From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [411]
If you wanted to, he told himself. Which you do not. You dont like the Stockade any better than they do. Nobody likes the Stockade—unless they work for it.
Well, he thought, he finally did it. He finally went and did it. Just like you have always known he would do it.
“Rosenberry!” he bellowed.
“Yes, Sir?” Rosenberry said quietly. He was still sitting quietly at the closet table, still quietly filing things.
A quiet boy, Rosenberry, altogether a quiet boy. That was one of the reasons he’d picked him to replace Mazzioli. He had spent the whole last week before his furlough, after Mazzioli had been shifted to Regiment, in picking him.
“Rosenberry, I want you to get the hell over to Regiment and pick up today’s batch of useless memorandums and worthless circulars, while I straighten this goddam mess out, and come back and worthlessly file them.”
“I already have, Sergeant,” Rosenberry said quietly. “I’m filing them now.”
“Then get your ass over to personnel and tell Mazzioli I want Ike Galovitch’s Service Record. I cant stand to look at your goddam face.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“And while you’re there, get the Service Record of every other man who’s changed status while I been gone.”
“Do you want Prewitt’s Service Record, too, Sergeant?” Rosenberry asked quietly.
“No-goddam-it-I-dont-want-Prewitt’s-Service-Record-too-Sergeant,” Warden bawled. “If I want Prewitt’s-Service-Record-too-Sergeant, I’d of told you, you stupid son of a bitch. Remember? you’re a soljer now, Rosenberry; not a goddam civilian.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“A draftee maybe,” Warden temporized craftily.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“—But nevertheless still a soljer,” Warden roared triumphantly. “Just a plain goddam stinking mucky out-at-the-ass soljer. Who’s suppose to do what he’s told, when he’s told, without askin goddam civilian foolish questions. Get me?” he roared.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“All right then, move it. And dont call me Sir; only officers is called Sir. I’ll get Prewitt’s Service Record later on. When I need it. And when I’m goddamned good and ready.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“I got to get the rest of this crap straightened out first, before I can even use Prewitt’s Service Record,” he explained in a somewhere near almost normal voice.
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly, already on his way out the door.
Warden watched him cross the quad, still moving quietly. You didnt fool him a goddam bit either. He was a quiet boy all right. A Jewish secret, quietly contained, and open to members only. Maybe not even open to members, he amended. He probly dont miss much, but you wont have to worry about him talking too much.
If only, he exploded suddenly, the goddamned ass wouldnt look at a man like he thought he was the Prophet Isaiah returned to earth from someplace. Rosenberry looked at him like he thought he was a frigging four-star General.
You couldnt blame him for that. That was the goddam draftee influence, that and the Officer’s Extension Course. Rosenberry must have heard about the Officer’s Extension Course. He must have. The whole Compny had heard about it. Only, with Rosenberry, instead of needling him about it to relieve their own baffled surprised disappointment, like the rest of the Company, Rosenberry kept it inside that quietly contained Jewish secret along with everything else he heard saw or felt.
Hell, he thought, maybe he even admires you for it. He’s a draftee, aint he?
He would never find out, though, not from that sealed vacuum of quietly contained Jewish secret. It was a secret he would like to unravel someday, just for the exercise, just to see what was inside.
You never will though, he told himself, not as long as he knows you’re going to be an officer. He leaned back in his chair and lit a vile-tasting hangover cigaret, wondering