The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [154]
And there were other tasks, silly pointless ones which assumed a galling character after they had continued long enough. One time, almost two weeks after they had had their last long conversation on the night of the chess game, the General had stared at him blankly for a few seconds, and then had said, "Hearn, I think I'd like to have some fresh flowers in my tent each morning."
"Fresh flowers, sir?"
And the General had given his mocking grin. "Yes, it seems to me there're enough of them in the jungle. Suppose you just tell Clellan to collect a few each morning. Good God, man, it's a simple enough affair."
Simple enough, but it added a further tension between Clellan and himself, which Hearn detested. Despite himself, he paid greater attention to the way Clellan made up the General's tent each morning, and it became a humiliating duel between them. To his own surprise, Hearn discovered that the General was making him vulnerable; he was beginning to care that the tent was made up correctly. Each morning now he approached the General's tent with distaste, figuratively squared his shoulders, and then went in to continue his feud with Clellan.
Clellan had started it. A tall slim Southerner with a complete and insolent poise, a facility for never questioning himself, he had resented any of Hearn's suggestions from the very beginning. Hearn had ignored him at first, amused a little by the proprietary concern with which Clellan regarded his work, but Hearn knew by now that he was contributing a little to the feud himself.
One morning they almost quarreled. Hearn entered the tent as Clellan was finishing his work, and he examined it while Clellan stood at the General's cot, his hands by his sides. Hearn prodded the bed, which was made very neatly, the extra blanket folded squarely at the foot, the pillow centered at the head with its ends tucked in. "Good job on that bed, Clellan," Hearn said.
"You think so, Lieutenant?" Clellan didn't move.
Hearn turned away and inspected the flaps of the fly-tent. They were tied neatly and evenly, and when he yanked at one of the tie cords the knot did not slip. He strode about the outside of the tent, examining the stakes. They were all in line, all slanted at the same angle -- since there had been a heavy rain the night before, Hearn knew that Clellan had already straightened them. He walked back inside the tent, and looked at the board floor, which had been swept and washed. Clellan looked sullenly at Hearn's feet. "You're tracking it up, Lieutenant," he said.
Hearn stared at the muddy marks his shoes had left. "I'm sorry, Clellan," he said.
"It's a lot of work, Lieutenant."
Hearn's temper flared. "Clellan, you don't work so hard."
"Cain't say as any of us do," Clellan drawled.
Well, what the hell! All right, he had deserved that answer. Hearn turned away again, examined the map board. The cover was draped smoothly over it, and the red and blue pencils at its base had been sharpened and separated into their compartments. He walked about, opening the General's foot locker to see that his clothing was stacked tidily, sat down before the General's desk to open the drawers and inspect the insides. Searching for dust, he trailed his fingers under the ledge. Hearn grunted with distaste and stood up to inspect the rain ditch that ran around the tent. Clellan had already removed the silt from the night's rain, and the ditch was clean with new soil. Hearn stepped inside.
"Clellan," he said.
"Yes?"
"Everything seems okay today except the flowers. You can change them."
"I'll tell you, Lieutenant," Clellan said flatly, "it don't seem