Battle Cry - Leon Uris [11]
“I will! It’s our only chance. I’ll rot here. I can’t take it any more.” He reached for her tenderly and rocked her in his arms as though she were a little girl. “If we keep up this way, you’ll grow to hate me. You’re all I’ve got to live for.”
His lips bussed her cheek and his hand stroked her hair softly. “Honey, you’re so cold.”
“I’m afraid of your plan…something’s going to happen.”
“Hush now. Nothing can come between us.”
“No…nothing,” she repeated, and relaxed in his embrace.
“This will be our last time for a while, Susan.” His fingers groped out as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse.
“Yes, Connie…yes.”
Constantine Zvonski walked from the Harvey Restaurant in the Chicago depot. There was a five-hour layover before the Rock Island Line took over the trek. He watched as the boys and men left in pairs and threes, heading for the nearest bar or moving picture house.
“Hey, haven’t I seen you someplace?” someone said. Zvonski turned and looked at the boy in front of him. He scratched his head.
“Yeah,” he finally answered. “You look awful familiar, too. Did you enlist in Philly?”
“No, I’m from Baltimore. Say, I got it. You played for Central High?”
“Don’t tell me. You’re that damned halfback from Baltimore that gave us such a bad time. My name’s Zvonski.”
“Sure, the little guard with the name. Talk about bad times, you spent the whole doggone game in our backfield.”
The little Polack’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Well, you birds licked us, didn’t you? I played a good game, huh?”
“You sure did. We talked about it all the way back to Baltimore. Darned good for being so light. My name’s Danny Forrester. Heading for San Diego, I guess?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your name again?”
“You can call me Ski or whatever you want. Glad to meet you, too.”
“Say, I got a couple, three guys waiting out there. There’s a burlesque joint a few blocks down. Care to join us?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Later, the train sped through the night over the plains of Illinois, blinds drawn. From the washroom came the clacking of dice. Wild whoops and dropping bottles and the pungent smell of whisky. It was fortunate that Constantine Zvonski was so slight. Two in an upper were crowded at best.
“Come on little Joe.” The dice crackled off the wall.
“Little Joe for poppa, once dice.”
“Just one mile south, dice, be nice to me.”
“Six to five, no Joe.”
“Got you covered.”
“Aw, piss or get off the pot.”
Danny tried to straighten out his legs without shoving them in Ski’s face. The train rounded a curve and he rolled against the wall.
“You asleep?” Ski asked.
“Who can sleep with that racket.”
“Me neither, I can’t sleep, I’m too excited.”
“I wonder what it’s like in San Diego?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
“Hey, Danny.”
“Yes.”
“You got a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too, I got one.”
“I was just thinking about her.”
“Me, too. I always think about my girl.”
“It feels kind of funny. The whole thing is so mixed up. Last week we were at the bowling alley with the gang.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel funny inside too. But I ain’t got much to be homesick for. Nothing but Susan.”
“Who said I was homesick?”
“Maybe not homesick, but alone.” Ski snapped on the light and sat up, hitting his head on the abbreviated ceiling. “Dammit, I’m always doing things like that.” He reached for his pants and took out his wallet. “Here’s a picture of my girl.”
Danny propped up on an elbow. It wasn’t a very good picture. He looked at the small dark girl called Susan Boccaccio and emitted a polite, long low whistle.
“Nice, huh?” Ski beamed.
“Darned nice.”
“Let me see your girl.”
Ski returned Danny’s compliment, then he turned off the light and lay back again.
“As soon as we finish with this boot camp thing, I’m going to send for her. We got it all figured. I’m going to save up and get her out here and get married. You going to marry your girl?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Oh, kid stuff, huh?”
“I don’t think a guy should ask a girl anything