From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [296]
It looked deserted as he turned in through the truck entrance and the lights were off in the bandstand-ring, but as he walked up the Company walk to the porch a shadow came out from under it moving to meet him. Even in the dark he could recognize the long-armed apeshape. It was Ike Galovitch, drunk and weaving.
“Py Gott,” Ike bawled. “Ham telling you dis tonight a great night are. Der own into dis night G Gomny and da Captn Holmes have gome,” he hollered happily. “Did we taking them toonight or not taking dem. I ask you? Are proud dis gomny to be of or not? ’Ey?”
“Hello, Ike,” he said.
“Who that is?” Ike Galovitch stopped grinning and the long lippy jaw came out as he leaned forward drunkenly to peer. “That not is Prewitt? What that is?”
“Prewitt that is, all right,” he grinned back tightly.
“Gott am,” Ike exploded. “A lot of guts you got your face around here heven showing, Prewitt. In dese barricks it is no right heven have a traitor like you to be sleeping.”
“Thats right, but till transfer me out they do sleep here I got to notwithstanding.” He stepped out to go around but Ike stepped across in front of him.
“Transfer you to da Stockade,” Ike growled. “Dat bites de hand dat feeds it dey shoot dogs for. Heven a Commonist is batter. Dan to stabbing in da back da best frien any man ever having hafter da breaks da Gaptn Holmes having giving you. Infortunately, ony dogs dey are allowed to shoot not men.”
“And you’d sure like to see them change the laws, wouldnt you I bet, Ike, hunh?” Prew grinned. He stood passively, he had tried once, he would not try to go around again.
“For you, hyes,” Ike raged. “For mad dogs shooting is too good. Dis Harmy only strong has weakest links. It is da rebel ones like you making da Fascisti over der I leave for come dis country. Bolsheviki like you har should hot heven be allow dis country. Should be run out dis country.”
“If you’ve had your say now, old man,” he said, “get out of my way and I’ll go to bed.”
“Had my say!” Old Ike raged on. “Not heven an Hamurican you are. Not heven enough be grateful for tings good men like da Gaptn Holmes are willing do for you. What you need is lesson teach you to respeck your betters when they nice enough are to do tings for you.”
“And theres nothin you’d like better than to have the job,” he grinned, “right? Listen, I stepped around you once. I aint going to step around you again. See me tomorrow during duty hours, when I cant talk back. But right now get the fuck out of my way so I can go to bed.”
“Yeah?” Ike said. “And maybe I just take da job, laws or laws not. Has done everting for you can one man do, da Gaptn Holmes. You are grateful?” he hollered furiously. “Like shit. Fine man offer you chance do something, do you do? No. Not you. Maybe I give to you da lesson by myself, since da Gaptn Holmes too nice to do him. How you like den?”
“Fine,” he grinned. “When do we start? Tomorrow at drill?”
“Drill hell. Py Gott am you, I show you dont need drill or sargint ratting.”
Cursing drunkenly, Ike Galovitch, American, pulled his knife out of his pocket. It was not the professional knifer’s snap blade job like Sgt Henderson’s, but Ike opened it almost as quickly, thumbnailing the slot to raise the point out of the cradle far enough to catch it on his pantsleg as he ripped it up one handed, all in one movement too fast to see, and the blade was out and bare throwing oily glints of light.
Prew watched him almost happily. Here, at last, was the enemy. The real enemy. The common enemy.
When Ike Galovitch, American, lunged drunkenly with his knife, he stepped to meet him, parrying the wrist and arm outside him with his left hand, and stepped in again turning on the balls of his feet deftly. Ike went off