at the café would have to be brief if he intended to return before the train's departure.
Realizing Willie was having difficulty keeping pace with his extensive strides, Lewis halted temporarily. "What caused the injury to your leg?" Lewis inquired, noticing Willie walked with an evident limp.
"I was bitten by a western diamond back rattlesnake and the doctor recommended amputation," lied Willie. He had absolutely no intention of discussing the horrors of Vietnam.
Willie felt his energy diminishing every time he exhaled. The persistent cough hammered continual pain throughout his upper torso. He retrieved a silk handkerchief from his shirt pocket, covering his mouth.
"You have a horrible sounding congestion," said Lewis, "I certainly hope you have been examined by a physician."
"Yes, I have had an examination," replied Willie. "My physician's diagnosis was acute bronchitis."
Frightened by the unexpected chiming of the cafe door entrance bell, Susan looked up from where she was cleaning the counter, and observed Lewis entering. He was preceeded by an unfamiliar older male. She carefully scrutinized the rugged looking stranger. His meager apparel consisted of beige khaki trousers, and a midnight blue, cotton shirt. His raven colored hair was highlighted by shades of shimmering silver. He appeared extremely haggard. "Well, I was wondering when you were going to reappear, William Lewis Callahan Junior. I see you have managed to persuade another drifter to accompany you indoors," said Susan, reaching across the counter situating an affectionate kiss on his forehead.
Hearing Lewis' name in entirety had sent Willie into a temporary state of confusion. He suddenly needed confirmation for his suspicion. "Was your father in the service Lewis," interrogated Willie, pretending to make casual conversation.
"Unfortunately, I was denied the pleasure of my father's acquaintance. My mother was notified he was missing in action in Vietnam, before she could inform him I had been conceived." His admiration for his father was apparent in his voice.
Susan approached the table carrying a sterling silver coffee container. She graciously filled their porcelain coffee mugs with steaming liquid. "Would you two extremely handsome gentlemen care for some delicious, fresh baked bagels?" She inquired flashing Lewis a flirtatious, ivory smile.
"Yes, please," responded Lewis. "Bring us some of mom's delicious homemade strawberry preserves also."
"Willie, this is my fiancé, Susan Brookshire," Lewis proudly announced. "I am the most fortunate gentleman in Newport, Tennessee."
"You definitely acquired yourself an unique gem in Susan," said Willie examining the exceptionally beautiful lady. Susan's silky, jet black tresses were fastened into a ponytail, extending to her petite waistline. Her heart-shaped face revealed satin-smooth olive skin, oval-shaped ebony eyes, curtained by thick curled eye lashes. Her immaculately sculpted scarlet lips were accented by a hint of glittering lip gloss. Her short white form-fitting uniform clung to her tender curves, exposing long athletic shaped legs.
Susan returned to the table carrying a plate of bagels smothered in strawberry preserves blanketed with whipped topping. "My future mother-in-law prepares the best strawberry preserves in the southern states," she said, placing the silver-coated serving tray in the center of the table. "I will leave you two to become better acquainted."
Lewis noticed Willie's ghastly cough had resumed. "Perhaps you should be re-examined; bronchitis can turn into pneumonia quickly in this weather." said Lewis biting into a delectable bagel.
"I will have it examined by my family physician when I return home," he replied. Willie continued to cough, covering his mouth with a paper napkin he retrieved from the table. Aware of the blood splatters scattered on the surface, he inserted it in his shirt pocket.
"I am afraid the coffee has proceeded directly to my bladder," said Lewis excusing himself from the table.
Willie waited for Lewis to disappear inside the bathroom, before removing the bottle of morphine capsules. He swallowed a couple washing them down with warm coffee.
A voluptuous lady advanced from the kitchen entrance, carrying a tray of currently cleansed coffee mugs. Her champagne blonde hair styled in a french twist was covered by a hair net. The seductive curves of her hips were evident underneath her alabaster, cotton apron. The low-cut bodice of her powder blue uniform accentuated the fullness of her breast. Her captivating emerald, green eyes glittered in the light from the crystal chandeliers. "Susan, join me for a cigarette and a cup of coffee," Maria said, placing the heavy tray on the counter. "We will not have another opportunity for a break when the breakfast crowd arrives."
Willie carefully observed Maria as she reclined at the table, removing a pack of Virginia Slims from her alligator skin handbag. She positioned the long, slender cigarette between her sensual, wine-colored lips. Willie was suddenly reminded of their high school prom night. His arms encircling her petite waistline, swaying to the melancholy harmony of the music. Kissing her lustrous lips in the midnight moon's glare, in the back seat of his 57 Chevrolet convertible. The ferocious appearance of her father standing in the doorway when he returned her home at the break of daylight.
"Who is that bizarre gentleman," asked Maria, noticing the gentleman sitting in the corner was continuously staring at her.
"Lewis located him on the sidewalk outside the local tavern and transported him in here to soberize him," replied Susan. "He possesses the essence of the Milwaukee brewery."
"Lewis is charitable and understanding, exactly like his father. He would idolize his son's generosity," said Maria, watching the gentlemen arise from the table and vacate the café.
Pearly snowflakes were descending from Heaven as Willie stepped out on the sidewalk. He extended his hand, allowing a crystal ice formation to float into his palm. He stared at the snowflake transforming to water, evaporating on his skin. He recalled another virtuous vision descending down a rose petal covered isle coming to rest in his palm. Unavoidable fate had stolen his happiness, leaving him only these final reflections to cherish.
Willie ascended the boxcar, collapsing on the floor. Slash immediately hastened to his side, embracing the feeble hand of his treasured friend. "Did you have an opportunity to see her," asked Slash, attempting to revert Willie's concentration away from the excruciating pain.
"Yes Slash, I beheld the beauty of her angelic face," responded Willie, grabbing Slash by the shirt collar, whispering his last wish in his ear.
He was extremely appreciative for Willie's generosity over the past several years.He was an illiterate, fifteen-year old runaway, suffering from a drug addiction. He met Willie on a park bench one summer afternoon. Willie instantly befriended him and motivated him to turn his life around. He encouraged him to seek drug counseling and return to school. Thanks to Willie, he managed to earn his high school equivalency diploma. Willie had kept him from becoming another street gangster in New York City.
Slash jerked away with a look of apprehension on his face. "I can not do that Willie," said Slash, "I absolutely refuse!"
"Please Slash, promise you will execute my final desire," pleaded Willie, struggling for breath.
Peering into the perishing eyes of his companion, Slash said, "I promise." Salty liquid gushed down Slash's narrow cheekbones while he watched his cherished friend's departure. Willie's final announcement would haunt Slash for eternity, "His father was a Vietnam hero, not a sickly drunken bum."
The boisterous sound of the train whistle announced the train's departure. Slash appealed to Heaven for assistance. "Please God, provide me the courage to carry out Willie's final request!"
Two Weeks Later
Sheriff Johnson reclined behind his cherry wood desk, overlaid with incomplete paperwork. The homicide rate in New York City was escalating rapidly. Struggling to keep his eyelids open, he searched through the folders for their recent homicide case. It felt like a century had passed since he had detected the comfort of his satin sheets underneath his aching back. He glimpsed up from his desk, and saw Officer Miller approaching with another manila folder.
"I finally have the autopsy report back for the corpse found on the cargo train. You will not believe this one! Our suspected homicide victim expired from lymphoma," exclaimed Officer Miller.
"Lymphoma victims do not have their teeth extracted, or their fingers amputated," bellowed Sheriff Johnson, flabbergasted.
"According to the autopsy report the fingers and teeth were removed shortly after the victim expired from natural causes, " exclaimed Officer Miller. "My hypothesis for the amputation, under ordinary circumstances would be to conceal identity. In this particular case, I can only presume we have a psychopath collecting appendages from deceased carcasses."
"No one remotely resembling this victim's description was revealed through the missing persons' report. Appears we have another unidentified corpse on our hands, unless some psychopath is arrested for possession of missing fingers," declared Sheriff Johnson, inserting the file among the other unsolved mysteries.
One Year Later
A Sergeant lies wounded on the battlefield reaching for his weapon that was jolted from his grasp when he received the bullet in his shoulder. He detected an American military boot, positioned on his weapon. "Remove your foot immediately," demanded William Lewis Callahan Jr., looking directly into the private's conscientious face.
"Sorry sir, I have orders from a higher authority," responded Slash, punching him in the temple, rendering him unconscious. He removed his white cotton undershirt, forming a pressure bandage. Lifting his sergeant over his shoulder, he ran toward the hovering helicopter. He felt bullets vibrating against his rib cage as he hoisted Lewis onto the helicopter. Slash yelled, "Take these trinkets; your father would wish you to have them."
When Lewis regained consciousness, a man he recognized was lifting him off the helicopter.
"Willie?" He asked, certain he was hallucinating. The man was not dressed in ragged vestures, but a military uniform decorated with medals. Lewis watched him and his helicopter mysteriously vanish.
Later that night, Lewis awoke in a military hospital. The highly decorated soldier from the helicopter reappeared, laying an injured soldier on the cot beside his. He immediately recognized the private that rescued him from the battlefield. The morphine the nurse had administered must be having a profound affect on his mental capacity.
He suddenly remembered the gold trinket box the private had given him. He reached over, retrieving it from his bedside table. Inside the box he discovered pictures of his parents wedding day, a man's gold wedding band, and an engraved railroad watch. He recognized the unusual design on the watch encasement. He had seen this same watch before, when Willie had retrieved it from his pocket to check the time on the walk to the cafe. Opening the watch he read the engraved inscription; to my loving husband William Callahan. Lewis removed the remainder of the photographs from the box. The photographs revealed the relationship between Willie and the young man lying on the hospital bed beside him. The realization that Willie was his own father felt like the impact of a hammer to his chest. Arising from his hospital bed, he staggered over to Slash's bedside. "Slash, was Willie my father," asked Lewis, awaiting Slash's confirmation.
"Yes, the man you met last November in Newport, Tennessee, was your father, "responded Lewis. "He was captured by the Vietnamese soldiers and taken prisoner of war. When he was rescued ten years later, his only identification was secured in the box you are holding.
He was unconscious on his arrival at the veteran's hospital in New York City and he was listed as another John Doe. Before his identity could be revealed, he walked out of the hospital and disappeared. He constantly suffered from the terrible flashbacks of Vietnam. He had planned to return to Newport Tennessee and his family, but he discovered he was suffering from terminal lymphoma. He did not wish to put your mother through the turmoil of losing him twice. He was unaware of your existence, until the night he parted."
"Who was the gentleman in the helicopter, who transported me to the military infirmary," asked Lewis.
"Do you believe in guardian angels, Lewis," inquired Slash, questioningly
regarding Lewis.
"After everything that has happened tonight, there is nothing I would not believe," replied Lewis with a tear gliding down his cheekbone.
Six Months Later
Lewis, Maria, and Slash stood beside Susan's hospital bed, admiring William Slash Callahan, cuddled in her cherishing arms. Lewis felt a powerful hand embracing his shoulder. A sentimental voice whispered in his ear, "Son, Be a father not a hero." Lewis peered over his shoulder, beholding his father's apparition.
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