Combat tour

"Abi! Abi! You want lighter?" He steps quickly from the alley to block my way. He can't be more than twelve; it's hard to tell with the way these kids eat.

*sigh* "What you got kid?" A small crowd of little urchins materializes around us. They all pat me on my arms and back, begging . Distracting me from the ones trying to get to my wallet. They are the reason I keep my cash and important shit in my boot.

"I have lots nice colors. What you want? You want red, blue? I have special for you. You buy red, white and blue lighters, all three only two dollars. All three them dude, you can't beat it!"

I look at the pile of lighters in his box, swiping absentmindedly behind me at the little bastard trying to lighten my back pocket.

"All Scriptos little man. No Bics. I only use Bic lighters."

 

He turns and yells to his friend just down the street. Turklish gibberish and street slang that I can't make out.

His friend saunters over to where we stand, and slips two Bic lighters out of his pockets, presenting them with a flourish worthy of old PT Barnum himself.

 

"Hey, Abi. How it hang?" Bic boy says, as he holds out his other hand for me to slap him five, like some classic Starsky and Hutch episode.

 

I bring my hand down across his, his tiny little hand dwarfed by my well-fed American paw.

 

"Bic lighters very nice man. You can have for one dollar each."

I reach out to pluck one of the lighters from his hand, but he deftly moves them back out of reach.

 

"I have to see them, Abi. You trying to cheat me?"

 

"I not cheat you man. These Bic lighters, top good stuff. Not this trash..." he says, gesturing to his cohort's box of lighters. This slight goes completely unnoticed by his competitor. Part of the patois they have presented to so many American GI's on this street.

 

"I hold one. or I no buy. I hold one first, or no sell." I give him my serious look. He rolls his eyes and holds out one of the lighters to me. A hearty sigh and shrug delivered to let me know how completely insulting I have been.

 

I hold the lighter up to the sky and flip the wheel to light it.

As I peer at the tiny bit of liquefied gas trapped in the bottom, the sun touches my face with it's heat and the temperature of the breeze seems to rise from 'hair-dryer' to 'standing next to a campfire'.

I snap my other hand around in a quick wave across my backside. Was that the slightest brush of fingertips I felt on my arm? I don't have the time or energy today to go through the ritual of buying back my 'found' wallet with a 'reward'.

 

"This lighter is almost empty, Abi. You stole this lighter from me last week."

 

"No No! Not stole! I use sometimes. Only once or twice. Still lots of good. You have a smoke?"

 

"You're too young to smoke, Abi. Stop stealing my lighters." as I hand his lighter back to him.

 

"I smoke! I show you. Give me a cig."

 

"I'm not giving you shit, Abi. I'll give one dollar, American...paper dollar..." I slip one out of my front pocket, one of the bills I keep there for this ritual. "...for both those Bic lighters."

 

"My mother, she will not..."

 

"Don't start with that shit about your mother, Abi...one paper dollar...both lighters. You take?"

 

Again the eyes roll, he heaves out another sigh and trades his treasure for a slip of paper.

"Good deal, Abi." I say as I drop the lighters in my pocket.

 

I ruffle his hair as I step around him. He ducks his head from under my hand and throws me an insolent sneer for my trouble.

 

I continue my stroll down the street, listening with one ear to the patter of feet dashing to get ahead of me again.

 

"Abi! Abi!" it's Scripto boy again, looking for his piece of the action. His small box of lighters has disappeared into the crowd somewhere."Thumb wrestle! You want to thumb wrestle me? I beat you, you give me a dollar!"

 

That one actually makes me stop. The swarm of urchins quickly surrounding us again.

 

"Thumb wrestle? Who the hell taught you to thumb wrestle? You don't have a chance against me, Abi."

 

"I beat you! I am the champion! No..." he stumbles for a moment, searching for the English, gesturing futilely to the world around him..."nobody beat me!"

 

I'm intrigued now. "Okay Abi, " I slip another dollar from my pocket. " You beat me, you get a dollar. Deal?"

His hand shoots out as if to give me a hearty handshake. I crumple the dollar and grip it tightly in my left fist, and reach out with my right to grasp his hand. As soon as our grip is locked, the match is on, with gusto.

 

I let him beat me, after toying with him for a few seconds, the time it takes me to realize he's occupied my hands and my attention long enough for one of his buddies to make another try at my wallet. The crowd of ragged children around us cheers wildly. Jumping in the air and laughing when he beats me. (It was harder than I expected. This kid has the strength of the streets in his hands. For a moment I am taken back to my young days.)

 

I roll my eyes and shrug to let him know how terribly I have been insulted as I hand him his dollar.

 

"Now fuck off somewhere Abi, it's too damn hot to be standing around in the street." Another swipe behind me smacks a forearm, and causes laughter to erupt from behind me. I make shooing motions at the lot of them as I step off down the sidewalk again.

 

"You hot, bro? You need cool drink? My uncle..." he says, walking backward next to me and pointing back down the street behind me. "I'm not going to your uncle's place to buy five-dollar ginger ales for some girl, Abi. I'm going to The Red Light for a beer."

 

"You want beer? What kind of beer you like? You like Heineken? I go to Red Light and get Heineken for you! What you say bro?"

 

"Yeah, sure Abi. You go to Red Light and get my beer ready."

 

He scampers up the street ahead of me and ducks into the bar just a few yards up the road. I stroll slowly along toward that shady haven, determined not to exert myself in any way in this awful heat.

 

I stand just inside the door for a moment as my eyes adjust to the dark. The place is tiny, no bigger than the average American living room. The bartender is setting my beer on the bar, condensation already beading up on the sides of the bottle. Andy and Will are already there, and from the sullen glance the bartender throws my way, I'm betting they're getting too loud already. Either that, or he's pissed about me telling a little street urchin to go inside his bar...probably both.

 

I step over to the bar and swipe up the bottle to my lips, I don't trust myself to talk yet. I can feel the gritty dust on my teeth and tongue washed away by the cold burn and brassy flavor of the beer.

 

"Good job, Abi..." I pull another dollar from my pocket and hold it out to him. "...now get lost."

 

My little entrepreneur snatches the dollar and neatly sidesteps a kick thrown half-heartedly at him by Andy. "Why d'you keep giving your money to these smelly  little wankers?"

The kid flips Andy the bird as he heads for the door.

 

"Andy, you really don't have a soul, do you? You ginger bastard." I retort.

 

"And what's with you calling me Ginger all the fucking time?" Andy is raising his voice. His already pink face getting redder to match the hair on his head.

 

"Calm the fuck down, Andy." I say quietly, as Will jumps in with his two cents. "How many lighters you buy this time?" he asks me with a snicker.

 

"Just a couple." I fish them out of my pocket along with my cigarettes. Trying to light one, I find out the blue one doesn't work at all, no flint. The orange one lights easily enough, and I drag deeply.

 

I lean across the bar and throw the blue lighter into the trash can as Will laughs outright. "You still got your wallet?"

I make a show of panicking a little and slapping my back pocket. "Yeah, still there."

 

I realize my beer is empty already. I raise it from the bar and waggle it at our host.

 

"Hooch!" Andy shouts, straightening up and slapping his hand loudly on the bar a couple times. "Come on, Abi! Set us up a round!"

I catch the bartender's eye and shake my head. "No more rotgut, Andy. That stuff will kill you. I think they make it from glue or something."

"Besides, Will leaves tomorrow. Don't you want to see him off?" I turn my attention to our host, and add "Just three more beers, Abi."

 

On the way back to the fenceline, the three of us walk alone as the sky turns orange and the narrow street becomes buried in shadow. I see Scripto-boy, the thumbwrestler, across the street. He does not wave or shout, just watching us from where he leans in a doorway.

 

Great, either their familiar with Andy's temper, or we're going to walk up on a fucking car bomb or a grenade.

 

I really, really don't like this place.

 

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"Sarge." A fist bumps my shoulder. "Sarge, wake up."

 

I open my eyes to the dim tent, lit only by the red Christmas tree lights strung around the door at one end. "Ungh...What time is it?"

 

Andy is snoring away across the tent, and Will is squatting next to my cot. "I'm hitting the road." he says.

"Better you than me." I reply. Will laughs softly, and then just squats there for a few seconds, looking at me, long enough for me to wonder what the fuck he wants. Just as I am about to ask him, he pops the question. "You'll write to my folks?"

 

"What the fuck, Will?" I ask.

 

"C'mon man. I don't want the Captain writing to my folks, the guy's an asshole, and he doesn't know me from shit." He holds out an envelope to me. "I put my own letter in there too."

 

"Christ, Will. You watch too many movies. You're in the Air Force, dickhead. That letter stuff is for grunts." I take the envelope from him anyway.

 

Will stands up and picks up his duffle. "See you around, then."

 

"Yeah, I'll keep the beer cold for you." I stretch halfway out of my cot, reaching over to where the lower half of my BDUs hangs on a nail. I fold the envelope over and stuff it into the cargo pocket. By the time I roll back onto my cot, Will is already stepping out the door of the tent.

 

I close my eyes and fall easily back to sleep, confident that I won't ever have to write to Will's parents.