Part 27 (1/2)

Rocco pushed him near it and he sat there quietly watching the operator thread the film into the sprockets. He felt good just watching him.

They began to draw the curtains over the windows and gradually the room grew dark. Then it was pitch-black and he couldn't see anything. He wanted desperately to light a cigarette, but he remembered he couldn't smoke sitting near the film as he was. He heard the faintly familiar buzz as the carbon sparks caught, and then the strong bright light flashed on the screen.

Words flashed on. At first they were blurred and then they were clear and distinct as the operator set the focus on his lens. Johnny read the words, his lips moving as he pa.s.sed over them.

To the soldiers at Long Island State Hospital: The motion-picture equipment and the film you are about to see has been donated to us by Mr. Peter Kessler, president of Magnum Pictures, Inc. He has made this presentation to us on behalf of the more than fifty of his co-workers and employees who have served with us during the past war, many of whom have not returned.

We can do no more than say ”Thanks” to Mr. Kessler for his kind and generous gift and express our appreciation by enjoying the show that is about to follow.

SIGNED: Col. James F. Arthur, U.S.A.

Commanding Officer,

Long Island State Hospital

The words flashed from the screen almost before Johnny could grasp their meaning. He had been frozen to his chair when Peter's name had flashed on the screen, but now it was gone.

And in its place came the familiar trade-mark, the opening shot that identified every Magnum Picture: the big champagne bottle with the champagne flowing into a gla.s.s until the gla.s.s was filled to the brim. Then the words covering the whole screen in Gothic lettering: MAGNUM PICTURES.

PRESENTS.

Johnny's voice reached Rocco's ears in an agonized whisper. ”Take me out of here, Rock!” it said with suppressed intensity. ”Take me out!”

For a moment Rocco stood still in surprise. He didn't understand it. Johnny had been so eager to see the picture, and now before it began he wanted to leave. He leaned forward. ”What'sa matter, Johnny?” he whispered in his ear. ”Yuh sick?”

He could see Johnny's fists clenched on the arm of the chair as he replied: ”No. Just take me out, that's all. Take me out!”

He steered the wheelchair to the door and out. The bright lights in the hall hurt his eyes and he blinked for a moment; then he looked at Johnny.

Johnny's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, so tight that tears stood in the corners of them. His face was white and strained and drops of sweat stood out on his pallid skin.

Quickly Rocco pushed him back to his room and helped him into bed. Johnny's body was trembling. Gently Rocco covered him and stood near him. ”Was it somebody you knew, Johnny?” he asked gently.

Johnny's eyes opened suddenly and stared at him. Accidentally Rocco had stumbled on the truth. He must not know any more. ”No,” he said slowly. What was that thing he had heard the doctors talking about the other day-claustrophobia, the fear of being shut up in a small place and not being able to get out. Make Rocco think that was what had been the matter with him.

”Suddenly I couldn't stand it in there any more,” he said. ”I felt I would never get out.” He laughed self-consciously. ”I must have that claustro-er-something the doctors talk about.”

Rocco looked at him but didn't answer. His mind was working. Johnny wasn't fooling him this time. He was going to find the real reason behind the way Johnny had acted. If he had really been afraid of being cooped up in there, he never would have been able to stay in this room so long a time.

The girl came out of the officer's room. She smiled at Rocco. ”You may go in now, sergeant. Captain Richards will see you.”

He thanked her and went into the little office. He drew himself to attention and saluted the officer.

The officer negligently returned his salute and looked up at him wearily. ”Sit down, sergeant,” he said in a tired voice. ”We don't hold with the formalities in here.”

Rocco sat down in a chair opposite the officer's desk. The officer looked down at the paper on his desk and then up at Rocco. ”Your request is a most unusual one, sergeant,” he remarked.

Rocco leaned forward in his chair. ”It's the only way I believe we can help him, sir.”

The officer grunted and looked down at the paper on his desk again. He studied it for a few minutes and then spoke. ”I have Corporal Edge's service record here as you requested, but there is nothing on it that would give us any clues as to his family or friends or background. He took no life insurance from us and the only one to be notified in case of injury to him is one Joseph Turner, now deceased.” He took a pipe from his desk and filled it with tobacco. He held a match to it until it was drawing comfortably. He looked over at Rocco. ”You say he says he has no place to go and that he wants to remain here.”

Rocco nodded.

The captain shook his head. ”Well, there's no way we can force the man to leave short of bodily ejection if he doesn't want to. The only thing I can see is to transfer him to a mental hospital.”

Rocco jumped to his feet. ”There's no reason for that, sir,” he said quickly. ”Johnny's all right. There's no more the matter with him than there is with me.”

”You seem to know him very well,” the officer said.

”We were buddies,” Rocco answered simply. ”We were in the same outfit overseas. I sent him on that mission on which he got hurt and Joe got killed.”

The officer nodded his head slowly. ”I see,” he said, ”and you feel responsible for him?”

”Sort of,” Rocco admitted.

”Is that why you stayed in?” the officer asked.

”Yes, sir,” Rocco answered.

The officer was silent for a while and then he spoke. ”I commend you for your feelings, sergeant, but if all the people in the service took their responsibilities as deeply as you, we would have more orderlies in the hospitals than patients.”

Rocco made no reply.

The officer continued: ”That, however, does not resolve our problem. Have you any further suggestions?”

Rocco leaned forward in his seat. He spoke anxiously. ”If you could get Joe Turner's service record, maybe something on it would give us an idea of Johnny's background.”

The captain thought that over. ”And if we did, sergeant, we are not allowed to investigate any further.” He paused for a moment and then added: ”Officially.”

Rocco smiled understandingly at him. ”I know that, sir,” he said, ”but I might accidentally stumble across something that would be of great help.”

The captain stood up. He returned Rocco's smile. ”Accidentally, of course.”

Rocco got to his feet. ”Then you will try to get a copy of Joe's service record, sir?”