The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [59]
Roth dreamt he was taking pornographic pictures of a model whom he had dressed as a cowgirl. She was wearing a ten-gallon hat, and a leather fringe about an inch wide across her breasts, and a leather holster and cartridge belt slung at an angle across her hips. He imagined now that he was telling her which way to pose and she was obeying with a tantalizing insouciance. His groin began to ache, and he sat there, brooding, dreaming.
After a time he became sleepy again, and tried to fight against it. Some artillery was firing steadily a mile or two away, the sounds loud, then muffled, then loud again. It gave him a secure feeling. He hardly listened any longer to the jungle. His eyes kept closing, remaining shut for many seconds while he yawed away on the edge of slumber. Several times he was about to fall asleep when a sudden noise in the jungle would rouse him with a start. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch and realized with dismay that he had still an hour of guard. He lay back, closed his eyes with the full intention of opening them in a few seconds, and fell asleep.
It was the last he remembered until he awoke almost two hours later. It had begun to rain once more, and the gentle drizzle had soaked his fatigues and penetrated to the insides of his shoes. He sneezed miserably once, and then realized with dismay how long he had been asleep. "A Jap could have killed me," he said to himself, and the thought sent electric wakening shudders through his body. He got out of the foxhole and stumbled over toward where Brown was sleeping. He would have missed him but he heard Brown whisper, "What the hell are you thrashing around for like a pig in the brush?"
Roth was meek. "I couldn't find you," he whined.
"Hell of a note," Brown said. He stretched once in his blankets, and stood up. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "Too many goddam noises. . . What time is it?"
"After three-thirty."
"You were supposed to wake me at three."
Roth had been afraid of this. "I began to think," Roth said weakly, "and lost track of the time."
"Shit!" Brown said. He finished tying his shoes and walked out to the emplacement without saying anything else.
Roth stood still for a moment, his rifle strap chafing his shoulder, and then began looking for the place where he and Minetta were sleeping for the night. Minetta had pulled the blankets over him, and Roth lay down beside him gingerly, and tried to tug them away. At home he had always insisted on having the sheets tucked in tightly; now with the blankets drawn up over his feet he was miserable. Everything seemed wet. The rain kept falling on his exposed legs and he became very chilled. The blankets were midway between sopping and damp; they had a musty wet odor which reminded him of the smell of feet. He kept turning over, trying to find an accommodating place on the ground, but it seemed as if a root were always sticking into the small of his back. The drizzle teased him when he pulled the blankets off his face. He was sweating and shuddering at the same time, and he was convinced he would be sick. Why didn't I tell Brown he ought to be glad I stood an extra half hour of guard for him? he asked himself abruptly, and felt frustrated and bitter that he had failed to answer him. Wait, I'll tell him in the morning, he assured himself angrily. Of the men in the platoon he decided there was not one of them he really liked. They're all stupid, he said to himself. There