From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [1]
The young man thoughtfully agreed. “Thats true.”
“Well. Then why you want to quit and transfer?”
“I dont want to, Red.”
“But you are.”
“Oh no I’m not. You forget. I’m being transferred. Theres a difference.”
“Now listen,” Red said hotly.
“You listen, Red. Lets go over to Choy’s and get some breakfast. Before this crowd gets over there and eats up all his stock.” He jerked his head back at the awakening squadroom.
“You’re actin like a kid,” Red said. “You’re not bein transferred, any more than I am. If you hadnt of gone and shot your mouth off to Houston none of this would ever happened.”
“Thats right.”
“Maybe Houston did make his young punk First Bugler over you. So what? It’s only a formality. You still got your rating. All the brunser gets out of it is to play the Taps for funerals and sound Retreat for the shorttimer parades.”
“Thats all.”
“It ain’t as if Houston had had you busted, and give the kid your rating. Then I wouldnt blame you. But you still got your rating.”
“No I aint. Not since Houston asked the Old Man to have me transferred.”
“If you’d go see the Old Man like I tell you and say one word only, you’d have it back. Chief Bugler Houston or no Chief Bugler Houston.”
“Thats right. And Houston’s punk would still be First Bugler. Besides, the papers’ve gone through already. Signed; sealed; and delivered.”
“Aw hell,” Red said disgustedly. “Signed papers you can stick up you know where, for all they mean. You’re on the inside, Prew, or at least you could be.”
“Do you want to eat with me?” the young man said, “or dont you?”
“I’m broke,” Red said.
“Did I ask you to pay? This is on me. I’m the one thats transferrin.”
“You better save your money. They can feed us in the kitchen.”
“I dont feel like eating that crap, not this morning.”
“They had fried eggs this morning,” Red corrected. “We can still get them hot. You’ll need your money where you’re goin.”
“All right, for Chrisake,” the young man admitted wearily. “Then this is just for the fucking hell of it. Because I want to spend it. Because I’m leavin and I want to spend it. Now do you want to go? or dont you?”
“I’ll go,” Red said disgustedly.
They walked down the flights of steps and out the walk in front of A Company, where the Bugle Corps was quartered, crossed the street and walked along Headquarters building to the sallyport. The sun heat hit them, bearing down, as they left the porch and left them just as sharply as they stepped inside the tunnel through Hq building that was called the sallyport now, in honor of the old days of the forts. It was painted emphatically with the Regimental colors and housed the biggest of the Regiment’s athletic trophies in their lacquered case.
“Its a bad thing,” Red said tentatively. “You’re gettin yourself a reputation as a bolshevik. You’re settin yourself up for all kinds of trouble, Prew.” Prew did not answer.
The restaurant was empty. Young Choy and his father, Old Choy, were chattering behind the counter. The white beard and black skull cap disappeared at once back into the kitchen and Young Choy, Young Sam Choy, waited on them.
“Herro, Prew,” Young Choy said. “Me hear you move ’closs stleet some time soon I think so maybe, eh?”
“Thats right,” Prew said. “Today.”
“Today!” Young Choy grinned. “You no snowem? Tlansfe’ today?”
“Thats her,” he said grudgingly. “Today.”
Young Choy, grinning, shook his head with sorrow. He looked at Red. “Clazy dogface. Do stlaight duty, ’stead of Bugle Corpse.”
“Listen,” Prew said. “How about bringin our goddam food?”
“Aw light,” Young Choy grinned. “Bling light now.”
He went behind the counter to the swinging kitchen door and Prew watched him. “Goddam gook,” he said.
“Young Choy’s all right,” Red said.
“Sure. So’s Old Choy all right.”
“He only wants to help.”
“Sure. Like everybody else.”
Red shrugged, sheepishly, and they sat silent in the dim comparative coolness, listening to the laziness of the electric fan high up on one wall, until Young Choy brought out the eggs and ham