From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [281]
Warden handed him the bottle. “You’re crazy, kid,” he said kindly. “You’re insane. You cant save an old man like me. And a young man like you has so much to live for. It’d be a shame, thats what it’d be. A crying shame. Please, kid, please get up. Do it for my sake, if you wont think of yourself.”
“No sir,” Prew said bravely. “Not Prewitt. Prewitt never deserted a friend in need. I’ll stay to the bitter end.”
“Oh, what have I done?” Warden hollered, “what have I done?”
“Nobody cares,” Prew said. “Nobody gives a damn. To hell with it. I’m better off dead.” Tears rose up in his eyes and made the big crosslegged Buddha that was Warden shimmer.
“So am I,” Warden choked. He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “Then we’ll both die. Its better that way anyway, its more tragic. Its more like life.”
“I dont think I could stand up anyway,” Prew said sleepily.
“Me neither,” Warden said. “It is too late. Good by, Prewitt.”
“Good by, Warden.”
They shook hands solemnly. Bravely they choked back the unmanly tears of parting and sat straight as soldiers, staring proudly down the yellow ribbon from which the doom would come.
“I just want you to know,” Warden said, “that I never had a better friend.”
“That goes for me too,” Prew said.
“No blindfold,” Warden said contemptuously, tossing back his head. “Do you think we’re boys? Save it to wipe your ass on, you son of a bitch.”
“Amen,” Prew said.
They shook hands solemnly again, for the last time, split the last drink in Warden’s bottle between them, threw the bottle in the weeds, squared their shoulders, and quietly passed out and went peacefully to sleep.
They were still there at two o’clock, stretched out in the middle of the gravel, when Weary Russell came ramming his weapons carrier down the road to take The Warden home.
Weary slammed on his brakes hard, fighting the topheavy little truck hard in the loose deep gravel, skidding sideways back and forth across the road fighting the wheel with all his skill to keep it out of the ditch. He got it stopped about three yards from Warden’s oblivious feet. He climbed out and looked at them.
“Jesus Christ!” he whispered awfully. “Jesus Christ.”
Warden was clear out, sleeping peacefully happily, but he managed to shake some life back into Prewitt.
“Come on. Wake up, goddam it. You crazy bastard. Come on, you cant snow me, I know you aint dead. You got to help me load him in the back so I can get him back to the CP. If Dynamite ever found out about this he’d bust him sure.”
“Dynamite cou’nt bust him,” Prew said vaguely.
“He couldnt, ’ey?”
“Hell no,” Prew scoffed. “Who’d he get to be First Sarnt?”
“I dont know,” Weary said thoughtfully. “Maybe he could— Aw, to hell with that,” he snarled. “Help me to get him loaded. What would you crazy dumb screwballs of done if it was someone else who come along? Why, I might of run over you and killed you both,” he raged. “Come on, will you?” he pleaded disgustedly, “help me get him loaded.”
“Ats right,” Prew said stoutly. “Done want nothing happen to my friend Warden.”
“Your what?” Weary asked with outraged astonishment. “Your what did you say?”
“You heard me,” Prew said indignantly. “I said my buddy Warden. Whad you think I said? My good friend Warden that I done want nothing to happen to is what I said. You heard me.”
He struggled up, with Weary’s arm around him. “Wheresee? Oh, theree is. Leggo me. I’m awright. Mon,” he said, “talk later. Mon, help me get my buddy Warden in a fuggin truck. Got to take care of him, see? Got to look out for Warden. Best fuggin soljer ina Compny.” He paused thoughtfully. “Ony fuggin soljer ina Compny,” he amended.
Weary let him go and watched disgustedly as he wavered over to the sleeping Warden and leaned over to take hold of him and fell on him.
“Ohh,” Prew said. “A’m drunk.”
“No stuff,” Weary said disgustedly.
He helped him back to his feet. Between them they managed to half-carry half-drag the big man’s lax body that was slippery as an eel around to the back of the truck. Twice they dropped him; Warden