I understand now why Cruz told me not to make friends, but how do I not? I mean, I hump with these guys every day, we sleep together in foxholes, pull guard duty together at night, and shoot the shit. I don’t want to know them, but I do. I know the names of the small towns from all over the country from where they came. I know their family members and their girlfriends.
They’re just like me.
They pray, just like me.
And they die.
Maybe like me.
Finally, I gave up.
No more deals with God.
No more bargains.
No more prayers.
I’m not going to pray if you’re not going to listen.
Like thoughts of home, I pushed the thought of a benevolent God out of my head until, finally, I stopped thinking about God altogether.
He simply doesn’t exist.
Am I worried about hell?
I’m in hell. God can’t send me anyplace worse than here.
And I don’t need God. Because I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I live or die.
I no longer fear death.
It no longer scares me.
It no longer has power over me.
I walk in the valley of death and I fear no evil.
Because I am the evil.
And that is an omnipotent feeling.
Chapter 19
July 26, 1979
As the subcontractors performed their jobs at the Burlingame remodel, I suspected I was no longer needed, and Todd would have been justified to lay me off. But I’d also come to learn that wasn’t his way. I had worked hard for Todd and I guessed he felt a sense of loyalty to me. William told me one afternoon that I had saved Todd money on the remodel and it now looked like he would make money, especially after the owner agreed to pay more for upgrades he and his wife wanted.
Todd also bid tile jobs, kitchen and bathroom rip-outs, and other small remodels, even retiling around the trim of a partially drained pool. I performed the prep work on these jobs so William or Todd or both could arrive with materials and hit the ground running. It meant long days, but long days meant more money. It also meant I went out less with my high school buddies. They left for Giants games or parties while I remained at work. A couple had already left for school. Others vacationed with their families. I had stopped drinking during the week and felt better for it. I was also getting eight hours of sleep. By contrast, William’s physical condition and his emotional state worsened. His clothes seemed to weigh on him, as did the work. He stooped, bent over, and he rarely called me Vincenzo. One afternoon when he took off his shirt, I was shocked at the muscle mass he had lost. He was also becoming unreliable. When William didn’t show up at Nini’s, Todd would drive back home to call him, while I waited in the truck. When Todd came out of his house, it seemed William always had an excuse.
On one occasion I expressed my concern about William’s physical condition to Todd and asked if he was okay.
“Monica threw him out a few weeks ago,” Todd said, referring to William’s girlfriend.
“Where’s he been living?” I asked.
“He’s sleeping on some friends’ couches and living in his El Camino,” Todd said.
Nowadays the term “homeless” has a different connotation given the large homeless populations found in most cities, but the basics remain the same. William didn’t have a place to live.
“I have a room above my garage,” Todd said. “I’ll let him stay there if he can’t find anyplace else.”
The following day, when William showed up at Nini’s, he told me I should drive my own car to the jobsite, that he had errands to run after work. As I passed his El Camino, I noticed bags of clothes and other items. I felt bad that he was embarrassed. After what he’d been through, he had no reason to feel embarrassed about anything.
The jobsite was a master bathroom remodel in Redwood City. We found dry rot in the studding in the walls and the subflooring. Dry rot, I was told, cannot be ignored or go untreated. It starts with water intrusion that becomes a fungus that eats at the wood and worsens with time if ignored.
“It’s like cancer,” William said, using his boot to step on a weakened floor joist. His foot went through the joist like it was sawdust. “If you don’t cut it out, it spreads and eventually destroys the entire structure.”
I wondered if the same thing was happening to William, if Vietnam was rotting him from the inside, and I wondered what might happen if it went untreated.
We had a plan to treat dry rot. We showed the homeowner the problem and took pictures to document it, then we cut out the infected lumber and installed pressure treated studs and joists, which were resistant to dry rot, and replaced the subflooring. Because dry rot was prevalent in older bathrooms but hidden behind the walls and subflooring, Todd told his clients the cost would be billed on a time and material basis. That meant the owner paid for the materials, as well as William’s and my hourly wages to perform the work.