From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [165]
“Jesus Christ,” The Warden said. He tore the papers up and went to get some blank ones. “These Kentucky mountain hardheads cause a man more trouble than a regiment of niggers. Might as well leave it as a Special for all the good a break will do a man like that.”
“He needs to be taught a lesson,” said The Man.
“He sure as hell does,” The Warden said fervently. “The only trouble with them guys, they never learn. I’ve seen too many of them go into the hockshop, and all they make is work. They aint out two weeks before they’re right back in again. They had rather let you kill them, than admit they’re wrong. No more sense than a goddam GI mule. About the time you get him groomed up for Regimental next December, he’ll pull some hair brained deal and get himself right back in hock, just to get even with you. I seen too many of them mountain boys. They’re a threat to the freedom of this whole country.”
“I dont give a goddam what he does,” The Man yelled, sitting up. “Fuck the Regimentals, and fuck the fucking championship. I dont have to stand for insolence like that. I dont have to take it. I’m an officer in this Army, not a boiler orderly.” The red outrage of affront was back in his face. He glared at The Warden.
The Warden waited, timing it exactly to the color in the face, before he empathetically told The Man what The Man was thinking.
“You dont mean that, Captain,” The Warden said softly, in horror. “You’re just mad. You wouldnt say a thing like that, if you werent mad. You dont want to take a chance on losing your championship next winter, just for being mad.”
“Mad!” The Man said. “Mad? Mad, he says. Jesus H Christ, Sergeant!” He rubbed his hands over his face, tentatively feeling of the congestion. “All right,” he said. “I guess you’re right. Theres no sense in losing your head and going off half cocked and cutting off your nose to spite your face. Maybe he didnt even mean any disrespect at all.” The Man sighed. “Have you started on those new forms yet?”
“Not yet, Sir,” The Warden said.
“Then put them back,” said The Man. “I guess.”
“Well at least give him a good stiff company punishment,” The Warden said.
“Ha,” The Man said vehemently. “If I wasnt the boxing coach of this outfit, I’d give him something,” he said. “He’s getting off damned easy. Okay, you enter it in the Company Punishment Book, will you? Three weeks restriction to quarters. I’m going home now. Home,” he said, as if to himself. “Call him in tomorrow and I’ll talk to him and initial the book.”
“All right, Sir,” The Warden said. “If you think thats the way to handle it.” He got the stiff leather-bound Company Punishment Book out of his desk and opened it up and got his pen. The Man smiled at him wearily and left, and he closed the book and put it away again and stepped to the window to watch the Captain cross the quad through the lengthening evening shadows, going home. In a way he almost felt sorry for him, any more. But then he asked for everything he got.
The next day when Holmes asked for the book he got it out and opened it. Then he discovered the page was still blank. Shamefacedly he explained how he had had to do some other things. He had forgotten it. The Man was on his way to the Club, he was in a hurry. He told The Warden to have it ready for him tomorrow. “Yes, Sir,” The Warden told him. “I’ll do it right away.” He got his pen out. The Man left. He put his pen away.
The next day even Holmes had forgotten all about it, under the stress of more recent things.
It was not, The Warden considered carefully, that he gave a good goddam whether the punk got three weeks’ restrictions or not. The fact was, three weeks’ restriction would probably do Prewitt some good. Especially since, as Stark had told him, the kid had gone dippy over this snooty whore at Mrs Kipfer’s. Three weeks at home for Prewitt would be just about long enough to get him over it. The Warden was sorry now that he had posed this condition on himself that he get Prewitt off scot free or it did not count. He did not feel sorry for him. Prewitt asked for everything he got. Falling for a hard nosed whore at Mrs Kipfer’s. That was just about that punk’s goddam speed. Prewitt not only asked for everything he got, he begged for it on bended knee. The Warden