The Grunt’s DreamBy Bo Sirant, 2012(dedicated to the late Roman Kupchinsky)

The grunt lay thereDown and lowIn the brush by the riverWhere wild orchids growStill and silentAt his ambush postHe was patient-- Waiting for the VC hostOn matted reeds and hay he layLike a tiger crouching in its lairSniffing for the scent of prey In the humid jungle airHe rested covered and concealedBy the tangled, creeping vinesNear a well-trod, muddy trailLaced with booby-traps and minesThere he waited for a brushWith an elusive, black-clad foe“Who is ‘Master of the Bush’?”He knew he soon would knowHe tensed himself rock-like stiffThen became relaxed and slackThen stiff and slack againHe shifted his weightSloth-like, and oh, so slowHe was restless and itchyHis muscles were fickleNumb, tingly, twitchyHe felt tics and tremors Subtle shakes and tiny tremblesWas soaked from head to toeYet stayed still With barely a squirmOr a desperate wiggleAnd for a long timeFelt the sweat trickleDown his cheeks and Back of the neckAnd the small of his backHe lay watching the stretch Of meandering streamThe downed gnarled trees

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The eddies, whorls, and ripplesAnd standing wavesPools and rifflesDunes and antidunes(into which only an hour agoHe had sunk fully dressed To wash away his scent And then rolled In the sand, mud, and leavesAnd smudged his faceWith dirt and charcoalAll over and festooned himself With leafy branchesGrass and clover For camouflage and cover)He looked down Through the clear cool water To see spangled fish Like the speckled trout back homeDarting in the dark blue shadows Down in the pool below him, Between the stippled rocks Camouflaged against the silt And pebbles andThe sweeping swaying grasses Near the shore Where the long curved reeds Lithe and laxLooked oddly bent By the parallaxA thin mist like smokeHung above the rushing waterHe could feel the jungleHe could taste the jungleHe could smell the jungleThe eternal jungleThe infernal jungleThe fungal rot, The spirits spentThe fetid spoilsOf bodies rentThe strangling floraThe sodden soilsThe fearsome faunaOdors carrion coarse and Fragrances orchid fine

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He heard the water’s gurgleMurmur and the babbleTree top chitter and the twitterHe heard the distant cannons thunderHe heard the blasts and rumbleAnd the carpet bombing wonderOn the verdant hills and ridges yonderThe long varoom ofB-52s dropping tons Of encapsulated woeIn one long and staggered apocalyptic rowTearing countryside asunderBlow by blowRiven earth and splintered forestHurled and thrown Fiery bloom and mushroomKaboom after kaboomPowder fumes and smoky plumesThe phosphoric starbursts The hellish pyrotechnic show Spark, blaze and eerie glowAnd imagined the fireballs and Napalm infernos throw upChoking black plumesOf greasy sooty smoke That grew into drifting, dense and Dark clouds looming on the horizonHe was at one with this warAnd at one with the back countryThe hills, ravines and dinglesIts undergrowth and tanglesWhere living things vied to liveBy ruthless and relentless struggleIts mysteries and verdant vastness Scared him and made him humbleAs did its ferocious power to destroyThe distracted and the carelessThose who muddle, err and bungleThose who trip and those who stumbleThose too slow and those who trundleAnd he feared its denizensEverything that walked, stalked, flew Fluttered and flappedWriggled, crawled, and dangledBit, stung, and suckedAnd he feared the mines and booby traps

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Sharp-staked pitfalls and The shit-laced punji trapsAnd the sequelaeThe bacteria, the malaria, The diphtheria, typhoid, and gangreneThe panic and hysteriaAnd then he felt a presenceHe felt watchedHe scanned the opposite bankLooking for anything out of place Or different from a moment agoHe was tiredHe wanted to sleepBut he stayed alert because he knew that To sleep was to dieAnd that the lives of his buddies Depended on him staying awakeSo he looked hard and deep Into the long late afternoon shadows Into the underbrush And he listened hardTo try and hear any human sounds The sounds of the enemyAbove the rush of the riverAnd the sounds of the quiet jungleIt was hard workHe caught himself nodding offAnd he pinched himself hardAnd rubbed spit on his eyelidsTo keep himself awakeThen, to his astonishmentHe saw an old Indian in buckskinsAnd wearing a Glengarry capAnd campaign medalsPaddle up toward himPull up the canoeAnd gracefully get out

Hello, he said

“Hell, I didn’t expect to see you here How could you be here? This is Vietnam Really, how could you be here?”

Don’t worry about that son

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I’m but a dream within a dream your havingAnd I have come to give you adviceAnd to foretell your future

“What do you mean?”

Well, you will endureAnd survive this warAnd even thoughYou want to go homeYou can’t resist its lureYou are addicted to its pullAnd there is no cureBut to give inYou will be wise in warrior waysA survivorAnd a saviourIt’s in the cardsYou’ll sign up for a second tour And win bronze stars And purple heartsAnd save your pardsBecause of the knowledgeI will give you

“How would you know that?”

I know those things Because I’m God

God? Come on!You look like old TomMy grandfather’s favoriteIndian guide Up in northern CanadaAt Eureka, a bush campOn the Opasatika

Didn’t your grandfather trust him with his life?And with your life?

“Yes, Tom saved his life.”

Well, I wanted to look like someone You could trust So that’s why I came looking

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Like Tom, in a traditional outfit With Tom’s smileAnd hearty laughAnd fit to portageA good five milesMy vocabulary’s better than Tom’s thoughDo you like these fringed buckskins? And how about this birch bark canoe And these hand hewn paddles? And how about these beaded moccasins? And this Damascus steel knife?And this rattlesnake skin sheath?And this necklace of grizzly teeth?It’s all traditional Cree handicraft “Well, sure They look authentic alright, and The beadwork on your jacketIs beautiful and bright”

It’s all an illusion You wouldn’t be able to really know me. I am somethingNo human can fathom I show myself to different peopleIn different ways Yet, I am in every atom Of those trees on the other side In this grass In the water that flows In the rocks, and In every cell of your bodyIn the fish below I am in all matter And in all phenomena From the tiniest of the tiny To the grandest of the grand I am brighter than a billion sunsIndestructible and irreducible Without beginning or endAnd any man trying to know me Is like a mouse trying to understandA res eterna orBinary codes of zeros and onesLinear algebraAdvanced calculus

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Geodesic trigonometryAstrophysicsOr the physics of relativity

Have you noticed that The stream has stopped flowing And that except for usEverything is suspended and frozen still?

“Yes! Holy Mackerel!My God!That’s incredible!”

See, I have made time stop around usBut that is an illusion too

“OK what else should I know?”

There is no hurry, so go slow

You will marry a beautiful woman, RoxanaYou won’t have to find her She’ll find youShe’ll come from AtlantaAnd you will have a son, DanWho will become a great manHe’ll look up to youAnd be your greatest fanYour wife will die before you doYou won’t know exactly when So be good to her at all timesRemember, no one can sayIf they will live To see the next dayExcept you and a few others I have told

Your are very fit now, But will get fatAfter you leave the service You’ll be burly like a bearAnd wear whiskers And smoke cigars And be an imposing manWith a deep voice And you’ll be a drinker

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And you’ll suffer at first From all the horrors You will have seen By the time you leave ‘Nam You’ll have sene a lot Of incredible crueltyAnd moral ambiguity, And you won’t want to talk about itYou will try to forget it But won’tBut that’s the way it isPeople will listen to youTo what you have to say It will sound trueAnd you will be insightfulGood at political analysis and Creative writingSo hone those skills Just like you have for fighting

There will be slippery men Men of the lieWho try to kill you But you will always Outsmart them You’ll be slyAnd kill them instead They will deserve to dieSlow deaths, but Kill them quickly Your actions Will save others From certain death By these evil men

“What should I look for?”

Nothing Except follow your gut I’ll send you the signs Use anonymized gunsYou will knowWhen the time comes

You’ll practice to be Calm, steady and slow to anger.

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Shun wantsStick to needs Live simply because Things slow you downAnd will only bring More grief Don’t get cling to anyone, anything Or any idea Keep an emergency pouch handyAnd be ready to travel light Do the right thing Follow your heart and your conscience Don’t try to be perfect It’s impossible anyway But strive to be betterSeek out the best menAnd keep them around youSeek their counsel(Remember, the man on the ground is right ) Meditate on mePray and make burnt offerings to me(Cedar and tobacco are OK)And live in the here and nowSee things as they are Seek the middle path Watch for mental mines and Psychic trapsBe determined Don’t judge other persons Study Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If” It’s worth a year of sermons

Oh, you’ll die When you’re sixty-eight So work hard When your number is upIt’s up You have 17, 258 days yet to live Make good use of them And give all you can give And live all you can liveLife is funny so keep it funIn the final moments think of me And you’ll be fineYou’ll be buried at ArlingtonTo the sound of bugles and drums

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And salutes from 21 guns

Know where Arlington is?

“No”

You will soon enough

As for the people you killI will take care of themSo don’t waste too much time On guilt or grief That won’t be easy Because you have evolved To feel those emotionsFind comfort and reliefIn forgiveness andSpending time on devotions

The people you have killedWill be as drops of sizzling waterThat have evaporatedAnd turned to vaporOnly to return to earthIn the next monsoon Or a snowfall back home

In the meantime, Be a man of actionHave empathy for everyoneHave compassion Be calm and persevere

Now that you have This knowledgeDon’t envy anyoneIn this war, it’s your edgeIn your life, it’s your hedge

Be on the lookout For callousnessFor pride and arroganceFor selfishnessConceit and anger Harshness and ignorance Stay clear of people

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With those traits,They are smooth-talkersOf low and different characterCrooks and psychopathsThey bring danger Keep your distanceChoose other pathsStay clear and freeOf these idiotsAnd watch them carefully

Be charitable.Be a custodianAnd a stewardSpeak the truth, Give good advice, and Never use words to hurt

“Do you do this often?”

No I only occasionallyGive this kind of advice So heed it.Strive for excellence In your actions, but Be not concerned with results Know what you can control And what you can’t You will learn that Much is dependent On dumb luck And random chanceThat’s how I picked youAnd a young VC womanOn the other side too

“Why do we have wars? Why don’t you stop them?”

I won’t explain that right now Maybe next time Just know that wars are like tornadoes Or hurricanes or forest firesOr tsunamis, or blizzardsThey just are

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There will be wars So long as there is a mankind So long as money is to be madeSo long as there is ignoranceAnd so long as there is greedAnd arroganceTry to endure this war As much as you canAnd in the midst of this Garden of EvilTry to be kind

You will wake up In a few seconds, And I will be gone. The VC are coming Down the trail They know you’re hereOthers have already crossed A ford upstream And unless you leave nowThey will outflank you. It’s a whole companyAnd the scouts are Just about to appear, So get ready to retreat and Make a run for it Warn the others. You won’t be able To hold them

I am giving you my hunting knife as a keepsakePut in on your beltYou will still have it when you awake

Old Tom got back into the canoe

Oh, and by the way You won’t believe this dream Until much later in lifeAs what I have told you Comes to pass.Like when you meet your wifeYou will always doubtIt ever happenedLike a Doubting Thomas

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Be skepticalTrust but verifyBe ethicalKnow yourself Know your enemiesKnow your limitsKnow when to call it quitsBe equableBe equitable andTo your values be true, hey!

Tom then pushed off, turned to look back, waved And paddled downstreamAround a bend and out of viewRight then, out of the corner of his eye The grunt saw dark menacing shapes Through the foliage and leafy drapesOf the opposite bankA young VC woman A Venus dressed in blackProbably never properly kissedHumping a bulky back packLoaded with ammunitionAppeared out of the mistsAs if a vision, an apparitionand stared in his directionSignaled the others to keep backShe fired a flareTo signal the attackHe aimed and fired three shots Heard their crack, smack, and whackGot up and felt for the knife(Yes, it was still there!) Then, without looking back(He was wise not to dare)He ran, oh, he ran for his life There was no time to spare

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