East of Rio
by DJ
Prelude
August 23 rd 1970
Colonel Davenport looked up from reading the file in front of him, and glared at the young soldier being ushered into his office. He signalled for his adjutant to leave the room and close the door.
"At ease, Sergeant." Davenport wanted to rip into him but he couldn't help marvelling once again how this slim, boyish faced, young man could have survived the rigours of Boot Camp to become a decorated Viet Nam hero; that boyish face now hard with seething anger. There was almost nothing of him, for Christ's sake! Standing there in his hospital regulation pyjamas and dressing gown, he looked even smaller than his five foot ten height indicated. Looking more like some kid out of high school, this twenty two year old marine had spent the last four years with Force Recon, fighting one of the dirtiest wars in history, and had been returned to the States, a severely wounded and broken human being with nothing but bullet holes, pain, and a few bits of tin pinned to his uniform jacket. The men of his unit had a nick-name for him, El Tigre, The Tiger; and from reports sent in by various commanding officers, he had bit and scratched his way through every campaign, like a he-cat from hell. And what had he to look forward to now? Not much unless someone had a kidney to spare. Losing one would not have been a problem had the remaining one not been deformed at birth. "Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?"
"Nothing, sir," the soldier said through gritted teeth while he stared at a point beyond Davenport's head.
"Nothing? Good God, man, you almost wrecked one of my wards, decked an intern and had an almighty row with one of your visitors. That kind of conduct will not be tolerated on my wards. I didn't spend hours of surgery on you and tying up half my staff for the last three weeks to keep you alive, for you to treat this place like some two-bit hotel bar. This is San Diego Naval Hospital, sergeant; a military unit and subject to military law, and if it weren't for the fact that you have a load of brass hats propping you up, I would have you up on a charge. Is that understand, Sergeant?"
"Sir."
Realising his temper would get him nowhere with him, Davenport sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together across his stomach. "Sit down, Sergeant, before you fall down." The sergeant sat down, or rather collapsed, onto the chair in front of the Colonel's desk, his dark eyes glittering with determination not to go down under the wrath of his doctor. Would this kid ever be afraid of anything? "Now, sergeant, who was the visitor who sparked all this trouble?"
"Pepe Zapata, sir."
"Your father? Now why in hell would you fight with your father? I thought you would be pleased to see him! Did you ask him about donating a kidney?"
Again, the sergeant's teeth clamped together. "Yes, sir."
"And?"
"He's not my dad, sir."
Davenport sat up with a jerk. "You were adopted?"
"Looks like it, sir."
"How long have you known this?"
"Just now, sir."
At last Davenport understood the kid's anger, and the father's reluctance to visit before today. The man had been at Zapata's bedside almost constantly during the first week in ICU, but after hearing talk of the need for a kidney he had left the boy alone. Rising to his feet, Davenport grabbed a cuff and stethoscope, and signalled for Zapata to remove his dressing down and bare an arm. It took only a few minutes to confirm Davenport's suspicions. "Your blood pressure is sky high, Sergeant. If you want to help your condition you have to stay calm and keep it down. Now, tell me more."
Zapata looked away and stared out of the window at the nurses wheeling the patients of The Naval Hospital around the gardens, but at least the tension in his face lessened. "I'm someone else's bastard. According to Pepe Zapata, I should never have gone to 'Nam. I was born on a tiny two bit South American island called Tamarigo."
"I have heard of it. Does M. Zapata know the names of your real parents?"
"No, sir."
"So, what will you do now?"
"Go and look for them, I guess."
Davenport shook his head at him. "I don't think so. You are in no fit state to go tearing off to South America. Besides your kidney problems, you're pretty chewed up inside and your right lung is so damaged as to be classed as useless."
Zapata stared up at him. "But, Sir, I -."
"No, Sergeant, there is no way I can allow you to go anywhere. You have to be monitored on a regular basis. With that in mind, you are to remain on your ward till I think you are fit to go home and be supervised by your family doctor. Maybe Mr Zapata would be willing to go and find your father?"
"I don't think so, sir. We both lost it and I told him I never wanted to see him again. I said some terrible things to him, and I guess I don't have a dad anymore." Davenport watched this young hero's iron hard expression slowly melt and was not surprised when Zapata struggled to his feet. "I'm sorry, sir, I guess I want to be alone for a bit. I need to think things through."
Davenport didn't roust him for not saluting, or for slamming the door on his way out. That was the last thing the kid needed. He picked up the phone and dialled a Los Angeles number.
"Hello?"
"Mr Zapata, Colonel Davenport here, the surgeon in charge of Sergeant Zapata's treatment. I'm sorry to bother you but if you can spare the time I'd like you to come and see me tomorrow."
"About Niki? Look, I've only just this minute got home. I don't think I-."
"Mr Zapata, it's important that we talk. Please, will you come?"
"Okay, for what good it will do. Did he tell you what happened?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about. Can you be back here by, say, three o'clock tomorrow?"
"I really don't think Niki will want me there."
"I assure you, Mr Zapata, Niki will not know of your visit. This is just between ourselves."
"Alright; I'll be there."
"Thank you, Mr Zapata. I'll see you tomorrow."
The Colonel rose to greet the large, swarthy-faced man who walked into his office and gazed at him with eyes that spoke of personal turmoil and sadness. "Mr Zapata, I'm so sorry for what has happened to your… to Sergeant Zapata. We only spoke briefly during the sergeant's first week here. I only wish I could have spared more time to talk with you. Things might not have turned out so hairy. Come and sit down; would you like some coffee, or something stronger?"
"No, thank you. I can't stay long. I have a steak bar to run. And by the way, Niki is still my son, bad words or not."
"I'm sure glad to hear that." Davenport returned to his chair and opened Niki's file. "He's going to need you more than ever now. His remaining kidney is deformed and not expected to perform so well. Had it been healthy, Niki would have no trouble coping with the loss of the other. We've started monitoring the deformed kidney and have detected early signs of deterioration. When I saw him this morning I informed him that unless we find a kidney soon, he will eventually have to undergo Dialysis, but even that will only be a temporary measure. Now it may seem as if I am going against my doctor-patient vows, the Hippocratic Oath and all that, but that is not the case. I have only re-iterated what Niki has already told you. What I want to talk about are his biological parents. Niki tells me you don't know who they are. Is there any way you can find them?"
Zapata sighed and lowered his head to his chest, his eyes fixed on his clasped hands. "Our own baby, Nicholas, was three weeks old when we travelled down to Tamarigo to visit with my folks; I was born there, you see. A week later our son died of Cholera, and Helen was so distraught I thought she would kill herself or die of heartbreak. A priest at a nearby convent asked us to foster a new-born baby and it was as if we had our own son come back to life. There was political unrest in the country, and all the priest would say was that the baby was the son of someone whose identity had to be protected from the current regime. The baby's identity had to be hidden at all costs, and we were instructed not to reveal what little we knew. The only thing we had to agree to was for the baby to be given our own baby's identity, and for us to live down there for the first few years of the boy's life. We were employed by a rancher, and when we returned home, Niki missed the rancher's daughter so much he was allowed to spend all his holidays down there. Now it is time for Niki to hear the truth and he will not listen to me. Our happy home is no more."
Davenport read the despair in the man's face as he straightened up in his chair. Zapata had suffered the trauma of watching Niki recover from his wounds only to lose him again in a most hurtful way. He thought about the various ways the problem of Zapata and his son could be resolved, decided on the best one, and buzzed for his adjutant. "Have Sergeant Zapata brought to my office; shackled to a wheelchair if necessary."
Ten minutes the lieutenant returned in an agitated state. "Colonel, about Sergeant Zapata, sir; he's gone."
"Gone? What do you mean gone?"
"It looks like he's signed himself out, Sir."
