From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [168]
When they reached the last steep rise that curved left up to the top of the pass, Paluso stopped and got off his bike.
“We might as well turn back here. Theres no use to go up to the crest. He’ll never know it anyway.”
“To hell with him,” Prew said grimly, plodding on. “He said the pass. The pass it is.” He looked over at the Stockade rock quarry cut back into the side of the hill on the right of the curve. Thats where you’ll be tomorrow this time. All right. So fine. Fuck em all but six and save them for the pallbearers.
“Whats the matter with you?” Paluso said angrily dumbfoundly. “You’re crazy.”
“Sure,” he called back.
“I aint going to walk this bike up there,” Paluso said. “I’ll wait on you here.”
The prisoners, working in the heavy dust with the big white capital P on the backs of their blue jackets standing out like targets, whooped at the two of them, razzing about the extra duty and hard life of the Army. Until the big MP guards cursed them down and shut them up and put them back to work.
Paluso waited, smoking disgustedly, at the bottom of the rise and he climbed it doggedly by himself, sweating heavier now on the steeper rise, until at the top the big never-flagging breeze hit him and chilled him and he could look down the steep-dropping snake of road, dropping way down, at least a thousand feet, among the great sharp lava crags, down to Waianae where they had gone last September, where they went every September, for the machinegun training that he liked, fitting the heavy link-curling web belts of identical clinking cartridges every fifth one painted red into the block and touching the trigger lightly between thumb and forefinger and feeling the pistol grip buck against your hand as the belts bobbed through, firing off across the empty western water at the towed targets, the tracers making flat meteor flights of light in the night firing. He breathed some of the stiffness of the breeze. Then he turned around and went back down, the wind dying suddenly, to where Paluso was waiting.
When they got back to the barracks his jacket and his pants down to his knees were soaked clear through. Paluso said, “Wait here,” and went in to report and Capt Holmes came back out with him, and he unslung his rifle and came to attention and rendered a smart rifle salute.
“Well,” Holmes said deeply, humorously. Sharp lines of lenient humor cut indulgent planes and angles in the handsome aquiline face. “Do you still feel you need to offer advice to the noncoms about how to manage details, Prewitt?”
Prew did not answer. In the first place, he had not expected humor, even indulgent humor, and inside in the corridor they were still scrubbing down the walls, exactly as they had two hours ago, and they looked very safe and secure in their weary bored monotony.
“Then I take it,” Holmes said humorously, “that you are ready to apologize to Sergeant Galovitch and myself now, arent you.”
“No, Sir, I’m not.” Why did he have to say that? why couldnt he just have left it? why did he have to demand it all? couldnt he see what he was doing, how impossible that was.
Paluso made a startled noise behind him that was followed by a very guilty silence. Holmes’s eyes only widened imperceptibly, he had better control this time, he knew more what to expect. The indulgent planes and angles of his face shifted, subtly and were neither humorous nor indulgent any more.
Holmes jerked his head at the pass. “Take him back up there again, Paluso. He hasnt had enough yet.”
“Yes, Sir,” Paluso said, letting go of