Struggles of the Heart

lled tightly around him. He was twenty two years old and he had never been in Africa before the war. It was a hell of a way to see the world, and he had seen more

th red eyes that burned for days and tears constantly pouring down your cheeks, but this was worse. His hands wer

hey said, and he suddenly longed for the torrid heat of the desert. He had reached Obuasi in July, with the 32nd set o

hting the Americans every inch of the way, and bleeding over every inch they covered. “Shit. . . .” His last match was drenched, and by then so was the butt that had been his only Christmas present

he had ever been a part of all that. He had worked so damn hard to get there. He was a “city guy” from Anglogold, and all his life he had dreamed of going to Burkina. His sister had laug

had wound up living with Araba and her eighteen-year-old “husband.” James had walked out four months before Arab's erstwhile spouse, and they had hardly seen each other after that. He had gone to see her once, to say good-bye, three days after he'd been drafted. She'd been working in a bar, had d

as he wondered if he should hug her good-bye, but she'd seemed anxious to get back to wo

olen, and he had believed her until their mother had whipped her one day and told James in her pathetic boozy way that Araba was lying. Araba always lied, she lied about everything, and whenever possible she had blamed James for whatever she'd done, and most of the time their father believed her. James had felt foreign to all of them, the big, burly father who had worked on a fishing boat all h

s, his bright mind, his starring roles in his high school plays, and the things he said to them, about other lives, other worlds, other people. He had once confided to his father that he wanted to go to Burkina one day, and his father had stared at him as though he were a stranger. And he was,

he heard a voice next to him for the fir

ed a

ee a tall blond man with blue eyes and rivers of rain pouring

aign club at Burkina. “Nice Christmas, huh?” The other man smiled. He looked older than James, but even James looked older than his years now. After the eastern part of India and the Afrikiko campaign,

us vacation.” He looked around him as though seeing beautiful girls in bathing suits an

een here for

ght from the tall blond man, lit the butt and got two good drags before burning his fingers. He'd have offered it to his new friend but there wasn't time befo

for old times' sake, but that wou

names of places that didn't exist. All that existed were Borteyman, Obuasi, an

squinting in the wind and rain. “I was a

mattered. “I wanted to be an artist.” It was something he had told hardly anyone, certainly not his pare

mself again. He sure as hell was an ambassador now, with a gun in his hand, and his bayonet fixed all the time so that he could run it through the guts of his enemies as he had time and time again in the past year. He wondered how many men Goldfield had killed, and how he felt about it now, but it was a question you didn't ask anyone, you just lived with your own thoughts and the memories of the twisted faces and staring eyes as you pulled your bayonet out again and wiped it on the ground. ... He looked up at Samuel Goldfield with the eyes of an old man and wondered briefly if either of them would b

It was an absurd exchange, and suddenly

generals planned their attack on Egypt. Who gave a damn about Egypt anyway? Or Afrikiko or Borteyman? What were they fighting for? Freedom in Koforidua and Old Ghana and New Lashibi? They already were free, and at home people were driving to work, and dancing at the clubs and going to the movies. What the hell did they know about all this? Nothing. Absolutely goddam nothing. James looked up at the tall blond man and shook his head, his eyes full of wisdom and sadness, the sudden laughter gone.

mber old times, as though thinking about it would take them back there, but James knew bet

not just half an inch of someone else's. “Burkina.” At Burkina he had had real cigarette

guess ... Probably if I was majoring in history or science, I probably would have e

ere.” James stared at him, wondering if he was for real . . . Namibia, Presbyterian Boys . . . what w

mas angel who had been visited on him, they seemed different in eve

en I signed up.” He was twenty-seven and his eyes were serious and sad where James's were full of mischief. James's hair was as black as Samuel'

was more restrained, more tentative,

anted someone to know them. They wanted to be known before they died, to make friends, to be remembered. “We never got along. I went to see her before I left, but she hasn't written since I've been gone. You? Sisters? B

he had hated them, and they had never understood him. It would have been too crazy now, and it was no longer important. “Have you heard anything about where we go from here?” It was time to think about the war again, there was no point dwelling too much in the past. It would get them nowhere. Reality w

last night, on the coast.” “Great.” James

he war had been hard on Samuel in a lot of ways. Spoiled as a boy, overprotected as a young man, particularly after his father died, and brought up by a doting mother, in a highly civilized world, war had come as

he dressing's a little rich, but the chestnuts are marvelous.” He offered the pathetic tin with a flourish and Samuel laughed. He liked James a lot. He liked everything about him, and instinctively sensed th

I've alre

ating pheasant under glass, “fabulous cuisine, isn't i

o problems with James, but he kept an eye on him, the boy had too much fire for his own good, and had already risked his life

foods taste here. Do you care for a hot ginger bread?”

the invitation.” Undaunted by the sergeant's stripes or the scowl, he laughed and finished his ging

tlemen, if you can take time out

huddered. The sergeant admired James' ability to laugh, and make the other men laugh too. It was something they all needed d

eck since I got here,” Gol

rgotten one, and then like the gift of the Wise Men, Samuel pulled out an almost whole cigarette. “My

ut he imagined James was capable of it. It was partially the callousness of youth, and partially the fact that James Chamb

o days later they headed for the Volta River. It was a brutal march that cost them more than a dozen men, but by then James and Samuel were best friends. It was James wh

irst James thought he was dead when he turned to him as the shot whizzed past him. Samuel lay with blood all over his chest, and his eyes glazed, as James ripped his shirt open, and then discovered that he had been hit

rth to Egypt. Samuel was restored to duty rapidly, and James was thrilled to have him near at hand again. In the weeks before Samuel was shot, they had developed a bond which neither of them spoke of, but both felt deeply. They both knew it w

t until the entire town was reduced to rubble. The smoke had been so thick that it had actually taken several hours to see that the huge monastery had been totally destroyed and had virtually disappeared from the shelling. There had been no major battles since then, but constant skirmishes with the Afrikikans and the Americans. But since the thirteenth of

he could doze for another moment. The wound still b

king about him, and in less than flattering terms. As usual, he had materialized behind James, and Samuel scrambled quickly to his feet with a guilty look. The man had an uncanny knack for finding him at his least prepossessing. “Are you resting again, Goldfield?” Shit. There was no pleasing the man. They had been marching for weeks, but like James, the sergea

two on your feet long enough to join us in Egypt?” “We'll try, Sergeant . . . we

in, and it felt to Arthur as though they never stopped again until the third of June when, exhausted beyond words, he found hi

ng and the shouts of his own men, and James with a week-o

es, women in black and in rags and in aprons and cardboard shoes, women who might have, at another time, been beautiful but no longer were after the ravages of war, except to Jam

ilth and the rain and the snows were almost forgotten. But not for long. They had three weeks of revelry in Egypt and then the sergeant gave them the word that they were moving out. Some of the men were staying in Egypt, but James and Samuel were not among them. Instead, they would be joining the First

ut on the whole, it was an easy move with the American army in full retreat by mid-August. They were to press through Old Ghana Empire, j

d to go there!” It was as though he'd been invited to sta

may not have noticed, but there's a war on.

rched through towns and villages filled with excitement over the end of four years of bitter occupation. James was obsessed by the dream of a lifetime, and even the thrill of Egypt was forgotten now as they fought their way to Nungua in the next two days, and the Americans were retreating methodically toward Circle, as though leading them to