From Here to Eternity (92 page)

CHAPTER 56

ON JANUARY 6th Milt Warden was in town on pass. Maylon Stark went with him. It was the first day that passes were issued to the troops of the Hawaiian Department since the Saturday night before Pearl Harbor, and at ten o'clock in the morning a well-primed yowling horde of wild men from all around the 90-mile perimeter descended upon Honolulu like spokes descending upon a wheel hub and began to line up outside the bars and whorehouses until even the lines got entangled and men heading for the New Congress Hotel suddenly found themselves inside Wu Fat's Restaurant four doors up the street ordering drinks. It stayed just about like that all day long until the curfew. It, and the two days following, were a sort of red letter day. Not a bartender in town will forget them. Neither will many of the madams who were there then. Even a few of the respectable people still remember it. The pass order stated explicitly that no more than one-third of the complement of any installation might be absent at one time. For G Company on the beach it was a problem in distribution. G Company had fourteen beach positions. The commander of each position (more often a noncom than an officer) was ordered by Lt Ross to turn in the names of one-third of his men to go on pass. Warden was given charge of the passes for the CP personnel. Stark had charge of the passes for the kitchen force. There was an unwritten law that a commander did not go on pass until his men were served, and since they could not go themselves, the noncom-commanders (who unlike officers were not above conniving with enlisted men) gleaned what they could and there was a great exchanging of handclasps, currency, souvenirs, and not a few of the almost-priceless too-swiftly-dwindling whiskey bottles changed hands on the eve of January 6th. Honor forbade Warden and Stark to put their own names down on their pass lists, but Warden saw to it that they both got their passes anyway. He simply filled out two extra pass forms beyond the quota and had Lt Ross sign them. Nobody in the Company disputed his breach of etiquette, least of all Lt Ross. Lt Ross knew a good thing, once it had been pointed out to him. From the day he turned down his commission Warden had had G Company wrapped and tied and stamped with the Indian sign the way he used to kid himself he had it under Holmes, but hadnt. Stark had a pint bottle he had milked out of the pass situation. They finished that off on the way in to town. They made their first stop at Charlie Chan's Blue Chancre. The Blue Chancre was not as crowded as the better bars. There was no line outside on the sidewalk. At the Blue Chancre people only stood three deep at the bar. They had to drink six drinks standing in the press before they could get stools at the bar and start drinking in earnest. "Ahhh," Stark sighed, as they slid onto the stools. "My feet was made for hikin, not for standin up in no bars. Even a Fort Bliss payday night in Juarez aint this bad." "Herro, Walden! Herro, Stalk!" Charlie beamed. "Long time no see. Him wondelful day, eh?" "Yeah," Warden said. "Fine day." "Such a fine day," Stark said serenely, "that I feel like getting good and lousy drunk and beatin some loudmouth clean to death." "Stark, you're a Texan," Warden said. "Texans love their buddies, the State of Texas, and their mother. And they hate niggers, and Jews, and strangers, and immoral women - unless they happen to be screwing them." "Looks like we're early," Stark said. "Or else G Compny has dissolved its alliance with the Blue Chancre Bar & Grille." "I can see through you like glass," Warden said. "Hey, Rose!" As a matter of fact, they were early; they had left the CP at five minutes after nine, instead of ten o'clock with the rest of them. The only familiar face in the place was Rose's boy friend the S/Sgt of Artillery, sitting in the same back booth as if he'd never left it, this time with three buddies. "Get dlunk," Charlie beamed. "Everybody get dlunk. Fine day. This one on me, boys." He nodded at them beaming sweatily and moved away down the bar he was trying to handle alone. "Fine fella," Stark said. "Yeah. Great guy," Warden said. "You suppose he can afford to give away a drink?" "No. I doubt it." "He needs more help behind the bar," Stark said. "He needs more help out in front, too," Warden said, watching Rose, who although she had another girl to help her, still was not doing much better than Charlie because she was trying to handle her orders and sit with her S/Sgt at the same time. "I said, hey, Rose!" Warden bellowed. She was sitting in the Artillery booth, but she came over. Her swarthy wanton little face, which was Portagee but was betrayed as a racial misalliance by the faintly slanted eyes, was a little irritated though. "What you want, Warden?" "Whats your boy friend's name?" She eyed him sullenly. "What you want to know for? Is none of your business." Warden ogled her lush breasts openly. Rose followed his gaze down and then raised her eyes angrily to stare into his light blue eyes defiantly. "What outfit is he in?" Warden asked conversationally. "Say! What you care? I thought you want something. You drunk, eh? Lissen, Charlie wait on you. I no wait on bar." She turned with a flounce, and marched back to the Artillery booth. As one man, Warden and Stark both swung on their stools to watch her go. Her round bare legs slithered together prophetically under the swirling skirt. The small of her back made a concave surface that rounded out breathtakingly into the firm curved cheeks of her tittle bottom that waggled at them impishly. "Christ!" Stark said reverently. "What an ass!" "Amen," Warden said tranquilly. He pursed his lips and ran his tongue over his mustache mellowly. He could feel the old cloudy belligerence of drunkenness rising up through his chest into his head soothingly, like a deep breath of camphor. Everything had that startling clarity of forgotten things being seen again. "Are you happy?" Stark said. "Sure I'm happy." "Man this is the life," Stark said pointedly. "I wouldnt trade this life for nothing. Would you?" "No," Warden said. "Stark," he said, "you know whats wrong with you? You're a Texan, and you aint go no sense of humor." "I got a sense of humor." "Sure you have. Everybody has. But yours aint the right kind. Its too thick. Like blackstrap. You cant distinguish pride from a sense of humor. A proud man without the right kind of sense of humor beats himself to death before he's thirty. Now take me. I got a real sense of humor. Thats why I can make a guy like you do anything I want him to." "You cant make me do nothing I dont want to," Stark declared. "I cant, hunh?" Warden said slyly. "You want to bet?" "Sure, I'll bet." Warden turned back to his drink, grinning slyly. Then he straightened up. "Hey, Rose!" Rose came back up to the bar frowning. "Goddam Warden, what you want now?" "Another shot of rye, Rose baby. Thats what I want. Fill my glass." "The man will fill your glass. Charlie fill it." "To hell with him. I want you to fill it, Rose." "Hokay. But you costing me. You want another beer too?" Warden looked at his bottle. "Yeah. Throw that out. Gimme cold one." "You more trouble than I'm worth," Rose smiled. "You think so? Whats; your boy friend's name, Rose?" "You go to hell." "What outfit's he in?" "I said you go to hell." "You know why I like for you to fill my glass, Rose? Its because I like to watch you walk away afterwards. You got a lovely bottom, Rose." "I'm married," Rose said with dignity, meaning she was shacked up. But she was flattered. "Whats your boy friend's name?" "Goddam it," Rose exploded. "You shut up and go to hell." "My name is Berny," the Artillery S/Sgt said, coming over from the booth. He was almost as big a man as Warden. "Sgt Ira Berny. 8th Field Artillery. Anything else you want to know, Sergeant?" "Well," Warden said thoughtfully. "How old are you?" "Twenty-four next June," the S/Sgt said. "Anything else?" "You got a very lovely shackjob for so young a man." "And I aim to keep her," the S/Sgt said. "Anything else?" "Yes. Would you be so kind as to have a drink with me and my friend here?" Warden said. "Sure." "Rose honey," Warden said, "pour him one." "Whiskey," the S/Sgt said. Rose poured it. Warden paid her. The S/Sgt tossed it off. "Well, be seein you," Warden said in dismissal, and turned back to Stark, his back toward them. "Have a good time." He began to talk to Stark. They stood a moment, caught up short. Then they both went back to the booth. In the booth they began to talk to each other violently, and the three buddies listening. "What the hell you doin?" Stark said. "Tryin' to start a fight?" "I never start fights." "But I suppose you finish them," Stark said. "No. I dont even finish them." "Shall we take him now?" "Take who where?" Warden said. "Yore buddy, the S/Sgt." "What are you talking about?" Warden demanded. "Oh, I forgot. You're a Texan. Hey, Texan," he said. "I hear you're a hotshot rifle shooter. Is that right?" "I know the front end from the back," Stark said. "How'd you like to shoot with me, Texan? Make a little sidebet. Say about a hundred bucks." Stark reached in his pocket. "Even money?" Warden grinned. "Any time you say," Stark said. He extracted a ten and three ones from the fold of bills and tossed the rest of it on the bar. "One hundred bucks. Any old time you say." The roll was mostly fives and ones and it looked very big lying loose on the bar folded once. Warden bent to look at it. "Well, well, if the Texan aint gone and collected himself a great big pile of dough. Hows it feel to be rich, Texan?" "Theres a shootin gallery right up the street," Stark said. "Or we can go over to Mom's gallery on Hotel Street. Get there in five minutes." "You'd have a better chance there than you would out on the Range." "Do you want to bet? or dont you?" Stark demanded. "Put up or shut up." "You're a sucker, Texan; dint I tell you I could make you do anything I want? Why, I could even make you go over there and fight that whole bunch of Artillerymen, if I wanted to. Dont you know I can outshoot you hands down? Put your money in your pocket like a good little boy. There aint three men on this Rock can outshoot me, and you know it." "You cant make me do nothin I dont already want to do," Stark insisted. Warden tapped his temple with his second finger. "Brains, Texan. Brains and a sense of humor. Why you could be an Officer in three months, with me guidin you." "Who the hell wants to be an Officer?" Stark exclaimed indignantly. "You dont have to insult me. I can take care of myself, Firs Sarnt. I get along." "Now thats just where you're wrong, Texan. Thats what I'm tryin to teach you. Its results that count. You dont have to lose your pride if you dont want to. You could be an Officer easy as not." "Dont do me no favors." "You still want to shoot with me, Texan?" "Anytime you say." "Okay," Warden grinned slyly. "We'll go over to Mom's and shoot ten rounds at a card, a hundred bucks even money. Let Mom hold the stakes. Here." He tossed the dampened fold of bills in front of Stark contemptuously. "Put this in your pocket, or you wont have it long around here." Stark folded it back in with his ten and three ones and stuffed the loose sheaf back into his pants pocket. While he was occupied with this, Rose walked past the corner of the bar again where they sat, to fill another order, her beautiful bottom trembling enticingly with each step. Warden swung suddenly on his stool as she passed and reached out and pinched one of the soft cheeks lightly. Rose stopped in midstride and turned, swinging her open palm. Warden caught her wrist easily, in his left hand, without even moving. She swung her right at his face, arched into a claw, the long bloodred nails like talons. Warden, grinning, caught it just as easily, in his right hand, and held her, his hands crossed in front of him, just holding her and grinning seditiously. Unable to jerk loose, Rose delivered a vicious kick at his privates on the edge of the stool. Warden turned his right knee in gracefully, with such ease that it seemed effortless, and caught her shin on his knee. Then he rose from the stool on his left leg, pushing it between her legs, and the struggling cursing girl was off balance and powerless. Warden held her easily, letting her struggle. "Take it easy, baby," he grinned contentedly. "I wont hurt you. You're a woman after my own heart, but dont get me all excited. I'm liable to lay you right here on the floor." Rose's lips writhed back in a snarl and she spat at him explosively. Warden weaved to the left like a boxer, and except for a fine spray, the gob of spittle missed him and hit Stark square in the center of the shirt. The whole thing had happened so swiftly that Stark had hardly looked up from putting away his roll. "Goddam bastard son of a whore goddam," Rose hissed fervently. Rose's boy friend and his buddies were already on their feet. "Hey, thats no way to treat a lady," the boy friend said. "Yeah," one of the buddies said. "Leave go of the lady." Warden looked at them, his eyes wide in mock amazement. "What? So she can hit me? Dont be silly, friend." "Easy, baby. Take it easy," he said to the struggling Rose. "You'll have a stroke." The four Artillerymen moved toward him simultaneously, like a row of cars leaving a stoplight. Warden shook his head disapprovingly. "Now-now, fellas," he said. "Son of a bitching son of a goddam," Rose was hissing passionately. Warden gave her a little shove that plumped her against the back wall out of his way, as if she were something that had served its purpose, and moved to meet the four advancing Artillerymen with a sanguinariness so blindingly sudden that it caught them all off balance. His big fist flashed out viciously with the full weight of his moving body behind it and landed on the S/Sgt's nose with a crunching sound. Ira slid back against the booth in a sitting position, his broken nose bleeding profusely. Warden met the three buddies chest on with a ungry bellow. Rose, who had bounced off the wall like a fighter off the ropes, was climbing his back, her talons in his neck, her sharp little teeth searching for his ear. The S/Sgt got up from the floor, shook his head a couple of times, and started back into it again. Stark, who had been watching astonishedly, met him with a measured punch, his thick Mess/Sgt's arm moving in a blur of speed like the taillash of a whip. Ira fell back, feet working fast. His rump hit the booth table and he slid back across it and came to rest with his head propped up by the wall. Rose, on Warden's back, unable to find an ear, settled for the back and sank her teeth into his shoulder through shirt, T-shirt, and all. By this time the five of them, the three buddies, Warden, and Rose, were all down on the floor in a churning mass of arms and legs. Warden twitched his back irritably, and Rose was flung off and against the wall, in