From Here to Eternity

by James Jones

  “I guess so,” Prew said.

  “What’re you?” Bloom sneered. “His man Friday? Do you ask him when its time to crap?”

  Sal hung his head and did not answer, blushing.

  “Sure he’s my man Friday,” Prew shot back, seeing Sal’s face. “You dont like it?”

  Bloom shrugged indifferently. “Its no skin off my ass.”

  Sal looked at Prewitt gratefully as he began to deal. But Bloom did not even see it.

  With Bloom’s entrance the centrality of the game disintegrated and the close comradeship was gone. Everybody played silently. There were no more wisecracks. It might have been the big game in O’Hayer’s shed. Maggio won several more hands and every time Bloom cursed loudly.

  “For Christ’s sake, shut up!” Julius Sussman said finally. “You make me wish I’m not a Jew.”

  “Yeah?” Bloom snarled elaborately. “What’re you? ashamed of being Jewish? Maybe you aint a Jew; maybe you’re a stinking greaser.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Sure, maybe he is,” Maggio said. “He aint no frigging kike, thats sure. Deal me out,” he said. “I got enough of this. I’m going over to O’Hayer’s shed and run this pocketful of change into some real dough.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Bloom said, jumping to his feet. “You aint quittin winners, are you?”

  “Sure I’m quittin winners,” Maggio said. “You think I’m gonna quit losers? Where’d you learn to gamble? your mother’s sewing circle?”

  “You cant quit winners,” Bloom said. “And take the money over to the sheds out of the game.”

  “Yeah?” Maggio said. “You watch me.”

  Bloom turned to the seated circle. “You guys gonna let him get by with that? He’s got your dough too.”

  “What do you think we started this game for?” Prew said. “You think we’re playin for recreation? and gonna give everybody’s money back as soon as we quit? Who the hell wants this chickenfeed except to win some real dough in the sheds? For Christ’s sake, act your age.”

  “Yeah?” Bloom said, accusingly. “What’re you doing? workin partners with the Wop? I lost two bucks in this goddam game. A right guy dont quit winners on his friends. I thought you was a straight joe, Prewitt; even when all the boys told me you wouldnt go out for fightin. I told em no, you was a straight joe when they all said you was yellow. Looks like I was wrong.”

  Prew put the few dimes and nickels he had left in his pocket and stood up, his hands hanging loosely in readiness at his sides, his lips tightened into bloodlessness, his eyes flat as eyes painted on a board.

  “Listen, you son of a bitch,” he said, feeling an icy calm that was a flaming rapture of abandon. “Keep your big yap away from me, or I’ll sew it shut for you. And I wont get in any ring to do it. And I wont need no chair.”

  “Yeah?” Bloom said, stepping back. “I’m right here. Any time you say.” He began to unbutton his shirt and pull it out of his pants.

  “When I do,” Prew grinned tautly, “you wont have no time to take your shirt off.”

  “Talk is big,” Bloom said, still pulling out his shirt.

  Prew started for him, would have hit him while his arms were still tangled in the shirtsleeves, but Maggio stepped in front of him.

  “Wait a minute. You’ll only get yourself in trouble.” He opened his arms in front of Prew. “This is over me, not you. Just take it easy now.” He talked soothingly, doing for Prew now what Prew had done for him a while ago, still holding his arms outspread.

  Prew stood passively, his arms hanging straight against his sides now, relaxed. “All right,” he said, feeling ashamed now for the cold murderousness that had been in him, for the wild ecstasy, wondering what it was in Bloom that made men want to smash him. “Take your arms down,” he said to Maggio, “for Christ’s sake. There aint nothing going to happen.”

  “Thats what I figured,” Bloom said, sticking his shirt back in and buttoning it, grinning triumphantly as if the stopping of the fight had been his personal victory.

  “Take off,” Maggio said disgustedly.

  “Sure,” Bloom grinned. “You dont think I’m goin to donate you guys any more dough, do you? I dint know you was a bunch of sharpers,” he said, having the last word. He slammed the door back loudly, to show his contempt for cheaters.

  “Straight shooters always win,” Maggio said. “Nobody ask you to play,” he called after him. “Someday I’m goin to bust that guy wide open. Someday he’s gonna make me mad.”

  “I aint got anything against him,” Prew said. “But for some reason or other he always gets my goat.”

  “I’ll get his goat,” Maggio said. “He’s a nogood son of a bitch. And I dont like him.”

  “I guess we didnt treat him very friendly,” Prew said.

  “You dont treat a guy like that friendly,” Maggio said. “Wait’ll he makes that corporalcy, he’ll treat you and me friendly. He’ll make us sweat, buddy.”

  “I guess,” Prew said thoughtfully, wondering what it was, what trait, what quality, what difference of character that made one man likeable and another so dislikeable. He would take things off of Maggio he would never take from Bloom, even when he knew they were meant in joke. You couldnt talk to Bloom without him twisting it around to look like you had insulted him; he always seemed to need to put the other guy in the wrong. Thinking about it, he was suddenly angry again. He wished he had gone ahead and punched him, at least it would have broken the monotony. He wished he had gone on winning. He wished a lot of things. He hadnt had a woman now since before last payday, since the last time he was at Violet’s. He wished he had a woman.

  “Well,” Maggio said, looking at Prew’s face, “I’m goin over to the sheds and win me a fortune with this change.”

  “You better take what you got and go to town,” Prew said, “while you got it.” He turned and walked back by himself to the big double sink of zinc where they always scrubbed the web equipment and stood there, rubbing his hand over the slimy surface. Just like a woman, he thought. But not quite. All except one thing.

  Julius Sussman stood up, counting the little money he had left. “Well, it was fine while it lasted. Sure busted up a nice friendly little game, all right. I aint even got enough left for a tank of gas. You dont want to play some more, I guess?” he said to Maggio.

  “Not me,” Maggio said. “I’m goin to the sheds.”

  “Thats what I figured,” Sussman said. He walked over to a window and stood looking out, his hands jammed in his pockets. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “This creepjoint gets me. If this rain would let up a little, I could go for a ride and maybe find some ass, if I had a tank of gas.” He stood back and sighed. “I guess I’ll see can I scour up some dough for me for a tank of gas.”

  “Want me to go with you, Angelo?” Sal Clark said, getting up from the game of solitaire he had started on the bench. “I’ll sweat them out for you,” he offered.

  “Naw,” Maggio said, defensively. “Sweat them out myself. Get my money’s worth.”

  “I sweat them out for you, you’ll win,” Sal offered. “I cant never win myself, but I can sweat winners out for everybody else.”

  Maggio turned to look at him and grinned. “You stay here and sweat them out, Friday. I win I’ll bring you all back a five buck loan. Hey, Prew,” he called. “Tell your man Friday to stay here and sweat them for me. He wont listen to me.”

  Prew stopped rubbing his hand on the slipperiness and looked up but he did not grin, and he did not speak.

  “If you let me go with you and sweat them,” Sal said, “I’ll go for nothin. Save you money.”

  “For Christ’s sake, shut up,” Andy said sullenly. “Cant you see he dont want you to go? You aint got no goddam pride a tall.”

  “There wont be hardly nobody over there,” Maggio said. “Thats why. This late in the month there’ll only be the big winner’s poker table goin, and maybe one blackjack game for small fry.”

  “We’re goin to the seco
nd show anyway,” Andy said. He walked back to Prew. “Loan me twenty cents, Prew, will you? So we can go to the show? I got twenty left, but Sal needs twenty.”

  “Here,” Prew said bitterly, handing him the sixty cents he had. “Take it all. It wont do me no good.”

  “Aw, I hate to do that,” Andy said, but he did not draw back his hand.

  “Yeah, you hate it,” Prew said. “I know you hate it.”

  “I do,” Andy said. “All I ask you for was twenty cents.” He looked at Prew, his eyes going out of focus because he knew he was lying, and he did not want to lie, but still wanted the money.

  “Well you got it all, so shut up,” Prew said. “And for god sake when you talk to a man look him in the goddam eyes, will you? You give me the goddam willies.”

  “Okay, Prew,” Andy said. “You want me to take it all?”

  “You got it, aint you? Go spend it and shut up.”

  “Okay,” Andy said. “Come on, Sal,” he said, walking over to the bench. “Lets play couple hands of casino, till its show time.”

  Prew looked at him disgustedly and went back to the sink, feeling the need of a woman writhing in his belly.

  “Hey, Prew,” Maggio called cautiously, jerking his head back at the door. “Come on out on the porch a minute.”

  “What for?” Prew said, knowing he was being bastardly, but unable to stop it. “You got the money, go blow it.”

  “Come on out here a minute, goddam it,” Maggio said.

  “Okay,” he said, and left the sink. Andy did not look up as he passed, but Sal Clark looked up and grinned with his bashful fawn’s eyes at him.

  “Take it easy, Friday,” Prew said gently.

  Chapter 11

  MAGGIO WAS STANDING on the porch, waiting for him, his bony shoulders in the undershirt hunched up against the chill, staring at the streams of water falling just outside the screen. The sound of water spattering on the walk below filled the whole porch, drowning the sounds of sleep from in the squadroom.

  “You want to go to town with me? if I win?” he asked, turning as Prew came out.

  Prew grunted irritably. “What’re you doin? invitin me because you feel sorry for me?”

  “Ha,” Maggio said. “Dont flatter yourself. I just dont like to go to town by myself. I dont know anybody in town.”

  “Well neither do I,” Prew said.

  “A guy’s more lonesome in town by himself than he is right here,” Maggio said.

  “Not if he’s got money. You better take what you got and go by yourself, while you still got it,” Prew said. “You go over to O’Hayer’s, you wont have it long,” he said bluntly.

  “Listen,” Angelo said. “You dont want to let that Bloom character get your goat. Everybody knows he’s a prize prick.”

  “You listen. He dont bother me; he fucks with me I’ll bust his goddam flat head for him. And that goes for all the rest of them. See?”

  “It wouldnt do you any good,” Angelo said reasonably.

  “Maybe not, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better.”

  “He was needling you with all that crap about being yellow,” Maggio said. “Nobody believes that.”

  Prew had started back to the latrine, but now he stopped. “Listen, Angelo,” he said, turning back. “Lets drop this. I dont care whether they, or anybody, believe it or not,” he said seriously. “They can all of them go screw themselves, and I’ll be the first guy to walk across the street and watch it.”

  “Okay,” Maggio said briefly. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Wait’ll I get my shirt. I’m freezin to death. I thought them travel posters said they dint have no winter in Hawaii.”

  He disappeared into the slowly, rhythmically breathing squadroom, tiptoeing grotesquely, and Prew had to grin. Angelo came back putting on his shirt and carrying his raincoat, wearing the stiffly blocked hat he was so proud of, that he had religiously had blocked once every week since he got out of recruit drill.

  “Where’ll you be?” he asked, unbuttoning his pants and stuffing in his shirt, as they walked down to the stairs and down them to the ground floor porch where the endlessly falling water made an endless sound that was no longer heard because it had been going on so long.

  “I’ll be in the Dayroom,” Prew said, “or else up in the latrine.”

  Maggio was putting on his raincoat, as if it was a suit of armor and he was going forth to joust. “Okay,” he said. “You better be prepared to bring a footlocker to help bring home the ghelt.”

  “You better win,” Prew said, “goddam you. I aint had a piece of ass in almost a month.”

  “No wonder you’re pissed off,” Angelo grinned. “I aint had one since last payday.” He pulled his hat down on his forehead and peered up at Prew from under the knife edge of the brim. “Gimme a butt before I go.

  “Jesus Christ!” Prew said, pained, but he reached in his pocket and brought out one, a single tube, from the unseen pack. “Since when did I take you to raise?”

  “Whats a matter? You scared I’ll steal your lousy tailormades? After I win I’ll buy you a whole carton. Now match me and I’m gone.”

  “Is your mouth dry?” Prew said. “You want me to spit for you?”

  “Not on the floor,” Angelo said, raising his eyebrows in mock horror. “Not on the floor. Wheres your manners?”

  “Aint there something else I can do for you? Use my mouth as an ashtray? cut off my balls and have a game of marbles? You oughta be able think of somethin.”

  “No,” Maggio said. “But thanks. You’re a good boy. You ever get to Brooklyn, look me up. I’ll treat you right.” He opened the book Prew handed him, tore off one, struck it, and handed back the book, the bronze glow lighting up his thin child’s face. “I’ll see you, kid,” he said, puffing luxuriantly, like a rich man on a fifty cent cigar. He swaggered off out into the rain, ducked through the falling sheets of water, swaggered on, his bony shoulders hunched up belligerently, his thin arms swinging widely, his torso swaying from side to side, agitating the formless raincoat that enveloped him.

  Prew watched him go, half grinning ruefully, no longer feeling mean, hoping he would win some money. He stood for a while looking out across the rainswept quad to the lighted sallyport, listening to the snatches of song and shouts from Choy’s as the door was opened, hearing the rattling of empty cases. He was back in the old familiar round again, hunting and twisting and pinching for the nickels that looked as big as dollars, trying to scour up enough for a few drinks and a piece of ass.

  Even if he wins, he thought, you wont find the thing you want, not in any whorehouse, you who talk about a piece of ass so glibly, as if it held the answer. You were a goddamned stupid fool to ever let Violet get away from you, he thought bitterly, wishing now he had not forced the issue, had had some sense, wondering what she was doing tonight, right now. Maybe you didnt have the thing you’re always looking for, but at least you could have gone up there once a week; or once a month even. Way it is now you aint got even that. All you got now is the old round, the whorehouses where you never find it either, plus the absence of the money that it costs you to look there and that you have to scrounge for and then never get, except on Payday when they’re all so crowded that if you dont get your gun off in three minutes you have to take a raincheck. At least with Violet you had a woman. Maybe you could go back and see her and explain it, but even as he thought it he knew it would be useless, that it was past, that she had already found another soldier, or maybe even one of her own race. That was what she really wanted. Maybe you should have married her. Sure, maybe you should have stayed in the Bugle Corps, too, I guess? Maybe you’ll never find the thing it is you’re looking for? he thought and turned to go back up.

  Andy and Sal Clark were still in the latrine, playing casino on the worn wood bench thats grain was raised and weathered by the shower water that was always getting splashed on it.

  “Bloom was back while you was gone,” Andy said, looking up from his hand.

 
“Yeah?” Prew said, feeling very indifferent now. “What’d he want?”

  “Lookin for somebody to borrow fifty cents from for taxifare to town,” Andy said sullenly, looking back down.

  “Well? Did you loan it to him?”

  “Why would I loan it to him?” Andy said indignantly. “You think I’d run out on you?” Then he looked up and saw Prew was kidding him, and his voice dropped back down. “We ony got eighty cents between us,” he muttered. “I loan him four bits, we wouldnt have enough to go to the show.”

  “I thought maybe you loaned it to him,” Prew teased. “You’re the richest joe around here now, outside of Angelo.”

  “Well I dint,” Andy said. “If thats what you think. And anytime you want your money back, just ask for it and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Hell no,” Prew said happily. “Wont do me any good.”

  “I s’pose you’re goin to town with Angelo,” Andy asked him, sulkily.

  Prew turned to look at the hurt tone in his voice. “If he wins,” he said.

  Andy looked at Sal significantly. “Thats what we figured.”

  “You figured what?” Prew said, and walked down to them and stood in front of Andy. “If anybody did some figurin, it was you, I’ll bet, not Sal. Anything wrong with me goin with Angelo?”

  “I guess not,” Andy shrugged elaborately. “Except a guy dont usually take off on his pals who’s broke.”

  “You mean you think I ought to stay here and go to the show with you? because you cant go to town?”

  “I dint say that,” Andy said defensively. “Bloom wanted me to go to town with him tonight.”

  “Well go ahead,” Prew said serenely. “If thats whats eatin you. That wont hurt my feelins any. I dont care who you go to town with. Whats Friday goin to do?”

  “He can go to the show by himself,” Andy said. “I’m ony takin four bits taxifare.”

  “Man,” Prew said. “You’re a hot one.”

  “I aint goin to the show,” Friday said happily. “I’m ona save at thirty cents and stay right here and teach myself how to deal these cards, by god.”