Soldier''s Pay

  “Well, well, ain’t that nice. Say,” he leaned confidentially toward the other, “you don’t carry no women samples with you? No? I was afraid not. But never mind. I will get you one in Buffalo. Not buy you one, of course: just rent you one, you might say, for the time being. Horace,” to Cadet Lowe, “where’s that bottle?”

  “Here she is, Major,” responded Lowe, taking the bottle from beneath his blouse. Yaphank offered it to the two civilians.

  “Think of something far, far away, and drink fast,” he advised.

  “Why, thanks,” said the one called Schluss, tendering the bottle formally to his companion. They stooped cautiously and drank. Yaphank and Cadet Lowe drank, not stooping.

  “Be careful, soldiers,” warned Schluss.

  “Sure,” said Cadet Lowe. They drank again.

  “Won’t the other one take nothing?” asked the heretofore silent one, indicating Yaphank’s travelling companion. He was hunched awkwardly in the corner. His friend shook him and he slipped limply to the floor.

  “That’s the horror of the demon rum, boys,” said Yaphank solemnly and he took another drink. And Cadet Lowe took another drink. He tendered the bottle.

  “No, no,” Schluss said with passion, “not no more right now.”

  He don’t mean that,” Yaphank said, “he just ain’t thought.” He and Lowe stared at the two civilians. “Give him time: he’ll come to hisself.”

  After a while the one called Schluss took the bottle.

  “That’s right,” Yaphank told Lowe confidentially. “For a while I thought he was going to insult the uniform. But you wasn’t, was you?”

  “No, no. They ain’t no one respects the uniform like I do. Listen, I would of liked to fought by your side, see? But someone got to look out for business while the boys are gone. Ain’t that right?” he appealed to Lowe.

  “I don’t know,” said Lowe with courteous belligerence, “I never had time to work any.”

  “Come on, come on,” Yaphank reprimanded him, “all of us wasn’t young enough to be lucky as you.”

  “How was I lucky?” Lowe rejoined fiercely.

  “Well, shut up about it, if you wasn’t lucky. We got something else to worry about.”

  “Sure,” Schluss added quickly, “we all got something to worry about.” He tasted the bottle briefly and the other said:

  “Come on, now, drink it.”

  “No, no, thanks, I got a plenty.”

  Yaphank’s eye was like a snake’s. “Take a drink, now. Do you want me to call the conductor and tell him you are worrying us to give you whisky?”

  The man gave him the bottle quickly. He turned to the other civilian. “What makes him act so funny?”

  “No, no,” said Schluss. “Listen, you soldiers drink if you want: we’ll look after you.”

  The silent one added like a brother and Yaphank said:

  “They think we are trying to poison them. They think we are German spies, I guess.”

  “No, no! When I see a uniform, I respect it like it was my mother.”

  “Then come on and drink.”

  Schluss gulped and passed the bottle. His companion drank also and sweat beaded them.

  “Won’t he take nothing?” repeated the silent one, and Yaphank regarded the other soldier with compassion.

  “Alas, poor Hank!” he said, “poor boy’s done for, I fear. The end of a long friendship, men.” Cadet Lowe said sure, seeing two distinct Hanks, and the other continued. “Look at that kind, manly face. Children together we was, picking flowers in the flowery meadows; him and me made the middle-weight mule-wiper’s battalion what she was; him and me devastated France together. And now look at him.

  “Hank! Don’t you recognize this weeping voice, this soft hand on your brow? General,” he turned to Lowe, “will you be kind enough to take charge of the remains? I will deputize these kind strangers to stop at the first harness factory we pass and have a collar suitable for mules made of dogwood with the initials H. W. in forget-me-nots.”

  Schluss in ready tears tried to put his arm about Yaphank’s shoulders. “There, there, death ain’t only a parting. Brace up: take a little drink, then you’ll feel better.”

  “Why, I believe I will,” he replied; “you got a kind heart, buddy. Fall in when fire call blows, boys.”

  Schluss mopped his face with a soiled, scented handkerchief and they drank again. New York in a rosy glow of alcohol and sunset streamed past breaking into Buffalo, and with fervent new fire in them they remarked the station. Poor Hank now slept peacefully in a spittoon.

  Cadet Lowe and his friend being cold of stomach, rose and supported their companions. Schluss evinced a disinclination to get off. He said it couldn’t possibly be Buffalo, that he had been to Buffalo too many times. Sure, they told him, holding him erect, and the conductor glared at them briefly and vanished. Lowe and Yaphank got their hats and helped the civilians into the aisle.

  “I’m certainly glad my boy wasn’t old enough to be a soldier,” remarked a woman passing them with difficulty, and Lowe said to Yaphank:

  “Say, what about him?”

  “Him?” repeated the other, having attached Schluss to himself.

  “That one back there,” Lowe indicated the casual.

  “Oh, him? You are welcome to him, if you want him.”

  “Why, aren’t you together?”

  Outside was the noise and smoke of the station. They saw through the windows hurrying people and porters, and Yaphank moving down the aisle answered:

  “Hell, no. I never seen him before. Let the porter sweep him out or keep him, whichever he likes.”

  They half dragged, half carried the two civilians and with diabolical cunning Yaphank led the way through the train and dismounted from a day coach. On the platform Schluss put his arm around the soldier’s neck.

  “Listen, fellows,” he said with passion, “y’ know m’ name, y’ got addressh. Listen, I will show you ’Merica preshates what you done. Ol’ Glory ever wave on land and sea. Listen, ain’t nothing I got soldier can’t have, nothing. N’if you wasn’t soldiers I am still for you, one hundred pershent. I like you. I swear I like you.”

  “Why, sure,” the other agreed, supporting him. After a while he spied a policemen and he directed his companion’s gait toward the officer. Lowe with his silent one followed. “Stand up, can’t you?” he hissed, but the man’s eyes were filled with an inarticulate sadness, like a dog’s. “Do the best you can, then,” Cadet Lowe softened, added, and Yaphank, stopped before the policeman, was saying:

  “Looking for two drunks, Sergeant? These men were annoying a whole trainload of people. Can’t nothing be done to protect soldiers from annoyance? If it ain’t top sergeants, it’s drunks.”

  “I’d like to see the man can annoy a soldier,” answered the officer. “Beat it, now.”

  “But say, these men are dangerous. What are you good for, if you can’t preserve the peace?”

  “Beat it, I said. Do you want me to run all of you in?”

  “You are making a mistake, Sergeant. These are the ones you are looking for.”

  The policeman said, Looking for? regarding him with interest.

  “Sure. Didn’t you get our wire? We wired ahead to have the train met.”

  “Oh, these are the crazy ones, are they? Where’s the one they were trying to murder?”

  “Sure, they are crazy. Do you think a sane man would get hisself into this state?”

  The policeman looked at the four of them with a blase eye. “G’wan, now. You’re all drunk. Beat it, or I’ll run you in.”

  “All right. Take us in. If we got to go to the station to get rid of these crazy ones, we’ll have to.”

  “Where’s the conductor of this train?”

  “He’s with
a doctor, working on the wounded one.”

  “Say, you men better be careful. Whatcher trying to do—kid me?”

  Yaphank jerked his companion up. “Stand up,” he said, shaking the man. “Love you like a brother,” the other muttered. “Look at him,” he said, “look at both of ’em. And there’s a man hurt on that train. Are you going to stand here and do nothing—?”

  “I thought you was kidding me. These are the ones, are they?” He raised his whistle and another policeman ran up. “Here they are, Ed. You watch ’em and I’ll get aboard and see about that dead man. You soldiers stay here, see?”

  “Sure, Sergeant,” Yaphank agreed. The officer ran heavily away and he turned to the civilians. “All right, boys. Here’s the bellhops come to carry you out where the parade starts. You go with them and me and this other officer will go back and get the conductor and the porter. They want to come, too.”

  Schluss again took him in his arms.

  “Love you like a brother. Anything got’s yours. Ask me.”

  “Sure,” he rejoined. “Watch ’em, Cap, they’re crazy as hell. Now, you run along with this nice man.”

  “Here,” the policeman said, “you two wait here.”

  There came a shout from the train and the conductor’s face was a bursting bellowing moon. “Like to wait and see it explode on him,” Yaphank murmured. The policeman supporting the two men hurried toward the train. “Come on here,” he shouted to Yaphank and Lowe.

  As he drew away Yaphank spoke swiftly to Lowe .

  “Come on, General,” he said, “let’s get going. So long boys. Let’s go, kid.”

  The policeman shouted, “Stop, there!” but they disregarded him, hurrying down the long shed, leaving the excitement to clot about itself, for all of them.

  Outside the station in the twilight the city broke sharply its skyline against the winter evening and lights were shimmering birds on motionless golden wings, bell notes in arrested flight; ugly everywhere beneath a rumoured retreating magic of colour.

  Food for the belly, and winter, though spring was somewhere in the world, from the south blown up like forgotten music. Caught both in the magic of change they stood feeling the spring in the cold air, as if they had but recently come into a new world, feeling their littleness and believing too that lying in wait for them was something new and strange. They were ashamed of this and silence was unbearable.

  “Well, buddy,” and Yaphank slapped Cadet Lowe smartly on the back, “that’s one parade we’ll sure be A.W.O.L. from, huh?”

  II

  Who sprang to be his land’s defence

  And has been sorry ever since?

  Cadet!

  Who can’t date a single girl

  Long as kee-wees run the world?

  Kay—det!

  With food in their bellies and a quart of whisky snugly under Cadet Lowe’s arm they boarded a train.

  “Where are we going?” asked Lowe. “This train don’t go to San Francisco, do she?”

  “Listen,” said Yaphank, “my name is Joe Gilligan. Gilligan, G-i-l-l-i-g-a-n, Gilligan, J-o-e, Joe; Joe Gilligan. My people captured Minneapolis from the Irish and taken a Dutch name, see? Did you ever know a man named Gilligan give you a bum steer? If you wanta go to San Francisco, all right. If you wanta go to St. Paul or Omyhaw, it’s all right with me. And more than that, I’ll see that you get there. I’ll see that you go to all three of ’em if you want. But why’n hell do you wanta go so damn far as San Francisco?”

  “I don’t,” replied Cadet Lowe. “I don’t want to go anywhere especially. I like this train here—far as I am concerned. I say, let’s fight this war out right here. But you see, my people live in San Francisco. That’s why I am going there.”

  “Why, sure,” Private Gilligan agreed readily. “Sometimes a man does wanta see his family—especially if he don’t hafta live with ’em. I ain’t criticizing you. I admire you for it, buddy. But say, you can go home any time. What I say is, let’s have a look at this glorious nation which we have fought for.”

  “Hell, I can’t. My mother has wired me every day since the armistice to fly low and be careful and come home as soon as I am demobilized. I bet she wired the President to have me excused as soon as possible.”

  “Why sure. Of course she did. What can equal a mother’s love? Except a good drink of whisky. Where’s that bottle? You ain’t betrayed a virgin, have you?”

  “Here she is.” Cadet Lowe produced it and Gilligan pressed the bell.

  “Claude,” he told a superior porter, “bring us two glasses and a bottle of sassperiller or something. We are among gentlemen today and we aim to act like gentlemen.”

  “Watcher want glasses for?” asked Lowe. “Bottle was all right yesterday.”

  “You got to remember we are getting among strangers now. We don’t want to offend no savage customs. Wait until you get to be an experienced traveller and you’ll remember these things. Two glasses, Othello.”

  The porter in his starched jacket became a symbol of self-sufficiency. “You can’t drink in this car. Go to the buffet car.”

  “Ah, come on, Claude. Have a heart.”

  “We don’t have no drinking in this car. Go to the buffet car if you want.” He swung himself from seat to seat down the lurching car.

  Private Gilligan turned to his companion. “Well! What do you know about that? Ain’t that one hell of a way to treat soldiers? I tell you, General, this is the worst run war I ever seen.”

  “Hell, let’s drink out of the bottle.”

  “No, no! This thing has got to be a point of honour, now. Remember, we got to protect our uniform from insult. You wait here and I’ll see the conductor. We bought tickets, hey, buddy?”

  With officers gone and officers’ wives

  Having the grand old time of their lives——

  an overcast sky, and earth dissolving monotonously into a grey mist, greyly. Occasional trees and houses marching through it; and towns like bubbles of ghostly sound beaded on a steel wire——

  Who’s in the guard-room chewing the bars,

  Saying to hell with the government wars?

  Cadet!

  And here was Gilligan returned, saying: “Charles, at ease.”

  I might have known he would have gotten another one, thought Cadet Lowe, looking up. He saw a belt and wings, he rose and met a young face with a dreadful scar across his brow. My God he thought, turning sick. He saluted and the other peered at him with strained distraction. Gilligan, holding his arm, helped him into the seat. The man turned his puzzled gaze to Gilligan and murmured, “ Thanks.”

  “Lootenant,” said Gilligan, “you see here the pride of the nation. General, ring the bell for ice water. The lootenant here is sick.”

  Cadet Lowe pressed the bell, regarding with a rebirth of that old feud between American enlisted men and officers of all nations the man’s insignia and wings and brass, not even wondering what a British officer in his condition could be doing travelling in America. Had I been old enough or lucky enough, this might have been me, he thought jealously.

  The porter reappeared.

  “No drinking in this car, I told you,” he said. Gilligan produced a bill. “No, sir. Not in this car.” Then he saw the third man. He leaned down to him quickly, then glanced suspiciously from Gilligan to Lowe.

  “What you all doing with him?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’s just a lost foreigner I found back yonder. Now, Ernest——”

  “Lost? He ain’t lost. He’s from Gawgia. I’m looking after him. Cap’m”—to the officer—“is these folks all right?”

  Gilligan and Lowe looked at each other. “Christ, I thought he was a foreigner,” Gilligan whispered.

  The man raised his eyes to the porter’s anxious face. “Yes,” he said slowly, “they
’re all right.”

  “Does you want to stay here with them, or don’t you want me to fix you up in your place?”

  “Let him stay here,” Gilligan said. “He wants a drink.”

  “But he ain’t got no business drinking. He’s sick.”

  “Loot,” Gilligan said, “do you want a drink?”

  “Yes, I want a drink. Yes.”

  “But he oughtn’t to have no whisky, sir.”

  “I won’t let him have too much. I am going to look after him. Come on, now, let’s have some glasses, can’t we?”

  The porter began again. “But he oughtn’t——”

  “Say, Loot,” Gilligan interrupted, “can’t you make your friend here get us some glasses to drink from?”

  “Glasses?”

  “Yeh! He don’t want to bring us none.”

  “Does you want glasses, Cap’m?”

  “Yes, bring us some glasses, will you?”

  “All right, Cap’m.” He stopped again. “You going to take care of him, ain’t you?” he asked Gilligan.

  “Sure, sure!”

  The porter gone, Gilligan regarded his guest with envy. “You sure got to be from Georgia to get service on this train. I showed him money but it never even shook him. Say, General,” to Lowe, “we better keep the lootenant with us, huh? Might come in useful.”

  “Sure,” agreed Lowe. “Say, sir, what kind of ships did you use?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” interrupted Gilligan, “let him be. He’s been devastating France, now he needs rest, Hey. Loot?”

  Beneath his scarred and tortured brow the man’s gaze was puzzled but kindly and the porter reappeared with glasses and a bottle of ginger ale. He produced a pillow which he placed carefully behind the officer’s head, then he got two more pillows for the others, forcing them with ruthless kindness to relax. He was deftly officious, including them impartially in his activities, like Fate. Private Gilligan, unused to this, became restive.

  “Hey, ease up, George; lemme do my own pawing a while. I aim to paw this bottle if you’ll gimme room.”

  He desisted saying, “Is this all right, Cap’m?”