Battle Cry - Leon Uris [235]
The problem of rotting out the fish life from the cat’s-eye shells was solved by MacArthur, the native con boy. Marion dug them into the earth and they were eaten out without the putrid smell they had when left to sun above the ground.
MacArthur grew close to Marion who was generous in sharing the items he craved: chewing gum, knives, cloth, and cigarettes which he did not use. On Marion’s roamings, MacArthur generally tagged along to interpret and explain the million oddities he discovered. For many weeks the little native coyly hinted he would surely like to have a very fine pair of shoes such as the Marines wore. He pestered Marion so much that at last he was presented with a pair of brand-new, stiff leather boondockers. MacArthur had not worn them for more than an hour before the novelty wore off and he deeply regretted ever having asked for them. Nature and coral and hot sand had given him his own leather on the soles of his thick flat feet and this Western innovation made the poor boy go through the agonies of a man wearing an Oregon Boot. However, he was afraid of offending Marion and he always appeared in camp smiling sickly and limping in the boondockers.
The day that Marion gave the boy a reprieve and allowed him to throw the shoes away he made himself a lifelong friend.
The nearby village carried on a close and intimate friendship with Fox Company, completely ignoring the non-fraternization order. Shapiro was wise enough to have his officers and NCOs keep sharp watch on the boys who might get out of line. Each evening several men wandered over to the village bearing gifts and settled for a chat, a song session or a round of casino, the mutual card game. The Marines had terrible luck at cards but after a while they learned that the root of their misfortune lay in the tiny native boys and girls who snuggled up to them as they squatted on their pillows. With many displays of friendship they jabbered away, telegraphing the cards to the members of their family. Many packs of cigarettes were lost before the Foxmen learned to cover their hands.
“Pedro.”
“Huhhh.”
“Pedro, wake up.” The corpsman sprung to his feet, tangling in his mosquito net and with a knife in his hand. “Easy, it’s me, L.Q. Come to our tent right away.”
“What is the matter?”
“Danny’s sick, real sick.” The corpsman grabbed his aid pack and followed L.Q. through the sleeping, dark camp over the road to the radio tent.
They entered and Marion pumped the Coleman lantern until it lit the place with a bright glow. Andy bent over Danny’s cot, rubbing his forehead with a wet rag. He stepped aside as Pedro approached the twisting, moaning boy. Pedro took his pulse and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
“What is it, Pedro, dengue fever?”
“Yes, but it looks like a very bad case.”
“He’s been acting groggy for almost a week.”
“He should have turned in. I told him to, dammit.”
“God! Sonofabitch…God!”
Pedro worked the thermometer loose from Danny’s teeth and squinted as he held it up to the light “We’ve got to get a doctor.”
“What is it?”
“He’s got over a hundred and five fever.”
“Lord.”
“Wrap him up, pile blankets on if he gets chills.” The three lifted the nets on their cots and took the blankets from them.
“L.Q., get the skipper here quick.”
He led the groggy captain into the tent. “What is it, Pedro?” Max asked.
“Very bad Max, very bad. Dengue. Never seen one like it.”
“Better get the alligator and move him to a doctor.”
“I’m afraid to move him in his condition.”
The terrible shakes started under the pile of blankets. The sick boy’s face turned soggy with sweat. He gagged and twisted and rolled and screamed as pains shot through his body. Bone-crushing fever, the natives called it.
“He looks terrible,” Max whispered. “I don’t like it. Is there a doctor on Lulu?”
“I think they’re all working out of the base on Helen. Doc Kyser is the closest one.”
“Get