From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [42]
“This Galovitch must be quite a guy.”
Chief pulled a sack of Durham from the pocket of his shirt and dropped his eyes to it. “He is,” he said. He rolled a cigaret very delicately with his sausage fingers. “He was at Bliss with Holmes too. Use to be the boiler orderly. Took care of the boilers in the winter. I think maybe he had a Pfc.” He lit the brown thin lumpy cigaret and dropped the match in Prew’s can, took several drags. But he did not look at Prew, instead he watched the exhaled smoke blandly. “Old Ike is our Close Order expert. On the Drill Schedule we got an hour’s Close Order every morning. Galovitch always gives it.” The rolled cigaret burned down quickly and Chief dropped it in the can, still not looking up.
“Okay,” Prew said. “What is it? Whats eatin on you?”
“Who? me?” Chief said. “Why, nothin. I was just wonderin if you aimed to start trainin now, this late in the season, or if you meant to wait till summer and be eligible for Company Smokers.”
“Neither one,” Prew said. “I aint doin any fightin.”
“Oh,” Chief said noncommittally. “I see.”
“You think I’m crazy, hunh?” Prew said.
“No,” the other said. “I guess not. It kind of surprised me though, when I heard you’d quit the Bugle Corps, a man who plays a bugle the way you do.”
“Well,” Prew said savagely, “I quit it. And I aint sorry. And I aint doin no fightin. And I aint sorry about that either.”
“Then I guess you aint got nothin to worry about, have you?” Chief said.
“Not a goddam thing.”
Chief stood up and moved over to the bunk next to Prewitt’s. “I think thats Galovitch comin now. I figured he’d be along.”
Prew raised his head to look. “Say, Chief. Is this guy Maggio in whose squad, anyway? The little Wop.”
“Mine,” Chief said. “Why?”
“I just like him. Met him this morning. I’m glad he’s in your squad.”
“He’s a good boy. He’s only out of recruit drill a month, and he messes up and catches all the extra details, but he’s a good boy. He’s got a plenty big sense of humor for such a little guy, keeps everybody laughin all the time.”
Galovitch was walking toward them down the aisle. Prew watched him and was astounded. He came on between the bunks, bigfooted, bentkneed, bobbing his trunk and head with every step as if he carried a safe upon his back. His long arms reached awkwardly almost to his knees so that he resembled an ape balancing on his knuckles as he walked, and his small head covered with a cropped brush whose widow’s peak came almost to his eyebrows, the tiny closeset ears and long lippy jaw carried out the similarity. He would have been truly apelike, Prew thought, had not the insignificance of his deepset eyes and his scrawny neck made him ineffectual as a monkey.
“Is that Galovitch!” he said.
“Thats him,” Chief said, a twinkle gleaming faintly from the depth of his slow solemnity. “Wait’ll you hear him talk.”
The apparition stopped before them, at the foot of Prewitt’s bed. Old Ike stood looking at them, the red eyes set in a well of wrinkles, and worked his loose-hung lips in and out ruminatingly, like a toothless man.
“Prewitt?” Galovitch said.
“Thats me.”
“Sargint Galovitch, platoon guide am I of dis platoon,” he said, proudly. “When assigned to dis platoon you are, you become under me. Consequental one a my men. Am coming to give for you the lowdown setup.” He paused and rested his knobby hams of hands on the bed end and pulled his chin in and worked his lips in inexpressively and stared at Prew.
Prew turned to look at Chief to show his wonderment, but the Indian had lain down on the bunk, his big legs dangling over the side, and his head back on the olive blanket square-cornered over the pillow. He was suddenly outside of all of this, disclaiming all participation.
“Don’ look to him,” Galovitch commanded. “To you talking it is me not him. He is only corporal. Sargint Vilsahn is platoon sargint and it is for him say to you anything I do not say if for you to do.
“When in the morning you get up the first thing is the bunk to make. With no wrinkles