Seth made the rounds in the boys’ ward while Ethan carried out the morning trash. The inmates barely acknowledged his presence, shying away or glowering silently from their rooms.
Frankie Yager sat behind his desk working on his fingernails. Periodically he would rise from his chair and walk the length of the ward while slapping his leg with his magazine. Now and then he would pause and peer into the rooms like a ferret.
When the record player came on full volume, Ethan rose up with his jaw set. Seth grabbed his arm.
“Take it easy, Ethan.”
“Somebody needs to shoot that bastard behind the ear,” Ethan said, pulling away.
Frankie smirked from his desk and turned to his magazine.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Seth said, “but our jobs depend on us getting along. I’m sick and tired of living under a bridge.”
Seth’s night sweats and bad dreams had worsened with the rigors of jungle living, and now that the nights were getting colder, he hardly slept at all. The constant harassment by the law kept him on edge, and the stress of the new job nibbled away at his nerves. Sometimes his hands shook so badly that he had to bury them in his pockets.
But he didn’t want to disappoint Hook, a man who did what he said he’d do, a man tough but fair. Seth liked the way Hook went about his life, the way he let others do the same.
Later that morning, men from the insurance company came to see Frankie. They talked in hushed tones out on the porch. When Frankie came back in, he threw his magazine into the trash can.
“I want this pigsty cleaned up,” he shouted. “I want it cleaned now.”
At noon, Frankie said, “Take them to lunch. I got errands.”
“We’ve never done that before,” Seth said.
“Well, it’s high time,” Frankie said. “And don’t lose them when that cow from the women’s ward drops her pants.”
Seth and Ethan walked the boys to lunch without incident. Seth saw Roy and Santos from across the cafeteria. A big-bosomed woman sat close to Santos and gazed up at him.
They ate meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Compared with Roy’s cooking, it tasted pretty good, though in all fairness cooking out of a pot under a bridge had its disadvantages.
After lunch, Seth watched the boys while Ethan sneaked a smoke in the bathroom, and then Seth took his turn, fieldstripping the butt before flushing it down the toilet.
That afternoon about two o’clock, Ethan disappeared from the ward. When he returned, his face had turned the color of paste, and a bead of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“I feel like hell,” he said.
Within the hour, one of the boys complained of a stomachache, and then another boy fell sick. Ethan sat at the table, his head down on his hands. Seth stood and grabbed his own stomach, which had twisted like a wet rope inside him. His head spun, and a cold chill swept through him.
Soon, the entire ward moaned and groaned, and the stink of sickness filled the room.
“Go get Doctor Baldwin,” Seth told Frankie.
“I ain’t bothering Doctor Baldwin,” Frankie said.
Seth rose, locking his eyes on Frankie. “I said get him.”
Doctor Baldwin arrived a short time later. He walked through the ward shaking his head and then went to check on the women.
When he returned, he said, “We’ve got people going down everywhere. I’m calling the health department.”
The people from the health department came with their clipboards, checking the cafeteria coolers, the bathrooms, talking to the cooks.
Doctor Baldwin returned to the boys’ ward and stood in the doorway, his face ashen and tired.
“Food poisoning,” he said. “There’s little to do but wait it out. Keep hydrated and rest as you can.”
“What caused it?” Seth asked.
“They can’t be certain. Everything appears to be in order.”
“What about the others?” Seth asked.
“The women’s ward got hit pretty hard. Luckily, Nurse Andrea brought her own lunch, and, as you know, the security ward doesn’t eat in the cafeteria. Their food is prepared earlier in the day.
“Needless to say, the health department frowns on this sort of thing. They would have shut us down, but they didn’t know what to do with all these people. They’ve agreed to send in extra help for a few days, so you men can go on home until you’ve recovered. Come back as quickly as you can.”
His legs still shaky, Seth helped Ethan under the bridge, where he found Roy and Santos already there.
Roy took hold of Ethan to help him down. “You look like a chicken with the pip,” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m just sick,” Ethan said. “What you have is permanent.”
They leaned Ethan against the bridge support. His hands lay open at his sides, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“He’s hit pretty hard,” Seth said. “He can’t keep anything down.”
“I once saw him eat half a sandwich out of a dead German’s hand,” Roy said.
Ethan shook his head and coughed. “That’s before I lost half my guts on a hillside. Besides, he wasn’t dead yet.”
“I’ll boil up some water,” Roy said. “Get the skeeters out. I think Ethan’s all dried up.”
So Roy built the fire and boiled the water. He stirred in a little baking soda, but Ethan spewed it back. Seth put his hand on his forehead.
“He’s running a fever,” he said. “Maybe we should take him somewhere.”
“But where?” Roy asked.
“I don’t know,” Seth said, “the army base maybe.”
“They might still be looking for their Iowa corn,” Roy said.
Ethan rolled his head back and forth. “No army base,” he said. “I’ve had enough of army hospitals. Get me a blanket. I’ll sleep it off.”
And so they wrapped Ethan in a blanket and folded another to put under his head.
As darkness enveloped the jungle, the fire sputtered and went out. Seth checked on Ethan, who slept deeply, his breathing slow and steady. Each took to his own bed then and drew into his own thoughts. Stars showered into the blackness of the cold desert night as the men slept once again under the bridge.
The sun had yet to rise, only a dim glow on the eastern horizon, when Seth rose from beneath his blanket to check on Ethan. He pulled aside Ethan’s covers and laid his hand on his cheek. He sat back on his haunches. Ethan’s fever raged, and his skin had turned dry as paper.
“Ethan,” Seth said. “How are you doing?”
Ethan worked at a smile, which faded with weakness. “Not so well,” he said. “My insides are burned away.”
“I’ll fix you something.”
“No, Seth,” he said.
“Let me get you to a hospital.”
“Wake the others,” he said.
Shivering in the morning cold, they gathered about Ethan. All there had watched comrades die before, the disinterest that came into the eyes, the looking away.
Ethan rallied. “Are you here?” he asked.
“We’re here,” Seth said.
“Bury me in the jungle,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone. It will only bring trouble. I’ve no one else. And don’t be making crosses over my grave, Santos.”
Santos pulled at his chin and looked off into the morning sun.
“When you come here, put a stone on my grave. It’s the way of my people.”
He fell silent, his breathing stopping for the longest moment, and then he said, “You boys will be alright?”
“We’ll be alright,” Roy said.
His breathing slowed to a rasp. “Did my life matter?” he asked.
“There ain’t a one of us would be here without you,” Roy said.
Ethan turned his face away. “I’ve not been such a good friend,” he said.
They buried him next to the main pier, wrapping him in his blanket. Roy found Ethan’s dog tags. He put them in an empty shine jar and placed it in the grave. They covered dirt over him with their hands, and each laid a stone to mark his place.
After that, they built a morning fire and cooked eggs and fatback. They recounted the time Ethan hid in his wall locker to avoid KP duty, how the latch had locked, and how no one had found him for several hours. They laughed about how they had to drag him to his bunk because both his legs had gone to sleep. They laughed and laughed until tears came to their eyes.