From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [185]
“You blingee woman, me play.”
He made the old, Army sign for woman again, under Old Choy’s nose.
“You woman, old man goat, me show you how play. My play you then.”
“You play,” Old Choy said, giggling. “You play, Walden.”
Warden got his wallet out and gave him a bill. “You smart like fox, old man goat. You catchee much money, much cash. You son him makee million dollar.”
The old Chinese laughed delighted, patting Warden on his big thick shoulder with the thin fine-boned almost transparent hand, and shuffled with the bill to the door out front and called softly in Chinese to his son to come take the money. Then he came back with the change, still grinning, and perched up on his stool to watch the show, his bright old eyes constantly moving.
“Ah,” Pete sighed. He wiped the foam from his lip with the back of his hand. Then he pinched off the speck of foam the small hole in the can had left on the end of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and flung it on the cement floor. “Ah,” he said. “Ah, man.”
Pete had watched the party-ritual sadly, gazing down from the summit of his 22 years service. Now he began his party-ritual.
“You remember the old Bijou Theater in Coconut Grove, Milt?” he said sadly. “I wonder if its still there these many years.”
“Sure,” Warden grinned, teetering in his chair. “The Red Dog Theater on Balboa Street. They probly closed it up by now since the Zone is gone respectable. If they aint they will, soon as these young virgin draftees start comin in and the Future Gold Star Mothers of America make the whole Army go respectable for the duration. Remember what they done to Storyville in the last war.”
“Ah, yes,” Pete said sadly. “Nawrlans aint never been the same. They even have tore down the old market and built a new one thats sanitary. Did you know that, Milt?”
“Sure,” Warden said indifferently, the party energy beginning to wear thin before this old rehashing. He got himself another can to bolster it.
“Yes, sir,” Pete said. He looked off at the ceiling corner with great emotion. “Colon. Balboa. Panama City. Walking post along the locks. Coconut Grove. The old Bijou Theater with nothing but shunt pictures. Newsreel cartoon, and a feature. I got some of the best and most artistic pictures in my collection down in The Grove. Things aint like they was, Milt. Remember? the MPs had no authority above the ground floor? and if a whore ever got you up on the second floor you might as well kiss the boys goodby? It was a fifty-fifty chance they find you in the river. They were men in those days.”
“If you ever get caught with that collection of yours,” Warden taunted, “you can kiss the boys goodby. Possessing pornography is five years and a DD, Pete.” This that he had heard so often was killing the partiness and the other, the jaw-tightening, the scrotum-sickening, was coming back. “Wouldnt that be a shame,” he nagged, “you with only seven years to go for rocking chair money?”
“Once I took a girl down there to the Bijou,” Pete reminisced emotionally. “Can you imagine that? But I was a young buck then. I was a fireball.”
“How many beers you had, Pete?”
“Only four. As yet. Why? This girl was a planter’s daughter, see? Her old man worked about five hundred gooks and she had led a very sheltered life. A very moral young lady, Milt. I took her out to a high class dinner and then to the Bijou. It was a great shock to her to learn about life. But she took it well. She got to like me very much, after that.” He took up another can, a fresh one.
“Well,” Warden said, “go on. Tell the rest of it.”
“Thats all there is,” Pete said.
“The last time I heard it you told it different.”
“Well,” Pete said, his great emotion still secure. “What do you expect? I was in a different mood then.”
“Oh,” Warden said. “Is that it? Hey, Old Choy. Pappa-San blingee more beer to soljer boys, or Pappa-San gettem beard pulled offem face, eh?”
Old Choy got up and tottered