From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [20]
“I didnt pick it.”
“Unless,” the KP said, ignoring the answer, “you happen to be a jockstrap. Any kind of a jockstrap, just any kind, but preferably a punchie. If you’re a punchie you picked the right place and I’ll be salutin you for a corporal in six days.”
“I aint no jockstrap,” Prew said.
“Then I pity you, friend,” said the KP fervently. “Thats all. I pity you. My name’s Maggio and as you can see I aint no jockstrap neither. But I’m a spudpeeler though. I’m one helluva hotshot spudpeeler. I’m the best spudpeeler in Schofield Barricks, T.H. I got a medal.”
“What part of Brooklyn you come from?” Prew grinned.
The dark intent eyes under the hairy brows flared up as if Prew had lighted candles in a dim cathedral. “Atlantic Avenue. You know Brooklyn?”
“No. I was never there. But I had a buddy at Myer was from Brooklyn.”
The candles were snuffed out. “Oh,” Maggio said. Then with the air of a man who has nothing more to lose he asked cautiously, “Whats his name?”
“Smith,” Prew said. “Jimmy Smith.”
“Jesus Christ!” Maggio said and crossed himself with the patented potato scraper. “Smith, no less. I’ll kiss your ass in Macy’s window at high noon on Sataday if I ever heard of a Smith in Brooklyn.”
Prew laughed. “That was his name.”
“Yeah?” Maggio said, scowling at a new spud. “Thats fine. Now I knew a Jew named Hodenpyl onct. I thought you knew Brooklyn.” He subsided into silence, muttering, “Jimmy Smith. From Brooklyn. My bleeding back.”
Prew, grinning, lit a cigaret, listening to the buzzing from the Orderly Room suddenly raise itself an octave.
“Hear that?” Maggio said. He stabbed his scraper at the window. “Thats what you’re lettin yourself into, friend. You better, if you’re smart, turn right around and let yourself back out.”
“I cant,” Prew said. “I was transferred by request.”
“Oh,” Maggio said sagely. “Another fuckup. Like me. Well, friend, I feel for you,” he said bitterly, “but from my position I cant quite reach you.”
“Whats going on in there?”
“Oh, nothin unusual. Happens all a time. ‘The Warden’ and ‘Dynamite’ is just givin Willard a ass eatin, thats all. Not a thing unusual. Willard just happens to be on shift today. After they get through with him he’ll take it out on me.
“Willard is a schmuck amingia, he wouldnt make a good KP in any other outfit. Here he’s a First Cook because they cant get any other cooks to transfer in. This is because Preem is passed out on his fartsack full a vanilla extrack all a time.”
“Sounds like a wonderful outfit to transfer into,” Prew said to him.
“Ah,” Maggio scowled, “it is. You’ll love it, friend, just simply love it. Specially if you was a jockstrap. I been out of ree-croot drill six weeks and already I wish I’m back in Gimbel’s basement as a shipping clerk.” Dolefully he shook his head. “If somebody had of told me that six months ago I’d of told him to take it and stick it.”
He put his arm down in the kettle and fished around and brought up one last spud. “Dont mind me, friend. I’m just bitter. What I need is a trip to Mrs Kipfer’s and a good juicy stinking piece of ass, then I be all right for a nuther week.”
“You play cards?” he said suddenly. “Like to diddle up the cubes? Poker? blackjack? cut high card? roll high dice or low dice? anything you like?”
“You sound like a spotter for O’Hayer’s shed,” Prew grinned. “Sure, I like them all.”
“I was for a while, but their hours is too long,” Maggio said. “You got any money?”
“Some,” Prew said.
“Then I’ll be around tonight,” Maggio said, his dark eyes glowing. “We’ll have a little private game. That is, if I can find this joe in F Compny who owes me three.”
“There aint enough money in two-handed games,” Prew said.
“Oh, yes, there is,” Maggio said, “if you happen to be broke and need a piece of ass.” He inspected the fresh dark spots on Prew’s sleeves where his stripes had been. “Wait’ll you begin to draw your twenty-one a month, brother.”
He stood up and stretched and scratched his tangled mop. “Leave me give you a tip, friend. Theys a war goin on here. And I can tell you who will win the friggin thing. If you