issue56bradchap9

                                                                   ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

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IN THE FILIPINO JAIL

    After four Captain’s Masts and one Court Martial I was still in the United States Navy. Philippines. The sailors especially nasty and disrespectful of the people and culture of the islands. Hard for me to understand. Where was the adventure in throwing pesos in front a bus to see if the kids would get the money in time—or get squashed? Where was the adventure in watching “men” throw pesos into shit river (the reservoir) and watching the kids dive in to retrieve the small sums? The military loved the oasis of the islands, the women, the booze, the atmosphere, but treated the people like slaves.
    I was walking with two shipmates, Barney and Monty, on some small street in Olongapo city and a drunken marine followed. Big sonofabitch.
    “Hey!” he said. “Hey you fuckin’ squids! Hey, fuck you!”
    He kept at it until Barney turned around and pushed the guy. Didn’t do too much good. The marine punched Barney in the face. I caught him then gave the jarhead one good shot to the jaw before Monty came in and started working over the big dope. He had him up against the wall—the uncultivated punches blurring back and forth between them, but the marine clearly got the worst and maybe what he wanted—some sense beaten into his brainwashed skull.
     A Flip chick came by with some barbecued monkey on a stick so Barney and I got a couple sticks each and ate the meat while Monty and the marine fought.
     We barely noticed the Filipino paddy wagon pull up.
     A crowd of locals pointed at us sailors and said: “They start it! They start it! They start it!”
     Inside the wagon, handcuffed, dark, rocking like hell when the wheels hit the potholes in the streets …
     The Flip cops screamed at us in Tagalic. We didn’t understand so we kept our mouths shut until they locked us up in separate wooden cells.
     The cell stood about three feet wide, five feet long, and six feet high. One plastic window gave the only light. A guard screamed in Tagalic through the window. I could see his spit drip on the plastic but luckily his hot breath fogged it up and I couldn’t see anymore.
     I thought about that movie: Midnight Express.
     Sometime in the morning BM2 Nosferatu arrived to take custody of us.

     45 days restriction to the ship during west pack movement. This restricted us from the rest of the islands. So I had Barney tell the ship’s doctor that he was my homosexual lover. The doc interviewed me and I told him all sorts of vile things that Barney liked to do when out to sea. He was my bitch. The doc believed me and set up a meeting with the Skipper. I told the Captain my homosexual plight and he said he was worried somebody might try to throw me overboard in a sea bag.
     “That’s what we used to do in the war, you know. Throw the queers overboard. Deep six. I’m going to have to give you an Other Than Honorable discharge,” he said. “OTH, gonna be hell to find work in the world.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve never understood your kind and I just don’t have anything else to say to you.”
     We saluted each other and I deported back to P.I. for discharge and other misadventures. After several weeks I ended up in a cargo plane and to Japan and then Alaska and then somehow to San Francisco and finally to Treasure Island where I was discharged and banned from ever setting foot on Treasure Island again. But before I could leave the ship’s supply officer took inventory of my sea bag gear to make sure I had everything they gave me when I showed up on July 4th, 1981: Independence Day. I was charged for some missing items, but all I remembered paying for was a pair of nail clippers that I had lent to No. 73 in the Long Beach brig. He had worked long and hard with that clipper but I don’t know if he ever made it out like I did.