The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [176]
Red turned to Wilson and snorted. "If we came in with a cold, they'd give us a t.s. slip." He spoke loudly enough for the officers to hear, and the doctor looked at him coldly. Red glared back.
The officer left, and the doctor stared at Red. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nephritis."
"Let me do the diagnosing if you don't mind."
"I know what it is," Red said, "I been told by a doctor in the States."
"All you men seem to know just what your trouble is." The doctor asked him for the symptoms and listened inattentively. "All right, so you have nephritis, what am I supposed to do?"
"That's what I came here for."
The doctor looked at the ridgepole with an expression of disgust. "You wouldn't mind going to the hospital, I suppose."
"I just want to get fixed up." The doctor's words made him uneasy. Was that why he was here?
"We got a report from the hospital today to watch out for malingerers. How do I know you're not faking the symptoms?"
"There's some tests you can give me, ain't there?"
"If there wasn't a war on." He reached under his table, and handed Red a package of wound tablets. "Drink these with a lot of water, and if you're faking the whole thing, just throw them away." Red became pale. "Next man," the doctor said.
Red turned and strode out of the tent. "That's the last goddam time I ever fool around with those fuggin medics." He was quivering with rage. "If you're faking. . ." He thought of the places he had slept, the park benches, and frigid hallways in the middle of the winter. Aaah, fug 'em.
Red remembered a soldier who had died in the States because he had not been admitted to the hospital. He had gone through training for three days with a fever because the post hospital had a rule that no men could be taken into the hospital unless their temperature was over 102. The soldier had died a few hours after he came into the hospital on the fourth day; he had had galloping pneumonia.
Sure, they got it all figured out, Red thought. If they get ya to hate 'em enough you'll crack a nut before you'll go to 'em, and that way they keep ya on the line. Of course a guy dies every now and then, but what the hell's another guy to the Army? Those quacks get their orders to be sonsofbitches from the top. He felt a bitter righteous pleasure in the knowledge. You'd think we weren't men.
But immediately afterward he knew that his anger also stemmed from fear. Five years ago I woulda told that doctor off. It was one of the old jokers, and it was even worse in the Army. A man had to take crap even if it was just by keeping his mouth shut. You don't last a month if you do everything you want, he told himself. And yet nothing was worth doing if you let yourself be pushed around. There was no way to figure that one out.
He was startled by Wilson's voice. "C'mon, Red, let's go."
"Oh." They began to walk together.
Wilson was silent, and his broad high forehead was puckered in a frown. "Red, Ah wish we hadn't gone on that sick call."
"Yeah."
"Ah gotta have an op-per-ration."
"You going to the hospital?"
Wilson shook his head. "Naw, that doc said it can wait till the campaign's over. Ain't no hurry."
"What's the matter with ya?"
"Damn if Ah know," Wilson said. "That guy in there said Ah'm all shot to hell inside. Peter trouble." He whistled for a moment, and then added, "Mah old man died from an op-per-ration an' Ah don' like none of it."
"Aaah," Red said, "it ain't too bad, or they'd be doin' it now."
"Ah jus' cain't figger it out, Red. You know Ah had a dose five times and Ah cured it every single time. Buddy of mine told me about this thing, it's called pirdon or pridion or somepin like that, and Ah jus' took it, an' it fixed me up fine, but that doc says it didn't.''
"He don' know what the score is."
"Aw, he's a sonofabitch, all right, but the thing is, Red, Ah'm all shot to hell inside. Ah cain't take a leak easy, and mah back hurts, and Ah gets the cramps sometimes." Wilson snapped his fingers deprecatingly. "It's a hell of a note, Red. You take somethin' like lovin', it's so nice and warm and you get to feelin' like jelly, an' then it ends up ru'nin' your insides. Ah cain't understand it, Ah tell ya Ah think that man is wrong. Ah'm sick counta somepin else. Lovin' ain't goin' to hurt a man."