The Queen of Shangri-La

Spanky had played with it before, and he was in awe of it. I opened his little hand and put the knife in it, making the same gesture he had with the dog. Spanky's face split into a grin and he said, "Thk oo... click." It was a tender moment. And people are people, no matter what kind of wrapper they come in.

I looked back and waved to him as we marched off into the jungle in a line. Spanky waved back. It was the last I ever saw of him. I hoped my little pal became King of the Dani someday. He had the intelligence and big heart to be a great leader.

The walk took the entire day. The Filipinos had set up a camp at the edge of a clear space. So, we seven dropped our gear, grabbed some food, and sat by the fire waiting for the sun to rise on June 28th, forty-eight days after our crash.

There was plenty of beer. So, I took a couple of cans of Pabst and my dog Buster. Maggie liked to call me Buster Brown whenever she was irritated with me. Buster Brown was the dorky kid in all of the shoe ads, with the nauseatingly chipper attitude. So, I named my new pup Buster, just to jerk her chain.

Buster and I found a remote place to sit. I liked Cann, but I couldn't stand the constant flirting between Maggie and Walter. Plus -- I'm an anti-social son-of-a-bitch and Buster was about as much company as I could handle.

We were going back to real-life the next day, and I'd discovered, to my utter surprise, that I regretted leaving. The past month and a half had been idyllic, just Maggie and me, and I knew that I would lose all access to her the moment we got back. That's because life would go back to the way it was before the crash - where I was an enlisted schmo and Maggie was ... well... she was Maggie!!

Maggie had gotten under my skin bigtime. It wasn't because she was gorgeous. I had never had any ambitions about her that way. It was just that her presence completed me. Her worldliness and confidence filled in the gaps, and I felt comfortable in my own skin. I also knew that I had to get that yearning out of my system. Because Maggie Hastings was gone from my life... forever!!

I was just finishing the second can and was contemplating sleep, when Buster yelped a warning. I could already tell that he was a faithful little beast, even though he was only three or four months old. Then, to my total astonishment, Maggie sat down next to me.

She gave me her frank and knowing look and said, "Back to being above it all, Cowboy?"

I didn't have the stones to tell her that I was mourning her loss. So, I gave her a welcoming glance and said, "It was horrible and wonderful, wasn't it, Squirt? I almost wish civilization hadn't showed up."

Maggie clearly understood what I was talking about. Her face transformed from her usual jaunty, hard-assed self into something much softer. It was a new look and it promoted her already celestial beauty into something very special. She said sentimentally, "We made it together, just you and me. I'll never forget it. You're maybe the only person in the world who I trust."

I said fondly, "Me too... you've restored my faith in women Maggie Hastings." Then I hastily added, "Laura helped too. You are both women of great wisdom and understanding.

I suppose you expected us to light up the jungle with wild passion after that tender moment. If you did, then you entirely missed the point. Both of us were outsiders... me because I was self-conscious and shy, Maggie because every guy tried to harness her free spirit. We were thrown into a situation where we had to depend on each other, and we had formed a bond. We would BOTH miss our unique connection.

I said quietly, "Will I be able to see you after we get back?" Maggie gave me a deep, probing look and said, "That depends on you, Cowboy." Every ounce of her complex personality was rolled into that statement. Then, without another word, she rose and walked back to the rest of the group.

I got it. Maggie was telling me that social distance was just plain bullshit. We'd proven that over the past month. Still, bridging the gap is easier said than done. I thought to myself, "I survived the Baliem Valley. So, anything's possible." But I still had a lot of growing and learning to do.

With that, I stood, brushed myself off and headed back. My little pal waddled along faithfully, on his short puppy legs.

*****

The next day's rescue was anticlimactic. First there was the distant sound of a C-47. It passed overhead and a CG-4A glider, with a skid on its underside landed on the rough strip that the Filipino troopers had carved out of the jungle. We manhandled the glider back around into takeoff position and the tow rope was attached to the snatch ring.

The front of the glider swung open like a hinged box, and Maggie, Decker, Walter, and I along with the two medics and Buster were hustled into it and strapped down. Maggie made it a point to be strapped in next to me. We exchanged companionable glances. Then we all liked arms, while I clutched Buster to my chest. He whimpered, then tried to lick my face. He trusted me.

I heard a low-flying C-47 swoop overhead, which was followed by a shock and we were snatched into the air. It was a lot gentler than I'd expected. The trip back to Hollandia took an hour and twenty nerve-wracking minutes. I was painfully aware of how Wasp engines perform at high altitude. So, I was concerned that they might overheat. I know... I worry too much.

The glider released from the C-47 tug and silently circled to land. As it did, I looked out the big front window and saw a mob on the runway. The glider had a skid, not wheels. So, the pilot chose to put it on the grassy verge rather than the Marston mat runway. The landing was a lot rougher than the snatch and I almost lost my grip on Buster. Maggie was clinging to my elbow for dear life.

The grinding and shaking stopped and we all relaxed. Maggie gave me an uncharacteristic sad look. We both knew that this was our last time together, just her and me. The instant Maggie stepped out of the glider she was mobbed by a pack of generals and reporters, all clamoring to meet the "Queen of Shangri-La."

Napoleon once said that an army marches on its belly... meaning, logistics is critical to battlefield success. But PR wasn't far behind in this new age of worldwide electronic news - and the Army had itself a public relations bonanza. Maggie was beautiful, incredibly photogenic and a genuine heroine.

The flashing of the cameras was continuous as we emerged from the glider. We all posed together in front of the aircraft. Then, an Army PR flack grabbed Maggie and whisked her off into the maelstrom of reporters.

He put up a hand to stop Decker and me, as we started to follow, and said, "You two'll get your chance later." Which was fine with me since I didn't want anything to do with the circus that was going on around Maggie.

For her part... Maggie knew how to work the press. The newsies gathered around her in a baying gaggle. She coolly brushed back the windblown bob that I'd given her after the crash, and told the newsreel cameras, "I'm sure glad to be back. Hollandia never looked better." When somebody shouted, What's the first thing that you want to do?" her sassy reply was, "I'd like a shower and a permanent."

The reporters wrote up the entire fiasco as if Maggie was returning from a trip to the beach, rather than almost two months in a primeval jungle. That was the impression that the Army wanted to give. They told their slavering readership that Maggie was, "Extraordinarily fit... her hazel eyes sparkled, and her face was tanned."

The Army PR flacks bundled Maggie off to the WAC's quarters as soon as the press conference ended. I stood alone on the tarmac holding my little dog. I thought, "I'm getting tired of being abandoned." But still, I wasn't heartbroken like I was after I got the letter from Patsy. I just felt hollow, like the most important piece of my soul had been sawed off.

Naturally, Maggie was a media sensation -- the Army's rising star. People back home were thrilled by the tale of the brave little WAC, stranded in the jungle like Robinson Crusoe, and then, brought safely back. They scrambled to find New Guinea on the map, and they read Lost Horizon. Neither the Army nor the press wanted THAT uplifting story to end.

The hype went on and on and the Army tried to control every aspect of Maggie's public persona - especially since they knew that her private one was a bit tarnished. Accordingly, they assigned her a group of media handlers whose only duty was to keep everybody else, especially the press, at arm's length.

The Army was going to use Maggie Hastings for all she was worth. She was a good news in the midst of all the depressing casualty statistics. And so, the feel-good story of the Queen of Shangri-la knocked the bad news out of the headlines for weeks. Knowing Maggie as I did, I was certain that she hated her new role as darling of the press. Still, there was no way for her to escape her notoriety.

I saw Maggie again at the evening press conference. She had a fresh new hairdo, a crisp Corporal's uniform, and bright-red nail polish. She was fantastic. Of course, that was the whole idea. The look on Maggie's face told me that she was already getting tired of being trotted around like a show horse. But we were both in the Army and orders are orders.

Decker and I were clearly superfluous, but the Army needed bookends for tiny little Maggie. The idea was for us to frame, "The most illustrious young woman of the war - the Army's pinup girl. She's blonde - She's cute - She's the Number One Adventure Girl of World War II." Oh yeah... and there's also those two stiffs who survived along with her.

Decker and I stood by appalled, as Maggie answered question after question. I was in awe of her easy, almost flirtatious manner. I finally turned to Decker and said, "Do you want to be part of that?"

Decker didn't talk much. I don't know whether it was because of his head wound or it was just who he was. He turned to me, horrified, and said, "God no!! I wouldn't go through that for a million bucks."

I said sympathetically, "I'm with you there, brother."

The Army knew Maggie's story was solid gold. So, they kept her off limits from everybody. Even so, a couple of enterprising journalists managed to climb through a back window and into her building. They were quickly spotted, mainly because they were in a female barracks. After that, the Army posted MPs all around the place, to keep out every inquisitive guy, including me.

Over the following days, I mourned losing my connection with Maggie. I mean... it would've been hard to start a meaningful relationship with a woman like Maggie under normal circumstances. But it was hopeless now. Even worse, I didn't have a duty assignment to distract me. So, I just moped around the barracks waiting for the Army to decide what to do with me. Once more... I felt like my life was over.

*****

My profound sense of loss lasted for a week. Then I got orders to report to GHQ-SEPAC. There, a slick Army Captain told me that all three of us were going on a Liberty Bond tour back in the States. Maggie was the Army's million-dollar baby, and America was clamoring to meet her. Oh - and by the way... you and Decker are going along too. My heart leapt at the chance to be with Maggie again.

Silly man!!! You know the gods use you as their personal speedbag. That very same day, the Army loaded Maggie on a C-54 Skymaster and flew her back to the States for a glamorous welcome and a seven-week excursion around America. Me? I was dumped on a destroyer that happened to be heading back to Oakland, California. It took almost a month.

I was met at the gangplank by a skinny guy in a Major's uniform. He looked about as unmilitary as any person I'd ever met. It turned out that he was a Hollywood agent who'd signed-up for the duration as an alternative to being sentenced for unspecified sex offenses. His name was Spenser, with an "s" and he was a genius at moving the product. Meaning he was a snake oil salesman.

The two of us taxied over to the 1400 Bar in West Alameda, me in my starched Master Sergeant's uniform, Spenser in his rumpled and ill-fitting Major suit. And yes... I'd been promoted for "meritorious service." Meaning, I'd kept my mouth shut about the real reason why I was stranded in Shangri-La.

It was dark in that seedy joint as we grabbed a table... me with a beer and him with a couple of shots of rye. Spenser looked me over slyly and said, "So you're the hayseed who engineered the whole thing." What the fuck was he talking about?

I said, "I don't know what you mean by engineered. But I was the least injured. So, I was responsible for getting the other two some help."

He said, delighted, "Good... we can work with that." Then he proceeded to pepper me with questions - everything from why I wasn't hurt, to how we managed to live with the Dani without them eating us.

I laughed and said, "They're as friendly as the people in my little town. I even taught them how to play baseball."

Spenser got an incredulous look, gulped his second shot, and ordered two more. He said, like the professional conman he was, "Tell me that again!!"

So, I proceeded to tell him Spanky's story. I even mentioned that I had a little dog that Spanky had given me when we parted company. I said, "Buster is a Dani wild dog. He's kinda fat but he's a really good mutt. They're keeping an eye on him for me back in my quarters on the ship."

The look on Spenser's face told me that he thought he'd struck oil in the most unexpected of places. He said excitedly, "I can spin that. It'll be a big hit... about how you brought America's pastime to a bunch of cannibals. The American people will love it. And you gotta bring that pup too."

Spenser had insulted the shit out of the Dani. But I wasn't going to try to straighten him out. Since I would've probably thought the same thing before the crash. I'd changed a lot since then. And -- of course - I was still in the Army... where survival is contingent on getting with the program. I liked all of those stripes and I wanted to keep them. So, I did what I had to do.

Throughout August and into September, the Army sent me on a whistle stop tour of the Midwest. Just me, Spenser, and my faithful canine companion. Spenser would do the scene setting and then I'd tell my story.

My chubby little pal didn't look much like a wild dog and Buster's frequent attempts to lick my face weren't convincing anybody that he was ferocious. So instead, Spenser wanted me to put my emphasis on the Dani's taste for dogs -- so to speak.

That was totally concocted. But there wouldn't be much red meat if I'd just told the American people about spending a month and a half with friendly stone age folks. Only anthropologist's care about that. The audience wanted tales of leaping flames, and dancing savages... tending a big iron pot. And if I wasn't the occupant of that pot -- then they needed somebody who was.

They'd split the three of us up geographically. Decker was from Texas, so they gave him the South. I was from Wisconsin, so I got the Midwest. The Queen of Shangri-La got the East and all the big cities.

Maggie finished her tour in New York. I saw a photo of her in the Times. The caption said that she was attending Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral while awaiting her "boyfriend," Sgt. Wally Fleming. He was the guy Maggie had the moonlight swim date with before the crash.

It didn't bother me that Maggie was photographed bestowing her shining self on Fleming. I knew that particular romance was no different than the "girl back home" waiting for me -- with Duke Williams's bastard child in hand. The truth should never get in the way of a good story.

So, while Maggie toured places like San Francisco, Denver, Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York, I was enjoying the many delights of places like Pittsburgh, Detroit, Toledo, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and inevitably Milwaukee. That last stop was unfortunate.

The Bond Rally was at the National Guard Armory, down by the Milwaukee River. The date was September 17th. The war had ended in August and the Army planned to muster me out the following day - after I'd done my last "boy and his dog" show. Consequently, my entire family drove over to listen to my utterly contrived fairy tale of survival in the Stone Age.

Under Spenser's tutelage, the story had evolved to the point where the Dani were playing baseball like a Brewer's farm team -- and I was Casey Stengel, who was the Brewer's manager at the time. It was fucking embarrassing. I had trained Buster to put his paws over his eyes when I informed the curious people about how the Dani used dogs, which elicited gales of laughter.

Everything went as it always had until I spotted my parents standing in the audience. That was expected. The person I wasn't expecting was Patsy... who was standing there holding a baby! I paused and just stared at her, with my mouth working like a boated fish. Spenser hissed angrily, "Get on with it kid!!"

I shook my head and picked up where I'd left off. But my heart was in my throat -- God!! I don't need this!!! There was the normal polite applause. Then the audience began to wander over to the booth where you could plop down eighteen bucks and get twenty-five back - ten years later. Peanuts, I know... but it was a different time and place.

Mom and pop headed toward me with Patsy trailing shyly along behind. I whispered to myself, "I survived the Baliem Valley -- I can survive this." Mom gave me a hug and dad solemnly shook my hand. He said, "Welcome back, son." Wisconsin Germans aren't big on expressing their emotions.

Then Patsy walked up, shifted the bruiser she was carrying onto her other arm. She kissed me on the cheek and said nervously, "Welcome home Erik."

I said the first thing that came into my head, "Glad to be back," which was incredibly stupid. But how do you talk to your past? I mean... Patsy was my old life. I still had plenty of residual affection for Patsy -- just no love. I had grown into a completely different person, now, thanks to Maggie Hastings.

Six months ago, Patsy had been my everything. Since then, I had survived a plane crash, buried a dear friend, and lived for a month with headhunters. More importantly, I had shared life and death situations with a woman who, in my mind, outshone every other female in the world. So, unfortunately for me, Maggie Hastings was the only woman I would ever want, and I knew it.

I greeted Patsy in a welcoming and friendly fashion. The look in her eye told me that she was hoping for a whole lot more. But I just couldn't give it to her. That didn't involve any moral judgements about the kid. In fact, I considered Patsy a victim of a totally amoral predator.

I would have viewed the baby as a stunning betrayal five months ago. Now, the kid was more of a bullet that I'd dodged. Patsy stared at me for a couple of seconds, questioning, and then she looked away. I think she knew what the answer was. Patsy was always very smart. Still, she had to try. Tears were glistening in her eyes. I hugged her and said, "I will never forget you."

That was the best I could do, and it wasn't a matter of the baby. I didn't hate Patsy. I'd simply grown past her. The ironic part was that my feelings would have been the same if Patsy was as virginal as I still was. Because I'd changed -- dramatically! I had no future with any other woman who was NOT named Maggie Hastings. And so, there was no point in encouraging Patsy out of sheer pity.

Your life is already mapped out for you if you live in a small town. It might be a dull and pointless existence. But it's comfortable. You work, you take care of your family, and then you drift off into old age... all the while enjoying the pleasures of your wife, kids, and friends. It's comfortable. But that wasn't going to be my fate.