From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [82]
“Not if he’s got money. You better take what you got and go by yourself, while you still got it,” Prew said. “You go over to O’Hayer’s, you wont have it long,” he said bluntly.
“Listen,” Angelo said. “You dont want to let that Bloom character get your goat. Everybody knows he’s a prize prick.”
“You listen. He dont bother me; he fucks with me I’ll bust his goddam flat head for him. And that goes for all the rest of them. See?”
“It wouldnt do you any good,” Angelo said reasonably.
“Maybe not, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better.”
“He was needling you with all that crap about being yellow,” Maggio said. “Nobody believes that.”
Prew had started back to the latrine, but now he stopped. “Listen, Angelo,” he said, turning back. “Lets drop this. I dont care whether they, or anybody, believe it or not,” he said seriously. “They can all of them go screw themselves, and I’ll be the first guy to walk across the street and watch it.”
“Okay,” Maggio said briefly. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Wait’ll I get my shirt. I’m freezin to death. I thought them travel posters said they dint have no winter in Hawaii.”
He disappeared into the slowly, rhythmically breathing squadroom, tiptoeing grotesquely, and Prew had to grin. Angelo came back putting on his shirt and carrying his raincoat, wearing the stiffly blocked hat he was so proud of, that he had religiously had blocked once every week since he got out of recruit drill.
“Where’ll you be?” he asked, unbuttoning his pants and stuffing in his shirt, as they walked down to the stairs and down them to the ground floor porch where the endlessly falling water made an endless sound that was no longer heard because it had been going on so long.
“I’ll be in the Dayroom,” Prew said, “or else up in the latrine.”
Maggio was putting on his raincoat, as if it was a suit of armor and he was going forth to joust. “Okay,” he said. “You better be prepared to bring a footlocker to help bring home the ghelt.”
“You better win,” Prew said, “goddam you. I aint had a piece of ass in almost a month.”
“No wonder you’re pissed off,” Angelo grinned. “I aint had one since last payday.” He pulled his hat down on his forehead and peered up at Prew from under the knife edge of the brim. “Gimme a butt before I go.
“Jesus Christ!” Prew said, pained, but he reached in his pocket and brought out one, a single tube, from the unseen pack. “Since when did I take you to raise?”
“Whats a matter? You scared I’ll steal your lousy tailormades? After I win I’ll buy you a whole carton. Now match me and I’m gone.”
“Is your mouth dry?” Prew said. “You want me to spit for you?”
“Not on the floor,” Angelo said, raising his eyebrows in mock horror. “Not on the floor. Wheres your manners?”
“Aint there something else I can do for you? Use my mouth as an ashtray? cut off my balls and have a game of marbles? You oughta be able think of somethin.”
“No,” Maggio said. “But thanks. You’re a good boy. You ever get to Brooklyn, look me up. I’ll treat you right.” He opened the book Prew handed him, tore off one, struck it, and handed back the book, the bronze glow lighting up his thin child’s face. “I’ll see you, kid,” he said, puffing luxuriantly, like a rich man on a fifty cent cigar. He swaggered off out into the rain, ducked through the falling sheets of water, swaggered on, his bony shoulders hunched up belligerently, his thin arms swinging widely, his torso swaying from side to side, agitating the formless raincoat that enveloped him.
Prew watched him go, half grinning ruefully, no longer feeling mean, hoping he would win some money. He stood for a while looking out across the rainswept quad to the lighted sallyport, listening to the snatches of song and shouts from Choy’s as the door was opened, hearing the rattling of empty cases. He was back in the old familiar round again, hunting and twisting and pinching for the nickels that looked as big as dollars, trying to scour up enough for a few drinks and a piece of ass.
Even if he wins, he thought, you wont find