From Here to Eternity: The Restored Edition

by James Jones

  “They sure are,” Lt Ross said.

  “In a war a country needs every good soldier it can lay hands on. It cant have too many.”

  “One soldier more, or less, dont matter much,” Lt Ross said tiredly.

  “You think not?”

  “Production is what wins wars,” Lt Ross said.

  “Thats why a man who loves the Army is nuts,” Warden said.

  “I guess thats right,” Lt Ross said. “Well, you’ll be out of it, before long, anyway. Out of this, anyway.” He rubbed the same grimy hand over the same face, that was smeared now, and then got up and collected his carbine and his helmet.

  “I have to go out and take a look at Makapuu yet before I turn in, Sergeant Its going to be rough on Cribbage with Sgt Karelsen out. They’re going to have a hard time for a while. If anything comes up, you’ll know where to find me.”

  “Send Anderson or Clark up to relieve me on this switchboard when you go down, will you?”

  “Which one’s on first?”

  “I dont know. Let them decide. But I want Rosenberry to get the last shift; he was up with this all the time I was gone.”

  “Okay,” Lt Ross said. He went out.

  In a few minutes Company Bugler Anderson, sleepy-eyed and tousleheaded, came in looking sullen like a man who bet on red when the black had come up.

  “Lost, hunh?” Warden said.

  “I should of made him cut the cards,” Andy said. “I never can beat Friday matching.”

  “Its midnight. Theres only eight hours left. Take three, give Friday three, and let Rosenberry have the last two,” Warden said. “He was up with it all evening while you guys were banging ear.” He got his rifle out of the corner.

  “Okay, Top,” Andy said. He did not look happy, but then you did not argue with The Warden any more than you would have argued with Jesus Christ. Especially when he was in this mood.

  “Hey, Top?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that really true about Prewitt?”

  “Yeah, its true.”

  “Gee. Thats tough,” Andy said. He got his comic book out of his hip pocket and sat down by the switchboard. “Thats really tough.”

  “Yeah,” Warden said. “Sure is.”

  Outside, in the fresh sea air under the kiawe grove, the late-rising moon was just coming above the mountains back of Koko Head, its silver light making one dark cave of the whole grove. From the wagon, and below him, the ground sloped down sharply through the patchy darkness under the trees of the grove to the bright levelness of the parking lot at the top of the cliff, where he and Karen had parked that time and watched the highschool kids having their picnic.

  Feeling very remote, and aware of the weight of the rifle, he picked at random one of the new paths in the sandy soil that were becoming more packed and smooth every day now since Pearl Harbor, and that formed a many-choiced web through the grove amongst the newly placed tents and the old popcorn wagon and two WPA septic-tank outhouses that had been there before. The air felt very good in his lungs and on the outside of his head.

  He walked on in the shade-dappled moonlight, feeling something ugly and hard flare up inside his chest. He went up another path toward the scattered tents of the camp.

  The Headquarters tent was dark and Friday and Rosenberry were asleep on their cots, and he took still another path toward the supply tent over by the blacktop.

  In the supply tent Pete and Maylon Stark were sitting up with Pete’s Schofield bottles, by the light of a blanket-shaded Coleman lantern. On the improvised table of sawhorses and one-by-six planks against the back wall Pete’s portable radio, that he had carefully packed and brought along on The Seventh, was playing dance music.

  “It aint hahdly even the same outfit any more,” Stark said gloomily drunkenly.

  “Come on in, Milt,” Pete said sympathetically from the cot. He moved over. “We just been talking about how fast the Compny’s changed the last couple of months.”

  Warden noted the open bottle was less than half empty. Stark must have started in earlier with one of his own.

  “Balls!” he sneered at them. “It aint changin any fastern it ever was.” He unslung his rifle and sat down beside Pete and accepted a canteen cup half full of straight whiskey. He drank it off quick and handed it back for a refill. “Wheres Russell? I thought he’d be in here tellin his story.”

  “He’s already been,” Stark said darkly.

  “He’s over across the road to the kitchen tent,” Pete said, “tellin the cooks.”

  “What’ll he do when he runs out of people to tell?” Stark said.

  “Bust, probly,” Pete said.

  Behind them the music on the radio stopped and an announcer came on.

  “Lucky Strike green has gone to war,” the announcer said. “Yes, Lucky Strike green has gone to war.”

  “I aint never seen no outfit change so much in so short a time,” Stark said funereally.

  “Say, what the hell is this?” Warden jeered. “I thought this was a party. Its more like a wake.”

  “It could be a wake,” Stark said belligerently.

  “Then lets liven it up a little. A wake’s supposed to be lively. Lets dial out that crap and get some good gutty hot jazz.”

  “Leave it be,” Pete said. “Its the hit parade.”

  “What. On Monday night?”

  “Prewitt happened to be a good friend of mine,” Stark said testily.

  “Its a re-broadcast from the States for Servicemen,” Pete explained.

  “No stuff?” Warden derided. “A re-broadcast? For servicemen? Boy, they really treatin us right any more, aint they? Pretty soon they be wipin our ass for us maybe, hunh?”

  “He may not of been a good friend of yours,” Stark said. “But he was a good friend of mine.”

  “He was no goddam friend of mine,” Warden sneered. “All he caused me was headaches and troubles.”

  “You’re a hard hearted son of a bitch,” Stark said pugnaciously, “you know it?”

  “Thats no way to talk about a man from your own Compny, Milt,” Pete said, “after he’s been killed. Even if he was over the hill. Even if you are kidding.”

  “Kidding,” Warden said. “Who the hells kidding?”

  “I just cant get over it,” Stark said. He started naming them. “Leva; transferred to M Co as Supply Sgt Bloom; a suicide. Maggio; discharged a Section Eight. Holmes and Big Jim O’Hayer gone to Brigade Hq. And then all these heah ROTC jokers comin in. And now Prewitt.”

  “Balls,” Warden scoffed, “sometimes we lose that many men in a single month, as short timers.”

  “You dont think dyin is any differnt from goin home as a short timer?” Stark said.

  “They didnt all die,” Warden said.

  “You try it sometime,” Stark said, “and see.”

  “The effect on the Compny Roster’s no differnt,” Warden said. “Pour us another drink, Pete.”

  “And now old Pete will be leavin in a couple days,” Stark said gloomily.

  “Dont forget Old Ike,” Warden grinned.

  “Well, I for one will be damn glad to get out of this outfit,” Pete said. “Six years in an outfit is long enough.”

  “And I, for one, dont blame you,” Stark said.

  “You guys think I like layin on my ass in them holes in the rock out at Makapuu like a lizard?” Pete said.

  “Because it aint even the same outfit no more,” Stark said.

  “You guys sound like a couple kids,” Warden snorted. “No outfit ever stays the same. What do you want? Everybody all grow old together and all retire on the same day and go live somewheres in a body?”

  Behind them the music stopped again and the announcer came back on.

  “Dont look for your Luckies in their familiar green package on the tobacco counters,” the announcer said. “No, your Luckies are wearing a different color now.”

  “Mark my words,” Pete said with accurate prophecy. “The golden days on this rock are ov
er. When they do start givin passes, there’ll be men lined up for blocks at every bar and every whorehouse. And they’ll run them through like an assembly line.”

  “Like to get out of it myself,” Stark said. “Ony I aint got no place to go.”

  “But old Pete,” Pete said, “is going to be sitting on a rosy cloud of plenty. Back Stateside.”

  “If I did have a place to go,” Stark said. “I couldnt get a transfer now.”

  “And then I’ll think about you boys still sitting on the rocks at Makapuu,” Pete said.

  “If I could transfer,” Stark said, “it would still be the same. Draftees everywhere. ROTC jokers everywhere.”

  “You’re both of you nuttiern fruitcakes,” Warden jeered. “No outfits ever any different than another; peace or war. And it’ll be closed down just as tight back Stateside as it will here.”

  “Oh, no!” Pete said. “Oh, no!”

  “So it wunt do me any good to transfer if I could,” Stark said.

  “Oh, no!” Pete said. “There’ll be women everywhere. All of them out on the loose. With the sky the limit.”

  Warden looked at him carefully. “For Christ’s sake, shut up,” he said boredly, “both of you.”

  “I envy you,” Stark said gloomily.

  “Goddam right you do,” Pete said. “They’ll put me to training draftees. I’ll have a nice soft easy job. Just like a business man in an office. I’ll do my eight hours and then I’m through for the day. Why the hell should I want to stay in this goddam outfit?”

  “I envy you,” Stark said dismally. “Oh, god, how I envy you.”

  “Shut up!” Warden said to him.

  “Bars!” Pete said. “Cocktail lounges! Nice hotels to take them to! Good restaurants! I know what its like. I was in the last war.”

  “You’ll be gettin out just as the old Compny folds,” Stark said. “You wont be here to see the end.”

  “I said shut up, Stark!” Warden said.

  “And you’ll be sleepin on rocks!” Pete hollered. “Eatin cold chow off a messkit! Workin your ass and arms off puttin up bob wire!” He got up off the cot.

  “You’ll be living on the beaches!” he yelled, throwing it at them. “Standin in line for a drink or a piece of ass! You’ll be the first Infantry outfit under the gun! The first ones to be shipped down south when we start into them crummy islands!”

  He was leaning forward at them stiffly, shooting it down at them, his arms straight down at his sides against the round-bottomed-doll fat hips. His face was very red. Some tears ran down off his face and, leaning forward as he was, dripped onto the blunt round toes of his issue shoes.

  “Livin on a goddam powder keg!” Pete hollered. “Thats all primed to blow, the minute this country starts to fight!”

  Warden jumped up off the cot and grabbed him, still leaning like a defiance of the law of gravity, with both arms around him. “All right, all right, Pete, all right. Sit down. Have another drink. Lets listen to the music for a while.”

  “I’m allright,” Pete said strangledly. “I guess my enthusiasm just got the best of me for a minute. Let go of me.” Warden let him go and he sat back down. “Wheres my drink?”

  “Here,” Warden said, holding him out a canteen cup of whiskey.

  “Guess who I ran into up to Schofield today, Milt,” Pete said painfully, in an almost rupturing effort to be casually conversational.

  “I don’t know,” Warden said. “Who.” He held out his cup.

  “I’ll have to get the other bottle,” Pete said, getting up. “This one’s done.” He went back to the table.

  Behind them the music stopped and the announcer came on.

  “Lucky Strike green has gone to war,” the announcer said. “Yes, Lucky Strike green has gone to war.”

  “Who did you run into up at Schofield, Pete?” Warden prompted as Pete came back.

  “Your Lucky Strikes have put on khaki and enlisted,” the announcer said.

  “Capt Holmes’s wife,” Pete said. He poured whiskey into Warden’s cup. “Imagine that? Aint seen her for months. She was in the Evacuation Office at Regiment when I went in to get my chit. She’s going back to the States on the same boat I am.”

  “Haw!” Stark guffawed drunkenly.

  “Who?” Warden said.

  “Capt Holmes’s wife,” Pete said. “Hell, you remember Capt Holmes’s—Major Holmes’s—wife, dont you?”

  “Sure,” Warden said, “I remember her.”

  “Haw!” Stark hooted drunkenly.

  “Well,” Pete said, “seems they’re still living in their old quarters in the Regiment’s M O Q, so she had to report to Regiment instead of Brigade for her evacuation number and shipping list chit for her and her kid. Christ, there was a whole bunch of them in there; Major Thompson’s wife; Col Delbert’s wife; I dont know who all. And Holmes’s wife is booked for the same boat they got me booked for. Leaves on January 6th.”

  “Haw!” Stark guffawed explosively again.

  “Whats the matter with you?” Pete said.

  “Nothin,” Stark grinned. “I just happen to think of something.”

  “Of course,” Pete went on, “she’ll be goin back First Class, and I’ll be down in the hole, but still she’s goin on the same damn boat I am. Its sure a damn small world, you know it?”

  “Haw!” Stark giggled. “It sure is.”

  “You want another drink, Stark?”

  “Naw,” Stark grinned. “I’m doin fine. Just fine.”

  “Well?” Warden said casually. “What’d she seem like? What’d she have to say?”

  “Haw!” Stark guffawed drunkenly.

  “Ask about the Compny,” Pete said. “Wanted to know how the Compny Administration was making out. And how the supplyroom was makin out with the new supply sergeant. And ask how you were getting along with the new Compny Commander.”

  “Me?” Warden said.

  “Haw!” Stark guffawed.

  “Yes,” Pete said. “Say, whats the matter with you?” he said to Stark.

  “Nothin,” Stark giggled happily.

  “You know,” Pete said to Warden, “she knows a hell of a lot more about this Compny than I ever thought she did.”

  “She ought to,” Stark said.

  “She even ask me if Prewitt was back yet.”

  “Him too?” Stark grinned. “She loves this Compny,” Stark grinned. “All of it. Aint that right, Milt?”

  “You know I believe she does,” Pete said. “It surprised me. How much she knew about it. I liked her a lot.”

  “You did, hunh?” Stark grinned. “Well then you ought to look her up on board ship. Dont you think, Milt?”

  “She’ll be upstairs,” Pete said. “Officer Class. I’ll be down the hole. I wont even see her.”

  “Dont let that bother you,” Stark grinned. “Just look her up and ask her to invite you up to her stateroom. She’ll do it. Aint that right, Milt? . . . And then while you’re there ask her for a piece of ass. She’ll give you that, too. She loves this Compny.”

  Pete was a little slow on the uptake. But a shocked look began to spread over his face, as it dawned on him what Stark had said.

  “Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Warden said.

  “You think I’m lyin, Pete?” Stark guffawed. “I aint, though. Ask Warden; she give him some. She had him fooled. Ask me; she gave me some, too. Ony she never fooled me any.

  “But you want to watch out though,” Stark said confidentially, “and take a good pro afterwards, or you’re liable to come out with a good dose of the clap.”

  Warden, watching the thin mask of ribald laughter on Stark’s face that just barely hid something else, felt a pause coming. He’d have to run down in a minute, and Warden was content to wait. A tremendous gratification filled him. This was what he had been looking for all day and couldnt find.

  “All right, you son of a bitch,” he said when the pause came full. He enunciated it carefully and clearly. “Now I’ll tell you something. You w
ant to know how she got the clap at Bliss? You want to know who gave it to her? I’ll tell you. It was her beloved husband, Capt Dana E Holmes, who give it to her.”

  Under the flush of the whiskey, Maylon Stark’s face went white as a sheet. Warden watched him with a completely inexpressible, absolutely luxurious, positively exquisite satisfaction.

  “I dont believe it,” Stark said.

  “Its true, though,” Warden said, feeling himself grinning supremely happily.

  “I dont believe it,” Stark said. “They said it was a Lieutenant who was Adjutant at the Officers’ Club. He got relieved for having it. I talked to a couple of the guys who said they seen them. Besides, it happened six months before I ever met her. But I talked to them.”

  “The story wasnt true, though,” Warden said.

  “I dont believe it,” Stark said. “It has to be true.”

  “Its not, though,” Warden said gently.

  “It has to be,” Stark said.

  “Its not, though.”

  Pete was watching both of them, a first faint glimmer of dawning beginning to push up into his face through the bewilderment.

  Behind them the music went off the radio and the announcer came on.

  “Lucky Strike green has gone to war,” the announcer said. “Yes, Lucky Strike green has gone to war.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Stark said, working his whole face to get the words out of his throat. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch. I’ll kill him.”

  “You wont kill anybody,” Warden said sympathetically tenderly. “Any more than I killed anybody.”

  “I was going to marry that woman,” Stark said. “She was eight years oldern me, but I was going to marry her. I was going to get out of the Army, so I could marry her. I would have married her, too.”

  “And done what?” Warden said gently. “Taken her, a rich man’s daughter, to live on a Texas cropper’s farm?”

  Stark’s face was chalk white. “She was in love with me, too. I know she was. A guy can tell when a woman’s in love with him. We went together on the sly in Bliss for over six whole months. I was going to marry her, too.”