Another Love Story

Friday, February 06, 2009
Clocks have been set forward another hour to -6 at CST, 0144 hrs, 7.4 knots and we are equidistant from South America and Africa, 1560 NM to either one. St. Helena remains the nearest landfall. We are 24° 31.2’ south and 12° 9’ west. This is day 40. Our time zone is GMT.

An afterthought: Anything to do with Napoleon has been too-well documented, so much so that the facts are hard to ferret. However, not too long after the events of his Russian invasion of 1812 was written the finest novel I ever read and the most accurate historical novel of its kind—War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy. It is singularly superb in its prose and story, and the war is entirely accurate, at least from a Russian point of view. If reading a Russian writer scares you, the Histories by Will and Ariel Durant is good, if bone-dry. It is my hope to only list the exceptional books that I have read. I like Calvin and Hobbs, but can’t fit it in. Pogo, too.

40th day: S26° 40.8’ and W8° 36’. There is no stew in the pot today; Maybe tomorrow. Today, I am reading book 2 of the Farseer Trilogy of Robin Hobb. This is a superlative story, and is followed by the Tawny Man Trilogy. For great entertainment, really good stories, try it. I may not write again until I have finished them. One might see, above, that we are approaching the Prime Meridian, zero degrees longitude, where I believe that the appropriate celebration is a nap.

Sunday, February 08, 2009
41st day: we are moving well at 8.5 knots in rough seas, and becoming larger. Ship’s 0100 LT coordinates are: S27° 50.1’ and 6° 40.7’ west. We should arrive in Cape Town next Sunday. Crew is ready, and so am I.

Is this still a love story? After you read it, let me know.
Raul was a slight, thin man, never strong. His will was strong, and his attack on life on his own terms was very strong, but his injuries placed limits on him, even though he ignored them—or so it appeared. That he was in love with his family was apparent in everything he did, or said. Raul was a “good” magnet, causing the good in those around him to rise to his expectations. Imelda lived with him and adored him, as did little Toya.

Imelda found not only a romantic love, but an ideal in her marriage. She sorrowed for his missing limbs and his hurts, but she was not certain that she would change a thing. She worked and brought home a small living. Raul received a stipend from the VA every month and worked as much as he could. As a family, they eked by, but there was rarely anything left over. She assumed the mantel of wife and mother: she babied him as much as he would tolerate. He allowed that because he knew she profited from it, but he had pride enough to set limits. He let her help him in virtually anything, but he did not depend upon it: if he thought he could do a thing, then he tried to do it himself. There was sunshine in the man. He radiated an aura of perfect balance that transcended pity or duty, a heat of personality that one enjoyed. Somebody helped to do a chore because the chore needed doing, not because Raul had no hands.

Another veteran, Horace Wielder, observed Raul working the grounds at the VA hospital and knew that it was good, done more for the good of the doer than the little income it would bring. Horace owned a large nursery and had knowledge of such things, so he approached Raul with an offer of a job, part time at first, then “we’ll see.” Raul accepted but with the proviso that he could continue his VA work. The arrangement was successful for both men. In time Horace came to rely on Raul.

A shipment of shrubs with needle points, perhaps holly, came to Horace’s nursery, and he called upon Raul to trim and shape them. Raul agreed to come the following day, but Benny worked late and Raul had no ride, so he missed the appointment. After dinner, the brothers drove Benny’s old red truck by the nursery, in case Horace was still there. He was not, but the shipment was near the fence and could be done in an hour or two. Benny had a ladder, so the men went over the fence. Benny carried the needed tools, and Raul went to work.

A police cruiser drove by and saw two men behind the nursery’s fence, and the cops stopped—as they should have—to investigate. I have lost the slighter one’s name now, but the big guy’s name was Tony Cusano. Before this tragi-comedy proceeds, be clear that both of these policemen were good guys and good cops. They came over the fence with flash lights.

Benny saw them and told Raul: “we gotta go man. Here come the cops.”
Raul: “We ain’t doin’ nothing wrong. I work for Mr. Horace.”
Benny: ”Well, it’s too late, anyway. They’re here.”
Slight one: “What are you boys doing here tonight?”
Benny: “He’s working, man, and I gave him a ride here. He’s my brother.” Raul had had his prosthetic hands deep inside a bush. He nodded hello.
Cusano: “Stand up, buddy. We need to talk to you.” Raul scrabbled up out of the bush and straightened before the big cop. Raul read the man’s name tag, but he read it slightly wrong.
Raul: “Hey, Police—you know what your name is in Spanish? It’s WORM.” And he giggled.
Cusano did not think it witty. Raul raised his aluminum arm to point out the man’s nametag. Cusano saw metal, assumed gun, and he cracked the small Latin hard across the head with his night stick. Raul didn’t fall to the ground, nor crumple. He kind of wilted, his big brown eyes rolling up and showing white, and he lay on the ground bleeding and twitching one leg. It was more than Benny could comprehend and he cried out his brother’s name, “Raul, NOOOOO!” and he went to his knees and to his brother’s aid. Reflexively, the smallish cop kicked him before he realized the move was non-threatening, rolling Benny over the top of Raul. Benny scrabbled back immediately, paying no mind to either cop, and he cradled Raul’s head in his lap, rocking back and forth with big tears rolling quietly down his cheek.

Cusano saw the damage he wrought, and he comprehended too late that the little man he had clubbed had no arms and no hands. He dropped the night stick and bent down to check the big lump and split skin on the small guy. “My God! What have I DONE!” was his soft, choked cry. He checked pulse and said to Benny:
“Let’s get him to a hospital. You hold the gate and open the car. I’ll carry him. You get in the front seat.”
Benny said nothing, crying silently, but did has he was told. When Cusano placed Raul in the back seat, he noticed that Raul had no leg, either, and it undid him. He came to pieces, one piece at a time. He recalled an incident from a week before in which an innocent young pregnant woman was trampled in a foot chase with a thug.

As they drove, Cusano questioned Benny:
“How did he lose his limbs?”
“They was blowed off in the war.” Cusano had been a rifleman in Vietnam several years earlier. “Raul worked in Two Corps. He was a hero. We got the General’s stuff on our wall, and a bunch of medals.”

Cusano’s grief was palpable, and the more he heard, the worse he felt. “What were you doing at that nursery, for crying out loud!”
“That’s Raul’s job. Mr. Horace hired him to fix those sharp plants. That’s what he was doing. Me? I was the driver and the helper, but Raul can reach in those places easy, and real arms can’t.”
Cusano said, “I hate this job. All I see is pain. All I do is make pain. I am sorry, Buddy, that I hurt your brother, and I will do everything I can to help make him well.”

Raul had a concussion. His vision was affected, and his head was swollen and blue with a nasty pucker, but he came back to us. When I heard about it, I went up to see him in the hospital, and he was happy and held no grudges. He told me about the cop whose name was “worm” and laughed all over again. Then he said that the cop was very sorry to have hurt him. I looked at the little man, beat to hell, body parts missing, head all discolored, scars all over his body. His eyes were bright, and he smiled, but I could not help but feel that one more nail had been selected for his coffin.

He asked; “Do you know what is so funny, Major Griffith? His name isn’t really Gusano. It’s Cusano. Gusano means “worm.” I don’t think “Cusano” is Spanish—don’t know what it means.” And he laughed merrily, like little brass cymbals.

His room was filled with flowers, mostly from Horace, but from a surprising number of people. Toya and Imelda spent two entire days with him, but rather than sick room, it took on an air of kindergarten. Such happiness and childish fun. Benny was there. Cusano almost made a pest of himself with food, flowers, games, and good cheer, but inside he wept. He and I talked some, and I felt bad for the man. His heart was good, and his courage undeniable, but his hard-earned Vietnam cynicism came up short, and he hurt inside (Can you hear it? "Don't mean nuthin"). I heard later that he quit the police force and left town, but I don’t know where he went or what happened to him. I do know how it feels to carry the burden of loss and guilt, though, and its weight can not be borne without bending you. Tony Cusano was bent double.