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“Oh, you got that right. The Navy guys kind of stay together, and the Army guys stay together, and then we have others who served in the Corps. They blend in, but mostly, they stick to themselves. Some days, I feel so sorry for him, and for you too. We’re going to have to figure this out.”
It affected Harper more than he let on. He followed Mary down the hall, distracted by the quietness of the vinyl flooring, the occasional snoring he heard from various room doors left ajar, and her squeaking shoes, more on the right than the left, echoing off the wide hallways.
They rode the slow elevator to the second floor where his dad’s room was. Three doors down, his father’s name was printed on a cardboard hand-lettered plaque, adorned with an anchor at both sides.
She pushed open the wide wooden door, and they watched him sleeping on his back, mostly because the three-inch wide straps held him securely in place. Harper felt sorry for him, because he knew he’d never be able to sleep that way. He liked to toss and turn all night long. He knew his dad was unhappy just by looking at the expression on his face with his mouth wide-open, his brow curled in an angry grimace, and his hair disheveled.
Quietly, he tiptoed over to the side of the bed and said not a word, but he leaned over to study him more closely.
Harper observed his dad had cut himself shaving. Remnants of shaving cream were present on the cut with pieces of tissue attached to stop the bleeding. He had six or seven such areas peppering his cheeks and under his chin.
His father had lost several pounds since he’d last seen him. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin was a light shade of pinkish green. Harper pointed to the hallway indicating he wanted to ask Mary some questions.
But just at that moment, his dad’s eyes opened wide. He gave his son a devilish grin. “Sonny! You came back!”
“Of course I did, Dad. I don’t plan on dying in Africa.”
“Africa? Beautiful place but very deadly. You know they have scenery there that I don’t think you could see anywhere else in the world. Diamonds—they find diamonds when they farm, did you know that?”
Harper answered him. “Yes, Dad. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the kids find them.”
“They keep their teeth, not like in Europe. Weak teeth there. Awful teeth.”
Harper completely agreed, laughing on the inside at his father’s choice of subject matter.
“Have you seen the plains, Son? Beautiful golden fields in East Africa. Savannahs. Lots of wildlife. The Mountains of the Moon! Have you gone hunting? They have great guides.”
Harper had heard some wild stories about how several of his father’s unit took a safari vacation to Kenya and all wound up in jail, nearly causing an international incident.
“They sure do have wild animals. We call them militia. They can’t shoot worth a shit,” Harper retorted.
His father seemed not to hear him. staring into the rocking chair as if someone sat there.
“Your mother was just here, Sonny. Looking radiant as always.”
Harper turned to Mary, who nodded slowly, then studied her shoes patiently.
His dad had traveled all over the world. Before SEAL Teams were created, his father did a lot of underwater UDT missions, handling explosives and getting into dangerous underwater situations. The United States wasn’t as heavily invested in Africa as European countries were, but once in a while, they would have to go in and evacuate villages. Medical staff were occasionally in danger. Well-meaning missionaries sometimes found themselves on the wrong end of somebody’s rifle—which would make them on the wrong side of some warlord’s world view. It never changed. In another one hundred years, he didn’t think it would change at all.
“No, Dad, I haven’t gone hunting. Something on my bucket list. Maybe you and I will go. We can go shoot some boar or deer if you like. How about it?”
“In Africa?”
Harper could see his eyes begin to fade, get glassy, and lose their focus. He was fading into some kind of alternative reality that wasn’t going to allow his attention and focus.
“How are you feeling, Dad? I understand you’ve had some issues.”
Without acknowledging Harper’s question, his dad asked, “How long are you staying this time, Sonny? Oh, your mother’s going to be so happy.”
His mother was always good subject material, but as his dad’s dementia came on, it was less and less likely he was ever going to face the fact that his wife was gone. He’d given up even trying to convince his dad of it.
“I made sure to give her a call so she knows I’ll be coming,” Harper played along.
“You’re such a good boy. Hey, what do you want for Christmas? Do you want a bicycle, Sonny? They have some great bicycles down at the—what’s the name of that store?”
“The Schwinn store?”
His dad didn’t answer, again appearing not to hear. The store he was referring to was where he used to buy bicycles when he was in high school and had been closed for nearly twenty years. But Harper continued.
