In a Shallow Grave

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“WHAT you will need now you are about to be separated from the Army,” my captain had told me as I was picking up my mustering-out pay, “is what in the days of my grandfather they called a valet or maybe a hired man. Unless of course you want to stay in the Vets’ hospital, which you have more than every right to . . . But you will need someone to watch over you now . . .”

I didn’t think about a valet and/or hired man until I was back home in Virginia for a week or so. Somehow all I thought about the first few days was how many birds there were singing in the early or premorning hours, I never heard such a fuss. I thought some too about my parents who had died whilst I was in service, and I thought about somebody else whom I am coming to very presently. I felt also a certain kind of angry satisfaction, if not gratitude, for all the money I had on hand, not to speak of some my uncle had willed me, I say angry or grim satisfaction owing to the fact that both the captain and me knew there would be no valet, hired man, even slave who would want to come and stay with me, not to mention eat with or touch me, for I may as well explain at once that owing to my war injuries which took place near the South China Sea, my appearance is such that anybody’s stomach is turned at the sight, enough to make him throw up, if not to faint.

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