American Gulag

"There's gotta be someplace better than this," wept Chauncier.

"You're not going to start singing Sweet Charity are you?" said Avilia.

Avilia was a wonder to me. He was always so pleasant and soft. He always tried to be as optimistic as possible. He was coping well. He was a homosexual, and was fairly up front about it most of the time. He had an effeminate way about him, not that that spells homosexuality; however, in this case it was a key arrow.

I sat beside him as he wrote a letter. He was the kind of man whose space you could invade and be happy to invade it. If you were tired and sad, he would look for ways to cheer you up. I could never understand how he put up with Krasnar's bullshit. It was obvious to me that Krasnar was taking advantage of Avilia; but, Avilia managed even to defend him. He also was the only person who could control him.

"Gibbs, this letter is to my sister," he said, "my sister in San Diego. I am telling her that I'm fine and dandy. She wouldn't understand that I fucked up so badly. "

"Fucked up so badly?" I asked. "I can't imagine you fucking up badly."

"Yeah, badly. Didn't you fuck up badly too? Me, I nearly got caught in bed having sex with another enlisted man."

"Oh! Sorry to bother you."

I decided Avilia's space was best left to Avilia. I was attracted to him, but I was so deeply in denial. The subject made me too nervous to discuss so openly. Who needed to hear the details.

"No wait. Don't run away," he said holding my hand, then releasing it.

I reluctantly returned.

"I know you probably don't care to much about these things," said Avilia, "but we need to talk to other people; and Krasnar is not a very good listener. You are. I can tell it?"

I settled back and agreed to listen, although I was like a little cat on hot skittles the entire time.

"Well," said Avilia, "I nearly got caught with Private Moran - Morris Moran. I never heard of an Irishman with a first name like Morris. Morris Lipschitz or Morris Tittelbaum - but what kind of parent names their kid Mo Moran? Lucky for me we didn't get caught red-handed or it would have been Leavenworth for both of us."

"No shit," I said.

"But the cadre knew - they just had no proof," said Avilia. "But Moran is a college boy. I'm the son of a migrant worker. So, while he is able to pass muster, I fail. So, I got gleaned for this place."

"Well, that's not fair."

"Fair? Life’s never very fair for sons of migrant workers. But, it's not so bad. I know I'm the way they say - but I have never admitted it. That asshole Krasnar is using me to get his discharge - but I don't even mind him. I can do most of the physical stuff; It's just the damn written crap - but I'll get better - then out of this place and on with the rest of this fucking Army shit - then back to my beloved San Diego."

"Are you Krasnar's . . . a well . . ."

"Lover?" he said. "That's rather personal for a guy who dislikes queers?"

"Never mind," I said. "And I never said I dislike queers. I think you're a good guy."

"Well, no to your question, " he said. "Krasnar wants out. I don't even think he's gay - you know - homosexual. But who can tell. This place had fucked up my gaydar."

That was the first time I had ever heard that word. I guess I looked really puzzled.

"O never mind," said Avilia. "Just let it pass. No Krasnar clings to me because he feels sure that he can be queer by association. But, I get along with everyone. I can even put up with Krasnar's farting."

"I don't fart," said Krasnar from the top bunk.

Avilia put the letter down and led me to my bunk.

"Listen," he said. "I'm sure you'll make it through this place. You're likeable."

"I wish I was as sure as you," I said. "Lately, I have felt so alone, more alone than I've ever been in my entire life."

"You're lucky," said Avilia. "I miss California, but I'm just as alone there as I am here. There's my sister. She got married, so she no longer roams about; but, my folks still follow the crops."

"That must be terrible," I said.

"Why do you say that? You know nothing about it."

"Actually," I said, "I do. Not first hand, but through my Grandmother. I really miss her. I wait anxiously between her letters. She is a wonderful woman. And here's what I meant to say. She went on vacation in Georgia years ago; and while at a rest stop to get some refreshments she saw a migrant family. She saw the children of these migrants - shoeless and thin. It really moved her. She herself was orphaned and bounced from hand to hand. She made a resolve to help them; and to this day she raises money for the migrant children."

"What does she do?" said Avilia.

"She started a thing called 'A Dime a Dip' where Churches ran spaghetti dinners and charge a dime for a dip of sauce; and sells raffles and generally raises money. All the proceeds go to the migrant workers."

"Your Grandmother is the "Dime a Dip' Lady?"

"You've heard of her?" I said in amazement.

"What makes you think we haven't?" said Avilia. "As poor as we were, there was always something coming from the Dime a Dips. Wow. To think you are her grandson. What an honor to know you."

I was flabbergasted. I did not realize my Grandmother's efforts were so widely known; but, it did make me feel more connected that evening, less alone and more a part of a greater circle of humanity; and humanity was very much needed in this place.

Avilia always seemed to be nearby, always encouraging and making sure as alone as I was, I had a person there as a connection. I liked that. I remember one evening while I was practicing on the Overhead Ladder and had made it completely across to the end, I fell on the turn, which I still had not mastered. I had a nasty landing. From out of no where, Avilia appeared helped me up. We sat on the mess hall stairs listening to the late night degreasing of the pots and pans.

"Look at the night," he said. "It so clear and the stars are singing."

"Singing?"

"Yes, singing. When I was a kid in the fields at night I would look up and see the stars. And I would hear the crickets chirping. I told mi abuela that I could hear the stars singing. She laughed and would sing 'la canta de luna' and I would fall asleep."

There was some movement in the stars that night. There was a bright light moving quickly across the sky.

"UFO," he said,

"What?"

"Don't you know that UFO fly around Ft. Gordon all the time. I see them all the time."

"You're scarring me, " I said.

"Don't be," he said. "Most of the time they're helicopters. But sometimes they are really UFO."

"Have you seen them?" I asked.

"All the time. Let's go in. Or are you going to try the Monkey things again?"

"They'll wait," I said.

"They will," he said, "But if you want to know, to turn around, just swing harder on the last rung and when you swing back turn your body and grab the previous rung. It's a little different move that the one you're doing. Try it and you'll make the turn."

The next morning, I tried this little hint and was able to make the turn and complete the return trip. The Platoon exploded with cheers and applause. That night, when I gazed out the window at the stars, I did hear them singing,