Nine-toe Norman is OK. He is back among us. And he has stylish footwear.
Norman lives in the same tent as me. He sleeps on the bunk above mine. We have generally gotten along well. His snoring is moderate, he doesn't leave his undergarments on the bedpost, and he is thoughtful of people that are trying to sleep when he comes in.
I was pretty angry with him for a few days. There were people that met him at the door on his return. Someone came by my office to let me know he was here.
"Aren't you going to come out and cheer for him?" they asked.
"Why?" was my response. "He has cost his government a king's ransom in local currency, endangered himself and a local patrol, and nearly lost a load of classified equipment to a roving band of halfwit terrorists that apparently can't even shoot straight. And after all that, he didn't even accomplish the mission he set out to do. Cheer for him? I should shoot him in the other foot."
I did happen to leave the building as he was coming in, and I mentioned that I was glad he didn't get himself killed. But that was the last thing I said to him for a few days.
We are back to exchanging pleasantries as of today. I wondered, though, at why I was so angry at him. All that I said above was true, but didn't really affect me. It seemed uncharacteristic of me to be upset in such a way. I thought about it for a while, and I came up with a few conclusions.
For one, I consider Norman a friend. We are not close, but we are not at odds, and have been cooperative with each other's efforts. There has been enough loss of people whom I respect and considered friends without Norman dying, especially for no more reason than his impetuousity.
Another is that his foolhardy act demeans the security precautions we have all taken here. That I have spent so much time in body armour, accompanied by armed guards, and he goes out with not so much as a decent pocket knife, indicates his distain for my concerns. He has received the same warnings as I, and seen the same reports and briefings. Am I cowardly because I give them credence? I think not, and he has proved it.
I think on occasion about how I was no more than 50 metres from him when he made the decision and left. I think that I should have stopped him somehow or another. It is irrational, of course. Besides the fact that the intervening space was filled with buildings and walls that prevented my even knowing he was in the area, Norman would have no more listened to me than he did his closer associate that refused to ride along.
Finally, though, I think how his attack has reminded me of my own mortality. I have been reminded, as if the mortars and the bounties weren't enough, that there are numerous people that want to take my life. I am not afraid of death. I am, however, not eager to put my loved ones through the event.