From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [27]
“Well?” Milt Warden said. “What the hell do you want?”
Prew stared at him levelly, not answering, not disconcerted. And for a time both were silent, studying each other, like two opposing checker players taking each other’s measure before the game began. There was no open dislike in the face of either, only a sort of cold inherent antagonism. They were like two philosophers starting from the same initial premise of life and each, by irrefutable argument, arriving at a diametrically opposite conclusion. Yet these two conclusions were like twin brothers of the same flesh and heritage and blood.
Warden broke the spell. “You havent changed a bit, have you, Prewitt?” he said sarcastically. “Havent learned a thing. Fools rush in where angels fear to re-enlist, as some great wit once said. All a man has to do is to leave it up to you and you’ll put your own head in the noose for him.”
“A man like you, you mean,” Prew said.
“No, not me. I like you.”
“I love you too,” Prew said. “And you aint changed none either.”
“Put his own head in the noose,” Warden shook his head sorrowfully. “Thats what you did just now; you know that, dont you? When you turned down Dynamite’s Boxing Squad?”
“I thought you didnt like jockstraps and SD men,” Prew said.
“I dont,” Warden said. “But did it ever occur to you that in a way I’m an SD man myself? I dont do straight duty.”
“Yeah,” Prew said. “I’ve thought of that. Thats why I couldnt see why you hated us guys in the Bugle Corps so much.”
“Because,” Warden grinned, “SD men and jockstraps are all the same, fugitives from straight duty. They aint got what it takes so they ride the gravytrain.”
“And make life a hellhole for every one they can, like you.”
“No,” Warden said. “Guess again. I dont make hell for nobody. I’m only the instrument of a laughing Providence. Sometimes I dont like it myself, but I couldnt help it if I was born smart.”
“We cant all be smart,” Prew said.
“Thats right,” Warden nodded. “We cant. Its a shame too. You been in the army what now? Five years? Fivenahalf? Its about time for you to get over bein a punk ree-croot and begin to get smart, aint it? That is, if you’re ever goin to.”
“Maybe I’d ruther not be smart.”
Warden unfolded his arms and proceeded to light a cigaret, lazily, taking his time. “You had a soft deal as a bugler,” he said, “but you toss it up because Queer Houston hurt your feelins. And then you turn Holmes down when he wants you for his boxing squad,” he said, mincing the words. “You should of took him up, Prewitt. You wont like straight duty in my compny.”
“I can soljer with any man,” Prew said. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Sure you will, Prewitt,” Warden said caressingly. “You goddam right you will. And you’ll throw your bugle on the trash heap just to do it. You’ll take your chances, and the odds you’ll give would make you sick, if life was a craptable. But thats just what it is, Prewitt.”
“I can soljer with any man,” Prewitt repeated, “and best him at it.”
“Okay,” Warden said. “So what? Since when has bein a good soljer had anything to do with the Army? Do you think bein a good soljer will get you a sergeant’s rating in this outfit? after what you just pulled? It wont even get you Pfc.
“You’re the kind of soljer ought to be jockstrappin, Prewitt. Then you could get your name in all the Honolulu papers and be a hero. Because you’ll never make a real soljer. Never in God’s world.
“When you change your mind and decide you might as well jockstrap for Dynamite after all, remember this: the jockstraps dont run this company—in spite of Holmes.
“This aint A Compny now, Prewitt. This is G Compny, of which I am First Sergeant. I run this compny. Holmes is the CO, but he is like the rest of the officer class: a dumb bastard that signs papers an rides horses an wears spurs an gets stinking drunk up at the stinking Officers’ Club. I’m the guy that runs this compny.”
“Yeah?” Prew grinned. “Well, you aint doin a very goddam good job of it, buddy. If you run this outfit, how come Preem’s the mess sergeant? And