The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [294]
Goldstein shook his head angrily, moved forward sullenly, his eyes on the ground. They never forget, the goyim, they never forget, he kept repeating to himself. He felt leagued against all of them. What did this Wilson appreciate of what they were doing for him?
And Wilson lay back again, listening to the fast taut sounds of their sobbing. They were working for him. He understood it abruptly, held the idea for an instant and then lost it, but the emotion it stirred remained with him. "Man, Ah think a lot of you all for what you're doin', but you don't have to stick with ol' Wilson. Jus' lea' me, that's all." And when there was no answer he became fretful. "Goddammit, men, Ah said you can lea' me." He whined like a feverish child.
Goldstein wanted to drop the litter handle. He said we should stop, Goldstein said to himself. But immediately afterward he was moved by Wilson's speech. In the heat and the blunting exhaustion of the march he could not think clearly, and thoughts jerked through him like muscular reactions. We can't leave him, he told himself; he's a generous fellow, and then Goldstein thought of nothing at all but the increasing torment in his arm, the muscle pains that extended across his back down into his straining legs.
Wilson rubbed his tongue against the dry edge of his teeth. "Oh, men, Ah'm thirsty," he chanted. He twisted on the litter, holding up his head toward the leaden glaring sky, his throat poised on the edge of a delicious bliss. Any moment they would give him some water and the torture of his tongue and palate would be assuaged. "Men, gimme a drink," Wilson muttered. "Le's have some water."
They hardly heard him. He had been babbling for water all day, and they had been paying no attention. He dropped his head back, rolled his thickened tongue in the arid cavity of his mouth. "Le's have some water," he bleated. Once more he waited patiently, fought against the vertigo that seemed to revolve him in circles on the litter. "Goddammit, men, y' gonna gimme some water."
"Take it easy, Wilson," Brown muttered.
"Water, goddammit."
Stanley halted, his legs quivering, and they set him down. "Give him some water for God's sakes," Stanley shouted.
"You can't give him water with a stomach wound," Goldstein protested.
"What do you know about it?"
"You can't give him water," Goldstein said. "It'll kill him.'"
"Water's out," Brown panted.
"Aaah, you guys gimme a pain in the ass," Stanley bawled.
"A little water ain't gonna hurt Wilson," Ridges muttered. He felt a touch of surprise and scorn. "Man dies if en he don't get water." To himself he thought, What are they fussin' so much about?
"Brown, I always thought you were chickenshit. Not even giving a wounded man some water." Stanley reeled in the sunlight. "An old buddy like Wilson an' you won't even give him any water 'cause some doctor starts talking about it." There was a terror back of his speech which he could not quite face. Even in his exhaustion he knew there was something wrong, dangerously wrong, in giving Wilson a drink, but he avoided that, rousing in himself an emotion of certain righteousness. "Try to relieve a man of a little suffering and what the hell do ya get for it? Goddammit, Brown, what the hell do ya want to do, torture him?" He felt himself driven by an excitement, a necessity. "Give him a drink, what will it cost ya?"
"It would be murder," Goldstein said.
"Aw, shut up, ya dumb Jew bastard." Stanley spoke with fury.
"You can't say that to me," Goldstein piped. He was quivering with anger now too, but back of it was the shattering realization that Stanley had been so friendly the night before. You can't trust any of them, he thought numbly with a certain bitter pleasure. At least this time, he was certain.
Brown interfered. "Let's cut it out, men, let's get movin' again." Before they could say any more, he bent down at one of the litter handles, and motioned the others to take up their positions. Once again they staggered forward into the blare and dazzle of the afternoon sun.
"Gimme some water," Wilson whined.
Once more Stanley halted. "Let's give him some, get him out of his misery."