To the End of the War (17 page)

“Where’ll we go?” said. “Too early to start another party.”

“Go for a walk,” Freedie said. “Anywhere. But get out a here.”

They finished their drinks. In the Rendezvous, people passed and repassed, people drank, laughed, made dates, broke dates, got drunk. For Johnny and Al, it was a break, a pleasant lull. For Freedie, it was merely a distasteful period to be endured until a new party started. Last night, Sunday night, had been a big party. Tonight would be another. Right now Johnny and Al were relaxing, but Freedie seemed incapable of it. He looked enviously and with hatred at each woman who passed the table. Last night, he had spent more time in the bathroom with more women than any of them, but now that was forgotten and he resented each woman he saw because he had not slept with her.

The big double room with two double beds Al had gotten through his acquaintance with the chief hotel detective had been a replica of the Grand Central Station. He and Johnny had invited people up, those invited others, and the others still others. Introductions were a time-wasting formality. The word got around that Room 507 on the fifth floor was going strong, and the room became a clearinghouse for everybody. The main party settled down to Al and Johnny, the chief detective who stopped in every ten or fifteen minutes for another drink, three unknown women, and Freedie, who had appeared from nowhere with two of the women.

Freedie had abandoned his own room for this one where there were more people, more noise, more liquor, and more love-making. He was just shortly back from China, and he had more money than he could throw away, although he still made the attempt, flinging it about with curses rather than smiles. He liked having lots of people around him, although he bitterly despised all of them individually.

The rest of the shifting crowd was considered as transient. Later, after midnight, the crowd overflowed the room into the hall, and the crowd in the hall brought other people. The bottles overflowed off of the two dressers into the corners of the floor and from the corners spread out to meet each other until the two double beds became one island in the sea of bottles. Everybody seemed to bring a new one. Bellboys brought bottles of chaser and stayed to drink. The beds became the combined coatracks and petting places. For more strenuous love-making the bathroom was pressed into service. When a man had a woman drunk enough or hot enough, he took her to the bathroom, if it wasn’t already locked and in use. It was uncomfortable but private, and most of the women had scruples about privacy with their copulation. In the haze of smoke and alcohol, the harsher lines on the faces were obscured, and every woman became beautiful. It was almost possible for the uniformed men to believe the women’s scruples were sincere.

At eight o’clock in the morning when the firing ceased, Al and Johnny found themselves alone in the sea of bottles and cigaret butts with only Freedie, the China staff sergeant, left. He was passed out on the coatrack after having practically monopolized the bathroom all night. They sent out for a pack of cards and played two-handed stud at a dollar ante until Freedie came to. Then they played three-handed and drank until they all fell asleep. In the afternoon they awoke, showered, and adjourned to the Roquefort Grille Room for breakfast. By that time, the arrangement had become permanent, and plans were made to use the big room as a sitting room and Freedie’s room (a secret among the three) up on the next floor was to be the “bed” room. A man’s finesse could be used to much better advantage in a bed than in a tile bathroom, no matter how expensive, with a poor choice between the commode, the bathtub, or standing up.

After the three of them finished their drinks, they sauntered out into the outside world that still existed, beyond the jurisdiction of the Hotel Roquefort. Freedie carried a full pint bottle in his hip pocket under his blouse. It was a bottle that had been refilled from other bottles many times.

“He’s a good soldier,” Freedie told them, patting the bottle, “He rates a dozen Purple Hearts. He’s been killed in action more times than any other soldier on earth!” Since it was now Monday, the bars were open, and they stopped at several for reinforcement. One drink to a bar. While they sat to the drinks, Freedie quietly cursed every woman he saw for being a woman and for not coming over and offering herself to him; he cursed all the civilian men for being 4F; he cursed all the uniformed men for being damned fools.

Pasted up in the windows of all the stores along the streets they followed were large placards. More and more frequently as the three men walked along, Freedie stopped to read these placards. After a while he was moving in short jerks from one store window to the next, stopping at each and reading the announcements upon the placards with great intensity. Johnny and Al watched his antics with unconcealed amusement.

The placards which Freedie examined with such deep interest were announcements of the presence of a noted evangelist. The manner of their printing had obviously been intended to excite attention. At the top of the placard in large red letters was proclaimed the single word “REVIVAL!” with each letter vividly underscored in red and followed by a large bold red exclamation mark. Beneath this was the picture of a man with a long upper lip and wearing glasses. The picture was labeled in black: “THOMAS M POSTELWAITE” and beneath this caption in smaller print: “NATIONALLY KNOWN EVANGELIST AND ORATOR. APPEARING CURRENTLY AT THE GEORGE WASHINGTON HIGH SCHOOL AUDITORIUM. WILL PREACH NIGHTLY FOR ONE WEEK BEGINNING MONDAY” and it gave the date. Said the poster: “THE GENERAL TEXT Of REV. POSTELWAITE’S SERMONS IS: WHAT GOD HAS AGAINST EVANSVILLE.” Then it went on to say that each evening’s individual text would be different. Finally, the poster ended with the reminder in red: “ALL INVITED. COME BRING OTHERS.”

In the center of the various posters in black letters almost as large as the red “REVIVAL” at the top were sentences of expostulation. These varied on different posters. “GET RIGHT WITH GOD.” “THE SAVIOR WANTS YOU!” This one was accompanied by a drawing copied from the Uncle Sam recruiting poster. “HAVE YOU MADE YOUR PEACE?” “HAVE YOU GOT SOUL INSURANCE?” “ARE YOU PREPARED TO MEET
DEATH
?” “GOD IS COMING!”

Freedie examined each of these for several blocks. Finally, he clapped his hands and shouted.

“Hurray,” he said. “Come here, you guys. Come here. I’ve finally found two alike.” Al and Johnny walked over to where he stood. The sentence he pointed out read: “ARE YOU AFRAID TO DIE? WHY?”

“I knew I could do it.” Freedie smiled, and his eyes squinted up into those peculiar lines. “I knew if I kept at it I could find two of them that were the same. I saw one back that said the same as this one.” He resembled a small boy who had just inherited a bicycle.

“Come on,” Freedie said. “This calls for a drink.”

They walked to the end of the block where there was another bar. At the corner strung up over the street was a huge cloth sign that wavered back and forth in the mild wind. The words printed in eighteen-inch letters read: “JESUS. COMING SOON.” At the ends of the sign were small letters which referred to the visit to Evansville of Rev. Postelwaite.

“Coming attractions,” Johnny said.

“Just look at that,” Freedie said in awe. “This guy Postelwaite must be a cousin of Aimee. That ought a be good. You know? ‘What God Has Against Evansville.’ ”

When they came out of the bar, Freedie stopped and looked up at the sign again.

“You know what?” he said. “I’ve got a lot against Evansville myself. What you say we go hear what God has against it. He may agree with some of my ideas.” He paused for a moment and made up his mind. “Come on. Let’s go. It really ought a be good. Anything for a laugh Friedenberger. That’s me. Besides, the dames who go to them revivals are really something. We can pick some of them up afterwards. Jesus!! Boy, you can’t beat a gal who’s just had her soul saved at a revival.”

“What the hell,” Al said. “Who wants to listen to that crap?”

“I do,” Freedie declared solemnly. “It’s very enlightening. Come on. No kidding. You want a learn what you’re fightin for? Well, come on out to the George Washington High School and listen.” Freedie whistled shrilly at a cruising cab.

Johnny grinned and winked at Al and started for the cab. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try anything once.”

Freedie gave the address and the cabbie looked at him. The cabbie asked for the address a second time, and Freedie stared at him belligerently.

“Well? What’s a matter?” he asked litigiously. “Dincha ever see a sojer go to church?” The cabbie shrugged and drove on.

When the cab pulled up to the brilliantly lighted high school, Johnny reached for the door handle, but Freedie grabbed his arm.

“Wait a minute,” Freedie said. He hauled out his bottle. “Take a shot of this first. You may need it.” All three of them drank, and Freedie offered the cabbie a drink. He took it.

They walked inside the high school building and removed their hats. A big burly usher with a heavy dark beard closely shaven pointed the way for them. They were met at the door of the auditorium by a white-haired old man with a white moustache that covered all but the tip of his lower lip. He smiled at them pleasantly with the tip of his lower lip and shook hands elaborately with each of them before leading them to seats halfway down the aisle. From the doors they had entered, the aisle ran straight down to the small stage at the back of the hall. The room was long and both sides of the aisle were crowded with seats. The seats were crowded with people, most of them middle-aged or old but with a fair sprinkling of young people. As the old man led them to the seat, the people turned to stare at them. They all smiled their welcome and nodded with pleasure at the three uniformed men. There were only two other uniforms in the large auditorium. Rev. Thomas M Postelwaite stopped his address for a moment and held out an open palm of welcome toward the three men and smiled at them benevolently. Freedie made a slight bow in return.

“You watch,” Freedie whispered. “This is goin a be rare.”

The three of them sat down with Freedie in the middle. After the old man had left them and gone back to the door, Freedie whispered, “You guys lean over and pick up your hymnbooks.” As the other two leaned over to pluck hymnals from where they resided on the end seat in the row, Freedie hauled out his bottle and sneaked a drink.

Rev. Thomas M Postelwaite was continuing his address. Behind him was a large placard set upon an easel that read: “SUBJECT TONIGHT: THE PRESENT WAR, TEMPERANCE, AND THE VALUE AND NECESSITY OF SALVATION.”

Rev. Postelwaite was taking the entrance of the three servicemen as a supplemental text. He was a short slim man with a small paunch, a high forehead, and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked to be about thirty-five. His long upper lip quivered with intensity as he spoke.

“It does my heart good, dear people,” he said, spreading an open palm toward the three men, “it gives me a measure of hope for all humanity when I see young men in uniform enter into meetings like ours. And don’t mistake me. There are a lot of such young men. I have seen them all over the nation. They are brave young men, fighting for their country, and we are all proud of them.”

Rev. Postelwaite paused for breath, and Freedie grinned, shook his shoulders up and down rapidly in the fashion of a belly-laugh, and winked at Al.

“We are proud of them,” Rev. Postelwaite went on, “very proud of them, for fighting for their country. They are brave and courageous warriors. But we are even more proud of them because they have not forsaken the religion and faith of their fathers.”

“Hear, hear,” said Freedie loudly. There was a momentary hush, and several people turned to look at the three servicemen; some of them smiled. Freedie was enjoying himself. Johnny and Al both grinned without self-consciousness.

Johnny was reminded suddenly of a newsreel he had seen, in which General MacArthur had spoken to a group of Australian statesmen. At the General’s remark about returning to Bataan, all the Australian statesmen had shouted, “Hear, hear!” Now that he noticed it, Rev. Postelwaite had the same mannerism that General MacArthur possessed, a slight, dramatic bobbing and jerking of the head to punctuate his remarks. Johnny was highly amused at this similarity. No wonder, he thought, that all the novelty companies made plaster of paris busts of General MacArthur to sell in all the ten-cent stores.

“. . . but such young men are in a minority, my friends,” Rev. Postelwaite was saying. “Such young men as these are few in our armed forces. Who among us has not seen the nation’s young men carousing in drunken orgies? rolling in the filth of the gutters? parading shamelessly their carnal lusts?” At each question mark, Rev. Postelwaite jerked his head dramatically at his audience. At the end of the sentence, he spread his arms to his audience, and his long upper lip quivered. He paused for a dramatic moment.

Freedie shook his head sorrowfully and clicked his tongue against his teeth. Rev. Postelwaite brought one of his upraised arms down into a fist that pounded upon his altar. “But I say to you, my brethren; I say to you: Our Father is a loving Father, but He is also a just God. He is a vengeful God—and a terrible God when His wrath is roused. It has been written that for those who sin, there is the everlasting agony of Hell. It has been so written and so it shall be. The Eye of God is forever upon us, noting and recording unmercifully the blackness that lies in the soul, ferreting out with Supreme Intelligence those tiny black thoughts of evil that lurk in us and are kept hidden from all the world but ourselves. And when the Day of Judgment comes, no such mark shall escape unpunished.”

Johnny grinned at Freedie obliquely. “Well?” he asked. “You heard enough? Man can’t live by dogma alone. I’m gettin thirsty.”

Freedie scraped one forefinger along the other in a gesture of shame. “Not yet,” he said. “Wait till they start bein saved.”

“From the way it looks now,” Johnny said, “it’ll be in the morning.”

“. . . but one God, and He gave His Only-Begotten Son to be sacrificed. For Himself? Nay, my brethren; no, no. For us. For you and for me. For these young men in uniform, so many of whom are sinking into the downward path. Young men who are free to drink, free to associate with evil persons. Look about you in your own city, my friends. Look about you.” Rev. Postelwaite paused and jerked his head at his audience. He raised his fist to the ceiling.