“LET GOD SORT IT OUT”
by OPOVV, ©2017
(Jan. 15, 2017) — [Music for the “Killing Fields-17-E`tude” is played at low volume.]
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and do we ever have a treat for you. Hello, I’m your Roving Reporter and will be your host for this evening’s entertainment. As you can see, we’re at the section of our fair city where the theaters are located and with me is a person who we’ve come to know well, Professor Zorkophsky. Zork, as he prefers to be called, wrote a play, and because it was such a big hit at the university, well, let’s say we let Zork tell it.”
“Thanks, Roving; hello, all of you out there in television land. As you can see, the line stretches a little ways beyond the corner behind me so we’ll have a packed house, which means I’ll take home, after taxes…”
“Sorry to cut you off, Zork, but wouldn’t you say it would be in bad taste talking about money at a time like this? Besides, isn’t it bad luck to talk about a possible hit on opening night?”
“You mean like talking about a no-hitter during a game? Maybe you’re right; theater people are a superstitious lot, aren’t they? Like a trial lawyer’s lucky cufflinks, I guess. Okay, but let me say that play-writing would be a good way to augment my retirement.”
“If it’s successful.”
“Goes without saying.”
“Can you tell us a little about the play? What’s it about; where’s it take place; that sort of thing?”
“Be glad to. I guess you could say it’s timeless: I mean it’s like Shakespeare in that the human condition can’t change that much in a couple of hundred, or even thousand, years. I mean, up is up and cold is cold, right? Hungry then has to be the same as hungry now.”
“Fascinating. How’d you come up with the idea?”
“I heard about a young man who went off to war and found himself surrounded by the enemy. It was night; the radio was shot up: he might’ve well been on the dark side of the moon. There was a major power struggle: the officer in charge was wounded and he ordered the squad to stay put and wait for the cavalry to show up at sunrise to magically save them, no doubt with coffee and donuts served on a silver tray, he was that delirious. But someone else had the idea of being proactive and take the fight to the enemy, which is what happened.”
“What happened to the officer?”
“They put a stick in his mouth to bite down on when the pain hit (so he’d keep quiet) and they dragged him with them as they went out into the dead of night to attack the enemy’s camp.
“But that’s not what the play’s about. What the play’s about is the conversation before they went out to do or die. See this? It’s the playbill that sets the stage. ‘A band of warriors are sitting around waiting for the action to start, and this is their conversation. The play is in three parts that are divided by music and subject.’ What do you say we have a seat on this bench?”
“Sure, but don’t we want to go in?”
“Oh, we’ve plenty of time. Anyway, the music is in the background.”
“Background music.”
“Right: the dialog is out front. The scene is in a little depression with scrub around; some rocks and in the background is a wrecked plane, maybe 20 yards away, but it’s painted on the backdrop. It’s night but there’s a moon; a diffused spotlight aimed at the actors, who are dressed in Marine grub, down to the green ‘T-shirts and socks.
[Music changes to “China Nights”.]
“One guy says, ‘I’ve got it all figured out. See this-here jar? It’s filled to the brim with amoebas, little one-cell critters who all they do is multiply.’
‘What are those icky-looking ones?’
“Oh, those are Muslim amoebas; they get flushed when we can separate them out. Anyway, if you look closely there are subtle differences between them and if we could hear them make noises we would detect variations of sounds that we’ll call language with dialects and accents.
“Some seem to just sit there, while others are agitated.”
“Good observation. Let’s call them peaceful or at war.”
“Did I see something shoot out of the top of the jar?”
“That you did. Some of these amoebas are curious about the possibility of other jars filled with amoebas out here somewhere.”
“Aren’t there? By the way, I keep hearing music; someone have a radio?”
“No, no radio, and you’re not supposed to mention that you’re hearing music.”
“Can the audience hear it? Maybe something’s wrong with my ears.”
“Look, there’s nothing wrong with your ears. And, yes, the audience can hear it, too, so just recite your lines as you were taught.”
[Music changes to “Giot Mua Thu-Dan Bau PHAM DUC THANH”]
“Any of you guys want to get some shut-eye: this is your last chance.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right: we’re in the middle of nowhere; don’t know where we are, not even what country we’re in; we have a couple of bottles of water; greasy weapons that we didn’t know how to fire until just a couple of hours ago; ammo for one day at the firing range. Some of us are dead; the guy in charge, who’s wounded and delirious, by the way, ordered us to stay put and keep our mouths shut; we don’t have a radio; oh, sorry, we don’t have a radio that works; and some 19-year-old kid who has never even been in a firefight before today is going to lead us out in the pitch-black night, locate where the enemy is and wipe them off the face of the earth, and you expect me to go to sleep and miss one minute of this circus? No way, man, no way. I want to be awake when I buy the farm.”
“Me, too. I’m with the Lieutenant; we ought to sit tight and wait.”
“We’ve been through this: we’re outnumbered 10:1. If we stay here we’ll be killed or captured; certainly tortured.”
“I want to hear more about the amoebas.”
“I’m telling you, I hear music. Aren’t we supposed to be in the middle of nowhere? Isn’t that what the man said?”
“I think it even says it on the playbill.”
“Amoebas. Pay attention. Amoebas get born; amoebas live; amoebas die, just like us.”
“So we’re amoebas?”
“No, we’re humans, but we share the same life cycle of all other living creatures.”
“I wonder if the earth is alive.”
“Maybe the whole galaxy.”
“Imagine that: the Milky Way is a living organism.”
“And the earth is a flea.”
“That would make us amoebas.”
[Music changes to Meoto-Zanzai-enka.]
“So what do you think our chances are?”
“Anywhere from ‘not good’ to ‘maybe;’ I can’t say it any plainer than that.”
“You know what, you have the natural ability to be a Marine Corps officer, with answers like that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
“So what are we thinking about?”
“Not about the ‘Rules of Engagement,’ right?”
“If it moves, shoot it; if you think it may move, shoot it; and if, at some time in the past, it did move, shoot it.”
“We’re about to embark into the world of ‘IS.’ In the world of ‘IS,’ there is no such animal as ‘luck.’ “There are no ‘near-misses’; there are no ‘lucky-breaks’; and there are no ‘better-than’ or ‘worse-off.’ You hit the beach and either you make it off the ramp into the sea or you don’t; either you make it out of the water onto the beach or you don’t; either you make it off the beach into the dunes only to take a direct hit by a motor round, or you don’t.
“It has nothing to do with anything other than ‘IS,’ so don’t waste your time trying to double-think where the bullet or the piece of shrapnel is coming from. Just do your job: kill the enemy. If you take a hit don’t waste any of the time you have left on earth feeling you let anybody, including yourself, down. As soon as you’re hit call for a medic.
“From this point forward the only thoughts in your head will be to follow the plan: don’t waste ammo and go easy on the water. It’s them or us; it comes down to you or the enemy: live or die.
“Our rules of engagement: if we harbor the slightest doubt, we kill it, fast. Save ammo; save water. This play was about the ‘Rules of Engagement’ for a bunch of guys in the middle of nowhere. Thank you for being such an attentive audience.”
“Golly, but it looks as if the theater is emptying. We missed your play.”
“But at least you heard it from the author.”
“Okay, our time is up so I must thank you, Professor Zorkophsky, for inviting us to opening night on your new play. And thank you, viewers, for watching our show and so, on behalf of the crew, I’d like to wish you all a goodnight: Goodnight.
“It all boils down to the Rules of Engagement, does it not? Just bomb the living daylights out of it and then take a break. You want the truth? Shoot first and let God sort it out. Hey, I declare it burger time: my treat.”