From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [76]
Prew had looked up then, at the candid happiness that was on the long thin olive face because he’d lost an enemy and made a friend. “Okay,” he’d said, “and thanks, Sal, thanks a lot.” He had bent his face back to the strings, feeling warm himself, because he too had made two friends today. . . .
“Two whores,” Maggio said, flipping over with its mate the queen he had for hole card.
“Two bullets,” Prew grinned, turning up his own. He reached out and scooped in the small handful of change from the blanket. There was a chorus of groans and curses as he added it to the four dollars he had won in the past two hours. “A little more of this,” he said, “and I’ll have enough to hit O’Hayer’s shed for a big lick.”
While they had played the guard bugler had sounded a watery Tattoo from the corner of the rainy muddy quad, and there had been a sudden influx of last minute pissers before they went to bed, and the CQ had come around and thrown the light switches in the squadrooms, and now in the darkened squadroom beyond the swinging saloon-doors of the latrine there were the heavy silences and soft stirrings of a great deal of sleep. But the game had gone on concentratedly through it all with that passionate singularity generally attributed to love, but which few men ever feel, for women.
“I might of knew it,” Maggio said dejectedly. He pulled down the strap of his undershirt and scratched his bony shoulder tragically. “Old-ace-in-the-hole-Prewitt. Any man catches an ace paired on the last card should have to throw in his hand or be outlawed from our club, thats all.”
“You’re as cold as a well digger’s ass in the Klondike, Angelo,” Prew grinned.
“Yeah?” Maggio glowered. “You believe it: its so. Gimme them goddam cards, men. Its my deal.” He turned to Clark.
“Hear that, Nose? Prewitt says it: Its so.” Maggio fingered his own big nose as he slapped the deck down for Prew to cut. “Was my father ever in Scranton, Pa? If I dint know my father was never out of Brooklyn in his life, I’d lay you money you was my kid brother. If I had money, that is.”
Sal Clark grinned shyly. “My nose aint big enough to be your brother.”
Maggio rubbed his hands together briskly and then ran each finger and his thumbs across his nose. “Now,” he said, “now. Here we go. I’ve changed my luck. Better’n fuckin a nigger any time,” he said, patting his big nose. He began to deal. “Who ever pinned you with the monicker of Clark, Ciolli? You’re a traitor to the Italian people, Ciolli. You snob.”
“Hell,” Sal grinned, unable to keep his face straight like Maggio’s. “I can help it? if the immigration people couldnt spell Ciolli?”
“Comeon, Angelo,” Prew said. “Deal the cards. You cant make money you dont deal the cards.”
“I cant win for losin, thats what I cant win for,” Maggio said briskly. “You’re a Wop, Ciolli. A greasy, hooknosed Wop. I dont know you. First jack bets.”
“Bet five.” Andy threw in a nickel.
Clark glowered comically, trying to narrow his fawn’s eyes. “I’m a hard man, Angelo. Dont mess with me. I’ll pull you apart. Ask Prewitt will I pull you apart.”
“You’ll never get rich on five,” Maggio said to Andy. “Lets make it ten.” He threw in a dime. “Is that right, Prew? Is this Ciolli boy really tough?”
“I call,” Prew said. “Sure he’s tough. He’s hard. I’m teachin him the manly art of self-defense.” He looked at his hole card. Sal grinned delightedly under his huge nose.
“Then he’s hard,” Maggio said. “I quit,” he said to Clark. “All right, all right,” he said, “its up to you, Jew-boy. Ten to you, you character.”
“I call,” said Pvt Julius Sussman, who had been losing steadily, “but I dont know why. Where’d you learn to deal such stinking hands?”
“I learn to deal these cards in Brooklyn, as you would know if you had of ever got out of The Bronx for air. I’m a Card Dealer. Queen is high.”
“Bets five,” Sussman said disgustedly. “You’re nutward material, Angelo, thats what you are. The original Ward