2015 DRAFT

10. Round and Round and RoundThree months earlier

7 April 1968Navy School for Underwater Swimmers

U.S. Navy Base, Key West, Florida

After the Friday run, a group of Crazies groaned into Runnin’s Bonneville and headed north to escape

the womanless waste of Key West. When they reached the outskirts of Miami, they arbitrarily picked

The Airways Motel, figuring to set up a base before heading out to the clubs. They dumped their

overnight bags in their rooms and met at the bar. Settling into drinks, joshing with the barmaid – a

matronly woman who seemed to be constantly shaking her head – they expressed satisfaction at merely

having put some miles between themselves and the school.

“I think they got a pool here,” Lester said. “I’m going to check it out.”

“Aaaaaghhhhh,” Iffy reacted. “Are you fucking nuts? No water. I won’t even drink the stuff.”

Lester was back in seconds, white-faced. He tried to say something, but no sound came out of his

open mouth. He gestured, and they all followed him to a sliding glass door. Outside, there were perhaps a

hundred young women playing around a pool, all of them in bikinis, and not a man in sight. Grunting as if

punched in their stomachs, they stampeded back to the bar, overcome by sudden nerves.

“What’s the matter, boys,” the barmaid asked. “Don’t like this week’s flock?”

“What is this place?” Lester asked.

“Oh, come off it, you really don’t know?” Studying the blank faces, she shook her head. “Dumb luck.

This is the school dorm for Pan Am stewardesses. They graduate forty of the bitches every week.” It took

time for that to sink in.

Always suspicious, Iffy asked, “Why aren’t there three hundred guys in this bar?”

“It’s not that the girls don’t want it – you should hear the randy talk. But the airline works ‘em hard,

and, I guess it’s a secret.”

1

2015 DRAFT

Runnin’ cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am,” his voice was not much lower than an earnest choir

boy, “but, uh, can a man, take these here gals, out on a date?”

The woman smiled. “Don’t have to get real fancy about it.”

They ordered doubles and chugged. Courage stiffened, the intrepid frogmen headed back out to the

pool. They plunged into a laughing, appreciative crowd like glad-handing politicians. Standing in the

doorway, Greene saw the bosoms and bottoms jiggling and flashing, and the sheer numbers incapacitated

him. The magical scene began looking carnivorous. He had imagined himself finally ready to let go of

Kristen, to open himself to the moment, but he felt like a concrete block. Smiling miserably, he turned

back to the bar. A tall brunette, nicely dressed in a black suit and heels, came lithely across the room and

took the adjacent seat. Next to the swinging beef in bikinis, she looked cool and sophisticated. Her green

eyes found his in the mirror.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked. She didn’t look old enough to get served.

“Certainly.”

“Bourbon?”

“I’m on gimlets.”

“One gimlet, one bourbon, on the rocks. Make it Jack and double ‘em.” She turned to look at him.

“You passing through, or do you have a room here?”

“In for two nights.”

The girl pulled out a pack of Newports. “I can hardly say that I don’t’ smoke and I don’t chew and I

don’t go with the boys who do.” Greene watched the flame of his Zippo shaking, slightly. “Flying

through?”

“I’m stationed down in Key West. Navy Frogman School. Drove up.”

“That’s funny. Most people go to Key West for the weekends.” She swiveled on her seat. “Hey!

Where’re those drinks, honey? You mashing the bourbon?” She turned to him. Why’d you come up here?”

“Well, the women in Key West are all spoken for, even the unspeakable ones.”

2

2015 DRAFT

“When did you last get laid?”

Greene’s head snapped back and he felt a welcome stirring. “Well, ah, I guess about, a month ago.”

“Then it’s about time! Cheers!” she said to Greene and took a major belt. “Yeah, I been stuck here for

about the same. You beat your meat?”

“Well, yes,” Greene said, blushing outright, relieved the barmaid had moved down the bar.

“Do you spit in your hand or do you use cream?”

“Mostly spit,” he rasped, “but I’ve used shaving cream, too.”

“Mentholated?”

“No, ah – un-mentholated.”

“Give mentholated a try, has a nice heat. Do you do the knob, or do you stroke up and down?”

“Mostly the tip,” Greene said, lighting up a cigarette to cover his unease. He narrowed his gaze. “But

up and down to slow down.”

“So you like it slow?”

“Yes.”

“I shave myself whistle slick.” She let the non-sequitur hang there like a master angler’s dangling lure.

“Unusual.”

She slipped her hand into Greene’s lap. Fondling him, she introduced herself. “My name’s Connie

Freeman, and I come from a tiny berg in the Oklahoma Panhandle – Slapout. I fucked my way through

all seven available men in Beaver County, including one unavailable Indian, and once with the sheriff and

his deputy, both at once, one in front and one up my backside, screaming my head off in the back of their

prowl car, before my seventeenth birthday. I worked my way east, on my back, hands and knees,

devastating Fort Supply, Woodward, Tulsa, Memphis, and Atlanta.” She said the names slowly and

lovingly, her eyes glazed.

Greene was now properly hooked. “What made you come here?” he managed to ask.

“Pan Am. I’m still goin’ east. I wanted to get some of that fancy European doings before I die.”

3

2015 DRAFT

“How old are you?”

“That’s a tender subject around here.” Connie dropped her voice. “I’m nearly going on nineteen – I

swear – but I had to do a lot of lying about that. Nick, I’m not a nice girl, but I’ve been told I’m a lay

you’ll never forget. Ever had a girl take you lovingly to every corner of her world? This putting you off?”

“Yes to the first,” Greene squeaked, “and no to the second.”

Connie smiled like an amazed child. “Where’d you get all that?”

“Barcelona.” Greene was grasping the bar to steady himself, “and, ah, San Marino, California.”

“Wow, you’ve been to Europe? A cultured guy. That’s swell!” Her voice dropped conspiratorially

again. “What say we kick back the shooters and sneak up to your room. I don’t want these cunts to know.

Promise to pour on the steam?”

“OK.”

“Swear?” she asked, the gaff poised.

“Swear,” he said as the big hook slammed into him.

After three anxious minutes in the room he was sharing with Iffy, Greene heard her knock. “Let’s

shower,” Connie said as she slapped a can of green-labeled shaving cream on the bedside table, and then

tore at the buttons of her suit, “I like eating with clean utensils. Damn. My hands are shaking. Help me

with the buttons?”

Not twenty-five minutes later, a paralyzed Ensign Greene was propped against the headboard, feet on

the wet sheet, legs spread, and knees, which he could no longer feel, completely akimbo. He had

copulated once like a rabbit, once like a man, and once like a deranged donkey. Between, he must have

done something else, because his face felt as though it had been dragged for miles over highly waxed

linoleum flooring. Connie’s mentholated fingers were gently playing a languorous jazz riff on his testes.

He felt the heat warming someone separate from himself. A key hit the lock.

“Who’s there?” Greene was surprised sound could escape the intense gravity of his paralysis.

4

2015 DRAFT

“It’s me, darling.” Iffy gaily responded. “I already got three dates for dinner!” As the door swung

open, Iffy’s smiling face vanished via the falling of his jaw.

“Oh my,” Connie purred. “You got yourself one more date before dinner, big fella.” Greene laughed

at Iffy trying to take in the long and beautiful Connie and the strange frothing action in a place things like

that did not happen. “Come on, froggy man, hop out’a your shorts and get wet. Will you take a shower

with me? Nick sure got me going, but it’s time for the tag team to take over.” Connie’s fingers never

missed a syncopated note.

Twenty minutes later, Connie leapt up from the adjacent bed. “Lands sake! Look at the time!” She

threw on her clothes. “I gotta get to my own graduation! My Mom and Dad, bless them, are probably

wondering where the hell I am. They came all the way out here. Said it was the best thing I ever did.

When do you boys leave?” Both Iffy and Greene stared dumbly at her, and she laughed. “I don’t leave

until Monday, when we get assignments. Nod if you’re pulling out Sunday night.” They nodded. “That’s

great. My folks leave late Sunday afternoon. Promise you’ll save Sunday evening just for me?” They

nodded. “Are there any more of you here?” As they nodded she took a brush out of her shoulder-strap

purse and rapidly stroked her hair. “Jeez – that’s great! See you, Nick! See you, Iffy! Now promise you

won’t let any of these cheap tarts around here steal you away?” They nodded. “Swear!”

---

If the normal week was a round of endless torture, the weekend had been a demanding marathon

through a pleasure garden. All the Crazies did was snack, drink, and make love to eager, fine-looking

women. The future bomb defuzers, up against their multifaceted uncertainties, struck a universal chord in

the future stewardesses. No one in either group had any idea of where they might be hence. Despite the

element of repetitiveness, the frogmen heroically responded to the bone-honest demands of the women.

Periodically in the bar to get a sandwich and some booze, the Crazies would leave with another woman

5

2015 DRAFT

and others would call out, when you’re done with her, it’s my turn. The faces and bodies of the women

became blurred, but Iffy and Greene were true to their oath. Connie was as promised – unforgettable. She

again dispatched them both to the land of no return, and then she assassinated the remaining Crazies.

Sitting under the dim fluorescent light before his Frogman Special, his head periodically rolling off its

balance point into a snap that produced a bright flash of light, Greene didn’t know if he was dreaming he

was at Carlo’s. Regretting his swigs of bourbon during the car ride back down to the Keys, he was

envious of the bugs hitting the zapper. Vaguely, Greene remembered calling Larry Horne in the wee

hours before they left Miami. Greene couldn’t remember what had been said, but Larry had been miffed.

After Rod Culver’s departure for his inability to buddy-breath, the instructors appointed another

football player class leader. Berk’s saturnine good looks had caused him to be the busiest Crazy over the

weekend, and he made his first roll call at muster with a barely audible voice. Eric Olson was neither

present nor accounted for.

“Olson was asked to withdraw from the school,” Chief Dunne informed them. “The man made a

hash of his Dive Tables. If you can’t hack the books, you can’t have the life, and what a life it is! Imagine

the book learning you fellas are going to have to master – just to get the chance to blow yourselves to

kingdom come. Right HACE! For’d HARCH! Lef. Lef. Doubletiiiime, HARCH!”

As they ran themselves into the torture circle after a three-mile, warm-up jaunt, the sun rose and

Greene began to recover. They started in with burpies, and he felt his orange juice beginning to slip out of

control. Putting himself on automatic pilot, he concentrated on revisiting the different sweet bosoms and

taut neck tendons, the facial expressions of shyness, wantonness, and pure pleasurable agony. This didn’t

get him thorough the flutter-kicks, but he got hold of Connie’s shining face. He was suddenly sliding

along the grass on his own face. Gagging and dry heaving, he felt the deep, clammy sweat that was more

of a solid than a liquid being squeezed out of his pores like poisonous toothpaste. In a world so tightly

6

2015 DRAFT

circumscribed by misery, Greene could see part of Chief Dunne’s left sneaker out of the corner of his eye,

and then the bourbon-laced orange slosh in his belly rocketed out onto the grass. The chief jumped

nimbly out of the way.

“Outstanding barf, Ensign Greene!” The voice came from a great distance. “Except we are at week

five – and you’re still tossing your cookies. I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Greene.” Hauling air into his

gasping, foul-tasting mouth, Greene watched the strands of his thickened saliva, prismatically reflecting

the dawn sun as they dangled toward the grass. “Report to the parking lot at fifteen-thirty.”

As the rest of the class was going home at 1530, Mahmood and Greene joined Ensign Thumm, who

had let his tanks topple over in the landing craft, and Five Team, who had whiffed the stake. A number of

teams had surfaced because of lack of air, but they hadn’t been punished.

“Aww – are the softies gonna toughen up?” Lanny Tubman sneered.

“May Allah skewer your spiteful little balls,” Mike Najdi hissed back at him.

“Rag head hocus-pocus is all yew got, softie,” Lanny viciously taunted.

“See you at the Captain’s!” Iffy gaily called. “Remember – Connie’s comin’ down!”

Chief Dunne strode out of the screen door, instantly assuming silent command over every reality in

their world. “ATTENTION ON DECK!” The five miscreants cried.“Let’s make it sweet, fellas. Select

some nice palm trunks, and we’ll head to our favorite beach.”

Greene got home at 1715. The three steps to the porch appeared insurmountable. He slowly took off

his uniform, careful not to let it touch the cuts on his hands. It had to go to the laundry. When was he

going to do that? He placed it on hangers. After-shave would be his detergent, and gravity would be his

iron. He wanted to get to the Captain’s to say hello to Connie, but the bed started singing arias.

“Darling, you haven’t a stitch on.” Iffy was on the porch. “I knocked, but you were elsewhere.”

“Entirely possible.” Greene nodded. “Care for a drink?”

7

2015 DRAFT

Iffy had a fit of the trembles. “I don’t know if it’s the water or the booze. But, guess what? It’s J valve

time!” He dramatically revealed the joint he had cupped in his hand. “Connie laid it on me – she’s got a

couple of ounces.” They sat on the porch, passing the smoke. Greene didn’t bother to get dressed. “I saw

the chief put the palms on you.” Greene glanced at his raw hands. “Got your neck, too. Still, better than

the hawser. I was serious about preferring to drown.”

Greene nodded. “How’s Connie?” A goofy smile glided over Iffy’s face. “I’d like to pay my

respects.” Greene glanced down at the miniscule thing nestled between his legs. “Can’t do much else.”

“I’m in the same boat.”

“Think she’ll be – offended?”

“Ahh, no. Connie’s a realist. Besides, she’s already made some pretty serious arrangements.”

“What’s she up to?” Greene smiled. “Or – who’s she up to?”

“Leandro, for openers.”

“Right there on the bar?”

“No no. Wants to do everybody. A formal banquet of –” Iffy had lost his mind to smoke.

“—Orgasm?” Greene suggested.

“Of the, the whole class. The works.”

“Enlisted too?”

“You bet. Democratic. EOD three-six-eight, soup to nuts.” Iffy giggled. “Don’t know why, but she’s

got it in her head that us intrepid frogmen bomb defuzers are something special.”

Greene smiled vacantly. “There’s a reasonable supposition.”

“Damn right. Get this. Her parents gave her money for her graduation, and she’s blowing it to rent the

bridal suite at the Plantation Hotel. She’s gonna nap and work on her tan during the day and fuck

everybody into the ground at night. Very specific about that part. Wants everyone to get his absolute fill,

8

2015 DRAFT

every mad desire. No turns unstoned.”

“I’m speechless.”

Iffy showed mock astonishment. “For you, that’s heavy! Lester and I did the class roster and worked

it out on a bar napkin with her. Everyone has a slot. Except married. She wants no part of that, unless the

husband brings the wife.” They both pointed at the bungalow wall adjoining the Kink quarters and made

silent grimaces and expansive eyebrow wigglings.

“How long does everybody have?”

“Sixty glorious minutes.”

“They’ll never make it. If she put her mind to it, she can kill a man in ten.”

“Ah, we may know that, but the innocent don’t yet get it. The pussy palace is open from sixteen-

hundred to oh five-hundred. That’s – ”

“—Wow. You really got this worked out.”

“It’s all Connie’s doing. Knows what she wants. So that’s eight slots a night. Got a slow start tonight

– only six guys, but she figures to be through the twenty-two on the roster by Thursday morning, leaving

that night for the big party.”

“What about night exercises?”

“We checked. Nothing this week. It’s solid.”

“When’s my slot? I got to get ready.”

“You don’t have one. None of us from Miami are on the list. Hey, come on! She’s already done us I

forget how many times.”

“I got hurt feelings.” Greene was looking down at himself. “Will you get a load of this?”

Iffy leaned over and observed his friend’s tumescence. “Very handsome.”

“No. It’s amazing! As soon as I can’t have any, Quasimodo here gets interested.”

9

2015 DRAFT

“My friend,” Iffy said softly, “See the bright side. Given what’s next, you haven’t blown it off yet.”

“AHHHH-hhh! That’s – that’s next!” Whatever sense he had of his manly potency had now

shrunken to the vanishing point. “AAAAhh-hhhh! For certain!”

Iffy stood and held his arms wide for Greene, who jumped up and hugged Iffy as hard as he could.

Having Iffy’s ape arms around him, squeezing the frights out of him, Greene felt his heart re-start.

---

The next morning after PT they spent practicing search procedures in the cesspool they called the

harbor. A steel barge had been moored in the center of it, and they spent the hot hours either sautéing in

their own sweat on the barge or marinating in the fecund waters. The instructors threw four weights, tied

off to a Styrofoam block by a short line, into the chalk-green water, and four teams made their entrances

from different corners of the barge.

“You, ah, seen Connie yet?” Tom whispered to Greene. He was grinning like a ten-year-old.

“No. Had the pleasure in Miami.”

“So you were in the group that found her?”

“She found us. How about you?”

Tom’s face melted into the usual slack-jello expression. “Had the graveyard slot. They don’t make

‘em like that back in Vilas County.” He was staring over the jetty to the razor line of the horizon. “I’m

now up the crick without a paddle.”

Greene saw where their float had hit thirty yards away, in the direction of a raft of three destroyer

escorts. Knowing the stopwatch was running in Doc Gradey’s hand, he and Tom cleared their masks and

churned on the scummy surface toward the approximate point of entry. En route, Greene studied several

links of human feces as they floated inches from his facemask. Clamping tightly with lips and teeth,

Greene feared he might bite off his mouthpiece. Grateful that he had mostly smoked pot the previous

10

2015 DRAFT

night, he doubted he could have survived with a booze belly. Still, the only way he could keep from

gagging was to imagine a scientist in the comfort of a laboratory, safely separated from the horror by the

thick wall of a glass tank. The disassociation worked wonders.

They were supposed to descend thirty-five feet to the bottom, holding hands so they wouldn’t

separate in the near zero visibility, and then swim in concentrically larger circles, carefully feeling

everything until they encountered the float. Then they could return to the barge, tails wagging like trained

sewer retrievers. Four feet under the surface, all they could see was a uniformly muddy green. Their

descent became tentative. Greene didn’t want to ram his head into the bottom, yet it had taken so long he

knew they’d lost track of the vertical. Greene stopped swimming and looked around, trying to distinguish

a darker tone that would indicate the bottom. As long as he had Tom’s hand and air, he was not troubled.

Yet there would be hell to pay. How had they managed to be unable to find the bottom in the center of a

Navy harbor?

The back of Greene’s head smacked the bottom. Their negative buoyancy had taken them into what

felt like an area of small coral hummocks. Righting themselves, they scraped their arms and knees as they

started to swim in their circle. Each, unfortunately, had elected a different direction, and they butted

heads, ringing Greene’s ears. Finally, they started exploring the bottom. It was festooned with coral and

weird debris. Greene put his hand into a mass of wire. It felt like the protective cage of a discarded fan.

He had seen hundreds of Moray eels in his snorkeling days. Even when they were clearly visible, he had

a primal fear of them. Morays didn’t bother you unless the blood from a speared fish drew them, or if you

messed around close to them. Was it a good idea to be blindly sticking their raw and probably bleeding

hands into every nook and cranny? Every time he swept his hand over the bottom and inadvertently hit

something, Greene thought he would feel the shove of muscular, slimy coils and those needle-sharp teeth

clamping onto him with hundreds of foot-pounds of pressure. Greene heard Tom making noises. He was

11

2015 DRAFT

crushing Tom’s hand.

As Greene willfully shut down his fears, he jammed his hand into the same wire cage. They should

widen their search arc. The mental effort of forming a picture of what he touched was starting to make

him feel groggy, and he wondered when they should quit and surface. Five more minutes. With a bang,

Greene collided with something large and metallic. A shipping container? An ice-box? They made their

way around it. Shouldn’t they be going up? Five more minutes. Suddenly Tom was making noise and

squeezing his hand. He put something against Greene’s facemask. It was the Styrofoam float! Greene

joyously pumped Tom’s hand, and then they began a slow ascent, their hands protectively above their

heads least they encounter either the barge or a massive turd.

Their eyes were so adjusted to the dim light of the bottom that breaking the surface into the hot

sunlight dazzled them. Greene felt disjointed. They were facing the jetty rather than the destroyer escorts.

As they surface swam back to the barge, they saw that the instructor wasn’t Gradey, but Chief Dunne.

“Sorry, boys, wrong pew.” Dunne languidly pointed to their left, and they sheepishly departed,

swimming around the hulking corner of the barge. Gradey came into view.

“Where have you been? Did you break for chow?” Tom pulled the float above the surface and shook

it in triumph. Greene would have been grinning, except the last thing he wanted was to break the seal on

his mouthpiece. “Congratulations, morons, you got Two Team’s float. Get the fuck up here.”

Doc Gradey made it clear that they had veered on descent and wandered into the other team’s area.

Like dogs that had brought back a rat instead of a mallard, Greene and Tom hung their heads.

“Doc, send ‘em back down to recover Two Team.” Chief Dunne sounded sad. It was unnerving.

“Otherwise, the silly bastards’ll swim themselves to death.”

By Gradey’s hand signals, Greene and Worsh discovered Two Team’s bubble stream and followed it

downward into the murk. The four of them returned to the barge. After their sins had been amply

12

2015 DRAFT

explained by a lava flow of insults, Greene glanced at his friend. Iffy was sitting with his bleeding hands

crumpled in front of his chest. He seemed ashamed of his failure, outraged that he had been made to

swim in a sewer, and bewildered that he had jammed his hairy paws into a slashing machine beyond his

cognizance.

There wasn’t a shower hot enough in all of South Florida to remove the fears of the harbor water.

Everyone was taking twice the time, and, when Greene got his turn, the water was cold. He gasped and

then heard, over the sound of the water, a chorus of small, gasping screams. The class had been using

small bottles of medicinal alcohol with eyedroppers on their ears for weeks. Now, each of them had been

issued a hefty, brown glass bottle. When the alcohol seeped into the raw cuts, the chest involuntarily

constricted.

Greene saw Iffy studying his bottle. “You wouldn’t, would you?” Greene asked.

“I was thinking about it. Anesthetic before I did my hands.”

“Iffy, this stuff will blind you.”

“That’s wood alcohol. I have it on good authority that this is a coveted shipboard possession.”

“And on whose authority might that be?”

“My own, you stickler,” he said as he took a hefty swig. His face got the look of a man who has had a

bucket of freezing water thrown on him. Then he shook violently and gasped. “Could use,” his voice was

below a whisper, “a mixer. Something solid. Mango juice?”

---

Vowing to have his first peaceful night, Greene took every scrap of clothing he owned to a

Laundromat he had spotted on Duvall Street. Always having enough money to avoid this domestic chore,

Greene was essentially a laundry virgin. Fortunately, there was an old black lady with a bright scarf

around her head doing her load, and she offered to help him through the ordeal. She liked both that he

13

2015 DRAFT

was in the frogman school and had the wisdom to know he knew nothing about laundry. Greene bought a

six-pack of Miller beer next door, and the two of them quietly sipped as they watched the clothes go

around.

The woman was a mite spooky, like a fortuneteller. He raised his can to her, dripping condensation

into his lap. “Suds for suds!” She thought that was funny, and he laughed at his own joke.

“Y’awl heard ‘bout Bess-eh?” the woman asked, frowning.

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, she had’a put a cawl through ta frogyman skewl the oth’ah night.”

“Why’d she do that?”

“Well, jest like she tol’ the man awn the phone. Theys neked divers dancn’ awn muh lawn!”

“No kidding?” Greene was trying to remember how he’d missed this merriment.

“Ya Suh. That young feller thought he’s purty smart, so’s he axed Bess-eh, Lady, if they’s neked,

how-all t’is it you knowd they’s Navy divers?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Well, Bess-eh’s been ‘roun’ some, and right t’way she sez great big watches‘n li’l bitty dicks.”

Greene was nonplussed. Finally realizing he’d been had, he burst out laughing. “Ah seed yew had awn

one’a them watches,” the old lady said, touching Greene’s Rolex with a profoundly wrinkled finger and

then jabbing him hard in the ribs, “And Ah couldn’t hep muh’sef.”

They opened another beer, and the woman asked, “What’awl kine’a frogyman yew gona be?”

“The kind that gets kissed and turns into a prince.” Her smile slowly faded, leaving her looking noble.

“Y’awl aint goin’ fer UDT er SEAL, is you?”Greene was amazed.

“No, too hard. Just EOD.”

The woman settled back, smiling again. “Thas goooood.”

14

2015 DRAFT

“Why is that?” Greene hesitantly asked.

“Y’awl a lov-ah, honey, not a fight-ah.”

“UDT aren’t lovers?”

Her eyes were oddly flecked with many colors. “Lawd no, honey, they’s fight-ahs!”

“Well, this confuses me.”

Her laughter drew Greene toward her, like being sucked into the slip-stream of a speeding semi.

“Fuckin’, honey-chile, air the op-sit’a fightin’!” She had to hold her belly as her whole body shook.

She showed him how to fold the hot, dry clothes and then took him by the hands and looked far into

his eyes. Greene became anxious, feeling a rare part of himself being gently touched. “Y’awl gona’ be

awl-right, shug-ah.” Her low, whispering voice went straight into his pounding heart. “T’aint sayn’ it’s

gonna be easy, now, but y’awl gonna make it, bye ‘n bye.” Greene snapped out of a vast distance when

he felt her hands warmly squeezing his. She was still looking right at him. “Jes be nice t’the wimmin

that’r nice t’yew, honey.” She gave his hands a last squeeze then let go. “Thas awl it’s gonna take.” She

nodded. “‘N if y’awl ev’ah gits the urge, come on by ‘n see Dotty, tha’s me. Ah been ‘roun’ ‘n ‘roun’ ‘n

roun’, ‘n I got’s sumpin y’awl can dive reeeeeal deep in’ta.” She laughed that low laugh again, the one

that sounded like a subway train running deep in earth.

The prevailing mood at Carlo’s was as dark as pre dawn, but Lester was eager to show what he had

gotten for Connie. The black felt case passed from hand to hand. Berk put it on the concrete next to

Greene’s plate. Greene stared at the box, and then at his grits, which seemed to have the same coloration

as the white Russians Iffy had insisted upon when they made their post-laundry midnight creep to Sloppy

Joe’s. Weathering a nausea seizure, he saw his hands reach out and open the box. On a good gold chain

there was a circular gold disc, bigger than a half dollar, with the EOD emblem nicely engraved on its

solid heft.

15

2015 DRAFT

“This is very lovely,” Greene croaked. Lester made the circular, or continue, motion with his finger, and

Greene looked down and turned the medal over. On the back it said

ConnieEOD-368 / Key West

our undying love

Greene was moved. He nodded, put it back in the case, and passed it on. When it finally got back to

Lester, Josh Kee said, “Damned good job. Happy for me, us, and her.” Everyone nodded.

“I particularly liked the undying part,” Greene said. “It’s got reverberations! Once you’ve had the

Connie experience, you never forget, so that’s a forever memory. Second, it raises the ambiguities

concerning, well, the dicey nature of our future profession. Best of all, look at undying in the

Shakespearean sense. He used the word, dying, to mean climaxing, like Let me die in your arms, see?

With Connie, you can’t help yourself and go off like a rocket. But undying indicates an eternal hump, like

the lovers on Keats’s Grecian urn. Further–”

“—Greene!” Iffy’s face was stormy, and he jabbed at Greene with his plastic fork. “Has anyone ever

told you to shut the fuck up?” Shocked and crushed, Greene pretended to work on his sausage.

Iffy hopped into Greene’s car as he was pulling out of Carlo’s. “Sorry,” he said.

“You hurt my feelings, you prick.”

“You were hurting our feelings,” Iffy pointed out.

“How? I was only showing you, for Christ’s sake, that I thought the inscription was meaningful.”

“Sometimes your meanings sound like lectures, and you make the rest of us feel dumb.”

“Iffy! You know I don’t mean it that way. That’s the last thing –”

“—Besides, why always explain? Why can’t you leave life be its own fucked up perfection?”

“Well said. See what you mean.” They passed the main gate and absently returned the insulting salute

from the Marine corporal. “Somebody once said we murder to explain.”

16

2015 DRAFT

“That’s the ticket all right, but there you fucking go again.”

As they were suiting up, the bell clanged and froze them in place. The next two strokes of the

hammer came like a clock. Whoever was quitting hadn’t a doubt. They counted noses.

“We’re all here.” Iffy said, pulling on his T-shirt. “Maybe White.” Iffy’s voice was tense.

“Shit. That would be unfair.” Greene said.

“Get it into your head that there is no fucking fair! Anywhere!” Iffy slammed his locker and stomped

out, leaving Greene holding his sock to his throbbing head, mystified. What had gotten into everyone?

Was it the dive? The Four? Was it Connie? Obviously, it was all of it – the drinking, the lack of sleep, the

daily grind, and each horrible new lesson. There was a lot of shit in the harbor.

An unusual three minutes late, Parsons and Dunne came through the swinging door. “All right,” Chief

Dunne said, “Stand Easy.” Everyone could feel the uneasiness. “As you all know, White has just rung out.

Sometimes men do that without actually meaning it. White meant it. He didn’t want to dive. It’s flat that

simple. I told you before that men are going to be taken to their limit. Every step of the way there’s

something new, and you simply don’t know if it’s going to chill your nuts or not. White passed his Blow &

Go and his sixty-foot dive. He did that by going against his fears. That shows character, but it is not right. He

respected his limits. Today it’s one-fifty and then it’s two hundred on mixed gas. There’s a two hundred and

fifty footer your last week. Does anyone else have a problem with that?” The chief looked from man to man.

“Now’s the time. Take good stock of yourself.” The class could feel itself coalesce into a collective solid.

Satisfied, the chief said, “You got anything to add, Gene?”

“Should I give them the good news?” Parsons asked. Dunne nodded. “Gents, we got a long ride out

to our dive site. There will be no PT this morning.” A wave of relief went through everyone. Until they

were let off a hook, they had no idea how deeply it had penetrated them.

17

2015 DRAFT

“One more thing,” Dunne said. “We asked White if his decision involved the run-in with instructor

Kovar. He said no, and I believe him. Any problems with that?” There were murmurs. “Boys, boys, what

is this, a KNITTING SOCIETY?”

“NO, SIR!” The robust shout echoed off the school and rolled out onto the dark roads of the base.

“Out-standing! The LCM is moored at the wharf. Fall out, and we’ll saddle up in ten. Dismiss!”

The trip out to the edge of the Gulf Stream took over an hour. Lying on their backs in the well of the

LCM, those who stayed awake saw the rectangle of sky over their heads put on a show. The starry blackness

slowly gave way to the great cyan vault of heaven, and a few low, wispy clouds seemed to be delivering a

message in Japanese calligraphy. The ink of the celestial brush gradually changed from lavender to blood red

to a glowing, other-worldly orange that would have made a mere saffron-robed Zen master fall to his knees

and weep. The motor cut and they were instantly aware. The stern anchor chain roared like the end of the

world, sending shivers through the old ship. Finally, the sound diminished and stopped. They could see from

the movement of the few clouds that the anchor had bit, and the bow of the ship swung down current. They

were ready for the scream of the ramp hoist, and they finally looked out on an indescribably blue sea,

undulating with long, soft, slow rollers like the flanks of a living thing.

“This is the life!” Iffy exclaimed.

“What happened to Mr. Gloom?” Greene asked. Iffy shrugged then laughed that fine laugh of his, the

one to which Greene imagined angels danced.

Again, four descent lines were put down. Everyone on board seemed to be in a jolly frame of mind,

sensing that even though they were doing the work of the Navy, the base was over the horizon. They

heard Kovar whistling as he worked with a line. It was incessant, but of no determinable tune.

“Steam?” Carbonarra whispered to Greene, who had no problem fighting off a laugh.

18

2015 DRAFT

Parsons called to gather around. “OK, you know the drill. We have a knot plus current, which is stiff.

What is the max allowable current without a manned chase boat in the water? Mr. Kink?”

“Three knots.”

“Why? Mr. Greene?”

“You can’t make headway against it.”

“Right. Get your butt taken to Ireland, is all. This is why we’re doubling the length of the line to the

catch raft. Two hundred yards. What’s the most important factor here, Boats?”

Foss wrinkled his face. “Well, I suppose that’d be to keep a purty good hold’a the de-sent line.

Myself, I’m gonna tie my dick to it with a runnin’ bowlin’.”

Parsons laughed. It was his third in six weeks, and it made them all light-headed. “We got a max

bottom time of five minutes, so don’t dawdle. Watch the nitrogen narcosis. OK, any questions? No?

Carry your rigs and saddle up when told to do so.”

The blue astonished Greene. Before he even cleared his mask and throughout the whole dive, he could

feel that amazing blue stretching out to the infinite. This time the visibility was over a hundred feet. When he

got the thumbs down from Gradey and began to rocket down the line, he couldn’t help himself and yelled

into his mouthpiece with joy. If it had been a thousand feet deep, he would have gone. He was free.

Almost immediately, he could see Chief Dunne hanging on the line at a hundred and thirty, looking

tiny. The chief waved him on, and he shot past, again nearly burrowing his head into the featureless

bottom next to Chief Gradey. Something was wrong. Greene could hear an edgy hammering noise

somewhere far off. He sensed the change in the underlying pressure of the water. Somewhere between

Dunne and the bottom, the ocean had lost its playfulness. He was in a dangerous zone, and he laughed.

He felt like he’d had a hit of passable weed. It was nitrogen narcosis! He had a slight buzz. Parsons had

warned them of men who had gone wacko and tried to buddy breathe with fish. Alternatively, they got

19

2015 DRAFT

lured by the deep and kept on swimming down until they were gone from the world. No, he was nowhere

near out of his head, just pleasantly enjoying existence, if that’s what you could call it. Greene laughed

again. Perhaps pot smoking would be good training for divers. Should he suggest that to Chief Dunne?

Would the chief pass the word? Hovering next to the anchor of the clump line, he turned on his side and

peered upward into the nothingness, feeling small raptures. It was a gas. He saw Tom and the others

passing Dunne. Sadly, because of the short bottom time, there were immediately ascending as a group.

Greene was frustrated. He liked it deep.

All too soon, Greene was back in the hot, brutal box of the LCM, his skin still cool from the depths.

His hangover had been expunged, and he felt mildly enervated but altogether wonderful. He lay down in

the sun next to Tom. “Wow.”

“Think I could get used to that,” Tom said.

“I’m addicted. Speaking of that, you’re coming to the party tonight for Connie?”

“We were asked, but isn’t it kind of an, officer thing?”

“In dick land, a man is only a man. Just ask Connie.”

“You mean that it’s OK?”

“Certainly! I’d be unhappy if all of you didn’t come.”

“We’ll be there.” Greene was asleep without even feeling the heaviness of his eyelids.

---

Changing at the end of the day, Greene asked Carbonarra, “What did we talk about in the mixed gas

classroom?”

“What do you mean?”

“For two hours, what was – the gist of the instruction?”

“Well, it was, it was –” Iffy laughed.

20

2015 DRAFT

“See? Chief Wolf told us to pay close attention. That the Mark 4 rebreather rig is like having a

rattlesnake for a pet, that it was a widow maker. Told us for the very best of no bullshit reasons.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Memory’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. Remember Chief Dunne? At

Show Time you can’t have a checklist in your head, too slow. All you gotta do is do.”

“At last resort, make doo-doo?”

Iffy roared. “Hey, winging it beats scratching your nuts and awaiting perfect knowledge.”

“Sounds like the Jesuits got to you more than you know.”

Iffy blinked. “I never thought of it that way, but I it’s true. Why the fuck not? I’m the product of

everything that’s happened to me, including them and Chief Wolf, too. You gotta have faith that some

decent info has taken up residency in your spinal cord.” Iffy tied up his last lace, and then he stood and gently

closed his bent locker door. “When the moment comes, it’s eyeballs to spine to action – no head in the deal

at all. The kick-off at the Captain’s is at nineteen hundred hours. That’s, six o’clock.

“No, it isn’t.” Iffy counted on his fingers, giggling, and Greene wilted on the bench with laughter.

“OK! Belay that. Seven o’clock! I’m getting there early to get set up. See you there!”

When Greene arrived home, various phrases started coming back at him – Show Time, when the

moment comes, winging it. Minute by minute, they were all getting ready for the thing that had no name.

The moment of truth? Too nice a phrase, too lofty. The moment of death? Nice and abstract, dealing with

result only, conveniently omitting previous moments that would no doubt pass by uncomfortably. No

Name was – what? It was all around them, packed over their heads, jammed into their mouths and eyes.

But it was as yet invisible and odorless. Greene glanced nervously about his rudimentary quarters,

expecting to see some telltale sign of its presence. Was a time going to come when Iffy would say, see

you there, and Greene would never see him again? Yet in this, weren’t they just in the normal human

boat? That was true, but they were also sailing so much closer to the wind, right into the teeth of what was

21

2015 DRAFT

unanimously predicted to be a hurricane. A black shimmering was coming out of all the corners, seeming

to pull him gently toward glossy nothingness. He had tripped something, and he heard vicious snap

behind him like jaws.

“Nick! You in there?”

Whirling around, Greene saw her shape against the gathering dusk outside his bungalow. “Connie!”

Smiling from ear to ear, he opened the door. Dressed in the same elegant suit, she was a dead ringer for a

European gal out for the evening in Paris. “Wow!” Greene was floored. “You look like a million bucks!”

She grinned and sensually shook her hair. It had been done up in fancy waves, and she laughed her

trilling, little girl laugh, the one that could shoot hot flashes through armor plate. She kissed him on the

cheek, not wanting to smear her carefully done make-up.

“The suit’s Cacherel, and it cost more. Then again, if I’d only charged what I was worth –”

“—But you’d have lost your – ”

“—Joy of the doings!”

“Connie! It’s great to see you.”

“Listen, is it OK if I bunk here tonight?”

“Got your own room.” Greene picked up her small suitcase.

“Thanks, Nick. I’ve burnt all my wampum. Had a good run, but I had to check out’a that hotel. I’ve

got a hop at seven-thirty tomorrow to catch the Miami flight for LAX. No Europe. Doing the Saigon run.

Going to have to do a reverse Columbus.”

“Can I lend you any money?”

“Thanks, but I got enough.” Greene showed her Larry’s old room. Just having her there made the

whole place light up like Versailles, banishing the nameless dark. “This is nice.” She sat down on the bed.

Greene joined her, and she held his hand. “You felt kind’a hot. You OK? Want a quickie?” She missed

22

2015 DRAFT

nothing.

“Connie, Connie – course I do,” Greene said, feeling a vestigial lurch, “But you’re the guest of honor

at the Captain’s, and we’re already a little late. Give me a rain-check?”

“You got it.”

“You gotta swear,” Greene said in an imitation of her voice.

Connie threw back her head and laughed. “Nick, I’m nervy about the big bash. Pure Cinderella. Will

you get me back here before midnight?” Greene nodded. “You got any shooter material?”

“Light rum.”

“Great. Neat, please.”

When Greene came back with her glass, she had her cosmetic kit on the bathroom sink and a lit joint

in her mouth. “I’ll trade you,” she said in a whisper, preserving the sweet smoke in her lungs.

They walked hand in hand through the short cut in the bougainvillea. On the threshold of the saloon,

Connie nervously grinned as she swept past him. Greene saw the hem of her suit in the last of the direct

sun. He’d thought it was black, but it was actually blue-black, the holy hue of deep water. Her calf was

the color of cinnamon. Then the usual blackout of the barroom swallowed them. Greene always thought

he was entering the airlock of a submerged submarine, and it caused everyone coming in from the street

to stop to let their eyes adjust. Timing it to perfection, the guys roared like lions. Strong male voices,

accompanied by hard, rhythmic clapping, chanted, “CONNNN-NIE! CONNNN-NIE! CONNNN-NIE!”

Her hand reached out and crushed Greene’s fingers. The most fearless fuckstress east of Slapout,

Oklahoma, was having a fit of social nerves.

Connie let go of Greene’s hand, and Lester was immediately holding both her hands and swinging

her in a slow circle in the center of the men. Her eyes glowed with eerie power, and her smile was that of

a goddess deeply touched by her supplicants. Greene joined in the hypnotic clapping and chanting as

23

2015 DRAFT

Lester handed her over to Berk, and Connie tenderly kissed Lester’s cheek, giving him a warm glance of

shared remembrance. Then Berk took her in the slow swirl and got his kiss and smile and passed her on

to Maggioli, then Maggioli to Najdi, then Najdi to Worsh, then Worsh to Dickson. As soon as Greene

held her warm hands, it was as if they had been welded together for a lifetime, and he heard nothing and

saw nothing of the spinning room. There were only her eyes. Then she was kissing him with cool lips on

his hot face, and he was clapping, and Yamashita was gently swinging her. Everyone had that brief spin

of righteous triumph. When the last man got his kiss and let her go, she stood alone, beautifully erect, her

arms hanging gracefully along her sides.

Connie’s mouth was slightly open, her head tilted upward, and her eyes looked into another land. The

clapping rose into constant thunder. Suddenly, as if a door had shut, the clapping stopped, leaving Connie

in pin drop silence, tears running down her face.

She finally blinked and started to brush away her tears, breaking the spell. Men lurched about

searching for or actually proffering handkerchiefs. Connie laughed, and then everyone was laughing.

Lester quieted everybody down. “Connie, can we get you something to drink? Would you like some

Champagne?”

“I admit you boys have gone and made me thirsty.” Warm laughter interrupted her.

“We not make you thirsty,” Josh Ming Kee squealed, “we thirsty for you for rest of life!” This was

followed by more laughter and shouts of count me in! I’d like another swig’a that, too!

“So, it’ll be, Champagne?” Lester shouted over the chorus of aroused apes, stilling them down.

“I best stick to the one that brung me. Oakey Champagne’d be fine. That’s Jack, if you didn’t know.”

There was laughter and a mass stampede to the bar. Greene caught a glance of Lilly’s face. She was

trying to conceal a hard, unforgiving look. He hoped she wasn’t putting strychnine into the Jack Daniels.

Everybody got a double, draining six bottles.

24

2015 DRAFT

Connie raised her glass. “To my guys! You’ll be inside me forever!” They watched her take a solid

belt, cheered, and then gulped their own.

“Connie, we, well.” Lester had an unusual loss of words. “We got this. It’s not much, I mean we all

chipped in for it, and, we hope you like it.”

Connie passed her drink over to Josh Kee, who held it like a sacrament, and took the small, nicely

wrapped package. She blushed into the roots of her hair. “Aw, shit,” she said, and everyone laughed.

“You guys did a lot more than just chip in.” This brought the house down.

She undid the wrapping and opened the case. “Oh, my god! It’s beautiful!” She held the medal up.

“It’s got an inscription,” Lester said. Connie squinted in the dimness. Ten Zippos simultaneously un-

clacked, and in their orange, primitive glow, Connie inspected the face with the insignia.

“It’s, so nice. But what is it?”

“That’s the bomb defuzer emblem. Explosive Ordnance Disposal. See the olive branch, here, the

bomb, and the lightning bolt? The star means you’re an officer.”

“It’s just –”

“If we make it through,” Lester said, “we’re going to wear one, when we’re real bomb defuzers.

There’s something on the back, too.” She slowly turned the medal. “Read it out loud for us.”

“Connie, it says in big letters. Then, Eyod?” Everyone laughed.

“That’s the EOD.”

“Yes, EOD. And, three hundred and sixty eight?”

“That’s our class number. Three, we started in March, then sixty-eight for the year.”

“Then it says,” she squinted and gulped. “It says, with our undying love.”

The silence in the bar was total. Connie held the medal by its chain above her head, and, as it slowly

revolved, the flames were reflected in gold, as if it were a living thing. Nobody could move. Connie was a

25

2015 DRAFT

fire-lit goddess who held their lives in her hand. Her face was chiseled in deathly seriousness, and her

voice seemed not hers, but to come through her from a distance. “You have all shown me so much man-

heart –”

The silence strung out, and then Iffy started chanting, “YES! YES! YES!” and it was taken up by

everyone, and the roaring bent the walls. As Connie waved the pulsing medal above her head, Greene felt

he was in a jungle temple, celebrating the goddess’s absolute dominion over these desperately mortal

men.

26

2015 DRAFT

27