From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [293]
He sat down at the table with the beers, looking at the great ponderous frame, so cumbersome in the frail chair but that could be so swift and accurate on the ball diamond or basketball floor or track field or football gridiron. How many times had he watched with the thrill of seeing a Pacific sunset as the big figure leaned lithely into a throw from shortstop to beat the runner at first by a fraction?
“Chief,” he said urgently. “Chief, whats the story?”
“Hunh?” Chief Choate grunted blandly. “What story? Story on what?”
“I dont know,” Prew shrugged. He was embarrassed. He hunted frantically in his mind. “The story on Warden,” he said lamely, as if that were the only thing that could explain it. “Whats the deal with The Warden, Chief? I cant figure him. What makes him like he is, anyway?”
“Warden?” Chief Choate said. He looked out at the dark street through the white screen of latticework, as if fumbling in his mind clumsily for what the other wanted. “Warden? I dont know. Nothing especial I know of, why?”
“Oh, I dont know,” Prew said, lamely, beginning already now to curse himself for a fool. “I cant figure him, thats all,” he said. “He was our Staff in A when I was in the Corps, before he got his First. I seen him around a lot then. He can be the meanest man I ever seen, and next minute he stick his neck clear out to get you out of a jam he helped to get you into.”
“Yeah?” said Chief Choate awkwardly, “he does, dont he?” He was still staring out. “He’s a hard one to figure, all right, I guess. All I know, he’s the best kicker in the Regmint. I wouldnt be surprised he’s the best one on the Post. You dont see many Firsts like him no more.” Chief Choate grinned bitterly. “They are a vanishing race,” he said.
Prew nodded eagerly lamely. “Thats what I mean,” he persisted, now that he was into it. “Sometimes I feel like I could understand a lot of things if I could understand The Warden. Sometimes I—If he was a plain out and out son of a bitch like Haskins in E, you could figure him. I know a rotten top like that when I was in Myer; meanest bastard living; liked to hurt people; like to see them squirm. I clerked for him a while and finally quit and transferred out.”
“Yeah?” Chief Choate said with easy interest. “I dint know you ever pushed a pen, Prew.”
“Not many people do,” Prew said shortly. “I got it kept off my Service Record and Form 20 with the clerk in that outfit, so nobody’d know and draft me back into it ever.” He paused. “I learnt myself typin out a book in the Post Liberry, I guess I was huntin, lookin around for somethin,” he said. Then doggedly he came back. “But you see what I mean. This guy I’m tellin you about was just mean through and through. He couldnt handle men and he hated them because he cou’nt, see? You can figure him. He got his rating ass kissing, and he was always scared there was a browner nose than his around someplace. Easy to figure.”
“Yeah,” Chief Choate said. He nodded his great head slowly, listening respectfully, trying hard. “I know guys like that when I come here. I know them here.”
“But that aint the story with The Warden, though,” Prew said. “I dont feel he’s bein mean. I got a kind of funny feelin about him. A kind of—weird feelin, you know?”
Chief nodded. “Some guys is just bornd unlucky,” he said slowly. “I personally figure Warden is one of them guys.”
“How do you mean, unlucky?”
“Well, its hard to explain,” Chief Choate said restlessly.
Prew waited.
“You take me,” Chief said, “for instance. I was a kid on the reservation. Bornd and raised there. And I wanted to be a jockstrap. The worst way I wanted to be one. Jim Thorpe was my idol. I use to read everything about him I could find. And I listened to the stories they all told about him. He was a hero to the people. And I thought Jim Thorpe was wonderful, and I wanted to be just like him, see?”
Prew