The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [173]
The man who had combat fatigue screamed again, and Minetta sat up shuddering. I gotta get some sleep, I can't take this. He began to shout out. "There's the Jap, I see him, I see him, I'm going to kill him!" He got off his cot and began to wander about the dirt floor of the tent. The earth was cold and damp against his bare feet. He trembled genuinely.
The orderly got up from his chair and sighed. "Oh, man, what a ward." He picked up a hypodermic from the table beside him and approached Minetta. "Lie down, Jack."
"Fug you." He let himself be marched back to his cot.
He held his breath while the needle jabbed into his muscle, and then exhaled. "Oh, what a time," he groaned.
The man who had the chest wound was making the bubbling coughing sounds again, but to Minetta they sounded remote. He relaxed, feeling comfortable and warm, thinking about the sedative. That stuff is good. . . I'll become a dope addict. . . aah, anyway to get out. . . He fell asleep.
In the morning he awoke to find that one of the patients was dead. The blanket was drawn up over the dead man's head and his feet made a stiff peak which traced an icy caress along Minetta's spine. He looked at the body and turned away. There was an envelope of intense silence about it. There's something different about a guy when he's dead, Minetta thought. He felt an acute curiosity about the man's face under the blanket; he wondered what it looked like. If there had been no one in the tent, he might have walked over and lifted the blanket. That's the guy with the hole in his chest, he told himself. He was afraid again. How do they expect a guy to stay here, after some poor Joe died right next to you? A touch of horror welled in him; he felt a little sick. The sedative had left him with an acute headache, and his stomach was raw, his limbs ached. Oh, Jeez, I got to get out of here.
Two orderlies came in, placed the dead man on a stretcher, and carried him out of the tent. None of the patients said anything, but Minetta found himself still looking at the vacant cot. I can't take another night like last one. A sour fluid retched from his stomach into his mouth, and he swallowed it automatically. Oh, murder.
When his breakfast came, he was unable to touch it. He sat there musing; he knew he could not bear another day in the hospital. He wished he was back with the platoon. Anything to get out of here.
The doctor came, and Minetta watched him quietly while he stripped the bandages from his leg. The cut was entirely healed except for the line of pink new flesh; the doctor smeared a red antiseptic over it, and did not replace the bandages. Minetta's heart was beating rapidly. His head felt hollow and quivering.
The sound of his voice surprised him. "Hey, doc, when am I gonna get out?"
"What's that?"
"I don't know, I woke up this morning. Where am I?" Minetta smiled with bewilderment. "I remember I was in another tent with my leg, and now I'm here. What's the score?"
The doctor looked at him quietly. Minetta forced himself to stare back; in spite of every effort, he ended by grinning weakly.
"What's your name?" the doctor asked.
"Minetta." He gave his serial number. "Can I get out today, doc?"
"Yes."
Minetta felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. At that moment he wished for a second that he had remained quiet.
"Oh, and, Minetta, after you get dressed, I want to talk to you." The doctor turned, and then said over his shoulder, "Don't skip out. That's an order, I want to talk to you."
"Yes, sir." Minetta shrugged. What's up? he wondered. He was feeling a little glee now as he thought of how easily he had managed it. All you got to do is think fast and you can get away with anything. He put on his clothing, which had been wrapped in a ball at the head of the cot, and slipped into his shoes. The sun was not yet too hot, and he felt cheerful. That wasn't for me, he thought, I can't go this staying on your back all the time. He looked at the cot where the soldier had died, and shrugged to overcome a quiver of anxiety. A guy's lucky to get out. He remembered abruptly the patrolling that had taken place yesterday, and was depressed. I hope they don't send the platoon on something. He wondered if he had made a mistake.