From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [329]
He pulled off his fatigue blouse, shoes and socks, and lay down on his bunk, digging his hot feet into the shaded air that gave a false hope of coolness to the squadroom when you first came in. Funny—tonight it would be cold enough for the extra blanket.
Its this heat, Bloom told himself. This heat would ruin anybody’s appetite. As long as a man had his appetite he could figure he was all right. But when he lost it it was a cinch that there was something wrong. What they ought to do was serve the big meal in the evening, like the rich did. Leave it to the rich to know how to live. You never saw an officer eat his dinner in the middle of the day.
Bloom lay on his back and stared at the grayness of the concrete-beamed ceiling, trying to understand it. This had never happened to him before. He had no appetite at breakfast or supper, either, so it couldnt all be the heat. This had never happened to him before. If he didnt do something he was going to waste clear away to a shadow. If a man wanted to keep up his strength, especially a fighter, he had to eat. This had never happened to him before. It had been going on for over two weeks now, ever since around the time his corporalcy had been posted. It was an awful responsibility, being corporal; maybe that was what had done it, partly. Anyway, it had never happened to him before. Then there was the Smoker season, which still had two weeks to run yet. Fighting always bothered him; actually, he was too high strung a type for fighting; he knew it was too nerve-racking for him; that might have something to do with it, too. Because nothing like this had ever even happened to him before. If it wasnt for letting the Regiment down in the clutch, he would have quit the racket a long time ago.
Bloom gave up intellectual analysis and let his mind drift off into a pointless but happy contemplation of the end of the Smoker season.
Two more weeks, Bloom thought. Just two more weeks. Then no more fights nor training until December when the Bowl season opened. It was almost too wonderful to believe. He was basically at heart a peaceful man, and the prospect of five whole months of peace stretched away like a bonanza. The silly damn thing was, he already had the Regimental middleweight championship cinched already. Whether he even fought these last two fights or not. It seemed silly to have to go ahead and fight these last two bouts when he already had it cinched on points and longed so much for peace. But what could you say, you couldnt say anything? He wasnt yellow; he’d had more fights on the green than any man in this Compny; it was just that it made him uneasy; he was of too peaceful a nature; he didnt like it and it put him under a strain. Now you take Prewitt—Prewitt was different, Prewitt loved it. Bloom would be glad when it would finally be over, maybe then he could eat again.
Still lying on his bunk, Bloom heard the first few of the light eaters beginning to come out through the kitchen now and disgustedly listened to them come upstairs, expecting some of them to come squat on his bunk and start brownnosing him now he had made corporal. Instead, they scattered to their bunks. Bloom felt relieved. Thank God for small favors.
Three of them sat down together, pulled out dice and started shooting craps for tailormades. They each had two or three open packs filled with the various mixed brands from former games which they had gotten from their footlockers and which they did not smoke. When they wanted a smoke they rolled one. Bloom half sat up and made as if to go over and sit in, then decided not to. Anyway, he had no tailormades.
Bloom lay back down hoping they had not seen him look just as Cpl Miller passed by his bunk on his way in from the latrine and Bloom watched him waiting to see if he would maybe speak or offer to sit down but Miller went on to his bunk.
For a second Bloom was hurt but he reminded himself that Miller had done