From Here to Eternity by James Jones Page B

thats all. Not a thing unusual. Willard just happens to be on shift today. After they get through with him he'll take it out on me. "Willard is a schmuck amingia, he wouldnt make a good KP in any other outfit. Here he's a First Cook because they cant get any other cooks to transfer in. This is because Preem is passed out on his fartsack full a vanilla extrack all a time." "Sounds like a wonderful outfit to transfer into," Prew said to him. "Ah," Maggio scowled, "it is. You'll love it, friend, just simply love it. Specially if you was a jockstrap. I been out of ree-croot drill six weeks and already I wish I'm back in Gimbel's basement as a shipping clerk." Dolefully he shook his head. "If somebody had of told me that six months ago I'd of told him to take it and stick it." He put his arm down in the kettle and fished around and brought up one last spud. "Dont mind me, friend. I'm just bitter. What I need is a trip to Mrs. Kipfer's. Then I be all right for a nuther week." He sighed. "You play cards?" he said suddenly. "Like to diddle up the cubes? Poker? blackjack? cut high card? roll high dice or low dice? anything you like?" "You sound like a spotter for O'Hayer's shed," Prew grinned. "Sure, I like them all." "I was for a while, but their hours is too long," Maggio said. "You got any money?" "Some," Prew said. "Then I'll be around tonight," Maggio said, his dark eyes glowing. "We'll have a little private game. That is, if I can find this joe in F Compny who owes me three." "There aint enough money in two-handed games," Prew said. "Oh, yes, there is," Maggio said, "if you happen to be broke and need a piece of ass." He inspected the fresh, dark spots on Prew's sleeves where his stripes had been. "Wait'U you begin to draw your twenty-one a month, brother." He stood up and stretched and scratched his tangled mop. "Leave me give you a tip, friend. Theys a war goin on here. And I can tell you who will win the friggin thing. If you're smart you'll learn to jockstrap, and learn quick, and get on the gravytrain, if you want to be a successful soljer. I was smart, I'd of joined the CYO when I was young and learned to be a good jockstrap myself, instead of playing pee pool. Then I would of been on Dynamite's good list instead of on his shit-list. If only I'd of listened to my dear sainted mother," he said. "Balls to spuds. This is the Army, they can give it back to Custer." Mumbling something about more spuds he disappeared into the kitchen, a gnarled disillusioned gnome who had been cheated of Valhalla. Prew flipped his cigaret at the red and black painted pot and went inside, down the corridor past the Orderly Room to the Dayroom. The dayroom orderly, fugitive from straight duty, sat on one of the motheaten upholstered chairs, boredly scanning a comic book, his mop between his knees. He did not even bother to look up. Prew stepped back out of the dayroom, feeling very much a stranger, and stood looking at the pooltable in the half light of the alcove, feeling tangibly the new forces here that had begun already to work on him. Thinking about little Maggio and Gimbel's basement, he grinned and switched on the light, selected a cue and chalked it and broke the rack of balls. The solid crack of the break in the heavy silence of midmorning when the company was gone brought a man to the corridor door who stuck in his head. Recognizing Prewitt, he fingered his narrow bristling mustache and the hooked satanic eyebrows quivered like a dog's nose with a new scent. He tiptoed gracefully, and silently, up to Prewitt's elbow and his voice boomed out startlingly in the stillness broken only by the clack of pool balls. "What the hell're you doin?" he bawled indignantly. "Why aint you out with the compny? Whats your name?" The bellow had not made Prew jump and now he turned his bent head slowly above the cue. "Prewitt. Transfer from A Compny," he said. "You know me, Warden." The big man was silent, his sudden disconcerting indignation as suddenly and