Armageddon In Retrospect - Kurt Vonnegut [28]
“Bang!” cried a small voice.
The boy raised his head from the turret triumphantly. “Gotcha!” he said.
Brighten Up
There was a time when I was at one with my Father in feeling that to become a reverent, brave, trustworthy, and courteous Eagle Scout was to lay the foundations for a bountiful life. But I have since had occasion to reflect more realistically upon twig-bending, and am wondering now if Hell’s Kitchen isn’t a more sound preparation for living than was the Beaver Patrol. I cannot help feeling that my friend Louis Gigliano, who had been smoking cigars since he was twelve, was a great deal better prepared to thrive in chaos than was I, who had been trained to meet adversity with a combination pocketknife, can opener, and leather punch.
The test of the manly art of surviving I have in mind took place in a prisoner-of-war camp in Dresden. I, a clean-cut American youth, and Louis, a dissipated little weasel whose civilian occupation had been hashish-peddling to bobby-soxers, faced life there together. I am remembering Louis now because I am stone-broke, and because I know that Louis is living like a prince somewhere in this world he understands too well. It was that way in Germany.
Under the democratic provisions of the Geneva Convention, we, as privates, were obliged to work for our keep. All of us worked, that is, but Louis. His first act behind barbed wire was to report to an English-speaking Nazi guard that he wanted no part of the war, which he considered to be brother against brother, and the handiwork of Roosevelt and Jewish international bankers. I asked him if he meant it.
“I’m tired, for God’s sake,” he said. “I fought ’em for six months, and now I’m tired. I need a rest, and I like to eat as well as the next guy. Brighten up, will you!”
“I’d rather not, thank you,” I said icily.
I was sent out on a pick-and-shovel detail; Louis remained in camp as the German sergeant’s orderly. Louis got extra rations for whisk-brooming the sergeant three times a day. I got a hernia while tidying up after the American Air Force.
“Collaborationist!” I hissed at him after a particularly exhausting day in the streets. He was standing at the prison gate with a guard, immaculate and sprightly, nodding to his acquaintances in the dusty, weary column. His response to my taunt was to walk beside me to the sleeping quarters.
He laid a hand on my shoulder. “And then you can look at it this way, kid,” he said. “Here you’re helping Jerry clean up his streets so he can run tanks and trucks through ’em again. That’s what I’d call collaboration. Me a collaborator? You’ve got it backwards. All I do to help Jerry win the war is smoke his cigarettes and hit him for more to eat. That’s bad, I suppose?”
I flopped down on my bunk. Louis took a seat on a straw-tick nearby. My arm hung over the side of the bunk, and Louis interested himself in my wrist watch, a gift from my Mother.
“Nice, very nice watch, kid,” he said. And then, “Hungry after all that work, I’ll bet.”
I was ravenous. Ersatz coffee, one bowl of watered soup, and three slices of dry bread are not the sort of fare to delight a pick-swinger’s heart after nine hours of hard labor. Louis was sympathetic. He liked me; he wanted to help. “You’re a nice kid,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a quick deal for you. There’s no sense in going hungry. Why, that watch is worth two loaves of bread, at least. Is that a good deal, or isn’t it?”
At that point, two loaves of bread was a dazzling lure. It was an incredible amount of food for one person to have. I tried to bid him up. “Look, friend,” he said, “this is a special price to you, and it’s a top price. I’m trying to do you a favor, see? All I ask of you is to keep quiet about this deal, or everybody will want two loaves for a watch. Promise?”
I swore by all that is holy that I would never reveal the magnanimity of Louis, my best friend. He was back in an hour. He cast a furtive glance around the room, withdrew a long loaf from a rolled field jacket, and stuffed it beneath my mattress. I waited for him