Read Online The Turtle Warrior by Mary Relindes Ellis - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Relindes Ellis
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know why he’s that way? Cause he’s SCARED. I used to wonder about him, but since I’ve been in Nam, I’ve figured it out. He’s fucking scared of everything, but he’s really scared of Mom. Cause he knows she’s better than he is. When I come home, he better watch out for me cause I’m gonna bust his fucking head.
I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a Christmas present. But I sent along some money. I sent Mom some money too and told her to spend it on herself. Make sure she does it, okay? Thanks for the cookies, they were really good. My buddy Marv’s sister sent him some cookies, but they were as hard as grenades. After I ate one, I felt like my stomach was gonna blow up too. We used the rest for target practice.
Pray for me. Some days I feel like I’m rotting. Probably cause it’s my own damn fault. I guzzle beer over here as much as the old man when I get a chance to. I need to over here, to forget I’m here. Keep writing. The guys think your letters are great. Merry Christmas.
Love you, James
There were splotches in places, where the ink had run slightly. Bill traced a finger across the raised wrinkles in the paper where the splotches were. His brother had been crying. Bill shivered and looked up at the white winter moon framed in his window. Its light reflected off the snow-covered Norway pines next to the house and filled his room with its pale winter glow. He gazed at the moon, absently fingering the money James had sent, seventy-five dollars in all. Bill shivered again. His brother talked to him like he never had before. He talked to him like a buddy and not his little brother. He picked up the letter and held it up against the moonlight. It was written in late December, but he didn’t know what day or time, and his brother was changing, and he couldn’t see or touch him.
Bill crawled back over to the bed and lifted the mattress to stash the letter and money underneath until morning. Then he grabbed his notebook and pencil from where they lay on the floor at the foot of his bed and crawled back to the night-light. He would cheer his brother up.
Friday
Dear James Dean (ha-ha),
I had a dreem to. Just you and me and we was flying over the river. And you was singng to. And you had wings. But not chiken wings. Big wings. I saw Bunny at the store. She says hi you good lookng devil. Sister says my spellng is gettng beter. I have ben playng with Angel. He is a good dog and Mrs. Moriso says I can play with him all I want. But I cant bring him home becase you know. I am going to buy Mom some perfum for Christmas. We sent your presants out last week. Mom cut my hair. Now I dont have none to. My ears get cold. Can I have your red hat? I wont wreck it. I promise. I am writing this in the midle of the night. The moon is realy white. I member the foxs you showd me. Well its like that now. We got lots of snow. Me and Mom are going to church to pray for you. I will be good and pray doubly hard. I got to go to bed now.
Love from your brother,
Billy Baboon
P.S. I will pray for your buddy Rick.
Bill folded the letter and placed it on top of his notebook so he wouldn’t forget it in the morning. He climbed into bed, curled himself into a fetal position, and stared at the shadows on the wall made by the snow-laden pine boughs in the moonlight. Christmas was going to be extra hard without James. But he sent money, and that would help some. Bill’s father, John Lucas, had been drinking more and working less, but for the past two weeks he had been gone most of the time, logging for the lumber mill in Olina. He would be back for Christmas, however. Bill pulled the covers up over his face and shut his eyes tightly to bring back the dream. But water squeaked through, and he cried himself to sleep instead.
“What does he write when he writes to you?”
Bill looked up from his oatmeal. It was Saturday and he was in no hurry to eat his breakfast. His mother’s face was hollow-looking and
I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a Christmas present. But I sent along some money. I sent Mom some money too and told her to spend it on herself. Make sure she does it, okay? Thanks for the cookies, they were really good. My buddy Marv’s sister sent him some cookies, but they were as hard as grenades. After I ate one, I felt like my stomach was gonna blow up too. We used the rest for target practice.
Pray for me. Some days I feel like I’m rotting. Probably cause it’s my own damn fault. I guzzle beer over here as much as the old man when I get a chance to. I need to over here, to forget I’m here. Keep writing. The guys think your letters are great. Merry Christmas.
Love you, James
There were splotches in places, where the ink had run slightly. Bill traced a finger across the raised wrinkles in the paper where the splotches were. His brother had been crying. Bill shivered and looked up at the white winter moon framed in his window. Its light reflected off the snow-covered Norway pines next to the house and filled his room with its pale winter glow. He gazed at the moon, absently fingering the money James had sent, seventy-five dollars in all. Bill shivered again. His brother talked to him like he never had before. He talked to him like a buddy and not his little brother. He picked up the letter and held it up against the moonlight. It was written in late December, but he didn’t know what day or time, and his brother was changing, and he couldn’t see or touch him.
Bill crawled back over to the bed and lifted the mattress to stash the letter and money underneath until morning. Then he grabbed his notebook and pencil from where they lay on the floor at the foot of his bed and crawled back to the night-light. He would cheer his brother up.
Friday
Dear James Dean (ha-ha),
I had a dreem to. Just you and me and we was flying over the river. And you was singng to. And you had wings. But not chiken wings. Big wings. I saw Bunny at the store. She says hi you good lookng devil. Sister says my spellng is gettng beter. I have ben playng with Angel. He is a good dog and Mrs. Moriso says I can play with him all I want. But I cant bring him home becase you know. I am going to buy Mom some perfum for Christmas. We sent your presants out last week. Mom cut my hair. Now I dont have none to. My ears get cold. Can I have your red hat? I wont wreck it. I promise. I am writing this in the midle of the night. The moon is realy white. I member the foxs you showd me. Well its like that now. We got lots of snow. Me and Mom are going to church to pray for you. I will be good and pray doubly hard. I got to go to bed now.
Love from your brother,
Billy Baboon
P.S. I will pray for your buddy Rick.
Bill folded the letter and placed it on top of his notebook so he wouldn’t forget it in the morning. He climbed into bed, curled himself into a fetal position, and stared at the shadows on the wall made by the snow-laden pine boughs in the moonlight. Christmas was going to be extra hard without James. But he sent money, and that would help some. Bill’s father, John Lucas, had been drinking more and working less, but for the past two weeks he had been gone most of the time, logging for the lumber mill in Olina. He would be back for Christmas, however. Bill pulled the covers up over his face and shut his eyes tightly to bring back the dream. But water squeaked through, and he cried himself to sleep instead.
“What does he write when he writes to you?”
Bill looked up from his oatmeal. It was Saturday and he was in no hurry to eat his breakfast. His mother’s face was hollow-looking and
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