Battle Cry (13 page)

“Hello, Danny.”

“Hello, professor. I…sure am glad to catch you in.” He sat on a cot, wiped the sweat from his face and reached for a cigarette.

“See anything new?” Norton said, proudly throwing out his left arm.

“I’ll be go to hell. You made Pfc.”

“How about that. How’s that for promotion?”

Danny rose and halfheartedly punched Norton’s arm to “tag on” the new stripe. “You should be an officer, professor.”

“Going ashore?”

“Yeah—that damned barracks gives me the creeps on Sunday.”

“Anything on your mind, kid?” Norton smiled.

Danny sat silently for several moments. “Christ, Nort, I don’t know what’s coming over me…I…I get so goddam lonesome,” he blurted.

Norton put an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “We’re in a lonely business, Danny.”

“Do you ever get that way?”

“Sometimes I think I’m going to bust, Danny.”

“Jesus, it must be rough on you. Having a wife and all that.”

“It’s rough on everyone.”

“Funny thing, Nort, I never used to be this way. There’s a swell bunch at school. I told you about the Indian and Andy and Marion—best bunch I ever met. Oh hell, I don’t know.”

“Everything all right back home?”

“Sure…sure. Look, I got a picture of her yesterday in the mail.”

Norton studied the young girl. Golden hair that fell to her shoulders, and laughing eyes. Ivory clear skin, a young body, round and firm and tender. “She’s very beautiful, Danny. No wonder you’re lonely here.”

“Nort, could a guy like me—I mean a guy just eighteen and a girl seventeen fall in love? I mean fall in love the same way you feel about your wife?”

“How does she feel about it?”

“She says she loves me, but it’s going to be a long time. Too damned long…I don’t want it to wear off and have her being faithful just because she feels sorry for me—she’s like that Nort. She’ll stick even if she doesn’t want me.”

“Hell, Danny, what do I know? How old does a fellow have to be to go through what you’re going through right now? You’re old enough to be here and wear a green uniform.”

“And her?”

“I guess people grow old fast in wars. Nature’s way of trying to compensate for the things that young people are asked to do.”

“I’ve tried to fight it off, Nort. If she ever quit me, there wouldn’t be any use of living.”

“Then stop wading in like a punch-drunk fighter. Ride with the punch as best you can. You’re both in a war, clean up to your necks, and you can’t get out of it. Tell her how you feel.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I sometimes wonder, Danny, if we all aren’t a bunch of wild, crazy animals. I guess we all wonder that. But we’ve got to try to go on living and loving and hating and feeling and touching and smelling whether there’s a war or not.”

“Professor.”

“Yes.”

“Would you lend me your I.D. card?”

“Why?”

“I want to get crocked.”

Norton put out his cigarette and shrugged. “Is it going to make it easier by going out and getting drunk?”

“I’ve got to do something or I’ll blow my stack. Don’t give me a lecture.”

“Have you ever gotten drunk before?”

“No.”

“Ever had a drink before?”

“A bottle of beer, once.”

“Oh, the hell with it. Here…take my card.”

Danny forged an air of indifference as he passed through the open portals of a quiet-looking saloon, off the main drag. He propped a foot on the bar rail between two sailors and stared into the mirror back of the bar.

“What’ll you have, Marine?”

“What have you got?” he countered with the innocence of a child asking the flavors in an ice cream parlor.

“Humm, let me see your I.D. card.”

He flipped the card over the bar and the bartender paid scant notice to the dissimilarity of the boy before him and the picture of Milton Norton. “Just fix me something up. Er…a Tom Collins,” he said. “Yeah, a Tom Collins…double.”

He was surprised—it tasted like lemonade. Not at all like the vile smell of a buddy returning from a weekend of liberty. He dipped his fingers into the glass and withdrew the cherry and with a straw stirred the concoction. Three or four quick draws and the drink disappeared. “Survey,” he ordered.

“Better take her slow, son,” the bartender warned.

“If you’ve got any good advice, don’t give it away, sell it.” Danny studied the selections for the jukebox. He picked up a quarter which lay with his change and pushed five buttons. The Sunday serenity of the place was broken by a scratchy needle and a lilty voice, Frank Sinatra, crooning a favorite of his and Kathy’s:

I’ll never smile again,

Until I smile at you…

Always cut school twice a year anyhow. Once when Tommy Dorsey came to the Hippodrome; the other for Glenn Miller…

For tears would fill my eyes,

My heart would realize…

He guzzled the second drink and felt nothing. Maybe he had the capacity like he had heard others brag about in endless hours in the barracks. He stepped up the pace. Six drinks and he still stood in his original position loading the jukebox.

I don’t want to set the world on fire,
sung out the high voice of Billy Jordan, Ink Spot.

I just want to start, a flame in your heart.

“W-where…is the men’s room?”

“End of the bar and to your right.”

Dammit, he thought, sure is funny trying to talk. Hard time getting it out. He withdrew his foot from the rail and his leg buckled. He grasped the bar quickly and steadied himself, fumbled for a smoke. It seemed his fingers had no sense of feel as they groped through his pocket. After a struggle he finally got one lit and started his trek.

“Hey, Marine!”

He turned slowly. “You left some money on the bar.”

“Oh…sure…silly me.” Wasn’t that a damned fool thing to say, “silly me.” “Better give me another drink…make me one like that guy has,” he pointed to a soldier’s glass which he had been admiring.

“That’s a Singapore Sling, son. Better not mix them like that.”

“Give me a Slingapore Sing…” He climbed on a bar stool and wavered. Hell, I’m not drunk. I know who I am. I’m Forrester, 359195, USMCR…he repeated to himself. I’m not drunk…I know what the score is…isn’t much of a drink. Who is that sonofabitch staring at—oh, that’s me in the mirror. Better get to the men’s room.

O.K., Danny Forrester, don’t look like one of those goddam drunken Marines you hate. Easy off the chair, boy. Watch that goddam table there, don’t trip…why feels like I’m not even walking…like being on a cloud…there’s the door. “Adam,” it says. Who’s drunk, I can read…Adam means man, I’m not drunk.

He doused his face in cold water and studied himself in the mirror. Oh-oh, you silly bastard…I guess you are drunk. He shook his head and laughed. So this is being drunk…isn’t so hot…Danny Forrester…359…did I say 359 or 358? Forrester…no eights in it…that’s my rifle number. Rifle, not gun…Oh buddy, you’re loaded. He laughed again. Mother should see me now. He roared a laugh. He shoved the door open and then sprung back into the lavatory. Forgot to button my fly…slippery ole buttons…damned.

A sailor crowded in. “Scuse me, Marine.” He edged past Danny. Bet I could whip that swabjockey. “Hi mate,” Danny roared, slapping the sailor on the back. “Quite a rig you guys got there, suppose you got to go in hurry?”

The sailor, an elderly sea dog, smiled casually at the young lad. “Easy, Marine, you’ve got a full load on.”

Before Danny could swing he found he had been eased back into the saloon. He studied the long way to the door. The whole room was an obstacle course, a moving obstacle course. He flopped into the first chair he could find, almost taking it over with him.
Danny Forrester…35…36…no eight…

“You’d better move on, Marine.”

“Shaddup.”

“Come on, boy, go quiet like.”

“Gimme a drunk, I ain’t drink.”

Faint voices. Where the hell am I? Oh Jesus, I’m getting sick. Talk louder, you guys…I can’t hear you…

“Better call the Shore Patrol, Joe.”

“Aw, leave him alone. He ain’t bothering nobody. Just let him sit there till he comes around.”

“I’m…I’m…a rifle…hup…hup…”

“Did he come in with a buddy?”

“Leave the guy alone.”

“Hey, Marine! Wake up!”

“Oh…gawd…I’m sick.”

His head fell flat on the table and his new barracks cap rolled to the floor. “Get the Shore Patrol.”

“No, don’t. I’ll take care of him.”

“Are you a friend of his, lady?”

“Yes…yes.”

“Hey, Burnside, looks like that broad is going to roll him.”

“Yeah, McQuade. Here we been sitting in Iceland all these months and we got to come home to something like this. Come on Gunny, let’s have a talk with her.”

“Take your mitts off him, lady.”

“Cut out the heroics, boys. He’s just a kid. I feel sorry for him…or would you rather the Shore Patrol picked him up?”

“Well…”

This love of mine,

Goes on and on,

Though life is empty,

Since you’ve been gone….

CHAPTER 7

Rock of ages,

Cleft for me,

Let me lose myself in thee….

HYMNS!
They’re singing hymns. I’m dead…I’m in heaven. Danny forced his eyes open. He was in a huge, high-ceilinged room and it was filled with voices singing. He forced his eyes to focus the place into view. Far away…almost out of sight he made out the forms of servicemen and girls standing with books in their hands. “Oh Jesus,” he moaned, “come and get me.”

“How do you feel, Marine?” He caught a whiff of enchanting perfume and felt the nearness of someone. “How do you feel?” It was a soft, sweet voice. An angel.

He rubbed his eyes. She was tall, very dark and about thirty. He glanced from her toes upwards, studying the expensive drapery of her dress…and her figure. Class, definitely class, he thought. Well groomed, well heeled, and lovely.

“Who are you?” he groaned.

“Mrs. Yarborough. You’re in the Salvation Army Canteen.”

He smacked his lips; his throat was dry and there was a terrible taste in his mouth. He sat erect, studied the place, and tried to recall the events that preceded his trip to heaven.

“Oh brother, how did I get here?”

“I brought you.”

“Why?”

“I stopped to have a cooling drink. I became fascinated watching you pour down those doubles. I wanted to see what would happen when you took your foot off the bar rail.”

“Why?”

“I felt sorry for you. Just an impulse.”

“Who hit me?”

She laughed. “No one hit you, you passed out.”

“Tell them to stop singing, I’ve seen the light.”

“How about a cup of black coffee?”

“Black…I’ll puke…I’m sorry…I mean my stomach has been upset lately.”

She took a chair next to him. “You really hung one on.”

“I do it all the time. This makes an even once.”

“Feel any better about it?”

“Next time, I’ll try prayer. It’s cheaper and easier.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“
How
old?”

“Eighteen.”

She watched him as he fought his way to complete consciousness. He felt sorry for himself, he admitted it and he was better now. No need for further conversation. “Be a good boy now and I promise not to tell Kathy,” she said as she arose to leave.

“Oh Christ, did I drag her into it?”

“I’ll say you did.”

“Please, Mrs…. er…er.”

“Yarborough.”

“Just a moment.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to say thanks. I guess I put on a good show. It was nice of you, I could have gotten into a lot of trouble.”

“I usually don’t make a habit of stopping in bars. Just a bit of odd luck and hot weather. Now see if you can enjoy yourself, I must go on duty.”

It was the first time that he had spoken to a woman in many months. The voice that was not gruff, cursing, or commanding sounded like something he’d almost forgotten. He wanted to go on talking to her.

“Mrs. Yarborough.”

“Yes?”

“I feel that you’re entitled to know the entire story that led to my downfall, that’s the least I could do.”

“I listen to them all day. I’ll take a raincheck.”

“If you don’t…I’ll go out and get drunk.”

She laughed. “You’d better not, Marine.”

Danny took her hand gently. It felt wonderfully soft and smooth. “I’m an orphan, Mrs. Yarborough.”

“Oh.”

“You see, my mom died in a fire when I was four…trying to save me. Dad did the best he could to raise me…but…but you know, whisky. He started beating me…I was just a tot. He was sorry for it when he was sober…I’m…I’m sorry.”

“No, go on,” she said, sliding to the seat next to him.

“I ran away from home when I was fourteen, rode the rails. Hobo camps, odd jobs. Then I met Kathy.” He held her hand as he spoke.

“Yes?”

“If you want to really know what happened, I’ll tell you.”

“You mean you were just pulling my leg?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stinker. I’ll never believe another Marine again.”

“Mrs. Yarborough. Would you take a walk with me? I’d like to get my head cleared. Now don’t tell me how busy you are. Look…Marine…I mean scout’s honor. Walk me to the bus station at the Red Cross Club, put me on the bus and I’ll pass from your life forever. Really, I’d like to talk to someone…a girl. Would you?”

It was foolish in the first place, she told herself. She should have left him cold in the bar. The strange thing that originally attracted her seemed to grab hard now. For an instant she began to ward off this second mad idea and send him along. “Really, Danny…” She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They pleaded as did a thousand pairs of eyes in the canteen; for a moment of talk, a moment of possession. “This is silly.”