American Gulag

Sitting on the footlockers and gabbing was a favorite pastime. My bunkmate was Buddy Ormond. I really enjoyed his company. He was very protective when I first arrived; and many an evening we sat on the footlockers and gabbed.

"Oh, it's good to stretch out after one long fucking day," Buddy Ormond would say.

"You can say that again," I would agree.

Then he would open up his wallet and bring out the picture of Alice.

"It's time to torture myself with her picture," he said. "Do you have a girl, Gibbs?"

"Not currently."

"Oh. Whenever someone says 'not currently', they mean, 'I don't - I want one; and if I knew you were going to ask that question, I'd have been more prepared.'"

"Are you saying -- what?"

"Nothing," said Ormond. "I'm just fucking with you. Look here - she's a knock out, isn't she? Alice is the boss's daughter. I work in a Grocery Store called Wegman's. It's not glamorous work, but I can support her. But now that she's pregnant, I really need to get out of this place."

"Pregnant - a bummer," I said.

"Not a bummer really," said Ormond, "except she needs me now. I need an emergency leave."

"Have you talked to the Lieutenant?"

"Yep, and he was very sympathetic. He's not a bad guy. I think he's easier on us straight guys, which is really not fair. The queers aren't so bad. They're human being like us. They just - you know - swing a different way. Anyway, he told me to see the Chaplain."

"And did you?" I asked.

"Yep. Filled out an emergency leave application. I'll know this week."

"Good luck," I said.

But I wanted to some how, some where discuss his comments on the "queers."

"You said you knew a few queers back in Altoona," I said as nonchalantly as in ordering a beer.

"Actually," said Ormond with a gleam in his eye, "my best friend in High School is homosexual - Artie."

"Artie?"

"Yep, that's his name - Arthur Buchanan - Artie."

"How did you know he was . . . "

"He tried to suck my dick," said Ormond.

"No shit," I feigned in horror.

"We were drunk; and he went for it."

"Did you beat the crap out of him?"

"I should have," said Ormond, "but he was my best friend. I really like him. And besides, sometimes when you're drunk you do things you wouldn't do normally. I mean, have you ever got drunk and frisky with a friend?"

"I really don't think . . ." I said nervously.

"No, I'm sure you're right," said Ormond calming me. "But, Artie apologized to me - then told me he was - he called it Gay - but you know, queer - a homo. I'd say faggot, but he told me that when he heard that word it made him sick; so, I stopped using that word. Every once and while, he and I would . . . "

"Get together to do it again."

"Shit no! No, talk about it. He found it helpful to talk about it to me. He said he had come OUT to me; and that coming OUT to someone was like giving them a great gift."

"A gift?"

"Well, it is a gift," said Ormond. "He's given me a responsibility."

Ormond looked over to Chola and Huey who were sitting on their footlockers cuddling and cooing.

"Look at those two; Huey and Chola."

"Makes you want to puke," I said.

"They are as different from each other than you can think," said Ormond. "Chola's a hustler from Anchorage; and Huey's an auto worker from Detroit. Chola rarely has anything but cuddling on his mind; and Huey is rarely sober. We still don't know where he gets his stuff. But they still find their escape from this place in each other's arms."

"Escape from here would be wonderful indeed," I said. "I can't take the pain too much longer. If I miss another hoop and run another lap in that fucking gym, I'll go straight to hell."

"You're in hell already. But hopefully there's an escape. FTA."

"FTA?"

"Yep - Fuck the Army. FTA - all the way. Turn in - you need your sleep. They'll be back to wake us at 4:30."

One weekend, I believe it was the third week in, I went to the little gym to practice shooting hoops. It's funny. I can still to this day out shoot most people. A while back some one was making fun about my lack of athletic ability and challenged me to free throw basket shots. They were amazed that I never missed a shot. I kept the reason for success a secret. After all, was I going to tell them I learned to shoot perfect basketball shots to avoid running laps around the gym while I was incarcerated in the Army version of a concentration camp. Was I? Well there I was shooting hoops. Buddy Ormond was resting quietly in the corner. Huey was working out on the parallel bar. He was scantily dressed. Chola was standing at the end of the bars, eyeing Huey's every move. There was nice music playing on the radio. It was "Winchester Cathedral." How I remember that, I'll never know. Chola started to do a slow dance. Huey stopped his workout and look on. The music was breaking my concentration.

"Chola, what's with the music and the dance?" I said.

"I earned my money this way, hon, " he said, "luring the men and boys to my sheets. Every bar in Anchorage knows my perfume - my seductive allure."

Huey was near me and whispered in my ear.

"He's so sexy and fine," he said. "He is like the best cocaine - like the finest wine. Nothing like him in Detroit."

"Get out of here," I said.

"When you're alone like me, dear Winslow Gibbs," said Chola, "you need to find your way in the dark. I have no one but myself - myself and my pretty little assets. I'm an old story about an Indian father. Father was a drunk and knocked up mom. She died. He left. My sisters raised me. Always poor. Always hungry. But not me. I always find the cash; as my best assets draw the trade well. Don't you think hon?"

"I wouldn't know," I said; however I could not take my eyes from him. He did know his way around the dance floor. Whether it was the product of dancing in bars or a life being handed around for sex as a boy at Pow wows, Chola was scintillating, to my disgust.

"The closest I've seen to him," said Huey, "was this young punk on the assembly line, who I had for 20 bucks. But he stole my wallet; and I was out a full week's pay. I wanted to kill that fucker, but he reminded me that we were in Detroit and were autoworkers. If I pressed charges, I'd loose my job, well - because I was a homo."

The music changed to "Blue, blue, my love is Blue."

"You are a homo," said Chola dancing by him, "rough sheen and lovely. You sparkle with your roughness in the dark of night or the bright of day. The sagebrush of Alaska is on my breath and on my hips. I yearn for touch and give such pleasure to those who want it. I live for the touch and by the touch. Anytime, any place and any bunk."

"And you are soft as the nature I don't know," said Huey drunk with the sight, "except when intoxicated and high. That snowy Alaskan skin you show gets me harder than anything else I know."

"With care, I can be yours in the shower for no more than a cigarette and an extra apple from your plate at lunch, sweet vision of chrome and steel."

"I'll just have to fuck him tonight," he said to me.

"That's fucking disgusting," I said. "Get away from me."

I went over and sat by Ormond, who seem rather subdued today.

"Miracle of time and place," sang Chola to the glitter of an imaginary ball. " Miracle of time and place transport us off this swath of pain and travail into the sunlight of another time and place - a place far richer than either of us have ever known and a time that will be ours, some day yet to come. A place where our selves are not questioned and only crime is punished - not the better parts of our nature."

Huey joined him in the dance.

"I can't believe what Huey just said to me," I said to Ormond. "He told me he's going to fuck Chola. Would you believe that? Did you hear me? What's up? Don't you think it's disgusting - just the thought of it."

"Have you thought about it?" said Ormond in a tough voice, quite uncustomary for him. "Have you? Can you imagine Chola - soft and sweet - with his legs up in the air waiting for Huey's hairy, auto worker dick. You don't find that in any way arousing?"

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" I said. "I didn't need a picture like that."

"Who cares about Chola and who fucks him! I need to get out of here somehow - like now!"

"The leave? You should hear soon. The chaplain will take care of it. Yes?"

Ormond began to cry. He shook his head and wept without restraint. I had never seen him in such a state.

"Some fucking help he is," he said. "A man of the cloth! I heard from them. The application for emergency leave was denied."

"But why?"

"How the hell should I know?" he said. "They investigated my request and decided that it wasn't justified. It came back to me stamped - Unjustified!"

"Unjustified! That's a bunch of shit!"

"Gibbs, I can't stay here. I'm needed at home. I'm gonna bolt."

He looked me square in the face, tears cascading. He repeated over and over, "I'm gonna bolt!"

"I'm just waiting for the best opportunity," he said whispering now in confidence. "I have a ditty bag all packed. I trust you, Gibbs. I really trust you. You can't tell anyone. And even after the fact, just say you don't know anything."

"Sure Buddy, anything. But this is drastic. When . . ."

"I'll know when the time's right. Then, I'll shoot down the back way. I'll use the rope and pulley for the Mr. Dix runs. There's nothing to keep us here but the fear of leaving. I can get to the PX; then, get a cab from there."

"But civvies?"

"My friend Artie - you remember Artie?"

"The homo."

"Yep, yep, he sent me a pair of his pants and a shirt. So I have civvies. I'll sleep in them, so when the time's right - I can dart away like a bat out of hell."

"But, if you get caught. . ."

"I'll be back. I'm not really going AWOL. I mean I am, but it's just leave. Once things get settled, I ll turn myself in to the MP's at Fort Donnelsen or somewhere."

"You’re making me nervous."

"I'll never forget you kept my secret, Gibbs. You're a sweet kid, you know. Just watch your back. Watch out for Krasnar and stay away from the queers. You know, as you get fit, and I know you will, you'll be a treat to see - and they'll be interested in you. Chola takes anything; and Huey would fuck a knothole. And Avilia . . . "

"He's so nice to me."

"Don't trust any of them."

"But every time Krasnar goads me - Avilia has some kind words for me. It's like Krasnar is the sting - and Avilia is the balm. And Chauncier! I should have nothing to fear from Chauncier."

"You're may be right there," said Ormond. "I feel sorry for him. You know the other day I saw him sitting on the barrack stairs staring into blank space. When I touched his shoulder and asked if he was all right, he started to cry, his body shaking tremendously. It must be very horrible for him here."

"You'll miss us," I said.

"Shit. Not for a second! And don't talk about me leaving. You never know who's listening. You never know."

"You never know."

"You never, never know."

I looked around suspiciously, then sat calmly beside him as he dried his own tears. Every once in a while he stammered under his breath, "I'm gonna bolt!"

You never, never really know.