The Good Time Man...
Location: A war, side of a hill,
frozen forest....frozen earth.
Story line: War, misery and companionship.
Who: The Good Time Man
Captain: Giovanni (scene five)
The Sergeant: Samuel
Jackson / Clint Eastwood // Giovanni/Leon
The Private in the bottom of the hole: Darnel - Clive Owen
The Private across the road: Paul Newman
The day was a gray,
dark, freezing day. The day you don't go outside. Yet on this day,
my camera is mounted
to a turret, and beneath the recorder are three antique wooden legs supporting
the whole filming affair. The camera is unmoving, and is focused on a
distant, gray, white, frozen horizon. The view is panoramic but my lens
still seeks out and captures enemy shadows moving in and out of focus off in the
distant ground fog. The
frozen earth is dotted with leafless, black, stark naked, frozen, wicked looking
winter tree silhouettes. I hold my breath for a
moment and without purposefully moving the camera, scan the distant horizon
looking for life. Without realizing it, the shivering, bundled story
teller is telegraphing his uncontrollable shacking through frozen limbs to the fragile three legged, one eyed, invisible machine
in front of him. If one were sitting in a warm movie theater eating hot
popcorn, the film would have an ever so slight vibration to it. Looking
through the small lens, and without swiveling the camera on the tripod, the
story teller looks intently for
the abnormal; that one thing to focus on....that one thing to stop you from
touching your lips with the next piece of hot buttered popcorn. He
sees it! Not fifty feet ahead and off to the right of the frozen mud road,
is an almost indistinguishable cloud of warm breath rising from the ground.
He watches intently, and with paused breath he sees a sign of life as it teases him. Hidden below the slight mound of
snow is a makeshift wooden frame draped with frozen green canvas acting
as a roof for the five foot deep mortar hole in the frozen earth where Army
Staff Sergeant Cooper and his roommate have been living for the last ninety days
at the end of an ugly war. Standing 'watch' in the unforgiving small hole, was a
half awake sergeant passing in and out of consciousness. He was
watching a staggering PFC trying to keep his footing and balance while
negotiating frozen tire ruts left behind months ago as witnesses to an army on
the move. The PFC was on the other side of the road from where the sergeants
observation was. The sentry wasn't sure he was really seeing the private,
or if he was intermittently passing in and out of dreamland. For the last
three months the sergeant has talked to three people; the first only
provides answers on a rare occasion, and without moving his lips; the
second, Darnel is curled up in a fetal position in the bottom of the fox hole
trying to keep warm; and the third, has been detained elsewhere, admitting the lucky ones to heaven. By wakening Darnel, the sergeant was always the first to bring
misery to his friend curled up in the bottom of the hole; “who the hell is that”, pointing out a
narrow opening in the canvas, and motioning to the person standing on the other
side of the frozen road. Private First Class Darnel slowly pulled his hand from
inside his coat and gently tugged at the frozen cloth wrapping his frost bitten
face. Through the thin slit, and with just a hint of excitement, Darnel's glazed eyes viewed morning fog for the
first time that day. Looking upward from the bottom of the pit, he could
see the tall sergeants warm breath illuminated by the gray, cold light entering
the hovel as the sergeant peered out the narrow slit they used for observation.
Darnel slowly raised himself. and leaning against the frozen sergeant, followed
the tall mans gaze towards the dim, winter daylight. He could see a lone Private laboring up
a hill outside their small abode. He smiled to himself as he realized how many
tiny, if not insignificant events add life to your day when you're in the
middle of a war. He paused for a moment as he dearly weighed the price of speaking.
As by ritual, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the warmth
of his wife’s lips in his history, that intense feeling as he smelled the faint
scent of her lipstick as her soft, moist flesh touched his. He waited
silently for that brief moment, that brief exquisite second between being awake
and the warm decent into a sleepless, exhaustive oblivion the two of them
cherish to end the misery. He is thankful he still has the strength
to catch himself before falling into the dark canyon of memories. He jerks
violently for a second, as he pulls himself back, while swinging his arms
searching for something to hold his fall; the sergeants arm is there for him.
As his vision slowly returns, he can see the sergeant painfully smiling into his
face. Darnel regains his
composure, knowing it's a little game the two of them play, and as he watches
the sergeants wide grin, it's his turn to smile back before succumbing to the
excruciating pain of opening the wounds of split, frost bitten split lips to mutter a word.
He stares for a second, while weighing his painful sacrifice against his companions need for company.
He shuts his eyes ever so briefly before he turned his head to see the sergeants motionless hulk leaning
against the frozen earth once again. The sergeants lips are quivering
uncontrollably as the fresh blood fill the splits and freeze in his white
breath. Darnel looks down to see the sergeants frozen knees locked
together to keep his legs painfully propped under his body so if he fell asleep
he wouldn't fall on his partner sleeping in the bottom of the hole. Hidden
behind the rag that protected his face, Darnels eyes were filling with
tears as the warm spell of defeat filled his heart. He watched in silence as the
sergeants breath betrayed both of them as it silently told the enemy,
and his dear friend, he was still alive. Before speaking, Darnel pulled
himself closer
for a better look, and whispered ever so gently, ever so slowly, toward
the frozen green rag wrapped around the sergeants hat and face. Once the
sergeant saw Darnels breath, he slowly turned to hear what he was saying.
His eyes were smiling at Darnel, while he watched his friends lips move and
whisper...“Oh that’s Private Winters,
Sir!”. The sergeants eyes welled up, as he watched the intense pain in his
dear friends face as the stinging pain of reopened flesh
cuts on his dear friends lips, assured him Darnels answer was truly a gift of compassion. His
own lips bleeding again and half choking, the Sergeant persisted, “yea, but who the hell is he?”.
Wanting to be left alone to wallow in his own misery and return to dreams of
home, Darnel paused as he sank down and into the piss and excrement waiting in
the darkness of the pit before
answering....“He’s The Good Time Man!”. Staff Cooper had enough and started kicking the
motionless lump in the corner, “get up you lazy bastard and keep me company! I’m
making a fire and some coffee, get up damn it!” Darnels
body felt like ever muscle had been beat with a club and silently screamed to be
left alone....the 'private' in the bottom of the pit was slow moving to his
knees. “Ok, Ok, I’m up!” The sarg's rank taking credit for keeping the two of them
alive, the bastard kept the pressure on. Anything to break the monotony and keep
the two of them breathing. A new reason for living...a question needing
attention. He really didn’t care if Darnel ended up hating his guts, he
was bound and determined the two of them will finish the war together. Again he
prodded the dieing man, “come on Darnel, tell me about ‘The Good Time Man’!
The hissing of the small stove pulled the sergeants attention from the lone
soldier outside. He watched as Darnel tried to get the burner lit. The
stove was more sight than substance and any warmth was indiscernible. They both
learned the hard way that if you put your hands near the flame, you smell
burning flesh before you feel any heat. The aroma of coffee grounds and
bark acted as an elixir that always sent both of them back home. The sergeant
cried out from pain as he
bent his legs at the knees and slowly knelt down. It took no time for the
frozen mud to numb his knee caps. Silently the two of them took turns adding
small pieces of ice to the metal pot. Memories of aroma from the neighborhood
diner filled their nostrils, as a frothy, black water appeared in the tiny cup.
Popping noise from the G.I. stove broke the silence as dirty ice shavings
vanished into the thick black liquid. Neither said a word as the mud came to
life. It wasn’t long, before a thick black liquid was stinging the open sores on
their cracked lips. The stabbing pain was almost too much as old wounds opened
again. Like razor cuts, stinging, then cauterized by the burning liquid. Almost
giddy, the two of them had tears in their eyes as the cups of home warmed their
hands. Snow started falling again, and both men instinctively turned to look up,
and outside. Darnel was the first to speak, “it must be warming up Sarg, kind
of like Christmas” Through the white curtain, they both pay attention as a drunk
Private bends over and disappears under the flaps of a long tent. Darnel spoke
again, “You know Sarg, the Captain wants everyone to leave that guy alone. Don’t
even talk to him, he’s on duty even when he drinks!” “What’s his duty, what the
hell does he do? Like I told you, he’s The Good Time Man!. What the hell is The
Good Time Man, damn it, and quit leading me on! As he spoke, Darnel smiled in
Sarg’s direction ; “he’s a drunk and the best camp liar we’ve got.”
The Sarg used the barrel of his 30 cal to hold onto as he fought to stand
again. He couldn’t believe his ears as he watched the narrow tent opening on
the other side of the road. Someone from inside the large tent fumbled to close
stiff flaps, long frozen by twenty below temperatures. The Sarg turned just in
time to see an outstretched glove give him another cup of coffee. Using a trick
Darnel taught him, he raised the simmering liquid as fast as he could, knowing
if only for a second, he too could feel his wife's breath on his face again.
He brought the steaming cup to his nostrils as he envisioned the girl he left
on the dock, crying and waving goodbye. The Sarg turned to watch Darnel bend
over the tiny stove, trying to soak up as much heat as he could. He thought to
himself "the poor bastard". He then remembered way back, when he was alone, how
miserable this war had become. You shared your thoughts with the cramps and
fears of frost bitten toes. You remembered to move your feet to keep the
circulation going in your legs, and you never knew if it worked. He was so
thankful not to be alone, so thankful for Darnel. No one wants to die alone. No
one wants to die without saying goodbye. The warm liquid was the closest thing
to a hot meal either of them had in weeks. Soon it will be their turn to move
up. They both knew it, and they both knew there was no point in discussing it.
As far as they were concerned, the war was over when their legs gave out and
they couldn’t carry their own weight. They were lucky to find an empty mortar
hole to crawl into and make camp. Darnel broke the sadness by looking up and
smiling when he said, “hey Sarg, to get back to the story”, it goes like this.
Private Winters was a screw up back in the real world. Word has it, he’s a drunk
and liar and dated the Captain’s daughter. He’s the kind of guy that tells tall
stories to get what he wants, and doesn’t give a shit what anybody thinks! As
punishment for that indiscretion, the Captain swore to make a soldier out of
him! And He’s been a thorn in the Captain’s side ever since. I’ve been told,
he’s really a good soldier; but unlike the rest of us, he’ll do anything not to
get sent home. Hard time waits back in the states. The Captain takes him
everywhere he goes and gives him the lousiest jobs as punishment for thinking he
was in the same league as his daughter. And knowing he'll put up with the shit
as long as he can stay. The Captain swore to change him, or break him; it’s the
worst kind of duty Sarg, the worst kind. Anyway, it’s said the Captain finally
found a job Winters is perfect for; lying to the dieing men about how good its
going to be! Sitting with the ones everyone knows aren't going home. Winters
tells the poor bastards stories as if the sun is coming up tomorrow. That’s his
job Sarg, making our dieing soldiers feel good before they pass. They say when
you’re freezing to death, just before you die, you get a warm feeling and slowly
fade off into sleep; never to wake again, but peaceful. Those men in that tent
aren’t stupid Sarg. They know when the cot their lying on gets moved to the
outside of that tent, it’s time to go to sleep for the last time. There is no
heat on the outside of that tent, Sarg! They just want someone to be with them.
Darnel watched the Sarg’s face as he listened to the shit. Then he continued,
“when it’s time to go, they know there’s a drunk liar sitting next to them who
would go with them in a second, if he could. Darnel paused as he watched the
Sarg’s expressionless face stare out the opening in the stiff tent. It seemed
like a natural, the guy drinks like a fish and lies through his teeth! The Sarg
hadn't moved for awhile; finally, he spoke, “Jesus, can you imagine the stories
from those dieing men, the letters that lying drunk has to write….the burden he
has to carry?” All that responsibility.....damn Darnel, I’m not sure all the
booze in the world can drown out those feelings! This was one of those
conversations, one of those stories the two of them recognized and hoped it
would last forever. This was one of those moments that broke the monotony of
thoughts of death...thoughts of never going home or seeing your loved ones
again. They both tried to drag this story out as long as they could. To not
think about dieing, and all the horrors war brings with it, if not for a few
minutes was like manna. They cherished these moments, they could taste the
words and feel the blood rush through their veins, proving once more, if only
briefly, they were still alive. Darnel knew it was kind of like a game the two
of them played...and it was his turn. Finally, and with nothing new to reveal,
Darnel repeated himself...all I know Sarg, is that guy tries to make our buddies
forget the pain of dieing by filling their heads with laughter and stories he
makes up. You know... before they go to sleep for the last time. Motionless,
the Sergeant watches as the drunk liar crawls out of the hospital tent and into
a driving snow. He watched intently as the one man the Captain hated,
defiantly struggled to raise from his knees in the freezing gale. He watched in
awe as the camp liar stood erect as his dark silhouette faded in and out of the
Sarg's view. He could see Winters pull something from a coat pocket and cup his
hands under his hood. Seconds later, blue hues of warm smoke curled upward and
as if rebuked, the fierce wind whipped them away; a personal proof for Winters
he beat the whole world by lighting that cigarette. It's the little things.
Oblivious to war, the womanizer took another long drag before producing a small
brown bottle from his other pocket. As if waving good-bye, and in one smooth
motion, he raised the vial to his lips and held it there until it too had been
used up. He held it up high, and then, as if he had triumphed over something,
threw it down. Frozen in time, the Sarg watched in disbelief as Winters slowly
turned and looked in his direction. The Sarg didn’t know Winters could see his
breath emanating from the small slit in the canvas as he watched the spectacle.
The Sarg didn’t know Winters could see his warm breath as he spied from across
the frozen road. Sarg felt weak in the realization the small tent covering their
mortar hole, hid nothing. The Sergeant froze as if the world had stopped; and
for an instant, the two men acknowledged each other in silence. He bit his lip
as he watched Winters slowly turn away and stumble down the frozen road. He
couldn't take his eyes off the hunched over figure as the freezing, gray fog
pulled him from sight. The Sarg realized that liar just kept the both of them
alive for another hour. Sarg’s moment was broken when sounds of life came from
behind him. It was Darnel, “hey Sarg, you going to keep us alive for another
day?” before answering, the Sarg paused, he was still 'in the moment'
remembering what he had just seen; this man Winters dies over and over again
every day so others can be at peace. Who’s the real soldier, who's the one
making sacrifices in this war? Staring at Darnel’s smile, the Sarg secretly
hoped Winters would be there if their time came. At that very moment, Sarg
realized why Winters was smiling at him from across the road; the drunk knew
Sarg was also full of lies. Just as Winters lied to each soldier, one at a time;
Winters knew the Sergeant who silently spied on him from across the road, also
lied that day. Winters knew the truth; and as punishment, the Captain made him
relive it every day of his life. Winters knew he was doing nothing special, it’s
the duty of every soldier to lie to their dieing comrades. With that, he told
Darnel another lie. With his cracked lips stinging and bleeding, he gave the
best act of his shining career when he said, “you bet I’m going to keep us
alive! Where’s that steak you promised me?” At that moment...at that special
moment, if you listened real hard, just outside the emotion death and the biting
cold, you could have heard the sound of two friends with bleeding lips,
laughing and lying through their rotting teeth to one another. Lying was easy,
making that shitty coffee dark brown was the hard part. All the best.
RJ.
to be continued....
The End.