The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [316]
"Jus' for good luck," he mumbled aloud, trying now on the litter to empty his bladder. But another pain, sharp and grinding, tore through his loins. He remembered, or at least his groin muscles recalled the difficulty, knotting in resistance. It shattered the images, left him aware and troubled and perplexed, conscious for the first time of the way he had soiled himself. He had a picture of his loins putrefacted and a deep misery passed through him. Why in the hell did it have to happen to me? What's it got to do with what Ah been doin? And he lifted up his head and mumbled again, "Brown, you think that wound's gonna git all the pus outa me?"
But no one answered, and he fell back again, brooding over his illness. A chain of unpleasant memories bothered him, and he became conscious again of the discomforts of the stretcher, the effort it cost him to remain lying on his back for so many hours. He made a feeble attempt to turn over, but it was too painful. He felt as if somebody were leaning against his stomach.
"Git off, men," he shouted.
And then he remembered the weight. On the night so many weeks before when the Japanese had tried to cross the river he had felt that same pressure in his chest and stomach as he had waited behind the machine gun.
"We-you-coming-to-get." They had shouted that at Croft and him, and he shuddered now, bringing his hands up before his face. "We got to stop 'em, men, they're comin' now," he moaned, pitching on the litter. "Banzaaiiiigh, aaiiiiiiiigh!" he shouted, the sounds gurgling in his throat. "Come on, recon, up, git up here!"
The litter-bearers halted and set him down. "What's he yellin' about?" Brown asked.
"I cain't see 'em, I jus' cain't see 'em. Where the hell's the flares?" Wilson bawled. He was grasping a machine-gun handle in his left palm, his forefinger extended to the trigger. "Who the hell's at the other gun? I cain't remember."
Ridges shook his head. "He's talkin' 'bout that Jap attack on the river."
Something of Wilson's panic transferred to the other men. Goldstein and Ridges, who had been on the river, stared at Wilson uneasily. The vast barren stretches of the hills about them seemed a little foreboding now.
"I hope we don't run into any Japanese," Goldstein said.
"They ain't a chance," Brown told him. He mopped the sweat out of his eyes, stared weakly into the distance. "Nobody around," he panted, but a feeling of weakness, of desperation welled in him. If they were to fall into an ambush now. . . He felt like crying again. There were too many things asked of him, and he was so enfeebled. A vortex of nausea resolved itself in his stomach, and he retched emptily, obtaining a mild relief from the coldness of his sweat. He couldn't let go. Brown heard himself saying, "We gotta move on, men."
Underneath the moistened handkerchief, Wilson could barely see. The cotton was colored olive drab, and it glared under the sun with yellow and black colors that seemed to beat into his brain. He felt as if he were choking a little for air. Once more his arms thrashed up toward his head. "Goddammit," Wilson cried, "let's move those Japs, men, if we gonna get a goddam souvenir." He struggled again on the stretcher. "Who put that bag on my head? Red, that's a lousy trick to play on a buddy. I cain't see in this fuggin cave, move that Jap off my head."
The handkerchief slipped down over his nose and Wilson blinked into the sun and closed his eyes once more. "Watch out, that snake!" he shouted suddenly, his body cringing. "Red, you got to shoot it careful, take a good bead, take a good bead." He mumbled something, and then his body relaxed. "Ah tell you, a dead man look jus' like a shoulder o' lamb been lying around too long."
Brown replaced the handkerchief, and Wilson struggled beneath it. "Ah cain't breathe. Goddammit, they're shootin' at us, you know how to swim, Taylor, goddammit lemme get behind the boat!" Brown shuddered. Wilson was talking about the Motome invasion. Once more Brown was choking in the salt water, knowing the final resigned