by James Jones
I tried to think where I’d seen him. It wasn’t the face of a teacher, it had too much power. I dumped the greasy mess from the mess kit and poured in a little water from my canteen. I sloshed it around to rinse the sand out, listening vacantly to the Greek cursing and fidgeting with the car.
Just three days ago a two-man sub ran aground off Kaneohe and the second officer swam ashore, preferring capture. It was expected the sub was scouting the invasion that was coming truly any day.
They said he was the first prisoner of the war. I got to see him when they brought him in. He was a husky little guy and grinning humbly. His name was Kazuo Sakamaki. I knew a girl at the University named Harue Tanaka. I almost married her.
It seemed like the wind had blown my mind empty of all past. It had sucked out everything but Makapuu and the black rocks and blue lights and the sand-choked grass. The University with its clear, airy look from the street, its crisp greenness all hidden away in a wind-free little valley at the foot of rocky wooded Tantalus, it was from another life, a life protected from the wind, a life where there were white clouds in the sun but no wind, just gently moving air.
I wiped the mess kit with the GI face towel I kept in it and clamped it together and stuck it back in my pack that lay by the culvert, wanting to go down behind the culvert and light a cigarette.
Maybe the Junker was one of the big boys on the University board. The big boys always sent their kids to Harvard or some school on the mainland, but they were the board. The only white faces you saw were the instructors and the haoles who didn’t have the dough to send their kids to the mainland—and an occasional soldier in civvies, looking out of place. Only these and the board. And the tourists.
Then I remembered the scraped face, coming out of the main building on a hot still August day, wiping the sweat from the face with a big silk handkerchief.
“Couldn’t find a thing,” Mazzioli said, coming up from the car. “I don’t know what to do. This guy looks like a German. He even talks like a German.”
“Listen,” I said. “No German who looks like a German and talks like a German is going to be a spy. Use your head. This guy is some kind of big shot. I seen him at the University.”
“To hell with you and your University.”
“No,” I said. “Listen.”
“Why would he ask me questions about the number of men and guns and pillboxes?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to write an editorial for the Advertiser.”
“I can’t let him go,” he said.
“All right. Send Alcorn up for the lieutenant and let him handle it. You worry too much, Greek.”
“Yeh, I could do that.” But he was dubious. He walked back to the car for a moment and then went over to Alcorn. “Alcorn, you go up and get the lieutenant down here. Tell him we got a suspicious character down here.” He turned to me. “Slade, you watch this guy and don’t take any chances with him. I’m going over this car again.”
Alcorn handed me the rifle and started off up the road. Through the darkness Mazzioli hollered after him. “Double time and jerk the lead,” he shouted. The wind carried it away. The wind carried everything away.
To me Mazzioli said, “If he tries anything, shoot the bastard.”
“Okay,” I said. I set the rifle butt on the ground and leaned on it. “Take it easy, mister,” I said. “Remember there’s a war on. The lieutenant’s coming down, and you’ll be on your way home in a little bit.”
“I am not accustomed to such treatment,” he said, staring at me with flat eyes, “and I intend to see somebody pays for this indignity.”
“We’re only doing our duty,” I said. “We got orders to stop all suspicious persons. This is important to the defense plan.”
“I am not a suspicious person,” he said, “and you men …”
I interrupted; it was probably the only chance I’d ever get to interrupt a big shot. “Well,” I said, “you were asking suspicious questions about our position.”
“… and you men should have something better to do than hold up citizens.” Mazzioli, looking harassed, came over from the car. “What’s that?” he snarled. “What’s your name?”
The Junker stared at him. “My name is Knight,” he said, and waited for it to sink in. When Mazzioli’s face was blank he added, “Of Knight & Crosby, Limited.” His voice was cold with rage and hate.
Above the wind we heard the voices of Lieutenant Allison and Alcorn on the road.
I looked at the Greek but he showed nothing. Nobody could live in Hawaii without knowing Knight & Crosby, Ltd. The Big Five were as well known as Diamond Head.
Lieutenant Allison put one hand on Mazzioli’s shoulder and the other on mine. “Now,” he said paternally. “What’s the trouble?”
Mazzioli told him the whole tale. I went back to the culvert and listened to the wind playing background music to the double tale of woe. After both stories were told, Lieutenant Allison escorted Mr. Knight to his runabout with extreme courtesy.
“You can appreciate, Mr. Knight, our position.” Lieutenant Allison put his foot on the running board and rested his hands on the door. “You can understand my sergeant was only doing his duty, a duty conceived to protect you, Mr. Knight.”
Mr. Knight did not speak. He sat with his hands gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Knight,” Lieutenant Allison said. “These men were carrying out orders we have received from Hawaiian Department Headquarters.”
Mr. Knight made no sign he had heard. He gave the impression he was suffering this association under duress and was fretting to have done and be gone.
“A soldier’s duty is to follow out his orders,” Lieutenant Allison said.
“All right,” the lieutenant said. He took his foot off the running board and dropped his hands. “You may go, Mr. Knight. You can rest assured such a thing won’t happen again, now that my men know who you are.”
“It certainly won’t,” Mr. Knight said. “Bah!” He started his runabout with a roar and he did not look back.
I watched from the culvert and grinned contentedly. “Now there’ll be hell to pay,” I told Mazzioli.
After Knight was gone, Mazzioli called the lieutenant over to the other side of the road and spoke earnestly. I watched the excited movement of his blue light and grinned more widely.
Lieutenant Allison came over to me with the Greek following close behind. “Alcorn,” he called. Alcorn shuffled over from the base of the cliff.
“I’ve been having bad reports about you two men,” Lieutenant Allison began. “Where’s your helmet, Alcorn?”
Alcorn shuffled his feet. “It’s up the cliff. I cain’t wear one of them things more’n a half hour, Lootenant,” he said. “I get a turrible headache if I do. When Corporal Slade called me down, I clean forgot all about it.”
“You’re all through down here,” Lieutenant Allison said, “Get back up there and get that helmet on. I’ll be coming around inspecting and I don’t want to catch you without a helmet. If I do there’ll be some damned heavy details around here, and if that don’t stop your headache, by god, maybe a court-martial will.
“You’re no different than anybody else. If I can wear a helmet all the time, then you can do it. I don’t like it any better than you do.
“Now get the hell back up there.”
Alcorn saluted and started for the base of the cliff.
“Alcorn!” Lieutenant Allison called after him in the darkness.
“Yessir?”
“You don’t ever go to sleep up there, do you?”
“Oh, no sir.”
“You’d better watch it. I’ll be inspecting tonight.”
I could hear the scrambling and falling of pebbles and I thought it was a very lonely sound.
“Come over here, Slade,” Lieutenant Allison said. He walked away from Mazzioli and I followed him, pleased the calling-down would be in private instead of in front of the Greek. It
was a luxury.
“I’m going back up the hill,” Lieutenant Allison said. “You walk part of the way with me. I want to talk to you.” The two of us started up the road. “I’m going to send those men back down here when I get to the top,” Lieutenant Allison said. “You won’t need to go up.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Why did you let those men go up the hill tonight, Slade?”
“They didn’t get any chow tonight, sir,” I said. “I felt sorry for them.”
“You’re not supposed to feel sorry for anybody. You’re a soldier. You enlisted in the Army, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “But it was because I couldn’t get a job.”
“A soldier’s job is to feel sorry for nobody.”
“I can’t help it, sir,” I said. “Maybe my environment was wrong. Or maybe I haven’t had the proper indoctrinization. I always put myself in the other guy’s place. I even felt sorry for Mr. Knight. And he sure didn’t need it.”
“What happened with Mr. Knight was the proper action to take. It turned out badly, but he could have been a saboteur with a carload of TNT to blow the demolition.”
“What will happen about Knight, sir?” I said.
“Mr. Knight is a big man in Hawaii. The Big Five run the whole territory. There may be some bad effects. I may even get an ass-eating. Nevertheless, Mazzioli acted correctly. In the long run, it will all turn out all right because we did what was right. The Army will take that into account.”
“You believe that?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe it. You don’t realize how important that road-guard is to the whole war. What if the enemy had made a landing at Kaneohe tonight? They’d have a patrol on you before you knew it. The very thing you did out of kindness might be what lost the war for us. It’s not far-fetched: if they took this road and cliff, they’d have this island in a month. From there it’d be the west coast. And we’d be fighting the war in the Rocky Mountains.”
“All for the want of a horseshoe nail,” I said.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s why every tiniest thing is so important. You’re one of the smartest men in the Company, Slade. There’s no reason for me to explain these things to you. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t make OCS, except for your attitude. I’ve told you that before. What would you have done? Alone there with the men on the hill?”
“I knew who he was,” I said.
Lieutenant Allison turned on me. “Why in the name of Christ didn’t you tell Mazzioli!” He was mad.
“I did,” I said. “But he didn’t listen. Orders is orders,” I said.
Lieutenant Allison stopped. We were halfway up the hill. He looked out over the parapet and down at the sea, vaguely white where it broke on the rocks.
“What’s the matter with you, Slade? You don’t want to be cynical about this war.”
“I’m not cynical about this war,” I said. “I may die in this war. I’m cynical about the Army. It’s a helluva lot easier to be an idealist if you’re an officer. The higher the officer, the higher the ideals.” To hell with it, I thought, to hell with all of it.
“Slade,” he said, “I’d like for you to buckle down. I wasn’t kidding when I said you could make OCS. I’d like to see you go to OCS because you’re smart. You could do it if you’d only buckle down.”
“I’ve been an EM too long,” I said. “I’m too cynical.”
“You know, you could be shot for talking like this in the German Army.”
“I know it,” I said. “That’s why I don’t like the German Army, or the Japanese Army, or the British Army, or the Russian Army. I could get ten years in the American Army if you wanted to turn me in.”
Lieutenant Allison was leaning on the parapet. “If I didn’t like you, by god I would.”
“Trouble with me,” I said, “I’m too honest. They didn’t have indoctrinization courses yet when I enlisted,” I said.
“It’s not a question of briefing,” he said, “It’s a question of belief.”
“Yes,” I said. “And also of who manufactures it.”
“We have to be cruel now so we can be kind later, after the war.”
“That’s the theory of the Communist Internationale,” I said. “I hear their indoctrinization courses are wonderful.”
“They’re our allies,” he said. “When the enemy is defeated, why, it will all be set.”
“I could never be an officer,” I said. “I’ve not been indoctrinated well enough.”
He laughed. “Okay, Slade. But you think over what I said, and if you want me to, I’ll recommend you. You know, an intelligent man who refuses to use his intelligence to help win the war is a bottleneck. He’s really a menace. In Germany he would be shot if he didn’t use his intelligence to help win.”
“Japan too,” I said. “And in Italy and in Russia,” I said. “Our country we only lock them up as conchies, as yet.”
“Do you think I like being an officer?”
“Yes,” I said. “I would like it. At least you get a bath and hot chow.”
He laughed again. “Okay. But you think it over.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’ll think about all of it. But I never find an answer. Sometimes I wonder if there is an answer. The Greek is the man you ought to recommend.”
“Are you kidding?” he grinned. “Mazzioli is a good sergeant.”
“He believes the end justifies the means,” I said. “He’s been properly indoctrinated. I couldn’t turn a man in if I had to.”
Lieutenant Allison stood up from the parapet. “Think it over, Slade,” he said.
“All right, sir,” I said. “But I can tell you one thing. It’s damn fine I can talk to you. But I always remember you’re not all officers and I’m not all the EM,” I said.
“Thanks, Slade,” he said.
I walked on back down the road. I stopped every now and then to listen to the sea’s attack against the cliff. It would be nice to be an officer. The sea and the wind were like two radio stations on the same dial mark. You could even have a bed-roll and a dog-robber. The old Revolutionists in Russia, I thought, they really had it all figured out; they really had the world saved this time. I kicked a pebble ahead of me down the road.
I must have gone very slow because the three men from the top were on my heels when I reached the bottom.
“Hey, Slade,” one of them said. He came up. “I’m sorry we got you in trouble tonight. Nobody guessed this would happen.”
“Forget it,” I said. “All I got was a ass-eating.”
Mazzioli was sitting on the culvert. “I’m going to roll up,” he said belligerently.
“Okay, Greek,” I said. I sat on the culvert for a while, facing the wind. I liked to sit there at night alone, defying the wind. But a man could only do it so long. After a while a man got stupid from its eternal pummeling. A man got punch-drunk from it. Once before it made me so dizzy I fell down on my knees when I got up.
It was a wild place, the roaring sea, the ceaseless wind, the restless sand, the omniscient cliff.
I said good night to the man on post and rolled up myself. When I went under the wall it took my breath again. I lay in my blankets and listened to it howl just over my head.
It was three o’clock when the messenger from up on the hill woke me.
“What,” I said. “What is it? What?”
“Where’s the Greek?” he said.
“He’s here.”
“You gotta wake him up.”
“What’s up?”
“You’re moving back up the hill. Lieutenant’s orders.”
“Whose orders?” I said. “What about the demolition? What about the road-guard?”
“Lieutenant’s orders. The road-guard is being disbanded. Altogether.”
“What’s the story?” I asked.
“I dunno. We got a call from the Company CP; the cap’n was maddern hell. He just got a call from Department HQ; they was
maddern hell. Told the cap’n to disband the road-guard immediately. The orders’ll be down in a couple days.”
I laughed. “Orders is orders,” I said.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Is the lieutenant still up?”
“Yeh. He’s in hole number one, with the telephone. Why?”
“I got to see him about something,” I said.
“I’m going back,” he said. “This wind is freezin’ me. You sure you’re awake?”
“Yes,” I said. “You take off.” I got up and woke the rest of the detail. “Get your stuff together, you guys. We’re moving out. One of you call Alcorn down.”
The Greek sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What is it? what’s up? what’s wrong?”
“We’re moving out,” I said. “Back up the hill. The road-guard is disbanded.” When I stood up the wind hit me hard. I got my pack and kicked my blankets up into a pile. I slung my ride and pack and picked up the blankets.
“You mean the road-guard?” Mazzioli’s voice asked through the darkness and the wind. “For good?”
I climbed up around the wall and the wind caught at my blankets and I almost lost them.
“That’s the way it is,” I said.
Two Legs For The Two Of Us
Esquire published this one in September 1951, when Eternity was famous, after having turned it down at least twice before that. The character of George was drawn from a good friend of mine out in Illinois who had lost a leg in the Pacific, and this character was one of the major characters in the early novel I wrote and re-wrote for Perkins and which was never published. In fact, the scene here, much less well written and with almost no dialogue, formed part of a chapter of that novel.
“NO,” SAID THE BIG MAN in the dark blue suit, and his voice was hoarse with drunkenness. “I can’t stay. I’ve got some friends out in the car.”
“Well, why didn’t you bring them in with you, George?” the woman said in mock disgust. “Don’t let them sit out in the cold.”
George grinned fuzzily. “To hell with them. I just stopped by for a minute. You wouldn’t like them anyway.”
“Why, of course I’d like them, if they’re your friends. Go on and call them.”