Part 17 (1/2)
”Guess she thinks she's the Queen of the May,” said one man, getting to his feet. He leaned across the table and spat into the fireplace. ”I'm going back to barracks.” He turned to the woman and shouted in a voice full of hatred, ”Bon swar.”
The woman was putting the powder puff away in her jet bag. She did not look up; the door closed sharply.
”Come along,” said the woman, suddenly, tossing her head back. ”Come along one at a time; who go with me first?”
n.o.body spoke. The men stared at her silently. There was no sound except that of feet sc.r.a.ping occasionally on the floor.
III
The oatmeal flopped heavily into the mess-kit. Fuselli's eyes were still glued together with sleep. He sat at the dark greasy bench and took a gulp of the scalding coffee that smelt vaguely of dish rags. That woke him up a little. There was little talk in the mess shack. The men, that the bugle had wrenched out of their blankets but fifteen minutes before, sat in rows, eating sullenly or blinking at each other through the misty darkness. You could hear feet sc.r.a.ping in the ashes of the floor and mess kits clattering against the tables and here and there a man coughing. Near the counter where the food was served out one of the cooks swore interminably in a whiny sing-sing voice.
”Gee, Bill, I've got a head,” said Fuselli.
”Ye're ought to have,” growled Bill Grey. ”I had to carry you up into the barracks. You said you were goin' back and love up that G.o.ddam girl.”
”Did I?” said Fuselli, giggling.
”I had a h.e.l.l of a time getting you past the guard.”
”Some cognac!... I got a hangover now,” said Fuselli.
”I'm G.o.dd.a.m.ned if I can go this much longer.”
”What?”
They were was.h.i.+ng their mess-kits in the tub of warm water thick with grease from the hundred mess-kits that had gone before, in front of the shack. An electric light illumined faintly the wet trunk of a plane tree and the surface of the water where bits of oatmeal floated and coffee grounds,--and the garbage pails with their painted signs: WET GARBAGE, DRY GARBAGE; and the line of men who stood waiting to reach the tub.
”This h.e.l.l of a life!” said Bill Grey, savagely.
”What d'ye mean?”
”Doin' nothin' but pack bandages in packin' cases and take bandages out of packin' cases. I'll go crazy. I've tried gettin' drunk; it don't do no good.”
”Gee; I've got a head,” said Fuselli.
Bill Grey put his heavy muscular hand round Fuselli's shoulder as they strolled towards the barracks.
”Say, Dan, I'm goin' A. W. O. L.”
”Don't ye do it, Bill. h.e.l.l, look at the chance we've got to get ahead.
We can both of us get promoted if we don't get in wrong.”
”I don't give a hoot in h.e.l.l for all that.... What d'ye think I got in this G.o.ddamed army for? Because I thought I'd look nice in the uniform?”
Bill Grey thrust his hands into his pockets and spat dismally in front of him.
”But, Bill, you don't want to stay a buck private, do you?”
”I want to get to the front.... I don't want to stay here till I get in the jug for being spiffed or get a court-martial.... Say, Dan, will you come with me?”