7.

It’s a dream, and in the gray-blue light of the Rhein-Main Air Base hangar I am doing my job. It’s November 1970 and I’m wearing the uniform my son found. This is my first assignment with MP Customs.

One by one, soldiers and civilian contractors stop at my table.

“ID card,” I say.

“Show me your orders,” I say.

“Open your bag,” I say.

“Empty your pockets,” I say.

“You can go now,” I say.

“Next,” I say.

One by one they stand in front of me.

“Harm no one,” this black sergeant in the middle of the night says to me.

Diogenes O’Reilly is the name on his ID card. It’s two A.M. Sometimes it seems like it’s always two A.M. in the army.

Diogenes O’Reilly has flown in from Vietnam. He’s wearing his green fatigue pants and a Hawaiian shirt with bright designs of parrots and palm trees.

“You’re out of uniform,” I say.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” Diogenes O’Reilly says. “I’ve only got three days left to serve.”

Corporal Halter, my late-night colleague in the world of MP Customs inspections, stands beside me in the blue-and-white lighted area inside the general darkness of the giant airplane hangar at Rhein-Main Air Base.

“Cool shirt,” Corporal Halter says to Diogenes O’Reilly.

“Hurt no one,” Diogenes O’Reilly says.

“Go in peace,” Diogenes O’Reilly says.

“Walk softly on the earth,” Diogenes O’Reilly says.

“Bow low to all the creatures that you meet,” Diogenes O’Reilly says.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Corporal Halter says.

“Should we just let him go?” I ask.

“Hurt no one,” Corporal Halter says as we watch Diogenes O’Reilly shoulder his duffel bag and walk off into the general darkness.