Johnny Got His Gun

by Dalton Trumbo

  The guys all liked his father probably because his father liked the guys. After the dinner was over his father always took them all to a show. They would put on their mackinaws and go outside into the snow and tramp down to the Elysium theatre. It was great feeling warm on the inside from food and your face cold on the outside from zero air and a show to look forward to. He could hear their footsteps squeaking in the snow even now. He could see his father leading the pack down to the Elysium. He remembered that the shows were always good.

  In the fall there was the County Fair. There were bucking bronchos and steers to be bulldogged and bareback Indian races and trotting races. There was always a bunch of Indians headed by the great squaw Chipeta. A street in Shale City was named after her. The town of Ouray Colorado had been named after Chief Ouray her husband. The Indians Chipeta brought with her didn’t do much but squat around and stare but Chipeta herself was full of smiles and talk about the early days.

  A carnival came to town during the fair and you could see women cut in half and motorcycle riders defying death inside a straight up and down circular wall. In the main auditorium of the fair grounds there were canned fruits gleaming through Mason jars and displays of embroidery and rows of cakes and piles of bread and huge squashes and extra-fancy potatoes. In the livestock pens there were steers that looked as square as an outhouse and pigs almost as big as cows and thoroughbred chickens. Fair week was the biggest week of the year. In a way it was even bigger than Christmas. You bought whips with tassels on the ends and it was a mark of favor if you flicked the legs of a girl you liked. There was a smell about the fair grounds you never forgot. A smell you never ceased dreaming of. He would always smell it somewhere back in his mind as long as he lived.

  In the summer they went out to the big ditch north of town and stripped off their clothes and lay around on its banks and talked. The water would be warm from the summer air and heat would be rising off the brown-gray land like steam. They would swim for a little while then they would go back on the bank and sit around all naked and tan and talk. They would talk about bicycles and girls and dogs and guns. They would talk about camping trips and rabbit hunting and girls and fishing. They would talk about the hunting knives they all wanted but only Glen Hogan had. They would talk about girls.

  When they came of an age to take girls out on dates they always took them to the pavilion in the fair grounds. They began to get very dressy. They talked about ties with matching handkerchiefs and they wore brogue shoes and shirts that had bright red and green and yellow stripes in them. Glen Hogan had seven silk shirts. He had most of the girls too. It got to be an important matter whether or not you had a car and it was a very humiliating thing to walk your girl to the pavilion.

  Sometimes you didn’t have enough money to go to the dance so you would drive lazily by the fair grounds and hear the music coming through the night from the pavilion. The songs all had meaning and the words were very serious. You felt all swelled up inside and you wished you were over there at the pavilion. You wondered who your girl was dancing with. Then you would light a cigarette and talk about something else. It was quite a thing to light a cigarette. You only did it at night when nobody would see you. You made a serious business of holding the cigarette in a properly careless fashion. And the first guy in the bunch able to inhale was the greatest guy on earth until the rest caught up with him.

  Down at Jim O’Connell’s cigar store the old men sat around and talked about the war. O’Connell’s was very cool in the back room. Before Colorado went dry it was a saloon and it still had the smell of beer in the floorboards on damp days. The old men sat there on high chairs and watched the pool tables and spat into big brass spittoons and talked about England and France and in the end about Rooshia. Rooshia was always on the point of starting a big offensive that would push the goddam Germans right back on Berlin. That would be the end of your war.

  Then his father decided to leave Shale City. They went to Los Angeles. There he became conscious for the first time about the war. He waked to the war when Roumania entered. It seemed very important. He had never heard of Roumania except in geography classes. But the entry of Roumania into the war occurred on the same day the Los Angeles newspapers carried a story of two young Canadian soldiers who had been crucified by the Germans in full view of their comrades across Nomansland. That made the Germans nothing better than animals and naturally you got interested and wanted Germany to get the tar kicked out of her. Everybody talked about the oil wells and the wheat fields of Roumania and how they would supply the Allies and how this surely was the end of the war. But the Germans walked right through Roumania and they took Bucharest and Queen Marie had to leave her palace. Then his father died and America entered the war and he had to come too and here he was.

  He lay and thought oh Joe Joe this is no place for you. This was no war for you. This thing wasn’t any of your business. What do you care about making the world safe for democracy? All you wanted to do Joe was to live. You were born and raised in the good healthy country of Colorado and you had no more to do with Germany or England or France or even with Washington D.C. than you had to do with the man in the moon. Yet here you are and it was none of your affair. Here you are Joe and you’re hurt worse than you think. You’re hurt bad. Maybe it would be a lot better if you were dead and buried on the hill across the river from Shale City. Maybe there are more things wrong with you than you suspect Joe. Oh why the hell did you ever get into this mess anyhow? Because it wasn’t your fight Joe. You never really knew what the fight was all about.

  iii

  He shot up through cool waters wondering whether he’d ever make the surface or not. That was a lot of guff about people sinking three times and then drowning. He’d been rising and sinking for days weeks months who could tell? But he hadn’t drowned. As he came to the surface each time he fainted into reality and as he went down again he fainted into nothingness. Long slow faints all of them while he struggled for air and life. He was fighting too hard and he knew it. A man can’t fight always. If he’s drowning or suffocating he’s got to be smart and hold back some of his strength for the last the final the death struggle.

  He lay back quietly because he was no fool. If you lie back you can float. He used to float a lot when he was a kid. He knew how to do it. His last strength going into that fight when all he had to do was float. What a fool.

  They were working on him. It took him a little while to understand this because he couldn’t hear them. Then he remembered that he was deaf. It was funny to lie there and have people in the room who were touching you watching you doctoring you and yet not within hearing distance. The bandages were still all over his head so he couldn’t see them either. He only knew that way out there in the darkness beyond the reach of his ears people were working over him and trying to help him.

  They were taking part of his bandages off. He could feel the coolness the sudden drying of sweat on his left side. They were working on his arm. He felt the pinch of a sharp little instrument grabbing something and getting a bit of his skin with each grab. He didn’t jump. He simply lay there because he had to save his strength. He tried to figure out why they were pinching him. After each pinch there was a little pull in the flesh of his upper arm and an unpleasant point of heat like friction. The pulling kept on in short little jerks with his skin getting hot each time. It hurt. He wished they’d stop. It itched. He wished they’d scratch him.

  He froze all over stiff and rigid like a dead cat. There was something wrong about this pricking and pulling and friction heat. He could feel the things they were doing to his arm and yet he couldn’t rightly feel his arm at all. It was like he felt inside his arm. It was like he felt through the end of his arm. The nearest thing he could think of to the end of his arm was the heel of his hand. But the heel of his hand the end of his arm was high high high as his shoulder.

  Oh Jesus Christ they’d cut his left arm off.

  They’d cut it right off at the shoulder he could fe
el it plain now.

  Oh my god why did they do a thing like that to him?

  They couldn’t do it the dirty bastards they couldn’t do it. They had to have a paper signed or something. It was the law. You can’t just go out and cut a man’s arm off without asking him without getting permission because a man’s arm is his own and he needs it. Oh Jesus I have to work with that arm why did you cut it off? Why did you cut my arm off answer me why did you cut my arm off? Why did you why did you why did you?

  He went down into the water again and fought and fought and then came up with his belly jumping and his throat aching. And all the time that he was under the water fighting with only one arm to get back he was having conversation with himself about how this thing couldn’t possibly happen to him only it had.

  So they cut my arm off. How am I going to work now? They don’t think of that. They don’t think of anything but doing it their own way. Just another guy with a hole in his arm let’s cut it off what do you say boys? Sure cut the guy’s arm off. It takes a lot of work and a lot of money to fix up a guy’s arm. This is a war and war is hell and what the hell and so to hell with it. Come on boys watch this. Pretty slick hey? He’s down in bed and can’t say anything and it’s his tough luck and we’re tired and this is a stinking war anyhow so let’s cut the damn thing off and be done with it.

  My arm. My arm they’ve cut my arm off. See that stump there? That used to be my arm. Oh sure I had an arm I was born with one I was normal just like you and I could hear and I had a left arm like anybody. But what do you think of those lazy bastards cutting it off?

  How’s that?

  I can’t hear either. I can’t hear. Write it down. Put it on a piece of paper. I can read all right. But I can’t hear. Put it down on a piece of paper and hand the paper to my right arm because I have no left arm.

  My left arm. I wonder what they’ve done with it. When you cut a man’s arm off you have to do something with it. You can’t just leave it lying around. Do you send it to hospitals so guys can pick it to pieces and see how an arm works? Do you wrap it up in an old newspaper and throw it onto the junk heap? Do you bury it? After all it’s part of a man a very important part of a man and it should be treated respectfully. Do you take it out and bury it and say a little prayer? You should because it’s human flesh and it died young and it deserves a good sendoff.

  My ring.

  There was a ring on my hand. What have you done with it? Kareen gave it to me and I want it back. I can wear it on the other hand. I’ve got to have it because it means something it’s important. If you’ve stolen it I’ll turn you in as soon as I get these bandages off you thieving bastards you. If you’ve stolen it you’re grave robbers because my arm that is gone is dead and you’ve taken the ring from it and you’ve robbed the dead that’s what you’ve done. Where is my ring Kareen’s ring before I go under again? I want the ring. You’ve got the arm isn’t that enough where’s my ring Kareen’s ring our ring please where is it? The hand it was on is dead and it wasn’t meant to be on rotten flesh. It was meant always to be on my living finger on my living hand because it meant life.

  “My mother gave it to me. It’s a real moonstone. You can wear it.”

  “It won’t fit.”

  “The little finger silly try the little finger.”

  “Oh.”

  “See I said it would fit.”

  “Little mick.”

  “Oh Joe I’m so scared kiss me again.”

  “We shouldn’t’ve turned the lights out. Your old man’ll be sore.”

  “Kiss me. Mike won’t care he understands.”

  “Little mick little mick little mick.”

  “Don’t go please don’t go Joe.”

  “When you’re drafted you got to go.”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe. I don’t think so.”

  “Lots of people get killed who don’t think so don’t go Joe.”

  “Lots of people come back.”

  “I love you Joe.”

  “Little mick.”

  “I’m not mick I’m bohunk.”

  “You’re half and half but you look mick. You’ve got eyes and hair like a little mick.”

  “Oh Joe.”

  “Don’t cry Kareen please don’t cry.”

  Suddenly a shadow fell across them and they both looked up.

  “Stop that stop it goddam you.”

  Old Mike Birkman how did he get into the house so quietly was standing above them in the darkness glaring down.

  They both lay there on the sofa and stared up at him. He looked like an overgrown dwarf because his back was crooked from twenty-eight years in the coal mines of Wyoming. Twenty-eight years in the mines with an I.W.W. red card and damning everybody. He stood and glared down at them and they made no move.

  “I’ll have none of this business going on in my house. You think this is the back seat of a flivver? Now get up like a couple decent people. Go on. Get up from there K’reen.”

  Kareen got up. She was only five feet one. Mike swore it was because she didn’t have enough food when she was a kid but that probably wasn’t the truth because her mother had been small and Kareen was perfectly formed and healthy and beautiful so beautiful. Mike was liable to exaggerate when he got excited. Kareen looked up at old Mike unafraid.

  “He’s going away in the morning.”

  “I know. I know girl. Get into the bedroom. Both of you. Maybe you never get another chance. Go on K’reen.”

  Kareen took one long look at him and then with her head bent as if she were a very busy child thinking about something walked into the bedroom.

  “Go on in there boy. She’s scared. Go in and put your arm around her.”

  He started to go and then he felt Mike’s grip against his shoulder. Mike was looking straight into his face and even in the dark his eyes could be seen.

  “You know how to treat her don’t you. She’s no whore. You know don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go to bed boy.”

  He turned and went into the bedroom.

  An electric candle was burning on one side of the bureau. In the corner of the room beyond the candle Kareen was standing. Her waist was off lying on a chair beside her. She was wearing a slip. As he came in she was twisted around and down a little toward her hip where her hands were trying to undo the fastening of her skirt. She looked up and saw him and just looked without moving her hands or anything. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time and didn’t know whether to like him or not. She looked at him in a way that made him want to cry.

  He walked over and put his arms around her carefully. She leaned to him with her forehead against his chest. Then she turned away and went over to the bed. She pulled the covers down and climbed in clothes and all. She kept her eyes on him all the time as if she was afraid he might say a sharp word or laugh or go away. She made quiet movements under the covers and then her clothes began to drop over the side of the bed from between the covers. When they were all on the floor beside the bed she smiled at him.

  He started slowly to take off his shirt not moving his eyes from her. She looked around the room and frowned.

  “Joe turn your back.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to get out of bed.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s something I forgot. Turn your back.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No. I’ll get it for you.”

  “I want to get it myself. Turn your back.”

  “No. I want to see you.”

  “You can’t Joe get my robe.”

  “All right. I’ll do that.”

  “In the closet. It’s red.”

  He went to the closet and got her robe. It was a thin little thing with flowers printed on it and not enough to cover anybody really. He took it over to the bed holding it a little distance from her.

  “Bring it closer.”

  “Reach for it.�
��

  She laughed and then reached out quick and snatched it from him back under the covers. She had to reach so far that he saw the curve of her breast. She laughed softly all the while she struggled under the covers putting the robe on and pulling it down as if she had played a great joke on him. Then she threw the covers back and jumped out of bed and ran in her bare feet into the living room. He saw the bottoms of her feet as they whisked to the floor. They had two arches one through the instep and another that crossed it rising delicately in the ball of her foot and fading away toward the heel. He thought how beautiful her feet are how strong and beautiful they are.

  She came back with a bowl filled with red geraniums. She took them over to a little table that stood in front of the window.

  She opened the window and then turned slowly around to face him. She was leaning against the little table and kind of hanging onto it with her hands at the same time.

  “If you really want to see me”

  “But if you don’t want me to I don’t want to.”

  She walked over to the closet and turned her back and slipped off the robe. Then she turned around watching her feet all the time and went over to the bed and slipped in between the covers.

  He turned out the light and took off his clothes and got into bed beside her. He threw his arm around her a little carelessly as if it were all an accident. She lay very quietly. He moved his leg. A little puff of air came up from between the covers and he could smell her. Clean clean flesh and the smell of soap and sheets. He put his leg next to hers. She whirled to him and threw both of her arms around his neck and held him tight.