The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [201]
Hearn had been growing increasingly pale as the tirade continued. He was incapable of speech for a moment in his anger. And behind it was a bewildered amazement at the force of Dalleson's reaction. If you knocked out Army procedure, Dalleson was a man carrying packages with his suspenders about to rip loose. Hearn swallowed, gripped the edge of the table. "Take it easy, if you please, Major," Hearn muttered.
"What was that?"
But they were interrupted by Cummings's entering the tent. "I was looking for you, Major, I had an idea you might be here." Cummings's voice was odd, extremely precise and clear, but without any feeling at all. Dalleson stepped back and straightened instinctively as though coming to attention. "What is it, sir?" And Hearn was angered at himself for the relief he felt at the interruption.
Cummings fingered his chin slowly. "I received a message from one of my friends at GHQ." He spoke abstractedly as if he were not concerned with it. "It just came from message center."
The explanation was not necessary, and it was odd for Cummings to repeat himself. Hearn stared at him. The General was upset, he realized. Until now Hearn had been standing rigid, his flesh sweating in painful recognition of the General's presence, his heart pumping. It was painful to be near Cummings.
The General smiled, and lit a cigarette. "How're you getting along, Stacey?" he asked the clerk.
"Fine, thank you, sir." That was one of Cummings's tricks. He always remembered the names of enlisted men he had spoken to once or twice.
"I'll tell you, Major," Cummings's voice was still impersonal, "I'm afraid your work on Operation Coda was done for nothing."
"No Navy, sir?"
"I'm afraid not. My little friend says there's not much chance of it." Cummings shrugged. "We'll launch Operation Plunger as planned. There'll be just one little exception. I think we ought to take the outpost opposite I Company first. I want you to draw up an order tonight for Taylor to start a push in the morning."
"Yes, sir."
"Let's take a look at it." He turned toward Hearn. "Lieutenant, will you hand me that map, please."
"Sir?" Hearn started.
"I said hand me the map." Cummings turned toward Dalleson again.
"This one?"
"What other one is there?" Cummings snapped.
The map was fastened to a large drawing board with an overlay of celluloid tacked to it. While it was not heavy, it was awkward because of its size, and Hearn, unable to see the floor, had to move cautiously.
It had been unnecessary to move it, he realized abruptly. Cummings could easily have walked over, indeed Cummings knew the map by heart.
"Hurry, man," Cummings barked.
For the moment Hearn was standing over him, everything became magnified. He could see each of Cummings's features, the ruddy skin moist from the heat of the tent, the great bald eyes staring at him with indifference and contempt.
Cummings extended his arm. "Well, give it to me, man, stop holding it." His hand reached for it.
Hearn let go of the board prematurely, perhaps he even hurled it down. The distinction was unimportant, for he knew he wanted Cummings to drop it. And he succeeded. The map-board struck the General's wrist with a thump. Then it toppled over.
As it fell it struck the General across the shins.
The board bounced once across the floor, and the map and overlay ripped off. Hearn stared at Cummings, feeling something between terror and triumph. He heard his voice issuing coolly, a trifle ironically. "I'm sorry, sir."
The pain was acute. To Cummings at that instant, after the effort of maintaining his poise, it was unbearable. To his horror, he felt tears forming in his eyes, and he shut his eyelids, trying desperately to blink them back. "Dammit, man," he roared, "WHY DON'T YOU WATCH IT?" It was the first time any of them had ever heard Cummings shout, and Stacey quivered.
The shout relieved him, however, and he was able to resist the