The Patriot

by Evan S. Connell

  The cadets stopped getting dressed. The commander sounded affable, as though he were fond of them, and they mistrusted this. They gazed at the loudspeaker, or off into space, with remote neutrality while they listened. It took the commander quite a while to get his message across, at least to his own satisfaction, because he was ill at ease—a fact that was unmistakable to the listeners. Each time he seemed on the point of saying what he wished to say there would be the crackle of paper, sounding through the loudspeaker like an electrical storm, after which the commander would cough and clear his throat and drift from the text.

  “Let’s have it, let’s have it,” Horne growled, snapping his fingers. “Come on, you simple bastard, what have you got up your sleeve?”

  “These lovely girls—these charming young ladies—” the commander was saying, and it sounded as though he had become excited. The paper crackled thunderously. “These—”

  “Crows,” Melvin said. “These crows. Go on, Peabody, we’re right here. You got a captive audience.”

  “Ah,” said the commander, “have been gracious enough—”

  The point was, first, that the dance would open with a sale of war bonds and the commander earnestly hoped that each and every cadet would purchase at least one series E bond. Second, in order to encourage the sale, ten of the prettiest girls were to be auctioned. Here the commander sniggered; there was no question about it. He coughed; he shook the paper and went on. Each girl would spend the evening with the cadet who called out the highest pledge. Commander Peabody grew serious. He was very much concerned about this: he hoped none of the young ladies would be insulted by low bids, or, worse, by no bids at all. He hoped the cadets would not be stingy with their bids.

  “I realize you men do not earn a great deal of money,” he went on, but what he said next could not be heard because of the number of comments. The cadets earned $75 a month, but because of various deductions they never received that much, while the cheapest bond, as everyone knew, cost $18.75. Long before Commander Peabody had completed his address it was generally agreed in the barracks that nobody was going to bid on anything. It was agreed that the girls must be unbearably ugly.

  “What have I been saying?” Melvin demanded in gloomy triumph. “I tell you people, there’s no point in going to this rat race. It’s just going to be pitiful. We’d be the only ones there.”

  Nevertheless, when his friends started for the dance he went along, heralded by a penetrating odor of bay rum and talcum.

  The gymnasium was jammed with cadets. There was hardly room to move. There were about fifty girls in taffeta and lace, with ribbons, lipstick, earrings, silk stockings, necklaces, rings, and high-heeled shoes; they stood in a group near the orchestra platform, protected from any contact with the cadets by the presence of several officers in white duck uniforms, so that there was an open area like a fire lane separating them from the surging, muttering mob. The evening was warm, the ventilation was poor; Melvin scented the women the minute he came in the door.

  To the surprise of almost everyone, and to the immense and obvious gratification of Commander Peabody, who was there in white, wearing two utterly inconsequential ribbons, the auction was a success right from the start. The first girl on the stage was bought for $75 in E bonds and the second girl brought the same price.

  Melvin whispered to Horne, “What’s the matter with these guys? Where do they get that kind of money?”

  “What difference does it make?” said Horne. “It’s just another deduction. There’s nothing to spend it on anyway, except ice cream or a crap game. Then, too,” he added thoughtfully, “they aren’t spending it, they’re actually saving.”

  Neither of them had taken their eyes from the stage, where another girl was up for sale.

  “This could have a bearing on a board-of-review decision,” Horne commented. “You know this goes on your record, how many bonds you sign up for, and if you need extra instruction at Pensacola, for example, the board might grant it if you’d bought a lot of bonds. Uh—oh! Give me five dollars worth of that,” he exclaimed in a subdued voice. “Would you look! Just look at that flesh! Don’t bother to wrap it up, Commander, just ship it to the barracks C.O.D.”

  “Stop slobbering,” Melvin said. “People will think you’re a sex maniac.”

  “I am,” said Horne. “Just give me a chance.”

  A few minutes later Melvin whispered, “This stuff must be imported. I never saw anything like this around town. I looked everywhere, I even went to the YWCA.”

  “Put up your money if you want some.”

  “Not me! Not on your life. I’m saving my money. I mean I would if I had any—that game last night cleaned me out. These guys must be off their rocker.” Another girl was going up the steps; she was plump, redheaded, with lovely blue eyes, and he said, “That one’s worth a cool five hundred.”

  There was a stunned silence. He realized he had spoken louder than he intended. He saw Commander Peabody rise on tiptoe and search the audience.

  “This is him!” cried a helpful stranger and lifted Melvin’s arm. “He bid five hundred! I heard him!”

  Commander Peabody was beaming.

  “Will that lucky cadet please step up on stage to receive his prize?”

  Horne was aghast. “Don’t move!” he whispered frantically, looking from side to side. “Quick, run! My God, have you lost your mind? You haven’t got a sou! Wait! Don’t go!” But Melvin was already being carried toward the front of the gymnasium.

  That night in the barracks just before taps, Horne came over and stood for a little while staring down at Melvin, who lay in his bunk with hands clasped behind his head.

  “I never saw anybody in my life like you,” he said, and there was a trace of wonder in his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you? I mean—well, hell, is there anything I can do?”

  “Thanks,” Melvin said quietly. “I’m all right. It’s just that it sort of took me by surprise.”

  “What are you planning to do for the money? Peabody’s got your name.”

  “It’s just another deduction. It’s just money, that’s all.”

  Horne stared at him a while longer, and finally said, as taps came echoing through the barracks, “Well, good night.” He seemed a little baffled.

  “Good night,” said Melvin. “Thanks again.”

  The world was full of surprises, or so it seemed, because on Monday morning Iron Mary announced, “Now hear this! Now hear this! Second Battalion. First Company. Platoons Able and Baker. Platoons Able and Baker muster in five minutes in front of the Wasp to be fitted for blue dress uniform. Carry on.”

  For more than eight months they had worn nothing but khaki, with the exception of a few snowy days in Albuquerque when they had worn green wool trousers and green mackinaws. Now they would have a blue uniform with gold buttons, and an officer’s hat with a gold stripe above the visor. Anyone in the Navy would know by the narrowness of the stripe and by the absence of insignia that they were not officers, but there were a great many soldiers who would not know the difference and who would salute. It was, therefore, a day of some consequence.

  Scarcely had the uniforms been distributed when cameras appeared. Horne, Roska, Elmer, and Melvin took snapshots of each other and of various other members of the platoon.

  Melvin mailed some of the pictures home. He had not written to the family as often as he intended, and was embarrassed about this because they frequently wrote to him, though news from home was never exciting and he usually did no more than scan the letters. His mother worried that he was not getting enough to eat and asked repeatedly if his clothes needed mending, saying he should mail the clothing to her. Leah, now a freshman in high school, wrote about the boys in her classes and then one day mentioned that she had heard from Sergeant Kahn. Kahn had sent her a V-mail note; it did not say where he was, but she thought he was in North Africa. The name did not mean anything to Melvin. He knew his sister had been writing to several soldiers whose names she ha
d gotten from the USO; he assumed Sergeant Kahn was one of them. The sergeant had also sent her a snapshot of himself, which she forwarded to Melvin with the understanding that it be sent back promptly. Louis Kahn was seated on the fender of a Jeep with a Garand rifle in the crook of his arm and a Montgomery beret on his head. He was massive and unshaven, with heavy-lidded, suggestive eyes. He was a powerful, virile, Mediterranean type of man with thick, juicy lips and a broad jaw. Leah wrote that the picture had been taken on his twenty-fifth birthday. Melvin thought he looked nearer forty, and when he returned the picture he commented that the sergeant probably wished to adopt her. One thing Leah mentioned which apparently fascinated her: Sergeant Kahn was heavyweight wrestling champion of his regiment.

  As for his father’s letters, he found them nearly impossible to answer. They were invariably the same. Melvin should study harder. Why was he having so much difficulty with communications and aircraft recognition? These subjects should not be difficult. Was Melvin keeping his nose to the grindstone?

  In early summer the company, the surviving members of it, those who had not failed their ground-school examinations or taken sick from the dehydrated food, were ordered north to the Naval Air Station at Memphis for flight training in an open-cockpit airplane known equally well by three names—the Stearman, for the company which manufactured it; the N2S, which was the naval designation; or its familiar name, the Yellow Peril—with a provision of six days’ leave between the date of detachment from Athens and the date of arrival at Memphis.

  5

  Melvin and Sam Horne both planned to spend their leave at home, and took the earliest train out of Athens. Melvin noticed that Horne was restless during the trip, and finally asked, “What’s the trouble? Don’t you feel well?”

  “Mind your own business!” Horne shouted. “Get lost! Don’t bother me!”

  “Don’t worry about that!” Melvin said, white with anger. “The minute this train reaches Kansas City you won’t see me for a week! I’ve had to put up with your bad temper long enough!”

  “My bad temper?” Horne asked in astonishment, and struck him on the arm. “Is that what you said? Did you say I have a bad temper? I never in my whole life met anybody who flies off the hook like you do.” The more he thought of this, the more outraged he became, and he pounded his fist into his palm. “I’ll tell you what the trouble is! I should have gone to Miami Beach with Elmer and Roska, that’s the trouble! They asked me, but I said no. I don’t know why I said no, but that’s what I said. I could be on my way to Miami Beach now, but where am I headed? I’m on my way to Nebraska. I haven’t got the brains God gave a chickadee.”

  “That’s no fault of mine,” Melvin said. “And another thing, I don’t like being hit every time you get mad. You seem to think I’m a convenience of some sort.”

  “I really shouldn’t do that, I guess,” Horne said. “It’s a bad habit of mine.” He slumped in the seat and shook his head. “All my life I’ve chopped wood, and plowed, and milked, and slopped the pigs. Now I got six days to myself and I throw it away.”

  “Why don’t you get off with me in Kansas City? It isn’t Miami Beach, but you could have a better time than you would on the farm.”

  “I just might,” Horne remarked peevishly.

  “We’ve got room for you at the house. The folks would enjoy having you. My father’s asked about you several times in his letters.”

  “My old man’s expecting me to help on the farm.”

  “Suit yourself,” Melvin said rather crisply; his arm still ached from the blow. “I should think you’d be in a decent mood for once. I certainly am. I’m all ready to enjoy my leave. I’m going to cruise around Kansas City every night and sleep as late as I please. And I’m not going to salute anybody because I’m planning to wear civilian clothes. People will think I’m a 4-F,” he added with satisfaction.

  Horne didn’t answer; his garrison cap was squashed on the back of his head as though he were a drunken Army private, and the muscle in his jaw was twitching.

  At Kansas City Melvin got off and stood for a moment on the platform with his duffle bag balanced across his shoulder and looked up at Horne, who peered through the grimy window with an inscrutable expression. Then the train pulled out of the station and it seemed to Melvin that he himself was leaving.

  After three days in Kansas City—during which he had worn civilian clothes once, for about an hour, feeling awkward and conspicuous—he did very little except sit on a stool in the kitchen with a pot of coffee and dully observe the birds hopping around the yard. The summer days were warm and similar and quiet; the postman came and went. Melvin took a dislike to the postman, waiting anxiously for his arrival each morning and going through the mail to see if there might be a letter addressed to him, but there never was, and, of course, he did not expect one. Who would be writing to him?

  He thought of all the things he might be doing on the base. He could be in the gym playing basketball, or in the barracks lounge shooting pool, or merely lying on his bunk. He was very fond of his bunk. No matter where the company had been sent he had grown quite attached to it; whenever he was sick, or frightened, or bewildered, or frustrated, or exhausted, he would lie on his bunk and after a while he would feel a little better. The more he thought about his bunk the more he longed to be lying on it. Above him, usually, was the bulge formed by another cadet, and there was something inordinately reassuring about this. He could look to either side, and see other bunks and most of them would be occupied. He could not think of any place on earth he would rather be.

  Or he could be in town looking for a girl. In all probability he would not be able to locate one. The mathematics of the situation had long since convinced him of this. Take a regiment of two battalions, for example, each composed of four companies, say, with four platoons to each company, thirty or forty cadets to the platoon. Situate these battalions in a town of possibly five thousand population. Assume, then, that of this five thousand about half will be female. Of this number there will be some three-fourths who are either too young or too old. Of the remainder there are bound to be fully ten per cent too ugly for consideration. And from what is left it is unlikely that any given cadet is apt to so much as lay eyes on two out of ten. Well, what is the result? One does a great deal of thinking.

  The most satisfying thing about the base, however, was simply that if he were there he would be among his own kind. He would not have to explain anything. Nobody would ask what sort of food he got, or if he wore his coat when it rained. All the same, under no circumstances would he report to Memphis sooner than necessary, though he did not know exactly why, knowing only that he would take the last possible train and that he would then loiter downtown in order to catch the last bus to the naval base, and if there were still some time belonging to him he would stand outside the gate until the leave was completely over.

  On the fourth day, desperate for something to do, he went to the zoo, which smelled as unpleasant as ever; to the art gallery, where his footsteps echoed eerily and somberly among the marble pillars; and at last, for lack of a better idea, he visited the Liberty Memorial. The Memorial stood on a hill across from the Union Station. It had been built after the First World War and consisted of a fluted shaft—from the top of which one might view the city—and two forbidding little buildings guarded by sphinxes. Inside one of these buildings was a replica of the table at which the Treaty of Versailles was signed in 1919. Around the table were fourteen chairs, but no one was permitted to sit in them. There were murals, maps, and plaques referring to the “honored dead,” as they were called. No one was in the room. Melvin began to feel depressed, there was such an aura of solemnity and portentous grace and the dreary chill of hallowed ground.

  He walked across the mall to the other building and found it more interesting. There was a torpedo, tarnished by the years but still grimly impressive, with the sullen personality of a shark. There were a great many posters from the first war. The beckoning soldiers looked ino
ffensive, harmless, like actors in some amateur production. He studied the puttees and the curious, shallow helmets, ALL TOGETHER was the slogan on one poster. COURAGE, COMRADES, I’M COMING was another. He smiled and moved around the room. There were cases of medals with faded ribbons and faded flags in cellophane envelopes, and faded chevrons and faded photographs, and moldering streamers, and a gas mask with goggle eyes and a tube, and a pair of wooden shoes. He paused to look at a little German sign which had been translated and said: DRINKING WATER—WELL #295. There were some caps and spiked helmets, and a piece of stained glass from the ruins of the cathedral at Rheims.

  Finally he rode the elevator to the top of the shaft and spent a while viewing the city, but was not particularly impressed; it looked very much as it did from the ground, and then, too, he had been to the top of the shaft several times when he was a child. His father liked to visit the Memorial on Sundays and had taken him there.

  When he got home he found he had forgotten his key. He knew his father was at the office, Leah would not yet be home from school, and he recalled his mother saying that she would be away all afternoon. However, on the chance that someone might be there, and because he could think of nothing else to do, he rang the bell. A moment later he heard footsteps, the door opened, and there was Horne, with a drink in his hand.

  “Hello, baby,” Horne said. “I figured it was you. Come in.”

  Melvin walked in and looked around.

  “Your mother got home earlier than she thought,” Horne said, “but she had to go out again. Leah telephoned and wants to know if we want to go to a high-school dance tonight. Let me think—there was something else. Well, I guess it wasn’t important. You want a drink?”

  “All right,” said Melvin. “Do you mind if I mix it?”

  “Go right ahead. I guess you know where the stuff is,” said Horne.

  That evening after supper they settled on the porch steps and Horne unwrapped a cigar. Over the lawn and around the trees night birds darted in search of insects, a rabbit hopped from the hedge, down the street some children were playing kick-the-can, the long June twilight slowly darkened. Horne smoked his cigar, Melvin chewed on a toothpick, and they solemnly watched a young housewife watering flowers.