Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [105]
“God help us if we ever have to go in and try to take it,” Shlomo said.
I agreed.
It was only nine in the morning. In the distance, we could hear activity. Whose planes were they? Was it the Israelis going after the Egyptian convoy on the other side of the Pass? Or were the Egyptians taking to the air en masse to challenge us from the other side of the Canal? Maybe, just maybe, it was the British and French coming in to neutralize the Egyptian air bases.
Shlomo and I found our crevice.
“Great show you put on,” he said.
“Ben Asher’s really pissed at me.”
“Naw, he loves you. He’s always had this trouble with smiling.”
A sudden jolt of pain sent me into little spasms. I unlaced my boot. The whole leg was beginning to turn purple ... and blue ... and a pale yellow ... right down to the sole of my foot. Having won my skirmish with the major, I couldn’t quit now, but I was wondering if I could bear up under the pain.
“Do you think you can talk Dr. Schwartz into seeing me? I might need another shot. Just a little one.”
The doc came over and probed. “Hmmmmmm, getting nice and mushy,” he said. “That was quite an exhibition you put on for Major Ben Asher,” he continued. “Do something like that again and you have an excellent chance of going into shock.”
The probe was painful.
“Stay off the leg, absolutely,” the doctor ordered.
“How about another of those delicious morphine shots?”
“Don’t start enjoying them too much,” he warned.
For the first time in my life, I was really happy when someone stuck a needle in my ass. “Thanks, Doctor,” I said.
And away we go! I lay back, shaded my eyes, and watched the mean desert sun grow higher and hotter. Our shade was minimal ... water situation good. I helped myself to some wet rags for the back of my neck.
... Come on, baby, put me out of my misery, let’s get that Sinai glow ... all distant horizons are filled with sounds of airplanes ... theirs ... ours ... who knows? ... So anyhow, I kissed my mom goodbye and headed back to the Coast after a furlough. ... Mom, I’m going to be fine ... aren’t you proud of your gyrene?
... Oh, Mom ... I wish I could tell you ... you’re not to worry about that telegram from the Marines ... I wasn’t really wounded all that badly, just caught a little shrapnel in the shoulder ... it’s going to be okay. ... Wish I could tell you that we’re safe now, in New Zealand. ... You see, Mom, it still hurts me when I remember opening that door and you in bed with that guy ... like, who the hell was he?
... Mom saw my reflection in the dresser mirror and screamed and threw a towel about herself and slapped me and slammed the door in my face. ... Later she told me she was sorry ... but ... I had come to realize ... you know ... it hurts when you’re a nine-year-old kid. ...
... Something always makes me want to put women down ... like they’re a disease. I go after them, conquer them, then dump them ... but I always do it in a nice way ... with class. ...
... Hey, man! ... Things don’t feel too bad on the old hip ... wow ... floaty, floaty ... wheee ...
Just before the battle, Mother, ...
I am thinking most of you, ...
While upon the field we’re watching, ...
With the enemy in view. ...
Comrades brave are ’round me lying, ...
Filled with thoughts of home and God; ...
For well they know that on the morrow, ...
Some will sleep beneath the sod. ...
Hark! I hear the bugles sounding, ... ’Tis the signal for the fight, ...
Now, may God protect us, Mother, ...
As He ever does the right, ...
Hear the “Battle Cry of Freedom,”...
How it swells upon the air, ...
Oh, yes, we’ll rally ’round the standard, ...
Or we’ll perish nobly there. ...
Farewell, Mother, you may never ...
Press me to your breast again, ...
But, Oh, you’ll not forget me, Mother, ...
If I’m numbered with the slain. ...
IRELAND TO AMERICA
Queenstown, the Port of Cork, Ireland, 1887
THE AMERICAN CONSUL GENERAL was waiting at dockside with sealed