When he came home from Vietnam, Sean McBride stayed with his parents for several months. Then he became restless and decided to tour the country on his motorcycle. His hair was getting long, and he was beginning to feel like a civilian again.
Sean had been on the road for weeks when he pulled into the truck stop somewhere in the South. He was hungry and needed a shave and bath. As he filled up with gas, Sean sensed that he was being watched. There were four of them, two men and two women, standing outside the café. Sean considered moving on, but he was hungry and tired. He parked his bike and walked into the restaurant. As he passed the four people who had been staring at him, he looked them in the eyes.
“Look at the hippie,” one of the men said.
“Yeah,” the second man said. “I think he needs a bath.”
Sean went inside, sat down, and ordered his food.
The four people followed Sean inside and took a booth near his. They continued to laugh and make insulting remarks as Sean ate. When he finished his meal, Sean walked out to his bike. He started the motorcycle and was about to leave when one of the women from the four appeared and turned off the ignition and put his keys in her pocket. The other three walked over.
“Where you going in such a hurry, boy?” said the first man.
“Yeah, weirdo, we told you we don’t like longhairs and hippies in these parts. Now we’re going to have to teach you a lesson,” the second man said.
Sean stepped off his bike carefully. One of the men held a hand behind his back. That’s where it will come, Sean thought. It will be soon now. The tire iron came around just as Sean ducked. He countered with a reverse punch to the man’s throat, and the man went down on one knee, gasping for air, clutching his throat. The other man stung Sean with a right hand that opened a cut just above his eye. Sean attacked with a front kick to the groin and a roundhouse kick to the man’s head. The first man, still on his knees, signaled he had had enough. Sean took his keys from the woman, started his bike, and was about to leave. Blood was streaming down his face.
A woman had been watching from inside the café. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and came outside. Sean saw her coming and stopped. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She had dark, mysterious eyes and long black hair. There was elegance and dignity in her bearing. She stopped in front of Sean and looked into his eyes.
“You’re hurt,” she said, raising her hand to his wound.
“It’s nothing.”
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before. Those men could have killed you with that club. My name is Lupe.”
“I’m Sean McBride.”
“That wound is going to need some attention. My house is nearby; come with me and I can bandage it for you.”
“I’d like that.”
The house was small and dark, with a brown wooden fence around it.
Lupe led Sean through the living room and into the kitchen, where they sat down at the dinner table. She poured some hot water in a pan and dropped a bar of soap and a washcloth in it. She washed the cut. Her touch was gentle and soothing. Yet being close to her reminded Sean of how lonely he really was.
“Where are you from?” Lupe asked.
“I was born in Ohio.”
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Vietnam.”
Lupe dropped her towel and sprang to her feet. She stood there for a moment staring away. Then she started to cry.
Sean stood up, uncertain. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Lupe said, weeping. “It’s my brother; he was killed in Vietnam.”
Sean placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not your fault.”
Lupe went into the bathroom and closed the door. Sean was thinking he should leave. This woman had been kind to him, and now she was upset. It was getting dark and he needed to find a place to camp anyway. Lupe returned.
“I should be going,” Sean said.
“No, please stay. I’d like to talk to you.”
“All right.”
Lupe lit two candles and poured some red wine into glasses.
“He never talked about it,” she said, handing Sean the wine. “My brother didn’t talk about Vietnam in his letters. What was it like over there?”
Sean wanted to tell her what it had really been like in Vietnam, but he couldn’t find the words. How could he describe the terror and the filth? The death, carnage, and insanity that he had experienced in one short year? What words could he possibly use to convey the loneliness and emptiness? How would he explain the fear he felt, waiting in a foxhole in the jungle for the enemy attack to come?
“It wasn’t that bad,” Sean said.
Lupe studied his face for a moment.
“I’m going to change; I’ll be right back,” she said, touching him on the back as she left.
Sean was beginning to relax. Lupe was a beautiful young woman. It felt good to be with her. On the other hand, being with a woman reminded him of what it was like to feel. In Vietnam, he had learned to shut out feelings. There had been too much pain there, too much insanity. To feel again meant he would have to confront the sadness and pain he carried deep within. Lupe was everything he was not. She was kind, gentle, open, and warm, the essence of life itself. He had walked with death. Tracking and killing men had been his trade. He was hardened and cynical at nineteen.
Lupe returned wearing a beige peasant dress, cut low at the neck. She had put on clear lipstick and changed her earrings to gold ones with white pearl tips. She sat down.
“You have sad eyes,” Lupe said.
“Tell me about your brother.”
“Thomas was eighteen when he joined the army. He was macho and very patriotic. He believed in this country. Our father fought in World War II. My uncle died in Korea. Thomas couldn’t wait to go into the army. He had been in Vietnam eleven months when he was killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand any of it. He was so young. Sean, tell me what it was really like over there.”
He stared away for a moment, remembering.
“I was scared the entire time I was there. I lost some good friends. The war changed my life forever. After a time, the killing and bloodshed seemed senseless. I think war is a crime. If you don’t believe me, ask the infantry; ask the dead.”
Sean was shaking. Lupe put her arms around him.
“Come and sit in the living room. I’ll light a fire.”
She lit a fire in the fireplace and brought him some brandy.
Sean sat in a rocking chair and watched the fire. He was beginning to feel alive for the first time in over a year. He walked over and studied the volumes in the bookcase. There was Hemingway, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, Dostoyevski, and Flaubert. Sean had always loved books. He understood that he was still a young man. His experience in war had shaped his thinking in unique ways. He knew he was different from other men. Sean had known hunger, thirst, fear, and death at a very early age. He had comported himself well. Lupe came into the room and sat down on the couch next to him.
“I haven’t told you how lovely you look,” he said. “When I look at you, I am reminded of a poem:
"Here with a little bread beneath the bough, a flask of wine, a book of verse and thou, beside me singing in the wilderness— Oh wilderness were paradise enow!"
“That’s beautiful.”
The young couple talked into the night. Sean savored the time. Lupe looked so beautiful. Her lips were red from the wine, full and moist. The light from the fire danced in her eyes. She threw her head back and laughed at something he said.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Sean was already awake when the rooster began to crow. He had not slept. There were too many thoughts running through his mind. He had held Lupe in his arms after she fell asleep and watched her chest rise and fall. The first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains. Sean put on his trousers and went outside. The air was crisp and clear. He picked some wildflowers and took them inside. Lupe was awake.
“Good morning.”
“Oh, flowers. Would you like some breakfast?”
“I sure would.”
“Where will you go now?” she asked over breakfast.
“I don’t know.”
“Come back,” she said.
When breakfast was over, Lupe walked Sean to his motorcycle. He kissed her on the lips, got on his bike, and rode away.