by James Jones
“Give it to me,” Karen said again. And she stood up and the prim tenseness had left her completely, leaving her looking suddenly long and loose and free swinging. She took the bottle and held it in her left arm against the confining thinness of the summer print, carrying it that way, cradled lovingly like a baby, and looking at him.
“I’ll give it to you, baby,” Warden said, watching her. “I’ll really give it to you, baby, all of it.”
“Will you?” she said, leaning her head back and looking at him. “Really? All of it? You like to give it to me, dont you? I mean because its me?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
“Then lets go now,” she said emotionally. “Lets go home now, Milt. Little Milt.” She took his left hand with her right, still holding the bottle cradled with the other, and swinging them as they walked leaned her head back and looked up at him.
Warden grinned down at her. But inside he felt the irritated anger come back strong, now that he was sure she was not going to run out on him. He was hurt and provoked suddenly because she had made him feel like crying foolishly over nothing, just to satisfy her pride.
“We better walk down the beach,” he said, grinning to hide it. “Be hardly nobody on the beach now at night.”
“All right,” Karen said silkily. “The beach it is. And to hell with them, what do we care for them? A fig for them. Wait a minute,” she said and holding onto him with the hand that held the bottle she raised first one long free-moving leg and then the other and slipped her shoes off, wiggling her toes in the sand.
Warden felt his irritated anger fade before a surge of a much stronger emotion.
“Now,” she laughed throatily, and leaned her head back and looked at him in that way she had. “Lets go.”
They walked down the beach, the narrow, much touted, disappointing, grapefruit rind floating in the daytime but lovely now at night, Waikiki Beach, walking at the water’s edge where the sand was firm and damp, Karen in her bare feet and with her head leaned back exposing the long smooth lovely line of throat looking up at him and swinging their two arms childishly still holding the bottle like a baby, and Warden seeing her feet with their painted nails in the now-darker-than-half dark behind the buildings felt a hot flash go over him, must be the change of life, he thought, you having one of those like use to blister poor sister, as they walked through the damp salt air past the backs of the shop buildings with their leanto arcade to shade daytime swimmers, past the Tavern’s outdoor terrace that was not quite crowded now and the wooden bandstand where the beachboys sat under it and played their ukes for atmosphere in the daytime, past the several private homes interspersed with fruitjuice stands, down the long dark deserted beach, to the Moana’s three sided patio (this was no patio, this was a lanai) open on the water with its enormous tree (a ban—yan, wasn’t it?), where Karen put her shoes back on and he felt it again.
“This is it, Sgt Martin,” Karen laughed.
“Thats fine, Mrs Martin.”
“I asked for, and got, a corner room on the ocean side. More expensive, but worth it, and we can afford it cant we, Sgt Martin?”
“We can afford anything, Mrs Martin.”
“Wait till you see it, its big and airy and lovely and we’ll have them serve our breakfast in the room tomorrow. Really and truly a fine place, Sgt Martin.”
“Fine place for a honeymoon, Mrs Martin?” he said unashamedly.
“Yes,” she said, leaning her head back in that way she had and looking at him from under her eyelids, “for a honeymoon, Sgt Martin.”
There was nobody around the patio and he kissed her then, standing out on the beach still, the bad of a while ago all gone now, finding it now just as he had thought so long about it being, before they went up to the nice room, the fine room, that was on the second floor and that they walked up to and then down the long corridor that was like every other hotel corridor whether cheap or expensive, clear down to the end, to the last door on the left.
She turned on the lights and then turned around to him smiling and said, “See? They even closed the Venetian blinds for Sgt & Mrs H L Martin. They must know us.” and Warden saw the familiar face of Capt Holmes’s wife that he had seen so often at a distance on the Post before he knew her and he was strangely moved at the strangeness of it all, seeing the loveliness of the big, woman’s breasts straining against the summer print, the long legs with their long thighs and the hips that looked thin under the dress but were not thin or even slim but very full without the dress, and he flipped the knob-button-lock and took three steps and had her as she was slipping her arm up out of the tiny sleeve of the dress she had unbuttoned down the back exposing the slip strap on the deep-tanned shoulder, and he did not give a damn for any of it, Stark or Champ Wilson or O’Hayer or any of them or what they said and he did not believe a goddam word of it and he knew it was not true and he didnt give a goddam if it was true it was different now the hell with all of it and all of them because it had never been like this and it would never again be like this and he knew it and he knew he must be wise and deep and brave and great enough to save this to dig it out of the morass of lies and half lies and false truths and hang onto it now that he finally had it and why had he had it when he knew so few ever had it that he was almost ashamed for having so much of it now as he opened his eyes again and saw that it was all still there still really and truly there and looked down at the shining eyes that actually truly seemed to make two great vertical lines of light as if he were looking at one single star through unfocused field glasses such as he had never seen before and he was both proud and humble and he laughed, looking back now at the easy-for-any-Boy-Scout-to-stalk trail of clothes from the doorway to the bed.
“You laugh beautifully, my darling,” Karen murmured sleepily, “and you make love beautifully too. When you love me I feel as if I were a goddess being worshipped, a White Goddess to the savages and you the savages, carefully restrained in worship but with filed teeth and a big gold ring in your ear.”
He lay on his back in the sweated bed listening to her and staring contentedly at the ceiling half-sleepily like after a full good rich meal, feeling the fine-boned hand that was almost transparent like Old Choy’s but smooth and utterly different in kind and texture from Old Choy’s fingering lightly on his chest and the high well lighted room gave them the secret and anonymous solitude that only a hotel room can give as outside the locked door he heard rug-muffled footsteps passing along the corridor and whispered voices coming to him faintly and keys rattling and doors slamming shut with secret finality, finality finality finality of finalities saith the Sergeant all is finality what profit hath a man of all his probabilities under the sun one probability passeth away and another probability cometh all things are full of probabilities man cannot utter it but finality abideth forever in a hotel room there is no remembrance of former probabilities neither shall there be anticipation of probabilities that are to come with those that come after thus spakest I the Sergeant who was king over Israel in Jerusalem where I dwelt in the valley of the shadow of a hotel room with my beloved who is the rose of Sharon and the lilies of the valley of the shadow of a hotel room where there is no inconsistency where there is no probabilities where there is finality remain remain O Shulamite remain remain that ye may give me to drink of the spiced wine of the juice of thy pomegranate in a hotel room where nothing is inconstant finality is all is one and is all and abideth for ever and ever and ever amen days without number while all the probabilities run down to the world yet the world is not full.
Then he was awake again back inside himself again where there were probabilities again, where there would always be probabilities again running into the world again yet never filling the world full enough to reach finality. For a minute there you thought you had found a system that would beat the game, didnt you, Warden? Yes you did, yes you did. But without having to get up to look he could feel the old world seeping steadily under the door that he had locked but forgot to calk.
The world was up almost to the mattress now. The world was carrying its sheaf of probabilities under its arm like a salesman. The world was selling insurance for the insurance business that was science. Did you know the insurance business is what gives our country its financial stability? Yes, you knew that. Did you know the insurance business which is science developed and propagated the law of probabilities? Yes, you knew. Well, didnt you know that law of probabilities had as its Justinian Code the principle that there is no finality, that there is only probabilities, that constancy is only an illusion composed and perpetuated by an infinite number of inconstancies? Yes, you knew that too, but you did not believe it. Oh, you did not believe it? Just like that. You do not choose to run. Why didnt you believe it? Probably because, he thought, that is in all probability because, you were raised as a Catholic. Oh, I say, come now, really! Well, you asked me. But you are not a Catholic any more, are you? No, you are not. You stopped being a Catholic at fourteen, when you had your first piece of ass and discovered there was nothing to confess. But you surely realize, do you not, that the Song of the Shulamite is really only a metaphor of Christ’s love for the Church? The King James version tells you that explicitly; it is not a man’s love for a woman or a woman’s love for a man; surely you know that? Yes, you know that; but cant you see, you, that it is simply because of that that the law of probabilities which states that there is no constancy and therefore no finality came into being? Unfair! Unfair! Objection overruled! Strike that out! That statement is immaterial, irrelevant, and misleading, and tends to influence the witness. Objection sustained. Time’s up. Theres the bell. Take It Or Leave It gives that man Sixty-Four Dollars and we have some fine new policies against being drowned in salt water; you knew of course that salt water is much worse to drown in than fresh water? Yes; but is it better to drown in fresh water than in probabilities? We dont know about that but we know it is a hell of a lot harder. Then I’ll just take ten thousand against probabilities. Sorry, we cannot insure you against that likelihood without a complete mental examination, that possibility is too great a risk for our company. Ah, then just give me my Sixty-Four Dollars and I’ll go. Sorry, time’s up, instead of taking it it looks like you leave it, bud.
“Nobody ever loved me like you love me,” Karen said snugly cozily.
“Nobody?” he said.
Karen laughed and it was like honey dripping from a spoon back into the jar between you and the sunlight.
“No, nobody,” she said.
“Not even one?” he said, jokingly. “Out of all the many men you’ve been loved by?”
“Well,” Karen said still laughingly, “that will take some figuring. Have you got a pencil? How many men do you think I’ve been loved by, darling?”
“I wouldnt know,” he joked. “Cant you even make me a rough estimate?”
“Not without an adding machine,” Karen said, a little less laughingly. “Do you have your adding machine with you?”
“No,” he joked. “I forgot to bring it.”
“Then I guess you wont find out, will you?” Karen said not laughingly at all.
“Maybe I already know.”
She sat up in the bed then and looked at him demandingly, suddenly a more positive personality than he had ever seen her, more even than that first time at the house before the kid came home.
“Whats the matter, Milt?” she said still looking at him. It sounded crisp and wifely, as if she had called him Milton.
“Why, nothing,” he grinned stiffly. “Why?”
“Yes there is,” she said. “What are you hinting at?”
“Hinting at?” he grinned. “I wasnt hinting at anything. I was only kidding you.”
“No you werent,” she said. “What are you upset about?”
“About nothing,” Warden said. “Why? Is there something I should be upset about? Is there something to hint at?”
“I dont know,” she said. “Maybe a lot. Or maybe you just think theres a lot.
“Tell me,” Capt Holmes’s wife said. “What is it? Dont you feel well? Did you eat something?”
“Dont worry about my health, baby.”
“Then tell me what it is. Why dont you tell me?”
“Okay,” he said. “Did you ever hear of a guy named Maylon Stark?”
“Why, yes,” Karen said distinctly. “I know Maylon Stark. He’s the company mess sergeant.”
“Thats right. He also use to be a cook in Holmes’s troop at Bliss. Maybe you knew him then too?”
“Yes,” Karen said looking at him. “I knew him then too.”
“Maybe you knew him pretty well then?”
“Well enough,” Karen said.
“Maybe you know him even better now?”
“No,” Karen said looking at him. “I dont know him at all now. In fact, I havent seen him to speak to in eight years.” She kept on looking at him, when he did not answer, and then she saw his hand. “You must have hit him very hard,” she said.
“I didnt hit him at all,” Warden said. “Lets not romanticize anything. I hit the wall. Why should I hit him?”
“Oh, you damn fool,” she said angrily. “You crazy damn fool.” She picked his hand up tenderly.
“Ouch,” he said. “Watch out.”
“What did he say to you?” she asked him, still holding his hand tenderly.
Warden looked at her, then at his hand. Then he looked back at her.
“He said he’d fucked you,” Warden said.
It spread out across the room like a shell burst and he could have bitten off the tongue that said it. In the sustained suspension of the roar he could see the glaze of shock from the concussion take hold of her. But she recovered quickly. She recovered very quickly, he thought bitterly admiringly. Probably she had known what was coming.
Why are you doing this? What ever made you say a thing like that? Does it make any difference to you if she did? No, it doesn’t make any difference to you. Then why are you doing it? But he had known, of course, what he was doing. He knew the first word, once uttered, led inevitably to this. It all seemed remarkably familiar like something he had done before and he was miserable because he was doing it yet he could not stop it. He had to know, when people told you things like that you couldnt just drop them, you couldnt just forget them, not when you had to live with those people every day. God damn people.
“You didnt need to say that,” Karen said. She laid his hand down carefully.
“Oh, yes I did. You’ll never know how much.”
“All right,” she said. “Maybe you did. But not like that. You shouldnt have said it like that, Milt. Not without giving me my chance first.”
“He also mentioned that Champ Wilson probably had too. Thats the current story. Not to mention Jim O’Hayer. Not to mention Liddell Henderson.”
“So I’m the company whore now?” she said. “Well, thats what I get, I guess. I guess I laid myself open for it, didn’t I? I asked for it when I first went out with you.”
“Nobody knows you been out with me. Nobody,” Warden said.
“Only you would really think I would have known, wouldnt you?” she said. “But not me. Oh no, not me. I had to convince myself you were different. I had to go and forget you were a man. And being a man, had the same rotten filthy mind the rest of them have. The same proud rooster masculinity of conquest. Oh, I bet you and Stark had a fine time I bet, talking it over, comparing notes on how good it was. Tell me, how do I stack up, anyway, with the professionals? I’m still an amateur, you know.”
She got out of the bed and fumblingly started gathering up her clothes. They were still strewn across the room. She had to sort them out from his. She had trouble with them. Her hair kept falling into her eyes. She had to keep brushing at her eyes with first one hand then the other.
“Leaving?” Warden said.
“I’m considering it. Have you any other suggestions? After all, its over, isnt it? You cant really expect it could ever be the same again, now, do you? It was a nice
ride while it lasted. But I think this is where I get off.”
“Then I think I’ll have a drink,” Warden said, feeling sick, feeling castrated. Well, what did you think would happen? How is it people can never talk? Why cant they speak? How come they always say something else than what they mean? He got up and got the bottle from the dresser. “Will you have a drink?” he said.
“No thank you. I’m having all I can do to keep from puking now.”
“Oh,” he said. “It makes you sick. Dirty little Warden and his nasty little mind. Filthy men whose brains hang between their legs. Did you ever hear the old adage that where there’s smoke there must be some fire?” he said viciously.
As he said this viciously, he was looking at those soft tipped breasts that had the sag, the full-bodied necessary little sag of maturity that the virgins and the young stuff never had and always lacked something in not having.
And as he said this viciously, he was feeling the sickness, the scrotum-shriveling pecker shrinking eunuch-making sickness, blooming and ballooning through him.
“Yes,” Karen said. “I’ve heard it. Did you ever hear the one about how every living woman dies three times? Once when she is seduced of her virginity, once when she is seduced of her freedom (I believe they call it marriage), and once when she is seduced of her husband. Did you ever hear that one?”
“No,” he said. “I never heard it.”
“Neither did I,” Karen said. “I just thought of it. You might add a fourth one: when she is seduced of her lover. I ought to send it in to the Reader’s Digest, dont you think? Maybe I’d get five bucks for it. But of course they’d have a man for editor.”
“You dont like men any better than I like women, do you?” Warden said, leaning on the dresser and not offering to help her.
“Why should I? If they’re like you and your filthy friends? That was a pretty rotten thing to say to me, you know. Especially since that about all those other men is a lie and isnt true.”
“Okay,” he said. “But its true about Stark though, isnt it?”
