The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [189]
Red remembered a soldier who had died in the States because he had not been admitted to the hospital. He had gone through training for three days with a fever because the post hospital had a rule that no men could be taken into the hospital unless their temperature was over 102. The soldier had died a few hours after he came into the hospital on the fourth day; he had had galloping pneumonia.
Sure, they got it all figured out, Red thought. If they get ya to hate 'em enough you'll crack a nut before you'll go to 'em, and that way they keep ya on the line. Of course a guy dies every now and then, but what the hell's another guy to the Army? Those quacks get their orders to be sonsofbitches from the top. He felt a bitter righteous pleasure in the knowledge. You'd think we weren't men.
But immediately afterward he knew that his anger also stemmed from fear. Five years ago I woulda told that doctor off. It was one of the old jokers, and it was even worse in the Army. A man had to take crap even if it was just by keeping his mouth shut. You don't last a month if you do everything you want, he told himself. And yet nothing was worth doing if you let yourself be pushed around. There was no way to figure that one out.
He was startled by Wilson's voice. "C'mon, Red, let's go."
"Oh." They began to walk together.
Wilson was silent, and his broad high forehead was puckered in a frown. "Red, Ah wish we hadn't gone on that sick call."
"Yeah."
"Ah gotta have an op-per-ration."
"You going to the hospital?"
Wilson shook his head. "Naw, that doc said it can wait till the campaign's over. Ain't no hurry."
"What's the matter with ya?"
"Damn if Ah know," Wilson said. "That guy in there said Ah'm all shot to hell inside. Peter trouble." He whistled for a moment, and then added, "Mah old man died from an op-per-ration an' Ah don' like none of it."
"Aaah," Red said, "it ain't too bad, or they'd be doin' it now."
"Ah jus' cain't figger it out, Red. You know Ah had a dose five times and Ah cured it every single time. Buddy of mine told me about this thing, it's called pirdon or pridion or somepin like that, and Ah jus' took it, an' it fixed me up fine, but that doc says it didn't.''
"He don' know what the score is."
"Aw, he's a sonofabitch, all right, but the thing is, Red, Ah'm all shot to hell inside. Ah cain't take a leak easy, and mah back hurts, and Ah gets the cramps sometimes." Wilson snapped his fingers deprecatingly. "It's a hell of a note, Red. You take somethin' like lovin', it's so nice and warm and you get to feelin' like jelly, an' then it ends up ru'nin' your insides. Ah cain't understand it, Ah tell ya Ah think that man is wrong. Ah'm sick counta somepin else. Lovin' ain't goin' to hurt a man."
"It can," Red said.
"Well, there's somepin all fugged up, that's all Ah can say. It jus' don' make sense for a good thin' like that to end up hurtin' ya." He sighed. "Red, Ah swear the whole thing is confusin' as hell." They walked back to their tents.
The Time Machine:
WOODROW WILSON
THE INVINCIBLE
He was a big man about thirty with a fine mane of golden-brown hair and a healthy ruddy spacious face whose large features were formed cleanly. Incongruously, he wore a pair of round silver-rimmed glasses which gave him at first glance a studious or, at least, a methodical appearance. "With all the gals Ah've had, Ah'll never forget that little old piece," he said, wiping the back of his hand against his high sculptured forehead, sliding it up over his golden pompadour.
Clichés like lazy decadence, death and disease, monotony and violence, well up in your mind. The main street has assumed its tawdry prosperity with discomfort; it is hot and packed with people and the stores are small and dirty. Languid and feverish, the girls walk by on thin legs, with painted faces, staring at the movie houses with gaudy placards, picking at the sore on their chin, squinting with their pale insolent eyes as the sun glares on the dirty asphalt and models