The Naked and the Dead (54 page)

            He was restless all day, trying to think of some way he could remain in the hospital. He became dejected every time he realized that he would have to go back to the platoon. He thought of the endless days ahead with the work and the combat and the unending repetition. I ain't even got a buddy in the platoon. You can't trust Polack. He thought of Brown and Stanley, whom he hated, Croft, of whom he was afraid. They got a goddam clique, he told himself. He thought of the war, which would stretch on forever. After this island there's gonna be another one and then another one. . . Aaah, there's no future in the whole goddam thing. He slept a little and awoke even more miserable. I can't take this, he said to himself. If I'd been lucky I woulda got a real bad wound, and I'd be on a plane to the States now. Minetta brooded over this. Once he had boasted to Polack that if he ever got into a hospital, he'd never come back to the platoon. "Just let me get in, and I'll work it," he had said.

            There had to be a way. Minetta discarded one wild idea after another. He thought of jamming a bayonet into his wound, or of falling off a truck when he went back to headquarters company. He twisted on his cot, and felt pity for himself. He heard a soldier groaning slightly on one of the cots, and this irritated him. He told himself, That guy's gonna flip his lid if he don't shut up.

            The idea went through his mind without his phrasing it, and he sat up in excitement, panicky with the fear he might forget it. Oh, that's it, that's it, he said to himself. He became frightened as he thought of how hard it would be. Have I got the guts? he asked himself. He lay motionless, trying to remember what he had heard about soldiers who had got out for that reason, Jesus, a Section Eight, he said to himself. He recalled a soldier in his training platoon, a thin nervous man who had begun to weep on the rifle range when he fired his gun. The soldier had been taken to the hospital, and he heard weeks later that he had been discharged. Oh, man, Minetta said to himself. He felt happy for a moment as if he were actually out of the service. I'm as smart as any of these guys, I can work it. Nervous shock, that's the story, nervous shock. I got wounded, didn't I? You'd think the Army would discharge a guy after he got wounded, but all they do is patch him up and send him back. Cannon fodder, that's all they care about us. Minetta felt righteous.

            His mood ebbed, and he became frightened again. I wish I could talk to Polack, he'd know how to work it. Minetta looked at his hands. I'm as good a man as Polack. I can be out while he's still talking about it. He held his forehead. They'll only keep me here a couple of days, and then they'll send me to another hospital where they keep the loonies. If I get there, I'll be able to copy them. Abruptly, he was depressed again. That doc is watching me, I'm gonna have a tough time of it. Minetta hobbled over to a table in the center of the tent, and picked up a magazine. If I get out, he told himself, I could write Polack a letter and say, "Who's crazy now?" Minetta began to giggle as he thought of Polack's face when he read that. It's just a question of guts, he said to himself.

            He lay down and remained without moving for half an hour, holding the magazine over his face. The sun had heated the tent until it felt like a steam room, and Minetta was weak and miserable. A tension increased inside him, and suddenly, without allowing himself to think, he stood up and shrieked, "Fug yez all."

            "Take it easy," a soldier said from a nearby cot.

            Minetta threw his magazine at him, and screamed, "There's a Jap outside the fuggin tent, there's a Jap right over there, right over there." He looked about wildly, and shouted, "Where's a gun, gimme a gun." He was shaking with excitement. He picked up his rifle, and pointed it through the door of the tent. "There's the Jap, there he is," he screamed, and fired the rifle. He heard it numbly, a little amazed at his audacity. I ought to be an actor, went through his mind. He waited, expecting the soldiers to grab him, but no one moved. They were watching him warily, frozen with astonishment and fear on their cots. "Get rid of your guns, men, they're attacking," he said, and threw his gun to the ground. He kicked it once, and then went over to his cot, which he picked up and hurled down again. He threw himself in the dirt and began to scream. A soldier fell on top of him, and Minetta struggled for a moment and then relaxed. He could hear men shouting, and the sounds of footsteps running toward him. I did it, I bet, he told himself. He began to tremble, and allowed some spittle to form on his lips. That's work. He had a picture of a madman he had seen once in a movie who had foamed at the mouth.

            Someone picked him up roughly, and sat him on a cot. It was the doctor, who dressed his wound. "What's this man's name?" the doctor asked.

            "Minetta," somebody said.

            "All right," the doctor began, "let's cut this out, Minetta. You're not going to get away with it."

            "Fug you, you wouldn't get the Jap," Minetta screamed.

            The doctor shook him. "Minetta,
you're talking to an officer in the U. S. Army.
If you don't answer civilly, I'll have you court-martialed."

            Minetta was terrified for a moment. I'm in, but
in,
he said to himself. It was the last line of an obscene joke, and he began to laugh a little hysterically. The sound of his mirth encouraged him, and he increased it wildly. They can't do a thing to me if I play it right, he thought numbly, and he stopped laughing suddenly, and said, "Fug you, you sonofabitch Jap." In the silence he heard a soldier say, "He's nuts, all right," and then someone answering him, "Did ya see him point that gun? Jeez, I thought he was gonna kill us all."

            The doctor grew thoughtful. "You're acting, Minetta, I'm on to you," he said suddenly.

            "You're a Jap." Minetta dribbled some spittle over his lower lip. He giggled once. I got him by the balls, he told himself.

            "Give him a sedative," the doctor said to an orderly standing beside him, "and move him over to Number Seven."

            Minetta gazed vacantly at the dirt floor. That was the tent that contained the serious patients, he had heard. He began to spit on the ground. "You Jap," he shouted after the doctor. He stiffened as the orderly grasped him and then relaxed and began to giggle meaninglessly. He made no motion when the hypodermic needle went into his arm. I'm gonna make this, he told himself.

            "Okay, Jack, follow me," the orderly said. Minetta stood up and walked across the clearing. He was wondering what he should do next. He caught up to the orderly and whispered to him, "You're a fuggin Jap, but I won't tell no one if you give me five bucks."

            "Come on, Jack," the orderly said wearily.

            Minetta shambled behind him. When they came to tent No. 7, he stopped and began to shriek again. "I ain't gone in. There's a fuggin Jap in there who's gonna kill me. I ain't going in."

            The orderly seized his arm in a wrestler's grip, and pushed him inside the tent. "Lemme go! Lemme go! Lemme go!" Minetta yelled. They stopped before a cot, and the orderly told him to lie down. Minetta sat on the cot and started to undo his shoes. I better take it easy for a while, he told himself. The sedative was beginning to work. He lay back and closed his eyes. For a moment he realized what he had done, and he had an excited lost feeling in the pit of his chest. He swallowed several times. His mind was boiling with mirth and fear and pride. All I got to do is keep it up. They'll have me out of here in a day or two.

            He fell asleep in a few minutes and didn't wake until morning. It took him several minutes to remember the events of the previous day, and he began to feel frightened again. For a moment he debated whether to act normal and try to pass it off, but when he thought of returning to the platoon. . . No! Jesus, no! He'd stick it out. Minetta sat up and looked about the tent. There were three men in it, and two of them had their heads wound in bandages; the third man lay on his back without moving, his eyes staring vacantly at the ridgepole. He's Section Eight, Minetta told himself with a shiver, and then became amused as he realized the irony. But a moment later he was frightened again; probably that was the way a crazy man acted, he didn't move and he didn't say anything. Maybe he had put it on too thick the day before. Minetta was worrying. He decided that he would act in a similar way. It's a helluva lot easier on the vocal cords, he told himself.

            The doctor passed through at nine o'clock, and Minetta lay on his back without moving, babbling a few words from time to time. The doctor took a glance at him, dressed his leg without speaking, and then moved on. Minetta felt a mixture of relief and resentment. They don't care if you die, he said to himself again. He closed his eyes and began to think. The morning passed quite easily; he was feeling cheerful and confident, and when he recalled the doctor's visit he decided it was a good sign the doctor had paid no attention. They gave up on me; they're gonna send me to another island soon.

            He began to dream of what it would be like returning home. He thought of the ribbons he would be wearing, and he pictured himself walking through the streets in his neighborhood, talking to the people he met. "How was it, rough?" they would ask. "Naw, naw, it wasn't so bad," he would say. "You can't kid me, it must have been pretty bad." He would shake his head. "I can't complain, I had it easy." Minetta laughed to himself. They would be going around saying, "That Steve Minetta is a pretty good kid, you got to hand it to him. Think of all he went through, and look how modest he is."

            That was the thing, Minetta decided, you had to get back first. He could see himself at all the parties; what a hit he'd make. The girls would be looking for men, and he was gonna play hard to get. Rosie'll come across this time, he said to himself. He was going to take it easy when he got back; a guy was a sucker to take a job where he worked his balls off. What did work ever do for a guy?

            Lying motionless for so many hours, he began to be bothered by sexual fantasies. The tent was becoming hot from the sun again, and he lay in a pleasurable welter of heat and sweat. He progressed through long seduction scenes, creating them in detail, remembering with little shudders of passion how firm the ripple of flesh above Rosie's waist had felt. Rosie's a good kid, he said to himself, I'm gonna marry her one of these days. He remembered her perfume, and the shiny exciting line of her eyelashes. She put vaseline under them, he decided, but it's all right when a girl knows all the tricks. He was beginning to think of the women he had had at different Army posts, and his fantasies transferred to them; he began to count the women with whom he had coupled. Fourteen, that's pretty good for a guy my age, there ain't many who can beat me. He drifted off into sexual reverie again, but it was becoming painful. They're all easy to get; all you got to do is shoot 'em a little line, tell 'em you love 'em. A dame's a sucker who gives it to a guy. He began to think of Rosie again, and he became angry. She's cheating on me; that letter where she said she wasn't dancing with anybody till I get back is a crock of. . . I know her, she likes to dance too much. If she lies on something like that, she probably lies on everything. He became jealous, and to vent his frustration he shrieked suddenly. "Get that Jap!" It was such an easy thing to do. He shrieked again.

            The orderly got up from his chair, approached him, and put a hypodermic in his arm. "I thought you were quieting down, Jack," he said.

            "The Jap," Minetta screamed.

            "Yeah, yeah, yeah." The orderly turned away and sat down again. Minetta fell asleep in a short while, and didn't awaken until morning.

            He felt doped the next day. He had a headache, and his limbs were numb. The doctor passed by without even looking at him, and Minetta was enraged. The goddam officers, they think the whole Army is just set up for them to have a good time. He had a deep resentment. I'm as good as anybody else; why should some sonofabitch give me orders? He twisted uncomfortably on his cot. It's a conspiracy. He felt a vague bitterness at everything. The whole world's a trick; if you're not on top you just get the shitty end of the stick. Everybody's against you. He thought of how Croft had looked at his wound and laughed. He don't give a damn about anybody, he'd just as soon see us dead. Something of the pain and shock and bewilderment he had felt when the bullet had struck him was returning to him now. He was really afraid for the first time. I ain't goin' back to that. They'll shoot me first. He moved his lips. You never know when you're safe. That's no way to live. He brooded through the afternoon. In two days he had gone from mirth to boredom to resentment, and he was becoming a little desperate. I'm a good man, he told himself, I'm noncom material if they'd give me a chance, but not Croft. He likes to look at a guy and size him up right away. He kicked his blanket away. What should I work and break my ass for? I could do the job but there's no future in it. They got a good case if they think I'm going to work for nothing. He thought of the time in training when he had led the platoon in drill. There wasn't a soldier who could beat me, he thought, but you lose your ambition. I'm becoming a bum now. I know too much, that's my trouble. It ain't worth working for, 'cause the Army never gives you a break anyway. He became sad at this, and thought with a wistful pleasure of how his life had been ruined. I know what the score is, I'm too smart to waste my time trying for anything. When I get out of the Army I won't know what to do with myself. I won't be able to work, I'll be a failure. All I'll want is to go around tail-chasing. He turned over on his face. What the hell else is there in life? He sighed. It's like Polack says, the only thing to do is to get yourself a racket. This gave him a vindictive pleasure, and he imagined himself in prison, a killer, while tears of pity came into his eyes. He turned over again nervously. I got to get out of here. How long they gonna keep me without even looking at me or paying any attention? They gotta move me outa here soon or I'll really flip my lid. The stupidity of the Army amused him. They're gonna lose a soldier that way, just 'cause they don't give him any care.