How Can You Mend This Purple Heart by T. L. Gould Page B

least we’ve got one thing in common.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” he asked with a curious look.
    â€œWe’re both motherfuckers.”

Executive Order
    IT WAS LATE JUNE , no new incoming for a few days, and our bodies were healing and slowly ridding themselves of the feel-good chemicals. The free-for-all hypodermic injections of morphine and Demerol were gradually replaced with Darvon capsules in little white cups, chased down with juice or water. Needles were served up only for dressing changes, nightmares, and for Ski, the ratchet adjustments, which were now down to one every other day. Our penises were free of the rubber hoses and plastic bags.
    The late morning sun was beaming through the windows, and a feeling of familiarity, routine, and boredom had settled in.
    Doc Miller was in his usual perpetual motion, darting into the back room, reappearing with a bedpan, a couple of urinals, and a handful of washcloths and pillowcases. He made his deliveries with efficiency, but always took time for conversation. He dropped off the last piss pot and placed it on Ski’s nightstand and headed into the back room to empty out and sterilize the three he had just retrieved. Back out onto the ward, wiping his freshly washed hands, he now stood between Ski and me.
    â€œGot any special plans for today, Ski?” he asked wryly.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Ski said, raising his left eyebrow.
    â€œOh, nothing really. Just want to know if you have anything going on?”
    Doc glanced over at me with a sly grin, and I held back a smile.
    â€œDwhat are you going to do? You can leef my legs alone,” he told him.
    â€œI’m not going to do anything with your legs. Well, not right now.” Doc gently grabbed the toe-end of the cast on Ski’s right leg.
    â€œThden what do you want weeth me?” Ski was getting nervous.
    â€œHe wants you to sing for him,” Earl piped in.
    Ski looked at Earl and then swung his head over to look at me. He didn’t like being the focus of attention and certainly not the brunt of any joke.
    â€œDon’t look at me, Ski. I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I shrugged.
    â€œSki, no! Please don’t sing,” Doc Miller said. “I’ve heard you and Shoff before, and believe me, I don’t need that. But what I would like is for you to wash your hair and get an extra close shave.”
    â€œWhy? Are we going somewhere, or do you want to keese me?” Ski said with a wink.
    â€œYou’re not my type, Ski,” Doc Miller said. “I prefer American women.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t go back to Ameridican women once you had a Roosian woman,” Ski bragged.
    â€œNever!” Doc proclaimed. “Roosian women can’t come close to American women,” he laughed.
    â€œJust wait. I will set you up with a Roosian woman—a real woman—and she’ll take care of your young Ameridican ass.”
    â€œShe’ll have to wait. Right now, I want you to get washed up.” Doc was off to get a wash bowl, cloth, and towel.
    â€œWhat the hell eez going on?” Ski demanded.
    â€œI don’t know,” I replied. “Better do what Doc says, though; he seems pretty serious about it.”
    â€œYeah,” Earl said. “Maybe he has an Ameridican woman set up for you.”
    â€œBring her on, baby!” Ski said, grabbing at his crotch. “I’ll show her really good Roosian time.”
    â€œMaybe he can bring me one, too, while he’s at it,” Sgt. Bobby Joyce laughed, mimicking Ski’s grab. “Ameridican or Roosian, I don’t give a shit!”
    Doc finished washing Ski’s hair, and Ski swirled the disposable razor in a small tub of scummy, lukewarm water. He pushed the portable tray table to the side of his bed and dried his hair with the towel as best he could.
    His hair combed, face clean and smooth, fresh pajamas, and the bed cranked as far as his