From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [62]
“I didnt have time when the Sickbook came back this morning,” Mazzioli started. “Those medics never get it back before eleven. They . . .”
“Dont gimme any excuse, collegeboy,” Warden sneered. He split the plea apart and dealt with boths halves deftly. “The Sickbook was back at nine-thirty. O’Bannon didnt send the orderly around till ten. You sit around here all morning on your dead ass working a crossword. How many times do I hafta tell you? Keep your work up to date. Do everything the minute it comes in. Once you get behind you never get caught up.”
“Okay, Top,” Mazzioli said, crestfallen, all his blandness gone. “I’ll do it now. Let me have the book.” He reached out to take it, but Warden did not relax his grip. Tall, deep-chested, and disgusted he stared down at the clerk, a malignant expression in the ends of his eyebrows.
Mazzioli looked at him. “Oh,” he said, guiltily, and let go. “Soon as I finish filin these. I’ll do it soon as I finish these.” He turned from the silent sarcasm to his folders.
Warden tossed the Sickbook on his desk. “I already done it,” he said in a normal tone, disgustedly. “Its all fixed up already.”
Mazzioli shot him an admiring glance from the file cabinet. “Thanks, Top,” he said.
“Go to hell,” Warden said, violent again. “If you dont watch yer step, you’re gonna find your ass busted back to private and do a little straight duty. Which would probably kill a college angelina like you. A classic example of the American educational system, thats what you are.”
Mazioli did not believe the threat, but he put a sad expression on his face, just in case. Warden saw completely through it.
“You think I’m kiddin ya?” Warden said, with his overpowering violence. “Keep on like you’re goin and watch. You’ll find yourself divin for pearls in the kitchen. I’m the first sergeant here, not you, and if theres any leisure around here I get it, see? If there aint enough for two, then you work. And if you dont quit hangin around with them two-bit philosophers over at Regmint you’ll be scrubbin this Orderly Room floor for me.
“What was the discussion on today?” he said.
“Van Gogh,” Mazzioli said. “He’s a painter.”
“Well, well,” Warden said. “Do tell. A painter. Did you ever read Lust For Life?”
“Yes,” Mazzioli said, surprised. “Did you?”
“No,” Warden said. “I never read.”
“You ought to read it, Top. Its a good book.”
“Did you ever read The Moon and Sixpence?” Warden said.
“Sure,” Mazzioli said, surprised again. “Have you?”
“No,” Warden said. “I never read.”
Mazzioli turned to look at him. “Aw now,” he said. “What are you doing, kidding me?”
“Who, me?” Warden said. “Dont flatter yourself, kid.”
“I bet you read them,” Mazzioli said. He laid down his filing and sat down and lit a cigaret. “You know, I’ve got a theory on Gauguin.”
“To hell with your theories,” Warden said. “Lets get them files fixed up. I got some business to attend to myself.”
“Okay,” Mazzioli said. He got up angrily and went back to work. But he could not keep quiet, once he had started. It always seemed everything he knew, Warden knew better, and it was not right. Sometimes he thought it was true sin that Warden had never gone to business college and developed his natural intellect, learning, at the same time, to be civilized.
“Gaugin’s painting was two dimensional,” he said over his shoulder. “It had no depth. My theory is it was because he was too cynical. Everything he painted was harsh and ugly because he was bitter against life. That’s my theory.”
Warden looked at him a moment, pityingly, and then laughed. “What are you goin to do when this war comes along, kid?” he said.
“We wont get in the war,” Mazzioli said, “We’ll stay out. And anyway, if we did, I’d do my part as much as you would, by God.”
“To be a painter