From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [404]
You’re nothing but a husk, Milt, he told himself, and took another drink. A dried up eaten out empty husk. Not so long ago he had at least been able to get temporary relief in a whorehouse. Now he could not even do that, because he was afraid of ruining his reputation with a fiasco.
Back in the old days, before the moral United States got a throttlehold on the literary world, they used to write quite a bit about fiascoes. It was quite a subject, then. Now, they did not write about them any more; either because fiascoes were less frequent, which he doubted; or else because they were considered more shameful, which he suspected. After all, you could not propagate the race with fiascoes; and today propagating the race was of the utmost importance, in Germany and in Russia and in the USA, because where the hell are we going to get the manpower for the next war, after this one’s done, unless we propagate the race?
Why dont you write a paper on that one? he told it. A lot of people would like the answer to that one.
But there wasnt any answer from the gallery.
In fact, when you thought about it, just about the only consolation for this disease was the fact that it was not a rare one. That you were not the only one who suffered from it.
Well, lets wait and see what litigationprolonger Ross has got to say. He’s about the only hope thats left.
Lt Ross, when he came in, did not say anything. He ignored the bottle sitting in plain sight on the desk. He moved around the orderly room, shaking hands with his new 1st/Sgt, talking to get acquainted and taking no notice whatever of either the whiskey or the crummy $120 Brooks Bros. suit or the three days stubble of beard on his 1st/Sgts jaw.
The dirty kosher schmuck a mingia, Warden thought. He knows goddam good and well he cant run this fucking Compny without me. For two cents I’d offer the schlemiel a drink; then he’d have to notice it. Kotz, Warden said to himself throatily, letting it lie on the back of his tongue like butter. Kotz; kotz. The shithead.
“I’ve got something for you Sergeant,” Lt Ross said, apparently feeling he was sufficiently acquainted. He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “Instead of taking the full correspondence course for Reserve Officer’s Training, they are going to let you just take this examination. Because of your service, and experience, and rank; and because Col Delbert wrote a letter asking that in your case they waive it.” He paused, smiling expectantly.
Warden did not say anything. What did they expect him to do? scream with joy?
“Here is a copy of the examination you will take next Monday,” Lt Ross went on, laying the paper out on the desk. “Col Delbert sent it over for you to glance over and told me to give it to you with his compliments.”
“Thanks,” Warden said lazily, without looking at it. “But I wont need it. Hows about a drink, Lieutenant?”
“Why, thanks,” Lt Ross said. “I dont mind if I do. Col Delbert said you’d probably say that. He said you probably wouldnt want it or need it, but he thought it would be a good idea to bring it over anyway, just to let you know we’re all back of you.”
Furiously, indignantly, outraged, Warden watched him calmly take the bottle off the desk and uncork it.
“It tastes a little thin,” Lt Ross said.
“Some son of a bitch is been watering it while I was on furlough,” Warden said, staring hard at him.
“Thats too bad,” Lt Ross said.
Warden grinned at him. “You know,” he said lazily, “I’m surprised at the Great White Father Delbert. I thought old Jake would be doin everything he could to screw me out. Instead of tryin to help me. Especial what with this feud him and Holmes been having the past three or four months.”
“From what I can gather,” said Lt Ross, “the Colonel thinks very highly of you as a soldier. Much too highly to let a thing like a personal disagreement stop him from pushing your application, when he thinks you deserve it.”
“And,” Warden grinned, “when it’ll be a feather in his bonnet if I make it.”
“Yes,” Lt Ros