They walked to Giordano’s without speaking a word. They sat in a booth at a widow looking out on the street. Their order was taken.
Wilson looked away from the traffic and at Dung. “Than why don’t I remember what happened? Everything points to me doing something so horrible that I refuse to remember it.”
“There is another possibility,” Dung said.
“What?” Wilson said.
“You saw something so horrible you don’t want to recall it,” Dung said. “That is the most likely.”
“What makes you say that?” Wilson said.
“You went blank,” Dung said. “First there was this horror on your face, as if seeing the worst thing imaginable. Like watching the world crumble away, then nothing. I had to shove you out of the hut and point you the way.”
Wilson stared away. “Grass, tall grass.”
“That’s where I heard you were picked up by a helicopter a couple of days later,” Dung said. “They said you wondered around in the grass like you were lost.”
Nothing else was said. A pizza was brought to the booth.
Dung placed a slice on Wilson’s plate. Wilson continued to stare at nothing in particular. His mind was trying the secure a thought as images never realized in his present condition ran through his mind like an out of control reel of film in a movie projector.
“Eat,” Dung said.
“Strange,” Wilson said. “At one time you starved me.”
Dung smiled as if hiding a secret.
“Wait a minute,” Wilson said. “You handed me a handful of rice. It was your portion.”
“You are starting to remember,” Dung said. “Indeed, there’s plenty not to remember.”
“But there was some good,” Wilson said.
Dung lifted a tuft of hair on the right side of his head. There was a scare. “Do you remember this.”
“You handed me a rifle and told me to strike you,” Wilson said. “You said that would be your reason for why you were able to escape.”
“Yes,” Dung said.
“And you tossed me a full bandoleer of ammunition and I struck you,” Wilson said.
“Your pizza is getting cold, Gentry,” Dung said.
They ate quietly. Each man with thoughts too complicated to vocalize.
After the meal they walked toward the barbershop.
“And what now?” Dung said.
“The war seems to be over,” Wilson said.
“I don’t think so, my friend,” Dung said, “there is more. What is it, Gentry?”