by James Reston
ROGER: (Having moved to his locker, into which HE is placing his folded clothes): You hear about the ole sarge, Richard?
BILLY (Grinning): You ain’t . . . shit . . . motherfucker.
ROGER: (Laughing): All right.
RICHIE (Moving center and beginning to remove his trousers): Billy, no, no. Wit is my domain. You’re in charge of sweat and running around the block.
ROGER: You hear about the ole sarge?
RICHIE: What about the ole sarge? Oh, who cares? Let’s go to a movie. Billy, wanna? Let’s go. C’mon. (Trousers off, HE hurries to his locker)
BILLY: Sure. What’s playin’?
RICHIE: I don’t know. Can’t remember. Something good, though.
With a Playboy magazine HE has taken from his locker, ROGER is settling down on his bunk, his back toward both BILLY and RICHIE.
BILLY: You wanna go, Rog?
RICHIE (In mock irritation): Don’t ask Roger! How are we going to kiss and hug and stuff if he’s there?
BILLY: That ain’t funny, man. (HE is stretched out on his bunk, and RICHIE comes bounding over to flop down and lie beside him)
RICHIE: And what time will you pick me up?
BILLY (HE pushes at RICHIE, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor): Well, you just fall down and wait, all right?
RICHIE: Can I help it if I love you? (Leaping to his feet, HE will head to his locker, remove his shorts, put on a robe)
ROGER: You gonna take a shower, Richard?
RICHIE: Cleanliness is nakedness, Roger.
ROGER: Is that right? I didn’t know that. Not too many people know that. You may be the only person in the world who know that.
RICHIE: And godliness is in there somewhere, of course. (Putting a towel around his neck. HE is gathering toiletries to carry to the shower)
ROGER: You got your own way a lookin’ at things, man. You cute.
RICHIE: That’s right.
ROGER: You g’wan, have a good time in that shower.
RICHIE: Oh, I will.
BILLY (Without looking up from his feet, which HE is powdering): And don’t drop your soap.
RICHIE: I will if I want to. (Already out the door, HE. slams it shut with a flourish)
BILLY: Can you imagine bein’ in combat with Richie—people blastin’ away at you—he’d probably want to hold your hand.
ROGER: Ain’t he somethin’?
BILLY: Who’s zat?
ROGER: He’s all right.
BILLY (Rising, HE heads toward his wall locker, where he will put the powder and Dopp kit): Sure he is, except he’s livin’ underwater.
Looking at BILLY, ROGER senses something unnerving; it makes ROGER rise, and return his magazine to his footlocker.
ROGER: I think we oughta do this area, man. I think we oughta do our area. Mop and buff this floor.
BILLY: You really don’t think he means that shit he talks, do you?
ROGER: Huh? Awwww, man . . . Billy, no.
BILLY: I’d put money on it, Roger, and I ain’t got much money.
BILLY is trying to face ROGER with this, but ROGER, seated on his bed, has turned away. HE is unbuttoning his shirt.
ROGER: Man, no, no. I’m tellin’ you, lad, you listen to the ole Rog. You seen that picture a that little dolly he’s got in his locker? He ain’t swish, man, believe me—he’s cool.
BILLY: It’s just that ever since we been in this room, he’s been different somehow. Somethin’.
ROGER: No, he ain’t.
BILLY. turns to his bed, where HE carefully starts folding the towel. Then HE looks at ROGER.
BILLY: You ever talk to any a these guys—queers, I mean? You ever sit down, just rap with one of ’em?
ROGER: Hell, no; what I wanna do that for? Shit, no.
BILLY (Crossing to the trash can in the corner, where HE will shake the towel empty): I mean, some of ’em are okay guys, just way up this bad alley, and you say to ’em, “I’m straight, be cool,” they go their own way. But then there’s these other ones, these bitches, man, and they’re so crazy they think anybody can be had. Because they been had themselves. So you tell ’em you’re straight and they just nod and smile. You ain’t real to ’em. They can’t see nothin’ but themselves and these goddamn games they’re always playin’. (Having returned to his bunk, HE is putting on his shoes) I mean, you can be decent about anything, Roger, you see what I’m sayin’? We’re all just people, man, and some of us are hardly that. That’s all I’m sayin’. (There is a slight pause as HE sits there thinking. Then HE gets to his feet) I’ll go get some buckets and stuff so we can clean up, okay? This area’s a mess. This area ain’t standin’ tall.
ROGER: That’s good talk, lad; this area a midget you put it next to an area standin’ tall.
BILLY: Got to be good fuckin’ troopers.
ROGER: That’s right, that’s right. I know the meanin’ of the words.
BILLY: I mean, I just think we all got to be honest with each other—you understand me?
ROGER: No, I don’t understand you; one stupid fuckin’ nigger like me—how’s that gonna be?
BILLY: That’s right; mock me, man. That’s what I need. I’ll go get the wax.
Out BILLY goes, talking to himself and leaving the door open. For a moment ROGER sits, thinking, and then HE looks at RICHIE’s locker and gets to his feet and walks to the locker. HE opens it and looks at the pinup hanging on the inside of the door. HE takes a step backward, looking.
ROGER: Sheee-it.
Through the open door comes CARLYLE. ROGER doesn’t see him. And CARLYLE stands there looking at ROGER and the picture in the locker.
CARLYLE: Boy . . . whose locker you lookin’ into?
ROGER: (HE is startled, but recovers): Hey, baby, what’s happenin’?
CARLYLE: That ain’t your locker, is what I’m askin’, nigger. I mean, you ain’t got no white goddamn woman hangin’ on your wall.
ROGER: Oh, no—no, no.
CARLYLE: You don’t wanna be lyin’ to me, ’cause I got to turn you in you lyin’ and you do got the body a some white goddamn woman hangin’ there for you to peek at nobody around but you—you can be thinkin’ about that sweet wet pussy an’ maybe it hot an’ maybe it cool.
ROGER: I could be thinkin’ all that, except I know the penalty for lyin’.
CARLYLE: Thank God for that. (Extending his hand, palm up)
ROGER: That’s right. This here the locker of a faggot. (And HE slaps CARLYLE’s hand, palm to palm)
CARLYLE: Course it is; I see that; any damn body know that. (ROGER crosses toward his bunk and CARLYLE swaggers about, pulling a pint of whiskey from his hip pocket) You want a shot? Have you a little taste, my man.
ROGER: Naw.
CARLYLE: C’mon. C’mon. I think you a Tom you don’t drink outa my bottle. (HE thrusts the bottle toward ROGER and wipes a sweat- and grease-stained sleeve across his mouth)
ROGER: (Taking the bottle): Shit.
CARLYLE: That right. How do I know? I just got in. New boy in town. Somewhere over there; I dunno. They dump me in amongst a whole bunch a pale, boring motherfuckers. (HE is exploring the room. Finding BILLY’s Playboy, HE edges onto BILLY’s bed and leafs nervously through the pages) I just come in from P Company, man, and I been all over this place, don’t see too damn many of us. This outfit look like it a little short on soul. I been walkin’ all around, I tell you, and the number is small. Like one hand you can tabulate the lot of ’em. We got few brothers I been able to see, is what I’m sayin’. You and me and two cats down in the small bay. That’s all I found. (As ROGER is about to hand the bottle back. CARLYLE, almost angrily, waves him off) No, no, you take another; take you a real taste.
ROGER: It ain’t so bad here. We do all right.
CARLYLE (HE moves, shutting the door. Suspiciously, HE approaches ROGER): How about the white guys? They give you any sweat? What’s the situation? No jive. I like to know what is goin’ on within the situation before that situation get a chance to be closin’ in
on me.
ROGER: (Putting the bottle on the footlocker, HE sits down): Man, I’m tellin’ you, it ain’t bad. They’re just pale, most of ’em, you know. They can’t help it; how they gonna help it? Some of ’em got little bit of soul, couple real good boys around this way. Get ’em little bit of Coppertone, they be straight, man.
CARLYLE: How about the NCOs? We got any brother NCO watchin’ out for us or they all white, like I goddamn well KNOW all the officers are? Fuckin’ officers always white, man; fuckin’ snow cones and bars everywhere you look. (HE cannot stay still. HE moves to his right, his left; HE sits, HE stands)
ROGER: First sergeant’s a black man.
CARLYLE: All right; good news. Hey, hey, you wanna go over the club with me, or maybe downtown? I got wheels. Let’s be free. (Now HE rushes at ROGER) Let’s be free.
ROGER: Naw . . .
CARLYLE: Ohhh, baby . . .! (HE is wildly pulling at ROGER to get him to the door)
ROGER: Some other time. I gotta get the area straight. Me and the guy sleeps in here too are gonna shape the place up a little.
ROGER has pulled free, and CARLYLE cannot understand. It hurts him, depresses him.
CARLYLE: You got a sweet deal here an’ you wanna keep it, that right? (HE paces about the room, opens a footlocker, looks inside) How you rate you get a room like this for yourself—you and a couple guys?
ROGER: Spec 4. The three of us in here Spec 4.
CARLYLE: You get a room then, huh? (And suddenly, without warning or transition. HE is angry) Oh, man I hate this goddamn army. I hate this bastard army. I mean, I just got outa basic—off leave—you know? Back on the block for two weeks—and now here. They don’t pull any a that petty shit, now, do they—that goddamn petty basic training bullshit? They do and I’m gonna be bustin’ some head—my hand is gonna be upside all kinds a heads, ’cause I ain’t gonna be able to endure it, man, not that kinda crap—understand? (And again. HE is rushing at ROGER) Hey, hey, oh, c’mon, let’s get my wheels and make it, man, do me the favor.
ROGER: How’m I gonna? I got my obligations.
And CARLYLE spins away in anger.
CARLYLE: Jesus, baby, can’t you remember the outside? How long it been since you been on leave? It is so sweet out there, nigger; you got it all forgot. I had such a sweet, sweet time. They doin’ dances, baby, make you wanna cry. I hate this damn army. (The anger overwhelms him) All these mother-actin’ jacks givin’ you jive about what you gotta do and what you can’t do. I had a bad scene in basic—up the hill and down the hill; it ain’t somethin’ I enjoyed even a little. So they do me wrong here, Jim, they gonna be sorry. Some-damn-body! And this whole Vietnam THING—I do not dig it. (HE fails on his knees before ROGER. It is a gesture that begins as a joke, a mockery. And then a real fear pulses through him to nearly fill the pose HE has taken) Lord, Lord, don’t let ’em touch me. Christ, what will I do, they DO! Whooooooooooooo! And they pullin’ guys outa here, too, ain’t they? Pullin’ ’em like weeds, man; throwin’ ’em into the fire. It’s shit, man.
ROGER: They got this ole sarge sleeps down the hall—just today they got him.
CARLYLE: Which ole sarge?
ROGER: He sleeps just down the hall. Little guy.
CARLYLE: Wino, right?
ROGER: Booze hound.
CARLYLE: Yeh; I seen him. They got him, huh?
ROGER: He’s goin’; gotta be packin’ his bags. And three other guys two days ago. And two guys last week.
CARLYLE (Leaping up from BILLY’s bed): Ohhh, them bastards. And everybody just takes it. It ain’t our war, brother. I’m tellin’ you. That’s what gets me, nigger. It ain’t our war nohow because it ain’t our country, and that’s what burns my ass—that and everybody just sittin’ and takin’ it. They gonna be bustin’ balls, man—kickin’ and stompin’. Everybody here maybe one week from shippin’ out to get blown clean away and, man, whata they doin’? They doin’ what they told. That what they doin’. Like you? Shit! You gonna straighten up your goddamn area! Well, that ain’t for me; I’m gettin’ hat, and makin’ it out where it’s sweet and the people’s livin’. I can’t cut this jive here, man. I’m tellin’ you. I can’t cut it.
CARLYLE has moved toward ROGER, and behind him now RICHIE enters, running, his hair wet, traces of shaving cream on his face. Toweling his hair. HE falters, seeing CARLYLE. Then HE crosses to his locker. CARLYLE grins at ROGER, looks at RICHIE, steps toward him and gives a little bow.
My name is Carlyle; what is yours?
RICHIE: Richie.
CARLYLE (HE turns toward ROGER to share his joke): Hello. Where is Martin? That cute little Martin. (And RICHIE has just taken off his robe as CARLYLE turns back) You cute, too, Richie.
RICHIE: Martin doesn’t live here. (Hurriedly putting on underpants to cover his nakedness)
CARLYLE (Watching RICHIE, HE slowly turns toward ROGER): You ain’t gonna make it with me, man?
ROGER: Naw . . . like I tole you. I’ll catch you later.
CARLYLE: That’s sad, man; make me cry in my heart.
ROGER: You g’wan get your head smokin’. Stop on back.
CARLYLE: Okay, okay. Got to be one man one more time. (On the move for the door, his hand extended palm up behind him, demanding the appropriate response) Baby! Gimme! Gimme!
Lunging, ROGER slaps the hand.
ROGER: G’wan home! G’wan home.
CARLYLE: You gonna hear from me. (And HE is gone out the door and down the hallway)
ROGER: I can . . . and do . . . believe . . . that.
RICHIE, putting on his T-shirt, watches ROGER, who stubs out his cigarette, then crosses to the trash can to empty the ashtray.
RICHIE: Who was that?
ROGER: Man’s new, Rich. Dunno his name more than that “Carlyle” he said. He’s new—just outa basic.
RICHIE (Powdering his thighs and under his arms): Oh, my God . . .
BILLY enters, pushing a mop bucket with a wringer attached and carrying a container of wax.
ROGER: Me and Billy’s gonna straighten up the area. You wanna help?
RICHIE: Sure, sure; help, help.
BILLY (Talking to ROGER, but turning to look at RICHIE, who is still putting powder under his arms): I hadda steal the wax from Third Platoon.
ROGER: Good man.
BILLY (Moving to RICHIE, joking, yet really irritated in some strange way): What? Whata you doin’, singin’? Look at that, Rog. He’s got enough jazz there for an entire beauty parlor. (Grabbing the can from RICHIE’s hand) What is this? Baby Powder! BABY POWDER!
RICHIE: I get rashes.
BILLY: Okay, okay, you get rashes, so what? They got powder for rashes that isn’t baby powder.
RICHIE: It doesn’t work as good; I’ve tried it. Have you tried it?
Grubbing BILLY’s waist. RICHIE pulls him close. BILLY knocks RICHIE’s hands away.
BILLY: Man, I wish you could get yourself straight. I’ll mop, too, Roger—okay? Then I’ll put down the wax and you can spread it? (HE has walked away from RICHIE)
RICHIE: What about buffing?
ROGER: In the morning. (HE is already busy mopping up near the door)
RICHIE: What do you want me to do?
BILLY (Grabbing up a mop. HE heads downstage to work): Get inside your locker and shut the door and don’t holler for help. Nobody’ll know you’re there; you’ll stay there.
RICHIE: But I’m so pretty.
BILLY: NOW! (Pointing to ROGER. HE wants to get this clear) Tell that man you mean what you’re sayin’, Richie.
RICHIE: Mean what?
BILLY: That you really think you’re pretty.
RICHIE: Of course I do; I am. Don’t you think I am? Don’t you think I am, Roger?
ROGER: I tole you—you fulla shit and you cute, man. Carlyle just tole you you cute, too.
RICHIE: Don’t you think it’s true, Billy?
BILLY: It’s like I tole you, Rog.
RICHIE: What did you tell him?
BILLY: That you go dow
n; that you go up and down like a yo-yo and you go blowin’ all the trees like the wind.
RICHIE is stunned. HE looks at ROGER, and then HE turns and stares into his own locker. The OTHERS keep mopping. RICHIE takes out a towel, and putting it around his neck. HE walks to where BILLY is working. HE stands there, hurt, looking at BILLY.
RICHIE: What the hell made you tell him I been down, Billy?
BILLY (Still mopping): It’s in your eyes; I seen it.
RICHIE: What?
BILLY: You.
RICHIE: What is it, Billy, you think you’re trying to say? You and all your wit and intelligence—your humanity.
BILLY: I said it, Rich; I said what I was tryin’ to say.
RICHIE: Did you?
BILLY: I think I did.
RICHIE: Do you?
BILLY: Loud and clear, baby. (Still mopping)
ROGER: They got to put me in with the weirdos. Why is that, huh? How come the army hate me, do this shit to me—know what to do. (Whimsical and then suddenly loud, angered, violent) Now you guys put socks in your mouths, right now—get shut up—or I am gonna beat you to death with each other. Roger got work to do. To be doin’ it!
RICHIE (Turning to his bed, HE kneels upon it): Roger, I think you’re so innocent sometimes. Honestly, it’s not such a terrible thing. Is it, Billy?
BILLY: How would I know? (HE slams his mop into the bucket) Oh, go fuck yourself.
RICHIE: Well, I can give it a try, if that’s what you want. Can I think of you as I do?
BILLY (Throwing down his mop): GODDAMMIT! That’s it! IT! (HE exits, rushing into the hall and slamming the door behind him. ROGER looks at RICHIE. Neither quite knows what is going on. Suddenly the door bursts open and BILLY storms straight over to RICHIE, who still kneels on the bed) Now I am gonna level with you. Are you gonna listen? You gonna hear what I say, Rich, and not what you think I’m sayin’? (RICHIE turns away as if to rise, his manner flippant, disdainful) No! Don’t get cute; don’t turn away cute. I wanna say somethin’ straight out to you and I want you to hear it!
RICHIE: I’m all ears, goddammit! For what, however, I do not know, except some boring evasion.
BILLY: At least wait the hell till you hear me!
RICHIE (In irritation): Okay, okay! What?
