The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [274]
"Oh, everybody has that problem."
"Sure, Listen, I'll tell ya, all these guys who are always braggin', even a guy like Wilson here." He lowered his voice. "Listen, you can't tell me they didn't have the same troubles."
"Absolutely. It's always hard to get adjusted."
He liked Goldstein. The amalgam of the night, the rustling of the leaves in the wood, worked subtly on him, opening the door to all his uncertainties. "Look," he said abruptly, "what do you think of me?" He was still young enough to make this question the climax of any confidential talk.
"Oh." Goldstein always answered a question like this by telling people what they wanted to hear. He was not being consciously dishonest; he always generated warmth for the person who asked him even if he had never been a friend. "Mmm, I'd say that you're an intelligent fellow with your feet on the ground. And you're kind of ambitious, which is a good thing. I'd say you'll probably go places." And until this moment he had never quite liked Stanley for exactly these reasons, although he had not admitted it to himself. Goldstein had a formal respect for success. But once Stanley had exposed his weaknesses, Goldstein was ready to make virtues of all his other qualities. "You're mature for your age, very mature," Goldstein finished.
"Well, I've always tried to do more things than I had to." Stanley fingered his long straight nose, scratched at his mustache, which had become scraggly in the past two days. "I was president of our junior class in high school," he said deprecatingly. "I don't mean that that's anything to beat my meat about, but it taught me how to get along with people."
"It must have been a valuable experience," Goldstein said wistfully.
"You know," Stanley confided, "a lot of the guys in the platoon are pissed off at me 'cause I came in after them and made corporal. They think I brown-nosed and there ain't a goddam bit of truth in that. I just kept my eyes open, and did what I was told to do, but I'll tell ya it's a damn sight harder job than you realize. These guys who been around in the platoon for a long time, they think they own it, when all they do is fug-off on the details, and just try to make it hard for you. They give me a pain in the ass." His voice became husky with admission. "I know I got a tough job, and I don't say I haven't made mistakes, but I'm learning, and I want to try hard. I take it seriously. Could anyone ask for more than that?"
"No, they couldn't," Goldstein agreed.
"I tell you, I've watched you, Goldstein, and you're a good man. I've seen the way you work on details, and no noncom could ask for more. I don't want you to think it ain't appreciated." Indefinably, Stanley felt superior to Goldstein once more; his voice, warm, pliable, had the faintest touch of condescension. He was the noncom talking to the rookie. Effectively, he had forgotten that two minutes before he had waited tensely for Goldstein to say that he liked him.
Goldstein was pleased, and yet his satisfaction was cloyed. That's what it's like in the Army, he told himself. The opinion of a youngster is so important.
Wilson was moaning again. They stopped talking, and turned about in their blankets, propped on their elbows to listen. Brown, with a sigh, had sat up, and was trying to soothe him. "What's the matter, boy, what's the matter?" he asked softly, as if trying to comfort a puppy.
"Ohh, mah belly is killin' me. Sonofabitch."
Brown wiped away his perspiration. "Who's this talking to you, Wilson?"
"That's you, Brown, ain't it?"
"Yeah." He felt relieved. Wilson must be better. It was the first time he had recognized him. "How're you feelin', Wilson?"
"Ah'm okay, but Ah