Chapter 30
Chen Huan remembered that her car's engine had broken down and was left at the repair shop, while Meng Zixian had taken the other car. She messaged Emma Schumer, asking her to pick up some medicine at the pharmacy. She hadn't spoken to Emma in a month. They had already developed a friendship that was difficult to maintain among classmates or friends. When the man was away on assignment, they went to the supermarket, the park, the movie theater together. After he returned, they went back to their own homes and might not contact each other for a month or two.
Two years later, Chen Huan had grown estranged from her college classmates. They mocked her, calling her that housewife from the 1950s cooking magazine cover, who at twenty-two had already spent her days waiting in the kitchen for her husband to come home. Chen Huan wanted to retort, labeling marriage, a personal and complex topic for her, as "traditional values" and "feminism." But she found herself harboring the same resentment and suspicion. She wanted to ask Meng Zixian, "What about the things I want to do, the places I want to go?"
Only with other military wives did she not have to confront the internal conflicts she had been chewing up. They had all been through what she was going through, and what she was about to face had not scared them away.
Most of the battalion's officers' wives had children, which made Shen Huan and Emma particularly close. They were the only ones at lawn parties who didn't push strollers or change diapers, who cracked half-baked, off-color jokes, and who could have drunk enough beer to sleep by the pool at the bachelorette party before the wedding.
When E Company was overseas, Chen Huan walked Emma's dog every day. Henry had brought Alison, a Labrador, from his hometown of Raleigh. Emma had gone to work on the Military Family Committee early in the morning, and Chen Huan was already going for a run. After leaving, he went to Emma's backyard and picked up Alison for a run in the woods. When E Company returned to headquarters, Chen Huan and Meng Zixian went for a run while Henry walked the dog.
Emma pushed open the bathroom door, wearing her pajamas and holding a pharmacy bag—she had the key to Shen Huan's house. "Oh, sweetheart, this house smells like a dead dog." She gave Shen Huan a smile—the kind that said, "I understand you, of course life is a piece of shit."
Shen Huan tried to smile. The bathroom was filled with steam, and Emma's blue eyes were like a lake under thick fog.
"But you look quite happy." Emma tilted her head to look at her.
Shen Huan asked her if she wanted to come in, the water was still hot.
“Hmm…” She thought for a moment, threw the medicine bag casually on the toilet lid, walked to the bathtub, and looked down at Shen Huan’s body soaking in the water, “It’s a bit crowded.”
Emma pulled a cigarette and lighter from her jeans pocket, lit it, and clenched it between her teeth before removing her shirt and jeans. Shen Huan glanced at her discarded T-shirt, a faded sunflower print. Shen Huan sat forward, hugging her knees. Emma's legs tucked under her arms as she stepped into the tub.
Shen Huan sat in front of Emma, her back pressed against her breasts. The water was still, with only the slightest rise and fall of their breathing.
Emma asked her how many pounds Miles had lost since returning from this assignment. Shen Huan shook her head, resting her chin on her knees, and whispered that she didn't know. Ten pounds, twenty pounds? She hadn't asked.
Meng Zixian's weight fluctuated wildly. Their diet was poor and their energy consumption was high, so they lost weight quickly. I heard they typically burned 4,000 calories a day, sometimes over 6,000, the equivalent of two or three days' worth for an average person. He'd gradually gain the weight back when he returned to North Carolina.
Emma said Henry came back this time, skin and bones. His butt was rubbed raw by the backpack, and he'd been taking antibiotics to suppress the inflammation. His immune system would have killed him on this bald, flaky bottom. That made me feel good about myself. Yes, I couldn't carry an 80-pound pack, but my butt was as smooth as a baby's. Emma couldn't stop laughing as she spoke.
Shen Huan didn't laugh. She could hear the sadness in Emma's voice. She thanked Emma for sharing these things with her, letting her know she wasn't alone in this shit. She watched the cigarette butt, held in Emma's left hand by the side of the tub, slowly burn. A long piece of ash was about to fall out. She stretched out her left palm to catch it. Emma moved her hand away. "What are you doing?"
Shen Huan was also stunned for a moment, and replied: "Cigarette ash cannot fall on the ground."
Emma asked, "Who makes the rules?"
Shen Huan opened her mouth to answer, took a breath, and closed it again. In the past, Meng Zixuan always kept the house very clean. She was used to it.
Shen Huan turned back and looked at Emma. Emma raised her head and smiled, "You are such a good girl."
Shen Huan knew she was laughing at her. She stood up from the water, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped the towel under her arms. Emma stretched out her body, "Hey, don't be angry. I'm a good girl too. Henry doesn't know I smoke."
Shen Huan lay on the sofa to take her temperature. Emma put the cans, wine bottles, and paper towels on the coffee table and the floor into the garbage bag, piled the dishes into the dishwasher, threw away the rotten fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator, fried a few frozen cheese sticks for Shen Huan, and put the plate in front of her.
“Eat,” she ordered like an officer, making Shen Huan laugh.
Emma said Henry didn't become thinner when he was on the move, but after he came back.
Shen Huan was a little surprised and looked at Emma.
Emma sat down at the other end of the sofa, crossed her legs, and leaned her head back, as if talking to herself, "Yes, coming back, coming back is the hardest thing."
Chen Huan knew Emma didn't want to continue. Emma was twenty-seven years old and came from a conservative Catholic family in Texas, but she was the only captain's wife in the battalion without children. Chen Huan had a vague feeling that this was related to Henry's drinking problem. He didn't drink on missions, but he was often hungover when he returned to North Carolina. Chen Huan would often receive calls from Emma in the middle of the night, asking Meng Zixian to move Henry back home from the alley behind the tavern.
But Chen Huan didn't quite understand why. Coming home was the hardest part. Was a safe, peaceful life more unbearable for them than the flames of war? She'd met wives at family committee events who wore their husbands' deployments like medals of honor. One presentation featured a sergeant who had participated in twenty-nine operations. Chen Huan respected them, but she didn't share their honor. These soldiers weren't defending her homeland; their repeated deployments had shattered their lives, as well as the lives of so many wives and families.
She remembered the night Meng Zixian proposed, standing downstairs from her house, and he'd said, "I want to see you every day." But he'd chosen this line of work, and all he saw every day was that six-foot plywood wall. These soldiers were gamblers. Others gambled money, but they gambled their lives. She selfishly placed the blame on them.
Emma asked Shen Huan if she had seen the photo of the Afghan boy. Shen Huan didn't know what she was talking about and looked at her in confusion. Emma looked at her, and a look of apology and worry flashed across her face. "Oh, Miles didn't tell you."
Chen Huan didn't look at her again. She put the plate on the coffee table and lowered her head to pick up the fried bread crumbs on the plate. Meng Zixuan didn't tell her about what was going on over there, and she never asked about it.
After a pause, Emma explained that the US military had established a light command post in a valley on the edge of Darwash Province—the exact location was known only to those in the division. The first wave of infantry deployed along the surrounding hills and poppy fields, setting up machine gun positions and mortars to block the entrance. Engineers would then move in, clearing the riverbed, unloading containers, and erecting blast walls.
Shen Huan opened his eyes wide, "How do you know so much? Isn't this a military secret?"
Emma waved her hand. Some of it was Henry's words, and some was common sense. Honey, you should watch more movies. "Of course," she said, pinching her gold earrings and sticking out her tongue. "This story has my own spin on it. Don't laugh. It's 99 percent true."
Emma continued, "They built a simple first aid shelter inside for the wounded. It had electricity and fans, so the conditions were pretty good. Patrolling soldiers would occasionally bring back a few injured locals, mostly women and children. After a week or two, word spread, and many locals would line up early in the morning with their seriously ill children. But there was only one doctor and three nurses in the entire camp, so every morning the battalion commander would go around the first aid shelter and sort the wounded."
"How to sort?" Shen Huan asked.
Emma waved her hand and said casually, "Oh, you know. Send away those who can't be saved, and move the dying ones to the bed first." Shen Huan knew that Emma's indifference was forced. Emma paused here and continued after a while.
"E Company had a seven-day rest period after completing its deployment. But no one rested; everyone went to the aid shed to help out. One day, Taylor Tedesco brought home a burned boy, an Afghan, about twelve or thirteen years old. E Company didn't care about the lives of locals with guns. The child wasn't a militia member; he was burned by his father, so Taylor brought him there. The child was chatting with a lone girl on the street in town and was punished when he got home."
Shen Huan opened her mouth slightly. She had only heard that the Taliban would detain women without male guardians on the streets of Kabul.
"Yes, over there, children are not only whipped and put in solitary confinement, but also electrocuted and doused with boiling water. The father found a military field telephone a few years ago and removed a hand-cranked generator, two lengths of bell wire, and rusty alligator clips from it. When the child was little, even a little electric current would scare the hell out of him. But the boy has grown up and is unruly, so this time he used boiling water mixed with oil.
"The translator happened to be out with the battalion commander during those two days, and Miles was the only one in the company who could understand Pashto. So what I'm saying now about this child was what Miles later relayed to the team members.
"The child collapsed at the edge of the poppy field, his upper body and thighs rotten, convulsing. His chest was swollen, the burn ring like a bandage, and he couldn't breathe. Taylor and another engineer cut a piece of tent cloth to wrap him up and took him to the first aid shelter. The shelter was full, so E Company set up two makeshift first aid tables in the bed of the transport truck. Taylor and Miles were there to resuscitate him and treat his wounds."
Shen Huan bit his lip and looked at her.
"Taylor hadn't learned this kind of first aid, so he could only help. Miles was the one who took the tent cloth apart. It took a long time, and the skin and the cloth stuck together. Miles accidentally peeled off the boy's right nipple. But they still saved him."
Emma stuffed the two remaining cheese sticks into her mouth, chewed them twice, and then stretched her neck to swallow them.
"He's a strong kid," Emma said. "When they were doing first aid, Miles gave him a piece of gum. He just held it in his hand without unwrapping it. After they treated his wounds and carried him to the rescue shed for surgery, he was still holding it when they came out. I don't know how he did it."
Shen Huan's eyes were moist, and she asked Emma what happened next.
Emma lowered her head and sniffed. "The child's mother came to pick him up. She explained to the translator that it was a minor punishment from his father. It had only caused a blister on his hand before, and there had never been such an accident before, and there would never be another. The child was also in a hurry to leave, saying that his father wanted to take him hunting, as they had agreed. Few women dared to enter the blockade alone, and the mother was taking a great risk to pick up her child. Henry didn't make things difficult for her."
Emma paused here, and Shen Huan realized that she had been holding her breath. She took a breath and exhaled slowly, then asked Emma what happened next.
Emma said, "April to May is poppy picking season in Dawash, and drug traffickers are very active. No major tribes dare to enter the poppy fields near the command post, only some poor people rush in with knives and guns. Miles shot his father dead, and the boy stood nearby with a wooden stick. When the US troops left, the boy shouted in Pashto behind them, 'The next time I see you, I'll pierce your heart with a sharp knife.'"
"Only Miles understood."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com