Battle Cry - Leon Uris [107]
“They are nice people. I hope they liked me.”
“Ho! The bloomin’ lot of them had to take a look at the bloke Patty hooked herself.”
“Papa!”
“And an American Marine at that.”
“Hold your tongue, Mr. Rogers. You’ll be embarrassing the poor lad to tears.”
“Nothing of the sort, Mrs. Rogers. When I told Dugger and Ben how this boy fells a tree, they took notice, they did.”
The flame fell lower and lower.
“It’s not a happy lot for us, Andy. So many of our boys gone, never to come back, and others getting a look at the fast living in London and the likes. They’ll not be wanting to come back and castrate the sheep. And some married to them bloomin’ Greek girls. Ah yes, we’ll be needing new blood out here.”
Mrs. Rogers’ chair stopped. Enoch stood up, the dog quickly taking to heel beside him. He walked to his wife and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come on with you, old woman, we’d best turn in and give the young folks a turn before the log dies out.” They walked to the door and said good night.
“Poor Andy,” Pat said. “You did fine. I told you you’d be in for a rough go.”
“They’re wonderful people, Pat. You’re very lucky. I hope they thought I was O.K.”
“They like you well enough as long as you can knock a tree down and drink beer with them. You mustn’t pay attention to Papa and Mama. They’re trying to marry me off before I become an old spinster for good.”
He slipped from his chair to the floor beside her and put his arm about her shoulder. She sleepily cuddled in to him. “I never knew there was a place like this or people so nice, like your family.” He touched her cheek and lifted her face to his. “Pat…Pat, honey, could I?” Her arms tightened about his neck and their lips met.
“Darling,” she whispered.
“Pat, honey.”
She tugged away, he released her. “We mustn’t, we mustn’t,” she said.
He arose and helped her up.
“Don’t be angry with me, Andy.”
“It’s all right. I understand…. Good night, Pat.”
I walked over to Andy’s sack and jabbed him in the ribs. “Hey, stupid, step outside into my office,” I said.
Andy slipped into his boondockers and followed me from the tent. The field music blew recall as we walked down the catwalk to the radio shack and entered. I flipped the light on and sat down on the bench beside the practice key. Almost instinctively Andy placed his finger on the key and tapped out code: .—. .—.-.——…-…. I watched his hand spell out Pat Rogers.
“What’s the scoop?” Andy asked.
“You fouled up the field problem, like a Chinese firedrill.”
“That’s a crock of crap.”
“And you fouled up the one last week. The Gunner has the red ass and I’m p.o.’d myself.”
“Aw, lay off, Mac.”
“Lay off, hell. You haven’t been right since that seventy-two over Thanksgiving. What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve already been to the chaplain. I’ll be O.K.”
“Like hell you been to the chaplain. I checked.”
Andy sputtered and fumed. I stood fast by the door. I was determined to get him squared away. He wasn’t the best operator in the world, but he was reliable.
“I got a broad,” he finally croaked.
“So what, we all got broads.”
“This is different.”
“I know, they’re all different.”
“What the hell’s the use of talking!”
“What’s eating you, Andy?”
“You…you won’t let this get around?”
“You know me better than that.”
“Mac…I’m nuts about her. I thought I had more damned sense, but I can’t get my mind off her.”
“Tell me something, Andy, what’s your beef against women?”
He got up and walked to the window and slowly lit a cigarette. “It’s a long story and it ain’t interesting.”
“Maybe if you got it off your chest, you’d be able to see things in a clearer light.”
He sat again and fiddled with the key, arguing with himself whether he was going to tell me or not.
“My old man died when I was three,” he finally whispered. “Got killed trying to blow a log jam.” He clenched his teeth and looked away from me. “The welfare people took me away from my old lady when I