Aware that any solution, to the problems I was having with my self and the Navy, lay in remaining faithful to my soul, I tried my damnedest to accept the form in which she presented herself to me, only to fail, for in reality, I wanted her to be like Mary. While she definitely wasn’t Mary, I shuddered at the thought of what the differences between the two might mean to my relationship with the latter. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I saw in Mary, and held onto so tenaciously, other than the possibility of a sexual relationship. And yet I truly loved Mary, or so I thought till I recalled what Jinny had told me awhile back—that it was she, as I saw her in Mary, whom I really loved.

“Why had I been singled out from all these people,“ I wondered as I descended the gangplank, “to see things as they really are?“

As I made my way through the crowd, I felt as if all eyes were upon me. Looking up, I noticed that was indeed the case. Just then, I thought I heard someone ask me, nonverbally, that is, what I’d seen over there (meaning overseas). Feeling a little paranoid at first, I simply smiled, as if to say, it really wasn’t anything that didn’t show.

“Had I finally flipped my lid?“ I wondered as I scooted down the pier. “Or had I really found something over there that showed forth from my being. And if so, what was it, that was so powerful, it could make people stop and take notice?“

“With your guns & drums ’n’ drums & guns,“ bemoaned my mentor, “the enemy nearly slew ye.“

Instantly, I knew that this part of the story would push the button of everyone who read it.

“Then keep it to yourself,“ demanded an inharmonious voice from somewhere deep within my being.

“My darlin’ dear, ye look so queer,“ moaned the dead man.

“Och! Johnny,“ began the right hand, ere it was cut off by the left.

“I hardly knew ye,“ completed the left hand, its ode to the dead.

“Knew who?“ asked a tremulous right hand.

“Who are you, anyway“ entreated the left hand.

“Dammit! Who are you?“ demanded the right hand, in an effort to ascertain what was going on here, before the dead man’s spirit slipped through my fingers, taking its awful secret with it.

With that, I realized I had finally destroyed the terrible image I had of my stepfather. He was the enemy I’d shot ’n’ killed, as I peeled away the lies, which’d hidden the truth from me for so long. With each round I had, figuratively speaking, fired into the face of this dark specter, I unveiled all the pain ’n’ suffering this miserable human being had inflicted upon me. No longer cursed to live out his fate, I was free now, to make my own choices. Or was I, for while the spirit was most willing, the flesh was still very weak.

“But somethin’ deep inside, Elrie, is tellin’ me this whole way of life is wrong—that I shouldn’t even be here, in the first place,“ I continued. “It’s been pushin’ me to resist this animalistic way of life, with everything I’ve got, for only recently has it captured enough of my imagination to win over my body as well. And so has my conscience been gettin’ me into trouble with the Navy.

“I feel like I just woke up to the meaning of my life, after havin’ been asleep for years,“ I concluded. “For I’ve stumbled on a great treasure, Elrie, the wisdom of my own being.“

“What’s the matter?“ I asked in response to the terribly wretched look that’d overtaken his face. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?“

“I came over here,“ he confessed, “to see if you’d like to go into Olongapo, to have a few drinks for old time’s sake, before gettin’ laid,“ whereupon my face fell to the floor under the weight of my sudden disappointment in him. “Now I see you really aren’t interested in such mundane affairs,“ he continued with great difficulty as I struggled to remove the knife he had just run clean through my heart. “With this bein’ my home port, I couldn’t resist the lure of all those beautiful women callin’ out to me…“

“…Like the Sirens of Greek mythology,“ I muttered.

“Yeah, like the Sirens,“ he reiterated. “Then ya understand…“

“…That you had no one to tie ya down to the mast while you listened to their enchanting song,“ I interjected. “I’m sorry I couldna been there for ya.“

“Who knows. Maybe I’ll run into ya again, somewhere down the road, hopefully under better circumstances,“ he tried to reassure me, as he searched for a way to leave without inflicting any more pain than our differences already had.

“Yeah sure, Elrie!“ I exclaimed halfheartedly, for I knew I’d never see him again.

“Well, I gotta go now,“ he hastily added. “You take care of yourself now. Ya hear?“

“Yeah Elrie, you do the same,“ I muttered as he disappeared down the side of the ship.

Though I felt like crying, I couldn’t because I hurt so badly. Shaken by the fall of Elrie, I fell even deeper into the pit of despair in which I’d been wallowing now, for days.

“What’s the meaning of this?“ I asked as I woke up.

“You have heard that it was said,“ he went on to say, “’An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.“ Mt. 5:38–42. And with that, he disappeared.

That night I encountered the inclination within man to quarrel with another—whether real or imagined—over matters which, if allowed to grow weary of begging to be heard, will antagonize the hell out of him. In turning to the instinct to survive, had I taken a nip from the cup of my body’s supply of adrenaline. In my intoxication with the powerful effects of this drug on my body, as it rushed to my head, urging me to use brute force, I was instantaneously transformed into a beast. In the swipe of a paw, however, was I awakened to a wisdom infinitely greater than that of taking “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth“. And so did I, in my refusal to add insult to injury, turn the other cheek towards my attacker. Why I even offered him my coat which, after one sniff, he flat out refused, for he merely wanted me to walk that extra mile with him in his shoes. Thus did I learn how to bring out the humanity of an animal in attack mode—the truth yet hidden within the natural man.

When I shared the meaning of the dream with Marty, later that day, he couldn’t let go of the old myth—of what had been tried by him and found to be true—long enough to feel what effect, if any, the new myth had had on him. Like many of our contemporaries, he distrusted what he had not yet experientially come to know. Nor did he put much stock in his own dreams in their refusal to yield to such a meager investment. For Marty wanted only what’d ultimately get him through his indenture to the government of the United States, with the least amount of pain. He couldn’t see that we only hurt others when we ourselves’ve been hurt as had that sailor back at the exchange.

Had he associated me with all the angry young men on the outside, who had grown mustaches, beards ’n’ long hair in their refusal to serve in the very military he unquestionably supported? For he had definitely sensed that I stood for something, so contrary to what he believed, that it brought out the beast in him, the very image in which lay hidden yet the truth that threatened the beast with extinction.

“First, I’d like to talk to you-all about the benefits of a career in the Navy,“ Kraft began, at which point Marty ’n’ I burst out laughing.

“Benefits!“ Marty exclaimed. “How the f___ you can stand there, Kraft, and tell me that years of f___in’ with other people’s lives is gonna do anything for me but f___in’ guarantee me a place in hell, really burns my ass.“

“What d’ya mean?“ Kraft asked Marty, as I sat in my seat laughing at how seriously Kraft was taking Marty. Kraft should never have indulged Marty, for there was no stopping him once he got started bad mouthing the Navy.

“You know damn well what I mean, Kraft,“ replied Marty, “for it was f___in’ parasites like you who promised me a place in paradise if I joined the f___in’ Navy in the first place. Only you f___ers never told me I’d have to go sloggin’ through hell to get there. So here I am, stuck on some godforsaken can, ridin’ herd with a bunch of f___in’ wild animals for some would-be cattle baron back up in Washington, who got a wild hair up his ass, one afternoon, to sell us out to some Southeast Asian slaughterhouse fearful of losin’ its ass in a hostile takeover bid by some gook tycoon named Ho Chi Minh. Unable to comply with the wishes of my heart, am I forced now, by low life motherf___ers like you, to do what runs contrary to my true nature. And that’s not paradise by any stretch of the imagination, Kraft. That’s f___in’ hell.

“Until I experienced your version of paradise, a West Pac cruise with plenty of booze ’n’ pussy galore, I never understood why the f___ anyone in his right mind would want to make a career outta the f___in’ Navy. Seein’ how your own goddamn d__ks drove you to seek out the one f___in’ whore who could give you what you’ve always wanted, I knew why f___ers like you chose to stay in the f___in’ Navy.“

“Where else,“ interjected Kraft, “could you get a job that would guarantee ya an income and free health care for the rest of your life, give ya free room ’n’ board, or send ya to school for nothin’ but a few years of service to your country?“

“Ya know, Kraft,“ Marty replied, “you’ve been lyin’ to us peons for so goddamn long, you’ve got your self believin’ your own f___in’ lies. You ain’t servin’ the people of this country; you’re servin’ your own f___in’ goddamn d__k. For pussy’s your god, and you’d do anything for it. You ain’t fightin’ for freedom, or for the people of this country, or for any of the other bullshit reasons you come up with. You’re fightin’ to maintain your own f___in’ way of life, the right to live like a f___in’ animal. You’re fightin’ to protect the last place on earth where f___ers like you can unleash their animal natures to prey upon the rest of us without fear of punishment. And because there ain’t no other place in a civilized society for f___in’ animals like you, but prison, you stay in this f___in’ zoo where you’re protected by the culture, loved and revered by all but a few stalwarts, like me ’n’ Dury, who have chosen to remain true to their own souls.

“Why you ain’t nothin’ but a f___in’ goddamn pimp for the Navy, Kraft. When this f___in’ bitch grabbed ya by the d__k, you fell for her like every other d__k she’s sucked the life out of, before ya. And by turnin’ your life over to her, you’ve helped her become one of the greatest goddamn whores that’ve ever lived.

“But a bitch like her can’t remain a whore for very long without f___in’ johnnies, like you ’n’ me. While she may have me by the balls, right now, she ain’t never gonna get hold of my d__k, like she did yours, Kraft, for the f___in’ bitch’s already caused me enough goddamn pain to last the rest of my life. She ain’t never gonna trick this johnny again, cause this johnny’s gonna be marchin’ to the beat of his own goddamn drum when it comes time for him to go marchin’ home.“

As those who’d gathered around Marty ’n’ me broke out laughing and cheering wildly, Kraft shook his head in disgust. “I feel sorry for you,“ he muttered as he turned in righteous indignation to hightail it off the mess decks, before he was run out of town as a charlatan.

“I feel sorry for you,“ Marty yelled back, “for you’re the one who’s f___in’ sick, Kraft, not me.“

I was shocked. Never had I heard Marty speak with such conviction concerning perceptions which, only yesterday, he’d refuted when they came from me. In reality, I was more surprised by his translation of my ideas than I was by his sudden turnabout. For the first time in my life, I realized that I mattered—that my perceptions had just as great an impact on the lives of other people as they’d had upon my life.

Where I’d been, I could not recall. Had I fallen asleep? While I didn’t think so, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t, either. I was sure of one thing only, that I’d finally come back to where I belonged, for I’d never before experienced such total peace of mind.

Wherever I’d been, for the time being, I felt at one with myself. I felt as if I’d finally come back to my senses. As tears welled up in my eyes, I recalled what’d happened to me when I went out—I had unexpectedly gotten back in touch with my feelings.

As I sat pondering over my next move, I was pricked by the painful thought that I should have nothing to do with the Navy. Like an expectant mother, I had no conception of the form in which this child would appear when it was born. I knew only that I was a long ways off from giving birth to this new life taking shape within me. Because I wanted it to happen now, I was pricked with the pain I sometimes felt when I didn’t get my way.

Even though I still didn’t know what to do with my feelings towards the Navy, I knew that I could no longer simply ignore them either. Because the soul eventually requires a little action from the body, I had no choice but to do what she asked of me if I wanted to keep myself out of the arms of some whore. Only I didn’t want to have to endure any suffering in the process. Little did I know that labor pain’s a prerequisite for the birth of truth. In spite of the great pain I normally felt as a result of the severe limitations the Navy placed upon my soul, I found great joy in those moments when she was given free rein. In my struggle to find a way out of this maze, I felt as if I were being subjected to a course in behavior modification, to see if I could be prodded into following the orders of a much greater will than my own, that of either She Who Must Be Obeyed or the Great Gray Whore. While I certainly preferred the joy my soul gave me to the pain the Navy inflicted upon her, I’d never realized that new life was taking shape within me, until now. Thus did I resign myself to the task of meeting its needs whenever my soul prevailed upon me to do so.

“Have you met Shorty yet?“ asked Aubrey, as Shorty tried to slip by unnoticed.

When a very embarrassed Shorty turned to greet me, I made the comment that we had run into each other not too long ago down in the bilges, whereupon Shorty promptly excused himself again.

While his nickname was obviously a takeoff on his diminutive stature, Shorty was, nonetheless, a very powerfully built young roustabout, who carried a terrible chip on his shoulder. For he had a way of badgering hapless souls into fighting him, so that he could beat the hell out of them, presumably to make himself feel better. A very moody person, he kept to himself, for the most part, or at least until he again felt the need to spar with the unseen evil he saw in the faces of his victims, but which really lay hidden behind his own facade.

In Shorty’s place, there suddenly appeared another shipfitter affectionately nicknamed Sleepy. Because Sleepy habitually used marijuana to help him cope with the otherwise unbearable pain that being in the Navy caused him to experience, he always looked as if he were about to fall asleep. With his long lanky limbs, reddish brown hair, and slow deliberate movements, he reminded me of an orangutan that had to take this drug to ease the pain, which wracked its body as it struggled in vain to adjust to captivity.

While Sleepy ’n’ I were introducing ourselves to each other, I noticed a first class petty officer nudging his way through the small crowd of shipfitters ’n’ curiosity seekers that’d gathered around me.

With a look of apprehension on his face, he hesitated before introducing himself. “Hi,“ he said. “I’m Joe, your new boss.“

“Welcome to the shipfitters,“ he added rather hastily, as if he hadn’t really meant it.

Like the wise pig in the tale of The Three Little Pigs, Joe’d chosen a career in the Navy as a shelter against the wiles of a civilian economy that would otherwise have devoured him. As an added safeguard against job insecurity, he quickly earned the love ’n’ respect of his men by treating them exactly as he would want to be treated if he were in their shoes. Because Joe sensed, right away, that I was different, he felt a little ambivalent about having to take me in under his roof.

“After you get your gear stowed away, come on back to the shop; and I’ll show ya around,“ he concluded in a rather rapid manner of speaking that was quite characteristic of him.

“Okay,“ I responded with the uncertainty of one who fully expected that, at any moment now, the real Joe’d leap out from behind this facade and pounce on me, like the big bad wolf or that weasel of a first class petty officer back in First Division.

“You’ll like it in ’R’ Division,“ said Marty as he left to go to work.

“Maybe so,“ I replied, “maybe so.“

Like a branch on a huge sycamore tree, did I extend a clenched fist into the dark night which overshadowed my soul. In a Herculean effort to free myself from the chains that fettered me to the earth, I cursed the day I was born. I cursed my parents for having pulled me down from the heavens into this wretched life. And I cursed God for having allowed this travesty to take place. I hated my parents not only for what they’d done, but also for the life they’d squandered away. I hated them. “I hate you,“ I finally screamed out into the night sky with a clenched fist.

Like the bursting of a long awaited thundershower upon parched earth, did I break down and cry. “Forgive them God,“ I sputtered in between sobs, “for they know not what they have done.“

As I caught sight of the ship, out of the corner of my eye, I flew into yet another rage. With a clenched fist, I reached out, only this time to condemn the crew of the ship. “I hate you,“ I screamed out in between fits of sobbing. “I hate all of you lousy bastards.“ But in my heart of hearts, I knew I didn’t hate them either, for they too knew not what they had done. Only I found it harder to forgive them since I, who was like them in so many ways, would ultimately have to forgive myself.

Sobbing uncontrollably, as I stumbled along, I beat my chest with clenched fists. “Ah,“ I screamed out. “I hate you. I hate this body. I hate this life.“

As this psychic storm brought relief to my desolateness, I found myself standing right smack dab in the middle of the shipyard, laughing, of all things, while I finished crying, for I had just grasped the true meaning of forgiveness. In releasing my hatred for my parents and the crew of the ship, I had simply released my own hatred of myself. In the past, I had failed to see that what I hated in them, I actually hated about myself, for I was treating myself in the same manner they were mistreating themselves and others, only in ways yet barely visible to me. And since none of us knew what we were really doing to ourselves or to each other, I had to forgive them for their trespasses if I was to find forgiveness for mine. In letting go of the hatred that’d clenched my fist, I freed forgiveness from not only my hand but heaven’s as well, for what is loosed on earth shall be loosed in heaven. More importantly, I freed myself from the chain of hatred, which binds us all to instinctively taking an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth in a heinous repetition of history from one generation to the next.

Like a drunken man who has come to his senses, did I slip onboard the ship, hardly noticed, and slither down the ladder to my sleeping quarters. Instead of lying down, I decided to stay up and write Mary a letter. Only this time, after recounting the events of my trip into Tokyo, including my encounter with Jun, I purposely left off telling her, as usual, how much I loved her. Thus did I deal with the other chain that bound me to the earth like the roots of a huge sycamore tree.

The first person I met was Greg. From Los Angeles, he was the gregarious magnet that drew us all together. In build, he reminded me of a lanky turtle without its shell, for from out of his rounded shoulders protruded a long skinny neck on top of which sat a head he always held cocked slightly forward and off to one side. He stood his ground, though, against the taunts he incurred around his slow, deliberate movements and somewhat effeminate mannerisms. Gifted with an ability to draw, he rose above the herd mentality of his tormentors by drawing satirical caricatures of them. In his hate for the Navy, he regularly smoked marijuana and, on occasion, dropped acid with another shipmate to escape the pain of it all.

Shortly thereafter, Greg introduced me to Harold, a rabbity-looking fella from Collinsville, Illinois. Of slight build, Harold was a very warm and gentle person, who approached others with his nose twitching as nibbled on one of his fingers or puffed on a cigarette, like a novice smoker. With his big watery brown eyes fixed elsewhere, on some distant worry, he often had little to say. When he did, he never spoke an unkind word about anyone, even the lifers. For unlike Greg ’n’ I, his dislike of the Navy had been tempered by the more satisfying position, he held, as a clerk typist in the ship’s office. Besides, he had a wife and a newborn baby back home to think about. For he had apparently gotten her pregnant before they were married—before he was ready to assume that much responsibility in his life.

The next person, I met, was Marty, a wild and high-spirited stallion, who would soon prove much more difficult to keep corralled than either a boxed turtle or a caged rabbit. For he would go on to become one of the most outspoken members of the crew beside myself. While he could never accept such a position for himself, he deeply respected the stand I had taken against the Navy and stood by me to the very end.

From a tough working class neighborhood in Baltimore, Maryland, Marty never cowered from speaking his mind and challenging the other members of the crew. For he hated the Navy and the animallike behavior of the lifers. A hard worker, he always followed orders, in spite of the abuse he suffered at the hands of some of the lifers for expressing his views. And even though Marty stood up for what he believed, he always acted within the confines of the law he felt bound to obey. As an electrician’s mate did he short-circuit many a lie the lifers lived by. An answer to a prayer, Marty was more than a like-minded companion, for he was another voice in the desert.

And even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was the missing link, that hypothetical intermediate between the myth of man and his animal ancestry. Indeed, I was the next great step in the evolution of mankind, which so many of us long to see and yet bitterly detest when we do.

As soon as he heard the “s“ word, he honed in on it like a vulture on a fly, as if the real reason for my fast were hidden in some dark dirty little secret surrounding my sexuality. “Have you ever desired sex or had sex with anyone onboard this ship?“ he asked.

Bewildered by what I thought was the most bizarre question I’d ever been asked, I finally responded, “No, I can’t say that I have ever desired to have sex with anyone onboard the ship. I have a girl friend back home in St. Louis, whom I love very much and dream about marrying some day. Occasionally, I have fantasies of having sex with her. As far as having sex with other guys, why I have never heard of such a thing! I can’t even imagine how that would work. I assure you, Lt. Smith, my problem with sex has nothing to do with anyone else onboard this ship but my self. I just can’t seem to find out where I fit in.“

“Mr. Drury, I fail to see anything in what you’ve said that’d warrant taking such a drastic step as to refuse yourself food,“ he concluded.

“I feel sorry for you, Sir,“ I rejoined, “that you’re so oblivious to the pain and suffering you inflict upon the souls under your command. In choosing to live blindly, you can’t see beyond the bread you eat.“

It became clear to me that we weren’t talking to each other on the same wavelength. At that point, I wasn’t sure where the hell I was coming from. Normally, I didn’t talk like this, especially to a lieutenant. Besides, I wasn’t sure I saw much beyond the bread I used to eat.

In an attempt to regain control over the situation, the Lieutenant resorted to his power as a superior officer. “Mr. Drury,“ he snapped back, “I order you to eat.“

Chuckling to myself, I shook my head in disbelief. “Sir, neither you nor the whole damn Navy can make me eat if I don’t want to.

“Do you know the consequences, Mr. Drury, for refusing the direct order of a superior officer?“

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Sir,“ I answered.

“A court-martial,“ he replied with a grin when he saw me squirm in my seat. “And brig time,“ he added. Having succeeded in stirring up a great deal of fear within me, he again ordered me to eat.

“You can’t make me eat,“ I insisted as I struggled to stay on top of the fear that, by now, had my whole body trembling.

“You leave me no choice, Mr. Drury, but to refer the matter to the Executive Officer,“ he snapped back. “Come with me,“ he commanded as he jumped up from his seat and hurried out the door, only to disappear through another just down the passageway.