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"Hunnicutt residence.”
“BJ, it’s Sidney.”
There was a sharp intake of breath and the faint sound of someone slumping against a wall on the other side of the country.
“What’s happened?”
BJ’s tone was terse, more anxiety fitting into two words than should have been possible.
Sidney hastened to reassure him: “Relax, there’s no fire. This call will be costing the Pierces a fortune so I won’t beat about the bush though: Hawkeye’s managed to tangle with a repressed memory and although we can make out the shape of it, neither of us can figure out what it is well enough for me to help him through it.”
BJ’s response showed that this had reassured him very little. “Is he there, is he alright?”
“I’ve finally managed to get him to sleep, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t put him on. He’s been setting off on one-man parties and late-night shopping trips for the last week. It’s lucky there’s not a geisha for 6,000 miles and the only place open late here is one bar, just Fridays and Saturdays. Except for the monthly bingo night at the church hall. Then the bar closes so everyone can attend.”
If Sidney strained his ears, he could almost hear BJ’s teeth grinding on the other end of the line as he chewed over that information.
“He never used to ask for you when he was climbing the walls, it was always when he crashed,” BJ eventually replied.
“Things are a little different over here. Behaviours that were normative or near enough at the 4077 comes across as a little skewed in parochial Maine.”
“His Dad got worried huh?”
“Big time. He found him scrubbing his hands so hard they were bleeding, after he threw up all over the freshly dug garden on his way to collect the mail. Three days in a row.”
“That sure sounds like Korea’s charming way of intruding on life’s bed of roses. You said you had some idea of what’s going on?”
“Well, I think the garden is key. Hawkeye had been digging it up the day before, and the smell of the dirt is definitely setting him off. Some of the language he’s used around earth and burying is quite indicative as well.”
“Unfortunate that he’s buried whatever it is.”
Sidney thought he could almost hear the phone cord creaking in California, could imagine BJ fiddling with it nervously even as his face would be still and intent, as it was when he had a medical puzzle to solve. A friend to worry over. As it had been when he bundled Hawkeye into a jeep with Sidney.
“Ah but fortunately enough I have someone who doesn’t go for suppression to handle the past. Is there anything you know of that could have triggered this?”
This time Sidney could definitely hear BJ pulling at the cord, probably trying to pace, scuffing his heels, turning this way and that for answers. Finally he huffed.
“I mean, everything over there was dirty- the food was dirty, the OR was barely not dirty, the jokes, the martinis. Radar. And we didn’t call it the Swamp because we’re fans of Okefenokee.”
“You probably won’t be surprised to hear I’ve heard this routine already.”
“Sorry Sidney, it was much more efficient when we could do the bit together- though I’d be keen to know who did it better.”
Sidney waited patiently.
“You know Hawkeye’s claustrophobic, well, we had to bug out to a cave once. Though that smelt more damp than dirty. Uh, battalion aid always had a real earthy smell from all the shell craters.”
“I think this would have had to have been a more visceral, active experience. It wasn’t just the smell of dirt - though that’s what keeps setting off the follow-up reactions - but something about digging in the garden that lit the fuse in Hawkeye’s brain.”
“Well, burying of medical waste, of- of- of amputated limbs and so forth, that was generally the enlisted men’s job: Explains why they found digging latrines so pleasant- anyway, so Hawkeye shouldn’t be….”
“I know it’s hard to recall, but a few things he’s said about unmarked graves and unknown fates made me wonder if he’d stumbled into something somewhere along the way, maybe outside the confines of the 4077.”
For a moment the only sound was the hum of wires and distant breathing. Finally, BJ sighed.
“I don’t know Sidney, I’m sorry, I don’t. Have you tried any of the others? It could have been from before I arrived. Or from when he was still trying to protect me from the worst of it.”
“My next calls will be to Margaret and Sherman- see if they know anything. Then maybe I'll try hail down Trapper John from wherever he’s sailed off to.” He let that sit there for a moment, vaguely curious whether a little rivalry might send BJ’s mind into overdrive to work out the problem.
He continued, “Unfortunately, I suspect something happened that wounded Hawkeye so much even in the moment that he decided not to tell anyone, and now he’s not even telling himself.”
“What’ll you do if you can’t dig it out? Tell him to avoid gardening? Wait, no, you’d tell him to get back into the trenches and face it. And dig more trenches,” mused BJ with determined chipperness.
“I might see if he’ll come back to New York with me. There’s plenty of community clinics that would appreciate his skills. He could burn this excess energy for a few weeks until he can settle down, and I can keep working with him without abandoning my other patients.”
“Right.”
“Plus, Central Park is beautiful this time of year.”
“I’m fairly sure New Yorkers claim its beautiful at every time of year.”
“It gives us a change of pace from complaining about the rest of the city. I’d better go-”
“Tell him if he’s that desperate for a geisha to walk on his back, I’ll pack a kimono and bring my size 12’s right on over. Whatever he needs.”
“I’m not sure his over developed spine would handle that, but I’ll let him know. Thanks BJ. Write if you think of anything.”
“Take care Sidney.”
Sidney stared pensively into his mug, watching the steam rise. Not enough hours since he had settled him, Hawkeye clattered down the stairs.
He ruffled Sidney’s hair on the way to making his own coffee.
Sidney burst out laughing, despite his reflective mood, and leant back in his chair.
“How did you sleep?” he asked warmly.
Hawkeye swung his mug freely as he gestured wildly, apple in hand and mouth.
“I’ll take that as a positive.”
Hawkeye made a non-committal but largely agreeable gesture. Sidney waited until he’d swallowed his apple, then began.
“I spoke to BJ earlier.”
Hawkeye straightened. “Did he have any ideas?”
Sidney waved a negating hand.
“Nothing particularly promising- a few points about caves, shell craters, disposal of medical waste-”
Hawkeye interrupted him impatiently. “No, no, I don’t think it’s anything like that. I mean we’ve well established I’m the last to know these things but they’re all like- like a bullet to the chest while we’re waiting for a shot in the head.”
Sidney’s eyes darted across Hawkeye’s face.
Hawkeye drew back, rose to his feet, paced backwards slightly, rocked on his heels against the cabinet, quick jerky motions that stuttered and started as if his entire body was vacillating between remembering and forgetting, between then and now.
Every movement seemed to illustrate dread at whatever was lurking in the corner of his brain, forgotten yet still on the tip of his tongue.
“I know that look, you think I’ve said something” he accused, pointing at Sidney, face briefly pulled into a shallow imitation of a crinkle-eyed smile.
Sidney spread his palms, gently holding Hawkeye's gaze like he could calm him with a look alone.
“Well, that last sentence of yours was not exactly a naturalistic way of expressing that you think BJ’s missed the bullseye here” he suggested kindly.
“Oh, sure sure. If only I hadn’t spent three years in a warzone, in a warzone hospital, where we were ambushed by head and chest wounds everyday, we might be getting somewhere with that imagery. As it is, it’s sort of like saying the sky is blue, water is wet, and I have war trauma.”
Sidney decided it would be better to move on for now, rather than continue to circle the same themes without covering new ground. Or uncovering it.
“BJ also said that if you need him, he’ll be here in a trice.”
“The lummox actually managed to say that?” Hawkeye asked, tilting his head back like it might hide the sheen in his eyes from Sidney.
“He may have framed it around some suggestions about dress ups and massages.”
Hawkeye howled with laughter “I bet he did.” He swung himself back into his seat, successfully redirected, if only momentarily.
They sat in silence for long moments. Sidney made himself another drink. Hawkeye continued to gleefully pick through the bowl of fresh fruit, the novelty of access to which he seemed never to tire, occasionally breaking into fits of juggling or creating novelty arrangements with the table settings. He darted around to fetch more sugar, a container for his scraps, a glass of water. Sidney waited him out, unsure if he wanted to raise another difficult topic, or let it lie. Let himself lie.
Finally, he broached the subject.
“I didn’t know you were claustrophobic.”
Hawkeye startled. “What?”
Sidney continued with determined steadiness. “BJ mentioned that you’re claustrophobic. That you” – he gestured vaguely- “really struggled with going into caves. With confined spaces.”
There was a pause. Hawkeye was frozen, head tilted, birdlike.
Sidney forced himself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise that was a problem for you.”
Hawkeye suddenly melted back into life and shrugged, bemused. “It probably never came up. The one good point of living in a tent for three years, a distinct lack of claustro.”
Sidney started to interject, but paused to consider what to say
Hawkeye took that hesitation as a sign to continue and leaned forward to pat Sidney’s hand reassuringly.
“You’re good Sidney, but you’re not a mind-reader.” He leered. “I’d know, you’d be blushing non-stop.”
Sidney considered confessing that he didn’t need to be a mind-reader, that Hawkeye himself had once begged Sidney to get him out of a cell-like hospital room. Had told him the walls were closing in, that he couldn’t breathe, that the cracks in the ceiling were getting bigger and were going to crush him. Considered admitting that he had taken all of this only as a sign of Hawkeye’s disconnect from reality. From his actions. From the danger he posed to himself.
Sidney had ignored the pleas, and the terror under them. Sidney had let his friend stew in even more layers of grief and fear than he’d known, than even his friend seemed to know himself.
And if Hawkeye’s mind had taken that memory away, well, perhaps they had enough to be dealing with for the moment. It would be best left till a later date.
Sidney was almost sure that wasn’t his guilt talking.
Almost.