From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [397]
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“And while you’re there, get the Service Record of every other man who’s changed status while I been gone.”
“Do you want Prewitt’s Service Record, too, Sergeant?” Rosenberry asked quietly.
“No-goddam-it-I-dont-want-Prewitt’s-Service-Record-too-Sergeant,” Warden bawled. “If I want Prewitt’s-Service-Record-too-Sergeant, I’d of told you, you stupid son of a bitch. Remember? you’re a soljer now, Rosenberry; not a goddam civilian.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“A draftee maybe,” Warden temporized craftily.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“—But nevertheless still a soljer,” Warden roared triumphantly. “Just a plain goddam stinking mucky out-at-the-ass soljer. Who’s suppose to do what he’s told, when he’s told, without askin goddam civilian foolish questions. Get me?” he roared.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“All right then, move it. And dont call me Sir; only officers is called Sir. I’ll get Prewitt’s Service Record later on. When I need it. And when I’m goddamned good and ready.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“I got to get the rest of this crap straightened out first, before I can even use Prewitt’s Service Record,” he explained in a somewhere near almost normal voice.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly, already on his way out the door.
Warden watched him cross the quad, still moving quietly. You didnt fool him a goddam bit either. He was a quiet boy all right. A Jewish secret, quietly contained, and open to members only. Maybe not even open to members, he amended. He probly dont miss much, but you wont have to worry about him talking too much.
If only, he exploded suddenly, the goddamned ass wouldnt look at a man like he thought he was the Prophet Isaiah returned to earth from someplace. Rosenberry looked at him like he thought he was a frigging four-star General.
You couldnt blame him for that. That was the goddam draftee influence, that and the Officer’s Extension Course. Rosenberry must have heard about the Officer’s Extension Course. He must have. The whole Compny had heard about it. Only, with Rosenberry, instead of needling him about it to relieve their own baffled surprised disappointment, like the rest of the Company, Rosenberry kept it inside that quietly contained Jewish secret along with everything else he heard saw or felt.
Hell, he thought, maybe he even admires you for it. He’s a draftee, aint he?
He would never find out, though, not from that sealed vacuum of quietly contained Jewish secret. It was a secret he would like to unravel someday, just for the exercise, just to see what was inside.
You never will though, he told himself, not as long as he knows you’re going to be an officer. He leaned back in his chair and lit a vile-tasting hangover cigaret, wondering suddenly what Prewitt had thought. When Prewitt found out Milt Warden was going to become an officer.
As he came out of it and his eyes refocused themselves, he found himself staring at the Morning Report Book that Dhom had fouled up for him. Pass the buck, pass the buck, he told himself angrily. Let somebody else do it.
Well, Warden, what are you going to do? You got to do something.
That Dhom, if he’d only learned himself to speak good grammar he would probly be a Major today, he had all the other qualifications. The no good stupid son of a bitch, he raged furiously as he locked the Book up in his private desk drawer, theres nothing stupider than a stupid German.
He ought to be able to give him ten days or two weeks. Unless something special or unusual came up, like maneuvers. Annual maneuvers would be coming due pretty soon now. But even five days would be that much extra protection, on the records, later on, when he did come back. Because there was not any doubt in his mind that he would come back. Thirty-year-men went over the hill, sure. Often. Thirty-year-men did not desert.
Not because they didnt want to, he thought, because they couldnt.
Where the hell was a thirty-year-ma