It was after 2200 hours when Jonah and I realized we had overstayed our trip to downtown Saigon causing us to miss the last bus back to our hooch at Tent City B in Tan Son Nhut. It was Jonah's last month in-country before completing his two-year draft obligation. He was having the most fun he could before going back to Mississippi where his family owned a group of fishing boats.
Jonah was a serious drinker who was just as capable a draftsman fully drunk as he was semi-sober. I don’t believe I ever saw him completely sober. His eyes were always red from drinking and lack of sleep. I was at the PX rummaging through a crate of clothes trying to find a shirt my size when Jonah yelled out, "Hey somebody better stop that man tearing up the clothes!" A PX clerk rushed over to see what was taking place asking me if I needed help. "No," I said. "Just trying to find my size. " He then turned to Jonah and asked, "Man! What is wrong with your eyes? They're bright red. Are you bleeding?" Jonah let out a few curse words and stalked out of the PX.
Jonah was from somewhere on the coast of Mississipi where his family owned some fishing boats. He despised doctors and threw away worm medicine prescribed for some parasitic worms he had been diagnosed with opting, instead, on self-treatment. “I’ll kill those goddamn worms with hard liquor," he told me. “I’ll just double the dose. You’re gonna start seeing those goddamn worms crawling out of me. You’ll see. ”
I was still new to the drinking scene and had planned on staying in that night to write some letters home when Jonah stopped by asking me to go downtown with him. We took the Army bus and got off at the nearest stop close to the Brinks hotel then sauntered on over to the brightest lit bar in downtown Saigon. Our drinking binge had begun. Jonah was drinking only hard liquor to kill the worms. I was drinking the nasty French Ba Mui Ba beer. He seemed to be quite well known there and introduced me to the owner, a middle-aged Vietnamese lady who kept refilling Jonah’s glass and asking me if I was ready for another beer. I kept nursing my beer thinking I might have to look after Jonah since he was already slurring his words. I suggested we go somewhere else. He insisted on paying the bar bill, gave the Vietnamese a large tip, and we left. We found another bar with live music nearby. Imagine non-English speaking Vietnamese singing American country and western songs. From there we went to two or three other bars. At one point I looked at my watch and realized we had already missed the last bus back to Tent City B. I paid the bill, pulled Jonah forcibly out of the bar and started walking hoping to flag down the last bus enroute.
As we walked along a pretty much-deserted part on the outskirts of Saigon on a slightly drizzly and dark night, Jonah decided he needed to empty his bladder. I waited patiently on the side of the road trying to spot the bus we had missed. I looked down the road behind us and noticed what seemed to be an Army bus, so I waved my arms trying to get the driver’s attention while Jonah was still doing his business. Either the driver didn’t see me or purposely ignored me. I turned to Jonah “Hey, that damn bus is not gonna stop for us!” Just then the bus swerved off the road sufficiently hitting me on my left shoulder sending me flying several feet coming to rest in the grassy area only a foot or so from an eight-foot triple barbed wire fence. I was in a daze then looked over at Jonah who was now calmly closing his zipper. “That damn bus just hit me!” I yelled out at Jonah as I was picking myself up from the side of the road.
“Well, what the fuck you gonna do?” said Jonah.
"But I think he did it on purpose!” I said.
Jonah’s only reply was “Oh, quit your bitching. You’re still alive. Besides, you can’t do anything. You didn’t even get the bus number. Just get over it. ”
I was not yet totally coherent as Jonah flagged down a Vietnamese taxi.
It took me some three weeks to get over it. I had a bruised shoulder and sore muscles aching all over. As he was leaving the Army headed back to Mississippi, Jonah stopped by my work area to do his farewell. “Hey, don’t go and tangle with those damn Army buses. That shit can get you killed. ” Parting words of wisdom.
I never again attempted to flag down any more buses after that dreadful night. I never asked Jonah about his worms, but I supposed he got much better medical treatment back home.
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