The Naked and the Dead (64 page)

            I never get over this, he says to Cummings. I still expect to see Indians in the forest. Pure country, Maine.

            The office is smaller than he has expected, more leathery, somehow more greasy. The map of France is covered with pencil smudges, and a corner is folded over like a dog-eared book.

            I must apologize for this place, the man says. (His accent is negligible, a certain preciseness of speech perhaps.) When you first suggested the nature of our business I thought it perhaps best to meet here, not that there should be anything clandestine, but you would attract attention at the Bourse. There are spies everywhere.

            I understand. It's been difficult to see you. The party we know suggested Monsieur de Vernay, but I think he is a little too far away to judge.

            You state there are credits?

            More than enough. I must emphasize that this is not official. There is a tacit agreement. . .

            Tacit? Tacit?

            An understanding with Leeway Chemical that they will invest in such French firms as
he
thinks advisable. There is no
chou
involved. (He wonders if the slang is correct.) A legitimate business arrangement, but the profits I think are large enough to benefit Sallevoisseux Frères, and enable you to conduct any
adjustments
which might be necessary.

           
On s'arrangera.

            I would have to know some further details of course on the processes you will employ.

            Ah, Major Cummings, I can assure you of the vote of twenty-five members of the Chamber of Deputies.

            I think it would be best if it didn't come to a vote. There are other ways.

            I do not believe I may disclose my routes of access.

            (The core of the situation.) Monsieur Sallevoisseux, a man of your. . . vision can see certainly that an enterprise of the magnitude which Leeway Chemical is proposing would demand something more concrete on your part. The decision to set up a subsidiary in France has been taken for some years; it is a question of who will get it. I have with me, subject to the necessary financial guarantees on your part, the power to consolidate with Sallevoisseux Frères. If you cannot give me more definite assurances I will be obliged unfortunately to deal in other channels which I am investigating at present.

            I should regret that, Major Cummings.

            I should regret it myself.

            Sallevoisseux twists in the chair, stares out the high narrow window at the cobblestones in the street below. The horns of the French automobiles sound high-pitched to Cummings.

            There are routes. For example -- I will give the assurances, the documents, the introductions afterward -- for example, I have friends in Les Cagoulards who can influence certain firms, not Chemical, by virtue of some tasks they have performed for them in the past. These firms in turn could if necessary control the decision of a bloc of seventy-five deputies. (He raises his hand.) I know you prefer it does not come to a vote, but no man may control that for you. I can free the vote of any uncertainty. Many of these deputies can influence members of the Ministry.

            He pauses. These politics are complicated.

            I understand them.

            There are several Radical Socialists high-placed in the Foreign Department whom I may influence. I know from a service that there is information to be bought about them. They will be amiable. There are journalists by the dozen, several men in the Bank of France whose
dossiers intimes
I possess. A block of Socialists is controlled by a labor leader with whom I have an understanding. These routes, all indirect, mount up, create a necessary dispersion. You must realize I am not working alone. I can assure you that nothing will be done for eighteen months; beyond that history is involved, and no man may divert it indefinitely.

            They talk for several hours, work out the first terms of the agreement.

            As he leaves, Cummings smiles. What we're doing is really in the long run what is best for France and America.

            Sallevoisseux smiles also. Of course, Major Cummings. A peculiarly American statement, do you know?

            You'll show me the dossiers you possess at hand. Tomorrow, is that right?

           
D'accord!

            A month later, his part in the assignment completed, Cummings moves down to Rome. A telegram reaches him from his brother-in-law.

            Preliminary dispositions satisfactory. Very well done. Congratulations.

            He talks to an Italian colonel as part of the military mission.

            I would like you to see, Signor Maggiore, our work on the problems of dysentery in the successful African campaign. We have discovered a new series of sanitary measures 73% more effective in avoiding the dreadful, the malign propensities of such a disease.

            The summer heat is stifling. Despite the lecture by the Italian Colonel he suffers from diarrhea, and is plagued by a severe cold. He spends a miserable week in bed, abysmally tired. A letter follows from his brother-in-law.

            I think it's a shame to ruin the understandable elation you must be feeling now after such a neat job in Paris, but there's something I really ought to tell you. Margaret, you know, has been down in Washington with me for the past two weeks, and to put it as kindly as possible, she has been acting very odd. There's a certain abandonment about her which is not proper to her age; I must confess I find it hard to believe she is my sister at times. If it were not for you, I would have told her to leave my house. I'm really awfully disturbed to ruin what must be a vacation in Rome, but I think if you can it might not be a bad idea to be thinking of coming back. Do see Monsignor Truffenio and give him my regards.

            This time it is a tired hatred. I just hope she keeps it quiet he swears to himself. He has a nightmare that evening, waking up on a fever-ridden bed. He thinks of his father for the first time in a year or two, remembers his death a few years ago and relives a little of the anxiety it had caused him. After midnight he gets up on an impulse and walks the streets, ending up in an alley where he becomes drunk in a bar.

            There is a little man pawing him. Signor Maggiore you come home with me now?

            He staggers along dimly aware of what he wants, but he does not find it. In another alley the little man and a confederate jump him, strip his pockets, and leave him to awaken in the harsh glare, the quick stench of the sun on a garbage-filled alley in Rome. He makes it back to his hotel without too many people seeing him, changes his clothes, takes a bath, and goes to bed for over a day. He feels as if he is breaking apart.

            I must confess, your Reverence, that I have admired the Church for many years. In the immensity of your conception lies your greatness.

            The Cardinal bows his head. I am pleased to give you an audience, my son. You have done good work already. I have heard of your labors in Paris against the Antichrist.

            I labored for my country. (In this setting the words cause him no embarrassment.)

            There is a nobler labor.

            I am aware of it, your Reverence. . . There are times when I feel a great weariness.

            You may be preparing for an important change.

            Sometimes I think so. I've always looked upon your Church with admiration.

            He walks through the great courtyard of the Vatican, stares for a long time at the dome of St. Peter's. The ceremony he has just heard has moved him, sent music lapping through his brain.

           
Maybe I should turn.

            But on the boat going back he thinks of other things, reads with quiet satisfaction in the newspaper he has brought on board that Leeway Chemical is opening negotiations with Sallevoisseux Frères.

            Man, I'll be glad to get back from frog-land and the wops, one of the officers who has been on the mission says to him.

            Yes.

            That Italy's a backward country even if they say Musso did a lot for it. You can still keep it. The Catholic countries are the ones who are always backward.

            I suppose so.

            He thinks clearly for a few minutes. The thing that happened in the Rome alley is a danger sign, and he will have to be very careful from now on. It must never come out again. The Church business is understandable in its light, a highly impractical move at this juncture.
I'll be a colonel soon. I can't risk it turning.

            Cummings sighs. I've learned a lot.

            Yeah, me too.

            Cummings looks at the water. Slowly his eyes raise, include the horizon. Lieutenant colonel. . . colonel. . . brigadier. . . major general. . . lieutenant general. . . general?

           
If there's a war soon it'll help.

            But afterward. The politicos were even more important. After the war. . .

            He must not commit himself politically yet. There would be too many turns. It might be Stalin, it might be Hitler. But the eventual line to power in America would always be anticommunism.

            He must keep his eyes open, Cummings decided.

Chorus:

WHAT IS A MILLION-DOLLAR WOUND?

           
The latrine, early morning. It is a six-holer off in the bushes at one end of the bivouac, and is without a tarpaulin. At either end is a stick with a roll of paper on it, and a tin can covering it.

            GALLAGHER: Some fuggin mornings like this I wish I'd catch a bullet.

            WILSON: Only goddam trouble with that is you can't pick the spot.

            STANLEY: You know if you could, the Army wouldn't be keeping me long.

            GALLAGHER: Aaah, there ain't a goddam place you can get a million-dollar wound that it don't hurt.

            STANLEY: Sometimes I think I'd lose a leg, and call it quits.

            WILSON: Only trouble with losing a goddam leg is you're h'isted on to a woman, and there's her husban' in the door, and how in the hell you gonna run? (Laughter)

            MARTINEZ: Lose arm maybe.

            STANLEY: Jeez, that's way worse, I don't think I'd even take that. I mean how the hell can you get a job without an arm or, Jesus, without both arms?

            GALLAGHER: Aaah, the fuggin government'll support ya.

            WILSON: But then you cain't jack-off if you got a mind to.

            GALLAGHER: (Disgustedly) Haw.

            MARTINEZ: Get wound, okay, means should get killed, only wounded. Goddam nigger luck.

            STANLEY: Yeah, that's what they say. (Pause.) The million-dollar wound for somebody like Ridges would be to lose his head. (Laughter)

            GALLAGHER: For that Roth and Goldstein, you could shoot 'em the nuts and they wouldn't even know the difference.

            STANLEY: Oh, Jesus, don't even talk about that. I get the shivers.

            GALLAGHER: The Aarmy got the fuggin percentages on their side, you can't even get a wound and get out where it's worth it.

            STANLEY: I'd take a foot anytime. I'd sign the papers for it now.

            MARTINEZ: Me too. Not so hard. Toglio, elbow shot up, he get out.

            WILSON: Goddam, ain't that somethin! Ah tell you, men, Ah don' even 'member what that chickenshit Toglio looks like any more, But Ah'll
never
forget he got out on a busted elbow.

            (They continue talking)

PART THREE

Plant and Phantom

"Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?"

             -- Nietzsche

1

            Recon set out on the patrol the next afternoon. They boarded their assault boat several hours before dusk, and in a short time their landing craft rounded the peninsula and wallowed out toward the western tip of Anopopei. The swell was heavy. Although their pilot held them always within a mile of shore, the boat rolled and pitched, continually shipping water which sprayed over the forward ramp and sloshed along the deck. The boat was small, identical to the one in which they had landed on invasion day, and it was poorly equipped to circuit half the island. The men huddled on their cots, covered themselves with their ponchos, and prepared for a miserable trip.

            Lieutenant Hearn stood for a time on the pilot's hatch at the stern, staring down into the troop well. He was a little weary; only an hour or two after Dalleson had told him he was to be assigned to recon he had been given the instructions for the patrol, and the rest of the day had been spent in checking the men's equipment, in drawing rations, and in absorbing the maps and orders Dalleson had furnished him. He had acted automatically, efficiently, postponing until later his surprise and pleasure at being transferred from Cummings's staff.

            He lit a cigarette and gazed down again at the men clustered in the rectangular box of the troop well. All thirteen were squeezed into an area not more than thirty feet long or eight feet wide, together with their equipment, their packs, rifles, their cartridge belts and canteens, and the Army cots they had spread out on the floor of the boat. He had attempted earlier that day to procure an assault craft which had bunks built in along the walls but it had been impossible. Now the cots filled most of the available space. The men squatted on them, their feet drawn up to keep them free of the water that washed along the deck. Under their ponchos they winced whenever some spray would arch over the front ramp.