From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [2]
“You one number one boy,” Young Choy said, returning, grinning, as he shook his head in sorrow. “You leenlistment matelial.”
Prew laughed. “You said it, Sam. I’m a Thirty—Year—Man.”
Red was cutting up an egg. “Whats your wahine goin to say? when she finds out you took a bust to transfer?”
Prew shook his head and began to chew.
“Everything’s against you,” Red said, reasonably. “Even your wahine is against you.”
“I wish she was against me, right up against me, right now,” Prew grinned.
Red would not laugh. “Private pussies dont grow on no trees,” he said. “Whores are all right; for the first year; for kids. But a good shackjob is hard to find. Too hard to take a chance on losin. You wont be able to make that trip to Haleiwa every night when you’re pullin straight duty in a rifle compny.”
Prew stared down at his round ham bone before he picked it up and sucked the marrow out. “I reckon she’ll have to make up her own mind, Red. Like every man has got to do, in the end. You know this thing’s been comin for a long, long time. It aint just because Houston made his angelina First Bugler over me.”
Red studied him; Chief Bugler Houston’s tastes in young men were common knowledge and Red wondered if he could have made a pass at Prew. But it could not be that; Prewitt would have half-killed him, Chief Warrant Officer or no.
“Thats good,” Red said bitterly, “made up her own mind. Where is her mind? In her head, or down between her legs?”
“Watch your goddam mouth. Since when is my private life your business anyway? For your information, its between her legs and thats the way I like it, see?” You liar, he thought.
“Okay,” Red said. “Dont blow your top. Whats it to me if you transfer? Its nothing in my young life.” He took a piece of bread and washed his hands of all of it by wiping the yellow from his plate and swilling it down with coffee.
Prew lit a tailormade and turned to watch a group of company clerks who had just come in, sitting over coffee in the far corner when they were supposed to be upstairs in Personnel working. They all looked alike, tall thin boys with the fragile faces that gravitated naturally toward the mental superiority of paper work. He caught the words “Van Gogh” and “Gauguin.” One tall boy talked a little while and the others waiting to get in their say, then in a pause for breath another tall boy took over and the first frowned and the others waiting impatiently again. Prew grinned.
It was queer, he thought, how a man was always being forced to decide these things. You decided one thing right, with much effort, and then you thought you’d coast a while. But tomorrow you had to decide another thing. And as long as you decided the way you knew was right you had to go right on deciding. Every Day a Millennium, he thought. And on the other hand was Red, and those kids over there, who because they decided wrong just once were free from any more deciding. Red placed his bet on Comfort out of Security by Conformity. As usual, Comfort won. Red could retire and enjoy his winnings. Red would not quit a soft deal like the Bugle Corps because his pride was hurt. Sometimes he got confused and could not quite remember what the reason was, the necessity that had been at the beginning of this endless chain of new decidings.
Red was trying logic on him. “You got a Pfc and a Fourth Class Specialist. You practice two hours a day and the rest of your time’s your own. You got a good life.
“Every Regiment’s got a Drum and Bugle Corps. Thats S. O. P. Its just like a craft on the Outside. We get the gravy because we got special ability.”
“The crafts on the Outside aint been gettin gravy. They been lucky if they had jobs at all.”
“That aint the point,” Red said disgustedly. “Thats the Depression—why you think I’m in the goddam army?”
“I dont know. Why are you?”
“Because.” Red paused triumphantly. “Same