Dirty Work

  Praise for Dirty Work

  “A powerful and original work all its own that moves along in short, staccato chapters with indisputably authentic language.”

  — The New York Times

  “A novel of the first order…. Gripping and virtually seamless…. The writing, the characters, and the plot are so compelling that you can’t help but stay with the book until its conclusion.”

  — Washington Post Book World

  “One of the most powerful antiwar novels in American literature.”

  — The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Stunning power…. Dirty Work makes the human cost of war achingly real.”

  — USA Today

  “Brown continues to probe the hard luck of the down and out, the grim realities at the bottom of the scrap heap…. [His] prose has a dark, horrific urgency…. A real knockout.”

  — New York Newsday

  “One sure way to deromanticize combat is to show its long-term effects. That’s what Larry Brown does in this fine … first novel.”

  — Newsweek

  “[Brown] has accomplished that rarest of feats…. This is an unforgettable, unshakable novel. In it, griefs and joys are met head-on, with a force that is both subtle and powerful—and, above all, compassionate.”

  — The New York Times Book Review

  “An unsparing book, at once brutal and compassionate, horrible, yet funny, too.”

  — The Raleigh News & Observer

  “A spare and inventive novel.”

  — The Philadelphia Inquirer

  “Courageous…. It’s hard to imagine a more powerful effect than the one Brown creates with his attentive, unsparing prose.”

  — St. Louis Post-Dispatch

  “[Brown] has created two fully realized, believable—and often very funny—characters…. No one who reads this book is likely to forget them.”

  — The Houston Post

  “With nods to Johnny Got His Gun and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the book depicts the horrendous results of war and the insufferable boredom of institutional life. Despite the bleak subject matter, the narrative is sprightly and yields surprising pockets of humor and a powerful epiphany.”

  — The Cleveland Plain Dealer

  “A raw, unflinching look at how war brings down the strongest men, and the prose of Larry Brown, an ex-Marine, is lean, powerful and effective.”

  — The Baltimore Sun

  “Powerful and gritty.”

  — Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “Compelling, even inspiring…. Should go down as one of the classics in Vietnam fiction.”

  — Gannett News Service

  “A story that hasn’t been told often enough, and seldom as well as Brown tells it.”

  — Detroit Free Press

  “Brown has staked a large claim among the very finest of the new generation of Southern writers.”

  — The State (Columbia, SC)

  “Bursts with power and humanity.”

  — Chattanooga Times

  “A powerhouse novel, a dynamic performance…. Explodes like a land mine and leaves the reader dizzy with shock.”

  — The Kansas City Star

  “A stunning novel…. It is tough, powerful and full of message and is certain to be dubbed the definitive antiwar book…. But it is, on another level, the story of compassion and faith and love between two men who … transcend the sentimental and ordinary to truly be their brother’s keeper.”

  — The Chattanooga News-Free Press

  “Larry Brown packs a wallop…. Gripping.”

  — Arkansas Democrat Gazette

  “A must read for everyone who cares about what makes people, not just war ravaged people but all of us, tick.”

  — The Natchez (MS) Democrat

  “A novel certainly equal to Johnny Got His Gun.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  Also by Larry Brown

  ESSAYS

  On Fire

  Billy Ray’s Farm

  STORIES

  Facing the Music

  Big Bad Love

  NOVELS

  Joe

  Father and Son

  Fay

  The Rabbit Factory

  A Miracle of Catfish

  A NOVEL BY LARRY BROWN

  DIRTY WORK

  ALGONQUIN BOOKS OF CHAPEL HILL

  Published by

  Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill

  Post Office Box 2225

  Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-2225

  a division of

  Workman Publishing

  225 Varick Street

  New York, New York 10014

  © 1989 by Mary Annie Brown.

  All rights reserved.

  First Algonquin Paperback edition, March 2007.

  Originally published by Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill in 1989.

  The author wishes to thank Dr. Dale Purves for his advice on technical matters.

  eISBN-13: 9781565127241

  For Daddy, who knew what war does to men.

  This the trip I took that day, day they brought Walter in. This what things would of been like if it hadn’t been for slave traders about three hundred years ago. If history had been different. If I’d of lived in Africa and had me a son and was a king in my own country:

  Boy, go down to the river. Take you a spear and you take you some impala jerky and find you an anthill and then you lay there and be quiet. And I don’t care how many bugs get to biting you on the ass, you lay there and listen. And keep them eyes open, don’t be going to sleep.

  I ain’t going out there where them things at, Daddy. Them things might eat me up.

  They eating my cows up right now. How come I want you to go down there and watch. Them lions eating too much of my meat. I can’t be losing no more cows. They think all they got to do is come up here and get one any time they want it. Got to teach em a lesson.

  What kinda lesson you fixing to teach em?

  You listen to me now. When I was your age I went out and killed me a lion. Hunted him down. Made him charge. Stuck it right in his throat and killed him.

  Aw you always telling me what you did when you was my age. I ain’t never seen you stick no spear in one.

  Don’t have to. Done stuck mine. You ain’t never stuck you one yet. You gonna have to stick you one before you ever get you any of these maidens. You get it? You got to stick one of them before you get to stick one of these.

  Well what if I don’t?

  What if you don’t what?

  What if I stick me one of these without sticking one of them? What they gonna do then, huh?

  What they gonna do? They gonna take you out yonder and put you in that little kraal and make a woman out of you.

  How they gonna do that?

  With a knife.

  Say what!

  What I’m telling you. Now get on. You go down there and you watch them cows.

  Well what if I see one? What I gonna do then?

  Kill it.

  Kill it? With this?

  With that. Same one I used.

  Aw now. This old rusty thing?

  Wouldn’t be rusty if you’d clean it up. Put you a good point on it. Didn’t used to be rusty. You done left it laying out in the mud the reason it rusty. One of them damn lions get after your little ass you gonna wish you’d kept it sharp.

  Them things ain’t gonna get after me. They ain’t studying me. They after them cows. They ain’t wanting me.

  How you know what they studying? How you know they ain’t studying them a easy meal?

  Easy meal? What you mean easy meal?

  I mean you gonna be easier to catch than one of them cows. Lion he smart. Lion ain’t gonna take no chances less you make him mad. He gonna lay up there and look
everything over before he makes up his mind. He ain’t gonna pick him no strong young bull with horns. Uh uh. He want some old cow slow and fat won’t hurt him. Or some little young fat boy who ain’t never done nothing more strenuous with his daddy’s spear than jab it up and down in the mud. You think I’m playing with you but I ain’t. Lion quiet. Slip up on you before you know it. Slip up on you even when you awake. Put them paws down in that dust one step at a time. Same color as the grass. You don’t watch your back, he be behind you. Bite your head one time it’s all over with. I seen one jerk a warthog out of a hole one time. Tried to catch em and they run in this hole. Old big lion. Big black mane. Had this hole they run into under this bank. Old lion didn’t get upset. Didn’t do nothing but lay down on top of that bank. He was waiting, see. Wanted him a easy meal. Old lion he laid there. Looked like he was thinking about taking him a nap. Wasn’t even paying attention. Knowed them warthogs couldn’t stand it. Knowed one of em was gonna have to stick his head out in a minute and see was he gone. He just kept laying there. And directly one of them old warthogs stuck his nose out. Sniffing around there. Ain’t nothing dumber than a pig. Old lion he just laid there and looked at him. Got up on his belly and got ready. Old warthog stuck his head out a little further, old lion reached his paw out there a little ways. Warthog was just sniffing around all over the place, looking everywhere but up. Took him about a minute to decide everything was cool, that the old lion had done gone. He stuck his whole head out that hole and that lion reached down and hooked them claws under that chin and snatched his ass out so fast it’d make your head swim. Old warthog didn’t weigh but about four hundred pounds. It was all over with then. That what I’m telling you. They do you the same way, only easier. You ain’t even got no tushes. Only thing you got is a spear. And one come up on you, and you try to stick it in his throat, and it ain’t sharp, won’t be nothing left of you for me to find but maybe one of your feet. Now you do like I tell you. You take that rock and you clean it up and put you a good point on it and you go down there and you watch them cows for me. Go on now. Don’t want to hear no more backtalk. How you think you gonna be the king one of these days? How you gonna give orders if you ain’t never had to take none?

  He didn’t look like much when they brought him in. I come back when they brought him in, quit taking my trip. Don’t see much new blood in here. Had him strapped down on a stretcher. Had him knocked out. Hair was all down in his eyes. Even with that I could see his face. Most of it had been blowed off and they’d tried to put him another one together. RPG probably. Rocket-propelled grenade. On top of that it looked like somebody had clawed the shit out of it. Had scabs on it. Anyway when they rolled him up next to me, I saw what the load of shit he was toting was. Everybody toting something. Some just tote more than others. I laid there and watched him. Couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t seen him before. Didn’t know if that was all that was wrong with him. Other than his face they wasn’t nothing else. Had all his fingers and toes. Thought maybe they’s just holding him for the padded room. They took the straps off him, though. Took him off the stretcher and put him on a bed. Didn’t have nothing hooked to him. Just to look at him you’d think he was dead. They had trouble moving him cause he was so big. He must’ve weighed about two fifty.

  Old boys that brought him said Brought you some company, Braiden.

  I said Misery loves it.

  I did the smart thing. I woke up before I opened my eyes. I just laid there, I didn’t move. There wasn’t room for any more mistakes. So I listened. I said to myself, If you were blind, this is what it would be like.

  Total blackness. My head on a pillow. A sheet over me. I had the idea that they were watching me to see if I was really asleep. So I decided to fool them. I decided to lie there with my eyes closed and not move a muscle until I knew exactly where I was and exactly what was going on. I knew if I laid there long enough, somebody would come to see about me. They’d come to check my blood pressure, or my pulse. But they wouldn’t know I was awake. And if there were two of them, they’d discuss me. That was what I was hoping for: a discussion about me.

  It was hard to keep my eyes closed. I wanted to see where I was. It was easy to tell that I was in a different place. The sounds were different. It was quiet, but there was a television playing. I could hear some asshole in a sitcom saying one-liners and canned laughter playing to it. Mama can sit there and listen to that shit all day. Just sit there and rock, watch that TV. And her old chair creaks. Creak and rock, and rock and creak. All day, and sometimes half the night. Creak rock.

  No wonder she wants to die. If all I had to watch was a soap opera or a rerun of “Dallas,” I’d be ready to die, too.

  Whoever was watching the TV wasn’t watching anything good, wherever I was. They were probably watching me. And the first thing I had to do was figure out if I was still strapped down without making it obvious that I was awake.

  I decided to do it like there were five brain surgeons watching me. I twitched a little. Gave them a little tremor with my hands there. They could pass that off as a nightmare. They could say He’s having a nightmare, man. Look at his REM.

  I didn’t feel any straps.

  Lying there like that, trying to fool them if they were there, it reminded me of the second week at Parris Island, and what one guy did to get out of it. He just didn’t get up one morning. He just stayed in his rack with his eyes closed and didn’t respond when they turned the lights on and started throwing the shitcans around and slobbering like a bunch of mad dogs. He just laid there. On the top rack. He didn’t move a muscle when the drill instructor walked over to him and put his mouth right next to his ear and said Well, loved one. Did you not get enough rest last night? Nobody else said anything. We never said anything where they could hear it. We heard every word he said.

  We wish you’d get up with us and go eat some breakfast.

  We can just go on ahead and let you arrive at your convenience.

  Or should we just send you a tray and let you dine in bed?

  Would that be all right with you, loved one?

  What did that guy feel when he was lying there that morning, with the lights on bright, with that DI talking in his ear, with his eyes locked shut, and the whole platoon listening? Knowing they were going to take him away, and that he’d never see any of us again?

  There weren’t any straps on my hands. I swelled my chest as much as I could. No bullshit bullhide on it either.

  I don’t know what he felt. But he stayed locked like that until two corpsmen came and lifted him out of the rack like a board and put him on a stretcher and strapped him down and wheeled him out the door. He never once moved or opened his eyes. We never saw him again. They probably sent him home with a dishonorable discharge. But that was a long time ago. Damn near twenty years. A man could overcome something like that in twenty years.

  Maybe that guy was smarter than me. But I don’t like to think about smart along with honor and duty and all that shit, so I quit. You either serve or you don’t. I was pretty sure I wasn’t strapped down. But I wasn’t ready to open my eyes. I wanted to keep them closed and think about Beth. What I wanted was to hear her come to my bed and feel her put her hands on me.

  But they couldn’t talk to me and tell me what had happened if I was asleep. So I opened my eyes. That was my first mistake.

  Knowed he wasn’t asleep. Seen his hands twitch. He was laying there listening to everything, trying to figure out where he was. This was the dude that had fucked up them guys down on the third floor the night before. Diva’d done told me about that. And he was big enough to. I started to say something to him then. But I wanted to see how long he’d wait. Wanted to see how much patience he had. Wanted to see how smart he was. Made me grin, just looking at him. Didn’t even want to go nowhere then. Had something to entertain me then, instead of that television they leave on all day and night, talking about they detergent and douche bags and I don’t know what all else. Damn old Rex now, he been eating this
here dog food for twenty-seven years, he done lost all his teeth and having to gum it, but that’s a hundred and ninety-two for you and me. Shit. Make me sick hearing all that old crap. Try to sell you anything, night and day. If they ain’t wiping some baby’s ass, they cleaning out they commodes or waxing floors or trying to sell you a new TV so you can watch some more of they shit. Want you to buy a Slim Whitman album. Why don’t they sell the Temptations, or Jackie Wilson? Hell, why don’t they sell some Otis Redding?

  He kept on laying there like he was asleep. Didn’t want nobody to know he was awake. I knowed, I could tell. Seen every kind of man they is come in here. Seen every thing that can go wrong with them, too. Just a junk pile, this place. Stick you in here when they can’t do nothing else with you. When nobody else don’t want you, when your family don’t want you, when your mama gone and it ain’t nobody else.

  This dude didn’t fit. Except for his face he was a puzzle to me. Whole world’s a puzzle to me, though. Why it’s got to be the way it is. I don’t think the Lord meant for it to be like this originally. I think things just got out of hand.

  He was a bro and he was looking at me. Studying me when I opened my eyes. Like he’d been watching me for a long time just to see how long it would take. Somehow, his eyes smiled. But I had to suck in a big breath when I saw the rest of him.

  He didn’t have any arms or legs, just nubs. Just like johnny got his gun.

  He winked at me, long and slow. Said Hey main. What’s happening? I just shook my head. I didn’t know what was happening. Or what had happened. I felt kind of dizzy, and when I tried to raise up, my head felt like it was spinning. I felt like I didn’t have any control over my head. So I eased back down on the pillow.

  They’d shot me with some kind of shit, evidently, something that would keep me calm and make me be a good boy. I wondered if maybe I hadn’t been a good boy already. I wondered if I’d fucked up. I probably had. I do that pretty frequently. Usually about every day. It’s how I get by.