Quote:During our sixth week, Sergeant Gerheim
orders us double-time around the squad bay
with our penises in our left hands and our
weapons in our right hand, singing:

This is my rifle
This is my gun
One is for fighting
And one is for fun.
And:
I don't want no teen-aged queen
All I want is my M-14.

Sergeant Gerheim holds up a rifle. "You will
give your rifle a girl's name. This is the only
pussy you people are going to get. Your days of
finger-hanging ol' Mary Jane Rottencrotch through
her pretty pink panties are over. You're married
to this piece, this weapon of iron and wood, and
you will be faithful."
They run. And they sing:

Well, I don't know
But I been told
Eskimo pussy
Is mighty cold...

-------------------------------------------------
16

-12-

Inspection. My mind isn't on my
responsibilities and I forget to remind
Leonard to shave.

Sergeant Gerheim looks disappointed.
"Private Joker!"
"Yes, sir."
"Private Pyre did not stand close enough to
his razor this morning."
"No, sir."
"Private Pyle!"
"Yes, sir."
"Into the head on the double!"
"Yes, sir!"
Leonard double-times into the head.
"Recruit squad leaders, into the head, on the
double!"
"Yes, sir!"
Joker and the other recruit squad leaders
double-time into the head.
Sergeant Gerheim strides in after them.
"Recruit squad leaders form a circle around
this toilet."
They apprehensively group themselves around
the toilet.
"Now, on my command, you will open your pants
and urinate into the toilet. Do you understand?"
"YES, SIR!"
"Open your pants and urinate in the toilet!
They hesitate.
"IS THIS A MUTINY??"
"NO, SIR!"

-------------------------------------------------
17

"LOCK THEM HEELS! YOU ARE AT ATTENTION!
READDDDY......WHIZZZZ...."
They whizz.
Sergeant Gerheim grabs the back of Leonard's
neck and forces Leonard to his knees, pushes his
head down into the yellow pool. Leonard
struggles. Bubbles. Panic gives Leonard
strength; Sergeant Gerheim holds him down.
After it seems that Leonard has drowned,
Sergeant Gerheim flushes the toilet. When the
water stops flowing, Sergeant Gerheim releases his
hold on Leonard's neck.
Leonard straightens up coughing and
sputtering, his face and hair soaked in urine.
Gerheim says: "Private Pyle, I wouldn't put
my hands in piss for just anybody. I hope you
appreciate that."
"Yes, sir."

Quote:Joker and Rafter Man look out of the open
door of an S-55 helicopter.

Thousands of feet below, Vietnam is a narrow
strip of dried dragon shit upon which God has
sprinkled toy tanks and airplanes and a lot
of trees, flies and Marines.

Joker's ears pop. He pinches his nose and
puffs out his cheeks. Rafter man imitates him.
They sit on bales of green rubber-impregnated
canvas body bags.

It's a beautiful day. I'm so happy to be
alive and in one piece. I'm in a world of
shit, but I'm alive. And I'm not afraid.

-------------------------------------------------
55

The door gunner smokes marijuana and fires
his M-60 machine gun at a farmer in the rice
paddies below.
"Git some...git same...harharhar."
The door gunner has long hair, a bushy
moustache, and wears an unbuttoned Hawaiian sports
shirt. On the Hawaiian sport shirt are a hundred
yellow hula dancers.

The hamlet beneath us is in a free fire zone
- anybody can shoot at it at any time for any
reason. We watch the farmer run in the
shallow water. The farmer knows only that
his family needs some rice to eat. The
farmer knows only that the bullets are
tearing him apart.

"You guys ought to do a story on me suntahm,"
the door gunner shouts above the noise of the helicopter.
"Why should we do a story about you?"
"Cause I'm so fuckin good," he says, "'n that
ain't no shit neither. Got me one hunnert 'n
fifty-se'en gooks kilt. 'N' fifty caribou." He
grins and staunches the saliva for a second.
"Them're all certified," he adds.
"Ever shoot any women or children?"
"Suntahms."
"How can you do that?"
"Easy - you just don't lead "em so much.
Harharhar."
Since lift-off, a bullying Arvin captain and
a big Arvin sergeant have been questioning two VC
prisoners seated on the floor opposite them with

-------------------------------------------------
56

their backs to the open door, the wind tearing at
their shirts, their arms sharply tied behind them.
The Arvin captain has been concentrating on
one man, a hard-core VC, who won't even look at
him. Suddenly, the captain starts yelling
hysterically but the prisoner keeps his eyes
lowered.
The Arvin captain stops shouting, breathes
hard a couple of times and makes a sharp movement
with his head to the Arvin sergeant standing over
the prisoner.
The sergeant pushes the prisoner out of the
door, a frozen look of horror on the victim's face
in the split second before he disappears.
It happens so fast, it takes a couple of
seconds to sink in to Joker and Rafter Man.
Joker looks at the door gunner.
The door gunner winks amiably at him.
Joker looks at Rafter. Rafter's mouth is
open.
The Arvin captain starts shouting at the
second VC prisoner who looks like he's ready to
give Uncle Ho's Private telephone number.
Joker gestures to Rafter Man's camera.
Rafter Man looks down and sets his exposure.
It looks like the prisoner is answering the
questions but he doesn't seem to be making the
Arvin captain any happier.
Joker says, "Start shooting pictures - lots
of them."
Rafter starts shooting pictures.
The captain doesn't like this at all and
angrily gives Rafter Man the traditional

-------------------------------------------------
56

no-pictures-wave-off. "Hey, you, Marine. No
camera me! No camera me!"
Joker gestures to Rafter to keep shooting.
"Number ten! Hey, Marine - why you camera
me?"
Joker leans closer and shouts to be heard.
"Captain, we are officially accredited US Marine
Corps combat correspondents and if you harm this
prisoner we're going to file an official report of
this entire incident together with our
photographic evidence."
"You number 10 motherfucker. Me captain.
Who you talking to?"
"I'm talking to you, Captain Zipperhead, sir."
The Arvin captain looks like he's going to
have a stroke. He shouts something to the
sergeant who draws his pistol but keeps it pointed
at the floor.
Joker shifts the M-16 across his knees.
Stalemate.
Then, suddenly, the Arvin captain turns and
pushes the prisoner out
of the door.
He turns back to Joker and laughs, showing
two gold teeth. The sergeant thinks this is
pretty funny, too.
Joker fires his M-l6 on full automatic into
the two men, blasting them
out of the door.
Joker stares at the empty door.
Rafter flops down on the floor.
The door gunner grins and leans over to
Joker. "Ain't war hell?"
Joker stares at the empty door.

Quote:"Joker, I've got big piece of slack for
you." Captain January picks up a manila guard
mail envelope and pulls out a piece of paper with
fancy writing on it. "Congratulations, Sergeant
Joker." He hands him the paper.

TO ALL WHO SHALL SEE THESE PRESENTS,
GREETING: KNOW YE THAT REPOSING SPECIAL
TRUST AND CONFIDENCE IN THE FIDELITY OF JAMES
T. DAVIS, 2306777/4312, I DO APPOINT HIM A
SERGEANT IN THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS...

Joker stares at the piece of paper. Then he
puts the order on Captain January's field desk.
"Number ten. I mean, no way, sir."

-------------------------------------------------
59

Captain January stops his silver shoe in
midstride. "What did you say?"
"Sir, I rose by sheer military genius to the
rank Of Corporal. But I'm not a sergeant. I
guess I'm just a snuffy at heart."
"Joker, you will belay the Mickey Mouse
shit. You've got an excellent 6-month record in
country. You've got enough time-in-grade. You've
been on enough combat ops. You rate this
promotion. This is the only was war we've got."
"Captain January, you know I do my job. I've
fouqht to make the world safe for hypocrisy. My
stories are paper bullets fired into the fat black
heart of Communism. Let me do it as a Corporal."
"Joker, I don't think you understand how
important our job is. Grunts are good show
business but we make them what they are. History
may be written with blood and iron but it's
printed with ink."
Joker thinks for a few seconds. "Sir, I shot
two Arvins on the way up here on the helicopter.
They were killing prisoners."
"You shot two Arvins on the way up here on
the helicopter?" Captain January asks, looking
down at the monopoly board.
"Yes, sir."
"You're pulling me leg, right?"
"No, sir."
"You're not pulling me leg?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, damn." Captain January slaps a card
onto the field desk. "Go to jail - go directly to
jail - do not pass go - do not collect two hundred

-------------------------------------------------
60

dollars." The captain puts his little silver shoe
into jail.
Captain January looks troubled. Then he
looks up and says with finality, "Joker, you've
always had a sick sense of humour. You are
definitely pulling me leg. You will be wearing
chevrons indicating your proper rank next time I
see you or I will definitely jump on your
program."
"Yes, sir."
Captain January shifts into another gear.
"Okay... now I want you to hump up to Hue.
One-One is in the shit. Two NVA divisions have
overrun the city. Charlie's finally decided to
dig in and fight."
Captain January looks at Rafter Man. "Who's
this? Sound off, Marine!"
Rafter Man stutters.
Joker says, "This is Lance Corporal Compton,
sir. The New Guy in Photo."
"Outstanding. Welcome aboard, Marine."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Joker, make sleeping sounds here tonight and
head up to Hue in the morning. We've had reports
the VC have executed hundreds of civilians, maybe
thousands. They've uncovered several mass
graves. Walter Cronkite is due here tomorrow so
we'll be busy. But your job is important, too.
We need some good, clear photographs. And some
hard-hitting captions. Get me photographs of
indigenous civilian personnel who have been
executed with their hands tied behind their backs,
people buried alive, priests with their throats
cut, dead babies - you know what I want. Then get

-------------------------------------------------
61

me come good feature stuff on the fighting with
good body counts. And remember: we're writing our
own report cards in this country. Don't be afraid
to give us a few A's."
"Yes, sir."
"Joker, before you go up there you will
remove the unauthorized peace button from your
duty uniform."
"Aye-aye, sir."
"And Joker..."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't even photograph any naked bodies
unless they're mutilated."
"Aye-aye, sir."
"And Joker..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Get a haircut."
"Aye-aye, sir."

Quote:Cowboy points to the big marine, "This is
Animal Mother. He's hard."
Animal Mother has a belt of machine-gun
bullets crisscrossing his chest. He picks his
nose and says to Joker, "You better believe it."

-------------------------------------------------
71

"This is my bro, Joker and this is Rafter
Man. They're from Sea Tiger."
"You a photographer?" Animal Mother says to
Joker.
Joker shakes his head. "I'm a combat
correspondent."
Animal Mother smiles scornfully, "You seen
much combat?"
"Hey, don't fuck with me," Joker says. "I
got twice as many operations as my grunt in Eye
Corps."
Cowboy says, "Hey, come on bro, sit down,
sit and share."
Animal Mother sits down, cross-legged "Man,
I almost got me some eatin' pussy."
T.H.E. Rock says, "That's affirmative.
Mother was chasing a little gook girl with his
dick hanging out."
Lieutenant Touchdown lights a small block of
C-4 explosives to make hot chocolate. "How old was
she?"
"Maybe twelve or thirteen," says Animal
Mother.
"Mother, you know what I told you about
that!"
Animal Mother grins, spits: "If she's old
enough to bleed, she's old enough to butcher."
"Animal Mother, listen up," Lieutenant
Touchdown says. "You harass one more little girl
and I'm going to put my silver bar in my pocket
and you and I are going to throw some hands."
Animal Mother grunts, spits, picks up a
bottle of tiger piss. He hooks a tooth into the

-------------------------------------------------
72

metal cap and forces the bottle up. The cap pops
off.
"Cowboy, you remember when we was set up in
that L-shaped ambush up by Khe Sanh and blew away
that NVA rifle squad? You remember that little
gook bitch that was guiding them? She was a lot
younger than the one I saw today." He takes a
swallow. "I didn't get to fuck that one either.
But that's okay. That's okay. I shot her
motherfucking face off." He looks at Joker and
grins. "That's affirmative, poge. I shot her
motherfucking face off." He burps in Joker's face.
Joker says, "Hey, Animal fucker. How come
you think you're so bad?"
Animal Mother looks surprised. "Hey,
motherfucker, you want me to tear you a new
asshole?"
"Only after you eat the peanuts out of my
shit."
"Whoa, now just whoa," Cowboy says. "If
there's one thing I can't stand it's bad
language. Now violence, that's something else.
I mean if you feel you got to blow Animal Mother
away, that's outstanding. But some other time,
Joker, 'cause we need him right now."
Alice, a big black marine says, "You might
not believe it but under fire Animal Mother is one
of the finest human being in the world. All he
needs is someone to throw hand grenades at him for
the rest of his life."
"Hey, jungle bunny," Animal Mother says.
"Thank god for the sickle cell, huh?"

Quote:The firing has all but stopped. The Lusthog
squad has taken up defensive positions in the
factory.
Some civilians start to appear, smiling
shrugging, trying to get back to their homes.
The Marines try to menace them away at rifle
point, shouting, "Di, di, di, you sorry-ass
motherfuckers, go on, get the hell away from
here!" and the refugees smile, half bowing, and
flit up the shattered streets.
"Don't those zipperheads know there's a war
on?"
A little boy of about ten comes up to the
squad. He is laughing and moving his head from
side to side in a funny way. The fierceness in
his eyes should tell everyone what it is, but it
doesn't occur to most of the grunts that a
Vietnamese child can be driven mad too, and by the
time they understand it the boy is going for their
eyes and tearing at their fatigues, spooking
everyone, putting everyone really uptight, until
Alice grabs him from behind and holds his arms.
"C'mon, poor li'l baby, 'fore one a these grunt
mothers shoots you," he says and carries the boy
back to where the corpsmen are.

Quote:Later, the CBS crew have gone. The men are
heating and eating C-rations.
Joker is writing in his notebook.
Donlon and Stutten are looking at a glossy,
car brochure.
"It's been proven, I'm tellin' you. You
put a Ford engine in a Chevvy, and a Chevvy engine
in a Ford, and they both go faster"

-------------------------------------------------
83

Alice is hunched over his radio. 'Let's talk
about tracers,' the radio announces says. 'Sure,
they're fun to shoot. They light up the sky! But
did you know that tracers leave deposits on your
barrel? Deposits than often lead to malfunctions
and even jamming...'
"Hey, Alice, turn that fuckin' thing off."
"Right after Sports" Alice says, cleaning
his face with some Wash 'n Dri's.
Donlon looks up from the car brochure. "I
hope we stay here. This street fighting is decent
duty. We can see them here."
The DJ plays "The Girl with the Faraway Eyes"
by the Stones.
"Hey, we sure as hell knocked the living shit
out this place today, didn't we?" Stutten says
quietly.
"Yeah. Godzilla never drew that kind of
fire," Alice says.
"It's a damned shame, all them poor people
though, all them nice looking houses, they even
had a Shell station there," Rafter Man says.
"We said we were going to bomb then back to
the Stone Age and we do not lie."
Daddy DA is playing with a yo-yo. He's doing
'Square the Circle', 'Rollercoaster' and 'Kiss the
Cat' when Sergeant Murphy walks up to him.
"What the fuck do you think you're doin'?"
He grabs the yo-yo from Daddy DA's hand and throws
it outside. "This isn't a playground. You're a
fucking Marine. Act like one!"

Quote:Animal says, "How long are we going to sit on
our asses?"
"We'll move up with the armour," Cowboy says.
"When the fuck is that?"
"Soon."
"Alice and Doc can't wait anymore!"
"We've got no choice. The sniper is just
sucking us in."
"We can do it if we all go at once. The
sniper'll have too many targets."
"That might be what they're waiting for. How
do you know there's only one sniper?"
"Alice and Doc Jay are out there gettin' shot
to shit!"
"I don't like the situation any more than you
do but we have to accept it."
Mother says, "We can go for Alice and Doc,
give the sniper too many targets. We can save
them!" He checks his M-60.
Cowboy grabs Mother's arm, "Listen man, cool
it. No one's going out there."
Animal says, "Stand down, motherfucker, or
I'll cut you in half."
Cowboy slowly lets go of his arm.
Animal Mother hoists his B-60 machine gun and
charges for the street crossing.

-------------------------------------------------
98

He fires blind.
He lopes along with the fluid grace of a meat
eater.
His chin is dripping saliva.

Animal Mother is a predator attacking. He
wants warm blood to drink. Animal Mother
wants human flesh to tear apart and devour.
Animal Mother doesn't know what the hell he's
doing. He thinks he's John Wayne.

He makes it to Alice and Doc Jays spraying long
bursts from his M-60.
BANG!
The sniper fires, kicking up dust a few
inches from Mother's foot. His first miss. The
M-60 return fire has made it less fun.
Mother fumbles with Doc Jay and sees he's
dead.
He fires another burst up the side street and
drags Alice behind a burned-out Citroen car
overturned in the intersection.
BANG !
The sniper's bullet ricochets off the car.
"Close, but no cigar, motherfucker!"
Mother fires back.
The squad lends morale support, firing
wildly.
Cowboy says to Joker, "I guess I just can't
hack this shit, bro."
Joker doesn't know what to say.
"Mother was lucky," he finally says. "He had
a John Wayne wet dream."

Quote:Joker reaches for his grease gun.
The sniper turns towards Rafter Man and
raises her SKS carbine.
She is a young girl, no more than seventeen
years old, a slender Eurasian angel with dark,
beautiful eyes, which, at the same time are the
hard eyes of a grunt. She's not quite five feet
tall. Her hair is long and black and shiny, held
together by rawhide cord tied in a bow. Her shirt
and shorts are mustard-coloured khaki and look
new. Slung diagonally across her chest,
separating her small breasts, is a white cloth
tube fat with sticky reddish rice. Her B. F.
Goodrich sandals have been cut from discarded

-------------------------------------------------
108

tires. Around her tiny waist hangs a web belt
from which dangle homemade hand grenades with
hollow wooden handles, made by stuffing black
powder into Coca-Cola cans, a knife for cleaning
fish, and six canvas pouches containing banana
clips for the AK-47 assault rifle slung on her
back.
BANG!
Rafter Man is firing his M-16.
BANG!
BANG!
The sniper lowers her weapon.
She looks at Rafter Man.
She looks at Joker. She tries to raise her
weapon.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Bullets shock flesh.
Rafter Man is firing.
Rafter Man's bullets are punching the life
out of the sniper.
The sniper falls off the roof and hits the
street with a terrible sound.
The tank fires into the ground floor beneath
us. The house shakes.
Animal Mother appears from behind a chimney.
Joker stands up.He feels like a dead man's
shit. He walks to the front of the house. He
waves to the blond tank commander.
He swings a fifty-caliber machine gun around
and aims it at Joker.
Joker steps into full view on the edge of the

-------------------------------------------------
109

roof. He waves an "all clear."
The tank commander gives him a thumbs-up.
Joker pops a green smoke grenade and drops it
on the roof.
Joker limps over to the sky light and climbs
back down into the library.
Rafter Man has already jumped into the
library and is running down the shrapnel-scarred
stairs.

Quote:Animal Mother and Joker walk around to the
rear of the house.
They find Rafter Man standing over the
sniper, drinking a can of Coca-Cola. Rafter Man
grins. He says, "Things go better with coke."
Animal Mother walks up and Rafter Man says,
"Look at her! Look at her!"
They all stand over the sniper. The sniper
is drawing her breath with great effort. She
grits her teeth and then makes a sound like a dog that
has been run over.

-------------------------------------------------
110

Lance Corporal Stutten leads his fire team to
the sniper. "Look at that," says Lance Corporal
Stutten. "It's a girl. She's all busted up."
"Look at her!" Rafter Man it saying. He
struts around the moaning lump of torn meat.
"Look at her! Am I bad? Am I a menace? Am I a
life taker? Am I a heart breaker?"
Animal Mother kneels and searches for
papers. There are none. Then he unbuckles the
sniper's web belt and jerks it from under her
body. The sniper whimpers. She speaks to them in
French. Animal Mother tosses the bloody belt to
Rafter Man.
A corpsman comes up and kneels beside the
sniper. "No more boom-boom for this mama-san,"
he says.
The sniper begins to pray in Vietnamese.
Joker says, "Let's get her back to the aid
station."
"She'd never make it."
Rafter Man asks, "What's she saying?"
Joker shrugs. "What difference does it
make?"
Animal Mother spits.
There is a burst of gunfire which sounds like
it's coming from just down the street. It
sputters out and then flares up again.
Animal Mother says, "Let's get the fuck outta
here."
Joker says, "What about her?"
"Fuck her," says Animal Mother. "Let her
rot."
"We can't just leave her here," Joker says.
Animal Mother takes a giant step towards

-------------------------------------------------
111

Joker, puts his face up close to his. "Hey,
asshole, Cowboy is wasted. You're fresh out of
friends. I say we leave the gook for the
mother-loving rats."
Rafter Man is buckling on his NVA belt. The
belt has a dull-silver buckle with a star engraved
in the center.
Joker says, "We can't leave her like this."
"I don't care," say Animal Mother. "Go on
and waste her."
Joker says, "No. Not me."
"Then we saddle up and move...now."
Joker looks at the sniper. She whimpers.

I try to decide what I would want if I were
down, half dead, hurting bad, surrounded by
my enemies. I look into her eyes, trying to
find the answer. She sees me. She
recognizes me - I am the one who will end
her life. We share a bloody intimacy.

As Joker lifts his grease gun the is praying
in French. He jerks the trigger. BANG!
The squad is silent.
Then Donlon grunts, flashes a big grin.
"Man, you are one hard dude."
Stutton and Liccardi are standing beside him.
Stutton says, "Joker, that's a well done.
You're hard."
Animal Mother spits. He takes a step,
kneels, zips out his machete. With one powerful
blow he chops off her head.
He picks the head up by its long black hair

-------------------------------------------------
112

and holds it high. He laughs and says, "Rest in
pieces, bitch."
Animal Mother laughs again. He walks around
and sticks the bloody ball of gore into all their
faces. "Hard? Now who's hard? Now who's
hard, motherfuckers?"
Animal Mother pauses, spits, throws the head
into a ditch.
He picks up his M-60 machine gun, lays it
across his shoulders, struts over to Joker.
"Nobody shits on the Animal, motherfucker.
Nobody."
Joker stares at him.

Quote:Sergeant Murphy points to some ruins a few
hundred yards away. "We're taking fire from over
there. We're getting ready to move out."
He looks at Joker and Rafter Man. "Are you
two still with us?"
Rafter Man nods, eagerly. Joker looks at the
ruins, "Sure."
The radio operator gives Sergeant Murphy the
handset. Sergeant Murphy sticks a finger in one
ear and has a short conversation. He gives the
handset back to the radio man.
He creeps forward, takes out his binoculars
and studies the ruins.
Several artillery rounds crash into the
ruins, raising a pillar of smoke.
"Lookit! Lookit that!" Rafter Man says.
"That's sex! That's pure sex!"
Sergeant Murphy gets to his feet. "Okay,
rich kids we're moving out. When we get past the
fence form a line abreast, ten years a part. Let's
go!"
The platoon rise up behind Sergeant Murphy
and begin to run forward.
They fan out in a line abreast.
The men begin to fire their rifles in the
direction of the attack.
Joker fires his rifle.
The air is being torn.
Green tracer bullets dissect the sky.

-------------------------------------------------
114

Boots crunch in powdered stone. Equipment
slaps, clangs and rattles. People curse.

We're all running like big-assed birds. We
don't want to do this. We are all afraid.
But if you stayed behind you would be alone.
Your friends are going; you go too.

The shock of bullets punching through bricks.
Splinters of stone sting their faces.

You don't have to be who you are anymore.
You're not a person anymore. You're part of
an attack, one green object in a line of
green objects.

Bullets hit the street.
The impact of the bullets is the sound of a
covey of quail taking flight.
And sparks.

Something snaps and we're past the point of
no return. We're running fast and we aren't
going to stop. Nothing can stop us.

Sounds. Cardboard being torn. Head-on
collisions. Trains derailing. Walls falling into
the sea. Metal hornets swarm overhead.
Pictures. The dark eyes of guns; the cold
eyes of guns. Pictures blink and blur, a wall, a
tiny man, shattered blocks of stone.

JOKER, THE MARINE RUNNING.

-------------------------------------------------
115

JOKER, 8 YEARS-OLD, ARMED WITH
PLASTIC RIFLE, RUNNING IN A
FIELD.

"Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving!!!"

People tell you what to do. Keep moving,
keep moving, keep moving. If you stop
moving, if you hesitate, your heart will stop
beating. Your legs are machines winding you
up like a mechanical toy.

JOKER, THE MARINE, RUNNING,
FIRING HIS RIFLE.

JOKER, THE 8 YEAR-OLD, FIRING
HIS TOY RIFLE.

You feel like you could run around the
world. Now the asphalt is a trampoline and
you are fast and graceful, a green jungle
cat.

JOKER, THE MARINE, RUNNING.

JOKER, THE 8 YEAR-OLD, RUNNING.

Your feet take you up...up...over the rubble
up...up... you're loving it... you're not
human, you're an animal, you feel like a
god...you scream: "DIE! DIE! DIE, YOU
MOTHERFUCKERS! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

-------------------------------------------------
116

JOKER, THE MARINE, IS RIDDLED
WITH A BURST OF AUTOMATIC
FIRE.

JOKER, THE 8 YEAR OLD,
CLUTCHES HIS CHEST IN MOCK
AGONY AND STARTS TO CRUMPLE TO
THE GROUND. HIS IMAGE WILL
SLOW DOWN UNTIL WE HOLD ON A
FROZEN FRAME, IN A POSE
SOMETHING LIKE CAPA'S FAMOUS
SPANISH CIVIL WAR PHOTOGRAPH
OF A MAN WHO HAS JUST BEEN
FATALLY SHOT BUT WHO IS
FOREVER SUSPENDED IN MID-FALL
BY THE CAMERA.

BUT THIS PICTURE IS OF AN
8 YEAR-OLD BOY.



-68-

Cemetery. Joker's funeral. It is a bright
sunny day. Joker's mother and father, pale and
drawn, are grouped under a canopy facing the
flag-draped casket, flanked by relatives and
friends.
Joker's father speaks with difficulty; "My
son... wanted passionately... to be a writer...and
while he was in Vietnam he kept this notebook...
which was found.. on his body. I'm going to
read... a few lines from it... which show... the

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immense... talent... he possessed... which is
now... lost... forever."
With tears in his eyes, Joker's father
fumbles for a particular page of writing in the
dirty, worn notebook. He finds it and begins,
haltingly, to read it aloud.
"I often think about... how things were when
I was ten...
"I loved to lie in bed... before the sun was
up... and before I was really awake... and think
of the long, exciting day ahead.
"The sky... had begun to turn pink, and the
great stillness outside... gave way... to the
rustling of trees... and the sound of
birds...
"I went downstairs... without waking
anyone... and went out into the backyard.
"The air was fragrant... and cold... and I
watched the sun slowly come up from behind the
mountain... and the sparrows pecking away... on
the dewy grass...
"I could hardly contain... my happiness."
Joker's father is barely able to continue.
"How little I knew of the world... beyond
that garden and our town."
Joker's father is overcome by a rush of
tears. His wife holds on to him. He regains some
composure and continues.
"And now I want to read some poetry... by
A. E. Housman... which his Mother and I.. have
chosen.. as his... Epitaph..."

"Here we lie...
Because...
we did not choose...

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To shame the land...
from which we sprung...
Life ..
to be sure...
is nothing much to lose...
But young men think it is...
and we were young..."

Tears streaming down his face, his father
slowly closes the notebook.
We see Joker's peace button pinned to the
notebook cover.

#

Quote:"We can't just leave her here," Joker says.
Animal Mother takes a giant step towards

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111

Joker, puts his face up close to his. "Hey,
asshole, Cowboy is wasted. You're fresh out of
friends. I say we leave the gook for the
mother-loving rats."
Rafter Man is buckling on his NVA belt. The
belt has a dull-silver buckle with a star engraved
in the center.
Joker says, "We can't leave her like this."
"I don't care," say Animal Mother. "Go on
and waste her."
Joker says, "No. Not me."
"Then we saddle up and move...now."
Joker looks at the sniper. She whimpers.

I try to decide what I would want if I were
down, half dead, hurting bad, surrounded by
my enemies. I look into her eyes, trying to
find the answer. She sees me. She
recognizes me - I am the one who will end
her life. We share a bloody intimacy.

As Joker lifts his grease gun the is praying
in French. He jerks the trigger. BANG!
The squad is silent.
Then Donlon grunts, flashes a big grin.
"Man, you are one hard dude."
Stutton and Liccardi are standing beside him.
Stutton says, "Joker, that's a well done.
You're hard."
Animal Mother spits. He takes a step,
kneels, zips out his machete. With one powerful
blow he chops off her head.
He picks the head up by its long black hair

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112

and holds it high. He laughs and says, "Rest in
pieces, bitch."
Animal Mother laughs again. He walks around
and sticks the bloody ball of gore into all their
faces. "Hard? Now who's hard? Now who's
hard, motherfuckers?"
Animal Mother pauses, spits, throws the head
into a ditch.
He picks up his M-60 machine gun, lays it
across his shoulders, struts over to Joker.
"Nobody shits on the Animal, motherfucker.
Nobody."
Joker stares at him.

Quote:Who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me?
M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E.

Hey there. Hi there. Ho there. You're as welcome as can be.
M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E.

Quote:During the next few years, we talked on the telephone. I think of it now as one phone call lasting three years, with interruptions. The substance was single-minded: the old and always serious problem of how you put into a film or a book the living, behaving presence of what Jung called the Shadow, "the most accessible of archetypes, and the easiest to experience." It was everywhere in Conrad's work, it starred in all of Bunuel's films, and it served as my personal co-pilot in Vietnam, where I learned to know and respect it. It came up out of me a thousand times to whisper the words spoken later by D.I. Sergeant Hartman in Full Metal Jacket: "I got your name. I got your number ... Because I am hard, you will not like me ... I am hard, but I am fair." Damned if you do, warped if you don't, that's what the Shadow thinks is fair. Only the courage to look it in the face can subdue it for even a minute, according to Jung, in so many words; War is the ultimate field of Shadow-activity, where all of its other activities lead you. As they expressed it in Vietnam, "Yea, Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no Evil, for I am the Evil." And the Fear, they could have added.

This is what we talked about in the eternal, recurring telephone call. Never boring, it was sometimes difficult. Talking to someone who is so blatantly hard at work can only mean that you are working, too. Writers stare at their tables all the time, and live such wonderful inner lives that they can forget to speak for days. In other words, most writers are manic-depressives, while movie directors are like generals, outward bound, out there and putting it out there, full of pep, talking story, brainstorming, performing schedules, highly conceptual, totally practical. This is compounded with Stanley by what I would have to call his intellectual fearlessness. His elevator goes all the way up to the roof. He's a regular mental warrior, and his means are telephonic. He has tremendous information, and he loves to process it. I valued his information so much that I didn't even charge him to talk to me. Nor did it matter that, after seven years' work on a Vietnam book followed by at least a year on a Vietnam movie, I wanted to become the last person in the world anybody would think of when they needed a Vietnam screenplay. So what money couldn't make me do, I did for information.

At the very moment in 1979 that I was making my No More Vietnams oath, I was sent a novel in bound galleys called The Short-Timers, by Gustav Hasford. I meant to read only a few pages, but I could see immediately, in one paragraph, that this was impossible. When I finished the opening section, I felt as though I'd read a whole novel, and it was twenty-eight pages long. I knew I was reading an amazing writer. He was telling a truth about the war that was so secret, so hidden, that I could barely stand it. I certainly didn't want to be associated with it in my neo-postwar period. It was a masterpiece that absolutely anybody could pick up and read in a couple of hours and never forget; and it went out into the world seeking shelf life without the albatross of my blurb around its graceful neck. I didn't answer the publishers, I didn't write to the author. I folded. I felt vaguely ashamed, but I got over it. I repressed it. Later, when Stanley was looking for war books, I may have mentioned it, but I'm not certain that I did. When he came across it, he knew immediately that he wanted to film it. I'd recoiled so far from it that I couldn't remember anything about it. It came straight back when I re-read that first great page.

Quote:"Marine," the colonel says. "What is that on
your body armour?"
"Sir?"
"That...thing."
"You mean this button, sir?"

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67

"What is it?" the colonel says.
"A peace symbol, sir."
"Where did you get it?"
Joker thinks for a couple of seconds. "A
liberal gave it to me, sir," Joker says, keeping
a serious face.
The colonel jabs Joker's button with a
forefinger and giver him a fairly decent Polished
Glare. His blue eyes sparkle. "That's right, son,
act innocent. But I know what that button means."
"Yes, sir!
"It's a ban-the-bomb propaganda button.
Admit it!"
"What is that you've got written on your
helmet?"
"Born To Kill?"
"You've written 'Born to Kill' on your
helmet."
"Yes, sir."
Why did you do that?"
"I don't know, sir. Everyone writes things
on their helmets."
"You write 'Born to Kill' on your helmet and
you wear a peace button. What is that supposed to
be, some kind of sick joke?"
"No, sir."
"Well, what is it supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Answer that question, corporal, or you'll be
standing tall before the man."
"Well, sir," Joker says with exaggerated
thoughtfulness, "I suppose...I was trying to

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68

suggest something about the duality of man."
"The what?"
"The dual nature of man?... You know, sir,
the Jungian thing about aggression and xenophobia
on one hand, and altruism and cooperation on the
other?"
There is a fairly considerable
mouth-breathing pause from the colonel.
"Whose side are you on, son?"
"Our side, sir."
"MARINE!"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't you love your country?"
"Yes, I do, sir."
"Then how about getting with the program?
Why don't you jump on the team and come in for the
big win?"
Joker still manages to keep a straight face.
"I'm certainly ready to do that, sir."
"Confess corporal, confess that you want peace."
"I confess, sir."
The colonel leans closer and lowers his
voice, "Son, we've all got to keep our heads until
this peace craze blows over."
Joker makes a serious face to consider the
full implications of this statement. "Yes, sir."
The poge colonel tries to think of something
more inspiring to say, but he hasn't got it. So
he says: "You can't wear that button, Marine.
It's against regulations. Remove it immediately."
Joker is saved from further difficulty by
several mortar rounds that come in about 50 yards
away, BANG! BANG! BANG! everyone dives for

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69

cover. In the ensuing shouting and confusion,
Rafter Man and Joker take off.

David Guyatt Wrote:This actually is one reason I also regularly post about humour and music, as they are the antidote medicine to the depression - or as Durer had it in his woodcut "Melancholia" - that reading and digesting these shadow contents inflicts upon us all.

I think we both agree that the title of Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut speaks the words for those who avoid their own responsibility to approach and know their own Shadow, but rather revel in it.

Lauren Johnson Wrote:Here is a commercial playing in the US for a Las Vegas hotel. Talk about reveling in the collective shadow. "Just the right amount of wrong." I find this short video, for some reason, more disturbing than the Kubrik ritual scene.