Battle Cry - Leon Uris [146]
One evening Danny lay sunken in the deep mattress, reading. Marion adjusted his glasses and crouched over the writing desk. A big stack of papers was scattered over it. The record on the phonograph ended. Marion snapped it off.
“That’s a pretty tune. What was it?” Danny asked.
“It’s from The Pearl Fishers by Bizet.”
“What is The Pearl Fishers?”
“An opera.”
“I thought Carmen was the only thing Bizet wrote.”
“On the contrary,” Marion said, “he wrote suites, symphonies—quite a lot of other music.”
“I’ve got to learn about music someday.”
“It was nice of Mr. Hendrickson to lend these records to us. Incidentally, we all have a dinner date at their place tonight.”
“Righto, old bean.”
“Better be on guard, Danny. I think his daughter has an eye out for you.”
“Bully…how’s the story coming?”
“Fair. I’ll let you read the first draft in a few minutes.” Marion shuffled through the stack of records.
“Put on that Grieg concerto. I like that. Seems to blend in with the scenery.”
“Okay.”
“Funny,” Danny mused as the first stirring chords came through, “I used to think that Glenn Miller and T. Dorsey were the only musicians in the world. When I was in high school Glenn Miller came over the radio three times a week on the Supper Club. It was like a ritual, listening to him. We’d go mad when he played ‘Volga Boatman’ and the ‘Anvil Chorus.’”
“I’m fond of Miller, too,” Marion said.
“I wonder if I can jitterbug any more. Seems like that was all we lived for, dancing and bowling and stuff like that. Kathy likes classical music. She used to give me a bad time because I’d never get interested in it. I kidded her about it a lot….”
Marion swung his chair around and faced Danny. “Seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve had the G.I. blues bad the last couple of weeks. Guess this has been the first time we’ve had a couple minutes to think about home.”
Marion rose and walked to the fireplace. He ripped some paper and laid kindling on top of it. He struck a match and the paper burst into flame, throwing a mass of dancing shadows on the wall. He poked the crackling wood and put on a heavy log, then stood and brushed his hands, and stared into the flames.
“Marion?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever try to stop and figure out what we are doing here? I mean, halfway around the world.”
“Many times.”
“I know I’m a Marine and there’s a war. But just killing—it isn’t right, Marion.”
“Seems rather pointless when you say it that way, doesn’t it?”
“I only hope I’m fighting for the right thing, Marion.”
“You have to feel that way, Danny, or you can’t fight.”
“I supposed so…anyhow, it’s too deep for corporals. I wonder if they’ll send us home after the next campaign?”
“Things are looking better. Army moving up the Solomons and New Guinea. I suppose the First and Third Marine Divisions will be ready to go soon.”
“So many damned islands, so many damned islands out there.”
L.Q. stomped into the room and threw himself on a bed, bouncing several times in the deep fluffy down. “Goddammit to hell. That’s the last time I ride a horse.”
“What happened?”
“I just did it to make time with that Hendrickson broad, I’m scared to death of horses. That damned farmer hasn’t got nothing but big dumb plough horses, they’re cannibals, I tell you. I got thrown six times. God, I’m sore all over.”
Marion and Danny laughed. “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady,” Marion said.
“Fair lady, my Aunt Lizzy’s butt. These damned broads are like Amazons. Anyhow she’s got her meathooks out for you, Danny. What’s the matter with me? I got B.O. or something? Hard Luck Jones, that’s what…all the time I run into crackpots.”
“Come on, L.Q., you’d better take a nice cold shower.”
“Nuts!” L.Q. said. “I can’t stay around this hole another minute. It’s too quiet. I’m getting the creeps.”
“I thought you wanted peace and quiet.”
“Yeah, but not death. Hunting and fishing,