From Here to Eternity (81 page)

CHAPTER 49

IT WAS what Rose told him about The Warden that made him go back. He knew it was reckless. Once, just for gossip, that was all right. But any more than once was pushing your luck. He went back anyway. In all, he went back five times, before he finally ran into Warden. Each time he took the pistol and extra cartridges out of the drawer to take with him, and each time he put them back when he got home. Georgette and Alma did not even know he had been out of the house at all. They noticed he seemed to be in a much better humor lately, but they did not know why. He was careful to spread the trips out over a period. Somehow, he had a hunch Warden could fix it. If Warden was anything, he was a fixer. So he kept going back doggedly, but to go back two days in a row was pushing your luck too much for even his doggedness. The first three times he drew a blank because the Company was still out at Makapuu building pillboxes. Charlie was adamant. Charlie was beginning to think this job never get done. Even Rose, when she was not sitting with her S/Sgt of Field Artillery, was worried. The fourth time he went back was the night of November 28th, the day they got back in from the field, and he ran into a whole bunch of them - tanned, horny handed, cracked nailed, freshly shaved, tough - Chief Choate (a S/Sgt now), Andy and Friday, Sgt Lindsay, Corp Miller, Pete Karelsen, Malleaux the supply sergeant, Scholar Rhodes, Bull Nair, and a bunch of the new draftees. It was funny how quick the draftees in the Company had fallen into the scheme of things and picked up the Blue Chancre as their hangout. They all looked good, even the draftees. The old bunch were all glad to see him. They slapped him on the back as if he had just won the inter-Company track meet single-handed like a decathlon. Stark was not there. He had wanted to see Stark. He had a hard time to keep them from getting him drunk. Warden did not show, and he did not mention him. But he took a chance and went right back the next night, in spite of the risk. He did not think any of them would turn him in. And somehow he had a hunch; he had more than a hunch, even though none of them had mentioned The Warden either. The same ones were not all there, but the ones who werent there when he arrived were either coming in or going out the rest of the evening, either on their way to or on their way from Mrs Kipfer's or the Service Rooms or the Ritz Rooms or some of the others, because this was an occasion, this was the feast after the six weeks of fasting out in the desert. The Warden was not mentioned this time either. While he drank beer and watched the door, Prew tried not to think how some of them were either going to or coming from the Ritz where they might have just been in the bed with Georgette. But his hands got sweaty anyway. He saw Warden, it seemed, almost before he came in sight around the pushed-back latticework of the open front. Warden did not come in. He did not even look in. He sauntered on past and disappeared beyond the other side of the open front. Apparently nobody else in the place saw him at all. Prew waited a couple of minutes and finished his beer, before he went out. Warden was leaning against the wall at the corner of the alley smoking. "Well, I'll be dammed!" he said. "Look who's turned up." "Bad pennies," Prew said. "I thought you'd be back in the States by now," Warden said. "Did you see Rose?" "This afternoon. I figured you couldn't stay away forever." "Listen," Prew said. "Whats the deal?" "Lets go across the street," Warden grinned. "This is no place to talk unless everybody's got a pass in their pocket." "I've got my SP Card." "They've been revoked since the day maneuvers started," Warden said. "And I dont want my draftee chicks to see the ist/Sgt consorting with awols. They dont understand the Army yet." He led the way across the street to another identical bar that was identically crowded with other men from another identical company except that this company was from the 8th Field. They ordered whiskey and Warden paid for it. "Why the hell didnt you come back after maneuvers started?" Warden said disgustedly. "I had it fixed then." "I couldn't. I was gettin over a cut in my side. Whats the deal about Fatso? Have they got me down for Fatso or havent they?" "Who's Fatso?" Warden said. "Fatso Judson," Prew said. "You know who I mean. Fatso Judson. Come on, quit stalling." "Never heard of him," Warden said. "You've heard of him," Prew said. "Do you mean they've never heard of him? What do you mean? Quit playing secret service agent. This is serious, to me." They were talking in low voices across the low table in the general hubbub of Artillerymen. Warden looked around him once before he spoke. "I'll lay it all out for you," he said. "Then you can do.what you want. But first, you better push that gun down in your belt or else lean over farther. That pistol butt shows through your coat plain as day." Prew leaned over quickly and looked around before he reached down to push it down. "It's not a good place to carry it," he explained. "Hell," Warden said. "It stuck out so plain I could even name it for you. Its a .38 Colts Police Special." "Smith&Wesson." "Well," Warden said, "I couldn't see the hump on the handle." "Well, come on," Prew said. "Whats the deal?" "You're loaded for bear, aint you?" Warden said. "I aint going back to no Stockade, if thats what you mean. Come on, goddam it," he said, "quit stalling. Whats the deal?" "So you finally decided you want to come back after all," Warden said. "I aint going back to no Stockade." "You said that before." "And I'll say it again." Warden signaled to the waitress for another round for them. "There dont nobody know anything about Fatso Judson. At least they dont connect you with it." "How do you know?" "I dont know for sure," Warden admitted. "But there hasnt been anybody around asking about you from the Provost Marshal's office. If they connected you with it, they'd have been around. I'll stake my reputation on that." "What reputation?" Prew said sarcastically, but already feeling a tenseness begin to relax inside of him. "My reputation as a lover, you jerk," Warden sneered. "Then I can come back," Prew said. "Boy. I'll tell you something. I'll never go coon hunting or possum hunting again in my life." "Theres more to it than that," Warden said. "If you'd of come back the first two or three days after maneuvers started, I could of got you off with a couple weeks extra duty. But �you've been gone six weeks since then. Even with a shithead like this Ross. I cant explain that away. You cant get off without at least a Summary Court." "I aint going back to the Stockade," Prew said quickly. "Not even if I have to hide out on this Rock the rest of my life." "I'll lay it out for you straight," Warden said narrowly. "I could tell you you get off with a Summary Sentence of two weeks in the Regimental guardhouse, but I wont. If you get a Summary at all, youre lucky. You've been gone six weeks on the records. If you get a Summary at all, you're sure to get the limit." "One month in the Stockade," Prew said. "And two-thirds pay," Warden nodded. "And you may even get a Special Court. You already got one offense against you. But if you get a Special, I think I can guarantee you wont get more than two months and two-thirds." "But I might get the full six." "No," Warden said. "I can promise you wont get over two. I think I can get you off with a Summary." "Then I aint going back." "I dont know what you expect. My Christ, you've been gone weeks." "I dont know what I expect either. But I know I aint going back to that Stockade. Even for one month. And thats all she wrote." Warden straightened up in his chair. "Suit yourself. But thats the best I can get for you. Ross is mad because he thinks you took off on him just to get out of maneuvers." Prew was puzzled. "But what about all the time before that? I was gone a week before maneuvers started." "He dont know about that." "But how... ?" "God damn it!" Warden said. "Baldy Dhom carried you present. I was on furlough and he was Acting First and he carried you present. He was still carrying you present when I got back. He had me by the balls and I either had to go back and pick you up retroactive, or else carry it." "But your furlough was up three days after I left." "Dont kid yourself," Warden said viciously. "I wouldnt of done it for you. I wouldnt have carried you one single day. You were a fuckup when you got in this company and you're still one and you'll always be one. I dont know why the fuck I'm down here bothering to talk to you right now." "Because you're ashamed of being an officer," Prew grinned. "I've never been ashamed of anything I ever did in my life," Warden snorted. "Includin that. Shame aint a spontaneous emotion; shame is an induced emotion. A man who knows his own mind dont know what shame is." "What book did you read that in?" "If I had any brains I never would have fucked off and come down here in the first place." Prew did not say anything. He did not try to uncover any more of the unexplained four days grace, and he did not try to bore any deeper into what was such an obvious lie. He would have felt ashamed if he did. "I guess you think I'm ungrateful," he said finally. "Everybody's ungrateful," Warden snorted. "I'm even ungrateful to myself, for all the favors I do me." "A mans got to decide for himself what he has to do," Prew said. "Everybody decides for themself," Warden said. "And always wrong." "You aint been in that Stockade. I saw them kill a man in that Stockade. They beat him to death." "He probly ask for it." "Whether he ask for it or not aint the point. Nobody's got the right to do that to another human being." "Maybe not, but they do it," Warden grinned. "All the time." "Matter of fact, the guy did ask for it," Prew said. "But that still dont give them the right to do it to him. He happened to be a friend of mine. Fatso Judson was the man who was responsible for it." "Dont tell me your worries," Warden said. "I got worries enough of my own. I told you what I could do for you, and thats the best I can do." "Can you see why I cant go back there any more?" "I cant see anything," Warden said. "Can you see why I'd be an officer?" "Sure," Prew said. "I can see it. I'd like to be one myself sometimes. You'd make a good officer." "Then you can see more than I can," Warden said viciously. "Lets get out of this firetrap." They pushed out through the surging mass and stopped outside to light cigarettes. Across the street the Blue Chancre was lighted and yelling. The sidewalks were crowded with Men of Schofield. Letting down, letting way down, after six weeks to two months in the field. They had to stand back against the building to keep from being carried along in the press. From the dark of River Street down at the end of the block to as far up the other way as they could see Beretania was blazing at them with neon and lighted display windows interspersed with the dark stairways of the whorehouses. "It's pretty," Prew said. "I've always liked neon signs. I like to stand at one end of a street and look at them all strung out down along it. Theres fifty towns in this country that got prettier streets than Broadway. Memphis, Albuquerque, Miami, Colorado Springs, Cincinnati. I like the crowds, too - except when I get in them." Warden didnt say anything. "I wish I could go back," Prew said. "I want to go back. But I cant do any more time, even to go back." "The only way you'll ever go back without having to do time," Warden said viciously, "is if the Japs or somebody bombs this fucking island and they let all the prisoners out to go fight." "You're a big help," Prew said. "You can see what I think of your chances." "Yeah." "You'd better stay away from the Blue Chancre," Warden said. "Or anywhere down in here. They've pulled in all the SP cards and Class As. And since maneuvers, they've been checking passes." "Thanks for the tip." "Keep the change." "Well," Prew said, "so long." "So long," said Warden. The big man crossed the street to the Blue Chancre and Prewitt turned up Beretania toward town away from the river. Neither one of them tried to look back. The thing that stayed in Prew's mind as he pushed in and out up the street was what Warden had said about his chances. Fat chances! If they bombed the rock and let the prisoners out! It burned all over him like a fire of gall. Some chances! As he crossed Maunakea he saw Scholar Rhodes and Bull Nair weaving down toward him arm in arm. They insisted on buying a drink. "We just come from the Ritz," Nair said happily drunkenly as they stood up to the bar. "Aint as ritzy as Mrs Kipfer's, but thats why I like it better. Them ritzy places gives me the willies." "I used to go to the Ritz all the time before I got in the Company," Prew said. "Its good." "Christ!" Rhodes said dreamily. "It was jest like losing my cherry all over again." "It was wonderful," Bull Nair said. "When you coming back?" Nair said, as they came out into the street again. "I dont know," Prew said. "I aint tired of being a civilian yet." "Christ!" Rhodes said, still dreamily. "Wisht I had the guts to go over the hill. If I had the money." "Boy, we really gapped them up to the Ritz," Nair grinned foolishly, "dint we, Dusty?" Rhodes guffawed. "Yeah, we sure gapped them." "Lets gap old Prew," Nair suggested. "Naw," Rhodes said. "My jaws is tard." "Well," Nair said, "we see you when you git back. Too tard to gap you." "See you," Rhodes said, still dreamily. Prew watched them weave away arm in arm, the bitterness of gall burning him fiercer than ever until he wanted to twitch, itching him. where he could not scratch, until he wanted to drive his fist into the face of the first man who came within reach. When they were out of sight, he turned and crossed Beretania and instead of going on up to the car stop he went on down the side street. The Ritz Rooms was just down the block. The Ritz was crowded, and he had to wait a while before he even saw Georgette anywhere. His hands were sweating freely and his face was flushed and his throat thick, and the savage wildfire scourged him harder. To hell with it, to hell with all of it, burn it all down, tear it all up, smash all of it. He caught her in the hall, finally, and stopped her. When she saw it was him, she pulled him into an empty room to see what he wanted and find out what was wrong. At first she was embarrassed. Then the embarrassment stopped. Afterwards, when he held out the money, she laughed and refused it. But when he continued to hold it out to her stubbornly she looked at him and then at the money and that look came back in her eyes and she took it. When he got home to the house, after the long taxi ride sitting alone in the dark savoring it, he sat up to wait for them, drinking one scotch and soda after another. Have it out right now, get it over with. But he passed out on the living
room floor before they got home. When he got up in the morning and went out to the kitchen to get water for his head, Alma was already sitting at the table over coffee. He could tell by the cool way she looked that Georgette had already told her, either last night when they got home, or else early this morning. He might have known she would; he had expected her to. But he had meant to tell her first himself. Only, he had passed out. Alma did not say anything to him, either then or later. She did not blow up, or get mad, or anything else. She was very polite. She was warm, and friendly, and she smiled, and talked to him, and she was very polite. She was so polite he could never get his nerve up enough to tell her. She never gave him an opening, and she never referred to it. So, instead, he moved out onto the divan in the living room. She never questioned or referred to that, either. She had never treated him so nice since he had known her. They got along fine. Once, during the next week, she came out to the divan and slept with him and then got up and went back to bed and that was very nice too, very polite. Georgette did not treat him nicer, nor worse. She neither stayed home more often nor went out more often. They all sat around the breakfast nook table in the morning for coffee and talked to each other nicely, and Georgette did not go out early to shop any more like that one time. They were just one big happy family. It was during that week that he copied down from memory the first verses, and then went on to finish, The Re-enlistment Blues. Rummaging in the desk for paper, one afternoon, he noticed Alma had taken out all the money that she kept there. She had not touched the gun. She: did not lock up the radio-bar either. He was drunk most of the time. He did not care about the money because he had no place to go and no impetus to go there, but he was glad she did not lock up the radio-bar on him. She did not say a word to him about being drunk. She did not ask him to leave either, because he would obviously have no place to go; they had been over that before. That was the way it went that week. Somewhere, either out of her silence and politeness, or else out of his own imagination, he got the idea that she had been planning to marry him all along until this happened. He felt like a man who had got his ring back. Once or twice they got into heavy arguments over nothing, absolutely nothing, like whether St. Louis Heights was 483 feet elevation or 362 feet elevation. They would start with something like that, but before they were finished everything would be dragged in. Your ad; my ad;.your ad; my ad. He held his own, in these; it was the silence that got him. And he took a lot of ad points with his old threat of just walking out. It still seemed to work just as good as ever. Even, he thought, if he didnt have the guts to actually do it.