Date sent:        Wed, 17 Dec 1997 22:08:00 +0900
From:             Kiyoko Ishimura <GHB00253@niftyserve.or.jp>
Subject:          Baccarat Fragment: Scarred

BACCARAT FRAGMENT: SCARRED
By Kiyoko Ishimura
GHB00253@niftyserve.or.jp

CATEGORY: SA

RATING:  NC-17

KEYWORDS:  Skinner/Other, Pre-X Files

SPOILERS:  None

SUMMARY:  Soldier Skinner in Bangkok.  SkinnerAngst.  Sequel
to Ms. Butterfly.

ARCHIVE: Yes

DISCLAIMER:  Walter Skinner is the property of Chris Carter,
1013 Productions and Fox Television.  No copyright
infringement is intended or implied in his use in this work
of fiction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Skinner's impressions of Asia and Bangkok, in
particular, are not reflective of Kiyoko's and Sean's
sentiments.  It's just the meanderings of an exhausted
American Marine in the late 1960's. (Sean's note: I have
been to Bangkok and it's still one of the most wonderful
places on the planet.)

Kiyoko's Note: I have not been to Bangkok yet but it's one of the
places I'd like to go so much in the near future.  This one was 
rather difficult for me to write, as I had to deal with the Marine's 
feeling toward Asia where I belong.  I really hope I could somehow
conclude this one okay.  

As always, my thanks goes to Sean for everything, from 
suggesting me the outline of this story to editing it.  

And thanks to Susan and Nicol for your encouraging words.

* * * * * * * *


Bangkok, 1969


The edge of Walter Skinner's left thumbnail was
still stained with old blood.  He looked at it
dispassionately as he took a sip of his cheap whiskey.

It was a hot, humid and crowded Bangkok night, but Private
First Class Walter S. Skinner of the U.S. Marine Corps felt
cold all over, which he didn't like very much.  Walter
didn't like the damned place, too, even if there were no VC,
no screaming, no killing and no blood scattered all around
him.

Walter hated damned Asia.  He damned hated everything.  He
hated the ever present rice in every meal in every
restaurant, the food that was either too bland or too spicy
and every piece cut into little teeny tiny pieces, the
oppressive heat that made every piece of clothing stick to
him, the strange huge insects, the people who smiled all the
time, which made their small eyes even smaller.  They always
smiled and sometimes bowed, but, in reality, wouldn't think
twice of stabbing you in the back.  Most of all he hated
himself with a passion, especially when he found his fingers
were numb since a week earlier.  But more precisely, his
fingers had been like this for nearly a year in hell, and he
couldn't shake the feeling as if they were trembling all the
time.

Now Walter was a Private First Class.  Sometimes, he thought
he was promoted because all the others died and someone had
to fill in the gaps.  Sarge himself had been promoted
because their former sergeant had been blown to pieces by a
landmine a week earlier.  In fact, the two new recruits
didn't even last more than five days.  If things went on at
this rate, it wouldn't be so long before I made Sarge
myself,  Walter mused bitterly.

The moment Walter deplaned from the C130 from Nam, he went
into a bar, choosing one at random from the strip of bars.
This one was the typical, annexed to a brothel, where young
Thai girls were selling their bodies to thirsty, and hungry
drunken men.

Walter didn't like the place at all, but there was nowhere
to go and nothing to do.   There were other American
soldiers around, but they were all staring at the topless
dancers while absentmindedly sipping their drinks, the
harder the better.  The Americans didn't look at each
other's eyes.  They were thinking of only one thing: to pick
up one of the girls and go upstairs to feel like they were
still alive.

Each and every day in Viet Nam was a nightmare, but Walter
just couldn't get over the horror that he experienced a week
ago.  Their squad was mopping up the villages in the
area where VC was dominant.  Dominant, all right.  VCs were
waiting for them and...

Stop it, Walter Skinner.  Don't ever remember that.  He
gritted his teeth and held the cheap glass, dirty with
somebody else's fingerprints.  He held it so tight that his
knuckles became very white.

Walter felt cold.  Shit, he was *finally* on R & R, but why
couldn't he enjoy it at all?  He only had one damned week to
go, absolutely free from the killing zone, free from
killing and from getting killed.  The cheap whisky made him
angrier and irritated.  Why do I feel like garbage?  He felt
as if all his nerves were exposed and even the touch of air
on his skin caused unbearable pain and anger inside him.

Someone whistled to the dancers doing a sinuous dance on the
makeshift stage, which provoked Walter beyond reason.  He
turned around and saw a group of young Thai men laughing and
flirting with one of the girls in the table just behind
Walter.

The local mob.  Walter could tell from their expensive but
still sleazy outfits, their fashionably long greased hair
and arrogant attitudes.

Walter hated the mob.  They were the scum of the earth.  The
young girl with shoulder length silky black hair didn't seem
to be happy about their teasing and she glanced pleadingly
at Walter, who avoided her eyes.  Because of the poor
lighting of the bar, plus his glasses not being very clean,
Walter couldn't see well but the girl seemed young, about 16
years or so.  However, looks can be tricky, because Asians
often looked younger than they really were.  For all he knew
she could be ten years older than he was.

Asian girls.  With those black eyes and black hair.  After
he arrived in Okinawa all those months ago, Walter had
wondered occasionally: could they see the world normally, as
we do?  All Asians seemed somewhat sad and scared about
something.  Because of their black eyes, Walter even
wondered if they might perceive this world darker than
Caucasians did.

Later as he struggled through the everyday horrors of Viet
Nam, Walter saw hundreds, if not thousands, of such sad,
resigned eyes.

Suddenly, an image flashed across Walter's mind.

Mariko.  Just Mariko.  He didn't even know her last name.

She was one of the call girls Walter had encountered in
Okinawa, before he had been dispatched to Viet Nam.  It was
truly the last time he had ever felt like a normal human
being.  The only one he could remember with a bit of
goodness.  The memory was sweet and at the same time, so
bitter, distant and almost beyond his reach.  Even in his
memories.

In that distant memory, her beautiful black eyes had held
something sad, too but at least Mariko didn't remind Walter
of the killings.  Walter tried hard to recall her face, her
touch, her warm body and her voice sweetly whispering his
name over and over, but he couldn't remember her too well.
Lately, everything blurred.

Maybe Mariko wouldn't recognize me if she met me, Walter
thought bitterly.  She even might not want to touch me if
she knew what I've been doing since I had landed in Viet
Nam.

Through all the physical hardships and deprivation of being
on constant vigilance of the VC, Walter was much different
now than when he first landed in Okinawa.  He knew he was
stronger, and without doubt, bigger.  His shirts and
trousers were tighter, all encasing new hard muscles.  Feats
of endurance, of walking double time through miles and miles
with a ton of on his back, of slogging through malaria-
infested swamps and moist tropical jungles didn't faze him
anymore.  He wasn't even bothered by those swarms of
mosquitoes and other unidentifiable insects.  His hair was
even longer, no longer in the regulation buzz cut, which was
impossible to maintain in the bush.

Maybe all of this was a long nightmare or someone's sick
joke.

At first, Walter didn't have any doubts for fighting in this
war at all.  He believed in duty, honor and country so he
had enlisted, despite the strong objection of his parents.
He had been confident that his choice had been right and he
had been doing something right.  After all, his own dad had
fought in the Second World War and survived.  But after
having spent nearly a year in the middle of all this shit,
Walter wasn't sure if he should have listened to his dad
more.

Walter Skinner saw too much and had gone through too much.
He felt like eighty years old instead of his actual twenty.
He was tired.  Dead tired and angry.

Walter looked at the stage hunting for tonight's companion.
Any one should do, as long as they were women and knew their
business.  But if...

Realizing he was unconsciously looking for anyone resembling
Mariko even a little, Walter mentally kicked himself.  There
was no Mariko and he was simply wasting his time.

Suddenly Walter heard a woman's small scream followed by
someone hitting him on the back, disturbing his train of
thought.  The rest of his whisky splashed onto the crotch of
his camouflage outfit.  Walter hadn't seen one of the sleazy
mob men put his hand up the young woman's skirt and grope
between her legs.  Her resistance caused the man to lose his
balance and knocked into Walter as a result.

Walter saw red.  The marine glared at the mob in silence.
The Thai man gave a wicked smile and apparently cursed in
his language, pointing at the now wet part of Walter's
trousers.  Almost reflexively, Walter grabbed the man's hand
and, with lightning speed, smashed down his upper body onto
the battered table, which was broken right in two from the
impact.

Walter heard a small but distinct bone-cracking sound amidst
of the loud crash, as the man screamed from the dirt strewn
floor of the bar, where a roach skittered away.

All attention was riveted to their area of the bar.  The
cheap disco music was the only sound heard as the buzz of
conversation ceased.  Walter Skinner was still seated in the
hard wooden chair and he didn't even blink.

He's a Marine, someone whispered.

The rest of the mob stood up, all prepared to take revenge
for the insult from the American, while the local bystanders
happily anticipated the night's unexpected "entertainment".
Thailand was known as the country of smiles, but it was also
a country nationally obsessed with Muay Thai, extremely
violent Thai kickboxing.

"American?"  One of the mob, apparently their leader,
sneered, his eyes cruelly cold.  He had a large slash scar
on his right cheek.  He didn't even need to ask the
question, because what other nationality could Walter be,
with his uniform?

Walter took the challenge as he stood up in silence.  He
knew what his body could do to damage the enemy, both in
armed and barehanded combat.  He was trained and conditioned
to kill.  A rough and uncontrollable force, which Walter
himself was aware of and feared secretly, oozed from his
tall figure.  He knew that these Asians thought of Americans
as big and powerful but slow, but by this time, Walter knew
exactly what he was capable of.  For once tonight, Walter
didn't care about anything, not about whether the other guy
had a weapon hidden somewhere on his person or if his
companions were going to join in the fray.  All Walter
desperately needed was an outlet for the violent impulse
that was gradually choking and eating him from inside.

Hopefully this was just a barroom brawl and wasn't going to
be reduced to anyone getting killed.  Unconsciously, Walter
licked his lip with anticipation.  He really wasn't thinking
clearly.

Mai Lee, the girl in question gasped in horror as the two
men, one a wiry, dangerous Thai man, the other an American
marine took on a fighting stance.  From the rumors floating
around in their area, she knew that Say killed several men 
already.  Mai Lee was still new in this business and scared 
to death: she just couldn't understand what that tall American 
marine with glasses was thinking, how he could be foolish 
enough to take on Say.

"My bets on the Amerikan!"  Someone shouted.

Suddenly, Mai Lee was grabbed by the breast by the other men
in the gang and leered at her, and she cried out in
embarrassment.

As if on cue, the man and Walter moved at the same time.
Walter easily ducked the sharp punch coming to his right.
He was, if anything, a type of fighter who would see the
opponent's ability and then fight back with full force.
Walter stepped lightly or swayed back, skillfully avoiding
being hit hard.  This man was not bad, but Walter could
predict his movements.

Tricked by Walter into believing that he had an advantage,
Say packed the punch.  He truly subscribed to the belief that 
Americans were big and slow.  Then the marine saw the opponent's 
elbow moving back aimed at his ear.  Walter sank a little.  
Say put too much force in his attack and Walter saw him off 
guard.

In one swift movement, Walter hit the man below the armpit
and as he tottered, Walter kicked him in the back of his
knees.  Groaning, the man hit the floor too easily.  Walter
further kicked him in the stomach hard and when he was about
to give the man the finishing blow to the solar plexus, a
gunshot cracked through the bar.

"The show's over!"

Everyone heard a calm, husky female voice.  Walter whirled
around and saw a bewitching woman who held a small elegant
pistol, truly a work of craftsmanship.  She was the madame
of the place and very famous around the area.  She was in
her late thirties, an arrogant beauty, yet she reminded
Walter of a legendary vixen of Orient myth who could eat up
the soul of whomever she slept with.

The gang members protested loudly but Madame glared them
into silence.  After all, she was very influential with
their Big Boss.  The leader Walter had just beaten to a pulp
was doubled up on the floor and was busy coughing and
retching.  Meanwhile, Mai Lee sighed in relief, still held
by the rest of the mob.  She knew the madame would settle
the fight in her own way.

"It's a serious crime to make a scene in this bar, young
Marine."  She was sizing him up as she said it.  The gang
members were picking up their two injured companions while
the rest of the bar patrons were disappointingly back to
their drinks, muttering that not enough blood was shed.

Walter retorted tersely.  "Isn't it also against the law to
carry firearms here?"

Madame chuckled and scrutinized the marine.  This one was
just different from the other hoodlum Americans.  Madame
always liked the men driven over the edge.  The sex with
them was more intense because of the boosted adrenaline and
the drive to survive.  That certain essence of desperation
was always delicious for her.

And this tall serious one looked promising.  There was
something powerful and seasoned about him, and yet he was
still a kind of fresh and naive.  Hurt, even.  She loved
such imbalance.  The deep, mysterious part of her anatomy
ached in imagination of how it would feel to appreciate all 
of him.

"Okay, we're even.  Excuse the bad manners of our local boy.
Your choice is on the house.  Pick *anyone* you like
tonight."

Walter sensed the challenge from the Madame, which was
tempting.   He could plainly see from the way she was
looking at him that she wanted him.  In the back of his
mind, he also wanted her.  He never had someone with such
obvious experience and maturity.  Still...

Something made Walter Skinner hesitate, as he caught the
young girl from the corner of his eye.  She was still
pinioned by the rest of the local gang.  For the first time,
he stared at her to find she was a beauty, too.  Unlike the
majority of the voluptuous girls in the bar with their full
carnal lips, she was like a willow tree with the eyes and
body of a young doe.  She looked slightly different from
rest of the Thai women in the bar, somehow innocent and a
little bit out of place.  It was clear that she was going to
be served to the mob, whose rough hands were still around
her body.

Since Okinawa, Walter Skinner didn't like the mob.

On impulse, Walter said.  "Then I'll take her."

In surprise, Madame rolled her eyes.  Choose Mai Lee over
herself?  But the young marine seemed to be serious.  Madame
had observed all the details of the fight.  She was
disappointed that this young solder wasn't as sophisticated
as she thought.  Her previous notion that he was still a bit
naive was confirmed.  Still, Madame was intrigued by this
tall young soldier with stubborn brown eyes and acquiesced
to his request.

"Okay.  Do as you please.  You can use the room upstairs."

"But--" the mob protested but knew enough to shut up before
Madame's scathing glance at them.  It was even harder
because they knew that the Big Boss was going to hear how
the marine had gone through two of their men like they were
matchsticks.  It was even much harder because they wouldn't
be able to take any form of revenge on him, because Madame
had taken a fancy to him and they would get hell if they so
much as bothered a hair on his head.

Reluctantly they released Mai Lee, who was all the more
embarrassed, as everyone in this bar knew she was going to
service this American.  Mai Lee had never had business with
foreigners, let alone the fact she was still really new to
this business.  Suddenly, Mai Lee got scared and pleaded to
Madame with her eyes, but to no avail.

"Entertain your guest."  Then Madame smiled to Walter with
that smile only experienced courtesans could afford.  "And
you may have second chance with the *rest* of us, young
soldier."

* * * * * *

Walter Skinner knew he hadn't been doing anything smart for
the last few minutes.  He ruefully wondered if he had just
made a silly choice, when he was alone with the girl in the
small but with densely decorated room.  He should have
chosen the Madame instead of her.  Part of the reason that
he chose Mai Lee was his obstinacy and the other was he was
not in the mood for any form of sexual combat with that
vixen.  He had already partially relieved his frustrations
in the brawl.  Walter was having second thoughts with the
girl, all silent like a POW and the awkwardness between them
was more palpable as each second passed.

There was lingering scent of perfume and bitter cigar around
the double bed covered with a colorful Thai garment.  When
Skinner opened the bay window, he heard the sound of the
water flowing, then he saw the black water surface of the
klong, which glittered as it reflected the lights from the
bars and brothels that lined the canal.  Each one of the
lights meant a transaction of the flesh.  Just like theirs
was going to be.

Sitting on the bed, Walter found a few rubber products
prepared on the rickety nightstand.  He picked one up,
turned to the girl and took her hand.  She was rigid all
over.

"C'mon, let's get down to business."  Walter took off his
glasses and drew her closer.  He wasn't in the mood for
social niceties nor any simulation of romance tonight.
"Entertain me."

Then he kissed her on the mouth.  Her lips were so soft and
smooth, but as the marine held her, he realized she was
indeed trembling.  Surprised, Walter stared at her.

"You're *not* going to tell me that you're a virgin, are
you?"

"No," Mai Lee shook her head.  She just didn't know what to
do.  The marine didn't look away from her, simply waiting
for more answers.

"No, but I'm just new here."  At last, she managed to say in
a small voice.  Her English was heavily accented and she
hated it.  "I'm fine for you."

Walter groaned in silence.  The last thing he needed now was
a bitch who was scared and didn't know what to do with their
customers.  Skinner hated newness at the moment, just like
he hated those raw recruits suddenly thrown into the lap of
guerilla warfare.  They were always too scared to function
normally and died too easily.

Mai Lee had lost her virginity about one and half months
ago.  It was nothing, Madame had told her.  The other girls
had agreed.  It's nothing.

It's not only you, my girl.  There have been hundreds or
thousands before you, Madame said.  Maybe your mother has
done it.  Maybe your big sisters have done it.  Just think
of your family, of survival.  It's your turn now.  Just like
that.  Once you've gone through it, you'll get used to it.
So don't cry anymore.  It'll just make you more miserable.

Madame was feared by the girls working here, but Mai Lee
knew she was not cruel.  The girl knew she cared for them,
in her own way.  Still, her first time was just painful and
she hated and hated and hated it.

For now, as this American soldier looked formidable, yet Mai
Lee preferred him to the gang members she usually serviced.
They said that Americans didn't know too much of the exotic
things but they were sometimes big.  If she had to earn her
keep, she wanted to go with the lesser evil.

"Do you want to call this off?"  Walter said to her tiredly.
She shook her head as her hair was swinging around her
shoulder.  Walter heard her breathing in deeply.  Then the
doe looked up.

"No, there's no need."

There was something defiant in her eyes, which intrigued
Walter.

If he didn't go through with the transaction, she would lose
face.  She may be just a whore, but the only thing that was
truly hers was her pride and feelings.  In some dim part of
his mind, Walter was aware of that, too.

Well, maybe playing drill sergeant could be some
distraction.  He might try the second round with someone
else after warming up with her.

"Okay, then strip me."  Walter took her hands and put them
onto his broad shoulders.   He put his hands on her warm
abdomen, stroking the area slowly.  "What's your name?

"Mai Lee."  She gasped a little.  Despite their size, his
hands on her stomach were surprisingly gentle.

"I'm Walter.  Where are you from?"

"Near Chiang Mai."

Another gasp, as she felt a big solid hand cup her small
breast, teasing her through the thin material of her dress.
Fighting the fear and unexplainable apprehension, Mai Lee
undressed Walter's torso.  He was more muscular than she
expected, especially the upper arms and chest.  There was
steel under the military outfit.  Seen up close, the marine
was well tanned, too, unlike some of the pasty faced
Americans she sometimes saw roaming the bars at night.

"Is that in the north?"

"Yes.  My mother was working there in a bar, and my father
was some Chinese customer, they say."  Mai Lee said it
matter-of-factly.  It was strange.  None of her customers in
her very limited experience ever asked about her.  It was
getting hard for her to concentrate, as his hands were now
inside her dress and undoing her clothes very
slowly.

Walter narrowed his brown eyes.  Something crossed behind
them.  Mai Lee wondered what he was thinking.  Her case
wasn't unusual, so she supposed he must hold her in
contempt.  But she didn't care: Mai Lee didn't know she was
panting nor her upper body was exposed completely by her first 
American customer and was stroked by his hands.

"Mai Lee, are you scared?"   A deep, concerned voice.
Surprised, Mai Lee looked up and was met with the
penetrating, big brown eyes. Demanding eyes.

"Yes."  She didn't know why but she had to be honest.
Walter smiled bitterly.

"Then try harder."  In one swift movement, like he had
manhandled the two men earlier tonight, Walter held her,
capturing and covering her body with those powerful arms and
body.

"You'll forget the fear."  He whispered in her ears.

That sent gooseflesh down her spine.  Then her skirt was
gone, followed by Walter's trousers and underwear.  As he
sat on the edge of the bed, Walter pulled Mai Lee onto his
lap.

Mai Lee felt the Marine's hand go down to her very center, 
the area between her legs, while the other hand were still
fondling her breasts.  Suddenly realizing the hard, heated
presence pressed against her buttocks, Mai Lee gasped in
shock.  He seemed very big.

Walter kissed Mai Lee's neck then cheek, while his hands
were doing their job.  Her body was rigid, but it became
softer and hotter than before.  Gently, he parted the warm
little lips in the center of her body and touched that tiny
bud.  Mai Lee moaned in a restrained voice.  This never 
happened to her before.

It felt good for Walter to hold this trembling, fragile
girl's body.  She was really soft and warm, totally unlike
himself, who was now all solid and cold, deep inside.  It
was a lifetime ago when he had held such a soft body in his
arms.  The strong urge to take her at will and at the same
time, to want to be gentle with her vied with each other.
Walter wanted to go inside her as soon as possible, but he
had to be careful.  Even if she said she wasn't a virgin,
she still seemed new to this and he might hurt her.

"No, no, no, don't touch me like this, please."  It felt
good but she didn't like it the way the American was doing
something so personal with her.

Walter didn't listen and kept the small body in his lap, his
hands busy on the most tender parts of her between her legs
and on her nipples.

Before long, Walter heard Mai Lee crying out, her head
falling back against his shoulder.

"I'm afraid."  She was sobbing with ecstasy, as she was
carried away by the new sensations, caused by his touch.
The other girls always told her to keep distant from
whatever happened in this room, to save herself.  It had
never been a problem before, because all that mattered was
the other men to do their thing as fast as possible.  But
now, Mai Lee couldn't do it, couldn't keep her distance,
even when she was trying to keep the soldier's hand away
from her.

But Walter wouldn't let her go.  Her plea to stop, which
was in fact the opposite, further stirred him on. Mai Lee
was far from the rigid body on his lap a few minutes ago and
Walter was glad for that.  Now her whole body was sobbing
and Walter could felt the hot tears moistening his fingers 
down there.  She was well relaxed and prepared for the next 
step.

"You don't have to be afraid."  Walter murmured to Mai Lee
in a low voice and in single motion, he pinned her down to
the bed.  As he lowered his body and covered her, Walter
felt her heartbeat against his own chest.  He pulled away
from her for an instant to put on the rubber sheath.

Mai Lee's slight figure was almost same as Mariko, but to
Walter, Mai Lee seemed far more fragile and smaller against
his own body.  With Mariko, Walter felt that the Okinawan's
slender body had been more powerful and dominant than his
own clumsy, larger and stronger body.  But with this Bangkok
beauty, Walter felt the exact opposite.

As Walter shifted his position for the penetration, his tip
and her verge touched.  The contact was subtle, but it was
strong enough to make Walter's whole body grow hot. Walter
held his breath and began to enter to her warm belly, to the
place he had to go.  Mai Lee opened her black eyes and
looked him hard.

In her black unfathomable eyes, Walter saw her true
feelings.  Fear for the unknown. Fear for anything that 
didn't belong to oneself.  Anything foreign.  
But Walter just had to go there.  For this once, there was 
nowhere else for him to go.  So he went further.

In a maddening slow pace, Walter entered and opened her up,
so slowly that it was almost painful for him, too.  It was
easier than he had expected, though.  Then he could go no
further.  He felt a slight ache in his temple as her warmth
surrounded and then squeezed him.

Good, but it hurt, too.  He couldn't move for a while,
taking time for Mai Lee and himself to get used to each
other.

Mai Lee was stunned, as she was totally filled with him.  It
surely hurt, but it felt also somewhat strange: Mai Lee felt
as if she was being choked by the pressure growing in her
belly and it made her forget everything else.  Her body
arched up from the bed, to the point where they were connected 
at Walter's manhood.

Where there was pain and pleasure.

Every sex is different, my Marine, Mariko had once told him.
Even with same partner.  Sometimes you are dominant,
sometimes you're not.  It often reflects what you're
feeling.

What am I feeling?  Walter suddenly wondered as he recalled
Mariko's words.  What am I feeling right now?

They gasped almost at the same time, when Walter saw himself
in Mai Lee's eyes.  He saw nothing but the black blankness.

The fear between life and death.  

Slowly but desperately, he began moving inside her body.  
As he gave himself away to the impulsive sexual urge, everything 
blurred inside his head.  The only thing he could feel was 
the tight hot grip that captured the very center of his body and 
the heated breath and the whispered cries emitted by both of them.

In a delirium of pleasure and apprehension, Walter Skinner
remembered vividly everything since all of this had started.

* * * * * *

Walter was in his house, arguing loudly with his father.  He
was about to leave his home for boot camp, the few things in
his suitcase already at his feet.  His father was desperate
to stop his only child from going off to war.

"This isn't our war.  It isn't even a war, it's just
meaningless killing!  You don't have to go!"  His father
argued hard.  Walter could see his father's face was
contorted with desperation.  To him, it represented all of 
the cowardice, selfishness and lack of righteousness of the 
older generation.  How could his father not tell him to go to 
Vietnam when he himself fought in the Second World War?

His mother didn't say anything, but she was standing on the
porch, looking in silence at father and son, shouting at
each other.  The rims of her eyes were slightly red, though.

"This *is* our war and someone has to go and fight," Walter
retorted.  He was disgusted by the endless arguments that
were getting nowhere.  "I'll go."

Walter made for the door.  He didn't want to waste his time
anymore.  

"Then go." 

Walter heard the angry, yet sad voice of his father.  "Only
don't make this the last time I ever see you."  His father's
eyes were bleak with sorrow and despair.  For a brief
moment, Walter wavered.  Maybe he was making a mistake, a
really big mistake.

It was truly a crucial moment for Walter Skinner.

He really had a choice.  For the first time, he had his
doubts.  But he was too young and stubborn to admit that.

Walter left his home in silence, without looking back,
sealing his own fate.

"Walter," only he heard his mother's small voice calling out
for him, cracked with sorrow.  For that, he felt sorry for
her.

Boot camp and basic training came and went in a blur.  The
waiting in Okinawa had come and gone.  His innocent boyhood
was gone when Walter shot the enemy to death for the very
first time.  Only he wasn't sure if it was the enemy at all;
it was a grenade-laden ten year old boy.  But it was still a
boy.

Viet Nam came but it never seemed to go away.

In Vietnam, Walter's mind was rigid and half-dead.  His
hands didn't stop trembling, his hands were always stained
with dirt, blood, fear, pain and death.  At every skirmish
with the unseen enemy, Walter thought he could never be more
scared but he was betrayed every time.  Just like sex, every
time was different.  It was just as if he was put in hell
alive and he was dying little by little.  He desperately
wished he could stop feeling, but he just couldn't.

Walter heard someone screaming.  He felt so good, so alive.
It was a woman.  Was it Mariko?  No, she never screamed,
even in a bout of sex.  This is...

Viet Nam.  My dear bloody Viet Nam.

One week ago, their squad was mopping up the villages in the
area where VC was dominant.  Dominant, all right.  VCs were
waiting for them and opened fire from the bush.  Caught off
guard, the new recruit from California, Metcalfe, got scared
out of his wits and started to run.  Walter couldn't stop
him.  The unfortunate freckled kid fell into the  booby
traps: he was skewered by the bamboo spears smeared with
shit.

It was just the beginning and all hell broke loose.  That
was the one of, if not the most, ugly skirmish Walter had
ever experienced in Viet Nam.  He didn't remember much. The
killing itself didn't last long, about 15 minutes perhaps,
but Walter felt aged as much as 15 years in those 15
minutes.  His limbs were too heavy and he couldn't lift a
finger.

Metcalfe was barely alive when it was over.  Everyone knew
he wasn't going to survive and that he was in unbearable
pain.  The kid couldn't speak anymore but pleaded with
Walter with his terrified eyes, in silent anguish.

More than anything, Walter wanted to end the kid's misery.
Walter was already reaching for his bowie knife, because no
way could he use his gun.  Any remaining VC in the bush
might hear the report of the gun and swarm in again for the
kill.

Walter could only see the misery in Metcalfe's eyes and
Walter told himself that it was no different from the way he
mercifully used a knife on a deer when he and his dad used
to go hunting in the cabin.

He was already raising his knife, but he just couldn't do
it.  Just then, the sounds of the other members from his
unit converged on them and Walter swiftly put back his knife
into his belt.

Instead, he helped lift Metcalfe, who was just a raw
recruit, the freckled kid from Salinas, California, into the
makeshift stretcher.  Walter refused to look at Metcalfe's
still pleading eyes.

When it was over, when the others carried Metcalfe away,
Walter Skinner's fingers were stained with the kid's blood.
Walter learned that Metcalfe died three days later in
horrible pain.  Even since, he felt as if his hands never
stopped trembling.

* * * * * *

Suddenly, Walter heard Mai Lee's loud, frantic scream as she
reached her climax.  The scream just reminded Walter of
everything he experienced in the war.  The next moment,
Walter was gripped by the intensity of her spasms.  
As if something invisible hit him hard in his spine, just at 
the small of his back, he exploded inside her small body.

It took at least 30 seconds for Walter to recover his
senses: he was panting heavily, drenched in sweat all over.
Slumped onto Mai Lee's limp body, Walter noticed she passed
out, totally exhausted by the sexual encounter.  Slowly,
vague memories returned to Walter and he was sorry for her.
It was evident he had lost control somewhere along the way
and ravished her.

Looking at the much smaller figure, a poor whore he just
had, Walter suddenly felt so empty.  After gasping for about
a full minute, Walter pulled out of her, rather listlessly.
Mai Lee's body was still fully open to him, which made him
inexplicably sad.

What am I doing here?

For once, Walter thought of how far he had come from what he
had used to be back home.  Now, after all those horrible
experiences in 'Nam, he was in a shabby brothel in Bangkok,
lying with a poor young girl by his side, and he was at his
wits' end.

And he had to go back to the killing soon.  Again.

Only don't make this the last time I ever see you.

Dad.  Daddy.  Maybe I really died on that day I left home.

Walter felt a tear escape from his eye, and that was it.  He
started sobbing.

I want to go home, Daddy.  I want to go back to you and Mom.
Are you still mad at me?  If I die, the last thing I would
ever remember of you at my very last moment would be your
angry face...and Mom crying at the door.

I want to go home.  I want to go home.  Home.  Go home.

Somebody help me.  Let me go home...

Finally, Walter Skinner had to admit that he was, and he had
been, as scared as the girl he'd taken tonight.  He just
didn't know what to do.  No one was by his side; even Mai
Lee was silent and motionless, totally blacked out to
merciful nothingness, leaving Walter all alone.

The marine kept sobbing, oblivious to the grunts and groans
of another "transaction" from the next room.


* * * * * *


Mai Lee didn't know how long she had passed out.  She
stirred a little to find she was in bed.  Then Mai Lee
remembered everything, which surprised her enormously.  It
was the first time she had ever felt like that.  For a
while, Mai Lee ruminated over what just happened.  Maybe it
was a dream, but her entire body was heavy and numb.  To her
surprise, the fearful Marine was fallen asleep beside her,
his hand on her stomach.

As she timidly felt about her own body, Mai Lee found she
had been cleaned.  Still, there was definite and lingering
remnants of the sexual experience all over her.  She felt it
in the ache between her legs and on her breasts.

Then she looked at the sleeping figure next to her.

In his sleep, Walter looked totally different from what he
had been a while ago.  He was still young, perhaps not much
older than herself.

"I want to..."

Walter murmured in his sleep and held her tighter.  She
flinched, but his big hands grasped her body and didn't let
her go.  Mai Lee again felt dull pain between her legs.  As
if something was lingered there; something that belonged to
this marine: his desire, his fear, his anger.  But she was 
alone with her body, at least for now.

She was all alone and scared as hell.   But this wasn't a
nightmare.  It was her reality and she had to go through
this again and again until who knows when.  Just as this
marine would soon be brought back to the war.

"I want to go home."  The marine said again.

Mai Lee felt her eyes welled up and she started crying
silently, holding back the bigger, muscular, fearful yet
scarred man.

I want to go home, too, if I had one, she told Walter with
her mind.  I want to go back to what I used to be.  What I
wanted to be.

She knew it was impossible.  It was too late to go back and
she had to survive all by herself, just as this marine had
to go back to war.

She took his hand, the big powerful hand hurt with several
scars or bruises or whatever he had picked up in the land
where lives were being lost at this very moment.

"But you're lucky.  You have a home where you can go, if you
could stay alive," Mai Lee whispered in a very small voice
and stroked Walter Skinner's cheek gently, over and over.
She said it in Thai, but it seemed he understood.

Mai Lee wished him luck, as well as for herself.  There was
nothing else she could do.

* * * * * *

Eventually, Walter and Mai Lee didn't wake up until the
morning.

In morning light, the room looked all the more seedy.
Walter muttered to himself that he wouldn't even let his own
dog stay here for a minute.  Mai Lee was lying in bed, still
naked.  She looked at Walter as he put on his clothes and
the glasses.

>>From his sober and restrained face, Mai Lee couldn't read
his feelings.  Somehow, she wanted to look at him well so
later she could remember this particular American
customer.

Was he even a customer?

Before he left the room, Walter looked at her.  Somehow Mai
Lee smiled at him.  She saw something like a faint resigned,
almost shy smile on the edge of his mouth.

Then he was gone.

"You can go home.  Walter.  Someday, you can go home..."

Over and over, like singing a song, Mai Lee whispered to the
closed door while listening to his footsteps as they faded away 
in the early Bangkok morning.



                               THE END
                     Kiyoko Ishimura / 6-Dec-1997

                     Feedback much appreciated at
                       GHB00253@niftyserve.or.jp