From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [26]
Beyond the Hq stairs the bedroom window of Holmes’s house peered at him coyly through the truck entrance. And maybe right now, behind that unrevealing window, she was languorously undressing the long flowing milk of that blonde body, garment by garment like a stripper in a honkytonk, to take a bath or something. Maybe she had a man in there with her now.
Warden felt his chest swelling potently with maleness, as if a great balloon were being blown up inside him. Feeling as though his belly was revolving, smoking and emitting sparks, he turned from the window and sat back down.
Prew was waiting for him, standing quietly before the desk, feeling worn out now and very tired, feeling the sweat still dripping slowly from his armpits with the strain of subduing his own fear and disagreeing with authority. The collar of the shirt that had been fresh at eight o’clock was wilted and the sweat had soaked clear through the back. Only a little more of this and you are through, he told himself. Then you can relax.
Warden picked up a paper from his desk and began to read it, as if he were alone. When he finally looked up there was hurt surprise and indignation on his face, as if wondering how this man had got into his office uninvited and without his knowing it.
“Well?” Milt Warden said. “What the hell do you want?”
Prew stared at him levelly, not answering, not disconcerted. And for a time both were silent, studying each other, like two opposing checker players taking each other’s measure before the game began. There was no open dislike in the face of either, only a sort of cold inherent antagonism. They were like two philosophers starting from the same initial premise of life and each, by irrefutable argument, arriving at a diametrically opposite conclusion. Yet these two conclusions were like twin brothers of the same flesh and heritage and blood.
Warden broke the spell. “You havent changed a bit, have you, Prewitt?” he said sarcastically. “Havent learned a thing. Fools rush in where angels fear to re-enlist, as some great wit once said. All a man has to do is to leave it up to you and you’ll put your own head in the noose for him.”
“A man like you, you mean,” Prew said.
“No, not me. I like you.”
“I love you too,” Prew said. “And you aint changed none either.”
“Put his own head in the noose,” Warden shook his head sorrowfully. “Thats what you did just now; you know that, dont you? When you turned down Dynamite’s Boxing Squad?”
“I thought you didnt like jockstraps and SD men,” Prew said.
“I dont,” Warden said. “But did it ever occur to you that in a way I’m an SD man myself? I dont do straight duty.”
“Yeah,” Prew said. “I’ve thought of that. Thats why I couldnt see why you hated us guys in the Bugle Corps so much.”
“Because,” Warden grinned, “SD men and jockstraps are all the same, fugitives from straight duty. They aint got what it takes so they ride the gravytrain.”
“And make life a hellhole for every one they can, like you.”
“No,” Warden said. “Guess again. I dont make hell for nobody. I’m only the instrument of a laughing Providence. Sometimes I dont like it myself, but I couldnt help it if I was born smart.”
“We cant all be smart,” Prew said.
“Thats right,” Warden nodded. “We cant. Its a shame too. You been in the army what now? Five years? Fivenahalf? Its about time for you to get over bein a punk ree-croot and begin to get smart, aint it? That is, if you’re ever goin to.”
“Maybe I’d ruther not be smart.”
Warden unfolded his arms and proceeded to light a cigaret, lazily, taking his time. “You had a soft deal as a bugler,” he said, “but you toss it up because Queer Houston hurt your feelins. And then you turn Holmes down when he wants you for his boxing squad,” he said, mincing the words. “You should of took him up, Prewitt. You wont like straight duty in my compny.”
“I can soljer