A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2011 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 8
If I Told You, You Would Want Me To Go To Confession 

I returned from my three-day pass and immersed myself in my work.  I was sometimes a little too exuberant in getting information out of the prisoners they brought in.  I looked at each one of them as potentially the one who had taken Jason away from me; dead, wounded, a POW.... whatever it was, each one of these guys was personally responsible in my mind. The colonel walked in on one session just as I was squeezing the life juice out of a guy's balls.  He was turning pale and doubled over in pain and I wasn't letting go.  Finally he screamed and blurted out what I wanted to know.

"You ever hear of the Geneva Conventions?" the colonel growled, out of earshot of the prisoner.

"Fuck your Geneva Conventions, sir," I snapped.  "You heard him?"

"Yes."

"I got what I needed out of him," I said angrily.

"Yes."  He stepped to the door and called in two guards to take the prisoner away.  Then he turned back to me. "Get back on track with your interrogation methods, soldier. We don’t torture.”

“That wasn’t torture, sir.”

“Don’t make me remind you again,” he said.     

"Yes, sir."

"It starts out squeezing a guy's balls, and advances to squeezing the life out of him.  I've seen it happen,” the colonel said.

"Would that be so bad?" I said.  "Sorry, sir, but once I get the information out of `em, I don't much give a fuck what happens to them after that."

He glared at me and walked out.  Despite what the colonel said and what I said, I wasn't about to ease up.  I owed it to Brown and Anderson, the two guys who were in the blast that blew away the backside of our compound.  I owed it to Jason. It was my job to get information and I owed it to Brown and Anderson and Jason to do my job well. I didn't much give a fuck how I got a prisoner to break.  I would just have to be more careful about letting the colonel catch me.

I spent a lot of nights in the barracks, reading, playing poker--usually breaking even--writing an occasional letter to girls back home.  I didn’t have a girl back home but there were a couple who wrote to me.  There were the bull sessions, the usual shit that goes on in the barracks.  I was bothered and ashamed that a couple of the guys were starting to look good to me.  Not that I would have the nerve to try anything with any of them but I'd never noticed before just how studly a couple of them were. Jason's absence was making me horny. But it didn't last long enough at any given time to make me try anything with any of the guys in my barracks.

I spent a lot of nights at Toby's, too, drinking, watching and waiting, hoping and praying, and going back to the barracks with the same empty, fearful gnawing in my guts. Finally, in desperation, as is usually the case, I resorted to prayer.  Not the casual quickie that's uttered in passing, but real prayer, in a church.

The little church was like a shrine, with statues everywhere, candles flickering all over the place, the smell of incense heavy in the air.  The ceiling was blackened above the grottos from the smoke.  It was quiet and dark and there were only a half dozen other people in the place; one GI in combat uniform, another in civvies, and some locals.  I wondered if either of the GIs was there praying for the same reason I was.  I went to one of the grottos along the side of the church, shoved a folded dollar bill into the slot and lit one of the large candles, then knelt down on the kneeling bench in front of the large statue.  It was warm from the dozens of flickering candles. I looked up at the statue on the wall, unsure who it was.  One of the saints. I didn't care which one it was as long as he heard me.  I said the prayers without specifically stating what I wanted.  I was born and raised Catholic and there was something about praying to a saint for the safe return of a guy I was having sex with that didn't ring true with my upbringing.  I couldn't say it, but I prayed for it, half of the time praying just that there was somebody listening and understanding, and watching over Jason.  I was there for over an hour; my mother would’ve been proud, except for the nature of my prayers. When I left, I wasn't sure if it'd been a futile effort, or hypocritical or even an abomination, but I left with hope in my heart, and trust in whoever that saint was.  Just maybe there really was a special saint for guys like me and maybe he was listening.

I was at the lowest ebb of my life.  I did my job like a zombie, without true human feeling.  I did my job and I ate and slept and I drank beer at Toby's.  Too much beer, sometimes.  A couple of times I got a room at the Trent to get out of the barracks, and just lay there watching the ceiling fan go around and around while I drank myself into a stupor.  I didn’t let the Vietnamese boy suck me off when he brought my beer up to me. He wanted to, but I ignored his hints.  Those turned out to be the best times.  I went back to Ling once but it was no good.  Oh, it was good, but it left me yearning for the only thing that could satisfy me.  I began to have panic attacks as more and more I faced the realization that Jason might not come back.

Toby was the guy I leaned on most.  He didn't have to say anything and most times he didn't.  It was enough to walk in and see him behind the bar, smiling, and have him shove a beer at me.  Sometimes we talked, but it was usually about everything but Jason.  I didn't know which of us was avoiding it.

I was making circles on the bar with the bottom of my beer, creating a pattern.

"Look, the Olympic rings," I said.

He laughed.

Without looking up, I said, "What if he doesn't come back, Toby?" I looked up when he didn't say anything, and he was just looking at me.

"You can't talk like that," he said.

"What if he doesn't?" I asked again.

"I don't know."

"When did you know?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About me and Jason."

"Pretty early on," he said.

"Am I that easy to spot?  I know he isn't," I said.

"No.  But with all the guys who come in here, I've developed a trained eye.  You would be surprised.  Others would be just as surprised about you. I saw how you care about him."

"What about Jason?  What do you see there?"

"I see him on a one-way street," he said.

"You do have a good eye," I said.  "He's as straight as a ram-rod."

"Ram-rods can be bent, especially if they’re made hot enough," he said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “Not broken, but bent.”

"Not this one," I said.

He laughed.

"Do you see something I don't see?" I asked.

"You know him better than I do," he replied with a shrug.

"Do you see something I don't see?" I asked again.

"I see that he cares an awful lot for you.  I don't know if it's like a brother on his part, or what, but wherever he is, I'll bet you're on his mind right now as much as he's on yours.  And I know if there's any way on God's green earth, he will make it back....."

"You didn't finish," I said.

"I don't think I have to... do I?"

I shook my head.  “No,” I said quietly to the bar.

The probabilities were waning but my hope stayed alive.  I supposed I would maintain hope as long as I lived.  I didn't go back to the church right away.  If the good saint hadn't heard me, or chose not to do anything, I wasn't going back to beg. But I did, finally. I knelt in the back of the church and prayed and cried and silently begged till it felt like my heart had been ripped out.  I started at a hand on my shoulder.  In a split second I imagined it would be Jason standing there when I turned around.  But it wasn't.  It was a priest.

"Son, is there something I can help you with?" he asked in perfect English that the Vietnamese speak so beautifully.

I shook my head.

"Don't try to handle it alone," he said in a kindly tone as he knelt down behind me with his hand on my shoulder.  "I'll pray with you, for whatever it is.  You don't have to tell me."

"It won't do any good," I said, swiping the wet from my eyes with my thumbs.

"Then why are you here, praying?"

"I don't know.  It's… it's a place to be," I replied. "I've prayed to the saints--that one--and nobody listened."

"You don't know that.  Sometimes you have to give these things time.  Things don't happen on our time schedule."

"How much time does it take for a saint?  He's up there with the powers that be.  He should have an in."

He laughed softly. "Would you like to tell me what I'm praying for?" he asked.

"You wouldn't want to know, Father," I said. I laughed softly. "If I told you, you would want me to go to Confession."

"Confession is your decision. Just as being here on your knees is your decision."

"If I told you what you were praying for, Father, you wouldn't pray for it," I said.  "You couldn't."

"Then I would pray for your wisdom and guidance," he said.  "Trust me, son, I've heard it all."

"I'm not going to ask you to pray for it, Father, but I will tell you why I'm here.  I'm praying for a buddy.  He's a Navy SEAL... a sniper... he’s been out a long time and he hasn't come back."

"That's more common than you think, for one soldier to pray for another."

"I'm a Marine, father," I said.

"Marines pray for each other, too," he said. "It's more common than they'll admit.  If all the prayers stopped, war really would be more of a hell than it already is."

"But I... I'm praying for his safe return, Father, for some of the wrong reasons."

"What could possibly be a wrong reason?"

"He's... he's more than just a buddy, father.  I… he's... I love him."  Even through my choked voice, the words rolled off my tongue with such ease that it surprised me.  I couldn't believe I'd said it, especially to a priest.  I tightened inside, waiting for his response.

"No greater love......," he began.

"No, father," I cut in.  "Not that kind of love.  I love him... as a man.  We have sex together."

There was quiet for a long moment before the priest responded.

"I don't know the true meaning behind "no greater love" but I will tell you something that should ease your mind.  In the confessional, there is never a week goes by that I don't have a soldier or sailor or marine or maybe even a Navy SEAL, telling me how he feels about a fellow GI. And often times it’s more than just being buddies. They try to disguise their feelings but I can sense it.  I think those feelings often develop over here out of a sense of need.  The need under these awful circumstances to love and to be loved.  I’m not sure how deep they go.  I think they might even wane when circumstances change."

"And what do you do?  What do you say? Do you tell them you understand what they’re not saying?"

"Yes. Then I give them absolution, guidance, advice, encouragement; whatever I think they need."

"I couldn't confess, Father, it wouldn’t do any good, because I can’t believe what I feel for him is a sin, and when he comes back, we're going to be together again.  So, we can rule out absolution.  What advice or encouragement would you give?"

"Officially, as a priest, I would advise you to get your life back on track and encourage you to refrain from all of this.  Unofficially, as a priest and a man, and a military chaplain, I would remind you that God made you what you are.  You are in His image."

"You think God is gay?" I asked.

"No.  I don't think God is a sexual being at all.  He has no need for it. He created that and passed that on, gave that gift to man.  Nobody knows what that image is, but we must know that God understands, because He created your emotions, even the feelings you have for this man."

“What about the lecture, and penance?  What about the go and sin no more part?” I asked.

“Those words of admonishment are part of the ritual,” he said.  “As for the penance, yes, I do hand out penance because that’s what they’ve come for.”

"I don't know whether to be confused or relieved," I said.  "You tell me, father, what should I feel?"

"You must decide that for yourself," he said.  "But I believe this man... this Navy SEAL... is extremely fortunate to have someone who cares about him so deeply. And I will pray for him; for both of you.”

I was nodding, my eyes tearing up, grateful for this man of God’s understanding.

“There’s one more thing,” he said.  I glanced around to see him taking something out of his pocket.  He handed me a small prayer card. “Here are two special saints you might go to; Saint     

Sergius and St. Baachus.  They were high-ranking young officers in the Roman Army who became martyrs.  They were openly gay. The record of their martyrdom even describes them as erastai, which is Greek for lovers.  It is believed that they may have even been united in the ancient rite of adelphopoiesis. It means brother-making, a kind of early Christian same-sex marriage. When they refused to pray to a false god they were arrested, dressed in women’s clothing and paraded through the streets to humiliate them. They were tortured to death.  Baachus died first.

He appeared to Sergius, handsome as ever, dressed once again as a soldier and told him not to despair, that they would be soon reunited in heaven as lovers.  That is unique in the history of martyrs.  The promised reward is union with God, not with a lover.  For nearly a thousand years these two fierce warriors were revered as the patrons of the Byzantine army.  Try them.  They were real men.  They will understand.” 

I thought about that for a moment and when I half turned to say something else, the priest was on his feet, giving me his blessing, then he was gone.  I sat alone with my thoughts for a long time, staring at the prayer card.  I prayed some more, now to the kindred spirits of Sergius and Baachus, and I suddenly felt relief that I wasn't ashamed of what I was praying for. In those moments I laid all my cards on the table.  Dear God, if you’ll bring him back safe I promise I’ll walk away.  Please, God, bring him back and I swear I’ll never touch him again.  I meant it but I didn’t know if I truly believed it, or if God did, or if I could do it. Maybe God wouldn’t bring him back because He knew I couldn’t keep my promise.  Maybe I was signing Jason’s death warrant but that's the way it was.

To be continued...  

Posted: 02/20/15 rp